Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

  I half-listened as they chatted at a bakeshop table. Neither Miss May nor KP had any ideas how they could make money off all their extra Granny Smith apples. It would be a shame to let all that abundance go to waste, but Granny Smiths weren’t hot ticket apples on the farm.

  “Can we make Granny Smith apple sauce?” KP asked.

  Miss May shook her head. “Yuck.”

  KP twirled his mustache. “How about Granny Smith pies?”

  Miss May shook her head. “Too tart. Unless we mix it with another variety, and then we’re cutting into our more profitable crops just to offload the Granny Smiths.”

  “Those little green boogers will kill our margins!” KP took a big bite of Granny Smith apple as he spoke. “I have a real love-hate relationship with these suckers.”

  I looked up from my dough. “Could we maybe freeze some of the apples for next year?”

  KP looked at me with disgust. “Chelsea, have I taught you nothing about farming? This is an apple farm! How in the world do you expect us to sell frozen apples? My blood pressure is rising. I feel like Mount Vesuvius, about to explode on the villagers.”

  “Calm down, KP,” Miss May said. “Chelsea is trying to help.”

  KP placed his palms down on the table. “OK. I’m calm. Calm as a pickled pig in pinstriped pajamas.”

  I laughed. KP smirked at me. “You like that one?”

  “I do,” I said. “That was one of your best.”

  Suddenly, Miss May’s phone rang. She looked at me. “It’s Dee Dee.”

  I nodded, and Miss May answered the call and placed it on speaker.

  Dee Dee got right into the details.

  Buster had returned to Wendell’s apartment. He and Wendell argued right away. And it sounded bad.

  “Thanks, Dee. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” Dee Dee said.

  Miss May ended the call and got to her feet. “All right KP, meeting adjourned. Chelsea, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going back to Beacon Hill,” Miss May said. “While the coast is clear.”

  I groaned. “Seriously? We have to go back to that creepy house?”

  “I thought you knew that,” Miss May said. “Why else would I want to know the second Buster got back to Wendell’s apartment?”

  I shrugged. “I assumed you wanted to go to the apartment to talk to Buster. Above ground.”

  Miss May shook her head. “We need to find out what’s going on in those tunnels. And we need to find out now.”

  ——

  The manhole cover was easy to spot in the yard as we approached. Figured, Buster didn’t cover it up when he left. There might as well have been a sign that said “ENTER SECRET TUNNEL HERE.”

  I groaned as I lifted the big iron disk and dropped it off to the side.

  “Wow, Chelsea,” Miss May said. “I would have helped. Are you on the Germany Turtle diet? You’re developing meaty beef muscles.”

  “Can we not tease me about my muscles right now?” I asked. “And please. Never describe me as ‘meaty’ or ‘beefy’ again.”

  “I’m not teasing. I’m serious. There is no point in my life when I could have lifted that manhole cover,” Miss May said. “I’m a big lady but it’s zero percent muscle.”

  I laughed. “Really? Even after getting all that cookie protein into your system?”

  Miss May smiled, shaking her head. Then she stepped toward the hole and peered down. I joined her. Yep, that was a hole all right. A dark hole with a small iron ladder leading into the depths.

  I glanced at Miss May. “How deep do you think it goes?”

  Miss May picked up a pebble and dropped it. We waited a few seconds to hear a soft plunk from below.

  Miss May shrugged. “However deep that is, I guess.”

  I peered back down into the hole. “Are we sure we should do this without the police?”

  Miss May nodded. “As far as we know, this is just a hole in the ground. We already know Buster isn’t down there. And the manhole cover was back in place, so I doubt his accomplice is down there either. We should be safe.”“

  “OK,” I said. “I guess the cops aren’t often helpful anyway. It just...seems dangerous.”

  Miss May shrugged. “No more dangerous than any mysterious tunnel where an old lady was stabbed.”

  “Now is not a time for jokes,” I said.

  “Not joking,” Miss May said. “That’s a real assessment of the danger. Do you want to go first or should I?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll go first. In case someone is down there that needs to be karate chopped.”

