I looked around the junkyard, searching for something I could clang together to startle the foraging animal. I spotted an old, iron pipe sticking out of the adjacent dumpster. I climbed on the edge of the dumpster, grabbed the pipe and jumped back down.
I turned back to Zambia’s dumpster. I could hear multiple raccoons now, undoubtedly all feasting on the contents of that mini fridge. I took a deep breath, pulled back the pipe and banged it against the side of the dumpster.
Bang. Bang. Bang-bang-bang.
The raccoons darted out of the dumpster with stunning alacrity, leapt onto the chain-link fence and disappeared into the night.
I put my hand to my chest and laughed. So much action-packed adventure, and I hadn’t even climbed inside the dumpster yet.
One minute later, I was knee-deep in Zambia’s trash. I stayed away from the miniature fridge, because I doubted any of the evidence I needed would be edible.
I grabbed a garbage bag and ripped it open. Inside: dozens of stuffed polar bears, each one identical to the other. I dug into the bag. The polar bears were soft and cuddly. I picked one up and squeezed it. So cute.
One of the polar bears still had a tag attached to the ear. I opened the tag and read the note inside.
“To Z: all my love. You are the polar bear of my heart — fierce, ferocious, yet cuddly. Love, A.”
If Z stood for Zambia, and A stood for Adam…this bear confirmed that Zambia was having an affair with Adam. And it confirmed that Adam truly loved her. Either that, or he had the hook-up for very cheap stuffed polar bears.
The polar bears weren’t evidence of murder but they were a good start. But if Adam loved Zambia enough to shower her in adorable little gifts, why wouldn’t he leave his wife?
My mind raced as I continue to dig through the dumpster. I found several more love notes written from Adam that were addressed to Zambia. Then I spotted what appeared to be another giant polar bear on the far side of the dumpster and I tried to make my way toward it.
I took an uneasy step into the junk and nearly toppled over. The piles beneath me were uneven and covered with debris. I took another step toward the giant polar bear and stumbled yet again. That time, my foot caught on an old typewriter and I fell face first into the junk.
I landed hard on my elbow and yelped. I’m not sure if you’ve ever taken a hard fall inside a dirty dumpster… But I wouldn’t recommend it. Gross. And painful.
I tried to climb to my feet, then a voice called out from above me.
“Chelsea. Are you OK?”
I looked up and was blinded by a bright flashlight. I shielded my eyes and saw the man behind the light. It was Detective Wayne Hudson. And once again, he did not look happy.
21
Where There’s a Will, There’s a Wayne
“I don’t want to arrest you. I don’t.” Wayne handed me a cup of coffee and sat beside me on the curb. Even though Wayne and I weren’t a romantic item, I still felt self-conscious about being covered in trash and smelling like an old mini fridge. I tried to brush some debris off my shirt.
“Because… I looked so cute in the dumpster?”
“No. The paperwork gives me a headache. It’s late on a Saturday. It’s too much.”
I sipped my coffee. “Does that mean I’m free to go?”
We were sitting outside the junk removal building. I could see Miss May’s van idling on the other side of the fence. In my mind, I jumped to my feet, scaled the fence, and hopped into the car in five seconds flat. But in reality, my tush stayed planted on the curb, right beside Wayne.
“You’re not free to go quite yet.” Wayne slurped from his cup of coffee. “Because we’re still talking.”
“Are we talking as a police officer and a potential criminal? Or are we talking as friends?”
Wayne looked at me out of the side of his eyes. “You tell me. Are we friends?”
I looked down. I was definitely dating Germany. Wayne knew that. But Wayne hadn’t really moved on. Part of that was my fault. The two of us had a good vibe a lot of the time, and I liked it. Wayne was handsome, and our verbal sparring too easily transformed to flirting.
“You did look cute in the dumpster, by the way,” Wayne said.
I gave Wayne a small smile. “Thanks.”
“That’s saying a lot.”
I shrugged. “There were a few raccoons in there when I arrived. They looked cute. Pretty effortlessly.”
