Granny Smith Is Dead

by Chelsea Thomas

  “Teeny’s a nice lady,” said Wayne. “And this muffin looks good.”

  “Good is an understatement,” I said. “That thing is perfection. It’s got Tahitian vanilla. And big chunks of dark chocolate. And the inside is fluffy and moist like you’re not going to believe. It’s won a dozen awards.”

  “Nice.” Wayne broke a tiny piece off the muffin top and ate it.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  Wayne broke another crumb off the top of the muffin. “Eating the muffin.”

  “No,” I said. “You have to take a real bite. That thing is delicious!”

  Wayne smiled. “Sorry. I forgot I was with a baker.”

  “That’s not the baker in me talking. It’s the muffin fan. I’m telling you! You need to take a big bite.”

  Wayne slid the plate over. “You want some?”

  I answered in half-a-millisecond. “If you insist.”

  I broke a big hunk of muffin off the side. “This is how you eat a muffin.”

  I popped the bite in my mouth. Closed my eyes and chewed. I forgot Wayne was even watching me. I lost myself in that muffin.

  “That good, huh?”

  My eyes popped open and I blushed. “Oh. You’re still here. Yes. It’s that good.”

  I broke off a piece of muffin, buttered it and handed it to Wayne. “Here. Eat.”

  Wayne took the bite and nodded. “OK. Best muffin I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I could do.” I took a sip of my coffee. When I lowered my cup, I got to the point. “Hey uh... What do you think about that graffiti in the tunnels, by the way?”

  “What about it? I thought we weren’t sharing information about the case. We had a wager.”

  “Oh.” I tried to keep my tone casual. “I wasn’t thinking the graffiti had anything to do with the murder. The paint was dry. And the graffiti was just a few faces. Not like, ‘I killed Granny Smith,’ written in blood. Miss May and I looked into it for a minute, but yeah... Seemed like a coincidence.”

  Wayne sipped his coffee. “That’s true. If the graffiti and the murder are separate crimes, talking about it won’t compromise the wager.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Good. So the wager is on. And you can continue to look forward to the best date of your life.”

  I tried to stay on topic. “So the Pine Grove police department concluded the graffiti had nothing to do with Granny Smith’s murder?”

  Wayne nodded. “When we first saw the graffiti, we thought the uh, ‘artist’ was the killer for sure. I mean, Granny Smith is notorious for snitching on vandals in this town.”

  I swirled my coffee. “I thought there’s only been like, one act of vandalism in years.”

  “Well yeah, that’s true,” Wayne said. “But Granny Smith reported it. She reported stuff all the time. Vandals. People who didn’t clean up after their dogs. People who didn’t return shopping carts to carousels. We called her ‘Granny Snitch’ down at the station. May she rest in peace.”

  “So you assumed the vandal might have killed Granny Smith,” I said. “Because snitches get stitches. Right?”

  “The Pine Grove Police Department does not endorse that expression. But yes. That was the theory. And we looked into it. But it was a dead end. Pardon the pun. Terrible choice of words.”

  “Who did you apprehend for that vandalism, anyway? The one Granny Smith reported way back in the day.”

  Wayne shook his head. “I can’t say. Closed file.”

  I tried a light-hearted smile and a flirty laugh. “Come on. You can tell me.”

  “I really can’t,” Wayne said. “Why do you want to know, anyway? I told you it’s not connected to this case.”

  I shrugged. “I studied art history in college. I’m a curious citizen.”

  “Well I can’t help you. Sorry.”

  My face reddened. “Wayne. Come on. We’re friends. I’m just wondering. There’s a graffiti artist in our midst with a secret identity and I’m dying to know. Ugh. Poor choice of words, you get it.”

  Wayne offered a kind smile. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you. But not today.”

  I sighed. “Wayne!”

  Wayne reached out and put his hand on mine. “I wish I could tell you. I’m sorry I can’t.

  I looked up. Big mistake. Wayne stared into my eyes. His gaze paralyzed me from the nose up.

