I gestured toward the chalkboard lesson plan with my head. “Mrs. Wimple has been studying mystery authors. This is a curious time for a lesson plan like that, don’t you think?”
Miss May bit her lower lip. “That is odd. Coincidence maybe… Or perhaps Wimple was studying the great murder plots throughout history in order to get ideas about how to kill her own victim.”
“And how to get away with it,” said Teeny.
“I suppose this lesson plan could be innocent though,” I said. “I mean, the high school kids in Pine Grove must be developing a keen sense for mysteries. There have been so many murders here. It’s become a part of daily life for everyone.”
“If that’s the case, maybe Wimple wants us to come in one day to talk to her students,” said Miss May. “I always wanted to do that.”
“Didn’t you come in and talk to the school students when you are working as a lawyer in New York City?” said Teeny.
“Yeah. But that was about the law. That was boring. Kids don’t care about lawyers. My life now is far more exciting than it was as a big city prosecutor.”
“And I bet you get more done,” I said.
“Sad but true,” said Miss May. “The red tape involved with legal work is absurd. Sometimes it felt like the whole system was designed to make sure nothing got done.”
“That’s why the world needs amateur sleuths,” said Teeny.
“Like us you mean?” I asked.
“I was thinking of TV’s favorite crime fighters, Jenna and Mr. Flowers,” said Teeny. “Those two are always going places the cops don’t have permission to go. That’s how they get their clues. Mr. Flowers isn’t always on board with the more adventurous schemes, but he always agrees to go along with it at the end of the day. He does whatever is necessary for the case. One time, he dressed up like a gorilla and spent the night in the gorilla enclosure at the zoo, just to find out what the zookeeper was hiding. That episode is amazing.”
“What was the zookeeper hiding?” I asked.
“Drugs,” said Teeny. “And guns. And secret passports to a dozen different countries. I can’t tell you anymore, you should just watch the episode.”
“OK,” I said. “Speaking of doing whatever is necessary for the investigation… I have a question for you, Miss May.”
Miss May looked over at me.
“Why did you lie to Mr. Brian? You told him that the police had settled on a date and time for when Thornton’s murder took place, but that’s not true.”
“I know, but I had to do it,” said Miss May. “And if you think about it, I’m pretty sure you can figure out why.”
I closed my eyes and thought. Miss May’s challenges were often fun and exciting. But I wasn’t in the mood for games and I wanted her to tell me the answer.
“If you’re not sure, keep thinking,” said Miss May. “I’m not going to just come out and say this one.”
“I know,” said Teeny, with a smug little grin.
“Then tell me,” I said.
Teeny shook her head. “Sorry. We’re all expert sleuths on this team, and I know for a fact you can figure this one out on your own.”
“Let me think about it for another second,” I said.
Seconds stretched into more seconds, then minutes, as I reflected on our conversation with Mr. Brian. I remembered Mr. Brian’s beleaguered demeanor. And I recalled how quickly I had assessed whether or not he might have been guilty of Thornton’s murder. That’s when I understood. “I get it. You pretended the police had found a date and time for the murder because you wanted to suss out whether or not Brian might be guilty. If Mr. Brian knew that Brian had killed Thornton, or if Mr. Brian had committed the murder himself, the news that the cops were getting closer to the truth would have been upsetting. On the other hand, if Mr. Brian was innocent then he would have been happy to hear that the police had pinned down a date and time for the murder. So you used the false information as a litmus test to help judge Mr. Brian’s innocence.”
Miss May put her finger on her nose to indicate that I was right. “You must need more coffee today. That was an easy one.”
We found Mrs. Wimple sitting in the cafeteria surrounded by essays and eating through a large pile of chocolate chip cookies. She didn’t notice us as we approached. Nor did she notice as we stood around her. Finally, Miss May cleared her throat. Wimple slammed her red pen down and looked up. “Can’t you see I’m reading? If you need to talk to me about class material, you can come see me in my office after school.”
