Berried Alive

by Chelsea Thomas

  I stammered. How do you follow potted plants and hammocks? Lucky for me, Miss May burst back into the room at that exact moment.

  “Chelsea! We’ve got to go.”

  “What? Why?” Gwyneth asked. “We were just getting started.”

  “We had a design emergency,” Miss May said.

  Gwyneth crossed her arms. Guess her eyes couldn’t get any more narrow. “What kind of design emergency?”

  Teeny grabbed her head in a panic. “My armoire exploded!”

  “Oh my goodness,” Gwyneth leaned forward. “Really? You must have left something plugged in. I hope you have good insurance.”

  “Insurance? What insurance? For an armoire? No, I’m screwed. I’m never gonna see a dime of that armoire money,” Teeny said. “OK bye!”

  Teeny and Miss May hurried away. I muttered a good-bye and followed. Teeny poked her head back in before we left. “I’ll be in touch about finding love for Alan Greenspan.”

  MISS MAY AND TEENY exploded with conversation as soon as we got back into the van.

  “Oh my goodness I can’t believe it!” Teeny said.

  “Crazy!” Miss May agreed.

  “We should have thought of this sooner,” Teeny said. “And it was all just sitting right there!”

  “Well we’re here now. So let’s talk next steps.”

  “Slow down!” I said. “What’s going on? Tell me what happened!”

  Miss May shoved an enormous photo album into my lap. Scrawled handwriting labeled the album: “Rosenberg Family Photos: 1950 to 1965.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You two are super-excited about a stolen photo album from the 50’s?”

  Teeny’s eyes lit up. “Open it.”

  I opened the photo album. Black-and-white photographs of the Rosenbergs populated the pages.

  Wedding photos. Images of children playing sports. Photographs of kids around a fireplace.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “This looks like the album from the briefcase. But what’s the significance?”

  “Turn the page,” Miss May said.

  I did as Miss May instructed.

  And that’s when I noticed the clue that would break our case wide open.

  33

  Oh Brother

  AS I SQUINTED AT THE photo in front of me, I saw that one child gathered around the fireplace had no face. He had a face in real life, I assumed. But his head had been cut out of the picture with what appeared to be very dull scissors.

  I flipped the page.

  Again, the faceless child stared back at me. Or didn’t stare, I guess.

  Page after page contained the same. A mother. A father. And two boys, the older of whom had had his face removed in every picture.

  After thumbing through the entire album, I realized my arms were covered in goosebumps. I slammed the album shut and turned to my aunt.

  “What does this mean?” I asked. “Do you think Hank is the boy with no face?”

  Miss May shook her head. “We think Hank is the one who cut the brother out of the photos.”

  Teeny leaned forward. “And then Hank cut that brother out of his life. Completely.”

  Thunk. Teeny dropped another photo album on my lap.

  “Rosenberg family photos: 1990 through 2015.”

  I looked over at Miss May. She nodded. “Open it.”

  I opened the photo album and saw grown-man Hank with his elderly parents. But there was no more faceless brother, only a conspicuous absence.

  There was the family of three at the parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. There they were again on vacation in Hawaii. And there the trio was again, smiling at the grand opening of one of Hank’s Massive Marts.

  “Maybe the brother died before he reached adulthood,” I said.

  Miss May shook her head. “I don’t think so. Who would scratch out the face of a dead little boy?”

  I felt a stab of vicarious regret in my stomach. I’d lost my parents when I was so young. I would have given anything to spend just an hour more with them.

  Just to say hello to them one more time, or to hear their voices. Or the sound of their laughter. To eat a meal with them or watch a silly TV show. How easy it could be to take those tiny moments for granted with the people you love. And how funny that those are the things you miss most when they’re gone. The boring, the mundane, the every day.

  I turned to the back of the album and saw a few pamphlets from the funerals of both of Hank’s parents. They had died close together, three years prior. Hank had most likely paid for the funerals. I wondered if the faceless child had attended his mother or father’s funerals. Then I realized I was getting ahead of myself.

