I stepped around boxes and bags of canned goods to reach her side. “I didn’t realize you volunteered here,” I said.
Tara rubbed her hands on her jeans and studied her palms. “I’ve visited a food bank more than once when money was short. Now that I’m not starving, I like to help out when I can. It’s one of the few places Donald lets me go on my own.”
“He does keep you on a short leash.”
Tara brushed her hair away from her face. “He likes to keep an eye on his prize. I’m young and good-looking. He’s old and not exactly hot.”
Did Donald know his wife described him in such an unflattering light?
The man who’d helped empty my trunk came over. “Tara, when you get a chance, we need to box up some lunches for those kids.”
Tara nodded and moved toward a shelf on the far wall. I tagged along, knowing I was slowing her down as I tried to figure out why I was talking to her at all. What could she tell me that she hadn’t already?
While she grabbed some paper bags and a stack of napkins, I hovered nearby, waiting for her to finish.
She looked at me. “Are you gonna bother me with more questions about Bobby Joe? I already told you everything I know.”
“Look, the police still haven’t solved his death. I have to figure out who killed him.”
“Tara, we got a huge shipment of canned corn,” the man called again. “Give me a hand, will ya?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was trying to keep me from asking questions. Or maybe my lack of progress was making me paranoid.
Tara went to the open garage door, where a large truck now idled, and began pulling boxes off the back. We couldn’t exactly talk while she carted boxes back and forth, so I grabbed one myself and stacked it with the others. After several minutes of lifting and hefting, the truck was empty, and I was winded. Tara wasn’t the least out of breath, and she smoked. How embarrassing.
As the truck pulled away, Tara nodded at me. “Thanks for the help. Guess I owe you now.”
I wasn’t one to turn down voluntary cooperation. “Have you thought of anything useful since we last talked?”
Tara walked back into the building, me right behind her, and returned to the shelves where she’d been working earlier. She grabbed a package of juice boxes and used a nearby box cutter to slice through the plastic. When she didn’t answer, I started to wonder if she’d heard my question.
“Nope, sorry,” she finally said. She shook out a paper bag and stuffed a napkin inside, followed by the juice box. “But I haven’t been thinking about it. I’ve got my own problems.” She closed her eyes. When she opened them, I’d swear I saw tears, but she blinked, and the moisture was gone.
Something was definitely troubling her. Had she found out about Donald’s drug activities? Did she disapprove of his pot selling?
With any luck, I was about to find out.
30
I took a paper bag off the stack and shook it open, determined to keep Tara talking. “Let’s go back to why Donald didn’t like Bobby Joe all of a sudden. He thought you two were sleeping together, plus Bobby Joe was skimming from the till. Anything else?” Like that wasn’t enough to make a man mad.
Tara slammed a juice box on the shelf, and I winced. The cardboard bent, but didn’t bust.
“I told you,” she said. “Bobby Joe didn’t steal that money.”
“How can you be so sure? You and Ashlee say Bobby Joe is innocent, but Donald believes otherwise. And Bobby Joe was always short on cash, what with his expensive truck and all those parts. It must have been awfully hard working around that money all day, especially alone, and not be tempted.”
“He didn’t take it.”
“How do you know?” I noticed for the first time that Tara had little dark half-moons under her eyes, partly hidden by concealer. Something was keeping her up at night.
She offered a humorless smile. “I’ve felt bad about Bobby Joe getting blamed ever since he got killed. He doesn’t deserve people talking about him, especially when he didn’t do anything wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “I took the money.”
I knocked the stack of napkins to the floor as I brought my hand up to my chest, and scrambled to pick them up. “You were stealing from your own husband? Why?”
“A little insurance.”
“Insurance against your husband?”
The same guy wandered past us, humming to himself. I must have appeared awfully threatening if he felt the need to constantly remind me of his existence.
“I’m not exactly new to this game. Donald married me as a trophy wife, nothing more.”
I started to interrupt, but she held up a hand.
“I’m sure he loves me in his own way, but our relationship isn’t based on deep conversations and shared worldviews.” She grabbed a tuna pouch from a nearby box and added it to the bag. “He saw me at that diner where I was working, liked the way I shook my booty, and made me an offer. Keep working in a dive in the middle of nowhere or marry him and enjoy the middle-class life.”
“All the more reason not to steal from him, am I right?” I don’t know why I was needling Tara, but I had trouble with a woman blatantly stealing from her husband. Did everyone lie, cheat, or steal in a marriage these days?
Tara gave me a smile that said she knew more about the world than I could ever learn. “You can’t see it through my jeans, but an expiration date is already stamped on my ass.” She slapped her butt, in case I couldn’t find it on my own. “I saw some cellulite last week. Any day now, Donald’s going to decide I’m old and used up at thirty-two and go find himself a younger model.”
A truck rumbled up to the back of the food bank, its brakes squealing as it slowed.
“Is that why you tried to blame the missing money on the other clerk, the young, pretty one you mentioned?”
Tara adjusted her top. “You got it. She has her eye on Donald, and I need to make sure she’s fired before she can sink her pretty little nails into him, if she hasn’t already.”
“You think Donald’s cheating on you with her?”
