Peaches and Scream

by Chelsea Thomas

  “That’s good,” said Miss May. “Granny’s a smart woman. And Chelsea, I think I agree with Teeny. Big Jim is just a weird magic nerd. But honestly, it sounded to me like he had a certain fondness for Beth. I feel bad for him.”

  “But she had that big star next to his name in the notebook. She thought Big Jim wanted to kill her.”

  “She thought everyone wanted to kill her,” said Miss May.

  “Yeah,” said Teeny. “And who knows if we can even trust that notebook. Sure, Beth’s name was on the cover. But what if it wasn’t even hers? What if the killer had that notebook delivered to divert our attention?”

  Both Miss May and I did a double-take at Teeny.

  “That’s an interesting theory,” said Miss May.

  “Yeah, it is,” said Teeny. “I didn’t even know I had that idea until it came out of my mouth but now that I’ve said it I feel smart.”

  “That’s an elaborate distraction,” I said. “And I don’t think we should discount the veracity of the book on a hunch. We need to verify the authenticity somehow.”

  Teeny furrowed her brow. “I agree. But how?”

  “I have an idea,” said Miss May. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  Brian approached and placed a few drinks down on the table with a smile. “Enjoy, ladies.”

  He walked away and I looked at our drinks. Sure enough, Teeny’s coffee was piled high with whipped cream and sprinkles. Usually, the sight of her drink would bring me a smile. But at that moment, I felt uneasy.

  And no amount of sprinkles could fix it.

  21

  Up a Tree

  “OK,” I sighed, knowing exactly where Miss May was headed. “You want to find a way into Beth’s house and find another sample of her handwriting to compare to the handwriting from the notebook.”

  “That’s right.” Miss May climbed into the front seat of Teeny’s car and I jumped in the back. Teeny was already in the driver’s seat, fixing her hair and straightening her sunglasses.

  “That makes sense to me,” I said. “But what I don’t understand is how you think we’re going to get inside Beth’s house?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Going to have to figure that out when the time comes. I’ve got a purse filled with pies so I can charm the brothers if necessary.”

  Teeny started the car. “Your purse is not filled with pies.”

  Miss May opened her purse and Teeny looked inside. “Fine. Your purse is filled with pies. But those are mini pies so they don’t really count.”

  “A mini pie is a pie, Teeny.”

  “Ugh,” Teeny said. “I guess you’re right. And those pies look delicious. Can I have one?”

  Miss May snapped her purse closed. “Sorry. We might need these where we’re headed.”

  “I dunno,” I said. “It’s not like we’re gonna show up and those creepy brothers are going to say, ‘thank you for the pie please enter my home and review all my dead sister’s written documents.’”

  Miss May turned back and glared at me. “Chelsea. What’s with the pessimism? When we need information, we get the information. That’s how we work.”

  “You’re right,” I grumbled. “Consider my attitude adjusted. Let’s do this.”

  Teeny slammed on the gas and sped out of town with a cheerful holler. I decided not to focus on my feelings of skepticism and instead focused on the feeling of the summer air pushing my hair off my forehead. It felt good and that was enough to salve my anxiety in the moment.

  We pulled up to Beth’s house in Blue Mountain to find that there were no cars in the driveway. “Looks like no one’s home,” said Miss May. She climbed out of the car and smoothed her pants with her palms. “Let’s see what we can do here.”

  “Breaking and entering. Great,” I said. “My favorite part of any investigation.”

  Teeny giggled. “I know you’re being sarcastic but it really is my favorite part of these mysteries. I was born to burgle.”

  “You were not,” said Miss May. “You were born to cook.”

  “I can be born for more than one thing! I’m not saying I’m a bad cook,” said Teeny. “I’m just pointing out that I’m small and I step lightly and I can fit in tiny spaces.”

  “We might not even have to break into this place,” I said. “Maybe we could just wait for the brothers to come back. I’d rather avoid getting arrested today if possible.”

