Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery)

by McLaughlin, Staci

  19

  The closer I got to the gap in Kurt’s roll-up garage door and the angry voices, the more I doubted my “find.” If I wasn’t mistaken, Kurt had his television turned up too loud. I heard the distinctive accent of Robert De Niro blasting through the open door. Here I was prepared to hear incriminating words about Kurt’s involvement in Wendy’s death. Instead, I was faced with Taxi Driver.

  Still, I listened a few more seconds and heard, “You talkin’ to me?” Yep, definitely De Niro.

  As I took a step toward the side of the garage, Kurt flew around the corner, dressed in a wife-beater shirt and torn jeans. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I felt the urge to duck behind the nearby trash can to put distance between us, but I stood my ground. “I came to see you.”

  His face got redder and the veins in his forehead bulged. “You were spying on me.”

  I crossed my arms. “I was not. How dare you make such an accusation.” Even if it was true.

  Kurt pointed at the gap in the garage door. “I could see your feet.”

  Oops . . . this was embarrassing. I thrust the memorial service program at him. “I wanted to bring you this, but I thought I heard you arguing with someone and didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Kurt grabbed the program, glanced at the cover, and shoved it into his back pocket. “Looks like a ten-year-old made that. Good to see that husband of hers pulled out all the stops.”

  “Well, uh, I think he planned everything on rather short notice. I saw you weren’t at the service this morning and thought you might want a copy.”

  Kurt rubbed his balding head. “Sure, I could use a souvenir of my sister’s death.” I cringed at his comment, and Kurt chuckled. “Sorry, I’ll try to pretend I care when you’re around. Not that I expect to see you here again.”

  I sighed, not hiding my dismay. “I remember when you and Wendy used to play together all the time as kids. We’d follow you around when you were hanging out with your friends. I know a lot’s happened since then, but maybe one day you can remember the fun times with her.”

  “After what she did? Don’t bet on it.”

  I was no therapist, but Kurt really needed to let go of his bitterness. It wasn’t helping him any. “Maybe your mom gave Wendy all her money to say thank you. I heard Wendy really did a great job taking care of her at the end.”

  “Oh, she took care of her, all right. Ran Mom’s life like she was running a board meeting. Told her when to eat, when to sleep, who it was that she could talk to. I tried to visit a couple of times, but Wendy made sure Mom was always conveniently napping. I got shut out of Mom’s life, and then Wendy probably told her that I’d abandoned her.” The words poured out of him as though he’d wanted to tell someone for a long time about all the injustices he’d suffered. I found myself feeling sorry for him.

  “That’s terrible,” I said, sensing my words were completely inadequate.

  Kurt cleared his throat and spit off to the side. “Whatever.”

  “Maybe Wendy left you some of the money in her own will,” I said.

  “Fat chance. If she even has a will, she probably left everything to her little hubby. Besides, I needed the money back when Mom died, not now.”

  The hurt in his voice was so clear that I almost reached out to touch his arm, but I thought better of it. “What would you have used the money for?”

  He let out a sigh so filled with exhaustion that it made me tired. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I wanted to save my house. And my marriage, as it turns out.” He gripped his jaw and moved it back and forth as though trying to loosen it up. Must be sore from all that tension. “Our mortgage was upside down, and when our adjustable rate reset, I couldn’t swing the payments. The bank was threatening to foreclose, and I was counting on Mom’s money to pull me out. Then Wendy went and stole it. I even asked her for a loan, but she said she needed all the money for that phony company of hers. What a witch.”

  I flinched. “Look, I didn’t know any of this. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s Wendy’s. And that wife of mine. When I lost the house, she moved out. She said she didn’t want to live with a loser anymore. You think you know somebody. . . .” His words trailed off.

  “Now I understand why you weren’t at the memorial service today.” This time, I did lay a hand on his arm. “Maybe, after enough time passes, you’ll forgive Wendy.”

  “And maybe a money tree will grow out of my ass.”

  “Won’t the branches hurt?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Kurt gave me a disgusted look. Guess he wasn’t ready for jokes. He jerked his arm away and disappeared inside the garage, shutting the door without another word.

  I walked back down the driveway, thinking about how Kurt had suffered one blow after another, all stemming from Wendy inheriting their mom’s money. Kimmie had described Kurt as too weak-willed to actually commit murder, but maybe she didn’t know how far Wendy had pushed him.

