“Kimmie, how nice to see you.” For a second, I wondered if there was an impromptu high-school reunion happening at the festival, though I managed to run into Kimmie every couple of weeks. She and her husband lived over in Mendocino and owned a fine-dining restaurant, but her aging mother lived here in town, and Kimmie visited often.
She squinted at the photos on the easel. “You guys have a booth here? How cute. I didn’t think your little farm could score a booth.”
“Actually, I’m the one who suggested the green-living festival to the rejuvenation committee and helped organize it.” I tried to keep the pride out of my voice.
Now Kimmie shifted her squint to me. “You? But I thought this was an important event.”
Ugh.
I grabbed a pig pen and hit the top.
Oink.
Kimmie jumped at the noise.
“Here.” I handed her the pen.
“Oh, isn’t that the cutest thing,” she gushed, stuffing the pen into her Louis Vuitton bag.
As she tucked her pen away, I could hear the man still yelling at Wendy next door. “We need to find out what happened.”
I heard a murmur in reply, and then, “Don’t give me excuses.”
“Someone sounds upset,” Kimmie whispered gleefully. She shifted closer to the tent and cocked her head so she wouldn’t miss a word.
“I don’t know what they’re arguing about,” I said, “but if you have a free minute, you might stop by later. Wendy Hartford is running that booth for some company called Invisible Prints. She went to school with us.”
Kimmie clapped her hands together, drawing attention to the enormous diamond sitting upon her overly tan finger. “That’s right. She mentioned she’d be here today. I promised I’d stop by and say hi.”
I could still hear the angry visitor, and I’m sure Kimmie could, too. “Now might not be the best time.”
“Nonsense. Everyone’s always happy to see me. I think Wendy could use a friendly face about now.” She strode with purpose to the booth next door.
“Hi, Wendy, how are you?” I heard her gush as she barreled into the tent.
The man who’d been yelling at Wendy came into my line of vision as he stepped out. With his mouth set in a firm line, he pointed a finger back into the tent. “This isn’t over.” He turned and headed past my booth.
I held up a pen. “Pig pen?” He kept walking. Well, not everyone was going to want an oinking pig.
I busied myself with straightening up the booth. Before long, I heard shrieks of laughter and high-pitched chattering coming from Wendy’s tent, transporting me back to childhood. After a while, Kimmie emerged from the booth and moved up the street. I watched her retreating back as my thoughts returned to my school days. By senior year, Wendy, Kimmie, and I were running in different circles. What was it that had made us drift apart?
While I tried to remember, Zennia, the spa’s health-conscious, daring cook, approached the table with a bag full of vegetables, interrupting my musings. She plunked the bag on the table and extracted several ears of corn, the sleeves of her tunic swinging with the movement. “How’s attendance?” she asked.
I saw the street was once more empty. “We had a crowd come through a bit ago, but it’s definitely been slow.”
Zennia brushed away a strand of black hair, which had fallen loose from her braid. “I’m getting a bad vibe from this festival. The energies in my chakras have been out of balance all morning.”
As if backing up her words, a series of dark clouds drifted across the sky at a good clip, thanks to the breeze that continued to swoop through. Rain wasn’t due until the first part of next week, and I crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t arrive early and interfere with the festival.
Zennia slid a charcoal gray backpack off her shoulders. She rummaged around inside and pulled out a sheathed chef’s knife, a small cutting board, and a bag of some sort of mixed lettuce.
“What are you cooking this afternoon?”
“I decided on a nice corn salad, with late-season tomatoes and jalapenos, on top of a bed of greens.”
This was the most normal menu item Zennia had ever created for the spa, not including scrambled eggs. Definitely better than those tofu fish sticks. Or the octopus. Or the natto, a Japanese fermented soybean dish Zennia had terrified spa guests with a while back. “Save me some leftovers.”
Zennia almost dropped her knife, but she managed to keep her grip. “Don’t say such things, or I’ll start to think you like my cooking.”