  Miss May rolled her eyes. “No one is getting arrested, Chelsea. Come on. Let’s go around back.”

  Over the course of the next ten minutes, Teeny, Miss May, and I tried every door and window to the entire first floor of the house. Every single point of entry had been locked and the home seemed impenetrable. Then Teeny had an idea that made me feel queasy in my ears. Don’t know what I mean by that? Just wait ‘til you hear the idea…

  Teeny pointed at a large oak tree off to the side of the house. “That’s a beautiful tree, don’t you girls think?”

  Miss May and I shrugged. Teeny grinned. “Looks like it would be easy to climb for a healthy young woman. And that big branch reaches right onto the roof by the second floor. Now, call me crazy, but that third window over is cracked, isn’t it?”

  I groaned. “Please don’t make me climb that tree.”

  “We’re not making you do anything,” said Miss May. “Justice is.”

  As a kid, I’d loved climbing trees. Then again, as a kid I had been rail thin, all elbows and knees. I had been a veritable tree-climbing machine. As an adult, I had the same elbows and knees I had had when I was a kid but they were surrounded by extra padding. Not ideal for lifting myself up and squeezing in between branches.

  That’s probably why it took me half an hour to get to the big branch that stretched onto the roof. Teeny had been right, the tree wasn’t difficult to climb, even for me. There were plenty of footholds and I only scratched myself five or six times. But I overthought every moment of my climb. I second-guessed which branches to climb onto, which to hold onto for support, and where to place my feet.

  After what felt like several decades trapped in an elevator, I finally popped off the big branch and onto the roof of Beth’s house. I wiggled the window open wider, then looked back down at Teeny and Miss May. They each gave me a big thumbs up. Then I crawled inside, feeling victorious. That was the last positive thing that happened that day.

  Even though I made it up the tree, our search of Beth’s house did not go well. In fact, in many ways, it could not have gone worse.

  Which is probably why I ended up spending the night in jail.

  22

  Handwriting on the Wall

  I flopped from the roof of Beth’s house into a dirty, cluttered bathroom. The place had a thick layer of grime on the counters. Water dripped from the shower head. Toothpaste had spilled near the sink and hardened.

  “OK. Don’t be judgmental, Chelsea,” I muttered to myself. “But do get out of this place because it’s disgusting and how could anyone live like this and oh my goodness gross gross gross.”

  Needless to say, I ran out of that bathroom as fast as my stubby little legs could take me. In the hallway, I ran straight into a bookshelf and knocked over seven vases. Who keeps so many vases on a bookshelf? And how is it possible that they all smashed into a million pieces?

  I bent down to clean the glass, then realized how silly I was being. “Chelsea. Get a grip,” I grumbled. “You can’t clean that up it’s going to take forever. You’re here on a mission. Find a sample of Beth’s handwriting and compare it to the notebook.”

  “Let us in.” Miss May called from outside. I’d almost forgotten. Teeny and Miss May could help in the search. Also, they had the notebook with them out there. Which we were going to need.

  I opened the back door and let Teeny and Miss May in to the cluttered sunporch. “What was that crashing sound?” Miss May asked.

  “I broke seven vases.”

  “How did you possibly manage that?” Miss May asked, incredulous.

 
“They were all in one spot.”

  Teeny threw up her hands. “Who keeps seven vases all in one place?”

  I shook my head. “It was a bookshelf covered in vases. I suppose that makes it a vase shelf. I don’t know. Let’s start the search.”

  Once back inside, we fanned out to search efficiently. Miss May scoured the kitchen for handwriting samples. Teeny took the living room and I set off for the upstairs to find Beth’s bedroom.

  I could take a couple of minutes to tell you how gross and disgusting every single room in the house was, but that would feel rude. I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, or her abode, but man, Beth was not a clean person. Suffice it to say, every room in the house was at least as gross as that upstairs bathroom.

  I’m talking grime upon grime upon grime. That kitchen… I would never eat out of the kitchen. OK. Sorry, rambling, being a little judgmental. Let’s get back to the story.

