Peaches and Scream

by Chelsea Thomas

  We squeezed past the delivery truck and into a large, industrial kitchen. The place, unlike most of Five Pines, was alive with hustle, bustle, and energy. A row of line cooks prepared hundreds of pounds of food. Orderlies rushed in and out, grabbing trays and shucking them onto carts. An angry-looking, square-headed woman presided over everything.

  “That must be the kitchen manager.” Miss May nodded toward the square-headed woman. “I’ll go over and—”

  “What are you doing in my kitchen? Who are you?” The square-headed woman spotted us and charged toward us in short, angry steps. “You need to leave.”

  “Hi! You must be the kitchen manager. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. But first, I’d love to introduce myself to you. My name is Mabel Thomas and I’m here to sell you the most delicious pies you’ve ever tasted. I can offer a bulk discount and—”

  “I don’t want pie. I’m happy with my dessert suppliers. Not very delicious but good enough.” Did everyone in this place hate pie?

  “Now there is my issue. Good enough is never good enough in my book.”

  The square-headed woman and Miss May argued back and forth about the importance of quality dessert. Meanwhile, Teeny and I edged away from the confrontation and further into the kitchen.

  Miss May pulled out a pie and “accidentally” dropped it on the floor to distract the woman. And with that, Teeny and I made our break and rushed toward the back of the room.

  We spotted an orderly pushing a cart of a food card into an enormous, steel elevator. My eyes widened. “Must be the freight elevator. Miss May was right.”

  “Let’s wait a minute. Once the orderly is gone, we’ll signal May and head up to the fourth floor.” Teeny rubbed her hands together. “We’re good at this, aren’t we?”

  I chuckled. “We’re no Jenna and Mr. Flowers, but we’re OK.”

  “No one is as good as Jenna and Mr. Flowers, Chelsea. No one.”

  Thirty seconds later, Teeny and I were frantically attempting to catch Miss May’s eye — without attracting anyone else’s attention. But it was no use. Miss May was in a very heated debate with the square-headed woman. I knew Teeny and I would have to proceed alone.

  Thirty seconds later, Teeny and I scurried into the freight elevator. I jammed the button for the fourth floor and the lift lurched into motion. Thirty seconds after that, the door opened and we stepped out into a residential hallway with no receptionist there to stop us in our tracks.

  Teeny turned to me with an unsure look in her eyes. “What now?”

  “Now we try to find room 408. And try to see if Lillian Edwards killed her roommate.”

  We walked down the hall, counting off the numbers until we got to room 408. The door was ajar, so I slowly pushed it further open.

  Teeny and I lurched into the room, expecting to find Lillian. But instead, all we found was a clean, tidy space made up for the next patient. A tucked-in bed, a guest chair, a simple desk… No killer or potential killers in sight.

  “Lillian’s gone,” I said, as I stepped deeper into the room.

  “Maybe she’s just on a walk.” Teeny followed me inside.

  “I don’t think so.” I pointed around the room as I talked. “Closet’s empty. The thermostat is off.

  And there’s not a single personal effect in the whole place.”

  “Strange,” Teeny said. “Maybe she escaped out the window?”

  I scratched my head. “Maybe. I doubt it, though.” I crossed the room and looked out the window. “Unless she can fly.”

  From up on the fourth floor, there was a nice view of the pine trees, stretching in a seemingly endless line toward the horizon. Teeny stood beside me. “I love August. Not just because it’s my birthday month. I like how green everything is, how it smells like summer and fall at the same time.”

  “I’m sure it smells better out there than it does in here. This place is so antiseptic.”

  “Antiseptic? What does antiseptic smell like?”

  I chuckled. “Like…cleaning fluid and doctors.”

  “Why not just say that?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. Even though I’m enjoying this nice view, I think we should probably head—”

  “Can I help you?” A male doctor, in his 50’s, stood in the doorway. His eyebrow was raised in suspicion.