  Miss May chuckled. “Good answer. Because I’m going to need someone to help me down once I get to the bottom.”

  I tried to smile but my grin came out as a grimace. Looking down into the dark tunnel made me feel queasy. Like I could vomit at any second.

  Miss May put her hand on my shoulder. “It will be OK, Chelsea. One step at a time.”

  I took a deep breath and climbed into the hole.

  I descended the ladder one slow, careful step at a time. At first, it wasn’t scary. Most of my body was still above ground and I could feel the sun shining down on my scalp.

  But after three or four rungs, darkness surrounded me. I felt the intense cold of the iron ladder on my hands. I heard water dripping all around me. A mildew smell flooded my nose.

  I took a step down. My foot slipped and I shrieked.

  “Are you OK?” Miss May called down from above.

  I clung to the ladder like I was on hanging on to the edge of a cliff. “I’m all right.” My voice trembled. I got both my feet back onto the ladder. “The ladder’s a little slimy. Be careful.”

  “OK. Are you almost to the bottom?”

  I looked down. All I saw was darkness. “I have no idea.”

  I took a deep breath. Then another step down. The depth intensified the dripping sound. Each drop landed with a sinister echo. I felt a chill shimmy through my body.

  “Maybe I should come back up,” I called out.

  “Not an option, Chelsea. I’m already three rungs down. And gravity is doing its job.”

  I swallowed. “Guess I’ll keep going then.”

  My foot crunched. I lowered the other foot. Solid ground.

  I laughed. “Oh my goodness. I’m at the bottom.” I rubbed my eyes and tried to adjust my vision. “But I can’t see anything.”

  “Use the light on your phone.”

  I turned my phone flashlight on and pointed up the ladder. Miss May was just two or three rungs from the bottom.

  I reached out to help her down. “You’re almost there. Take my hand.”

  Miss May got to the bottom rung, took my hand, and stepped down. “Wow. Chelsea. Why are your hands all wet?”

  “The ladder was slimy.”

  “Not that slimy. You got your nervous clam-hands.” So what if I did?

  I swung the beam of my phone light around to illuminate the rest of the tunnel.

  And I could not believe what I saw.

  22

  Grimness at Grandma’s

  Our story shocked Teeny so bad she had to grip the sides of our booth to keep from falling to the floor. “That’s ridiculous! That’s crazy! Just back up. Tell me step-by-step. I want to know exactly what happened.”

  “Well, we were both a little on edge by the time we got to the bottom of the ladder,” I said. “The last time we had been in those tunnels...”

  “Dead Granny Smith.” Teeny nodded. “So then what happened?”

  “All right. So I flipped my phone light on. And we got our bearings.”

  “Behind us was a brick wall,” Miss May said. “No secret doors or anything. It must’ve been the end of a route. We tapped on it, we knocked, but it wasn’t hollow.”

  Teeny nodded. “It was just a brick wall. I get it. So then?”

  “Right,” I said. “So we turned the other direction. Water dripped. Rats scurried across our feet
.”

  “Oh, there were no rats,” Miss May said.

  “I’m making a point! It was skeevy.”

  Teeny shivered.

  “Yeah.” I continued. “That’s when we saw the graffiti. It covered the walls. As far as we could see.”

  Teeny gasped. “Then what?”

  “OK. Happy faces were plastered on the left wall. Like what we saw before when we, uh... stumbled into Granny Smith. That weird, childish art. All these circles with X’s for eyes and smirking mouths with the tongue sticking out. One after another, after another, after another. The creepy faces stretched as far as we could see.”

  “They disappeared into the darkness,” Miss May said.

  Teeny shook her head. “Did you think it was satanic? Or the mark of a Russian spy?”

  “The sight of it dried my mouth right out, despite the high humidity factor down in those tunnels,” Miss May said. “It was chilling.”

  I turned to Miss May. “Really? When you see something like that your mouth gets dry?”

  Miss May nodded.

  “That’s weird. My palms got even more sweaty.”

  “But you didn’t leave when you saw that,” Teeny said. “You kept going? You found more?”

  “Yeah. I was like, ‘Miss May look at these happy faces.’ So crazy.”