Miss May smiled. “We’re not students.”
Mrs. Wimple stammered. “Chelsea Thomas! What… Is that you?”
“It’s me! Hi. It’s nice to see you. I was disappointed that I missed you the other day out at the farm.”
“Oh I’m glad we didn’t talk that day.” Mrs. Wimple took off her glasses, folded them, and released a long breath. “I didn’t have much composure that afternoon. Thus, I’ve been waiting for the three of you to come after me for this murder. So let’s get this over with. Launch into your accusations and I will begin my articulate and comprehensive defense.”
“Wow,” said Miss May. “You want to get right into the thick of this.”
“Correct. So please, tell me, what evidence have you gathered to suggest that a little old woman like me is capable of chopping up a grown man and burying him on your orchard?”
Miss May pulled out a chair and sat at the table across from Mrs. Wimple. Teeny and I followed suit. “Big Dan told us about the article the two of you wrote together.”
Wimple’s face reddened. “We wrote that before Thornton was killed.”
“But it’s scathing, isn’t it?” Miss May said. “Teeny and I gathered that you were not a fan of Coach Thornton that day at the memorial on the farm. But we didn’t realize you despised him enough to publicly call for the revocation of his lifetime achievement award.”
“The man was terrible,” Mrs. Wimple said, and I could hear the accumulation of years of disrespect in her voice.
“We’ve heard,” said Teeny. “He called you names, right? So immature. I can’t believe it. I would have killed him, too. I have a short temper. How long is your temper?”
“It wasn’t just the name-calling. He played practical jokes on me just to get a reaction. He covered the entire classroom in aluminum foil once. It sounds funny, but it took me days to clean up and it undermined my authority with the students. Another time, he had his players paint cartoon characters all over my car. And the bullying kept going even after his semi-retirement.”
“Offensive cartoon characters?” I asked. “Like…”
“I’m not going to get into it, Chelsea. Let’s just say the paintings were just plain wrong. Cartoons were invented to bring joy to children, not to embarrass and humiliate innocent old English teachers.”
“That’s true,” said Teeny. “Why does everybody have to make cartoons so gross? I liked it when it was just Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse driving around on an old steamboat, singing songs and hopping around.”
“Me too,” said Wimple. “I sorely miss the steamboat days.”
“We all miss the steamboat days,” said Miss May. “But I have to say, the more you talk about Coach Thornton, the more it seems like you might have wanted to kill him. And, no offense, but as you keep pointing out, you’re quite old. Is it possible perhaps you feel you have nothing left to lose? Maybe killing Coach Thornton was worth the risk to you.”
“I am not old,” said Wimple. “And my career here is hardly finished. I have many more students to teach.”
“I always said you were a great teacher,” I said, eager to lessen the conflict.
“Most students love me,” said Mrs. Wimple, “except the bad ones. Like Ron Thornton.”
Teeny’s eyes widened. “You taught Coach Thornton?”
Wimple nodded. “Ron was evil and mean, even as a child. Every Thornton was terrible, in fact, and there were so many of them. They all had awful, baseless familia
l pride. It was like they thought the Thornton clan was a royal family, not a bunch of bull dogs with human faces. And not a single one of them appreciated the literary arts. When that monster got a job coaching here, I nearly quit. I nearly quit every single time he won the championship. That man made me doubt the existence of karma in the world. I spent my career turning the other cheek, looking away from the Thorntons and their upsetting tendency to always win. Until now, of course. Now the wicked man is dead and I can’t help it… his demise has brightened my entire disposition and outlook on life.”
The bell rang three times. Wimple tossed an entire cookie into her mouth. Then she gathered up all of her papers and stood.
“Where you going?” Miss May asked.
“That was the final bell of the day,” said Mrs. Wimple. “I’m going home. Good luck on your investigation.”
36
Team Spirit
We stayed in the cafeteria after Wimple left, trying to process the conversation.
