Teeny stepped forward. “We’re on your side, kid. Talk to us. Help us find the truth for your mom.”
“Whatever.” Buster turned away and poured the milkshakes into cups. I heard a sniffle. Was he crying?
“You can talk to us, Buster,” Miss May leaned on the counter. “We want to help.”
“You think you can help me?” Buster turned back with a scowl. His eyes had hardened. “I don’t want your help. I want you to get out of my face. You three aren’t sleuths. You’re nothing more than three old ladies, addicted to gossip.”
Miss May gasped. “Wow. OK. Chelsea is not that old.”
Buster scoffed. “She might as well be.”
I stammered. But before I had a chance to respond, an old SUV rumbled into the parking lot.
James Ewing, owner of Ewing’s Eats, stepped out. James was a big African-American guy with a limp. And as soon as Buster saw him, Buster snapped straight into “customer service mode.”
“Hope you enjoy those milkshakes! Anything else I can get you ladies?”
Miss May leaned in and whispered. “The truth. Please.”
Buster gave Miss May a big, fake smile. “Thanks for coming! Bye.”
26
Backroad Bumps
Miss May clutched the wheel tight as she drove back toward town. We went over a pothole and my head nearly hit the ceiling.
“Slow down.” I tugged on my seatbelt to make sure I had fastened it. “I don’t want to fly out the window.”
Teeny stuck her head up front from the backseat. “I agree.”
“Get back there, Teeny. Put your seatbelt on.”
Teeny leaned back. “It is on. It’s just stretchy.”
Miss May took her foot off the gas. “Sorry. I’m still reeling from that conversation with Buster. That kid is a real brat.”
“Agreed,” Teeny said. “He’s the worst. A brat-worst.”
“Great pun, Teeny,” I said. “He is a brat-worst. But also, Buster is a liar. He acted like he had no idea about that graffiti. But we saw him go down in the tunnel.”
Miss May turned down a side road. “We didn’t see him in the act of painting the graffiti though.”
I turned to Miss May. “Are you saying you think he’s telling the truth?”
Miss May shook her head. “No. Playing devil’s advocate.”
“I love that game.” Teeny leaned forward once more. “I had a few devil’s advocate thoughts of my own.”
I turned back and made eye contact with Teeny. “Like what?”
“Maybe Buster was going down into the tunnels to clean the graffiti up? He saw the vandalism when his mom died and he wanted to honor her memory by effacing the damage.”
I shook my head. “He was all the way over in another part of the tunnel yesterday. Nowhere near where we found Granny Smith.”
“Don’t blame the devil’s advocate,” Teeny said. “I’m just advocating for the devil.”
Miss May weaved the car around the corner, and then another. She was darting around the curves like a racecar driver hugging the inside track.
She shot a glance at Teeny in the rearview mirror. “Any other theories?”
“Plenty,” Teeny said. “What if he was going down into the tunnel to commune with his dead mom’s spirit?”
Miss May shook her head. “Buster doesn’t strike me as the communing type.”
“OK,” Teeny said. “What if there’s a secret society called the ‘Blood and Bone’s Society’ and Buster is their representative in Pine Grove?”
“That from North Port Diaries?” I asked.
Teeny shook her head. “No!”
“Then what’s it from?” Miss May asked.
“A new show I’m watching,” Teeny said. “Called Blood and Bones.”
Miss May laughed. “OK. Well, no offense. But I don’t believe any of those theories. Often, the simplest explanation is also the truest.”
“So you think Buster has an evil twin who does the graffiti, and actually Buster is completely innocent?” Teeny asked.
“No,” Miss May said. “I think Chelsea’s right. Buster was lying.”
“So you agree with me?” I said, frustrated by all the advocating for the devil I’d had to endure. “Of course he’s a liar! Did you see how quickly he took that bribe? For twenty bucks, no less. That’s not the mark of an honest man.”
“Why do you think I gave him that twenty?” Miss May asked with a smirk.