  Miss May leaned forward. “And then I said, ‘Chelsea. Turn around. The other wall.’”

  “So I swung the light around.”

  Teeny was rapt “And someone had also covered that wall in graffiti?”

  I nodded. “Someone had painted faces on that wall too. But they were nothing like the juvenile smiley faces. The opposite wall was an artistic masterpiece. Intricate faces with swirling designs. They were beautiful but they looked like demons.”

  “Or bad omens or something,” Miss May said.

  “But we couldn’t look away because they were so mesmerizing,” I said.

  “And those were just like the ones you found near Granny Smith’s body too, right?” Teeny asked. “The African masks that talk to dead people?”

  Miss May nodded.

  “I remember when I lived in Jersey City I saw a lot of street art that used a similar style,” I said. “Graffiti inspired by Native American or African tribal art. It’s a shame. Whoever is creating that work in Pine Grove is wasting their talent in a tunnel.”

  “Well the stupid ugly faces were painted by Buster, right?” Teeny asked. “I mean, he doesn’t strike me as an idiot savant of demon art.”

  Miss May nodded. “That’s our assumption, yes.”

  Teeny took a big sip from her coffee without looking away from us. “So what now? What does all this mean?”

  Miss May shrugged. “I think we can assume that Buster and his accomplice painted the graffiti.”

  “But does this new graffiti discovery mean Buster and Van Gogh definitely killed Dolores?” Teeny asked.

  Miss May shrugged. “It doesn’t make them look more innocent. I mean, very few people knew how to get around those tunnels other than Granny Smith. But Buster clearly understands them well.”

  I nodded. “That’s true. It seems like Buster knows how to navigate the tunnels and how to access them. But the graffiti we found near Granny Smith’s body was dry.”

  “I don’t think that matters much,” Miss May said. “The graffiti near Granny Smith’s body is only significant because it connects Buster to the location. I was never thinking Buster stopped to paint graffiti on his way to kill his own mother. “

  “It connects his accomplice, too,” Teeny said.

  I shook my arms out. “This is so creepy. Maybe Buster was still down in the tunnels that day we found Granny Smith. Maybe he was hiding around some corner we didn’t know about or up in the attic. Do tunnels have attics?”

  “The attic of a tunnel is just a regular house,” Teeny said. “So what comes next?”

  “I think we need to talk to the accomplice,” Miss May said.

  “But how do we find out the identity of that accomplice?” I asked.

  Teeny smirked. “I have an idea.”

  Miss May cocked her head. “You do?”

  Teeny nodded. “Yeah. Remember Liz reported an ‘act of vandalism’ in the police blotters a few months ago? Everyone was talking about it. No one knew what the vandalism was. And no one knew who did it. But I bet it was graffiti painted by Buster and his little friend.”

  “I don’t think I remember that,” Miss May said.

  “You might have been working on another case,” Teeny said. “In fact, I think you were. And I remember mentioning it to you in this very booth. I could tell you weren’t paying attention.”

  “OK,” I said. “So it sounds like this vandal has been caught before. How does that help us?”

  “We can probably talk to Liz. Find out more information on the previous crime. Get a look at photos of the prior vandalism,” Miss May said. “We can search for similarities in the work. Perhaps there’s something there that can help us understand what’s happening here. A message or a code.”

  “You could do that.” Teeny nodded. “Or you can have a chat with the arresting officer...”

  I hung my head. “Who was the arresting officer?”

  Teeny grinned.

  I shook my head. “No way. Not going to do it. I am not in a place to ask Wayne for a favor.”

  “But Chelsea!” Teeny said. “A murderer is at large. And this could crack the case wide open. Don’t you owe it to the people of Pine Grove to at least try?”

  I groaned. “Fine. We’ll go to the police station later.”

  “No need,” Teeny said. “Wayne called in an order for pickup twenty minutes ago.”

  I groaned even louder. “So he’s coming here?”

  Teeny smirked. “Should be here any minute.”

  23

  Muffin to See Here

  The door chimed as Wayne entered the restaurant. He placed his hands on his hips like an old west cowboy. He looked the part, too. Denim jacket. Black jeans. I swear I saw a tumbleweed skitter across his feet.