  I turned to Miss May. “So what’s the theory here? This boy with no face... Do we think that’s Hank’s brother? Did Hank... murder him?”

  Teeny chuckled. “You sound like me. That’s an episode of the North Port Diaries.”

  “Then what do we think happened?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure,” Miss May said. ”But from where I’m sitting, it looks like the Rosenberg family had a black sheep. And Hank may have exiled his brother. All Hank’s success, his money... the brother wasn’t had no part in it.”

  I gulped. “You think the black sheep might have gone baaaad and gotten revenge?”

  “Insensitive time for a sheep pun, but yes,” Miss May said. “It’s also possible that this estranged sibling fell on hard times. Lost a few marbles. Sound like anyone we know?”

  “Wallace the Traveler,” I said. “You think Wallace was the faceless boy. He killed Hank. Then... he threw himself off that hill?”

  “It’s possible,” Miss May said. “But if Wallace wasn’t the missing Rosenberg, that means the killer is still out there. And we have a good idea where he might show up next.”

  “How? Where?” I asked.

  Miss May handed me a piece of paper with an address and time scrawled on it. “That’s an address for a lawyer in Scarsdale who specializes in wills and estates.”

  “So...” I wasn’t connecting the dots.

  Miss May looked me square in the eye. “She’s reading Rosenberg’s will in twenty minutes.”

  34

  The Faceless and the Furious

  THE SHOPPING MALL WE pulled into that afternoon was the fanciest I had ever seen. There was a store that sold high end men’s clothing. A few doors down was a shop that seem to only sell $40 soaps. And next to the swanky soap store were the offices of “Stephanie Connors, LLP. Trusts and Estates Specialist.”

  According to the note that Miss May had snagged from the Rosenberg house, the reading of the will began at 3 PM sharp. We pulled into the parking lot about ten minutes past three and parked in a corner space under a tree.

  “OK,” Miss May said. “I think we should go inside.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “No sneaking? No stakeout? You just want to walk right in? The killer might be in there.”

  “I agree with Chelsea,” Teeny said. “And what will you say when you come face-to-face with Susan? You’re the most famous sleuth in town.”

  “I’m one of two-and-a-half sleuths in town,” Miss May said.

  “Why can’t I be a full sleuth?” Teeny asked. “Is it because I’m short? That’s discrimination.”

  “No,” Miss May said. “You just aren’t always as involved in the cases. You’re part time in the sleuthing game.”

  Teeny glared. Miss May chuckled. “OK, fine. We’re three sleuths.”

  Teeny did her little golf claps and smiled. “Good. I do at least a third of the mystery-solving.”

  “Anyway,” Miss May said. “I don’t think Susan or the estranged brother would dare to confront or hurt any of us in a lawyer’s office in the middle of a shopping center like this. Even if one of them is the killer that M.O. doesn’t fit either of the previous two killings. One in an abandoned trailer late at night. The other all the way up in the woods.”

  I nodded. “Fine. But we at least need a plan before we go in there. Wh
at are we going to say when they see us?”

  Miss May didn’t miss a beat. “My great great uncle died. We need to talk to the lawyer. He had lots of money from crayon manufacturing in the early 20th century.”

  “Did they even manufacture crayons back then?” I asked.

  Teeny leaned forward. “In fact they did. And right in this area, too. Crayon manufacturing began in Peekskill right around—”

  “Let’s skip the history lesson,” Miss May said. “Although I appreciate you defending the historical accuracy of my fictional dead uncle’s fortune.”

  I nodded. “OK. That’s not quite a foolproof plan, but I guess we could try it. If you’re sure.”

  Miss May smiled. “Sometimes you just need to lean in, Chelsea.”

  I exhaled. “Whatever you say, Master Skinner.”

  Miss May opened her door and climbed out. “Let’s go.”

  Teeny didn’t budge. “Hold on a second.”

  Miss May turned back.

