“Can we focus on the double murder we’re investigating?” Miss May said. “Not that we’re not interested in hearing about your poker skills, but maybe after we catch the killer.”
Teeny smiled. “Deal. But you should know now. I never lost. I did get in a couple of fist fights, though.”
“Who won in those?” I asked, disturbed.
“Who do you think?” Teeny replied with a devious smile.
I shrunk back in my seat.
“Oh, I'm just kidding,” Teeny said. “You know I'm not a fighter! Now let's talk about new suspects. I think it was probably a secret stepfather that Linda had never met. And the stepfather just came back from a trip sailing across the world. And Linda had stolen some gold that the stepfather had left to Linda’s bedridden mother. And he wanted it back!”
Miss May sighed. “That's an episode from the North Port Diaries, isn't it?”
“Does it matter?” Teeny asked. “It's a legitimate theory. It could happen! Those ideas are ripped from the headlines in that show. It's all based on real-life, you know.”
“OK,” Miss May said. “Let's make a note of the ‘stepfather hunting for gold after traveling the world on a sailboat’ theory. Great idea. Is there anyone else we can think of who might have had a motive to kill both Linda and Reginald?”
I shrugged. “We have no idea. But Miss May thinks it has something to do with them moving back to town. Pine Grove was somehow the catalyst for their murders."
“Actually, I've revised that theory,” Miss May said. “I have a new number one suspect now.”
“You do?” I asked.
Miss May smirked.
“What the heck? When were you going to tell me?”
“I just came up with it now,” Miss May said. “But I don't need to tell you. You've got all the information. You just need to think about it.”
“And we're sure it's not a secret step-dad,” Teeny said.
“Hold on, Teeny. Let me think for a second.” I closed my eyes and ran over the details of the case...
Who from the Turtles’ past did I have any awareness of? And which of those people would've wanted both Turtles dead? The Turtles had money, and money often equaled motive. But motive for whom?
“Their son!” I gasped. “Germany. What if he is the beneficiary of their wills? They would both probably need to die in order for him to see that money. I doubt they’d let go of their dwindling fortune if one of them were still alive.”
“But Linda said that kid was studying in Africa or something,” Teeny said. “Getting a PhD in professional snobbery. She told everyone in town.”
“That's what the Turtles told us,” Miss May said. “But what if they were lying?”
Teeny's eyes lit up. “Ah! You're right! Maybe Germany Turtle is a slob. He lives in Jersey City like Chelsea did when she was a slob. But Linda and Reginald pretend he's in Africa so they don't have to admit his slobbiness to their socialite friends! Or maybe Germany has a bungled-up face, so they lie and say he's in Africa when really he's in a mental institution right here in America. Maybe he’s been simmering with rage all these years, and he finally snapped and killed them for revenge and to get all their money!”
“That's kind of what I'm saying,” Miss May said. “Maybe slightly less North Port Diaries but...along those lines.”
Teeny stood up. “So let's go find him! Where does he live?”
“...Africa?” I said. “At least as far as we know.”
Miss May shook her head. “But I bet he has a residence here in the States. And he’s probably back right now, since both of his parents have turned up dead. But I have no clue how we’re going to figure out where he is. Should we go to the library? Try to find a phone book or something?”
I held up my phone. “I found him. He has a house in the Hamptons. Most likely one of the Turtles’ vacation homes.”
Miss May looked shocked. “That was amazing. How did you do that so fast?”
“It's not forensics or anything. I Googled him. You may be surprised, but there are very few ‘Germany Turtles’ in the tristate area.”
“All right,” Ms. May said. “It looks like we’re headed to the Hamptons.”
Someone cleared his throat nearby. I looked up to see Petey standing above us with a silver platter just like the one he had brought Humphrey earlier.
“Ladies. It is my pleasure to serve you this afternoon.”
“Oh, uh...we didn’t order anything,” Teeny said.