I laughed. “Let’s not get carried away.” I peered closer at the bag. “What kind of lettuce is that?”
She set the knife down and extracted a handful of leaves from the bag. “Mostly, arugula and dandelion greens, with evening primrose root and nettles thrown in.”
I held up a leaf and studied the jagged edges. “Are you sure you didn’t forget to buy lettuce at the store and just pulled some weeds at the farm before heading over?”
“I’ll have you know these greens are top quality. My supplier grows those dandelions in a special greenhouse during the off-season.”
“Wait. You paid for weeds?”
Zennia playfully slapped my arm. “Oh, stop.” She returned the greens to the bag and gestured toward the street. “You can take your lunch break, if you want. I can watch for people while I prepare the salad, and I plan to stay for at least another half hour to hand out samples.”
“That’ll give me a chance to check out the rest of the festival.” I slipped around the table and headed up the street, glancing into Wendy’s booth on my way, but it was too dark to see anything clearly. I took a moment to stare down the row of booths that lined the street. I was glad we’d had such a solid start for a first festival.
At the next booth I came to, a man advertised a farming method that used all available land by planting grains between rows of fruit trees. The next booth sold organic skin products. If the woman with the unbelievably smooth and glowing complexion who stood behind the table was an example of someone who used the lotions, I might have to buy some later. Even at twenty-eight, I was starting to notice lines, which didn’t used to be there, on my hands and around my eyes. I tried to tell myself my skin was merely dry, but I was starting to suspect the lines were permanent.
As I approached the next booth, I wrinkled my nose and pressed the back of my hand across my mouth. What was that smell?
A hand-lettered sign attached to a pole announced FERTILIZER: $2 A BAG. A grizzled man, wearing a torn plaid shirt, unpacked flimsy plastic bags full of brown lumps and lined them up on the table, condensation visible on the inside of the bags. Flies buzzed around the table, and the man stopped to swat at them with his flyswatter, not that it helped any.
He glanced up at me. “Got here late. My dog had constipation, so I had to wait for him to do his business.”
Wait, was he selling his dog’s poop as fertilizer? And how did he get approval from the committee?
“Interest you in some of this-here fertilizer?” he asked, holding up a bag, the brown mass straining against the thin plastic.
I shook my head, not wanting to uncover my mouth to speak, and kept walking. I passed booths for organic fudge, solar-power panels, and local honey. Lester Brand, owner of the You Drive a Hard Bargain auto dealership in town, stood by a Chevy Volt, watching for a spark of interest from anyone passing by. I averted my gaze and pretended to study the green-living cleaning products at the booth across the way. Lester could talk for hours about fuel efficiency and cars of the future, not to mention his Civil War–era musket collection.
I spotted Kimmie down at the end of the row, near the food booths. She saw me and waved.
“Dana, I was grabbing a wrap for Wendy,” she said as I approached. “Did you want one? It’s sautéed tofu, with sprouts and spinach.”
“Maybe later, thanks.” I’d have to tell Zennia about the wraps. Those were sure to balance her chakras.
Kimmie accepted two wraps from the vendor. “Wh
y don’t you come back with me? Wendy was hoping to talk with you more. Did you know she’s the owner of Invisible Prints?”
“At twenty-eight?” I couldn’t help blurting out. I’d mistakenly assumed she was a lowly employee schlepping the company products at the festival, much like me.
“Amazing, right? And here I’ve got one of the most popular restaurants on the West Coast.” She studied me in my STAFF polo shirt. “Don’t worry, your time will come. Some of us are late bloomers.”
“Others peak early and then wither away.” I gave Kimmie a pointed look.
“So true. Thank God I’m not one of them.”
Glad she was so sure of herself.
“Come on, let’s go see Wendy,” I said, heading back to her booth at the other end of the strip.
Few people wandered the street with us, and I felt another tickle of worry that this festival would be a flop. I really wanted Esther’s rejuvenation committee to have one successful event so that maybe they could expand their membership past three measly people.
