Shot Through the Tart
Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 7
Chelsea Thomas
To Peekskill
For introducing us to our inner artist.
Contents
1. Turtle Tumult
2. Acting Out
3. Dead Man Talking
4. Adam Bomb
5. What’s the Scoop
6. The Show Must Flow Gong
7. And, Scene!
8. Taters and Turtles
9. Alarm Bells Will Ring
10. Wayne’s World
11. Sorry, Charlie
12. Ewing Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet
13. Kiss My Petunias
14. Paint By Murders
15. On Greenish Pond
16. Loony Tunes
17. He Loves Me Not
18. Scream Queen
19. Hunks of Junk
20. Deep Sea Dumpster Diving
21. Where There’s a Will, There’s a Wayne
22. All’s Fair in Love and Murder
23. Cuckoo for Cocoa
24. Two Scoops of Murder
25. Wine and Tease
26. The Cat’s Meow
27. Acting Fast
28. Life in the Fast Lane
29. We’re Not in Kansas Anymore
30. Mayor Mayor, Take the Fall
31. Old News
32. Horsing Around
33. Spring is Sprung
34. Shock and Paws
35. Sunshine and Wayne-bows
36. Tarting Over Again
37. Turtle Soup
38. Light Bulb
39. Big Dan’s Disguises
40. Junkyard Dogs
41. Be Kind, Rewind
42. Caught on Tape
43. For Pete’s Sake
44. Kung Pao Murder
45. Convertible Chaos
46. In Sickness and in Stealth
Apple Die - Excerpt
A Note From the Authors
Also by Chelsea Thomas
About the Author
Copyright & Disclaimer
Shot Through the Tart © Chelsea Thomas, 2019
Disclaimer -- All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including mechanical or electronic, without written permission from the author.
While the author has made every effort to ensure that the ideas, guidelines and information printed in this eBook are safe, they should be used at the reader’s discretion. The author cannot be held responsible for any personal or commercial damage arising from the application or misinterpretation of information presented herein.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Want updates, free cozies and recipes? Join the Chelsea Thomas Reader Club at chelseathomasauthor.com.
Cover Design: Priscilla Pantin
1
Turtle Tumult
This story begins on a Thursday night in late March. People say the month comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, but that March was the meanest, rainiest lamb I’d ever met.
That particular Thursday, I’d pulled on my galoshes and raincoat and trudged through the muddy streets to the nicest restaurant in our small town, Peter’s Land and Sea. Despite the precipitation and the lingering cold, I was in a good mood. Maybe because I was headed to dinner with Germany Turtle.
Germany was not a typical Pine Grove resident. On a scale of one to weird, he was an eleven. But he was also my boyfriend of a few months, and I couldn’t wait to see him. Germany had a way of making me feel completely at ease, like even if I had milk spewing out of my nose Germany would think I looked pretty and graceful.
I shuffled into Peter’s and shook myself off like a wet dog, then hung my raincoat on the rack in the entryway. I saw Germany, waiting at our favorite table across the room. He was wearing a crisp white shirt with a polka-dotted bowtie. Kind of hot, in a weird way.
Germany stood when I approached. “Chelsea.” He opened his arms wide and I gave him a hug. “Your eyes are as radiant as all the stars in the sky. Yet it is your intellect, perseverance, and intelligence I admire most about you.”
I laughed. “You look hot in a bowtie. That’s the only reason I agreed to be your girlfriend.”
Germany wrinkled his eyebrows. “Oh. I see. You’ve objectified me and my bowtie. I sense you are merely making a joke but I can’t help but feel damaged by your remark.”
I shook my head. “Oh, come on, Germany. You think we’re only dating because I like the way you look in a bowtie?”
Germany perked up. “Got you. See? I can joke around. That time, I was pretending to be offended after you pretended to objectify me.”
I smiled. “Nice job, Germany. You got me.” Sometimes dating Germany was like dating an alien. But an alien with a nice smile and good manners.
Germany pulled out my chair and I sat. My former fiancé, Mike, had not been big on manners. He’d always said that holding doors or pulling out chairs was misogynist, like it implied that women couldn’t open doors on their own. I’d accepted his theory and even respected it. But let me tell you, when Germany opened a door for me, I felt like a queen. And I liked it.
As I scooted in toward the table, I had no idea Pine Grove’s most notorious resident would be murdered that night. So I grinned at Germany, dwelling in the flush of a new crush.
A few seconds after Germany and I sat, a middle-aged waiter approached with his hands behind his back. The waiter was bald with a goatee. He had a little earring in his left ear and he wore a big smile as he approached. He toddled slowly toward us, like a limping penguin.
“Greetings. Welcome to Peter’s Land and Sea. Have you dined with us before?”
Germany and I exchanged a confused look. “We’re here all the time. This is our second favorite restaurant in town. You must be new here,” I said, and reached out my hand for a handshake. “I’m Chelsea. This is my boyfriend, Germany.”
