He straightened his glasses and peered at me. “Then why did it look like you were chasing her?”
I managed to fake a laugh. “Chasing her? That’s a good one. She didn’t hear me calling her name, what with this crowd and all, so I was trying to catch up to her.”
“I thought I knew all of Maria’s friends. How come I’ve never seen you before?”
“We recently met.” Maybe it was from my head banging into the wall, maybe it was the sudden exhaustion, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I met her through a mutual friend. Maybe you know Bobby Joe Jones, too.”
Todd reeled back as if I’d physically punched him. His already wan complexion paled even more as he shook his head. “No, no, I don’t. I’ve never heard that name, and neither has Maria.”
Speaking of Maria, where was she? She must be able to hear us through the open doorway. Why hadn’t she come out?
Todd raked his fingers across his neck, and lines appeared on his skin. He’d gone from irate to panicked at the mere mention of Bobby Joe’s name. In that moment, I felt I’d taken control of the situation.
“Really?” I continued. “I thought you were at the fairgrounds Thursday night, watching Bobby Joe practice.” A total lie, but Todd didn’t know that.
Todd scratched his neck again. “Wasn’t me. I was at home. With my wife.”
“Huh, my mistake. Guess I’ll go find Maria now.” I turned and marched into the bathroom, praying he didn’t follow me.
When I’d gotten inside, I stopped by the sink and sagged against the stainless steel, trembling. What an idiot I’d been. If I was going to help solve Bobby Joe’s murder, I needed to be a lot more alert. I couldn’t just run after people and put myself in danger like that.
I shoved off from the sink and looked down the row. All three doors of the regular stalls were ajar. Only the handicap stall was closed. I strode up to the door and knocked. No response.
“Maria? Are you in there?”
Still no answer. I looked behind me to make sure Todd hadn’t snuck in, then pulled the handle. The door swung open, revealing an empty stall. I pushed the doors all the way open on the other three stalls, but I already knew no one was there.
While Todd had knocked me to the ground and I’d struggled to regain my senses, Maria had escaped.
I splashed cold water on my face, the throbbing having dulled to a mild ache, and patted my skin with a paper towel. Should I call the police? I was no expert, but Todd’s shove might be considered an assault. However, Todd would claim he’d been defending his wife, even if I hadn’t been doing anything wrong. That might change how the police treated the situation. And the fact that I was chasing after the mistress of my sister’s boyfriend might make Ashlee look awfully guilty, as though she was trying to interfere with the police investigation. Detective Palmer had already warned me to butt out.
I studied the square piece of metal that was supposed to be a mirror on the wall. The surface was too blurry and scratched to see clearly, but my face appeared pretty normal, with no telltale signs that I’d been in a scuffle. Calling the police would only cause trouble. Decision made, I tossed the paper towel into the trash and paused at the doorway.
Was Todd waiting for me, ready to pounce again?
Hearing Bobby Joe’s name had obviously upset him. Had he decided I was some sort of threat?
Maybe I could call for help. I pulled my phone from my pocket. No signal. Great. The one time I’d actually remembered my phone, and the thing was useless.
Well, I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. And Todd sounded pretty secure about his alibi. If Maria had been with him at home, neither one could have killed Bobby Joe, unless they were covering for each other. Of course, if Todd was telling the truth, that messed up my entire suspect list, but I’d worry about that after I’d escaped the confines of the fairgrounds’ bathroom.
I poked my head out the door to scout the area and let out my breath when all I saw was a giant expanse of concrete. In the distance, people milled about. I homed in on them like a moth drawn to a porch light.
The crush of people and constant chatter were a welcome sensation as I passed the concession stand. Even the scent of exhaust drifting up from the track thrilled me, because it meant I was back in civilization and no longer alone. I had no idea if Todd or Maria were still lurking around, and I didn’t want to find myself alone with either of them again. I just wanted to sit down.