“Something’s up. He’s been acting squirrely for a while now, making secret phone calls, running errands but bringing nothing back. I know the signs.”
I nodded to keep her words flowing. “So you started stealing the occasional twenty.”
Tara licked her lips like a lion eying a gazelle. “I was stealing before that, but I upped the amount when Donald started acting different. The man never met a dollar he didn’t like. Which is why he made sure I signed a pre-nup. If I leave, I get nothing.”
“Surely if Donald’s the one who cheats, then you could get a settlement. Doesn’t the pre-nup cover situations like that?”
“If I’m the one who asks for the divorce, I get nothing, no matter what. So Donald can sleep around all he wants, and I can either sit there like yesterday’s leftovers or leave with my dignity and not much else. Which is why I decided to take that money. I consider it payment for all those times Donald made me dress like a schoolgirl in bed.”
Ack! Too much information. “And here Donald thinks Bobby Joe was to blame,” I said, circling back to the reason I was talking to her.
Tara started filling another bag. “He must realize by now that he was wrong. I’m still taking my fair share, even with Bobby Joe dead. But things are going to blow up soon.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Donald was totally freaked last night. I don’t know if his honey on the side has a boyfriend, or if he figured out I was on to him, but he was jumpier than one of those twitchy Chihuahuas. Kept looking over his shoulder, sweating every time the phone rang. This morning, he was up and out super early. Maybe he’s gonna run off with the little tramp.”
Or maybe Donald was worried the police were about to arrest him for his drug dealing. Tara seemed completely oblivious to that side of Donald’s life. I wouldn’t be the one to tell her, but I did say, “I’m sure he’s not cheating on you.”
>
Tara went back to her wise smile. “I wish I had your sunny outlook.” She glanced toward the front of the food bank, where a few people had entered, and gasped. “Oh crap, here comes Donald to drive me home. You need to get out of here. He’ll blow his top if he sees me with you.”
Donald was a man who might have already lost a profitable side business, thanks to me. He was bound to be furious when he saw me here.
Was it too late to run?
31
Tara gave me a shove toward the garage door in the back. “Hurry up, would you? If Donald’s thinking about leaving me, I don’t need to give him another reason when he sees me talking to you.”
Given how Donald had chased me out of his store at our last encounter, Tara’s worries might be on the mark. She hustled me farther back toward the rolling door.
I literally dug in my heels to stop my momentum and held up my hands. “All right, I’ll go.”
“Thanks.” Tara gave me another little shove, in case I changed my mind, then hurried toward the front. I nodded to the guy unloading a palate of toilet paper and walked to my car.
As I drove out of the lot, I thought about our conversation. For all that talking, Tara really hadn’t helped much. Now I knew she’d been stealing the money, but that didn’t change things. As long as Donald thought Bobby Joe was guilty, that still gave him a motive.
Back at the farm, I gave up my usual parking place for one in the shade and trudged along the side path that would lead me to the kitchen door. Lunch was long over, but Zennia might need my help with a snack. Otherwise, I’d spend the afternoon working on marketing materials.
I hung a left when I reached the cabins and walked toward the pool area. Crusher reclined on a chaise longue, sunglasses planted on his face.
I thought he might be sleeping, but he jumped up when I walked by and whipped off his sunglasses. “Dana, hi again.”
“Hey, Crusher, enjoying your day?”
He let his gaze linger on me. “It’s better now.”
I blushed and tried to think of a conversation changer. As I poked around my empty brain, Crusher spoke.
“How about watching that video now?”
He spoke with such eagerness that I was catapulted back fifteen years to when Mickey, my next-door teen neighbor, invited me to his room to see his comic-book collection. As I’d soon discovered, he’d really wanted to try out his quick technique for removing my bra. Since I already knew I didn’t want Crusher removing any of my clothing, his suggestion didn’t exactly excite me.
“I’m still working.”
He gave me a puppy-dog look, big eyes and all. “It’d only take a minute.”
I felt myself waffling. What would it hurt? The guy obviously wanted someone to show off his video to, and he didn’t seem to know anyone else in town. I was about to agree when I heard my name. Gordon stood at the French doors of the dining room, waving his arm for me to join him. Drat.
“Duty calls,” I said lightly to Crusher. I didn’t want him to know my insides were one giant knot. What did Gordon need to talk to me about this time? What had I done wrong now?
“Later, then.” Crusher slipped his sunglasses back on and lowered himself onto the chaise longue. I headed to where Gordon waited, checking his watch. If he was in such a hurry, maybe he should have walked over to where I was.
“I didn’t want to talk in front of the guests,” he said as if reading my mind.
I put my hands on my hips, preparing for battle. “Don’t think for one minute that you’re going to tell me I’m doing something wrong again. I’ve been working all day and haven’t even taken a lunch break.” Well, except those few minutes sitting in my car and talking to Jason on the phone, but that hardly counted.
Gordon narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to apologize,” he snapped.
My eyebrows shot up. “Come again?”
“A couple of days ago, I accused you of not giving me the demographics report.”
“I remember.” I spoke slowly and quietly, not wanting to interrupt a possible admission that he’d made a mistake.