  Teeny wrung her hands. “I’ve never been with the two of you for a big bust,” she said. “Do you think... Is that what this is? Are we busting the bad guy?”

  I hadn’t considered it, but Teeny was right. She had always been busy in the restaurant or otherwise indisposed when we apprehended suspects. And she’d always been furious to miss out on the fun of the final showdown. But now that it was go-time, Teeny seemed intimidated.

  Miss May shrugged. “This could be the last hurrah. But it might be another dead end. No way to know but to find out.”

  Teeny reached into her purse for her phone. “Maybe we should call the cops.”

  “You think Sunshine Flanagan will help in a situation like this? She’s ignoring these crimes. And this office isn’t even in Pine Grove.”

  Teeny bit her lip. “I guess that’s a good point. But I was thinking, maybe instead of going in there... What if I stayed out here with the van? Like a getaway driver. If things go sideways in the lawyer’s office, you might need a quick escape.”

  Miss May gave Teeny a gentle smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  Teeny blinked her sparkling blue eyes, like a nervous little puppy about to go outside for the first time. “That doesn’t make me a half-sleuth, does it?”

  “Nope.” Miss May handed Teeny the keys. “Pull around front and wait for us. And keep it running. We might need to get out of here. Fast.”

  Teeny nodded. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s driving too fast.”

  STEPHANIE CONNORS HAD decorated her lobby like a doctor’s waiting room. Fake plants. Cheap, metal chairs. Florescent lights overhead.

  A reception area occupied a far corner. No one sat behind the desk, and a small sign read, “back in five minutes.”

  I gestured at the sign and Miss May nodded. Neither of us were about to wait, even for five minutes. So we circumnavigated the reception area, and set off down a long, dark hall.

  A light was on in an office at the end of the hall and loud voices emanated from within. I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. But I thought I heard Susan Rosenberg, along with the voice of an angry older man.

  Miss May pointed down the hall like a Navy SEAL as if to say, “Follow me back there.”

  I shot a nervous glance at the “back in five minutes” sign, then followed.

  I walked with careful steps, staying silent. And the closer we got, the louder the voices inside the office became.

  The woman who was probably Susan screamed. “You are not a part of this family. You never have been. And you don’t deserve a cent!”

  A calm female voice tried to interject. Most likely Stephanie Connors.

  But the voice of the angry man trampled over her. “I’m more a part of this family than you’ll ever be, Susan! I don’t care what my scumbag brother told you. So don’t get it twisted!”

  I widened my eyes and looked over at Miss May. “The faceless boy.”

  Miss May held her fingers to her lips to keep me quiet. She took another quiet step down the hall and I followed.

  I listened as we crept. The man’s voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then we were just a few feet away. And we got a glimpse inside the office.

  A well-dressed female lawyer who I presumed was Stephanie Connors sat behind a large oak desk. Stephanie had long, brown hair and wore expensive, chunky jewelry.

  Susan sat across the desk from Stephanie. Next to Susan, pacing the room...was the faceless boy.

  Arthur.

  Owner and proprietor of the Pine Grove gas station. And the biggest, most vocal opponent of Rosenberg’s proposed Massive Mart.

  I gasped when I saw Arthur. He looked toward the door with suspicious eyes. “What was that?”

  Miss May and I flattened against the wall to conceal ourselves in the shadows.

  Arthur peered out into the hallway but looked right past us. Phewph.

  Stephanie Connors called after him. “Arthur? I’m sure it was nothing. Please. Come back. I think we can reach a resolution here if...”

  Arthur reentered the office, closing the door behind him as he went. With that, we could no longer hear the specifics of the conversation. Only muffled voices. Angry shouting. The occasional cold laugh or vulgar expletive.

  Miss May looked at me once again with her forefinger pressed to her lips. And I covered my mouth to make sure I wouldn’t let out any other audible gasps of shock.

  But none of that would matter, anyway.

  In less than a minute, the conversation between Arthur and Susan erupted into a knockdown, drag-out screaming match.