The man smiled but did not shake my hand. “Great to meet you. I’m Petey’s uncle, Jefferson Nebraska. I grew up in Pine Grove. Left ten, fifteen years ago. Got on my motorcycle and rode all the way across the country, then back, then back again. Everybody told me not to go, 'cuz I got in an accident once when I was a teenager, messed up this leg bad. But I’m glad I didn’t listen. Traveling the country was a beautiful thing.”
Germany smiled. “But now you’re back in Pine Grove once more?”
Jefferson nodded. “I heard my nephew opened the hottest new restaurant in town. My background’s in the service and hospitality industries. Came over to help him out. Proud uncle. That’s what my T-shirt would say if I weren’t wearing this dapper uniform.”
“If you’re from Pine Grove, you might know my aunt,” I said. “Miss May?”
Jefferson slapped his thigh. “Miss May. Hold on, are you Chelsea Thomas? You’re practically royalty in this town. That orchard is legendary. I knew Miss May when I was a kid. Went apple-picking up there. Loved every second. One time, ate so many apples I was sick for a week. OK, not a week. At least a day.” Jefferson threw back his head and laughed.
Germany and I laughed. Jefferson, like his nephew Petey, had a happy glimmer in his eye and his laughter was boisterous and strange. We all made small talk for one or two more minutes, then Germany and I both ordered a big bowl of butternut squash soup with a grilled cheese to share.
Germany and I chatted while we waited for our food. Then the grilled cheese came. It was incredible. Three kinds of local, artisan cheese on a fresh-baked loaf of sour
dough. It crunched, then oozed, then crunched, then oozed, every time I took a bite. My whole body felt warm when I swallowed. Petey had a knack for elevating simple dishes to make them even more savory and delightful. He had gained a reputation for the best grilled cheese in the area and he deserved it. Even if that status made his mentor, my friend Teeny, a little jealous.
But this story isn’t about grilled cheese. Maybe you wish it was. But what it’s really about is that murder I mentioned. Remember, the death of Pine Grove’s most notorious resident? OK, so that guy didn’t technically die until the next day. But the drama began during my meal of grilled cheese and butternut squash soup with Germany Turtle.
As it happened, Germany was tied up in the middle of all that drama. He’d been distracted during dinner, even though he didn’t want to admit it.
“You seem distracted,” I said. “What’s going on?”
Germany shook his head. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
Germany had been working as the director of the new play at the community theater. I knew the job had been stressing him out, even if he tried not to talk about it. “Did something happen at rehearsal tonight?”
“I don’t want to complain,” he said. “I just want to keep moving forward.”
“Complaining usually makes me feel better. Come on. Talk to me.”
Germany sighed. “It’s just… We have our first show tomorrow night and nothing is going well. Adam doesn’t know his lines. He’s supposed to be this great actor, but he keeps messing up. So that’s concerning me.”
I shook my head. “That’s so surprising. That guy never shuts up about the big roles he had on Broadway when he was younger.”
Germany shrugged. “I know. But he’s not professional. He makes everything more difficult. I hate to admit it, we got into a bit of a yelling match earlier today. I scolded Adam for forgetting his lines. He scolded me for being a dictator, not a director. I insulted his work ethic. It wasn’t good. And the whole love triangle among Adam, his wife Dorothy, and his costar Zambia isn’t helping.”
Zambia was a beautiful woman originally from the Caribbean. She was graceful, elegant and poised.
Adam’s wife, Dorothy, was also beautiful, but in a cold, intimidating way. Dorothy had a reputation for being possessive and jealous. Zambia and Adam were supposed to share a kiss on stage, and it displeased Dorothy.
“Is Dorothy interfering in rehearsal?”
Germany sighed. “She sits in the back of the theater the entire time. Apparently she wants to make sure Adam doesn’t kiss Zambia with genuine passion. But I’ll tell you, I’m right there, and I believe there is genuine passion. It’s a disaster.”
I exhaled. “You know what? That sounds stressful. But the play isn’t until tomorrow, so why don’t you relax for tonight? Come back to the farmhouse. Miss May and I will make you your favorite cookies.”
Germany nodded. “Perhaps that would be nice. A plate of cookies could be just what the doctor ordered.”
I smiled. “Great.”
Germany squeezed my hand. I could tell he felt a little better, and that made me proud. It was early in our relationship so I was still trying to earn good girlfriend points.
Germany and I were headed toward the exit when Master Skinner stormed into the restaurant. Master Skinner was a sensei who owned the local dojo in town. He was also a cast member in Germany’s play. An understudy for the lead, Adam.
Germany took a step back when Skinner entered. Skinner pointed right at Germany. “You. I knew you would be here, dining out in an upscale casual setting while the production is in shambles. We need to talk.”
Germany held up both his hands in surrender. “I’d be happy to talk tomorrow, Master Skinner. But right now I’m headed home.”
Master Skinner balled up one of his famous fists of fury.
“On second thought,” said Germany. “What would you like to discuss?”
