All Natural Murder

by McLaughlin, Staci

  Darlene held out both custard bowls. “Take these with you. We don’t want them.”

  I accepted the bowls without a word and took them to the kitchen, where I set them on the counter. Zennia looked up from where she was plating the eggs at the other end.

  “Let me guess. The Steddelbeckers?”

  “Good guess.”

  Zennia shook her head and slapped a pile of scrambled eggs on the plate. “I can’t believe those people. They kicked up such a fuss last night over dinner that I eventually had to make them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And then they wouldn’t eat those because I used organic, all-natural peanut butter, and they only like Skippy. I can’t wait until they go home.”

  “At least they’ll be out shopping this morning. Maybe they’ll even eat lunch in town.”

  “I wouldn’t be so lucky,” Zennia said.

  “You’re probably right. They’d need to spend money if they bought lunch.”

  Zennia laughed as I grabbed two plates and returned to the dining room. Another couple had shown up for breakfast while I’d been in the kitchen and now sat across the room.

  I set the plates down in front of the Steddelbeckers, and Darlene immediately jabbed the eggs with her fork, much like Horace had poked his custard.

  “These aren’t none of that egg substitute nonsense, are they?”

  “Nope, the eggs were laid by chickens right here at the spa.”

  “Good, ’cause I’m getting tired of all this healthy food. I need something with preservatives. If you can keep food fresh that long with preservatives, think about how long you could keep your body fresh.”

  I almost laughed at her convoluted logic. Before she could ask if the bacon was from a pig, I escaped to the kitchen for more custard for the new guests.

  The rest of the guests arrived, and I got busy serving them. When people had shuffled back out of the dining room, I helped Zennia with the dishes, then went to the office to work on the day’s blog.

  As I was typing the last few words, Gordon popped his head in. “Dana, did you get those spa visitor demographics I asked for?”

  My fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Demographics?”

  Gordon stretched out an arm and tugged on the shirt cuff peeking out from his suit jacket. “I asked you on Friday to supply an overview on the age, sex, and ethnicity of most spa guests.”

  I searched my memory for the infrequent conversations I’d had with Gordon over the last couple of days, but nothing relating to visitor stats came to mind. “I don’t recall you asking me for that, but I’d be happy to pull something together for you.”

  Gordon glanced over his shoulder and stepped all the way into the office, lowering his voice. “You better not let your personal life interfere with this job. You know how important the success of this spa is to Esther. To all of us.”

  “I’ll have that information for you later this morning.”

  “See that you do. And you’ve got a woman coming in at two o’clock to interview for the yoga instructor position. Be ready.” He spun around and strode out of the room.

  How could I have forgotten Gordon’s request? I thought I’d been handling both my job and investigating Bobby Joe’s murder pretty well, but maybe I was slipping.

  Trying to settle my sudden unease, I concentrated on posting my blog, then started on the demographics Gordon had asked for. I finished the task quickly, and I wondered if I’d pushed it out of my mind because I knew it wouldn’t take long. That still would be no excuse for forgetting altogether.

  When I finished collecting the information, I leaned back in my chair. Too early to help Zennia with lunch prep. I could always wander around the grounds and see what needed tidying. But first . . .

  I checked my cell phone. The screen was blank. No new calls. I waited a full minute, staring at the screen, on the off chance it would ring by some magical coincidence. When nothing happened, I punched in Jason’s number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Jason Forrester speaking.” His tone was brisk and businesslike.

  “Uh, hey Jason, it’s Dana. I got your message.”

  Silence was my only response, and I plunged ahead.

  “I wanted to apologize for yesterday, too. I’m worried about Ashlee, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  “Sorry, I can’t talk about this now. I’m working on a major story. I’ll call you later, promise.”

  Click. He hung up.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the length of the call. Thirty-two measly seconds. I knew when Jason was working on a story that he blocked out the rest of the world, but I’d been apologizing. He could have at least acknowledged that.

  I tossed my phone in the drawer with my purse. If he called back, he could talk to my voice mail. I had things to do, too.

