“Did you text Clarence about it? I’m sure he could tell you which bottle to use. You know, as long as his wife isn’t mid-push or anything.” Visions of Clarence in hospital scrubs texting on his smartphone while his wife lay nearby, her mouth open in a scream, filled my head, but I banished the thought and focused on Gordon.
“Texting is for teenagers.” He pulled his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket and peered at the screen as if mystified. “But it might be the only way.”
“Great. You contact Clarence. I’m off to find Esther.” I wound my way through the plants and back onto the path. This time, when I approached the cabins, I spotted the maid’s cart in front of the first cabin, the door partly ajar.
I popped my head in and saw Esther running a dust rag over the dresser top, her faded red peasant blouse sticking to her back in places.
“Esther,” I said.
She jerked around, a hand flying to her top button. “Mercy me, you scared an extra five years off my life.”
“Zennia mentioned that Heather is out today, and I wondered if you needed help with the rooms.”
“That would be peachy. Only two cabins have guests right now, but we’re expecting a full house after tomorrow’s check-in, so I was freshening up the other rooms, too. Why don’t you do cabins four and six, where the guests are?” She held up a little American flag on a wooden stick. “I’m also putting these flags you ordered in each cabin to start off the holiday weekend.”
“Great, I’ll do that, too. Which reminds me, I’m hanging the balloons and banners this afternoon.”
“I can always count on you,” Esther said. She returned to dusting.
I grabbed the vacuum handle with one hand and the pass key dangling off the cart with the other and rolled down to cabin six. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung from the knob. I moved down two doors, where the knob was empty, and knocked. No answer, so I used the key to let myself in, steeling myself.
Two months earlier, I’d been in this exact situation when I’d entered a cabin and found a dead body. I’d cleaned the rooms several times since then, but I always got a little shiver when I first walked in.
The cabin was dark, the blackout curtains drawn. I pulled the cord, and sunlight poured into the room, making me squint. Several papers lay on the floor, and I gathered them up into a stack. I glanced at the top sheet. Baseball teams and odds ran down the page. Maybe this guest liked to bet on the games. I set the pages on the coffee table, near a stack of magazines.
Other than the papers on the floor, whoever was staying here was relatively neat. This person had remade the bed, smoothing out the tan spread with its embroidered leaves. No trash littered the floor, no clothes hung off the chairs. The only other signs of occupancy were a rolling suitcase in the corner, a partly open closet door, and the magazines.
The bright color of the clothing in the closet drew my attention, and I took a peek. A padded jumpsuit, like race-car drivers wore, hung from the rod. Pictures of flames and rocks covered the thick material. A matching helmet with flames sat on the closet floor. I returned to the magazines, wondering what they had to do with the clothes and helmet in the closet. The top one showed an off-road vehicle leaping over a dirt hill. I poked through the rest of the stack. All three magazines focused on off-roading or racing.
Ashlee’s comments came back to me. Was this person somehow involved in the big monster truck tournament this weekend? What other reason could they have for that outfit in the closet? I picked up a magazine and flipped through it, seeing page after page of dirt tracks and mud-covered trucks.
“Find something to your liking?” a voice boomed behind me.
With a squeal, I dropped the magazine on the floor and whirled around. The guy from the pool stood in the doorway, water from his slicked-back blond hair running in rivulets down the side of his head and over his bare chest. His hair was a smidge too long, his arms a little soft. I could see the hint of a six-pack outline under the layer of flab covering his belly, making me wonder if he’d been sipping a can from a different kind of six-pack lately.
“I’m so sorry, sir. That magazine caught my eye while I was vacuuming your room.”
He gestured at the vacuum sitting in the corner. “It works better if you turn it on.” He gave me a slow smile.
I felt my face heat up. This guy probably wasn’t even as old as me, and yet I felt as guilty and embarrassed as the time the principal caught me skipping school.
“I’ll come back later. I don’t want to get in your way.”
