Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

  “About peanut butter! Beverly hates crunchy, which is insane.” Have I mentioned I’m not great at thinking on my feet?

  Another cheer erupted from inside.

  Jim looked back to the bar and then at us. “I have to get back in there. You three need to leave. Got it?”

  Miss May nodded and Jim disappeared back inside the bar.

  A few seconds passed. Miss May let out a deep sigh. “Too bad we can’t stay at this bar.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I could use another beer.”

  “Me too!” Teeny said with a hiccup.

  13

  First Grade’s First

  After leaving Murphy’s, Miss May, Teeny, and I were shaken up. Well, Miss May and I were shaken up. Teeny had a headache and a craving for fries.

  But we were in the heart of apple-picking season, so Miss May and I had to hurry back to the bakeshop before we had any time to discuss the investigation in depth.

  We dropped Teeny off at Grandma’s, then as soon as we pulled up to the orchard, Miss May informed me that I was on ‘field trip duty.’

  “We’ve got a bus full of first-graders set to arrive any minute. Show them a good time and teach them something, if you can.”

  “Are you messing with me? We just had a chilling experience with Beverly. She dumpster-shoved you. I can’t jump into field trip mode.”

  Miss May shrugged. “This is a working orchard. And we’re working sleuths. Two hats, two heads. Well, two hats per head. We each have two hats. Ugh! Listen to me babbling. I sound like you! No offense. Point is, you need to be able to compartmentalize in this job.”

  “OK. Insults aside, compartmentalization is hard. Bev got so aggressive back there. I’m all shook up! Can’t KP handle the field trip?”

  Miss May shook her head. “KP and I have a meeting.”

  “With whom?” I emphasized the ‘m’ to convey my skepticism.

  Miss May smiled. “With each other. Remember? We run an orchard?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. You and KP run the orchard. I help in the bakeshop and set up for events. These kids need to learn about agriculture and stuff. Not how to tell when you need to add a strand of market lights to make a party feel more rustic-chic.”

  Miss May laughed. “I’m sure you’ve absorbed plenty of apple information over the years. And if they want any specific facts, you can tell them about my meeting with KP. We’re addressing a big problem in the harvest this year.”

  “Problem? What problem?” A flush of worry sprang to my cheeks.

  “It’s nothing crazy. But our Macintosh production was way down this year. Not great because Macintosh apples are the most common apple used in baking. Plus we wholesale them to some big companies that will be disappointed in our harvest. Granny Smiths, ironically, grew in abundance. We have more Granny Smiths than we know what to do with and they’re our least popular apple.”

  I groaned. “Everywhere we look there’s a reminder of our investigation. Granny Smith the person wasn’t that great, may she rest in peace. But Granny Smith apples are great. They’re not popular?”

  Miss May shook her head. “People love them to snack on but we only sell in big quantities when people buy apples for cooking and baking.”

  “I could go for a Granny Smith right now. I love them sprinkled with a little bit of salt.”

  Miss May smiled. “They’re delicious with salt. The savory pulls the sour right out of the apple and turns everything to sweet. It’s like a miracle. Who taught you that trick?”

  I pointed at Miss May. “You did.”

  Miss May plucked a swollen Granny Smith from a nearby tree. She tossed me the apple. “I don’t have any salt, but this should be a good snack.” Miss May pointed at the driveway as a school bus rumbled toward us. “Eat it quick, though. Field trip duty is about to begin.”

  I took a big bite of apple as the bus screeched to a halt and children spilled out. There were about twenty kids and only one chaperone.

  I groaned. This is not going to be fun.

  Then a little girl spilled out of the bus doors and came toddling up to me. My hesitations melted away like butter in a pan. The girl had bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks and she was missing her front tooth. It was too cute. Like she’d just walked straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

  “Excuse me, miss,” the girl spoke with a heavy lisp which only made her cuter. “Is it true that if you swallow apple seeds then you get a little baby apple tree that grows in your tummy?”

  Oh my apples, what an adorable question!

