Apple Die

by Chelsea Thomas

  Maggie swiveled her gaze towards us, and I felt a twinge of sorrow for my beautiful little cousin. Her deep brown eyes looked even more striking when set against her puffy pink eyelids. Vinny didn’t realize how lucky he was.

  I squinted to get a better view of the man beside Maggie, and I realized it was Vinny’s brother, Lance.

  Lance turned to face us, and I noticed that his expression was stoic and set, the textbook image of “grieving-man-who-lost-his-brother-tragically.” I avoided eye contact with him, once again afraid that I might burst into tears.

  Maggie rushed up to give me a hug, leaning over a baby Christmas tree to wrap her arms around me. The tree’s needles jabbed my legs, but I let it happen. The hug was more important.

  “Chelsea,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Maggie started to cry. Immediately, I started to cry too. So much for not bursting into tears.

  “I’m sorry I’m crying,” I said.

  “I’m sorry I’m crying,” Maggie said.

  “You should be crying! That’s why I’m sorry!”

  Maggie laughed through her tears. So did I.

  Meanwhile, Miss May approached Lance and gave him a firm, assertive hug. When I was young, I thought she hugged too tight. But as I got older, I appreciated Miss May's sturdy hugs, and it looked like Lance appreciated them too.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Miss May said. “I wish I could do something for you."

  Lance nodded, “Thank you.” He blinked a few times, fighting back tears. He was definitely keeping it together better than I was. For Maggie’s sake, I thought. Noble.

  Maggie put her arm on Lance’s shoulder. “Lance is amazing. He lost... He lost his brother. But he’s been so concerned about me. And his mom. Everybody but himself.”

  Lance waved her off. “I’m no hero. I just deal with this stuff... differently. It helps me to keep busy.”

  Teeny, Miss May, and I nodded. I realized this Lance guy might have been my total opposite. I turned into a puddle at the mere hint of tragedy, but bad stuff seemed to bring out the best in him.

  “You were in the army, weren’t you?” Miss May asked. I was once again reminded that my aunt knew everything about everyone.

  “Navy,” Lance nodded. “But I worked behind a desk. I did accounting.”

  “Still,” Miss May said. “Thank you for your service.”

  Lance nodded with solemnity.

  “So are you two Christmas tree shopping?” Miss May asked. “Because I can get you a deal on a bigger tree.”

  Lance and Maggie laughed. Maggie wiped away her remaining tears.

  “I forgot all about these tiny little trees,” Maggie said. “When we found them, Lance started singing this song like ‘O Christmas Tree,’ but for baby trees.”

  “It was stupid.” Lance looked down.

  “It helped,” Maggie said.

  That explains the laughter, I thought. And suddenly I had the impression that we had intruded on a moment where we didn't belong.

  “We were just taking a walk,” I said. “So we should keep doing that.”

  “Absolutely,” said Miss May.

  “Nice to meet you,” Teeny said to Lance. “I mean, not too nice. I mean, ‘cuz of what happened. Terrible to meet you, actually. Under these circumstances. I’m sorry. We’ll go now.”

  We said goodbye, and Miss May led us back the way we came, tsking Teeny as we walked. “Terrible to meet you?”

  “You know I say dumb stuff in these situations,” Teeny kicked up dirt as we walked. “You shouldn’t have let me talk!”

  Miss May continued tsking as we turned onto KP’s walk. That’s when I remembered. We hadn’t come back up to the farm to check out the Christmas trees. We’d come to find the murder weapon.

  And that’s what we would do.

  “Now I remember when I first met that Lance kid” Teeny said as we made our way back over to KP’s walk. “He worked for that Meals on Wheels program I used to run out of the restaurant. Delivered boxed lunches to the elderly. Volunteered way back when he was in high school.”

  “Had to be high school,” Miss May said. “The Eagle Scouts ran that program.”

  “Oh right,” Teeny smacked her leg, remembering. “Lance was a troop leader. King Eagle!”

  “Everybody thought those kids were lame in high school,” I said. “But that was only because they got good grades and helped people.”