My jaw dropped. “Is that why you bribed him? As a character test?”
Miss May shrugged. “It worked.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“We don’t have enough evidence to call the cops,” Teeny said. “Maybe we should stake Buster out. Catch him in the act of graffiti. That way the little brat-worst can’t deny it.”
“We don’t want to follow him into the tunnels,” I said.
“Why not?” Teeny asked.
“No one can hear you scream.” Miss May and I spoke the words simultaneously.
Teeny shook her head like there were loose marbles in it. “You two are becoming the creepy sisters.”
“That’s sweet,” Miss May said. “You think I look young enough to be Chelsea’s sister?”
“I think you’re two creeps in a pod,” Teeny said. “But I guess we’ve got no choice but to look for more clues.”
I nodded. Miss May rattled around another curve. “Are we going back to Wendell’s to hunt for clues?”
Miss May shook her head. “No. Buster just moved in there. I get the impression he packed light. Just some video games and a few suitcases worth of resentment.”
Miss May guided the van over the little bridge that passed through a creek. I had a strong knowledge of Pine Grove’s backroads, but I didn’t recognize where we were.
“Then where are we going?” I asked.
Miss May smirked. “You’ll see in two minutes. We’re almost there.”
——-
Miss May turned down one wooded side street, then another. Then she parked the big yellow VW behind a large bush and hopped out. “We’re here.”
I exchange a confused look with Teeny as we climbed out behind Miss May. “What do you mean we’re here? We’re nowhere.”
Miss May grinned and walked down the road. “Follow me.”
Two minutes later, Granny Smith’s house appeared in the distance. Teeny nodded. “Oh. Now I know where we are. I did not know you could get back here using those roads.”
Miss May turned back. “I wanted to remain inconspicuous. Hard to do in the VW unless you take the back-backroads.”
As we got closer, I stopped to admire the home. Granny Smith’s place always looked nice. But that day it looked particularly stately. Surrounded by fall foliage, the stark lines and Georgian symmetry of the home seemed ancient, almost divine. Half of me expected George Washington to step out the front door, followed by his infantrymen, at any second.
Miss May called to me from the foot of the driveway. “No cars in the driveway. Perfect!”
I quickened my pace to catch up with Miss May. “What do you mean? Are we here to talk to Ricardo? Or are we waiting for Buster? I don’t understand.”
“Me neither,” Teeny said, stopping to catch her breath. “Why are we walking so fast?”
“We’re not here to talk to Ricardo,” Miss May said.
“Then why are we here?” I asked.
Miss May smirked. Then she walked around the house, whistling like a cat burglar up to no good.
27
Riddle Me This
A few seconds later, we were all around back, staring up at Granny Smith’s home. Like the front yard, the back was immaculately landscaped, and the stark white paint of the house contrasted with the autumn foliage. Pots of geraniums and lilies had begun to hibernate, and leaves were raked into neat piles around the lawn.
I noticed for the first time all day how pleasant the weather was. It was sixty degrees. Clouds dotted the bright blue sky
like a celestial hand had squeezed them from a pastry gun. The cool breeze and warm sun were locked in a perfect balancing act.
Better yet? The sounds of the day were even more striking than the sky. Leaves rustled. Birds sang. Somewhere, running water snaked through the trees, making its way from the mountains toward the inevitable ocean.
Before moving back to Pine Grove, I’d lived in New York City, and then Jersey City just across the Hudson. Both those areas inspired their own kind of wonder, but something about being in the country in autumn, hearing the changing seasons carried on the wind, made me feel alive.
That sounds cheesy, I know. But it was true. Not like, I felt “alive” in a hustle-and-bustle kind of way. I felt connected to the earth, the death and rebirth of nature, and everything around me.
Sometimes deep thoughts got a stranglehold on me in the middle of tense situations. Like right at that moment. Were we investigating a murder? Oops.
“Chelsea. Back to reality. Over here.” Miss May clapped in my direction.