“While looking at my clipboard a bit ago, I noticed there was no check mark next to that particular line item, which means I never actually asked you.”
I felt a gloating smile creep its way upward, but I tamped it down. “I see.”
“I’m sorry I falsely accused you. You’re not quite as incompetent as I accused you to be.”
“Gee, thanks.” As apologies went, it was certainly lacking, but for Gordon, this was a breakthrough moment. “Did you happen to mention this discovery to Esther?”
Gordon fiddled with a cuff link. “I did. However, all my other observations were correct. You still need to focus more on your job.”
I smiled sweetly. “I always do.” Well, I hadn’t been lately, but no way would I admit that.
Gordon smiled back at me. “Excellent, because we have another yoga candidate coming in for an interview tomorrow. He hasn’t worked in the last ten years, but I’m sure he has a valid reason.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him.” Maybe he was in prison, or living in a monk’s cell, or hiking the world with only a backpack and a pair of sturdy shoes.
Gordon’s smile widened. “Good, but before that, I need you to do something for me this very afternoon.” Uh-oh, a little payback for the apology?
“What is it?” I asked, bracing myself.
“The Steddelbeckers would like to spend their last day here doing something fun. I volunteered you to drive them out to the fairgrounds.”
Of all the horrible chores I could have thought up, chauffeuring the Steddelbeckers around wasn’t one of them. But it should have been. “What the heck am I driving them to the fairgrounds for?”
“Someone mentioned the old tractor collection. Turns out they’re huge tractor fans and want to take a look.”
“Those tractors are still there? When is the town going to clean up that place?” The Blossom Valley town council had fenced off an area way back when I was in junior high. It’d been collecting rusted parts and broken-down tractors ever since.
“There’s still talk of turning the area into a tractor display one of these years.” Gordon adjusted the other cuff link. “Now, I’m sure you can squeeze this trip into your schedule. I don’t need to mention how crucial customer satisfaction is right now, with so many vacancies.”
I pictured myself ripping off my work shirt, throwing it on the ground, and quitting right then. Who wanted to drive those two around town, listening to them complain? But I needed this job. And with Esther and Gordon watching my work performance, I couldn’t afford to refuse. “When do we leave?”
Gordon looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes. They’ll be waiting in their cabin.” He walked off.
Great. That gave me one minute to walk to their cabin and nineteen minutes to convince myself that I absolutely, positively had to drive them to the fairgrounds. Off to my right, I heard someone singing and followed the sound across the patio to the herb garden. Zennia crouched among the plants, plucking rosemary stems and placing them in a basket. She waved a stalk at me. “For tonight’s halibut.”
“Wow, halibut’s a bit pedestrian for you, isn’t it?”
Zennia chortled. “In honor of Darlene and Horace’s last dinner with us, I thought I’d present them with something they might recognize.” She plucked another stem. “But I’m making a side of seaweed salad with diced prunes for good measure.”
“Give them a double dose. Gordon’s making me drive them out for a tour of the old tractors at the fairgrounds.”
Zennia rose, her knees popping. “You poor child. Just remember, you’re doing it for the spa. Maybe they’ll tell their friends about this place.”
I was pretty sure we didn’t want any of their friends staying here either, but her words reminded me once again about how precarious the spa’s livelihood was. We needed a steady stream of visitors to make the place a success. “We could use more guests; that’s for sure.”
With a few minutes left to kill, I went into the house and stopped by the office to see if I had any e-mail. After sending a handful of replies, I closed the browser and grabbed my purse from the desk drawer. Might as well get this afternoon over with. Then I could enjoy my dinner with Jason.
I mentally sorted the clothes in my closet as I thought about what to wear on our date. I definitely wanted an outfit that showed I was making an effort. Maybe I’d wear that dress I’d rejected for my non-date with Crusher. I’d have Ashlee help me with the shoes, though she’d no doubt lament my lack of selection. But when you slopped food to the pigs and collected chicken eggs, you basically only needed a pair of boots.
At two minutes after three, I knocked on the Steddelbeckers’ cabin. Darlene opened the door, dressed in a gold tracksuit and black running shoes. It was way too hot for the sweatshirt, but I wouldn’t be the one to tell her.
“You’re late,” she said.
Already off to a great start. “I was finishing up some work. Are you and Mr. Steddelbecker ready?”
Darlene harrumphed, and I took that as a yes. Horace appeared in the bathroom doorway, his white socks pulled up and his plaid shorts hanging down, leaving only his knees exposed.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said. “Time’s a wastin’.”
With an internal sigh, I turned and led the way down the path, steeling myself for my time with the Steddelbeckers. This was bound to be a long afternoon.
32
I led the Steddelbeckers down the path and stopped at my Civic. As soon as I opened the passenger door, Darlene swung her cane inside and tapped the seat.
“Awful tight space,” she said. “We’re not gymnasts.”
“Perhaps Mr. Steddelbecker could sit behind me, and we can slide your seat back,” I suggested.
When neither one argued with that idea, I flipped the seat forward. Horace crawled in the back, and Darlene eased into the front. She laid her cane on the floor, wedging it beside the seat.
All Natural Murder Page 24