  “Yes. You can help us.” Teeny offered the doctor a nervous smile. “I… You can help us… With…”

  “It’s OK. You don’t need to say anything else. Come on with me and I can help the two of you find your way back to your rooms.” The doctor stepped aside and gestured for us to step out into the hall.

  Teeny’s jaw dropped. “Oh, we’re not patients here. We’re visitors. Our minds are perfectly healthy. At least for the time being. I think. I mean, we’re strange but we don’t need to be institutionalized. Not yet.”

  “Not headed toward a future of being institutionalized, either,” I said. “Fingers crossed.”

  Teeny nodded. “Right.”

  I stepped forward and tried to speak in a calm and measured voice. It came out high and squeaky. “The tall, pale gentleman let us in to visit our friend.”

  “The one with the uh, striking, blue eyes,” said Teeny.

  The doctor furrowed his brow. “Oh. Alright. You should have said that. But who are you visiting? This room is empty.”

  I tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “It is empty, yes. That’s part of our confusion. Our friend Lillian Edwards is supposed to be in this room. Did you know Lillian?”

  “Of course. If I recall correctly…” The doctor pulled a tablet out of his bag and opened up a file. “That’s what I thought. Lillian was permitted temporary recess from the institution and she never returned.”

  Teeny’s head snapped back in shock. “So she’s just out there in the wild? All by herself? No one is watching her or anything?”

  The doctor shrugged. “I suppose not. Patient intake and recess are not my department.”

  “Well how do you know she’s OK?” Teeny asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “Do you know… when she, uh, checked out?” I inquired.

  The doctor flicked through to another screen on a tablet, then stopped. “It looks like Lillian checked out last Thursday.”

  “Like…two days before Saturday, Thursday?” I asked with my weird squeaky voice.

  The doctor nodded. “Yes that is how the days of the week work. You two can show yourselves out. You know the way out?”

  I gave the doctor a small nod but I was too shocked to speak. He left, continuing down the long hallway, and Teeny turned to me. “Chelsea. Are you OK? What’s going on?”

  “The doctor said Lillian left the hospital last Thursday, right?”

  Teeny nodded. “Yeah. So what?”

  I looked Teeny in the eyes. “So that means she was out before Beth died. Not just in time to give the eulogy…but also in time for the murder.”

  “So you think that’s proof…”

  I gulped. “I don’t know if it’s proof. But I think we need to find Lillian Edwards. Fast.”

  29

  Checked Out

  Teeny and I hurried back to the freight elevator and rode back down to the kitchen. I think we were both pretty scared because neither of us said anything. No matter how many times you confront a murderer or get close to learning the truth in a big investigation, those moments never cease to be shocking.

  On the one hand, I was glad not to be some sort of jaded, grizzled veteran of murder investigations. That would have been sad. On the other hand, I wished both of my hands would stop shaking and my heartbeat would slow the heck down.

  When we emerged out of the freight elevator and into the kitchen, Miss May was still talking to the square-headed woman. Well, the square-headed woman was talking. Miss May was waiting with her most impatient “I’m trying to be patient” face.

  Miss May interrupted the square-headed woman’s diatribe as we approached. “I unders
tand your point, Matilda. I appreciate that you’re running a large-scale operation here. But you can’t deny a delicious pie. I can deliver these pies at a five or ten percent lower rate than what I normally do. I’m almost losing money on that deal. This could be a good relationship. I’m only offering you this deal because I feel so strongly that even those of us whom society has marginalized deserve to eat well.”

  The square-headed lady, whose name I assumed was Matilda, shrugged. “I’m sorry. To be honest I don’t like the pie.”

  Miss May batted her eyelashes. That was the first and last time I ever heard anyone say anything disparaging about Miss May’s pie. From the look on Miss May’s face, it was a new experience for her too. “What do you mean you don’t like the pie?” Miss May laughed. “This pie is award-winning. The apples are picked from my orchard. I’m using a recipe that I’ve worked on for decades. The crust is often called divine. Once an elderly man took a bite of my pie and it literally killed him with joy. May he rest in peace.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  I took a ginger step forward. “Excuse me. Sorry. But uh, we’re back and we’re ready to go.”