As we approached Wendy’s booth, I saw that no one was at the farm booth sampling Zennia’s corn salad. If I told her about the tofu wraps, it might distract her from the poor turnout.
“Be right there, Kimmie. I need to talk to Zennia for a sec.”
“Ta-ta for now,” she called over her shoulder as she maneuvered her way into Wendy’s booth, hands full with the wraps. I walked over to where Zennia stood, arms crossed.
“Dana, where are all the people?” she asked, mirroring my own concerns from earlier.
Before I could say anything, a scream sounded from next door. Then another.
I stared at Zennia, frozen. She snatched up her chef’s knife and held it close to her chest.
“What happened?” she asked.
I darted over and ran into Kimmie as she rushed out of the booth. I looked past her through the tent flap and saw Wendy on the pavement, motionless. Her neck was marred by an angry red gash. The wraps lay nearby, tofu and sprouts spilling out onto the pavement.
Kimmie grabbed the front of my polo shirt. “Oh, Dana,” she said. Then she fainted.
3
I caught Kimmie in a haphazard hug, slowing her descent as she crumpled to the ground. I’d never had someone faint on me before, but that paled in comparison to whatever had happened to Wendy in that tent.
I laid Kimmie on the ground and ran inside the enclosure. Up close, I could see the wound on Wendy’s neck was huge, the skin clearly gaping around the cut. Near her body, a miniature wind turbine lay on its side, a dark stain on one blade.
Closing my eyes for a half second to gather my wits, I laid my ear on Wendy’s chest and listened for a heartbeat, a breath, anything. I heard nothing. Wendy was dead.
I rose unsteadily to my feet and backed out of the tent, trying not to touch anything. My heels bumped into something, and I whirled around to find Kimmie still on the pavement. “Help! Someone help!” I yelled as I knelt down.
A man walking past the booth stopped. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“A woman’s dead in the tent. You need to call 911.”
He patted his pockets. “Phone’s in the car.” He ran toward the parking lot.
Kimmie moaned, grabbing my attention once more. I ran through all the treatments I’d ever heard for people who had fainted. Wave smelling salts under her nose? Didn’t have any. Throw cold water on her? Didn’t have any of that, either. Slap her?
I stared at Kimmie as she moaned again and moved one arm. She appeared to be coming around on her own, but maybe she still needed a little help. I bent over and slapped her lightly on one cheek.
Nothing.
I slapped her a little harder, putting more energy behind my swing. This time, her eyes briefly snapped open.
“What are you doing, Dana?” Zennia asked behind me.
I quickly withdrew my hand, aware of how this must look: a dead body, me slapping Kimmie senseless. Talk about awkward.
I turned toward Zennia as she peered through the tent opening.
“Oh no,” she breathed.
“Wendy’s dead, probably murdered. Someone went to call 911. Maybe you could show the police where we are when they get here?”
Zennia nodded and headed toward the end of the street. I concentrated on waking up Kimmie. I tried to pull her up to a sitting position, but managed to raise her only a few inches before we both collapsed on the pavement.
Her impact with asphalt did the trick. Her eyes opened and stayed that way. She lifted her head slowly. I placed one hand on her back and another on her arm and guided her up to sitting.
“Dana, what happened?” She shook her head as if trying to clear her mind.
I gulped. “I think Wendy’s dead,” I said for what seemed the millionth time, though I was still having trouble accepting the meaning of the words.
“This is so horrible!” Kimmie wailed. “Who did this to her?” Tears pooled along her lower eyelids.
I patted her back. “I don’t know, but the police are on their way. Just relax until they get here.”
An older couple wandered over, probably drawn to the sight of us sitting on the ground. Maybe they thought we were participating in a green-living demonstration, showing how the closer you sat to the ground, the less you contributed to global warming. The gray-haired woman lifted the tent flap, spotted Wendy’s body, and shrieked.