  I pushed the door to Beth’s bedroom open with a creak. The creak reminded me that we were there on a secret mission. I needed to stay focused and not get distracted by how gross things were. Yes, Beth and her brothers lived like animals, but two of the animals might return home at any moment and be ready to attack. The situation was tense and I felt the suspense clenching at my lungs.

  Have I mentioned I hate breaking and entering?

  I couldn’t see an inch of Beth’s floors because the entire room was covered in clothing. Even the bed had clothes piled up on it, with just a little space remaining for someone to sleep. I spotted a desk on the far wall and crossed toward it. “OK. Handwriting, handwriting…” There were a few papers scattered on the desk but they all seemed to be forms and printouts from the Internet. There were a few ads for the local pizza place that Beth had printed for whatever reason. There were a few old copies of the Pine Grove Gazette, I’m sure the editor of the local paper Liz would’ve been happy to know. But no handwriting.

  “I guess people don’t write by hand as much as they used to,” I said, to no one. I considered this. I personally wrote things by hand all the time. At the bakeshop, it was always necessary to jot down notes to Miss May or alter recipes, and I often hand-scrawled customer receipts. But outside of that context I barely used handwriting at all.

  I moved a few more papers aside and uncovered a clunky old laptop. I picked up the computer and I swear it was so heavy it made my arms tired.

  I opened the ancient laptop and it prompted me for a password. I looked around, trying to guess what Beth’s password might be. DirtyBedroom? GrossHouse 123? I turned the laptop upside down to see if the password been taped to the bottom and the entire screen detached from the keyboard. I cringed. My visit to Beth’s house had really taken breaking and entering to a whole new level, especially where the ‘breaking’ part was concerned. I did my best to sandwich the laptop back together, gave a deep sigh and exited.

  Back downstairs, it seemed that Teeny and Miss May hadn’t had much more luck. Miss May was digging through a kitchen drawer with a ginger touch. Teeny was beside her, apparently having given up on the living room.

  “Find anything?”

  Miss May looked up, exasperated. “There’s not a stitch of handwriting in this entire home. Did you have any luck?”

  I shook my head. “No. But I destroyed the victim’s computer.”

  Miss May rubbed her forehead. “That’s disappointing.”

  Teeny grabbed an envelope from a pile of papers on the kitchen counter. “One second. What’s this?” She handed the envelope to Miss May. “It’s from Five Pines, the mental institution. There’s a past-due sticker stamped on top.”

  Miss May looked from Teeny and then over to me. “Maybe that rumor about Beth being institutionalized was more than a rumor.”

  I shrugged. “There’s one good way to find out.”

  Miss May opened the envelope and pulled the letter out from inside. Her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. Beth has been in and out of Five Pines several times in the past couple years. Looks like she was in there a week before she died. And she owes a lot of money. Well, owed. I guess her brothers owe it now…”

  Teeny and I crowded around Miss May to get a better look at the document. Teeny covered her mouth. “Goodness! That is a lot of money!”

  I winced. “Yes it is.”

  Miss May slid the paper back in the envelope and returned the envelope to its place on the kitchen counter. “I wonder if her murder had something to do with Five Pines. I know mental health facilities can be helpful to some people, but Five Pines doesn’t have a great reputation.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Miss May spoke slowly. “There’ve been reports of poor conditions. Violent patients. Irresponsible orderlies…I don’t think it’s a very nice place to live.”

  “Maybe we should go there,” I said.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re doing in my home.”

  We spun around to face the back door. There stood Jonathan, Beth’s chubby little bald brother. And he was holding a gun.

  23

  Gunning for Trouble

  Let’s pick up where we left off.

  With me, Teeny, and Miss May standing in the kitchen and Jonathan pointing a gun at us.

  Honestly, my first thought was that Jonathan was the killer. Our mysteries had concluded before with us being threatened at gunpoint.