  “Back from where?” The square-headed woman look suspicious.

  “The...bathroom,” I said. “We found the bathroom. And we both really had to go so it took a while.”

  Teeny pointed a finger in the air. “Yes. I have irritable bowel syndrome. IBS for short. I’m also just irritable. And I really would like to leave this horrible institution. If you don’t like my friend’s pie, then you should be upstairs with the patients. Because it is the most delicious, scrumptious, buttery, luscious pie I have ever eaten. I’m proud to call it my favorite pie. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

  Teeny charged away. I followed behind her. Miss May held her chin in the air with pride. “Yes. Please excuse us.”

  My aunt spun on her heels and followed right behind Teeny and me.

  Back in the car, Miss May could not believe what we told her about Lillian Edwards. “You sure you went to the right room?” She turned up the air conditioner and wiped sweat from her brow.

  “Yes, May. 408. Not complicated. We talked to the doctor and everything.”

  “So she’s really missing.” Miss May sighed. “She could be on the run. But it’s also possible she just didn’t want to go back to that place. That square-headed kitchen lady was a nightmare. And don’t get me started on the skinny guy with the Siberian husky eyes. The whole place sketched me out.”

  “Good point,” I said. “The fact that she didn’t return after temporary recess doesn’t necessarily mean Lillian killed Beth. It could also mean she just didn’t want to go back to that life.”

  Miss May nodded. “And the fact that Lillian was out in the world before Beth’s murder doesn’t necessarily mean Lillian killed Beth either. In fact, perhaps Lillian learned of the murder plot somehow and left the institution to warn Beth. They were roommates, after all. And since Lillian gave the eulogy, I presume there was some level of friendship or dedication there.”

  “I could never be friends with Beth.” Teeny took a sharp left turn and headed back toward Pine Grove. “I don’t like hanging out with anybody who accuses my friend Chelsea of murder.”

  I chuckled. “That makes sense. Good criteria for choosing your friends. I don’t think I could be friends with Beth either. Because I don’t like to hang out with people who accuse me of murder.”

  “I think it’s clear none of the three of us could be friends with Beth,” said Miss May. “Moot point, since she’s dead. We need to figure out what to do next. Because the poor girl deserves justice, even if we wouldn’t hang out with her. And goodness knows the cops aren’t going to make anything happen.”

  “How are we going to find Lillian?” I asked. “That’s what we should do, right?”

  “Maybe her home address was on those papers in the hospital,” Teeny said. “We could go back for them. Or you guys could. Solo mission.”

  “No point. I photographed the papers with my phone in the record room,” I said. “Lillian’s home address isn’t on there. It’s only internal information.”

  “Let’s go talk to Liz at the Pine Grove Gazette. She’s got the scoop on everyone.” Teeny increased the speed of the car by five or ten mph.

  Miss May shook her head. “I like the way you’re thinking, Teeny. But Lillian wasn’t from Pine Grove. If she were local, we’d know her. She must have been from Blue Mountain like Beth. I doubt the editor of our paper will be able to help.”

  “Let’s think of who we know in Blue Mountain,” said Teeny.

  “I don’t need to think about it. I don’t know anyone. That place is barely a town,” Miss May said. “I’ve never been there except to deliver food to Beth those few times.”

  “Yeah I have no Blue Mountain acquaintances,” I said.

  “Me neither,” said Teeny. “I don’t want to know those Blue Mountain people. Nothing against them but so far I only know Beth and Lillian and both those girls creeped me out.”

  I leaned forward and stuck my head between Teeny and Miss May. “Hold on a second. Maybe there was a clue in Lillian’s eulogy. She mentioned a few weird things in that speech, didn’t she?”

  “Oh yeah.” Miss May rubbed her chin. “She talked about laughing at the edge of a rainbow or something.”

  “Exactly.” I scooched further toward the front of the car. “She mentioned a painted lady with gorgeous nails. And a traitor at the end of the bar. What if that wasn’t just rambling nonsense? What if those were clues?”

