Flanagan kept her hand on her holster and took a step toward me. “My mother loved the name. Thought it was nice and warm. Thought it would make me a happy kid.”
“...you seem happy,” I said.
“I am happy!” Flanagan shouted and stepped toward me, but Wayne blocked her path.
“Whoa, whoa,” Wayne said. “Everybody calm down. Nobody’s questioning your happiness. Or your name. Right, Chelsea? You like the name?”
“Sunshine is a wonderful name,” I agreed, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Wayne narrowed his eyes. “Hold up. What are you two doing here, anyway?”
“We came to see Mr. Gigley about an alpaca we want to buy,” I lied. Classic Chelsea excuse. Completely unbelievable. But, as always, I stuck with it.“The alpaca is adorable. She would get along great with our tiny horse, See-Saw. We needed Mr. Gigley to draw up the paperwork for the sale.”
Wayne furrowed his brow. “You were going to use a lawyer to draft a legally binding contract for an alpaca sale?”
Miss May stepped forward. “Alpaca law is arcane and convoluted. We needed a legal eagle to make sure we weren’t getting screwed. I’d do it myself, but alpacas were never my specialty. More of a llama woman.” How was Miss May keeping a straight face right now? “But, alas, Gigley’s not here. So now we’ll head home to bake cookies and make jam. You know, orchard stuff.”
Wayne and Flanagan exchanged a confused look. “OK, I guess,” Wayne said. “Good to see you Chelsea.”
“You too,” I said. Then I added, just for good measure. “Nice to officially meet you, Sunshine.”
Flanagan replied with an angry glare, then Miss May hugged Deb goodbye, and we left.
Deb called after us, “See you Tuesday, May!”
27
Curvy and Carsick
WHEN WE LEFT GIGLEY’S office, I saw Wayne’s cruiser parked outside, and my stomach did a backflip. Inside the office, Wayne’s presence had felt familiar and non-threatening. Part of me had welcomed his arrival, let’s be honest.
But seeing Wayne’s cop car, I remembered how serious the stakes of our investigation were. If we caught whoever had killed Charles and Vlad, then a person would go to jail. Maybe for life. And if we didn’t catch them...I didn’t want to imagine that.
We needed to solve this mystery, before the killer struck again. Or worse, before the police pinned the murder on the wrong person.
Miss May must have felt a similar sense of urgency, because as soon as we exited the office, she power-walked back down Main Street toward where we had parked.
I hurried after her, but I had to take two steps for every one of Miss May’s long strides, so it was hard to keep up.
“Miss May,” I said. “Wait up!”
“No time to wait,” Miss May said. “This thing is life or death.”
Miss May placed a call and listened as it rang.
I jogged until I was side by side with Miss May. “Who are you calling? Gigley?”
Miss May hung up. “Yup. No answer.”
“Where do you think he is?”
“I know without a doubt where that man is.” Miss May stopped walking and turned to me.
“He’s in Connecticut.”
“So we’re going to Connecticut?”
Miss May grinned. “Yup. And I’m warning you now, it’s curvy roads the whole way there, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”
“I can’t help it. I get carsick!”
“Then stay home. Or get your darn license!”
Miss May unlocked the van and climbed in. “Are you coming or not?”
She started the car, and I felt a preliminary bout of nausea.
Connecticut.
Uch.
I KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT for the first hundred and fifty curves on the curvy, curvy road out to Connecticut. But once Miss May veered around number one-fifty-one, my lid popped off.
“You’re driving worse than Teeny!”
“How dare you,” Miss May gasped. “It’s not me. It’s the roads.”
I belched and clutched my stomach.
Miss May rolled the window down. “If you’re going to spew, do it out the window.”
I stuck my head outside, but my nose froze in the blistering wind. “Too cold, too cold! Window up!”
Miss May hesitated. “No puking?”
“No puking. I promise.”
Miss May raised the window. She slowed to take a hairpin turn. “That better?”