He rubbed his belly, whether to scratch an itch or draw attention to what he clearly thought was a spectacular body, I wasn’t sure.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m here for a towel, then I’m back to the pool.” He nodded toward the magazine on the floor, and I hastily snatched it up and laid it back on the pile. “If you like monster trucks, you should come to the big rally tomorrow night. I’ll be competing. I’m known as Crusher.”
I stifled a giggle. The name sounded like something a cheesy WWE wrestler would use. But I wondered how many other drivers were on the monster truck circuit. Was it small enough that he and Bobby Joe would have known each other?
“I might have to stop by. I don’t think we’ve ever had a monster truck driver stay here at the spa.”
“All the motels in town were booked, but I’m glad I ended up here. The quiet is helping me focus my thoughts and get ready for tomorrow’s competition.”
I felt my gaze wander to his bare chest and willed myself to keep my focus on his face. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “Have you been competing long?” If he had, he must have met Bobby Joe at some point.
“A few years. I’m starting to make a name for myself again. This rally could be my big shot to the majors.” He smiled at me and rubbed his chin.
Ashlee had said almost the same thing about Bobby Joe. “My sister’s dating a driver. Well, used to date him. Bobby Joe Jones. Do you know him?”
At the mention of Bobby Joe’s name, the toothy smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. His sudden change in demeanor made goose bumps prickle my skin.
He crossed his arms and stepped toward me. “Who did you say you were again?”
Suddenly he looked awfully big and the doorway behind him looked awfully small. “I’m Dana. I work here at the spa.” I took a step back as Crusher continued to glare. His name didn’t sound so funny anymore.
“So you’re friends with Bobby Joe, huh? You digging around in my room, hoping to find out about my moves?” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “Well, good luck, ’cause I’ve got everything right up here.”
This monster truck business was more competitive than I’d realized. And from the sounds of it, he hadn’t heard about Bobby Joe’s murder. “Look, I wasn’t going through your things.” I gestured toward the coffee table. “I looked through the magazines and saw that baseball sheet with the odds, that’s all.”
Crusher held up the piece of paper. “So that’s what this is about. Do you even work here?”
“Let me get my boss. She can vouch for me.” I craned my head to see if Esther would magically appear in the doorway as if by mental summons, but no one was there.
“I want to know who sent you. Was it Vince?”
“Look, let me find my boss. We’ll get this straightened out.”
I stepped to the side to maneuver around him, but he matched my step with one of his own. With a coffee table on one side and the couch on the other, I had nowhere to go. I was trapped.
6
Crusher moved toward me, and I held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Stop right there. I am an employee of the spa. I am not a spy. And if you don’t let me go, I’m calling the police.” A total bluff, but maybe my stern tone would make him reconsider whatever he was about to do.
He stepped back and to the side, gesturing for me to walk through with a sweep of his arm. “Whoa, honey. I’m not keeping you here.”
I quick-stepped over to the vacuum a
nd grabbed the handle.
“But the next time you clean my room, try not to snoop,” he added.
“I wasn’t snooping.” Well, maybe a little. Head held high, I wheeled the vacuum out the door and down the breezeway, where I stopped and sagged against the wall.
What had happened there? The man had gone from Mr. McFlirty to Mr. McThreaty as soon as I mentioned Bobby Joe’s name. And what was with the spy business? And who was Vince? Monster trucks weren’t synonymous with espionage. Maybe Ashlee could clue me in.
I left the vacuum by the wall and hurried down the path. As I passed the second cabin, I heard, “Dana!”
I backed up a couple of steps and poked my head in. “Yes, Esther?”
“Did you finish the cabins already?”
“Both were occupied. I’ll come back later.” I really wanted to call Ashlee, so I didn’t offer to help with the vacant cabins. Before Esther suggested the idea herself, I scooted past the door and around the corner.