  Miss May glanced in the rearview mirror and made eye contact with me. She chuckled. “Chelsea. Sometimes I wonder if your college education was worth anything. Because you can be klutzy and ditzy and very silly a lot of the time.”

  “But…?” I prompted. “Is there a but at the end of that sentence?”

  “But sometimes you’re brilliant,” Miss May said. “I bet those references in the eulogy are absolutely clues about where Lillian and Beth used to hang out.”

  “For real?”

  Miss May grinned and turned to Teeny. “Teeny. Make your next right. I think I know where we’ll find Lillian. But we need to get there fast.”

  Teeny pressed her foot all the way down on the gas pedal. “Not a problem, May. Not a problem.”

  30

  Over the Rainbow

  Fifteen minutes later, we were in the small river town of Peekskill, New York. We had been to Peekskill on prior investigations and every time we drove through the quaint downtown, my heart warmed. Peekskill was a Revolutionary War-era town. It had a mix of old colonial homes, grand Victorians painted in bright colors, and brick factory buildings from the industrial boom in the late 1800’s.

  Although the small town had gone through some hard times in the 1990’s, a recent revitalization effort had transformed Peekskill into a bustling artistic community. That day, an African drummer soulfully beat a djembe in the gazebo, entertaining a small crowd of people. A group of schoolchildren made chalk art on the sidewalk. And a long-haired burnout emerged from a quirky guitar shop with a new guitar slung over each shoulder.

  Teeny parked on the main street in town (which was called Division Street, not Main Street), right outside the guitar shop. She hopped out of the car. Miss May and I followed. “What are we doing back in the Skill?” I asked.

  I’d asked Miss May the same question several times on the drive over, and she had refused to answer. Nothing changed upon our arrival.

  “I told you. You’ll know it when you see it.” Miss May looked around the little downtown area. “I love this town. Can’t you smell the Hudson River on the air?”

  Teeny stood on her tippy-toes and sniffed. “I smell French fries and hot wings. And wine.”

  I laughed. “You can’t smell wine.”

  Teeny turned to me. “Maybe you can’t. But I can smell wine from a mile away. Delicious, sweet, wine with two ice cubes.”

  Teeny’s signature beverage was white
wine with ice cubes. I have to admit, it was refreshing, although unorthodox. And I thought maybe I’d even get some ice cold wine at dinner that night.

  “Can we have dinner in Peekskill?” I asked. “I could go for a wine slushy.”

  Teeny grinned. “That’s my girl.”

  Miss May headed down the sidewalk toward Main Street (the real one — confusing, I know). “As a matter of fact, we’re headed someplace with a wonderful selection of dinner fare. I think I’ll get a burger with a side of mystery. And maybe they can top it off with a solution to this crime.”

  “I’ll have the same,” I said.

  Teeny shook her head. “Not me. Not in the mood for a burger. And I don’t want anything mysterious on top of my food. If I can’t name the ingredient, don’t serve it to me. That’s what I always say in my restaurant. I hate surprises. Simple food is the answer all the time. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying straight to your face and they probably hate you.”

  Miss May and I laughed. “I like that attitude,” said Miss May. “But don’t worry. The place we’re going is nice and rustic, just how you like it.”

  Miss May pointed out a small brick building across the street. It had a cute shingle roof and a chimney in the back. “That’s the spot. Revere’s Tavern.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Like Paul Revere?”

  Miss May nodded. “Yes. This restaurant is rich with Revolutionary War history. In fact, they say this is where Benedict Arnold decided to betray the American troops.”

  “I’ll never forgive that guy.” Teeny crossed her arms. “What a Benedict Arnold.”

  Miss May waited for a few cars to pass then she jogged across the road. Teeny and I strolled behind her, then entered the restaurant.

  Did I say restaurant? I meant bar. Bar that served food. Fine. I suppose tavern is the perfect word for it.

  There was a long wooden bar along the left wall. The opposite side of the room had a few booths. A projector was silently playing The Wizard of Oz on one wall. A handmade canoe hung over the shelves of liquor. The whole place had a dark, lively energy.