  Wayne smiled. “Your hands are soft.”

  My face reddened more. That time from embarrassment and...interest. “Yours aren’t.”

  “Lifting weights gives me calluses.”

  “And muscles,” I said.

  Wayne smirked. “I guess.”

  A voice rang out from above us. “Greetings.”

  I looked up. Germany Turtle loitered next to the booth. He was wearing plaid pants and a puffy-sleeved top. Poor guy needed jeans and a t-shirt.

  I withdrew my hand from Wayne’s and stammered. “Germany. Hi.”

  “Don’t mind my intrusion,” Germany said. “I notice you’re enjoying the company of Detective Hudson. I won’t stay long. But when I saw you from across the room I knew I must approach before my nerve betrayed me.”

  Wayne leaned forward and looked up at Germany. “Listen, Mr. Turtle. We’re trying to enjoy this muffin. Why don’t you say what you need to say and head on out.”

  Germany clasped his hands together. “Detective. Thank you for everything you do. I support all police people and army folk. However, respectfully, eat a sock.”

  Wayne scoffed. “OK. Not going to do that.”

  “Chelsea,” Germany continued. “The sun rose today. And it was as beautiful as it was yesterday. Such is the natural way. Your beauty, however, defies nature. It grows with each passing day.”

  Wayne sighed, like, “Get to the point already.”

  “My apologies. I get more poetic when I’m nervous. Sometimes I just recite Keats if I’m really on edge,” Germany said. “Chelsea. I’ve approached you this afternoon because I would like to confirm our date for this upcoming Sunday at the French eatery whose name loosely translates to The Little Broken Stick.”

  I stammered. Looked at Wayne. He crossed his arms. Then I looked back at Teeny and Miss May. Their hands were covering their mouths.

  “Um... Uh... I...”

  Germany spoke before I managed a full sentence. “Your stammering silence speaks a thousand words in a thousand languages. I understand. Good day.”

  Germany hurried out of the restaurant. I stood and called after him. “Germany!”

  “Let him go,” Wayne said.

  I ignored Wayne and followed Germany outside. But by the time I got through the door, he had already mounted his bike and pedaled away.

  “Germany, wait!”

  He disappeared down the sidewalk. I groaned. Germany was so sweet.

  And I had messed things up with him twice in one week.

  24

  Picking the Perp

  When I turned back to the restaurant, Wayne emerged holding a bag of food. I took a step toward him but he held up a hand to stop my advance.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “But—”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is a classic love triangle. That’s all.” He smirked. “I’ll see you after I win that wager.”

  Wayne climbed into his car and drove away.

  As soon as Wayne disappeared, Teeny and Miss May stepped into the parking lot, jaws dropped.

  “That was amazing,” Teeny said. “I thought Wayne and Germany might fight. Wayne would have won but I wouldn’t underestimate Germany. That guy keeps surprising me.”

  “Agreed,” Miss May said. “A British Olympian may have trained him in fencing. Something like that.”

  “If only there were swords on hand they could have dueled,” Teeny said. “I am so jealous, Chelsea! There was almost a duel over you.”

  “They can fight over me all they want,” I said. “But I choose my own love life. I’m not a prize
.”

  Teeny nodded. “Great. Nice message of empowerment. But which guy do you like more?”

  “You’ve got to go with Germany,” Miss May said. “He is so sweet.”

  Teeny waved Miss May away. “Who cares about Germany? Wayne is a real man. He could fix the car. He could fix the faucet. He could massage you with one hand.”

  “Will you two stop?” I crossed my arms. “I was on a mission, remember? Do you want to know who the accomplice was or not?”

  Teeny smacked her head. “Oh yeah. Who was it?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. I just wanted to change the subject.”

  “Wayne didn’t tell you anything?” Teeny asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Ridiculous,” Teeny said. ““Now I’m team Germany.”

  I laughed. “That was a fast change of heart.”

  “Why do you think I’ve been married so many times?” Teeny asked.