  But then I thought, it would be all too easy if the killer just gave himself up like that. It didn’t make sense. I glanced over at Miss May. Her hands were up and her face was calm. I could tell she didn’t think Jonathan was the killer either.

  “Hi Jonathan,” said Miss May. “I’m going to be very honest with you now, OK?”

  Jonathan’s hand was trembling. His gun wobbled as his arms shook. “OK. Talk.”

  “You know this already but Teeny, Chelsea, and I broke into the home you share with your sister. Yes. We’re not here to hurt anyone or to steal anything. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are amateur detectives. When something goes wrong in Pine Grove, we investigate.”

  “Everybody knows that.”

  “Our sole focus right now is to find the person who killed your sister to make sure they go to jail for a long time for what they did. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have broken in here. Of course. But there’s a killer on the loose right now. And we thought this home may contain evidence that would help us find that person.”

  Jonathan clasped his free hand around the gun so both hands were now clutching the weapon.

  “Why are we telling him we broke in?!” said Teeny.

  “Because it’s true,” said Miss May. “Obviously we don’t live here.”

  Teeny shook her head and looked at Jonathan. “That’s not true. You can put the gun down because she lied. We didn’t break in. Your other brother was home when we got here and he let us in. And he’s still here. Upstairs somewhere. You should go find him.”

  “I’m not an idiot. Michael isn’t home.”

  Teeny looked over at Miss May as if to suggest it was worth a try. But even I, the queen of bad lies, knew Teeny really flubbed that lie. Then again, I hadn’t said a single word since the man with the gun showed up, so I wasn’t really helping either.

  “You’re intruders. I don’t care why you say you’re here. You broke the law and I’m calling the police.”

  Miss May hung her head. “I know you want justice. Calling the police is not your best bet. We’ve solved more murders than our entire town’s police force combined.”

  Jonathan swallowed. I could tell Miss May’s logic was working on him. His head wavered from side to side. Then he snapped back to attention. “No. I don’t care what you say. The police would never have come into a home without asking. They would need a warrant and they would do things the right way.”

  Teeny scoffed. “The police are fools. We don’t have the resources they have, but what we do have is intelligence and smarts. We get it done, wrap it up, case closed, Bob’s you
r uncle.”

  “What? Who’s Bob?” Jonathan furrowed his brow.

  “It’s a British expression,” said Miss May. “Don’t ask.” Miss May took a small step toward Jonathan. “Please lower the gun? This doesn’t need to turn violent.”

  Jonathan maintained his wobbly grip on the gun. “Stay away from me. I said I’m calling the police.”

  Miss May retreated back a step. “Alright. Call the police.”

  The illustrious Detective Wayne Hudson arrived about fifteen minutes later in his unmarked car. He entered the kitchen to find me, Teeny, and Miss May still held at gunpoint by Jonathan. But Jonathan relaxed when Wayne entered and lowered the gun. Then, Wayne listened to Jonathan’s entire story and refused to let us butt in, even when Jonathan was clearly exaggerating or making us look bad.

  “Thank you for the information,” said Wayne when Jonathan had stopped speaking. “These three know better than to break into the home of a stranger. I mean, any American citizen knows better. There are laws.”

  “He pulled a gun on us!” Teeny said.

  “Technically, you broke into his home…so his actions count as self-defense,” Wayne said. “Although, Jonathan, please be careful with that thing.”

  “I’m always careful,” Jonathan responded. “Even when there are crazy people marauding around my house.”

  “We’re not marauding, there’s a killer and—” I started.

  “And that’s just another reason not to break into someone’s home. People want to feel safe right now, not under threat.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Exactly. My sister was just killed. You think I want to find intruders snooping around her belongings?”

  “You’re right,” said Miss May. “That’s our bad. But I’m wondering, Wayne, why are you even here? We’re in Blue Mountain, not Pine Grove.”

  “Pine Grove police patrol most of Blue Mountain. There’s fewer than a thousand residents in this town so we handle it for the county. It’s usually an easy beat.”