“This dish is compliments of the chef,” Petey said. “Turkish figs over baby lettuce heads, marinated carrots, frilled mustard greens, and caramelized leek sprouts. Served with hand-torn mozzarella and cylindrical beets. All topped with a seared apple reduction. And served with fresh-cut, sea-salt French fries.”
“Yum! Fries!" Teeny grabbed a handful and shoved them in her mouth. “Can you toss the rest in the fridge? We've got to go.”
Petey looked horrified. “This cuisine is meant to be served fresh! You can’t put this masterpiece in the fridge like common leftovers!”
“I’m still your boss. So yeah. You can.” Teeny slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Miss May and I also grabbed a couple of fries and followed after Teeny.
“It looks great, Petey,” I said, even though it looked pretty weird.
Petey called out as we left. “This is fine cuisine! Where are you going?”
As soon as we were out of earshot, Teeny turned to us and laughed. “That kid is too much.”
“These fries are good though,” I said.
“They’re amazing,” Teeny said. “I'll have to get him to bring me some of that fancy salt.”
22
Long Island Bound
ALTHOUGH I HAD ALMOST half a tank of gas, Miss May forced me to stop and fill up before we left town.
“You never know how much gas you’re going to need on the way to Long Island,” she said.
“She's right,” Teeny said. “The Long Island Expressway is interminable. It’s designed to get you all turned around and confused.”
Miss May nodded. “I once spent 15 hours going from Pine Grove to East Hampton for a wedding.”
“Did you make it to the wedding in time?” I asked.
Miss May shook her head. “And it was especially bad because I was catering desserts.”
“OK, OK, I’ll get gas,” I said. “We’re here, right? I'll go inside to prepay.”
“And get snacks,” Teeny said. "Something with sprinkles.”
“I don't think the gas station sells snacks with sprinkles,” I said, one foot out the door.
“Would it kill you to look? All I’ve had today are samples of Petey’s weird stick food.”
“That food looked great,” I said, messing with Teeny. “I think people in town will love it. Could put Grandma’s out of business.”
“Just get me some sprinkles!”
I laughed and hopped out of the car, crossing toward the snack shop. I mean, gas station.
Moments later, I was perusing the snack options, running my hand along a variety of honey buns and peanuts and apple pies, when my mind wandered to thoughts of Detective Wayne Hudson.
I had spent much of the last week angry at Wayne. He had jailed KP for no reason. OK. Maybe he had some reason, but he hadn't even talked to me about it first. He had lost all respect for me and Miss May. And as far as I could tell he had made no progress on the murder investigation, despite have police resources at his disposal.
Still, Wayne had a certain je ne sais quoi, and I wanted to sais quoi. I didn’t usually go for a typical manly type — Mike was scrawny and meek — but something about Wayne’s massive frame and general gruffness appealed to me. OK, he was handsome. And funny. And he was standing right in front of me.
Wait! What?
Yup. It was as if I had summoned him with my mind.
“Do you need help carrying that stuff?” Wayne asked.
I looked down. I hadn’t even realized how many snacks
I’d collected. In my arms were five packs of spicy tortilla chips, several candy bars, two sodas, three turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. I had the snacks cradled in my arms like a newborn baby, which made the whole thing even sadder.
“I'm good,” I said, fumbling with my armful of treats.
One of the candy bars slipped from my swaddle of snacks and hit the floor. Wayne picked up the candy, glancing at me with a smile. He wasn't wearing his suit that day, nor was he displaying his badge on his belt as he often did. Instead, he wore a flannel shirt with blue jeans and muddy brown boots. He looked strange out of his normal uniform, but I liked it. It was like an alternate reality Wayne.
“Are you headed to a party or something?” Wayne asked, eyeing my snacks.
I laughed. “Oh yeah. It’s a uh, kegger. Me and Miss May and Teeny. We get pretty crazy.”
“Don't get too rowdy. I'll have to issue you a citation.”
I crossed to the counter and plunked my snack collection down. Arthur, the rotund older man who worked the cash register, looked shocked by my bounty.
“That's a lot of snacks, Chelsea! Are you sure you want all that for yourself?”