This time, the pool area was empty, though someone, probably Crusher, had dragged a chaise longue from under the shade of the redwood tree so it sat directly in the sun. A blue jay squawked on a low-hanging branch, and another jay farther away answered.
With Zennia most likely in the kitchen, I slipped into the dining room through the French doors to avoid further conversation, intent on getting my cell phone. The sky-blue walls seemed to take a couple of degrees off the room’s already cool temperature. Zennia had filled the slender vases on each table with red dahlias, and they provided a bright pop against the cream tablecloths. The barn-shaped clock and the framed photographs on the wall, which showed the farm and Blossom Valley five decades ago, combined with the crisp linens and gleaming silverware, gave the room a homey yet elegant vibe.
I stepped into the hall and went straight across to the office where my cell phone waited in my purse. I really needed to remember to carry it with me and save myself some walking.
Gordon sat at the computer, and I almost let out a groan. Couldn’t I make one little phone call without his listening in? He’d no doubt have some comment about making personal calls on company time.
He still wore his suit, jacket and all, and had recombed his hair to its usual gleaming helmet. “Dana. Just the person I was looking for.”
Yippee, my lucky day.
“I placed an ad in the Herald earlier this week for a yoga instructor here at the spa and have already received a few résumés. I’ll be calling one or two in and thought you could be the first line of defense. Weed out the riffraff. When you find a decent candidate, I’ll conduct a more formal interview and make the final selection.”
Even though Gordon wanted me to interview the people first so he wouldn’t have to waste his own time, I was secretly pleased. Back when I worked in marketing at a computer software company in San Jose, I’d loved first-round interviews. People who looked fantastic on paper would be far less stellar in person, much like online dating. I recalled the woman who arrived for an interview dressed as a clown and made balloon animals while we talked to convince me of her creativity, the woman who brought her yappy terrier because the dog sitter was sick, and the man who was a construction worker until an alien abduction turned him toward marketing. I never quite got that last one. Did the aliens want him to convince the public that aliens were good and ease the way for when their mother ship landed?
“Dana,” Gordon snapped. “Are you listening?”
The man who’d brought UFO bookmarks to the interview vanished from my mind’s eye. “What? Yes, that sounds great. Let me know when you’ve set up the interviews.”
I bent down, opened the bottom drawer of the desk, careful not to bang Gordon’s knee, and slid my phone out of my purse. I sensed Gordon staring at me as I eased the drawer shut and felt compelled to say something.
“Like to keep it handy, what with that family emergency and all.” I had no idea why the guy always made me feel like I needed an excuse. Esther’s farm wasn’t a jail. I was allowed more than one phone call.
Gordon rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “That’s right, your sister being a murderer. Make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work.”
I felt the blood rush to my head as a ringing sounded in my ears. “My sister didn’t kill anyone,” I managed to squeeze out between my compressed lips. I turned on my heel and marched out, reminding myself that Gordon wasn’t my boss, even if he was the farm manager. It was a tricky situation that called for just enough obedience that Gordon wouldn’t complain to Esther. Still, if I wanted to take an early break to make a personal phone call, that was well within my rights.
Then again, no need to broadcast it. I slipped out the dining room door, crossed the patio area, cut through the bushes by the redwood tree, and landed on the Hen House Trail near the chicken coop. Both the Hen House and Chicken Run trails looped through the wilder parts of the property, cutting swaths through manzanita, oak, and pine trees and offering guests an opportunity to enjoy nature as they walked around the property.
But it was too hot to walk today. I waved to the chickens out in the yard and spotted Berta pecking at the dirt in the corner. As soon as I rounded the first bend of the trail, I whipped out my phone and checked the reception, always spotty in the area. Two bars. Not the best, but maybe enough.
I punched in Ashlee’s number and waited through four rings. As I started to compose a voice mail message in my head, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Ashlee, it’s me. I need to talk to you.”
“Good timing. We finished an enema on a Great Dane a minute ago. He ate an entire love seat. Leather. Can you imagine?”