  My internal voice started lecturing me on my immaturity, but I shut it down and went into the hall. The kitchen was empty, and I grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter. Munching away, I strolled through the herb garden, the scent of rosemary and thyme heavy in the air. A squirrel darted up the nearby oak tree, an acorn stuck in its mouth, while honey bees hovered over the lavender. I wondered if they’d sting me, like Jason had stung me a moment ago. Or maybe I was being melodramatic.

  I wandered over to the pigsty and chucked my apple core in the direction of Wilbur and his pals. As he made a grab for the core, I leaned on the rail.

  “What a day, Wilbur. Gordon is all over my case about doing a better job.”

  Wilbur snorted twice.

  “I know, he’s always demanding, but what if he’s right this time? I have been focusing on Bobby Joe’s murder quite a bit.”

  No response this time.

  “And to top it off, I called Jason to apologize, and he gave me the brush-off. Isn’t that rude?”

  Wilbur snorted.

  “I thought so.” Sure, a pig was the one agreeing with me, but as long as somebody validated my feelings, I was okay with that.

  Wilbur went back to rooting in the mud, and I straightened up. “Thanks for listening.”

  I strolled by the chicken coop, but the yard was empty and quiet. No doubt the chickens were hiding inside the coop to escape the mid-morning sun.

  “Dana, yoo-hoo.”

  Esther trotted down the path toward me, her peach-colored cotton skirt rising and falling as she moved.

  “Esther, how are you?”

  “Right as rain, thanks.” She glanced up at the blue and cloudless sky. “Speaking of rain, I wouldn’t mind a little these days.”

  “You and me both.” I heard a chicken cluck from within the hen house. Guess she agreed.

  Esther wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, strands of one gray curl sticking to her skin. “I’m glad I ran into you. Zennia mentioned she needs tomatoes for today’s lunch. Could you pick them for her?”

  “You bet.” I gestured toward the cabins. “It’s nice having so many guests here, isn’t it?”

  Esther nodded and fiddled with a button on her white blouse. “The summer’s been slow, that’s for sure. This truck rally has been a boon for the town, but it’s only one weekend. We need more events to bring in guests.”

  Guess I shouldn’t have been handing out those bottles of shampoo to the Steddelbeckers so freely, what with business being slow.

  “How’s your Blossom Valley Rejuvenation Committee?” I asked. “Coming up with any new projects?” The committee, all three members of it, tried to promote the town and increase tourism through a hodgepodge of events, including the cricket-chirping contest I’d helped with a couple months back.

  Esther pulled her blouse away from her skin and fanned herself with her other hand. “We’ve got a few ideas going.” She patted my arm. “I’ve got to get inside now. I’m melting like my favorite praline ice cream.”

  I followed her back to the kitchen and snagged the large basket from its usual spot on the counter, then went back out and stopped by the toolshed for a pai
r of gardening gloves. After Gordon had pointed out those tomato worms, I wasn’t taking a chance on accidentally touching one. The temperature was rapidly approaching triple digits, so I threw on an old straw hat I found hanging on a peg.

  As I headed out, the pool water shimmered in the light, a mild breeze making the ripples twinkle like the stars I still occasionally wished upon. Crusher wasn’t hanging around the pool as usual, but he might be resting after his big rally performance last night. Or maybe he’d already packed up and gone home.

  I followed the path past the cabins and down the walkway until I reached the vegetable garden. I stopped at a tomato plant and set the basket on the ground. No giant green worms waited for me, thank goodness.

  I squeezed a few tomatoes before finding one that wasn’t too firm and snapped it off the vine as Zennia had shown me once upon a time. Three more followed, and I moved to the next plant. As I searched for the ripest tomatoes, I heard voices moving in my direction.

  The Steddelbeckers came around the curve and stopped when they saw me.

  “You,” Horace said, sending a chill down my back, despite the heat.

  I deposited a tomato in the basket and straightened up. “Did you enjoy your shopping?” I asked, though their grimaces already told me the answer.