“It's not just for her,” Wayne approached from nearby. “She's having a wild bash with her aunt and her aunt’s friend.”
“Looks like a lot of food even for three people,” Arthur said.
“We’re not going to eat it all, Arthur. We like to have a little bit of everything. And you should really get something in this place that has sprinkles. There’s a high demand for sprinkles in this town, and you’re not meeting it.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn't seem to appreciate my sprinkle tirade. “That’ll be $9.95.”
I handed Arthur my credit card. He pushed it back. “Can't use credit unless it's over $10. Cash only for this purchase.”
I sighed. “I'm only five cents away, Arthur. I'm sorry I said the thing about the sprinkles. Please. Help me out?”
Wayne stepped forward, holding a ten-dollar bill. “Here, let me.”
“You don't have to do that,” I said. “I can buy another candy bar or something to put it over $10.”
“I know I don't have to do it.” Wayne smirked. “And I'm not doing it for free, either. I'm going to tax you one of those spicy tortilla chips.”
Oh boy. Wayne was definitely flirting. Unless I was completely crazy. Also a distinct possibility.
I returned Wayne's smirk. “That sounds like a fair arrangement.”
I picked up a bag of chips from the counter and gently pried the top part. The bag opened with a quiet pop.
Another look up at Wayne. He was looking at me, not at the chips.
I turned. Extended the bag of chips toward Wayne. He took a step toward me. Closer than he needed to be. The chips were the only thing between us. He didn't break eye contact as he reached into the bag and pulled out a chip. He kept looking at me as he slowwwlllyyy put the chip into his mouth.
I laughed and looked away. I noticed Arthur staring at us like, “what in the world is happening right now?”
“Good chip,” Wayne said.
“I'm glad you like it,” I said in my best sultry voice. “It’s my favorite chip.”
“Good to know,” Wayne said. “But don't think this means we're friends again.”
“Who said anything about friends?” I said. “We’re just two people making a chip-for-cash exchange in a gas station.”
“I'm off duty right now. That's all. So I can be Officer Friendly. But if I had my badge? If we were at the station? I would be obliged to remind you to stay out of my investigation into the Turtles’ deaths. It’s none of your beeswax.”
“And I’d remind you that you're an idiot if you think KP could be a killer. And nobody says beeswax anymore.”
“Good thing we’re not at the station, then.” Wayne reached out for another chip. I let him have it.
“So is one of you going to pay or not?” Arthur crossed his arms. His voice shattered the bizarre romantic moment Wayne and I had been sharing over spicy chips.
Wayne laughed and handed Arthur the cash. “Keep the change.”
“Wow, the whole nickel?” Arthur sneered.
I gathered my snacks from the counter and headed toward the exit. I turned back to Wayne before I left. “Thanks for the snacks.”
Wayne smiled. “Don't party too hard. At least, not without me.”
WHEN I GOT BACK INTO the car, Teeny and Miss May hooted and hollered like they had just seen a steamy deleted scene from North Port Diaries.
Teeny leaned forward. “That man was way closer than he needed to be to eat one of those chips! How did he smell? Was he a polite chewer? He looked good in those jeans!”
“Teeny! Leave her alone. She was just having a sensual chip-sharing experience in front of Arthur at the gas station. Not a big deal.”
“It really wasn't a big deal,” I said. “I don't know what you're talking about, even. I didn’t have cash, so he paid.”
Teeny and Miss May oohed and ahhhed even more at the revelation that Wayne had purchased the snacks for me.
“He paid! That makes it a date!” Teeny squealed.
Wayne walked past the pickup and gave me a little head nod. I thought Teeny and Miss May might explode with suppressed squeals and giggles.
“Is it me, or did it just get hot in here?" Teeny asked, fanning herself. “This is just like an episode of the North Port Diaries where the cute young girl falls for the hunky detective, but then he turns out to be a secret art thief, and he's not even American, he's from the Ukraine!”
“Wayne is not from the Ukraine,” I said. “And this is not like that.”
