“Doesn’t matter what you showed us,” said Teeny. “We don’t trust magicians in this car. You people are all sneaky weirdos.”
“That’s not fair,” said Big Jim. “That’s a wild generalization.”
“Just tell us why you’re here,” said Miss May. “Stop defending magicians, we all know they can be creepy. Some of them are very nice, I know, but Teeny has dated a few of you so she has some preconceived notions.”
I stuck my head out the window. “Yeah!” OK. Not my wittiest remark ever but we were in the middle of a tense moment.
“Tell us what you know,” said Miss May.
“I think you’ve already learned the truth about me,” said Big Jim. “Michael and Jonathan are my sons. Beth was my daughter. I left them with their mother when they were babies. Walked right out on my family. Worst mistake I ever made.”
“You should be ashamed of that,” said Teeny.
“I am. Trust me, I am. Those three had it hard growing up. They’re unique children. They didn’t do well in school and their mother was…strange. The kids basically raised themselves. I’m sad to say, I’m not sure they did a very good job. I returned to Pine Grove to make amends. But I was too late. Michael and Jonathan have serious issues. If you suspect they killed their own sister…I’m sorry to say you’re correct.”
“We’re always correct,” said Teeny. “You can’t get away with murder in this town. Or in the adjacent, smaller towns either!”
Big Jim nodded. “I felt terrible when I realized what my boys had done to Beth. I can’t say I understand it, but I do understand that I’m to blame, at least in part. While I was relaxing and living the good life in Jacksonville, Florida for the past thirty years, those kids were struggling without a dad.”
“You ran away to Jacksonville, Florida?” I asked. “Why?”
“I saw a commercial for Jacksonville on television. It seemed like paradise and it was.”
Teeny scoffed. “Jacksonville is not my idea of paradise. If you’re going to live in Florida you need to be on the Gulf Coast.”
“I visited the Gulf here and there. Spent some time in the keys. Not much of a Key West guy, to tell the truth.”
“OK,” said Miss May. “Keep telling us about your sons and Beth.”
“Right,” said Big Jim. “I felt responsible when I realized my sons had hurt Beth. I felt even worse when I realized that the three of you were going to catch them and put them in jail for life. I know it was wrong for them to kill Beth but I didn’t want them to be punished for my mistakes. So… I started interfering in your investigation. First, I set up the tarot card spread and locked the door. Then I led you to Sudeer, then to Lillian Edwards to distract you from my boys. I also sent that notebook.”
“And you pointed to yourself as a suspect so we’d never suspect you…” I said, putting things together as Jim spoke. “Smart. You really thought it through.”
“If you want your sons to get away with this murder, why are you here?” Teeny asked.
Big Jim hung his head. “I’m here because… I was a bad father, yeah. But there are plenty of children who grow up without fathers. And most of those children do not murder their own sister in cold blood. My sons should be held accountable for what they did. I want to help hold them accountable. Because that’s what a good father would do. A good father doesn’t let his children get away with murder.”
Sitting there, looking at Big Jim, I pitied him. This whole story — the absentee father, the lonely, strange children — it had an air of operatic tragedy. I noticed Big Jim’s long, quavering shadow, and I thought about how the past follows us all around. Some of us figure out how to live with our mistakes, but some of us never do.
“How can you help us now?” I asked.
Jim let out a long, deep sigh. “I know where Michael and Jonathan are hiding. They plan to fly to South America in the morning. But if we go now, we can catch them before they leave.”
“You want to take us to your sons? Turn them in?” Miss May bit her lip as she awaited Big Jim’s answer.
Big Jim nodded. “Just promise you won’t hurt them.”
“We won’t hurt them unless they try to hurt us,” said Miss May.
Jim nodded. “They won’t try to hurt you. I promise.”
50
Reunited
We told Big Jim we’d follow him to the secret location. He agreed to stay below the speed limit and not run any yellows. Then he jumped in his flashy sedan and set off, driving south on the Taconic State Parkway.