I struggled to my feet, careful not to look at poor Wendy again. “Please stay back. There’s been an accident.”
“That don’t look like no accident,” the man said.
I completely agreed, but now was not the time to offer details. I positioned myself in front of the tent flap so no one could enter the booth. Simultaneously I patted the top of Kimmie’s head with my free hand, as though she were a well-behaved Labrador, not a woman bordering on shock.
Three more people stopped before the tent, and I swallowed a curse. Now everyone showed up for the festival?
“What’s going on?” a man asked. “What happened to that lady?” Guess I wasn’t blocking their view as much as I thought.
I could hear sirens in the distance, growing louder. Thank goodness. I spotted a cluster of people down by the food booths and sent up a quick prayer that the authorities would reach Wendy’s booth before they did.
If anything, it was a tie.
As the paramedics rushed up on one side, the large group approached from the other.
“Is someone hurt?” a woman in the pack asked.
“What’re they doing here?” another said.
I focused on the paramedics, particularly the one holding the medical kit.
“Kimmie here fainted after . . .” I looked into the tent once more. “Well, after she found Wendy.”
The paramedic dropped his bag and knelt next to Kimmie, while the other headed inside the tent.
“How are you feeling now?” the paramedic asked Kimmie.
I moved out of the way and sidled over to where Zennia waited behind her table.
She stood with her large bowl of corn salad, several small paper cups lined up before it with samples, which no one was interested in trying. All available customers were too busy watching the paramedics work. I almost tried some so she wouldn’t feel slighted, but the idea of eating right now made my stomach roil.
“That poor woman’s dead, isn’t she?” Zennia said.
I pressed a hand to my face. “I’m almost positive, but the paramedics will make sure.”
“And Kimmie?”
“She’ll be fine. The shock of finding her old friend must have overwhelmed her for a minute. I know it knocked me back a step.”
Zennia looked close to tears. “Was she your friend, too?”
I thought again about our junior-high days, trying on clothes together, gossiping about the latest boy band. “Once upon a time. I haven’t seen her in years, not since high school.” I felt pressure build behind my eyes.
A hand settled on my shoulder. “Hey, D
ana, how’s it going?”
A rush of warmth ran through my body as I turned around to greet Jason. We’d been dating on and off since we met at the farm. Lately things had become more serious between us. We’d even had “the talk” about being exclusive and had a standing date every Saturday night, if not more often.
As always, seeing his dimples made me smile, even at a time like this. I hugged him, leaning into his thin, muscular body and relishing the moment of comfort on this cool, dreary afternoon.
He released me and studied my face. His green eyes were filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” I suddenly wished I had a chair. Then I noticed the notepad in his hand. “Are you here about the death already?”
“What death? I came to cover the festival.”
That made perfect sense, considering Jason was the lead reporter for Blossom Valley’s weekly paper, but my muddled brain had all but forgotten about the festival at this point.
Jason glanced around, finally noting the paramedics next door. “What’s going on over there? I saw the crowd, but thought the booth had one of those wheels you spin to win free stuff.”
“I think there was a murder while I was off touring the rest of the festival.”
“Murder,” Jason said sharply. “Are you sure?”
I ran a hand through my hair. My stomach twisted at the memory. “I’m not positive, but unless she slashed her own throat, it’s a good bet.”
Had she taken her own life? That possibility hadn’t even occurred to me, and I dismissed it at once. Wendy was a successful businesswoman running her own company. I couldn’t picture her committing suicide, especially not in the middle of a festival. Then again, I couldn’t picture her being murdered, either, although I didn’t really know her anymore.
Jason brushed my hair back from my face. “You must be so upset.”
I nodded, unable to say anything more.
He dropped his hand and squeezed his notepad, sneaking a peek back at the crowd. His reporter side was at full alert, ready to ferret out the details.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Do your job.”
“I’ll stay here with her,” Zennia said. I’d almost forgotten she was there.
Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) Page 2
