Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

  GRANNY SMITH

  IS DEAD

  by

  CHELSEA THOMAS

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Granny Smith is Dead (Apple Orchard Murder Mystery Series, #5)

  1 | Revolutionary Revolt

  2 | German Invasion

  3 | You Bet, Buster

  4 | Gone Granny

  5 | Defunded and Defunct

  6 | Days of our Knives

  7 | Sun Don’t Shine

  8 | Teeny Timey

  9 | Jerk to Germany

  10 | Brewster Blues

  11 | Fighting Irish

  12 | Beverly Hills and Valleys

  13 | First Grade’s First

  14 | The Sweaty One

  15 | Wondering Wendell

  16 | Pain in the Wayne

  17 | Donuts and Deliberations

  18 | Super Duper Sleuthers

  19 | Breakfast for Dinner

  20 | Busting Buster

  21 | Tunnel Vision

  22 | Grimness at Grandma’s

  23 | Muffin to See Here

  24 | Picking the Perp

  25 | Milkshake Shakedown

  26 | Backroad Bumps

  27 | Riddle Me This

  28 | A Key Discovery

  29 | Pizza and Planning

  30 | Tunnel Vision

  31 | Going in Circles

  32 | A Shot in the Dark

  33 | Barbershop Barbs

  34 | The Un-Weeping Willow

  35 | Baklava and Backstabbing

  36 | Throwing Barbs

  37 | All’s Hair in Love

  38 | Big Dan, Where’s My Car?

  39 | Dan’d If You Do, Dan’d If You Don’t

  40 | The Search Begins

  41 | Manic Panic

  42 | Ricky Ricardo

  43 | Donut Mess with the Best

  44 | Snitches Get Stitches

  45 | Parking Lot Pariah

  46 | Granny Smiths Galore

  The End

  Chelsea’s Recipe Book

  Appie Oaters

  Hashbrown Lasagna

  KP’s Candy Apples

  Chelsea's Cinnamon Buns

  Bodacious Berry Bake

  Teeny’s Peanut Butter Caramel Dip

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Granny Smith is Dead © Chelsea Thomas, 2019

  Disclaimer—All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including mechanical or electronic, without written permission from the author.

  While the author has made every effort to ensure that the ideas, guidelines and information printed in this eBook are safe, they should be used at the reader’s discretion. The author cannot be held responsible for any personal or commercial damage arising from the application or misinterpretation of information presented herein.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  And don’t forget to sign up for “Thomas Tuesday,” Chelsea’s weekly newsletter that features free cozies, bonuses, and exclusive content from this series. Just for you!

  Click or copy and paste this link into your browser to sign up...

  https://www.chelseathomasauthor.com/book-sign-up.html

  Cover Design: Priscilla Pantin

  To Pine Grove

  A fictional town with a lot of real-world influences.

  Thank you for the inspiration.

  With special thanks to

  Christy Murphy, author of Mom & Christy’s Cozy Mystery Series

  1

  Revolutionary Revolt

  This next murder I’m going to tell you about shocked everyone in Pine Grove.

  But I can’t just jump right into the killing. Or the suspects. First I need to introduce you to the victim. Here goes...

  It was a busy, breezy, beautiful autumn afternoon on my family’s apple orchard, the Thomas Family Fruit & Fir Farm, when I first met Granny Smith. At least I thought it was the first time...

  That day, I was working in the orchard bakeshop, selling apple cider donuts, apple pies and other delectable baked goods. The last hour had been slow, so I was lazily doing pirouettes behind the counter to pass the time. With my final spin, I knocked a tray of apple fritter samples to the floor.

  As I was sweeping up the fritter crumbs, Dolores ‘Granny’ Smith entered the shop. She was cute from afar, wearing a polka dot dress, thick bifocals and a big pearl necklace. Her hair, a towering white beehive, was sturdier than an old oak in the wind.

  But when Granny Smith approached, her cuteness evaporated and I noticed an angry glint in her eye.