Big Jim had told us the brothers were holed up somewhere in New York City. We drove behind, weaving in and out of lanes, for about two hours. Then we found ourselves double-parked on a side street in the Washington Heights neighborhood of New York City. Big Jim parked one car-length in front of us, rolled down his window, and motioned for us to approach.
“This must be the place,” said Miss May.
“Should we get out of the car?” Teeny asked.
Miss May shrugged. “If we don’t get out of the car, there’s no reason to have followed Big Jim here in the first place.”
Miss May climbed out and walked toward Big Jim’s vehicle. Teeny and I followed, lagging a step or two behind. Miss May stopped a safe distance from Big Jim’s window and crossed her arms. “Alright. We came all the way down here. Now what?”
Big Jim pointed at the five-story brick building across the street. “That’s the Washington Heights Hotel. The boys are in there. Room 502.”
Miss May looked up at the fifth floor. “OK. Is there any reason they might know we’re coming?”
Big Jim shook his head. “Is there any reason to believe the three of you might’ve called the police?”
Miss May shook her head. “We’ve learned from experience… police don’t respond well to random murder theories. Pine Grove PD would never investigate in Manhattan. Manhattan police wouldn’t listen to us even if we did call them. It is up to the three of us to get your sons to turn themselves in.”
Jim raised his left eyebrow. “You mean the four of us.”
Miss May shook her head. “Oh no. You’re staying parked out here. Or you can drive back to Pine Grove, if you want. Either way, you’re not going up there.”
“I really think it would be better if I came with. Those boys will listen to me.”
“They’ll listen to us, too,” Miss May said. “And so will you.” Big Jim grunted and climbed back into his parked car.
The lobby of the hotel smelled musty and wet. The place looked like it had been fancy once, maybe in the 1920’s. But under current ownership, it was the opposite of fancy. I might even go so far as to say, disgusting. The tiles were filthy. The granite receptionist desk was chipped and scratched. An angry young woman stood behind the counter looking even worse for wear than her surroundings.
“Hi. Just visiting a friend in room 502. Can you point us to the elevators?” Miss May used her polite, friendly voice.
It did not work on the disgruntled woman. “No elevator. Take the stairs.”
Miss May blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry. Is there maybe a service elevator or a freight elevator? Five stories is a lot for these old legs.”
The woman shrugged. “No elevator. Take the stairs.”
Five stories was a lot for all of our legs. We stopped every flight to catch our breath. Sometimes, we stopped twice in one flight. But after about fifteen minutes we made it all the way up to the fifth floor. The stairway had been so grimy and repulsive, I sighed in relief when we stepped out into the hallway, even though it was also grimy and repulsive.
“This is what they call a two-star motel,” said Teeny. “But I’m not sure how these places get those two stars. Maybe they bribed the reviewers. I’d give this negative five stars. Heavy marks off for how often I found myself wondering, ‘Is this a blood stain or food?’”
Miss May gestured down the hall. “There’s room 502. Ready?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. Teeny nodde
d too, so vigorously I thought her head might pop off. “I was born two weeks early. But even then, I was ready.”
Miss May knocked on the door three times with her big, powerful fists. A nervous male voice called back. “Who is it?”
“Complimentary fresh-baked cookies from the kitchen,” said Miss May.
Miss May looked over at me, proud. She always knew how to use baked goods to her advantage. “Do you really have cookies?” I whispered.
Miss May scrunched up her face. “Yes. But they’re not for these two. They’re for us on the drive home.”
A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal the short, bald brother, Jonathan. His eyes widened when he saw us. “Wait. You don’t work here.”
Miss May stepped in the hotel room and Teeny and I followed. “You’re right. We don’t work for this hotel. But we need to talk.” Miss May closed the door behind her.
Jonathan scrambled to get in front of us. His eyes darted around the room, as if he was searching for an exit. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave. If you don’t, I’m calling security.”