As I came in sight of the stairs, the crowd exploded into a frenzy, and I rushed forward until the arena came into view. Crusher’s monster truck, mighty rock fists still clenched, idled in the dirt. The crowd stood, clapping and whistling, yells and screams joining the mix as Crusher stuck a hand out the window and waved before motoring toward the gate.
I trotted down to where Ashlee sat, with no male companion this time. I’d already decided not to mention my run-in with Todd. She’d tell Mom, who would then worry about my safety and feel guilty because she suggested I look into Bobby Joe’s death. I’d rather skip all that drama.
I plopped into my seat. “What did I miss?”
Ashlee whirled on me. “Jesus, Dana, where have you been? I thought you’d left me and gone home.” She peered at me a little harder. “Why do you have a big bump on your forehead?”
Guess my attempts to hide the lump with my bangs hadn’t worked. “I was hurrying back here and tripped. Now what happened?”
She immediately jumped from her seat, my banged-up forehead forgotten. I hadn’t seen her this animated since Coach released their latest line of purses. “A totally crazy stunt. Absolutely nuts.”
“What was the stunt?”
Ashlee stood over me, waving her arms. “I can’t even describe it. You had to see it.”
Great. I’d missed both big stunts tonight while investigating Bobby Joe’s death and getting shoved around by an angry husband. Meanwhile, Ashlee had sat here, flirting and relaxing. Totally not fair.
“Did you see that Crusher was the driver?” Ashlee asked.
“I’ll have to congratulate him if I see him at the spa tomorrow.” Not that I had any idea what exactly I was congratulating him for.
Ashlee snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “Thanks for the reminder. I might have to stop by tomorrow. Give Crusher my congratulations in person.”
I hung my head in mock defeat. “Have you forgotten about poor Bobby Joe?”
“Of course not, but you can’t expect me to be in mourning forever.”
“He died two days ago.” I felt like we’d already had this conversation, but really, the poor guy deserved some respect. Even if he was possibly a cheater, a thief, and a pothead. “What about a funeral? Do you know if he has any family who might plan a service?”
Ashlee sat back down, sobering. “Bobby Joe’s dad died a few years ago, and his mom passed away when he was a teenager, but he’s supposed to have a brother somewhere. Maybe he’ll do something.”
“How sad,” I said. I’d hate to be so alone in the world that I’d have to worry about who would bury me.
“If the cops can’t locate the brother, I’ll ask Stump to take care of Bobby Joe. Or maybe his boss at the gas station,” Ashlee said.
Donald might not be a big Bobby Joe fan, but I hoped he’d at least spring for a burial.
We sat in silence for a few minutes while the trucks came out one by one and jumped over the cars, the announcers hollering “big air” after the higher jumps. The ghost truck backed up a few feet, then hit the gas, accelerating all the way to the ramp and clearing both mounds of dirt and cars. The announcer screamed something about “the double” as the truck landed with a thump, then bounced back up on its overinflated tires.
The tiger truck spun doughnuts, generating a cloud of dust that reached the stands, until his truck tipped over. Track crews helped the driver out while a bulldozer rolled onto the course and righted the truck. Another guy’s tailgate fell off.
The announcer declared the next truck to be
the last, thank goodness. My head was pounding harder than the guy banging on the bench behind us. After the last truck jumped a couple of mounds, the driver rolled to a stop. The crowd clapped, whistled, and stomped once more, then everyone headed for the exits en masse.
From our seats near the bottom of the stadium, I watched people struggle up the clogged stairs, then leaned back in my seat.
“Let’s let people clear out for a minute.”
Ashlee glanced up from her phone. “That’ll give Rusty a chance to get my number. He forgot.”
I closed my eyes, the pounding louder now. “I thought you were interested in Crusher.” The bump on my head felt like it had grown to a gargantuan size, although a little probing with my fingers told me it was pretty small.
“I am. But I like to keep my options open. Crusher might have a girlfriend. Or be gay. Or be headed to a monastery after he’s done competing.”