  “Finally,” she said. “I’ve found an employee at this zoo. Do you know there’s a miniature equine wandering among your guests?”

  I smiled my best customer service smile. “Aw! So you’ve met our resident tiny horse, See-Saw. Isn’t she adorable? And she gives great advice, too. Next time you see her, feel free to ask her to provide some insight on your life.”

  Granny Smith’s nostrils flared. “I would never seek ‘life advice’ from such a small-brained beast.”

  I tightened my smile. “That makes sense! So how can I help you today, ma’am?”

  “What do you mean, ‘ma’am’? Are you suggesting that you do not know who I am?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think I do, I’m sorry. I grew up here, but I only moved back from the city a year ago. My aunt, Miss May, runs this farm. I help her here in the bakeshop and—”

  “I know who you are,” Granny Smith said. “You’re Chelsea Thomas. Your parents died when you were but a pre-pubescent worm. You attended Duke University for your schooling then moved to the Big Apple and stayed there running a little decorating business until some ridiculous man broke your heart and stole your company out from under you. Now you’re back in Pine Grove, tail between your short, stumpy legs, living the ‘small apple’ life. ‘Solving mysteries’ with your aunt.”

  I stammered. Wow, I thought. This lady really does know who I am. Maybe too well.

  “Shocked at the breadth of my knowledge about your life? I’m more shocked you know nothing of me.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s been a stressful couple years.”

  “Chelsea! I’m Granny Smith! Town historian. Town librarian. Town treasure? Still not ringing your door bell? My ancestors practically founded this town!”

  Granny Smith scowled at me, and in that moment my memories of her flooded back.

  “Oh. Yes, I remember you!” You’re the meanest old lady in town. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Save the pleasantries,” Granny Smith said. “I need a favor.”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  Granny Smith handed me a sheet of paper. “I’m hosting my 30th annual tour of Pine Grove’s historic homes tomorrow. Will you hand these fliers to your customers? Spread the word?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. Sounds like a lot of fun.”

  Granny Smith flopped a six-inch-high stack of papers on the counter. “It’s not fun. It’s educational.”

  I picked up a flier and read it aloud. “Pine Grove Historic Homes Tour. Secrets of the Traitorous Brewster Family Revealed.”

  “That’s right,” Granny Smith said. “This year the tour will be special. Because I’ll reveal the secrets of the traitorous Brewster family.” Yeah, your fliers mentioned that.

  “I thought the Brewsters were descended from Revolutionary War heroes,” I said.

  “Ah-ha!” Granny Smith pointed in the air. “That’s what everything thinks. But I have discov
ered evidence that the very first Brewsters in Pine Grove were traitors to our America!”

  I widened my eyes. “Wow. I’ve never heard that.”

  The town lawyer, Tom Gigley, approached from nearby. “Me neither. Are you sure about that, Dolores?

  Granny Smith nodded. “I found documents. In the tunnels.”

  I leaned in. “I’m sorry. Tunnels?”

  Granny Smith shook her head. “Do you know anything about this town?”

  “Oh hush up, Dolores.” Gigley turned to me. “They’re just a bunch of crumbling passageways that run under town. People say they were used during the Revolutionary War. But nobody knows how to navigate them except Dolores here.”

  Granny Smith beamed. “That’s right. I’m the keeper of the tunnels. I’m the keeper of all the secrets in this town. That’s how I know all about the Brewsters and their disgraceful past.”

  “So you’re saying after all these years in the tunnels you happened to discover evidence of the Brewsters’ treachery?” Gigley asked.

  Granny Smith nodded. “Letters from Jedediah Brewster written to his family in England. Bragging about how he gave shelter to British troops during the war.”

  Gigley scoffed. “Sounds bogus to me.”

  “The letters are not bogus,” Granny Smith said. “Come to my historic homes tour this weekend and you can see them for yourself. Those Brewsters were a fundamental thorn in the side of the budding American nation.”

  A woman’s voice squawked from behind us. “You shut your donut hole with those lies, Granny Smith!”