I handed the snacks back to Teeny, and she rifled through my collection. “What!? No sprinkles?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I gave Arthur an earful about it.”
“Yelling at Arthur about sprinkles does more harm than good,” Teeny said. “Trust me. I've learned from experience. In fact, I think he purposefully avoids sprinkled snacks just to spite me. Also, you never told me. How was Detective Hudson on the smell-o-meter?”
I shook my head and chunked the pickup into gear. Wayne smelled great. Manly. Like cinnamon and leather. But I didn’t feel like talking about it.
THE TURTLES’ HAMPTONS beach house was a two-story, blue-gray colonial with brown shingles and bright white trim. The place had more of an upscale cottage feel then the beachside-mansion-vibe that I’d expected. And I hated to admit it, but the place was tasteful and charming. The exact type of home I’d want to return to after a long day at the beach. Looking at it, I could see myself dragging a boogie board up to the foot of the steps, kicking off my sandals, rinsing off my feet and heading inside for a popsicle and a good book.
The front lawn was small but well-manicured, with a white picket fence. And the house seemed surprisingly homey. Quaint, even. Un-Turtle-like in every way. Maybe they hadn’t been all bad.
“They must have really been hard up for cash,” Miss May said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked. “I know this place is small but it's still the Hamptons. It would probably go for at least a million.”
Miss May pointed across the lawn. “That's why.”
A “For Sale” sign had been staked into the ground. I wasn't sure how I had missed it on my first appraisal of the house, but the sign looked fresh, like it hadn't been there more than a few weeks.
“I guess Reginald really did squander their savings on that fake land,” I said. “Why would he even want property in the Netherlands?”
“But then why would the Germany brat kill them?” Teeny asked. “What's the point in killing your rich parents for their money if they lost all their money?”
“Good question,” Miss May said. “We should ask him if he's home.”
Miss May followed a mossy brick path to the front door and knocked. Teeny and I followed, hanging back one or two steps. We waited a few seconds, but no one answered.
“Why i
s it that every time we go to question a suspect, they never seem to be home?” I asked.
As if on cue, the front door opened. And there stood a sad-looking man. Late 60s. With a stringy ponytail, wearing a blazer with elbow patches. It took me a moment to place him, and then I remembered. The man was Linda Turtle’s brother. He had been at Teeny's restaurant after Linda turned up dead.
“Can I help you?” The man had a sharp tone and did not seem to appreciate our arrival.
“Maybe,” Miss May said. “But I don't know that we've officially met. Are you Linda's brother?”
“Dennis. Yes.” The man narrowed his eyes. “You are?”
“My name is Mabel Thomas. My business partner KP has been arrested for Linda's murder.”
Dennis stepped back. “What do you want?”
“I want to get KP out of jail. He's innocent. And I think you can help me prove that.”
Dennis looked over his shoulder into the house then returned his gaze to Miss May. “I don't have time for that. I'm sorry.” The man closed the door, but Miss May stopped it with her foot.
“I just need a few moments,” Miss May said. “You may have information that can help free my associate.”
Dennis checked his watch. “I don't have any helpful information. I can promise you that.”
“Why are you in such a hurry, Dennis?” Miss May wedged the door open a bit and poked her head inside. Dennis stepped sideways to block her line of sight.
Teeny and I exchange a concerned look. Was it possible that Dennis was the killer? He was acting skittish, and his behavior gave me an uneasy feeling.
“I'm not in a hurry,” Dennis said. “I just have to go somewhere.”
“So you are in a hurry? You know you can use your phone to scan tickets for a plane these days, right?”
“I'm not getting on a plane,” Dennis said.
“Then why do you have airline tickets in your pocket?” Miss May gestured towards Dennis's front pants pocket. There, a small envelope protruded. Something was printed on the envelope in tiny text. I couldn’t read it, and I doubted Miss May could either. I assumed she was making an educated guess.
“I have to go,” Dennis said, tucking the envelope deeper into his pocket. “That is not a plane ticket.”
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