  “Hold on a second,” Miss May said. “Wayne didn’t tell you anything about the second graffiti artist?”

  “He gave me one piece of information that may be helpful,” I said.

  Miss May raised her eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “That first act of vandalism from a few months ago...” I paused for effect. “Was reported by Granny Smith.”

  Teeny turned around and walked in a circle. “That’s it! That’s our killer right there. Dolores busted the vandal. So the vandal got revenge. And squeezed in a little art time in the tunnels to boot!”

  “Wayne said there’s no connection between the vandalism and the murder,” I said.

  “And you believe him?” Teeny scoffed.

  I shrugged. “He’s a pretty straightforward guy.”

  “His eyes mesmerized you,” Miss May said. “We’ll give you a pass.”

  “Isn’t it possible Wayne was being honest?” I asked. “Maybe the police looked into the second vandal and didn’t find a connection to Granny Smith’s murder.”

  “Maybe,” Miss May said. “But the Pine Grove Police Department is incompetent. And we’re not.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “We still need to determine the identity of that second vandal,” Miss May said.

  I sighed. “Yeah. But how?”

  “I say we break into the police department. Access their files. Find out that way,” Teeny said.

  “It’s a small department,” Miss May said. “Not sure we’d be able to pull off a secret heist.”

  I bit my nails. “I hate to say this, but... what if we talk to Buster?”

  “That’s a decent idea,” said Miss May. “Buster knows the identity of the second artist. Maybe if we ask in the right way, he’ll tell us.”

  “Even if he won’t,” I said. “Buster is still a suspect in this case. And we never got to question him back at Wendell’s.”

  Miss May nodded. “Great point.”

  Teeny groaned. “I hate that kid. Can’t we FaceTime him?”

  “He works at Ewing’s Eats,” Miss May said.

  Teeny perked up. “Can we order sprinkle milkshakes?”

  Miss May nodded.

  Teeny smiled. “Let’s get this perp!”

  25

  Milkshake Shakedown

  Ewing’s Eats was a little white hut with counter stools and a drive-thru. A faded yellow and blue umbrella stood out front. And a few picnic tables dotted the gravel parking lot out back.

  For thirty years, Ewing’s had been a low-key, local treasure. Then the Food Channel featured Ewing’s on Diner Time and all that had changed.

  After the episode aired, city people flooded Ewing’s every weekend for an old-fashioned burger and fries. But true locals knew that Ewing’s real specialty was milkshakes, and Miss May and I never went without getting an extra-large shake to share.

  As we walked toward the hut, I could see Buster flipping burgers inside. From the looks of it, Buster was the only employee at work that day. He had headphones on so he didn’t notice as we walked up. He kept flipping burgers for a minute or two after we had arrived.

  A little silver bell sat on the counter with a sign that read, “RING FOR SERVICE.”

  Miss May rang the bell.

  Ding!

  Buster did not turn around.

  She rang the bell again.

  Ding!

  Once more, Buster did not react to the ding.

  Finally, Teeny cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Buster.”

  Buster jumped back and shrieked. When he turned and saw us he scowled. “You three. What do you want? Let me guess. You’ve tired of pestering my poor old dad, so you’re moving on to me.”

  Miss May pulled a big cookie from her purse and slid it across the counter. “We want to offer our long-overdue condolences. For your mom. And your father’s condition. That must be hard for you to deal with. I wanted to apologize again. We should have never questioned your dad that way.”

  Buster took the cookie with narrowed eyes. “OK. Now you’re like this gracious lady who is all wonderful? I’ll never forget how flippant you were when you found my video games. You wanted to make me look like a fool and you did.”

  Miss May maintained her poise. “I wasn’t trying to make you look foolish, Buster. But I understand how you feel. And I’m sorry.”

  “OK, great. I hope your conscience feels lighter now. But I’m at work so I can’t do small talk. I can only talk while you’re placing an order.”

  Teeny shrugged. “Works for me. One sprinkle milkshake please, extra-large. Extra sprinkles.”