  I turned around to see Beverly Brewster, pushing her way toward us. Beverly was chubby. Wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with the face of a calico cat, a pair of baggy jeans and a rumpled leather fanny pack. She was rough around the edges, to say the least, but I took an immediate liking to her.

  Granny Smith crossed her arms and scowled. “I will do whatever I please with my donut hole, Brewster! And I wasn’t telling lies. I was explaining—”

  “You weren’t explaining nothing. You’re a snitch and a liar, and you were tarnishing my family name.”

  Granny Smith laughed. “You do plenty to tarnish the Brewster name on your own. Shouldn’t you be out there somewhere tarnishing it right now, in fact? Perhaps riding an all-terrain vehicle through the forest, drunk on Budweiser Light with the rest of your clan?”

  “I only drink Bud Regular,” Beverly said. “And we only took those four-wheelers out in the forest two times. To celebrate the holidays! Now take back all the bad things you said about us. And rip up those slanderous, libelous, no-good fliers!”

  “Slander and libel are two different things,” I muttered. Thankfully, no one heard me.

  Granny Smith shrugged. “If you have nothing to hide, why not include the Brewster property on the home tour? It was built prior to 1800. It qualifies.”

  Beverly scoffed. “I’m not letting you anywhere near our place, you stinky old dingbat!”

  Granny Smith smirked. “Spoken like a true traitor.”

  Beverly laughed. “Traitor? I’m a patriot. Half my t-shirts have the American flag on them. I even have a pair of jeans with the American flag on the tush.”

  Granny Smith rolled her eyes. “Those clothes may host the image of the American flag but your entire wardrobe was made in China. American-made things cost money. And you and all your crew have fallen into disreputable destitution. A well-deserved fate for those who turn their backs on their country.”

  Beverly’s face reddened. “Those are lies, Dolores!”

  “Shut your face, Brewster scum!” A hunched, balding man approached with the assistance of a cane. He looked to be at least 190 years old. And he spoke with a raspy, tired voice. I didn’t know the man, so I leaned in toward Gigley.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered.

  “That’s Granny Smith’s ex-husband, Wendell,” Gigley said. “They had a nasty divorce a few years back, I handled the whole thing.”

  “I will not let anyone threaten my lady!” Wendell got up in Beverly’s face. “Dolores Smith is a town treasure.” Apparently.

  A relatively younger man, somewhere in his 60’s, with a thick head of jet-black hair and perfect teeth, pushed his way toward Wendell. Unlike Wendell, this man’s voice boomed and his chest puffed.

  “She’s not your lady, Wendell. She’s mine now!”

  I leaned back over to Gigley. “New husband?”

  Gigley nodded. “Ricardo. Real estate superstar. Much younger man. I handled the prenup.”

  Beverly Brewster laughed. “Look at you, Granny Smith. You think you’re so classy. You’ve got two men fighting over you like they’re on an episode of Springer.”

  Granny Smith tightened her mouth. “You take that back! My life is nothing like Jeremy Springer.”

  Beverly laughed even louder. “It’s Jerry Springer. Not Jeremy.”

  As the women argued, the men carried on an argument of their own.

  “You think you’re tough?” Wendell said. “I was fighting the Nazis while you were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.”

  Ricardo scoffed. “You were never deployed in Germany, you liar.”

  Beverly pushed her way between the men. “Will you two go away? This is between me and the crusty old bat! Doesn’t involve either of you!”

  Granny Smith spun on Beverly Brewster. “I am not a crusty old bat. I am an entertaining and educational tour leader.” Don’t forget town treasure. “You take that back.”

  “Fat chance,” Beverly said.

  Granny Smith slapped Beverly Brewster across the face.

  Beverly cackled, her tongue planted in her cheek. “You do not want to do that again.”

  Granny Smith pulled her hand back, ready to deliver another slap. “Don’t I?”

  “What is going on in my bakeshop?” Miss May approached with her hands held up in the air.