“Not really.” I belched again. “Why did we have to trek all the way out to Connecticut anyway? What could Gigley be doing out here?”
“Gigley grew up in Connecticut, in a beautiful old Victorian. His parents left him the house. Gigley still comes out here when he needs to clear his head.”
“How do you know all that?” I asked.
“Tom and I have been friends for thirty years,” Miss May said. “I’m worried about that man. Sending all those ridiculous messages. It’s not the Gigley I know.”
“He must be stressed about his missing money.”
Miss May took another curve. I burped again, and this time a hiccup came out at the same time. It sounded like a gross frog dry-heaving.
Miss May chuckled. “Close your eyes. That always helped when you were a kid.”
“But that’s not a good copilot move. I’m supposed to keep you company.”
Miss May shook her head. “You’re just burping, Chels. Relax.”
WHEN I OPENED MY EYES, Miss May was shifting the van into park in front of a gorgeous winter meadow. The ground was such a pure, bright white, it hurt my eyes.
A thick layer of snow undulated across a beautiful field. A frozen pond glimmered like a mirror in the sun. And a blue jay fluttered between the branches of a massive evergreen.
I rubbed my eyes and blinked. “Whoa.”
“Yeah,” Miss May said. “I thought you might say that.”
I sat up to get a better look out the window, and I noticed parallel tire tracks indenting a long driveway.
At the top of the driveway sat a massive pink Victorian house, three stories high, with several turrets, light yellow lacing, and a large wraparound porch. The bright pink mansion seemed like a wad of bubblegum flung against the pure snow.
I had always dreamed of decorating a home with such massive character and charm. I couldn’t wait to see inside.
“That is where Gigley grew up?” I asked.
Miss May smirked. “It is.”
I laughed. “Weird.”
“What’s so funny? You didn’t peg him as a pink house man?”
“I did not.”
Our chuckle lasted a few more seconds, then Miss May chunked the van back into gear. I reached out to stop her. “Could we walk? It’s so peaceful.”
Miss May pulled up on the curb and parked. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”
A thin layer of ice topped the fresh powder, so our feet crunched as we trudged up the driveway. I fantasized about living in Connecticut as we walked. I could be a Connecticut person, right? I could make quiche.
As we got closer to the home, I admired its complicated, asymmetrical shape, and its delicate, decorative trim. I considered the pre-fab homes of modern America and shook my head. Back when Gigley’s house had been built, I assumed sometime in the late 1800s, people had appreciated craftsmanship. That craftsmanship was still evident two hundred years later, in all its perfect pink glory.
As we got closer, my admiration shifted to intimidation. This house was huge, and the charm I had noticed from the street was imposing at close range. As we climbed the creaky steps up to the front porch, the whole place seemed... haunted.
I stopped walking halfway up the stairs. “Did Gigley’s parents...die here?”
Miss May turned back. “Chels. No!” Ding-dong! Miss May rang the doorbell. “But someone did.”
I hurried up the steps in a panic. “Wait, what? Who?”
Miss M
ay shrugged. “I don’t know. Previous owner, I think. An elderly woman.”
“Are you serious!? What happened?”
“Nobody could figure it out. Some people said she was murdered, but there was never any evidence. Probably she was just old.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Oh, well that’s comforting.”
Miss May cupped her hands and peered in a side window. “It’s not like the place is haunted. Gigley lived here his whole life.” She turned back. “Follow me.”
Miss May thumped down the porch, then walked around the side of the house. I followed her through a rickety gate into the backyard.
Behind the house was an open field with three enormous weeping willows. I had barely taken in the creepy-but-breathtaking sight when a sudden wind stirred the dormant snow, and a thick white mist swirled around me.
When the mini-blizzard settled, I looked up and noticed an enormous statue of a man, at least fifteen feet high. The figure towered over us, scowling and severe.
“OK,” Miss May said. “Maybe it’s haunted.”