“I don’t trust that lady,” said Teeny. “I don’t trust her eyes or the words that came out of her mouth.”
Miss May shrugged. “I’m not sure I like Wimple but I do trust her. I mean, she didn’t mince words in our conversation with her. Pretty sure she told us exactly what was on her mind.”
“Yeah,” said Teeny. “But she denied murdering Coach Thornton and I think she did it.”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Can you tell us more about what Wimple was like as a teacher?” Miss May asked. “Your experiences as a student could be our strongest resource here and you haven’t said much at all.”
“I said I liked her.”
“But you were the teacher’s dog back in your schooldays,” said Teeny. “You liked everyone and you made sure they liked you.”
“I think the expression you’re searching for is ‘teacher’s pet,’” I said. “And I resent that. I didn’t suck up to my instructors to make them like me. I just had a love of learning and I suspect they enjoyed teaching an enthusiastic student. Plus they didn’t all love me. Just most of them.”
“Good job, Chelsea,” said Teeny. “You were the smartest teacher’s dog in Pine Grove High School history.”
I laughed. “I was not! I wasn’t even valedictorian. Whatever. The point is, I didn’t like all my teachers but I did have a good rapport with most of them.”
“Of course,” said Miss May.
“There were plenty I hated, don’t get me wrong. But, despite her sharp exterior, I never disliked Mrs. Wimple. She had fair expectations. She graded papers on time. And she clearly loves literature and always has. Her enthusiasm was infectious.”
“Sounds to me like she was a methodical psychopath,” said Teeny. “Always giving papers back exactly when she said she would? That seems like a sign that Wimple has the mind of a killer.”
I shrugged. “It’s possible. If we’ve learned anything over the course of these investigations, it’s that anyone is capable of murder, even those we least suspect. So I don’t think we should rule her out.”
“I wish she would have just confessed or provided an alibi,” said Teeny. “I hate working with so much inconclusive information. How are we supposed to make a decision if we don’t have all the facts?”
Miss May slid back her chair and stood up. “We don’t need all the facts. We need the right facts. And I think we’re headed down the correct path. We’re gathering the dots. And I’m confident we’ll connect them soon.”
Miss May began to walk away. I called after her. “Where are you going?”
Miss May turned back to me. “We’re in Coach Thornton’s territory. We’d be remiss if we didn’t go check out his legendary battleground.”
The gymnasium at Pine Grove high school was as I remembered. Championship banners lined the walls. The smell of sweat and floor wax swirled in the air. And big florescent lights gave the place a confrontational quality.
The boys’ basketball team practiced at the far end of the court, sneakers squeaking like a choir of mice. The tall, skinny coach, presumably Thornton’s former assistant and current replacement, barked orders at the kids from the sidelines. An equipment manager inflated basketballs nearby.
“How does it feel to be back in your old high school gymnasium?” said Teeny, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
A few memories flashed before my eyes. Falling flat on my face during sprints in ninth grade. Getting stuck at the bottom of the climbing rope later that year. Suffering a concussion during a game of dodgeball when I was a senior.
The truth was, I hated being back. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, so I told a little lie. “It feels great. So many…memorable memories.”
“Oh you’re full of beans,” said Teeny. “Didn’t you get a huge bloody nose during a wiffle ball game in here?”
I had forgotten about the bloody nose. That thing was a gusher. I passed out from the loss of blood and had to be removed from the gym on a stretcher. Good thing the accident had only occurred in front of every single boy I liked.
“Leave Chelsea alone,” said Miss May. “Come on. Let’s sit on the bleachers and watch practice for a little. Don’t worry, Chelsea. We’ll sit in the top row so you don’t get hit by a ball and pass out or anything.”
“The top row,” Teeny said with an evil grin. “Aren’t those seats called the ‘nosebleeds?’”
“Har-har,” I said with a smile. “So funny.”