  “So lame,” Miss May said, her voice adopting a rare tone of sarcasm. “What an uncool thing to do, helping people in need.”

  “Hey, I didn’t think they were lame!” I gestured to myself, “Glass houses, right?”

  “I think you're cool,” Miss May patted me on the back. Teeny laughed, then tried to cover it with a cough.

  “Sorry,” Teeny said. “Something in my throat.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, not buying Teeny’s excuse. “Either way, it’s good that Maggie has Lance right now. Somebody to keep her company, help her get out of her own head.”

  “That’s the kind of guy you need, Chels,” Teeny said. “An Eagle Scout! Not some hot piece like Mike."

  I shuddered. “Can we please not use the term ‘hot piece’ to refer to the man who left me standing at the altar and couldn't manage to return his tux?”

  “I call ‘em how I see ‘em,” Teeny said. “He looked good running down that aisle.”

  Although she was prone to hold grudges for the tiniest offense, Teeny didn’t discriminate for any reason when she thought a man was good-looking. One time, a creep flashed Teeny, and she later described the man as “very attractive” to a police sketch artist, pointing out that he’d had “straight teeth” and “nice hair.” She had perhaps included a few more unmentionable details, but I tried to block those out of my memory.

  Miss May nudged Teeny. “You are ridiculous.”

  “I’m just saying, Chelsea and I have great taste in men,” Teeny said.

  “But it’s not all about appearances,” Miss May said.

  “I completely agree.” Teeny said. “That’s why I think you need a chubby guy. Or a man with one arm. Those are the ones who make a good husband. Because they appreciate you.”

  “I bet she’d get along well with that Detective Hudson,” Miss May glanced over at me.

  “Bzzz! Wrong,” Teeny said. “He’s a hottie like the others.”

  “And he’s got both arms,” I said. “The two-armed ones are no good.”

  Teeny and Miss May laughed, but I immediately imagined Wayne’s arms. Big and strong and... hoisting me up above his head like I was weightless. Why did I keep thinking about being bench-pressed by this guy? I shook it off and decided to re-focus on the mission at hand.

  “Remember,” I said. “We’re looking for a black volcanic rock. Basalt.”

  “Just like the ones that line the walkway near the cabins, right?” Miss May asked.

  “Yup.” I looked around as we walked. “I think it’s literally one of those rocks.”

  “So whoever did this was staying here that night,” Teeny said.

  “Or they were over by the cabins for some reason,” said Miss May.

  “Why would they use such an obvious weapon?” Teeny asked.

  “Crime of passion,” said Miss May. “Whoever did this didn’t show up at this wedding planning to hurt Vinny. Something bad happened, and the killer lost control.”

  “You think?” I asked.

  Miss May nodded, and we walked silently as her words sunk in.

  Somehow, I had avoided thinking about the way Vinny died until that moment.

  Miss May, Teeny, and I had talked Vinny’s death over in broad terms. And we had a good idea of what the murder weapon was. But behind that piece of basalt, there had been a person. Someone filled with anger and hate.

  A shiver shot up my legs as I considered Miss May’s theory about this being a crime of passion. I was certain she was right. Whoever hurt Vinny had been in a fit of rage. He or she hadn’t
been planning to attack, at least not for long.

  I imagined the moment. Maybe a voice had called out, “Vinny!” And Vinny had turned. And there had been struggle.

  Perhaps the killer had almost backed down, but then Vinny had said something, something that had made the killer snap.

  I heard the crunch of rock hitting bone. The splash as Vinny collapsed into the creek. A quiet thunk as the killer dropped the rock into the silt. I stopped walking and doubled over.

  Miss May noticed and turned back. “Chels? You OK?”

  “There was a murderer here! I probably fed them a cookie.” Blech. I dry-heaved into the bushes. Miss May tried to put a hand on my back, but I waved her off.

  I felt sick and violated. Scared. But my fear quickly turned to anger, and my face flushed. Who would do something like this to the farm? And why were we just puttering around like amateur P.I.s instead of calling in real help? My mind filled with questions, and then they spilled out of my mouth.