  “You know sprinkles are pure sugar, right?” Buster said with a sneer.

  Teeny nodded. “Yup. That’s why I ordered extra.”

  Buster tossed a few heaping scoops of ice cream into a blender along with a quick pour of local milk and two spoonfuls of jumbo sprinkles.

  “So Buster... Have you been doing OK?” Miss May asked. “It can be hard to move home.”

  “I know that better than anyone,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about my marriage.”

  “Everyone has heard about your non-marriage,” Buster said. “But like I said... No talky without ordering.”

  “OK,” Miss May said. “I’ll take a milkshake too, please. Chocolate with mint cookie crumbles, if you have them.”

  Buster tossed the ingredients for Miss May’s milkshake into a second blender. “There’s no point in buttering me up if you’re going to accuse me of killing my mother again.”

  “We don’t think you killed your mother,” I said. “But... we think you might know who did.”

  “I can’t hear you if you’re not ordering,” Buster said.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “I’ll have the chocolate-vanilla swirl with cookies and cream.”

  Buster turned back and wiped his hand on his apron. “So you three think I know who killed my mom?”

  Miss May and I exchanged a look. Kind of. Yeah.

  “That’s a dark theory,” Buster said. “It disturbs me that you think I would refrain from sharing such information with the police. It also disturbs me that you accused my dad.”

  Miss May pulled out her wallet to pay. “You’re a lot like your mother, you know. And your father. Very direct.”

  Teeny pointed a finger in the air. “You have beautiful eyes, too. Just like Wendell.”

  Buster scoffed. “Now I know you’re lying. My dad’s eyes are a murky cloud of gross. Nine bucks. Cash only.”

  “Hold up,” Teeny said. “I’m not done ordering.”

  Buster gagged. “How many milkshakes can you drink?”

  “Two,” Teeny said. “I’d like the same thing I just ordered. But this time I’ll take chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla.”

  Buster rolled his eyes. “You’re going have to wait. We only have three milkshake machines. Stupid Mr. Ewing is so cheap. He’s not clean either. I don’t want you three to think this place is clean.”

  Miss May and I exchanged a confused look. Buster was full of sur
prises.

  Buster crossed his arms. “Now it’s twelve dollars. Are you done ordering?”

  Miss May nodded. “I think we are. Chelsea? Do you want anything else?”

  “I’ll have some sips of Teeny’s second milkshake. There’s no way she’ll finish those.”

  “You know me well, Chelsea. My eyes are bigger than my stomach.” Teeny pointed to her Teeny-sized stomach.

  Miss May counted out twelve rumpled dollars and handed them to Buster. “OK. Twelve dollars.”

  Buster added the money to the cash register.

  Miss May peeled a twenty out of her wallet. “Oh. Almost forgot the tip.”

  She placed the twenty-dollar bill on the counter and winked at Buster. I’d never seen my aunt wink before. It was an odd expression. Awkward and twitchy. She was not a good winker.

  Buster took the twenty and held it up to the light.

  “It’s real, Buster,” Miss May said. “Do they even make fake twenties?”

  Buster pocketed the money. “They fake every kind of currency. I learned that watching YouTube. Now why are you bribing me?”

  “That wasn’t a bribe, Buster,” Miss May said. “It was a token of appreciation. I wanted to let you know that I’m on your side. Because I’m about to ask a few questions that may upset you.”

  The milkshake machines growled behind Buster. He flipped them off then turned back to Miss May. “OK. What?”

  “To start, you should know that we’re aware of your graffiti activities in the tunnels.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Buster said. “I don’t do graffiti. I’m not a street rat from the bad side of town.”

  “We saw you go down in the tunnels yesterday,” I said. “You do the smiley faces, right?”

  Buster looked away. No smiley faces there. “That wasn’t me.”

  “It’s OK,” Miss May said. “We’re not interested in you. We’re interested in your partner. We saw someone go down there with you and we want to know who it was.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Buster’s tone was cold and detached. “I have never done graffiti. That’s disgusting. Now can you please leave?”