I shook out my head to clear the daydream cobwebs and refocus my attention. “Sorry. What are we doing?”
“Making a break-in plan,” Teeny said.
“Normally we try the doors and windows first,” I said.
Miss May sighed. “Already did that, Chelsea. You were too busy taking deep breaths of autumn air to notice.”
Teeny nodded. “Ricardo locked all the doors and windows. Probably to keep Buster out.”
“So what now?” I asked.
“I was just telling Teeny. A few years ago at the Candy Apple Hoedown, Granny Smith got tipsy on apple cider.”
“For real?” I asked. “I bet that was hysterical.”
“It was funny. She was a mess. But the point is... she told me, on that night, that she always hid a spare key behind her house. She wouldn’t tell me where she hid the key. But she told me a riddle that she said would help me find the key if I ever needed it.”
I chuckled. “That woman really was a town treasure.”
“May she rest in peace,” said Miss May.
“So what’s the riddle?” Teeny asked. “Rub-a-dub-dub three men in a tub, I hid my key in a tiny little shrub?”
I laughed. “Did you come up with that on the spot?”
“I have a way with words,” Teeny said. “If I hadn’t taken over Mom’s restaurant, I would have been a poet. Like Shakespeare or Garth Brooks.”
“The riddle had nothing to do with rub-a-dub-dub,” Miss May said. “Let me think for a second.”
Miss May closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She muttered to herself, trying to remember the right combination of rhyme. After thirty seconds, she looked up with a smile. “I got it!”
Teeny and I stepped closer to hear the riddle.
“This is fun,” Teeny said. “There should be riddles in all of our mysteries.”
“That’s out of our control, Teeny,” I said. “But I agree. Murder victims and bad guys should use riddles more. A nice old-fashioned riddle? No better way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”
“Do you want to know the riddle or not?” Miss May crossed her arms.
“Sorry,” Teeny said. “Go ahead.”
“OK,” Miss May said. “The key is hidden deep within something that gets bigger when it eats and smaller when it drinks. Something that doesn’t have lungs but needs air just as much as you or I.”
“Can you write that down?” Teeny asked. “Or send it to me in a text? You lost me at hidden key.”
Miss May laughed. She sent both Teeny and me a text of the riddle. Then I paced the yard and tried to think of the solution.
I read Miss May’s text message aloud as I wandered.
“The key is hidden deep within something that gets bigger when it eats and smaller when it drinks. Something that doesn’t have lungs but needs air just as much as you or I.”
I spotted a lawn gnome across the yard and walked toward it. The gnome wore a little blue jacket and a red hat. Typical gnome attire. And the little guy had such a mischievous look on his face, like he knew something I didn’t know. But as I thought about it, I realized the gnome couldn’t be the answer to Granny Smith’s quagmire. He didn’t eat. Or drink. And he didn’t need air.
Next, I crossed to a stone seating area at the base of a large oak tree. A beautiful wrought-iron bench rested beneath the tree, next to a potted plant filled with some old mulch.
The plant snagged my imagination. Vegetation needs air just as much as you or I. And plants don’t have lungs. But they get larger when they drink, not smaller. So Granny Smith could not have hidden the key in a plant. Another dud.
I called to Teeny across the yard. “Think of anything?”
Teeny shrugged. “The gnome looks suspicious. But I don’t think he has the key.”
“I thought the same thing.”
Miss May reclined on a chaise lounge near a covered in-ground pool. “You two still haven’t figured it out? I got the answer in thirty seconds.”
“Then why aren’t we in Granny Smith’s house right now?” Teeny asked.
Miss May’s eyes twinkled. “Because I’m enjoying watching you two run around.”
I had a sudden light bulb of inspiration and hurried to the pool. “The pool! Right? If someone falls in the pool, the pool gets bigger. Its volume increases. That’s like getting bigger when you eat.”
Teeny joined me beside the pool. “But pools don’t get smaller when they drink, do they?”
I hung my head. “Oh. Nope.”