  I tried to focus on my food to avoid staring. But Teeny jumped up and greeted Wayne with a big smile.

  “Wayne! Welcome.”

  Wayne tipped his chiseled chin in a polite hello. “Hi, Teeny. I called in an order earlier?”

  “Yup. You got a short stack of pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.”

  Wayne nodded. “That’s right. Sounds delicious.”

  “I burned it all to a crisp. It was bad. Almost burned all these people alive. Give me five, ten minutes. I’ll bring a fresh order out for you.”

  “OK. I’ve got a couple errands to run. I’ll be back in—”

  Teeny grabbed Wayne’s arm. “No! I can’t let you leave.”

  Wayne looked around, uncomfortable. “Why not?”

  “That would be terrible hospitality. No. You sit right at that front table. I’ll bring you a big cup of coffee and a muffin, my treat.”

  “That’s very nice. But I do need to run to the bank, if—”

  “Wayne. Don’t make me force you to sit down.” Teeny dragged Wayne to the front table and pushed him into a chair. Then she turned and winked at me and hurried back to the kitchen.

  Miss May cleared her throat. “OK. Now’s your chance. Find out who that accomplice was. Break this case in two.”

  I groaned. Then I stood and crossed to Wayne’s table. He spotted me but looked away to avoid eye contact. Our last interaction at the barn had been tense, so I didn’t blame him. But a few steps later, there I was, standing beside his table. No way Wayne could avoid me then.

  “Uh hi Wayne,” I said.

  Wayne looked up and acted surprised to see me. “Chelsea! Hi. I didn’t see you in here. Did you just arrive?”

  I chuckled. “It’s OK, Wayne. I know you saw me. Now you’re being weird. I’m here to set things right between us.”

  Wayne stirred cream into his coffee. “Were things not right between us?”
<
br />   “Last time we spoke I told you to scoop my horse’s manure for me.”

  Wayne held in a laugh. I couldn’t manage the same restraint. I burst out with a big guffaw.

  He smiled. “It was a small horse. Not that much manure.”

  “Oh my gosh, did you actually shovel See-Saw’s poop?”

  “Not really.” Wayne laughed. “I would have! But there was nothing to shovel. I guess the horse had used the facilities earlier in the evening.”

  I laughed. “Maybe we should stop talking about horse poop for a minute.”

  “Agreed.” He gestured at the empty seat across from him. “Do you want to join me?”

  “Sure.” I sat. As I watched Wayne prepare his coffee, I remembered my mission. I needed Wayne to tell me the identity of Buster’s graffiti accomplice. In order to get that information, I would need to be gentle. Like a conversational bomb defuser. So I continued to break Wayne down with my patented Chelsea charm. Weird, for sure. But it worked. Sometimes.

  “I like this look.” I gestured to Wayne’s outfit. “You’re like John Wayne if he grew up in the Bronx.”

  Wayne turned down the sides of his mouth in appreciation. “I love John Wayne. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “I’ve never seen one of his movies. But I know he’s a famous guy who made a lot of Westerns.”

  “That is perhaps the least flattering description of John Wayne I’ve ever heard. But accurate. Although he wasn’t my inspiration for this outfit.”

  I smirked. “Who was?”

  “No one. This was all I had clean.”

  I laughed. “Hey uh... I’m sorry about the manure thing.”

  Wayne held up a hand to stop me. “Didn’t we vow to never speak of that again?”

  I nodded. “Right, sorry.”

  A few seconds of awkward silence later, Teeny brought me a cup of coffee and set it down with a smile. “Chelsea. Thought you might like a hot cup. Two parts cream. Two parts sugar. One part coffee. Just how you like.”

  Teeny set an enormous chocolate chip muffin in front of Wayne. “Wayne. Here’s that muffin I promised.”

  Wayne gave Teeny a polite nod. “Thanks.”

  “No prob, Detective. Enjoy!” Teeny hurried away with a giant smile. She was such a gossip. I could tell she had loved being so close to my “steamy romance” with Wayne.