I swatted at a horsefly buzzing around my face. “I’d rather not. I wanted to ask you about Bobby Joe and this truck rally. Did he ever talk about a guy named Crusher?”
Ashlee let out a squeal, and I flinched at the sound. “Great name, right? And man, is that guy hot. I almost asked him out right there at the fairgrounds after I found out Bobby Joe was cheating on me. He would have been so jealous. Wish I hadn’t chickened out.”
Guess she was recovering from Bobby Joe’s death already.
“So he and Bobby Joe competed quite a bit?” I wiped away the trail of sweat running from my temple to my jaw and wished I’d made the phone call from inside the house, Gordon’s disapproval and eavesdropping be damned.
“Almost every rally. I know Bobby Joe was super worried about this weekend and was trying out that new stuff I told you about that he wouldn’t show me, something that would crush the competition.” Ashlee giggled. “Get it? Crush the competition, and his big rival’s name is Crusher?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Why are you asking me about Crusher?”
“He’s staying here at the spa. I met him a bit ago.” I didn’t add how our meeting had deteriorated into accusations of spying, but now Crusher’s questions made sense. If Bobby Joe was working on new moves, then Crusher probably was too, and he definitely wouldn’t want anyone finding out before the contest, especially with scouts in the audience. No wonder he was paranoid.
“Maybe I should visit you at work,” Ashlee said. “Last I heard, Crusher didn’t have a girlfriend.”
Yep, definitely over Bobby Joe.
“Don’t you think you should be more worried about this police investigation? You know, the one where your boyfriend was murdered?”
“Ex-boyfriend,” Ashlee said. “Do you think Crusher had something to do with it? ’Course, killers aren’t usually that good-looking.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Haven’t you heard of the Preppy Killer? Ted Bundy?” Or was I the only one who watched TruTV? I swatted at another fly. “Never mind that. I have no idea if Crusher was involved in Bobby Joe’s murder, but it’s a place to start. Now I have to get back to work.”
“Me, too. A cat needs to be neutered.”
On that note, I hung up. As I stuffed the phone into my back pocket, I heard a rustling sound c
oming from the direction of the house. Probably a squirrel galloping through the bushes.
I headed back, but stopped when I heard another noise ahead of me, one that didn’t sound like a squirrel. Were those footsteps? As I rounded the corner of the trail, I heard louder crackling, followed by a giant splash. I picked up my pace, looped around the redwood tree, and came out on the patio.
Crusher was back in the pool, water marks on the cement indicating the splash I’d heard. Practicing his cannonballs? Or running back and jumping into the pool so I wouldn’t know he’d been listening to my end of the phone call?
I watched Crusher touch the far wall, flip around, and cut through the water for another lap. A monster truck deal that involved sponsors, fame, and a large paycheck might be important enough to kill for. Maybe Crusher had decided to eliminate the competition to guarantee his success.
Definitely worth looking into.
I just hoped my theories weren’t all wet.
7
I hurried past Crusher in the pool and went around the corner. Esther was working in the second-to-last vacant cabin, so I grabbed some cleaning bottles and rags from the maid’s cart and made short work of Crusher’s bed and bath, followed by a quick vacuum. At the last second, I grabbed one of the flags from a stack on the cart and laid it across a pillow.
The DO NOT DISTURB sign no longer hung from the other cabin door, so after a knock and a pause, I entered. The cover on one side of the bed was smooth, while the other side was rumpled. A pillow rested at one end of the couch, the imprint of a head still obvious. I knew the room belonged to a married couple, and I’d taken to calling them the Bickersons, though the name didn’t really fit. You had to actually talk to each other if you wanted to bicker.
I finished cleaning their room, added a flag to the bed and one to the couch, and pushed the vacuum back out the door. Esther was draping her dust rag over the side of the cart outside.
“I can take the cleaning supplies back to the house,” I said.
All Natural Murder Page 5