Miss May chuckled. “This place doesn’t have security, Jonathan. And it doesn’t have a kitchen or staff that brings fresh-baked cookies to your door.”
Jonathan looked down. “I thought that sounded too good to be true.”
“I want you to go to your window, look down, and tell me what you see.” Miss May pointed to the window across the room.
Jonathan edged toward the window, keeping one eye on us the whole time. “OK.” He parted the blinds and looked outside. “I don’t see anything. It’s the street.”
“See that nice car parked right in front of the hotel?” Miss May asked.
Jonathan turned back and winced. “Oh. You talked to my dad.”
Miss May nodded. “He talked to us. Told us all about what you and Michael did.” Miss May turned around. “Where is your brother, anyway?”
“Big Jim. That no-good, deadbeat, son of a... I can’t believe he ratted me out! He told me he was sorry for leaving us. He told me he was going to keep you three away. I thought he was going to fix everything.”
“A good father holds his children accountable for their actions,” Teeny repeated. “Especially when his sons are murderers.”
“You and your brother killed your sister. Then you killed Lillian Edwards. Those actions have consequences.” I took a step forward and held my shoulders back. My hope was that my strong posture would remind Jonathan of my famous karate skills and convince him to back down without a fight. I wasn’t sure word of my famous karate skills had even reached Blue Mountain, but still… I was doing my best to intimidate.
“You’re wrong about that,” said Jonathan. “I didn’t kill Lillian Edwards.”
A loud voice boomed from the doorway. “I did.”
We spun back to the door. Big Jim stepped inside, closed the door and locked it behind him. “Big Jim,” I said. “We should have known not to trust you.”
“Magicians!” Teeny grumbled with disdain.
Miss May shook her head. “I thought you felt bad, Big Jim. You wanted to make things right.”
“That’s ridiculous, May. I’m not sending my own son to jail for murder. Beth was crazy. She thought everyone was out to get her, including me, and she couldn’t hold a job. She was in mountains of debt. Yes, she was my daughter, but there was nothing but bad blood between us. She seemed to have bad blood with everybody. Even you, Chelsea. She thought everyone wanted her dead. In a way, Jonathan put her out of her misery.”
“She was still a person,” I said. “That’s no way to talk about—”
Suddenly, Jonathan rushed at me and tackled me to the ground. We hit the gross, carpeted floor with a resounding thud.
“Get off me!” I tried to push Jonathan away but he was too short and stocky. His center of gravity was low and he was dense, so I couldn’t budge him. Teeny lunged across the room and jumped on Jonathan’s back. He flung her off like she was nothing more than a mosquito. Teeny hit the wall and slid to the floor, like a character from a comic book. “Ouch! You slimy little creep! That hurt.”
Teeny got back to her feet, and Big Jim laughed. “We may be creeps, but somehow I don’t think you three ladies are going to be able to defeat us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Jim,” said Miss May. She took two steps toward Jonathan and pulled her fist back, ready to deliver a punch. I’d never seen Miss May punch anyone, and I was kind of excited to witness my aunt fighting. Although her form was… not good.
Before Miss May could bring down the hammer, Big Jim caught her by the wrist and tossed her back toward the door. I struggled to stand so I could help Miss May, but Jonathan still had me pinned to the ground. His hand reached for my throat, and I felt his fingers closing around my neck.
Big Jim grabbed Miss May with one hand and Teeny with the other, and roughly shoved them into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and propped a chair against the handle. Teeny and Miss May pounded and yelled, but they couldn’t get out.
My eyes widened. Miss May and Teeny were indisposed. I was seconds away from losing my air supply. And I was outnumbered two-to-one by a murderer and his deadbeat dad, who, as it turned out was also a murderer. In all of our investigations, I had never been in this kind of immediate danger. In that moment, I forgot all my karate training and instead, resorted to pure instinct. I scratched at Jonathan’s face. I attempted to scream for help but my voice was hoarse and muted by lack of oxygen.