“I want the part,” said Skinner. “I was not meant to be an understudy. Adam is a hack. I doubt he was ever on Broadway.”
“I’ve seen the playbills,” said Germany.
“You can fake that stuff,” Skinner said. “Easy. Photoshop. Point is, Adam doesn’t have the talent to back up his claims.”
I stepped forward. “Miss May saw him in a performance of CATS. Back in the 80s, I think. Supposedly he was a very good cat.”
Skinner shook his head. “You don’t need talent to be a cat. Purr, purr.” Skinner licked an imaginary paw. “That’s not acting. It’s child’s play. Now give me that lead role for tomorrow’s performance, Germany. Give me the role or you will regret it.”
Germany’s face reddened. “You shouldn’t threaten me like that. I am your director.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m just promising you, Adam will botch this performance. I feel it in my bones, and my bones are never wrong, Germany. Never!” Skinner was rarely this worked up, and I could tell it rattled Germany.
I put my hand on Germany’s arm. “It’s OK, Germany. Let’s just go home.”
Germany glared at Master Skinner. I had never seen Germany so upset. Honestly, I didn’t hate it. The fire in his eyes made his bowtie less “cute boy” and more “James Bond at a casino.”
“You’re right, Chelsea. I can’t worry about this. If Master Skinner doesn’t want to be an understudy, then he need not show up at the play tomorrow.”
Skinner tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh, good one, Germany. You’ll see. Just wait.” With that, Skinner stormed back outside into the rainy night.
Germany sighed. I felt bad for him, having to deal with so many complicated personalities.
He might even need more than cookies to help soothe this tension.
2
Acting Out
The morning after I had dinner with Germany, I met Miss May and Teeny for breakfast at my number one favorite restaurant in Pine Grove, Grandma’s. Grandma’s belonged to Teeny’s mom, Granny, but Teeny was the brains and brawn behind the operation. The place was cute as could be. Brick exterior with a charming green awning out front. And no matter the time of day, it was packed with the people of Pine Grove, chatting and enjoying one of Teeny’s home-cooked delicacies.
I approached, walking my puppy, Steve, and stopped a few feet outside the entrance. I knelt down and looked the dog in the eyes. “Steve,” I said. “Listen. You'll have to sit outside while I eat breakfast, OK?”
Steve whimpered.
“I know,” I said. “It’s not fun being leashed outside the restaurant. But I don’t want to get Teeny in trouble. And if she lets me bring you inside, she has to let her other regulars bring their dogs, and it’s a whole big thing. You understand, right?”
Steve cocked his head and plopped down on the sidewalk. Even though he was still technically a puppy, and he walked with the same cute limp he’d always had, Steve had gotten much bigger since Germany had given the dog to me several months ago.
Steve had the personality of an adorable toddler and the body of a grown dog. Imagine if Stone Cold Steve Austin walked and talked like Shirley Temple — that was my puppy. I tied Steve up to a bike rack and went inside.
I entered to find almost every seat in the restaurant taken. The energetic buzz of conversation filled the air. Waiters bustled in every direction. But Teeny didn't worry about working too hard. She sat in the back of the restaurant, at our favorite booth, chatting with Miss May.
I smiled when I saw them. Miss May and Teeny made a cute pair. Teeny was, well, very tiny. She had a puff of blonde hair and a smile that might as well have been a neon sign. Miss May, my aunt and adoptive parent, was big and broad and moved thoughtfully. That morning, my aunt wore her trademark blue jeans with a flannel, glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Teeny squealed when she saw me. “Chelsea. You’re finally here. Where have you been? It doesn’t matter. Tell us about the fight.”
“What fight?”
Miss May crossed her arms. “You know what fight. The scuffl
e between your boyfriend and Master Skinner. Everyone is talking about it.”
I slid into the booth. It surprised me I had already forgotten about the tense moment between Germany and Master Skinner. And I definitely should have realized that the townspeople would blow the brief confrontation way out of proportion.
“It wasn’t a scuffle,” I said.
Teeny poured me a cup of coffee, then added almost equal parts sugar. “That’s not what we heard. We heard you physically restrained Germany. And Master Skinner balled up his fists of fury and growled like an angry dog.”
I chuckled. “No one growled.”
Teeny and Miss May leaned forward in unison, like synchronized swimmers.
I sighed. “You two will not let me have breakfast until I tell you this story, will you?”
Teeny raised her eyebrows. “The kitchen is closed to Chelsea until Chelsea spills the proverbial refried beans.”
“How would you spill refried beans?” I asked. “Wouldn’t they kind of slide out of the can?”
“I make my refried beans from scratch, Chelsea,” said Teeny. “And trust me. I’ve spilled them. Not fun to clean up.”
Miss May cringed. “Gross. Refried beans everywhere. What do you do for that?”
Teeny shrugged. “Start with paper towels, that gets up most of it. Then get a waiter to scrub for as long as it takes to de-bean.”
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