  I squatted down, so I was at eye level with the little girl. “That’s not exactly true, but it’s close. Apple seeds also need water and soil and sunlight to grow. So if you swallow a seed, and a handful of dirt, then drink a cup of water, maybe you’d get an apple tree in your tummy.”

  The girl laughed. “What about the sunlight?”

  I smiled. “How could I forget? You also have to open your mouth as big as you can and let the sunshine in. Like this!”

  I looked up and opened my mouth, sticking my tongue out. The girl looked up and mimicked my behavior. After a few seconds, we dissolved into self-conscious giggles.

  “You’re silly,” she said.

  “And you’re about to have an apple tree growing in your tummy,” I said.

  The girl patted her stomach with a smile. I looked around and saw a dozen or so additional children gathered around us. Each of them was looking up, mouths open, collecting sunlight for their tummy trees.

  What pleasure children can find in the strangest moments, I thought. And how fearless they can be. No worries about the logical or practical implications of growing a full-sized apple tree out of your stomach. Just an eagerness to explore the possibilities.

  After everyone had gotten enough sunlight, I led the troops out to the orchard. There, I taught them about irrigation. I let them take apples off the trees and munch. And I told them all about the problem with our big crop of Granny Smiths.

  As it turns out, if you grow up on an apple orchard you learn a lot about apples through sheer osmosis. Also, little secret? Cute kids are a fun audience. Although I had dreaded leading the field trip, I enjoyed the role and looked forward to my next group of kids.

  Still, by the time I joined KP and Miss May in the bakeshop a few hours later, I was exhausted. I had expended every ounce of silliness in my body, and then some. And I let out a loud exhale as I plopped down at a table.

  “You look like you could use a cookie,” Miss May said. “How about one fresh from the oven?”

  She handed me a small white plate with a big, apple pie cookie in the center. I recognized the cookie as one of Miss May’s famous Appie Oaters. Golden brown, with big chunks of apples. I leaned down and took a big whiff. The cinnamon, vanilla and caramelized apples traveled into my nostrils and shot straight to my brain. My first bite of cookie warmed me to my core. Miss May approached, holding a cookie sheet with row after row of identical treats. “Here. Have another.”

  I laughed. “I’ve only had one bite of this cookie.”

  “We’re in the middle of a big investigation. At the height of busy season. You need your strength.”

  “And cookies give you strength?”

  KP piped up. “Like Popeye and spinach.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  KP burped. “I’ve already had three and I could lift a car above my head without breaking a sweat.”

  Miss May laughed. “You’re sweating just sitting there.” I could relate.

  KP touched his forehead. “So I am. Too much hard work for one day. We all done here?”

  Miss May nodded. “Thanks. I’ll type up my notes and send them to you.”

  “We’ll get the crops sorted for next season. I know it.”

  Miss May nodded. “We always do.”

  KP stood, wiped sweat from his brow, and exited the bakeshop.

  I took another bite of cookie as I watched him go. Then I tur
ned back to Miss May. “Sounds like you had a productive meeting.”

  Miss May sat across from me. “I think so. But to be honest... I couldn’t focus.”

  “Thinking about Beverly?”

  Miss May sighed. “She said something that didn’t make sense.”

  “What?”

  “She claimed she and Wendell are secret lovers, right?”

  “Yeah. Definitely strange. Wendell is the oldest person I’ve ever seen. But so what?”

  “So remember that day Beverly and Granny Smith fought in the bakeshop? Wendell was defending Dolores. Not Beverly. He called Beverly ‘Brewster scum.’”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You’re right. That’s why Ricardo got involved. Because Wendell was getting too close to Granny Smith.”

  Miss May nodded. “If Wendell and Beverly were together, why would Wendell publicly proclaim his love for Dolores like that?”

  “Maybe it was a smokescreen,” I said. “Like... He was pretending to love Granny Smith so no one would suspect he loves Beverly?”

  “Why though?” Miss May asked. “Dolores already knew about the affair. What’s the point of keeping it a secret now?”