I opened my eyes to see how serious she was. She popped gum into her mouth, offered me a piece, then stuck the pack in her purse when I declined. “Plus,” she added, “he’s probably going home tomorrow, and long-distance relationships are a drag.”
The crowd had noticeably thinned, the mass of humanity on the stairs shifting to a mere inconvenience as opposed to an impenetrable block. Still too early to move, though. The parking lot was bound to be jammed, and my car was stuck in the back.
Now would be a good time to find out how much Ashlee knew about her deceased boyfriend. I thought about my conversation with Tara.
“How were Bobby Joe’s finances?” Maybe that ATM receipt was for one bank account, and Bobby Joe had another.
Ashlee snickered. “If our dates were any sign, his finances stank. Why?”
“Tara, Donald’s wife, said Donald thought Bobby Joe was stealing money from the cash register.”
“Bobby Joe? No way.” Ashlee swept her arm toward the arena. “He was broke because of this stupid place right here. Every dollar he made went into his truck. New parts, new paint job, entry fees. But he’d never steal. He was too honest.”
Apparently Bobby Joe’s death had affected Ashlee’s memory. “How can you say that after he cheated on you?”
“I’m sure it was a one-time thing. We all make mistakes.”
I wanted to argue the point, but to what end? Bobby Joe was dead. It didn’t matter now if he’d cheated. Unless that cheating somehow got him killed.
I decided to switch topics. “What would you say about pot, then?”
Ashlee shrugged. “Sure, I’ve tried it, but it wasn’t really for me. For one thing, you can’t rock in a bikini if you’re always getting the munchies.”
I was starting to think Ashlee was the cause of my headache, not my close encounter with the cement wall. “I’m not asking if you’ve used it.” Although I had to admit I was a bit surprised that she had and that she’d so readily admit it. “I want to know if Bobby Joe was a pot dealer.”
“Geez, Dana, what kind of guys do you think I date?”
I skipped right over that question. “Remember when you stole my car to get ice cream? While I was waiting for you to come back, I talked to Yolanda, Bobby Joe’s neighbor. She said Stump and Bobby Joe were big-time pot dealers.”
“That old lady is nuts. I told you she was always spying on Bobby Joe. And she watches those judge shows all day. She thinks everyone is guilty of something.”
I was getting two completely different pictures of Bobby Joe here. On the one hand, his boss thought he was a thief and his neighbor thought he was a drug dealer, while on the other, Ashlee thought he was too honest for anything other than cheating on a girlfriend, not that that was exactly honorable. Who was right?
The crowd had almost completely disappeared, and the cleaning crew was roaming the aisles, stabbing trash with their pointed sticks and depositing everything into garbage bags.
“Come on, let’s go.” I was tired, sore, and a little cranky. I’d missed most of the rally, and I wasn’t sure I was any closer to finding the killer. I hadn’t even talked to any drivers, and right now, I didn’t feel like tracking them down.
But one thing I was almost sure of. Todd absolutely knew about his wife’s affair with Bobby Joe.
16
Few cars remained in the overflow lot by the time we climbed up the cement stairs and walked down the other side. The sky was dark, the moon new, but the stadium lights illuminated our path to the car.
Traffic through town was heavier than normal, most likely people hitting the fast-food joints for a late-night snack after the rally. But I had to work in the morning and couldn’t afford to stay up any later than I already had. Six o’clock would be here soon enough.
Once home, I changed into PJs, brushed my teeth, and scrubbed my face. Out of habit, I checked my cell phone and saw that I had a voice mail. I punched the button and listened to the automated lady. Then the message started, and my breath caught as I heard Jason’s voice.
“Hey, Dana, Jason here. I wanted to apologize for what happened at lunch. I know Ashlee would never hurt anyone. Being a reporter makes me forget sometimes how difficult it is for the people involved. Anyway, give me a call.”