I continued to struggle, kicking and hitting and thrashing, but I was starting to feel fear, real, cold fear… Fear that Jonathan’s angry, squat face would be the last thing I ever saw.
Then came three strong knocks at the door to the room. “Police. Open up.”
I choked out a single word: “Help.”
“Open the door. Now!” A strong, angry voice demanded from outside.
Miss May and Teeny screamed from the bathroom. “Just come in. The killers are in here. We need help.”
Crash. A black boot kicked through the door and three police officers stormed inside. In seconds, they had Big Jim in handcuffs against the wall. Then they pulled Jonathan off of me, slammed him against the wall and cuffed him too.
The cops let Miss May and Teeny out of the bathroom. We all looked at each other, in shock and relief. That had been a really close call, and we all felt shaken.
“It’s OK.” Miss May hugged me closer to her. “You’re safe now. We’re safe. It’s OK.”
“You’re all safe,” said someone from behind us.
Miss May let me go. We turned toward the sound of the voice. It was Michael, emerging from the closet. He had dark circles under his eyes. Like he hadn’t slept in days, and he’d cried for forty-eight hours straight.
“Michael…” Miss May stepped toward him. “You called the cops?”
He nodded. “My brother… my father… I knew what they’d done, but they promised it was over. Then when I saw them trying to hurt you, I knew they had to be stopped.”
I trembled as I thought about how easily things could have gone a different way. If Michael hadn’t been there, if the cops hadn’t shown up right when they did…
But Miss May was right. We were safe. And we had caught another killer.
Actually, we had caught two.
And that meant it was time for a celebration.
51
Big James and the Giant Peach
At the end of every investigation, we hosted a celebration for the people of Pine Grove. Our “justice is served” bashes had become a much-anticipated tradition in town, and this time was no different.
It felt good for me, Teeny, and Miss May to let off a little steam after a stressful investigation. The same was true for the people of Pine Grove. Even if they hadn’t immersed themselves in the mystery like the three of us had, they needed something uplifting after tragedy. A reminder that life was still good, and our community was still whole, and everybody could sti
ll find joy in being together on a warm summer night.
That Saturday was a beautiful, hot August day, so we decided to hold the event in the field beside the barn. I woke up early in the morning to set up the tables with classic red and white tablecloths. Miss May and I baked at least fifty peach pies for the partiers. KP spent the whole afternoon rigging up a sprinkler system for the local kids to run through as a respite from the heat.
By six o’clock, the party was jumping. Tom Gigley and his band The Giggles played a funky version of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Petunia and her poker buddies/victims savored slices of peach pie at a table as they played a casual game of Omaha Hi-Lo.
Steve the dog limped around from one table to another, getting lots of attention as people marveled at his incredible cuteness. KP followed Steve around, making sure the dog behaved and rewarding the canine with an occasional chunk of buttery crust.
I realized suddenly that there was still one mystery left to solve — the missing peach pie from the bakeshop. I grinned as a lightbulb went off in my head.
“KP!” I called out. “Hey, KP. I have a question.” KP strolled over to me, Steve limping along right on KP’s heels.
“What?” KP grunted affably.
“Do you happen to know if a particular limpy little dog might’ve burglarized the bakeshop on the night of Beth’s murder?”
KP shook his head. “Hmm. If you’re implying that Steve here devoured an entire peach pie and I helped him cover it up so he wouldn’t get in trouble with Mabel, well, you’re wrong. I don’t know what happened to that missing pie, and neither does Steve.”
Steve barked in agreement.
“OK,” I said. “I guess some mysteries are better left unsolved.”
KP muttered in agreement, and walked back into the barn. I watched them go, a conspiratorial smirk spreading across my face. I’d forgotten about the missing pie as a clue, but seems it may have been a red herring anyway. A delicious red herring that got eaten by a dog.
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