“So are you saying you’re…like a raccoon?”
I laughed. “I guess. Small. Scrappy. Resourceful.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds. I glanced back at Miss May’s van. So close yet not close enough.
Unless… I just made the decision to leave.
I stood up. “OK. I’m going to leave now.”
Wayne stood beside me. “Hang on.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. It’s late. Miss May and Teeny are waiting.”
“You are breaking the law here.”
“I know. If you need to arrest me, then arrest me. But we both know we’re on the same side. Don’t forget, Miss May, Teeny, and I have solved all the recent murders in Pine Grove. In case you’re keeping score, that’s cute sleuths: Ten. Police: Zero.”
Wayne scoffed. “That’s not fair. You needed my help in several of those cases.”
“I don’t need your help right now. All I need is for you to let me leave.” I felt a familiar flush of annoyance at Wayne. Like he was trying to undermine me or suggest that I couldn’t do things on my own. Part of that was probably projection, but part of that was real — and it was why I had shied away from a romantic partnership with Detective Hudson.
“I’m not detaining you, Chelsea. I thought we were talking. I gave you coffee.”
“So you thought now would be a good time to what, catch up? You caught me in Zambia’s dumpster, Wayne. I’ve been scared of you this entire conversation. Scared that you’re going to arrest me.”
“Why would you—”
“Because you kept implying it. You’re using your power as a police officer to intimidate me into talking to you.” Wayne and I were both strong-willed — it had taken me a while to find my voice, sure. But now that I had it, I wasn’t backing down from this conversation.
Wayne looked away. “I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry. I really thought this was just a conversation between two equals. I want you to know that.”
I nodded. “OK.”
“I would never arrest you, Chelsea. I thought…I thought that was clear. I took it for granted that you knew that. You’re right. The three of you are good for this town. You catch killers. I get that, but Chief Flanagan doesn’t. And if someone else showed up at the scene tonight… You would have gone to jail. And you would have had to serve time.”
“I know.” I did know, but hearing Wayne say it such frank terms was still alarming.
“So I guess that’s what I was trying to work around to on the curb here. I wasn’t holding you hostage. I was trying to find a way to say that you need to be more careful. Because I don’t want to see you in jail. And if that happens, and it’s because you were snooping around illegally? I’m not going to be able to help you.”
I looked up. Wayne’s eyes were tired and sad. He furrowed his brow. “I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. Because you’re…my friend.”
I felt a wave of regret. Although I knew I had been right to speak my mind with Wayne, he had a good point. Breaking into the junk removal place that night was reckless. And Miss May, Teeny, and I needed to be more cautious. Fly lower under the radar.
“You’re right,” I said. “Those are all good points.”
Wayne nodded. “Tell the girls I said hi?”
“OK. I will.”
“You think the three of you are close to finding the killer?”
I shrugged. “I hope so.”
Wayne finished coffee and crumpled the cup. “Me too. Because we’ve got no idea.”
22
All’s Fair in Love and Murder
Teeny and Miss May peppered me with questions as we drove home. First and foremost, they wanted to know what had happened with Wayne. Surprising, I know, considering we were in the midst of a murder investigation. But those two loved to gossip about their favorite topic which was, well, love.
Miss May smirked at me in the rearview mirror as she drove. “So did he touch your hand? Did he smell like cinnamon and vanilla?”
Teeny giggled. “Did he tell you you looked beautiful in that dumpster? And did he say that no amount of trash could dim your wondrous, bright light?”
Miss May laughed and smacked the steering wheel. “I can’t believe he found you in the trash.”
“It’s not that funny,” I said. “The dumpster was pretty clean, as far as garbage goes. Mostly furniture, one mini fridge, some stuffed animals, a few love notes, stuff like that. But you’re not interested in the contents of the dumpster. You’d rather I discuss whether or not Wayne smelled like cinnamon. He didn’t. I didn’t smell him. My nose was clogged with trash smells.”