  “I don’t know why you sent us to that godforsaken place. Are you just mean-spirited?” Darlene asked.

  Was the gas station gift shop really so bad? I’d thought it’d fit their style—cheap and cheaper. “I suggested Running on Fumes because they have such a good selection of unusual items at low prices. Did something happen?” Had the three-dollar glow-in-the-dark plastic octopus been too much for them?

  “I’ll say something happened.” Darlene thumped her wooden cane on the ground. “We were almost killed!”

  17

  Almost killed? Had I somehow endangered the Steddelbeckers?

  In response to Darlene’s outburst, Horace reached over and covered her hand on the cane with his own. “Don’t get yourself riled up. Remember your heart.”

  After a mini wave of panic and a flash of guilt, I had to wonder if they might be exaggerating. They certainly looked fine. “What happened? Did someone rob the store?”

  Horace shook his head. “We found ourselves in one of those domestic disputes. You know how they can turn ugly.”

  “Who was fighting? Customers?” I asked.

  “I don’t know their names,” Horace said. “Some heavyset feller with a bad-looking toupee and some chesty floozy in a tight shirt.”

  Was he talking about Donald and Tara?

  “What were they fighting about?” I asked, wishing he’d get to the part where they were in actual danger.

  “Hollering at each other something fierce,” Horace said. “When we first got there, they were in the back, but we could hear them clear as day. He was shouting about her sleeping around with some other feller who worked there. And she yelled back that he musta killed the guy, hit him with a tailpipe or something.”

  Darlene chimed in. “If it weren’t for this here cane, I’d about fell over when she said that.”

  Holy cow. Had Tara been sleeping with Bobby Joe? That guy sure got around. First Bobby Joe steals from the business, then he steals Donald’s wife?

  “Did they say anything else?” I asked, almost forgetting the sun that beat down on me.

  Horace nodded. “You bet. The man said he wished he’d had the chance to kill the guy, but he wouldn’t use a tailpipe. He’d strangle him with his own two hands.”

  Hmm . . . that comment implied Donald might not have known about the affair before Bobby Joe died, if there even was an affair. Or else he was bluffing to convince Tara he hadn’t killed Bobby Joe.

  Horace and Darlene stared at me, waiting for me to speak.

  “And then?” I prompted.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Darlene snapped. “Then those two came out from the back, and we hightailed it outta there, ran for our lives.”

  I imagined them hobbling toward their car, screaming bloody murder, and had to suppress a smile.

  “Something funny, missy?” Horace asked.

  I forced a frown. “No, of course not, but I don’t quite see when your lives were in danger.”

  “After what we heard?” Darlene said. “We’re lucky that guy didn’t follow us. And here you’re the one who sent us out to that place in the middle of nowhere. Anything could have happened, and no one would ever know.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back safe,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t whine about their imagined danger all day. “Now, I need to finish collecting these tomatoes for lunch.”

  Darlene harrumphed. “At least that’s one food we’ve eaten before.” She tapped her husband’s ankle with her cane. “Come on, Horace. I need to lie down after all that excitement.”

  I removed my hat and wiped the sweat off my forehead as they made their way down the path. When they were out of sight, I planted the hat back on my head and finished collecting the tomatoes, all the while wondering if Donald and Tara had really said those things or if Darlene and Horace had misinterpreted what they’d heard. Did Tara really believe her husband had killed Bobby Joe, or had she suggested that to distract him from her possible affair?

  As I picked up the basket, it sagged under the weight of the fruit, and I sagged right along with it. Why did the vegetable garden have to be so far from the kitchen? I lugged the basket toward the house, sweat pooling under my arms and trickling down my back.

  When I was a few yards from the cabins, Crusher stepped out from his door in a T-shirt, longboard shorts, and Crocs. He gestured toward the basket. “Let me carry that for you.”

  I had a two-second internal struggle between proving that girls didn’t always need some burly guy helping them out and dropping the basket right there. My screaming muscles made a good argument, and I let Crusher take the basket from me. I tried to ignore how easily he toted the tomatoes while my fatigued arms hung limply at my sides.

