That task completed, I helped Zennia prep for dinner, checked on Wilbur and his pig friends, and counted the ducks. Twice. By that time, I’d run out of ways to pretend I was working and decided to call it a day.
Nothing wrong with that. I set my own hours, per my agreement with Esther. Still, I left through the French doors in case Gordon was staking out his usual spot at the computer. I didn’t need his critical gaze on me. By the time I reached home, I had all but decided to skip the rally tonight.
Ashlee’s Camaro occupied the driveway, and I parked on the street. I half expected her to come running out the front door, screeching, like she had yesterday, but the door remained closed, the yard quiet. The African daisies in the planter drooped, a reflection of my mood, while yellow jackets hovered over the brown-tinged grass.
Inside the house, the air conditioner hummed quietly. Ashlee sat in the recliner in a tube top and short shorts, her gaze riveted on the TV. I dropped my purse on the coffee table, sank onto the couch, and kicked off my sandals.
When a commercial advertising male-enhancement drugs appeared, Ashlee dragged her gaze from the screen. “Dana, I didn’t see you come in.”
Heaven help us if the house ever caught fire. She’d never notice.
“I got home a minute ago. Where’s Mom?”
“She went to Martha’s house for an early dinner, and then they’re catching some old-lady movie down at the theater.”
I didn’t bother asking if the movie starred a bunch of old ladies or appealed to old ladies. Probably neither. For Ashlee, anyone over forty was old. I was just happy Mom was socializing more these days, rather than staying home and grieving over Dad.
“You got plans tonight?” Ashlee asked.
“Not anymore.” Maybe never again with the way things had ended with Jason. “You?”
“Nobody asked me out this week.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Do you think it’s because of Bobby Joe? That guys think I’m a murderer?”
If I was a guy, I wouldn’t date someone whose last boyfriend was murdered, especially since the police hadn’t caught the killer, but the type of guys Ashlee attracted might not be as choosy. “They probably figure you’re in mourning,” I offered.
Ashlee put her lip back where it belonged. “You’re right. Guys can be so sweet that way.”
Or maybe they figured they wouldn’t get lucky if she was too distraught over Bobby Joe’s death.
She picked at her fingernail polish. “I hate being home on a Saturday night. I feel like such a loser.”
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “Staying home on a Saturday night does not make you a loser. I do it all the time.”
Ashlee raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as if I was merely proving her point. Gah, she was so frustrating.
I rubbed my forehead. “Tell you what. Crusher gave me a couple tickets to tonight’s rally if you want them. You can take one of your friends.”
“All my friends have dates on Saturday night. They’re not losers.”
One more loser comment and she wouldn’t live to see next Saturday night. “Find yourself a date. Ask a guy out.”
Ashlee’s mouth dropped open, and I had the urge to throw a penny in it, like the clown’s mouth at the carousel.
“Are you kidding? That would be social suicide, taking another man to a place where Bobby Joe was supposed to perform tonight. Can you imagine what people would say?”
She actually had a point, for once. Even I would be gossiping about that one.
“Well, you can always go by yourself. Or not go at all. It was only a suggestion.”
“Or . . .” Ashlee didn’t finish the sentence, just smiled at me.
“No, forget it.”
“Please come with me,” she said, clasping her hands under her chin like a beggar. “You need to get out more, meet some guys.”
I lifted one foot onto the coffee table and studied my toes to avoid her gaze. “I have Jason.” At least I did until our little tiff at lunch.
“You guys aren’t married. You need to live a little. Crusher obviously thinks so if he gave you those tickets. He was probably flirting with you.”
I felt my resolve weakening like a dieter at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Why stay home because I was mad at Jason? No need to sequester myself from the rest of life. And I’d never been to a truck rally before. Maybe some of Bobby Joe’s buddies would be there. Or some of his enemies. I still needed to find out more about my sister’s boyfriend.
“Fine, I’ll go.”
Ashlee squealed and ran off to her room, no doubt to start the primping process.