  Granny Smith and Beverly Brewster erupted simultaneously, each defending her side of the argument. Wendell and Ricardo did the same.

  Miss May held up her hand to silence the fray. “Quiet!”

  The four of them stopped yelling.

  “You four are acting like a bunch of teenagers. Go home.”

  “But—” Granny Smith protested.

  “No ‘buts,’” Miss May said. “Out of my shop.”

  Beverly looked down at her feet. “Can we at least buy some donuts first?”

  Miss May shook her head. “No donuts for any of you. You can come back tomorrow if you still want some.”

  “Not even me!?” Granny Smith said. “I’m a living legend!”

  Miss May glared at Granny Smith. Granny Smith huffed in disdain and exited, followed by the men.

  Beverly paused before she left. “How about one donut hole?”

  Miss May crossed her arms. Beverly shuffled out. None of us knew it at the time, but less than a day remained until Granny Smith would no longer be a living legend.

  Because she’d be dead.

  2

  German Invasion

  That night, Miss May and I cooked up a feast of fresh baked bread, mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and pot roast. We feasted to celebrate another successful busy season Saturday. That day we had served over 500 customers. Apple pickers, bakeshop visitors, and families who came from as far as North Carolina for their annual trips to our mecca of fruit and fir. Aside from the brief Granny Smith kerfuffle the day had gone off without a hitch. So the meal felt well-deserved.

  Although all of Miss May’s cooking was delicious, I focused most of my attention on the fresh-baked bread.

  Miss May always baked the bread ahead of time and tried to make me wait to eat it, “so it can cool down and stay fresh for longer.” But I had no patience for that kind of forward-thinking.

  Plus, I always ate the whole loaf, so who cares about lasting freshness?

  After dinner, I did the “full stomach waddle” out to the barn to visit See-Saw, our tiny horse. Or as Granny Smith called her, “that s
mall-brained beast.”

  I thought See-Saw had probably had a long day too. She’d gotten lots of petting and attention, but she’d also incurred the unwarranted wrath of an angry town treasure. So I brought my little friend apples, carrots, and sugar cubes as a special treat.

  I entered the stable to find KP, Miss May’s righthand man on the farm, already feeding See-Saw. KP was a gruff Navy vet in his sixties. He hated stop signs, officious busybodies, and library overdue fines. But he loved See-Saw, and their unlikely friendship was the cutest thing in the world.

  He looked up as I approached and I opened my hand to reveal my bounty of See-Saw snacks. “You beat me to the treat.”

  KP laughed. “Toss what you’ve got in the bucket. Little horse never gets full. She’d founder if I didn’t keep an eye on her.”

  I added my snacks into See-Saw’s bucket, and she kept on eating without looking up.

  “I heard there was quite the argument at the bakeshop today,” KP said.

  “It was crazy,” I said. “Beverly Brewster and that Granny Smith lady were about to have a fistfight. And so were Granny’s two husbands!”

  KP laughed. “All over some history from over two centuries ago. And I’m not talking about Dolores and Wendell’s divorce!”

  I laughed. “Seriously, though, how old is that guy? He’s like a modern-day Methuselah.”

  KP chuckled. “Wendell might be old but he’s got a lot of fight in him.”

  “I know,” I said. “I was so glad when Miss May came to break up the brawl. If those four fought, I’m not sure a single hip joint would have survived.”

  “Ah, those two ladies have been at it longer than the sun in the sky,” KP said. “They’re all bark and no teeth.”

  “Who do you think is right?” I asked. “Do you think the Brewster family really helped the British during the Revolution?”

  KP shrugged. “Granny Smith sure knows her town history. Rumor has it she finds all these crazy documents and artifacts down in those tunnels from the war. Gets a lot of her information there. But who cares, is what I say.”

  I sensed KP wasn’t telling me something. “So do you think Granny Smith’s onto something?”

  “Ah, heck if I know. But I like Beverly Brewster more than old Dolores. So I’m on Beverly’s side. So what if her great, great-grandparents were traitorous slime-balls?”