  Crash!

  Something shattered against the wall. I jumped at the sound and covered my mouth with both hands.

  Then Arthur screamed. “That was my parents’ money. And you’re telling me that my rotten, greedy brother didn’t leave me a dime? That scoundrel! That dirty, rotten piece of—”

  The lawyer muttered something, but Arthur yelled right over her.

  “Yeah right! He used every single one of his stinking pennies to destroy my town. My town! Well,” Arthur laughed to himself. “Hank’s not going ruin anything anymore, I made sure of that. And I won’t let anyone else put up that monstrosity in Pine Grove either! I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my home!”

  The door swung open and Arthur charged into the hall. He exploded past me and Miss May without even noticing us, then he kicked the main door open, and stormed out into the parking lot.

  Miss May and I exchanged glances. It couldn’t be more clear.

  Arthur was the killer.

  And from the sound of things, it was up to us to stop him from killing again.

  35

  Foiled by Fawns

  BY THE TIME MISS MAY and I got out to the parking lot, Arthur was already zooming away on his motorcycle

  Thinking back, Arthur made a cool villain. Riding his vintage motorcycle into the distance, a long red scarf billowing in the wind. But in that moment, I barely noticed. “Let’s get him!”

  Miss May and I darted to the bus and jumped in.

  “Go, go, go!” Miss May said. “Follow that car!”

  Screech!

  Teeny careened out of the parking lot, a look of sheer panic dancing in her electric blue eyes. “What the heck is going on? Was that Arthur? From town?”

  “Yes!” Miss May pointed after the motorcycle. “Stay on him!”

  Teeny squealed around a corner. “I hate following people! It’s such a hassle! What if he guns it and runs through a yellow? What am I supposed to do then? I did not sign up for this.”

  “Yes, you did,” Miss May said. “You said you wanted to be the getaway driver.”

  “There’s a big difference between getting away and giving chase, May!”

  Arthur turned.

  Miss May pointed after him. “He’s making a left! He’s making a left!”

  Teeny made the sharp left after Arthur and we emerged onto a winding country back road.

  Arthu
r looked over his shoulder and sped up.

  “I think he knows we’re following him,” I said. “Also, when did that guy get so cool?”

  “He definitely knows we’re following him,” Miss May said. “We’re the only two cars on this road.”

  Teeny nodded. “And we’re driving an enormous yellow vehicle.”

  “Maybe I should get this old girl painted in camouflage so we don’t stick out so bad,” Miss May said.

  Teeny chuckled. “Big camouflage bus sticks out even more than a yellow one!”

  “Watch out!” I pointed up ahead where a family of deer had stopped in the center of the road.

  Arthur swerved through the deer like a slalom skier. Once again, so cool. How did this gas station guy turn into such a big, bad biker?

  “Oh my goodness! The Indian!” I exclaimed.

  “I don’t think Arthur’s Indian, Chels,” Teeny said. “Just ‘cuz he works in a gas station. Plus they prefer Native American.”

  “The motorcycle is an Indian,” I said. “That’s how Arthur got away that night at the trailer. After he killed Hank! Look at him zig and zag through those deer! He must have parked the Indian out back, squeezed out the window and taken off.”

  “Slow down!” Miss May said. “Deer!”

  Teeny slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the deer. The three of us got whiplash. But don’t worry, the deer were fine. In fact, they kept snacking on roadside brush for a few seconds. Then they trotted into the brush.

  Teeny punched the steering wheel. “We’ll never catch him now. Those adorable deer ruined my chase!”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Miss May tapped Teeny on the arm. “Turn this thing around.”

  “THAT’S THE WRONG DIRECTION!” Teeny said.

  “WILL YOU JUST DO IT, Teeny?”

  TEENY GRUMBLED AS SHE did a quick five-and-a-half-point turn. “I do not understand this decision at all.”

  “I THINK KNOW WHERE Arthur is going,” Miss May said. “And if I’m right, I also know a shortcut.”