I heard the grinding hum of the garage door. A moment later, Mom stepped into the house carrying a hanger, her purchase hidden in a long plastic bag.
I rose from the couch. “Ashlee said you and Martha were going to dinner and a movie tonight. Did something happen?”
“Martha got one of her migraines, so I decided to do some shopping. Going Back for Seconds was having their annual Fourth of July sale.” She held the hanger higher. “I picked up this beautiful dress with a matching brocade jacket for half off.”
“Maybe I should go down there before the sale ends.” Although the idea of wearing a skirt or dress made me tired. The pantyhose, the slip, the heels. So much work. And then you had to find matching jewelry. Thank God I worked at a farm and spa, where the animals couldn’t care less what I wore.
Mom glanced at the clock on the mantel, and I automatically looked as well, my gaze pausing on Dad’s nearby picture before moving on to the time. Half past five.
“You girls have anything fun planned tonight?”
“We’re going to the monster truck rally.” As usual, I felt guilty at the idea of leaving Mom alone in the house at night. Too bad Martha was sick. “Say, Mom, why don’t you come? It’s bound to be fun.” And surely tickets were still available.
Mom scrunched up her nose. “I’m not much of a monster truck gal. Now that my plans with Martha have fallen through, I might attend the seniors’ dance down at the community center. Some of the girls are supposed to be there.”
I knew from past references that the girls in question all belonged to Mom’s salsa class. Guess my image of Mom as a lonely, sad widow needed an update.
“Speaking of which,” Mom said, “let me get ready. I’m wearing my new dress.”
“I should change, too. My spa shirt isn’t the cleanest thing.” I followed Mom down the hall and made a detour into my room. I stood before my open closet and stared at my clothes. Let’s see, a bunch of guys would be driving giant trucks around a dirt track. I could probably get away with casual wear. I grabbed a sleeveless cotton top off a hanger, pulled a pair of jeans from the dresser, and changed. That done, I brushed my hair and teeth and touched up my lip gloss. What the heck, it was Saturday night; I added a coat of mascara and smidge of eyeliner for good measure. Then I went back to the living room to wait for Ashlee.
After twenty minutes, the fastest she’d ever gotten ready, I heard her emerge from her room. She stopped before the recliner and held her arms out.
“Ta-da. What do you think?”
She wore a denim miniskirt with a button-up, short-sleeved black blouse and strappy heels. She’d pulled her hair back into a bun, and her makeup was barely discernible.
“Um, you look good?” My comment came out as a question. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to say.
“My top half says I’m sorry Bobby Joe is dead. My bottom half says, ‘Hey, I’m not dead. Don’t forget about me.’”
If scientists ever figured out a way to observe someone’s thought processes, I was volunteering Ashlee. “I think you nailed it.”
“Thanks.” She squinted at my face. “Hey, you’re wearing eyeliner. Good to see you putting in an effort for a change.”
If I smacked her hard enough, maybe I could knock her out and go to the rally without her. Or better yet, stay home.
“Shall we go?” I asked, rising from the chair.
<
br /> I decided not to lug my purse with me and instead put my ID, a couple of twenties, the tickets, my phone, and my keys in my pocket. God only knew why I was bothering to take my phone. Jason wouldn’t be calling.
With Ashlee strapped into the passenger seat, I drove through town past a smattering of fast-food restaurants and gas stations. Beyond the Taco Bell, I hung a right into the fairgrounds lot.
I’d last been to the fairgrounds back in May, when I’d helped set up and assist at the annual cricket-chirping contest. The contest had been a success as far as cricket chirping went, but the twenty or so attendants seemed paltry in comparison to the hundreds of people weaving their way between parked cars on their way to the track.
As I slowed to a crawl to avoid running over any spectators, I thought about how the cricket-chirping contest was where Ashlee and Bobby Joe had met. I suddenly wished Ashlee had never gone with me to that contest. Then she never would have met Bobby Joe, and she wouldn’t be in this mess.