Miss May looked back at me. “Did you say love notes?”
Over the next few minutes, I debriefed Teeny and Miss May on everything I had come across in the dumpster. I told them the truth. I had not found any truly definitive evidence that Zambia and Adam were having an affair. But all the love notes were from A to Z and that seemed to suggest the likelihood of an illicit romance.
I let out a long, deep sigh as I concluded. “Would’ve been nice to have more time in the dumpster, actually. There was so much I didn’t have a chance to search through. If Zambia is guilty… The evidence must be there.”
Miss May turned up Whitehill Road and the VW bus chugged toward the top of the hill. “That’s the problem with breaking and entering. You never know how much time you’re going to have.”
“I know,” I said. “Wayne said I was lucky that he was the one who showed up on the scene. And he was right. If that had been Flanagan who caught me dumpster diving… Or even Hercules…”
Teeny nodded. “Oh yeah. If Flanagan discovered you covered in all that putrid, stinky garbage? She wouldn’t think you looked cute. She would have pulled you out by your tangled hair, thrown you to the ground, and slapped handcuffs on your wrists, all in ten seconds flat.”
“You think my hair is tangled?” I asked.
“Very,” Teeny said.
“I don’t know that Flanagan would be that extreme.” Miss May pulled into our driveway.
Teeny shrugged. “I left out the part in my imagination where Flanagan pistol-whipped all three of us.”
“Can we change the subject?” I would have rather discussed anything else, including Teeny’s low opinion of my grooming.
“Sure.” Miss May pointed toward the farmhouse. “Let’s talk about that.”
I looked out the window. Zambia was sitting on the front steps of the farmhouse. She stood as we approached and crossed her arms. Her eyes were hard and set. Her fists were clenched. I suddenly felt guilty for rifling through Zambia’s trash earlier in the night. Although we needed to see what was in that dumpster, coming face to face with the owner of those belongings, I felt like I had invaded her privacy. My palms turned into a couple of clams as Miss May parked and turned back to me.
“I hope you’re ready for a fight.”
I swallowed. “Always.” Miss May looked skeptical. “What? I am! I’m ready.” I mumbled under my breath, “Sort of.”
Miss May gave Zambia a warm smile as we approached. “Zambia. I’m so glad you’re here. Teeny and I have been talking all night. We shouldn’t have intruded on you while you were preparing for the play this evening. That was wrong and I’m sorry.”
Zambia ran her tongue along her teeth, annoyed. “How dare you apologize to me? You are not sorry. The only thing you regret is not finding out more information from me when you were attacking me in that dressing room.”
Teeny stepped forward. “That’s not true. I also ate way too much candy tonight. Now I’m a little dizzy. So I regret that.”
Once again, I tried to change the subject. “How did the performance go tonight?”
Zambia turned on me. “No one died, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t asking that. Although I’ll admit I’m glad there were no fatalities during the show. Did you have fun? Did people show up to watch?”
Zambia shook her head. “The place was empty. All I could hear was the echo of my own voice. And the sound of Germany sighing backstage.”
Zambia looked off into the distance for a long moment. She had big circles under her eyes and she bit her lower lip. Her arms were wrapped around her torso like she was giving herself a hug. It looked like she might have been fighting off tears. My thoughts darted back to all those stuffed polar bears.
Teeny tiptoed around Zambia and headed toward the farmhouse. “Good night, then. Wonderful to see you, as always. I’m sure you broke a leg out there. But I’m glad no one died. Hope we can catch you in the next performance. You’re a true star.”
Zambia spun around and glared at Teeny. “Don’t you take one step closer to that house.”
I heard Steve barking from inside. KP had fed him and taken him out. But the poor guy was probably on edge because a possible murderer had been sitting on the steps outside his house.
Teeny paused, mid-step. She let out a nervous giggle. “Yes, ma’am.”
Miss May cleared her throat and looked right at Zambia. “What can we help you with?”
“You can stop right there and listen to what I have to say,” Zambia snarled.