  “Were you taking these to the kitchen?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.” We walked around the side of the cabins and past the pool. “By the way, congrats on the truck rally last night. I missed your big move, but everyone was talking about it.” I didn’t mention that I’d been busy struggling with an over-protective and abusive husband outside a bathroom while spying on Bobby Joe’s mistress. That sounded like a scene from Days of Our Lives.

  Crusher grinned, and I was reminded once more of how darn charming that smile was. “Sorry you didn’t see the trick. It was unreal. A scout already contacted me this morning about finding a sponsor.”

  “Wow. Congratulations. You must be thrilled.”

  Crusher flashed his teeth again. “You bet. Last night made my entire future.”

  “Does that mean you’re packing up and heading home?” With the rally over, I didn’t see any reason for him to stay.

  “Not yet. I’m meeting with the scout this afternoon, and I don’t know if anyone else will be contacting me. Figured I’d stick around for a couple days. Lucky for me, you guys aren’t booked up.”

  Esther had probably done a hoedown routine when Crusher extended his stay. I knew most of the guests were leaving today or tomorrow, and she’d need the extra revenue. We reached the back door, and I grabbed the basket handles, my fingers brushing Crusher’s.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  He held onto the basket for a moment. “No problem. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I thought we could have dinner tonight.”

  My thoughts started spinning like a kid on a merry-go-round. Was he asking me out on a date? Or did he want to have dinner because he didn’t know anyone else in town? Why, oh why, couldn’t Jason and I have a defined relationship? Were we exclusive or not? Was he even still interested in dating me? He’d given me the brush-off on the phone this morning, and things hadn’t exactly ended well at the cafe yesterday.

  Crusher watched me, his smile drooping at the corners.


  “Um, let me check my schedule,” I said, stalling for time. I already knew I had exactly nothing planned for the night, but I needed a few more minutes.

  Crusher let go of the basket and shrugged. “Sure, no biggie. Just an idea.”

  “And a good one. I’ll get back to you.” I felt myself blushing as I stepped in and set the basket on the table. When I turned back, Crusher was gone.

  I poured myself some lemonade from the pitcher in the fridge and held the glass to my sweaty forehead. God, I was so lame when it came to the dating scene, so unlike Ashlee. Why did I have to overthink everything? Jason and I weren’t married. We weren’t even an official item. If an eligible guy wanted to take me to dinner, then I should go. I wasn’t especially attracted to Crusher, but it still might be fun to have dinner with the guy. I only wished I didn’t feel so guilty.

  Zennia entered the kitchen, distracting me from my dilemma.

  “Good, you brought the tomatoes. I’m about ready to plate lunch.” She grabbed two tomatoes and rinsed them under the faucet, patting them dry with a towel.

  I handed her the next two. “I’ve got some bad news,” I said in a solemn voice.

  Zennia paused with her hands under the faucet. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

  “The Steddelbeckers are back early, so they’re bound to be here for lunch.”

  “Then I’ll give them an extra helping of this bulgur wheat salad.” Zennia let out a cackle at her own deviousness. She gestured toward the basket. “If you’ll finish rinsing these, then core them, I’ll put the finishing touches on the salad.”

  I took her place at the sink as she moved to the fridge and retrieved a Tupperware bowl. I rinsed a tomato. “Has your nephew heard anything about Bobby Joe’s murder?”

  Zennia popped the lid off the bowl. “Now, you know my nephew would never share confidential information with me, especially since this isn’t the sheriff department’s case.” She winked at me. “But if he did, he’d tell me that the police are taking a closer look at some guy named Todd.”

  I hadn’t even known how tense I was until I heard that. My breath came out in a whoosh. “Thank goodness they’re not focusing on Ashlee.” I grabbed a serrated knife out of the block and jabbed the top of the tomato, twisting the knife to extract the core. “And I don’t mind telling you that I have my own suspicions about Todd.”