It was already past eleven. Too late to call. And I had no idea what to say anyway. I’d been so angry at lunch, but now I felt deflated. I’d lashed out at Jason over my frustration at not making more progress. I knew Ashlee hadn’t killed Bobby Joe, but the police had every reason to think she might have. And Jason had every right to point that out. I needed to work harder at finding the real killer, so I could get back to my nice, quiet life.
I switched off the light, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling in the glow from my alarm clock. After a while, I drifted off into a restless sleep.
The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and assessed my health. My head no longer hurt, and my arm muscles protested only a little when I moved. A glance in the mirror showed the bump on my forehead had dwindled to the size of a large zit. Guess I’d live.
I stumbled into the shower and went through my usual morning routine automatically. Khaki shorts and work shirt on, I stopped in the kitchen for a bowl of sugar-free oatmeal, wishing Mom would occasionally splurge on the yummy kind, before getting in the car.
Downtown was blocked off for the Fourth of July parade, so I maneuvered through a series of side streets until I reached the freeway on-ramp. Too bad I had to work instead of watching the parade. Of course, my interest had dimmed once I was too old to collect the candy thrown by the Lions Club members as they rode around in their little cars. Parades weren’t as fun without free candy.
At the farm, the birds chattered noisily in the trees as I followed the path past the cabins and walked through the back door of the kitchen. Zennia, dressed in a muumuu, daisies woven through her braid, was adding fresh blueberries from a strainer to a bowl of white goop.
“Dana, I heard some people in the dining room a moment ago. Can you take the custard out while I prepare the bacon and eggs?”
I eyed the bowls. “Is that real custard?” I knew the bacon was veggie bacon, but maybe the custard was actually custard.
She set the empty strainer in the sink. “Of course the custard is real. How can you have fake custard? I mean, it’s made from tofu, but it still counts as custard.”
No, it didn’t.
I kept that thought to myself as I grabbed two bowls and carried them into the dining room.
Horace and Darlene Steddelbecker sat at the table closest to the French doors, loudly discussing their plans for the day.
“Hikes, bikes, what am I supposed to do with my bum knee?” Darlene asked Horace as I approached the table.
I set the bowls before the couple. “The beach isn’t far from here. You could sit and watch the ocean.”
Horace picked up a spoon and pointed it at me. “Forget it, missy. When one of those big earthquakes California is always having hits, I’m not getting sucked into the ocean.”
“We really don’t have that m
any earthquakes,” I said, straightening the roses that sat in the vase between them.
“Bull pucky,” Horace said. “We’ve seen the movies.”
And movies were always so accurate. “How about shopping? Blossom Valley has some lovely stores downtown.”
“Too much walking,” Darlene said, tapping her knee.
I momentarily missed the Bickersons and the meals where they never spoke. Too bad they’d checked out instead of the Steddelbeckers.
Horace poked at the custard with his spoon, then set the spoon back on the table and shoved the bowl away. “I reckon we oughta stop at one shop. You know Susan will be expecting something, what with sending us on this trip and all.”
Darlene banged her own spoon on the table. “You’re right. She’s always wanting something, that one.”
I didn’t think one little souvenir in exchange for a free vacation was asking too much, but the Steddelbeckers seemed like the type who would begrudge a dehydrated and dying man a glass of water if they had to hand it to him.
“Well, missy,” Horace said to me, “where can we pick up souvenirs on the cheap? I don’t want none of these shops that jack up the prices when they see a tourist walk in.”
I thought about the new antiques shop, the wine bar, and the accessories store that had all opened on the main drag. None of those would suit the Steddelbeckers. But I knew of one place that would. I’d seen a whole shop full of cheap trinkets and knickknacks just yesterday.
“Running on Fumes is a gas station on the other side of town. The owner also runs a souvenir shop, and he sells all types of gifts from the area, like redwood burls, abalone jewelry, and seashells.”
Horace raised his hand like we were in math class and not a dining room.
“At reasonable prices,” I added.
He put his hand down.
I gave them brief directions on how to find the station. “I’ll be back in a minute with your bacon and eggs.”
All Natural Murder Page 13