  “Why are we doing this? Why aren’t we calling the cops?”

  “Huh?” Miss May resumed walking. I knew this tactic. She was stalling.

  “I mean, we’re returning to the scene of the crime. That’s dangerous, right?”

  “As of right now, we’re returning to the scene of an accident,” Miss May said. “This is a small town. If we start shooting off with theories and accusations, everyone’s gonna hear about it, and all of Pine Grove will fly into a panic.”

  “She’s right,” Teeny held her pointer finger in the air to emphasize her point.

  I shook my head. “But the cops wouldn’t tell anyone. They’re cops!”

  “Would too,” Teeny said. “I got my car broken into last year by some punk kids, and one of those rookie cops posted about it on Instagram! I couldn’t get rid of the lookie-loo’s for a full week after that, and all that got stolen was my Billy Joel CD!”

  “Piano Man?” Miss May asked.

  “The Stranger.”

  Miss May shook her head, “How could I forget. That’s even worse.”

  “OK,” I said. “So we’re not calling the cops because we don’t want word to spread that we think it was murder.”

  Miss May nodded.

  “That means we can definitely call them after we find the rock, right? At that point it’s our responsibility. People should know if there’s a killer on the loose.”

  Miss May grabbed a Red Delicious off a nearby tree and cleaned it on her shirt. “Of course.” She tossed the apple. “Here,” she said. “You look like you need a snack.”

  I took a bite of the apple. It was delicious, no doubt. But it wasn’t enough to distract me from the truth. There had been a murder on the orchard, and the killer was at large.

  11

  The Search Continues

  A few minutes later, we were a hundred feet from the creek, at most, when Miss May stopped walking. She grabbed my arm to stop me too, like a concerned parent doing the seatbelt move in a car.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Miss May nodded towards the brook. I followed her gaze, and that’s when I spotted a crouched figure, poised right near the edge of the creek.

  My organs knotted up, and I fought the urge to run away. What if that figure was a cold-blooded killer? My breath turned jagged as I tried to center myself. It wasn’t working. I was in a full-blown panic. The figure rose, and we got a better look. But I couldn’t focus. Who was it?

  “Uch,” Miss May said. “It’s Liz. From the Gazette.”

  Relief flooded my tightened limbs and balled-up guts. Liz was a lot of things, but she was not a murderer. Teeny, however, seemed more annoyed now that she recognized the croucher.

  “That girl ticks me off,” Teeny said. “She brought a rubric with her when she came to review the restaurant last year. Gave my fried chicken a three out of five for ‘mouth feel.’ I’d like to feel her mouth with my fist, if you know what I mean.”

  Despite her small stature, Teeny was often quick to threaten a backhand or a slug “right in the kisser” if somebody got her going. It would have been more intimidating, except Teeny couldn’t even reach most people’s kissers.

  I chuckled at Teeny’s bravado. “Has anyone ever questioned your decision to work in customer service?” I said.

  “Not to my face,” Teeny narrowed her eyes. “Why? Did someone say something?”

  I crossed my fingers behind my beck. “Nope.” At times, superstitions were the North Star of my moral compass. Anyway, some fibs are just necessary for self-preservation. Especially because Teeny could easily reach my kisser with her fist.

  Miss May elbowed me. “Looks like Liz spotted us.”

  I looked back down at the creek. Sure enough, Liz was waving up at us. Miss May waved back, then turned to me and Teeny. “C’mon. I’ll try to get rid of her.”

  “LIZ,” MISS MAY SAID as she approached. “What are you doing up here!”

  Liz stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Miss May, hey. I hope this is OK. I was just trying to get more photos for my story on Vinny’s death. The bake shop was closed, so I walked up here.”

  “Of course, it’s OK,” Miss May said.

  “Great,” Liz said. “I’m trying to work on my photography, and I got this new camera last week, so I couldn’t resist.” Liz held up a big fancy camera like it should impress us.

  “Sounds like a great hobby,” Miss May said.