I wiped snowflakes from my eyelashes. “What’s with that statue?”
“I have no idea,” Miss May said. “Let’s find out.”
Miss May marched to the foot of the statue. “There’s an inscription! ‘Here stands a monument to courage and compassion. The most noble of all human qualities.’ Well! That doesn’t sound spooky!” She squinted at the statue. “Hold up, there’s a second part.”
“Miss May! I want to go!”
“‘May evil keep its distance. For the Devil hath visited this home enough.’”
My complexion paled. “You’re making that up!”
Miss May shook her head. “I’m not that creative.”
Another gale swept through the yard. A willow bough swayed and snapped. Miss May zipped her coat to her neck and yelled over the deep howl.
“What?” I shouted.
Miss May yelled again, but her voice disappeared into the snowy torrent. We stood looking at each other, waiting out the wind. When the sound abated, another voice yelled from house.
“What are you two doing here!?”
I shrieked and stumbled backwards. A powdery drift broke my fall and I landed with a phwumph. When I glanced up, there was Gigley, standing at the back door.
He did not look happy.
28
Madmen and Mansions
GIGLEY HELD THE DOOR open, and Miss May and I walked into the house. I had hoped Gigley’s place would be warm and welcoming, but I got a chill when I stepped inside.
We entered into what looked like it used to be a drawing room. Painter’s cloth covered hulking furniture. Dusty books lined the shelves. And an enormous oil painting of an 18th century couple hung askew above the couch. Neither the man nor the woman in the portrait looked happy. Frankly, I mused, they look like the Devil hath visited them enough.
Over by the far wall, someone had pried up several floorboards. Next to the ripped-up planks was a huge stack of books, each of which had pages torn from the middle. The place seemed like a madman had ransacked it.
I looked at Gigley.
T-shirt. Sweatpants. Face smeared with dirt and soot. I had never seen Pine Grove’s most eminent lawyer in anything but a suit, and I wondered... Was Gigley the madman?
Miss May got straight to the point. “What the heck is going on in here, Gigley?”
“What the heck to you!” Gigley shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who do you think you are, barging in here like this?”
“You told us to come in!”
“That was after you barged into my yard,” said Gigley.
Miss May softened her tone. “We’re here to help. You hired us, remember?”
Gigley grunted. “You want to help, find out who forwarded those emails from Charles’ account.”
“Forget about Charles for a second, Tom. What’s the matter with you?”
Gigley sighed, and his shoulders slouched. He was an articulate man, and I’d never seen him at a loss for words.
Miss May sat on the edge of the couch. Dust plumed around her. “You’re being crazy, Tom. First with the emails, now with disappearing to Connecticut. I’m worried about you.”
“You’re not here to question me because you think I’m guilty like everyone else in town?”
“Of course not,” Miss May said. “We already knew about the emails, remember? Everyone else finding out didn’t change anything.”
Gigley cleared his throat. “I’ll admit that I have developed a bad habit with angry emails.”
Miss May laughed. “That goes without being said.”
“I’ve been frustrated. That’s all,” Gigley said. “When I was a young man, people were good to each other. You had to be. No one moved away, or ‘started over.’ They lived around the same people their entire lives, and their reputations meant something. Now everything is so...impersonal. I wanted someone to be accountable for their actions. Pathetic, I know.”
“It’s not pathetic,” Miss May said. “Those emails are hysterical. And well-written. You should publish them in a book.”
Gigley laughed and shook his head. “They’re pathetic, May.”
“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Miss May stood. “So you sent some emails. It’s not a smoking gun.”
“It is in this day and age,” Gigley said.
Miss May sighed and ran her fingers along the dusty bookshelf. She stopped when she arrived at the pried-up floor boards near Gigley. “What’s going on here, by the way?”
“Exactly what it looks like,” Gigley said. “I’m looking for my hidden cash.”
Miss May narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you have ‘hidden cash,’ and instead ask a more pressing question. What do you need it for?”