The paved main lot was full, and an attendant in an orange vest waved us around back to the dirt overflow lot. My car was old, and I didn’t mind driving through the rutted dirt, but Ashlee was gonna have a hell of a time in those heels.
Sure enough, as soon as she stepped out of the car, I heard all about it.
“My shoes! They’re filthy! Do you have any idea how much these cost?”
I held up one foot, my white Keds showing the strain of working at a farm. “More than mine?”
Ashlee slapped a hand to her chest. “God, I don’t know why I talk to you about fashion.”
“You can stop any time.”
She growled at me like an angry kitty, and I smiled back.
We made our way across the dirt expanse, dodging the steady stream of cars pulling into the lot. Had the whole town turned out for the truck rally? I felt my pocket to make sure the tickets were still there as I bypassed the ticket booth and headed for the main entrance.
I handed the tickets to the beefy security guy, who tore off the stubs and handed them back. Then I tossed my keys into a little plastic bowl and waited while he passed a wand over my body. When it didn’t shriek, he waved me through and repeated the process on Ashlee.
When he nodded at her, I took a few steps forward to get out of the way of people behind me, then paused to assess. I was expecting a small crowd with easy access to the drivers, allowing me to talk to anyone who might have known Bobby Joe. But we’d be sitting in the stands, completely separated from the participants. I might not be able to interview the other drivers at all.
“Let’s get our food first, then sit down,” I told Ashlee as I listened to the murmur of the crowd inside. “Who knows if our seats will be boxed in.” Plus it would save Ashlee an extra trip up and down the stairs in those shoes.
“Sounds good. I’m starved. Wonder what they have here.”
“Probably the usual mix of hot dogs, hamburgers, and fries.”
Ashlee tugged at her waistline. “This skirt barely fits as it is. Maybe I’ll just have a Coke. Diet.”
I wasn’t wasting this chance to eat something deep fried, but Ashlee was more calorie-conscious than I was. “Suit yourself.”
We went inside the stadium, where the noise increased significantly. People milled about in the aisle, drinking beer out of plastic cups and high-fiving each other for no obvious reason. Most of the girls wore tank tops and short skirts, while the guys wore T-shirts and ratty jeans. The air practically crackled with energy.
I got in the concession line, already picturing a corn dog.
“Grab my Diet Coke, will you?” Ashlee said. “I need to use the little girl’s room.”
I nodded and faced forward again, watching as a heavyset guy with pork-chop sideburns tried to carry four beers in his meaty hands. With each step he took, beer sloshed over the sides, followed by cursing that would make Chris Rock blush.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, wishing I hadn’t when I saw who stood behind me.
“Dana! It’s so lovely to see you again.”
Kimmie Wheeler, former classmate and current snob, leaned toward me. She’d darkened her long straight hair since the last time I’d seen her, but she still wore shrink-wrap clothes and blindingly bright jewelry.
“Kimmie, it’s you,” was all I could muster.
“How have you been?” She lowered her voice. “Are you still working at that spa?”
“Yep, it’s going great.”
Kimmie tilted her head and gave me a sympathetic frown. “Still can’t find anything else, huh?”
I straightened my posture so I could look down on her. “I like working at the spa, thanks.”
“Good for you. The world always needs helpers.”
Ugh. I checked the front of the line, but it had barely moved. I was stuck with Kimmie for a while.
“What brings you to a truck rally?” I asked. I knew operas and symphonies were more her style.
“One of our customers had tickets and asked us to join him. Normally my hubby and I wouldn’t bother, what with how busy we are running the most popular restaurant in Mendocino, but he donates a considerable amount to our fund-raisers, so we couldn’t say no.”
“Sounds like business is going great for you.”
“We’re booked through September. Everyone wants to eat there and tell their friends they got a table.” Kimmie petted the chunk of black hair that lay over one shoulder, smoothing it down. “I’d try to squeeze you in, but I can’t even fit in my friends these days.”