Miss May and I exchanged a worried glance. I placed my hand in the pocket of my sweatshirt.My body tensed, ready for a fight.
Miss May turned up her hand in a gesture of openness. “Start talking.”
Zambia began to pace back and forth. “First of all, I am deeply hurt that any of you think I could have killed Adam. He was such a sweet man. Gentle and tender.”
“We know that,” said Teeny. “But you are kind of scary.”
Fierce, ferocious, yet cuddly, I thought, remembering Adam’s note.
Zambia exhaled through her nose. “I am not scary. I’m a woman of the theater. Yes, I am serious. But I have deep love in my heart. Most of it is for Adam Smith.”
Miss May nodded. “We never said we suspected you.”
Zambia laughed, a little too long and a little too hard. “Second: I cannot believe you snuck into my brother’s facility and dug around in my trash.”
“We did not do that,” said Teeny. “That sounds disgusting.”
“We didn’t even know your brother owned Junk Boys,” I said. “We spent the last three hours doing exercise…in a field.”
“Yep,” said Teeny. “Jumping jacks, mostly. Although I think that’s kind of a sexist name for an exercise. Why can’t they be jumping jills?”
Zambia sighed. “I don’t have time for these babbling lies. I know you were digging through my trash. So I suppose you’re now aware of the depth of my relationship with Adam.”
My number one goal as a detective? Get better at excuses. “Yes,” I said. “I was in your trash. I saw the notes.”
“It seems like you had a wonderful connection,” said Miss May. “I’m sorry we invaded your privacy. It’s just… When we see someone clearing out their house the night after a murder… It does raise our suspicions.”
“I’m not destroying the evidence of a murder,” said Zambia. “I’m destroying the evidence that Adam and I were ever romantically intertwined. He was a married man. I don’t want to cast any aspersions on him now that he’s dead. No one needs to know about our relationship. Adam shouldn’t be remembered as a cheater. He was an honorable man.”
Miss May scratched her head. “Did Adam’s wife know about the two of you?”
Zambia shook her head. “Dorothy didn’t know anything. She suspected, but she didn’t know. That’s what I’m trying to say. Please don’t tell anyone what
you found in that dumpster.”
“We won’t,” said Miss May. “But Dorothy seemed so upset when you and Adam kissed on stage. Almost like… she knew every detail of your relationship with Adam.”
“When Dorothy stormed out… That was a reaction to our clear chemistry on stage. I have no idea how strongly she’d react if she knew the whole truth.”
Miss May, Teeny, and I said goodbye to Zambia and headed inside. When Miss May locked the front door behind us and turned back to me, I saw that her face was white and scared.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Miss May exhaled. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
23
Cuckoo for Cocoa
Delicious hot chocolate might be one of my favorite things in the world. I won’t bore you with the details of my long history with hot chocolate, I’ll just say this: As far as I’m concerned, a good cup of cocoa always comes down to the the person who’s making it. And the ingredients. And the time. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m about to bore you with the details.
When I was a kid, I’d loved the Swiss Miss stuff. Those little blue packages and hard tiny marshmallows delighted me every Christmas morning. And lots of other mornings throughout the winter. I used to like nothing more than coming inside from playing in the snow and seeing those packages out on the counter. Then, my parents and I would curl up by the fire and sip hot cocoa while we laughed, sang songs, or played a board game.
As I got older, my tastes in hot chocolate got a bit more sophisticated. In my adulthood, I found myself drawn toward the hot cocoa that started with fine, dark chocolate shavings from fancy chocolate shops. Snobby, I know. But that stuff gets so silky smooth and rich in your favorite mug… It’s one of the best tastes on earth. Blame Miss May — her hot cocoa is the best.
I also started to prefer fresh milk from a local farm. Or almond milk or oat milk from the store. Before you knock it, you should try it. Sometimes, a hint of nutty or oaty flavor does a lot to elevate the flavors of the chocolate. A little whipped cream on top — heaven in a cup.
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