As we climbed to the top of the bleachers, I reflected on the case. Thornton was one of the most widely known and widely hated murder victims we’d encountered. He had come into contact with almost everyone in Pine Grove during his coaching and teaching years. And that complicated the investigation quite a bit. But as I plopped down between Teeny and Miss May on the cold metal bench at the top of the bleachers, I had a revelation. I sat up straight with my eyes widened. “I just had an idea! And I think it’s a good one.”
“Is it a theory on why you got injured so often in gym class?” said Miss May.
“I’m serious,” I said. “What if there are multiple murderers in this case?”
“We’ve already discussed that,” said Teeny. “I think it’s a good theory. Sheila and James might have worked in tandem to—”
“No,” I said. “I’m not suggesting there were merely two killers. I’m suggesting there were two or three times that many people, who worked together to pull off the murder and the burial.”
Miss May looked over at me with a little glint in her eye. “I guess those gym accidents didn’t kill off any of your brain cells. That’s a good idea. Four, five, or six people may have joined up to pull this one off. Like Murder on the Orient Express. Everyone we’ve talked to hated the guy, and not a single one of them has been afraid to say it. Maybe they’ve all been emboldened by the fact that the murder was committed by a team. So none of them thinks we’ll be able to pin the murder on them.”
“You admit Wimple might have been involved then?” said Teeny.
“I said it before,” I reminded her. “Anything’s possible.”
Down on the court, an argument exploded between several players and they started pushing one another back and forth. One kid yelled that the other had cheated. The other kid cursed and screamed. The first kid threw a wild punch but missed. Then the other players got involved and stepped between the battling teammates to keep the peace.
Finally, a whistle blew. The tall, skinny coach stepped out onto the court and got right into the faces of the two boys who had been fighting. “Both of you get out of my gymnasium. Now.”
The boys each protested, defending the reason for their fight. The coach cut them off. “I don’t care that you two were fighting. I care that you pushed each other but no one hit the ground. I care that punches were thrown but didn’t connect. If you’re going to fight on my basketball court, you’re going to inflict damage. The Pine Grove basketball institution is tough! We do not fail. And when we fight we win! Now everybody get ou
tside. You’re running laps until the sun goes down.”
The coach stormed out of the gym. The players followed, grumbling and shoving one another as they walked. Then, just like that, the gym was empty.
“That was intense,” said Teeny. “Seems like Coach Thornton’s rough-and-tumble style is alive and well in the Pine Grove basketball program. And I think I like it. It’s fun to watch and it’s important that these kids grow up with a little toughness.”
“I hated that whole scene,” I said. “I hate when I witness people fighting. It makes me all anxious and nervous and sweaty.”
“I didn’t like it either,” said Miss May. “It’s like the ghost of Thornton is in this gym, haunting the kids and firing them up. Let’s get out of here.”
I hurried down the bleachers and toward the exit. But the door that I thought was going to lead me back into the hallway instead led me into a small janitor’s closet. Yeah, yeah, I didn’t know my way around the gym that well. I had tried to block most of it out… The room I entered was dark and cluttered with rusty old equipment and looked like it hadn’t been used in years.
I reached for the handle to close the door…
And that’s when the smell hit me. I coughed. “Uch. What is that?” I dry heaved. Miss May and Teeny turned away and doubled over, gagging.
“It smells rotten,” said Miss May.
“Close the door,” said Teeny. “My eyes are watering.”
I took two steps into the storage closet and reached for the door handle. I pulled at the door and wouldn’t budge.
“Close it,” said Teeny.
“I’m trying,” I said, tugging even harder. “It’s stuck.”
“Let me try,” said Miss May, edging me out of the way.
“Gladly,” I said, stepping back out of the storage area.
“One, two, three.” Miss May tugged at the door with all of her strength. The door dislodged from its sticking point and Miss May stumbled back. Then a huge object fell on the ground beside Miss May with a thud. Miss May screamed and covered her mouth.
Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11) Page 17