“No worries. I don’t get to Mendocino much anyway.” And when I did, I certainly wouldn’t give my money to Kimmie by eating at her restaurant.
“Right, you do have to work and all.”
The line moved forward, and I felt a spark of hope. My escape was only three people away.
Kimmie lowered her voice again and leaned in closer, placing her hand on my arm. With the buzz of the crowd, I could barely make out the words.
“I heard about your sister killing her boyfriend. How are you holding up?”
I stepped back, jerking my arm away. “She didn’t kill him.” I might have spoken too loudly since the guy behind Kimmie stared at me and shuffled backward.
Kimmie reached for me again, but I shifted away. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I totally understand why she killed him. If my husband cheated on me, I’d kill him too. Not that he ever would. He adores me.”
“I’m not kidding. Ashlee did not kill Bobby Joe.”
“Of course, of course, don’t get upset.” Her gaze flickered from one side to the other, her face tight with faint panic. Looking for security? Worried that killing was a genetic trait in my family?
Disgusted, I faced the counter, intent on ignoring Kimmie, but then I thought about her remark and turned back.
“How did you know Bobby Joe cheated on her?” I was pretty sure Kimmie hadn’t been loitering around the fairgrounds two nights ago, and I didn’t know how in tune she was with Blossom Valley gossip. She only dragged herself here from Mendocino to visit her aging mother or pander to a donor.
She stepped closer once more. Apparently her desire to gossip beat out her fear that I might kill her. “Everyone knows. Of course, I knew first, but then I have an inside connection.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know Maria, the one Bobby Joe cheated with? Her mother works for me, although I’m considering firing her. I mean, if you can’t clean a toilet properly, you shouldn’t be in the maid business.”
I tried not to think about Kimmie’s toilets. They probably had solid-gold seats and diamond-studded flush handles. “And Maria’s mom knew about the affair?”
“What’s with the questions?” She poked me in the shoulder. “You little devil. You’re trying to solve Bobby Joe’s murder. That’s so cute.”
“My sister is in the middle of this. Nothing cute about that. Now tell me whether her mom knew about Maria and Bobby Joe.”
“She d
id. In fact, Rosa was so upset that she forgot to dust the top of my refrigerator.” Kimmie wrinkled her nose. “Sloppy, sloppy. But she couldn’t believe her daughter would step out like that. Of course, I wasn’t surprised in the least, with how Maria’s husband treats her.”
“How’s that?”
“He beats her. I don’t know why she doesn’t pack up and leave.”
The guy in front of me stepped to the side, and I reached the front of the line, but now I wasn’t so eager to leave. I mulled over the information as I absentmindedly placed my order.
If Maria’s husband smacked her around, then he had a temper, just as Jason had said. What would he do if he found out Bobby Joe was sleeping with his wife? Kill him?
Kimmie had confirmed that Todd was a solid suspect. Now I just had to figure out what to do with the information.
14
I stepped over to the condiment stand and grabbed a handful of napkins while I waited for my order, all the while thinking about Maria and her abusive husband. What I’d taken to be under-eye circles the one time I’d seen her at the Breaking Bread Diner could in fact have been black eyes. I’d even thought those circles looked like bruises. Had he hit her after finding out about Bobby Joe, then hunted down Bobby Joe and finished the job?
As Kimmie joined me to wait for her food, Ashlee headed over from the direction of the bathrooms. Kimmie spotted Ashlee and rushed to her, throwing her arms around her. Trapped in the embrace, Ashlee raised her eyebrows at me, and I offered a little wave. Kimmie let go and stepped back, giving Ashlee a chance to escape to my side.
“Who the hell is that?” she whispered out the side of her mouth.
“She and I were friends in high school, but I guess you don’t remember her. She heard about Bobby Joe.”
Kimmie’s gaze started at Ashlee’s styled hair and ended at her sandals. “You look wonderful after all that’s happened. It’s so nice of the police not to arrest you yet.”
All Natural Murder Page 11