  “Maybe they’re embarrassed by the way the relationship started? Don’t want anyone to know about their sordid origin story? I’m not sure.” I grabbed another cookie from the tray and stacked it on my plate. “What do you think it means?”

  “I have no idea,” Miss May said.

  “Do you think it means Beverly killed Granny Smith?”

  “That’s the thing,” Miss May said. “I think Beverly’s innocent. The way she was talking didn’t seem...murderous. But the Wendell lie makes no sense.”

  “Are you sure she seemed innocent? She pushed you pretty hard back there.”

  “That’s true,” Miss May said. “She got angry. But you know what? She didn’t get upset until we suggested Wendell might be the killer.”

  “Again it ties back to Wendell,” I said. “Maybe it’s a star-crossed lovers thing. Beverly loves Wendell. He doesn’t love her back. But she’s built this fictional relationship in her mind. She’s obsessed with him and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “Now you sound like North Port Diaries.”

  “You heard the way she talked about his ‘sex appeal,’” I said. “That was weird. That guy is... not attractive.”

  “She was defensive of Wendell,” Miss May said. “And honestly... he has two strong motives in this murder.”

  “Motive number one was jealousy, right? Wendell killed Granny Smith because she planned the Sonoma trip with Ricardo. Maybe that stirred up old feelings, and he forgot all about Beverly.”

  Miss May nodded. “And what’s the second motive?”

  “Revenge,” I said. “In that theory, Wendell killed Granny Smith because Granny Smith insulted Beverly. And Wendell loved Beverly, so he killed Granny Smith in Beverly’s honor.”

  “That theory only holds if Wendell and Beverly were together. And I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Neither of us are,” I said. “But those are both reasons someone might kill.”

  Miss May picked a piece of apple out of my stack of cookies and ate it, deep in thought.

  “Should we go talk to Wendell now?” I asked.

  Miss May nodded. She stood and grabbed another cookie off the cookie sheet. “We’ll bring this cookie to give us strength.”

  14

  The Sweaty One

  Wendell lived in an apartment in The Heights, an apartment complex perched on a hill outside of town. The apartments there had the look of little ski chalets. Although they were a more affordable alternative to Pine Grove’s typical houses, they offered plenty of charm.

  Plus, the community-style living provided a nice social life. Everyone who lived there seem to like the fact that they didn’t have to cut their own grass, worry about the chlorine in the pool, or string new nets in the basketball hoops.

  My Aunt Dee Dee and cousin Maggie lived in The Heights, so we stopped in to visit them before we continued to Wendell’s apartment. When we arrived, Dee Dee was doing yoga on her porch, as she often did. She looked up from a side-twist as we approached. “May. Chelsea. So good to see you!”

  Miss May smiled as she climbed the porch steps. “Good to see you too, Dee.”

  Dee Dee twisted in the opposite direction. “Care to join me? I’m about to flow through some sun salutations. Down dog, up dog, high plank, low plank.”

  Miss May winced. “If my dog went down, I’m not sure she’d ever come back up.”

  I took a hesitant step forward. “I’ll do yoga with you, Dee Dee.”

  Dee Dee smiled and folded into a down dog pose. “I love it! Come on, then. Just like me. Hands and feet hip width apart.”

  I handed Miss May my purse, took off my shoes, and got into position, hands and feet digging into the gritty porch. Yoga might have been a little out-there for Miss May, but I liked the exercise, and the stretching felt good.

  Dee Dee glanced at me. “Chelsea, your movements are so fluid. You’re a natural.”

  I beamed. “Thank you. I’ve always been flexible. I remember when I was little it was easy for me to bite my own toenails.” True, but ew.

  Dee Dee cringed. “That’s quite the image. But I can tell you’re an open being. Yoga, after all, extends our most natural state, so the strength of your practice reflects your openness. That’s all one needs for a solid practice.”

  Miss May scoffed. “We get it, Dee Dee. I’m not being open-minded. But I’m still sore from the last time you twisted me into pigeon pose.”