“I need the money to start over somewhere new. I haven’t been charged with anything, so I should be free to go wherever I want.”
Miss May cast a glance my way. I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking: That sounds like what a guilty man would say.
“What?” Gigley asked.
Miss May turned to him. “You must realize how guilty this makes you look, Tom.” Yup, same brain wave. “Digging up money so you can disappear.”
“So you do think I did it!”
“I didn’t say that. But...you could tell me. If you did. I would understand.”
My shoulders scrunched up towards my ears, a sure sign that my conflict radar was going off. Miss May hadn’t come here thinking Gigley was guilty, but she was probing for a confession. If the tension didn’t break soon, my neck was going to disappear into my collarbones.
Could Gigley be the murderer?
“This is unconscionable, May! You’re accusing me. Like everyone else.”
“I am not. I’m saying that...you look guilty.”
“How is that different from leveling an accusation?”
I took a tiny step forward, trying to de-hunch my shoulders. “It seems different to me.”
“Well, it’s not!” Gigley slammed his fist down on the bookshelf, and I took a big step back.
Gigley held up his hands. “I’m sorry. That was...uncalled for. I should not have yelled. Especially not at you, Chelsea. You’re an innocent bystander.”
Miss May stood her ground. “I don’t think you’re a murderer, Tom. But I do think you’re acting mighty suspicious.”
Gigley crossed to an armchair, pulled the paint cloth off and plopped down. More dust plumed around him. He coughed. “If you must know, I have an alibi for the night Charles was killed.”
Miss May waved away invisible dust. “I’d like to know what it is.”
Gigley sighed. “The police said Charles was killed the night before you found him, right, Chelsea?”
I nodded.
Gigley reached into his pocket with an old-man groan and pulled out his cell. “I spent the entirety of that night sending angry emails. Not to Charles. There were... others.”
Gigley
opened his email app, poked around, and handed me the phone.
I peeked at the phone and tried to swallow my shock. But a squeal slipped out of my lips before I could zip them.
There were hundreds of emails, sent with under a minute between them, each with an angry subject line, like “HOW DARE YOU!?” or “EVERYONE YOU LOVE SHOULD DIE.”
I peeled my eyes from the phone and stared at Gigley. “Did you send all these emails to the cable company?”
Gigley winced. “Four hundred and forty-one emails to Carter Cable, all sent between eight PM and two AM. I took a break for a slice of cake at around ten, but that only lasted five minutes.”
There was a long, pronounced silence. Then Miss May laughed. “Tom Gigley, you are out of your mind!”
“I told you I’m not proud of the emails. But Carter’s got a monopoly in Pine Grove, and it’s not fair!”
“It’s true,” I said. “Carter is the only option in the city too. And their customer service is abysmal.”
“Do not get me started on that customer service!” Gigley said. “More like customer...annoyance.”
“What did they do to you?” I asked. “Specifically.”
Gigley threw his hands up in the air, outraged. “They wanted to charge me extra to watch baseball. Isn’t that ridiculous? Baseball has always come free with basic cable, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. Obviously, I should have handled things in a more professional manner. But the sentiment was spot on.”
Miss May reached out and took the phone. “Let me see those emails, Chelsea.”
“You don’t need to read them,” Gigley said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“One email, then I’ll stop.” Miss May scrolled through the phone with a smile. “Oh boy! These subject lines are killing me. Here’s one: ‘CARTER COMMUNICATIONS: BURN IN A FIERY INFERNO.’ Little redundant, isn’t it?”
Gigley hung his head. “That one is bad.”
Miss May cleared her throat and read the email. “Dear Carter Communications: You are despicable. Your CEO looks like a toad, and he is ruining the great game of baseball. I demand free baseball with my basic package. If you do not meet this request, I will have no choice but to burn down the homes of all your employees, post haste. Regards, Tom Gigley ESQ.” Miss May shook her head. “Tom!”
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