Teeny sat on a chaise lounge of her own. I plopped down beside her. Once again, I pulled out my phone and read the text aloud...
“The key is hidden deep within something that gets bigger when it eats and smaller when it drinks. Something that doesn’t have lungs but needs air just as much as you or I.”
I closed my eyes tight and thought. “Fire!” I yelled. My eyes sprung open.
“Where?” Teeny yelped, jumping out of her chaise in a panic.
“No, fire is the answer. When you feed it, it gets bigger. When you put water on it, it gets smaller. And fires need oxygen but don’t have lungs!”
“One problem,” Teeny said. “Nothing is on fire back here. So where does that leave us?”
I hurried to the other side of the pool. There, surrounded by a few chairs, was a fire pit covered by a mesh grate.
“A fire pit.” I said, pointing to my discovery.
Miss May chuckled and gave us a smug smile. Then Teeny and I hurried over to the fire pit like it was an ice cream truck about to pull away.
I yanked the grate off the top of the pit. Inside were the charred remains of a few logs and about three inches of gross, damp ashes.
I turned to Miss May. “So the key is in here somewhere, right?”
Miss May shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
I rolled up one of my sleeves and plunged my hand into the ashes. One inch at a time, I moved my hand through the charred logs, feeling for something metallic and hard.
“I don’t feel anything,” I said. But then my hand hit something. I wrapped my fingers around the sharp edges and pulled my hand out of the ashes.
It was the key.
“I got it. Oh my goodness. I got the key!”
Miss May wiped her brow. “Seriously? You found it? The key was in there!?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought you solved the riddle ages ago.”
Miss May shook her head. “I had no idea. But I figured you two would solve it more quickly if I pretended I already had the answer.”
“You are so annoying,” Teeny said. “Also, Granny Smith was a quirky lady. How many fires do things she made on top of her spare key over the years?”
Miss May chuckled. “I suppose that was her idea of high-tech security.”
I wiped the key off on my shirt and held it up to my eyes. Sunshine glinted off the silver. I turned to Teeny and Miss May.
“Ready to go inside?”
28
A Key Discovery
Miss May turned the key. The back door opened with a creak that sounded like a wicked witch gasping for her last breath.
Rehhhhhhhhhhhh.
I cringed. “That was a horrible noise.”
Miss May shushed me and stepped inside.
We entered into an old-fashioned living room and looked around. The interior of the home struck me as a mirror image of Granny Smith’s personality. Organized, historic, and unsettling.
Along the far wall sat an enormous fireplace with a thick mantle. An oil painting of Abraham Lincoln hung above the fireplace. Spiderwebs covered Lincoln’s face and shoulder. And I could see a tiny bug carcass, caught in the middle of the web.
“That poor bug,” I said. “Walked right into a trap.”
Teeny’s eyes widened. “You don’t thing we’re the bugs, are we?”
Miss May turned to us. She held a finger to her lips. “Quiet.”
I nodded and resumed looking around the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined another wall. But the only books on the shelf were dusty old Encyclopedia Britannicas. Those probably belonged to Wendell, I thought, remembering the encyclopedia flung open in his little apartment.
The only other furniture in the room was a formal, Victorian-style couch. Granny Smith had covered the couch in plastic. And cobwebs stretched between the couch legs like telephone wire.
I took another step into the room and the old floorboards moaned. I froze in place. “This house has a creepy vibe. I can’t believe people actually live here.”
Teeny nodded and whispered. “What do you call this interior design style?”
I shrugged. “Haunted?”
Miss May shook her arms out to loosen up. “OK. Enough of the jitters. Let’s see what we can find in this place.”
Miss May crossed through the living room and into the adjacent foyer. A few seconds later she called back to us. “Are you two coming? I think we should look for Buster’s room. Probably upstairs.”
Each stepped we climbed croaked and creaked just like the floor in the living room. The sound of witches dying. Or warning us not to come any farther.
Granny Smith Is Dead Page 13