  I looked over at Miss May, surprised by her snippiness. I had forgotten how Miss May and Dee Dee could get tangled up in old sibling dynamics. I was an only child, so I wasn’t too familiar with sibling feuds, and it was odd to witness.

  Miss May’s gruff tone didn’t phase Dee Dee. She waved Miss May off with a smile, then turned back to me. “OK. Flow with me now. You should feel this open your chest and stretch your lower back.”

  I followed Dee Dee from down dog to up dog.

  Dee Dee gazed sideways at Miss May as we stretched “So. I must have missed the small-town bulletin this weekend. Who died?”

  “What do you mean, who died?” Miss May crossed her arms.

  Dee Dee shifted back into down dog. I tried to follow but had broken into an uncomfortable sweat. “Mabel. Sister. You only come here when you need help with an investigation. And you investigate a new murder every month. So I’ll restate my question. Who died and how can I help you?”

  “Fine. We’re here about a case,” Miss May said. “But that’s not the only reason I come here. Just last week I stopped by to bring you farm fresh eggs.”

  “Doesn’t count. I wasn’t home. And there were only eleven eggs in that dozen.”

  “So I needed one egg,” Miss May said.

  Dee Dee stretched her arms high above her head. “Are you going to tell me about the case or not?”

  Miss May sighed, then launched into the story. She told Dee Dee all about our investigation. Beverly, Wendell, and the deceased Dolores Smith. And she concluded with a question. “So I was hoping you might have some information about Wendell. He’s your next-door neighbor, after all. Have you noticed anything suspicious with him? Maybe on the night Granny Smith died?”

  Dee Dee rolled down onto her back, transitioning into what I liked to call “nap pose.” My favorite.

  “I haven’t kept a record of Wendell’s comings and goings, May. That would be psychopathic.”

  Miss May groaned. “I’m not asking for a detailed account of everywhere he’s ever been. I was just wondering—”

  “I have noticed some unusual behavior though. One thing in particular...”

  Dee Dee stood up — that was a short nap! — and wiped her face with a towel. She handed me a spare towel and I wiped the sweat from my brow.

  Miss May leaned in. “What is it? What have you noticed?”

  Dee Dee looked around to ma
ke sure no one was close enough to hear her. “Wendell has been singing.”

  Miss May looked over at me. “I’m confused. Has he sung songs about killing people? How is this relevant?”

  Dee Dee shook her head. “The singing began a few months ago. At first, I liked it. He belted out all the biggest hits of the 70’s and 80’s. He sang while I practiced my yoga. It felt communal. But then he began singing all the time. At all hours. And he replaced the classics with made up songs. Mundane descriptions of his daily life. ‘I’m using the bathroom, la la la. It’s coming out slow, la la la. I’m going to buy a new pillowcase later, la la la.’ Stuff like that.”

  “That’s not that weird,” I asked. “Is it?”

  “I think it is,” Dee Dee said.

  “I guess,” I said. “But I mean... I sing a lot. And I talk to myself.”

  “She sure does,” Miss May said with a chuckle. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not weird. Have you noticed anything else odd about him?”

  Dee Dee shrugged. “That’s it. Sorry I can’t be more help. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a brief sav asana to calm your mind?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Is that a mixed drink?”

  “It’s my favorite yoga pose,” I said. “The one we were doing a second ago. Lying down with your eyes closed.”

  “Lying down with your eyes closed is sleeping, Chels,” Mis May said. “Sorry, Dee Dee. Rain check on the shave-a-sain-ay.”

  Dee Dee smiled. “OK. And hey... Be careful.”

  Miss May returned Dee Dee’s smile. Even though their sibling dynamic could be fraught, they loved each other. And they’d both lost one sister already, my mom. So they never took one another for granted.

  “It was nice to see you two,” Dee Dee said. “Both of you. Next time, don’t wait for a death to come visit. OK? Maggie misses you too. She’s down in the city, doing something-or-other.”

  Miss May and I hugged Dee Dee goodbye, then we walked up the hill to visit Wendell in his apartment.

  As soon as we were within a few feet of Wendell’s place, I heard him singing. I stopped walking to listen.