  “It’s a little more than a hobby for me,” Liz adjusted the settings on the camera. “I’m getting good. I’ll probably try to sell some of my stuff in Manhattan or Brooklyn in the new year.”

  Teeny looked at me like, “This girl is crazy.” I tried not to laugh.

  “Cool,” Miss May said. “You should sell your work in town too. People love to support local artists around here.”

  “I thought about that, but I think my stuff makes more sense in the galleries in the city.”

  “That’s probably true,” Miss May said. “Good point.”

  We all just stood there for a few seconds, nodding. Miss May, Teeny, and I wanted Liz to leave so we could look for that rock, but she wasn’t getting the hint. Then I had an idea.

  “Did you say you were taking photos last night too?” I asked.

  “Yeah. But they were so dark. I need better brightness for the Gazette.”

  “I used to have a DSLR camera like yours," I said. "You might be able to adjust the settings to increase the brightness.”

  “Really?”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  Liz shrugged and handed me her camera. As luck would have it, Liz’s camera was the same make and model that I had used in my interior design business. (There’s another prized possession Mike took with him when he exiled me to Jersey City.)

  It surprised me how good it felt to hold a camera in my hand again. I used to photograph every apartment and office I worked on for my portfolio. After a lot of practice, I had gotten good at taking and editing photos. Back then it felt like a chore, but now I realized how much I missed that part of my job.

  I made a few comments about “brightness” and “resolution” as I scrolled through Liz’s camera in search of her pictures from the previous night. A second later, I was just inches away from an image of Vinny, face down in the brook.

  The photo was blurry. And it was definitely dark. But I could still make out the details.

  “These are good,” I said. “Way better than you made them sound. And I think they might even be salvageable for the paper.” I was lying, but I needed to keep the camera for as long as possible, and a little flattery seemed like a good way to accomplish that goal.

  I made a few adjustments to the settings, and the image of Vinny brightened up, casting his body in an odd white light. The photo definitely would not work for the paper. But it worked perfectly for my purposes.

  I zoomed in on the brook, and there, at the end of the long line of rocks, was a black rock about the size of a softball.

  The
murder weapon.

  I coughed involuntarily. “You need to see these photos, Miss May.” I looked up at Liz. “Really. Much better than you gave them credit for.”

  “Thanks,” Liz said. “I guess my vision came through, even if the camera wasn’t cooperating.”

  Miss May and Teeny hurried over. I zoomed in even further on the basalt and pointed at it on the screen.

  “See how nice the composition is? And look how she captured the moonlight on the water.”

  “Wow,” Miss May said. “These are beautiful.”

  “Looks blurry to me,” Teeny said. I kicked her. “I mean, but in a good way. Very artistic, as a matter of fact.”

  Liz smiled. I pointed to the screen.

  “And look,” I said to Teeny and Miss May. “Those are the rocks I used to play on when I was a kid.”

  “Yep,” Miss May said. “There they are.”

  Miss May’s eyes widened. Liz’s photos confirmed that my theory on the matter weapon was true, but we couldn’t overreact. If Liz figured out how important that picture was, she’d use it to mount her campaign for the Pulitzer Prize in Journalism.

  “These are nice,” I said as I handed the camera back to Liz. “You were right, though. They’re too dark. I can’t increase the brightness without making them look all washed out.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Liz said. “Thanks anyway.”

  I could tell that Miss May was getting impatient. She wanted to look for the rock, and this polite conversation with Liz was driving Miss May crazy. Miss May took Liz by the elbow and led her down the path. “You want a really good photo subject, you need to go hang out with See-Saw!”

  “Is that the tiny horse?” Liz asked. “She’s been here forever. She’s still alive!?”

  “Alive and eating a thousand apples a day,” Miss May said. “Just follow this path all the way down another five minutes. And take plenty of shots. She’s very photogenic!”

  “I was actually hoping to take a few more photos up here,” Liz said.

  “See-Saw goes down for her nap in ten minutes. KP is very strict about it,” Miss May said. “Better get going now!”

  “OK,” Liz said. “Thanks!”