  As I reached the curb, I heard someone behind me say, “Hey, you there.”

  I turned, half expecting Kurt to be trotting down the driveway after me.

  Instead, the old man I’d seen on my earlier visit stood on the porch of the main house, a three-pronged cane in one hand. I climbed the porch steps and joined him, noticing as I got closer that he had to be close to ninety. His skin was papery thin. His hair was wispy and sparse. With these heavy winds we’d been having lately, he’d do better to stay indoors before a solid gust blew him away.

  “I’ve seen you here before,” the man said, giving me the once-over. The middle of one eye was obscured by the start of a cataract.

  “Right, I was visiting Kurt.”

  “No, I mean I saw you looking in my windows. Were you casing the joint?”

  Geez, first Detective Palmer found me peering in the windows, and now it turns out this guy had, too. Not to mention Kurt had spotted my feet while I’d been eavesdropping. The Peeping Tom profession required a lot more skill than I’d realized.

  “No, of course not. When I was here before, I thought Kurt lived in the house, and I didn’t want to bother him if he was too upset about—”

  “What happened to his sister.” The old man leaned on his cane. “Terrible stuff. I lost my own sister a few years back. She wasn’t murdered, mind you, but I still miss her like the dickens.”

  Somehow, I suspected this guy missed his sister a whole lot more than Kurt missed Wendy.

  “I’m close to my sister, too. I can’t imagine what I’d do if anything happened to her. I’m Dana, by the way.”

  “Buck.” He held out his hand and we shook. “Kurt mentioned he and his sister had a falling-out, something to do with their mom, but still, it’s a sad thing. Made me ashamed when I yelled at him about his car.”

  For the life of me, I couldn’t see the connection between Kurt’s car and his sister’s murder. “His car?”

  “I have a rule with my tenants. They’re welcome to park in front of the house, but not in the driveway. I save that space for my guests.”

  I tried to hide my impatience at the sudden shift in conversation. “And Kurt parked in the driveway?” I guessed.

  “All day. He’d never done it before, so I almost let it go, but I got fed up by suppertime and went over to tell him about it. That’s when he told me his sister had been murdered that very morning. Made my whining about his parking job seem downright petty.”

  “Murder does have a way of putting things in perspective,” I said, the first answer that came to mind as I tried to hide my excitement. I doubted the old guy realized it, but he might have just provided Kurt with an alibi for the time of Wendy’s murder. If his car had been parked in the driveway, then he must have been here, and not off killing Wendy. What else could Buck tell me? “How well do you know Kurt?”

  He poked at a beetle with his cane, guiding it toward the edge of the porch and away from his front door. “I don’t. I res
pect my tenant’s privacy. He pays his rent on time, and that’s all I care about.”

  “Does he have a lot of visitors?” Maybe I could find some of Kurt’s friends to talk to.

  “I don’t keep track. I have my own life.”

  A mailman walked up the path and handed a bundle of envelopes to Buck, while I debated whether I should ask anything more. Buck didn’t seem the type to gossip, and I didn’t think I’d learn much more about Kurt.

  After the mailman departed, I stepped off the porch. “Sorry about looking in your windows.”

  “That’s okay.” He patted his stomach. “With this hot body, I can understand.” He laughed and shambled into the house.

  I walked to my car and noted the time. Ugh, it was already after one. Definitely later than I was planning to get back to work. Good thing we didn’t have set schedules at the farm.

  With a glance in my side mirror, I started the car and pulled away from the curb. I zipped home, changed from my funeral attire to my work uniform, and got back into the car. Once on the highway, I drove the short distance to the farm and parked in my usual spot in the corner. I made my way past the vegetable garden, pool area, and herb garden, and entered the kitchen. Zennia was placing a mound of something pale into a bowl.

  I went to the sink and squirted soap on my hands. “Sorry I wasn’t here to help with lunch service, Zennia.”

  “That’s fine. Not many people showed up to try my chicken salad with cod-liver oil dressing. Must have gone over to the coast or eaten in town.”

  Or else they’d gotten wind of the cod-liver oil and hidden in their rooms.

  Zennia held the bowl aloft. “I’ve got plenty of leftovers, if you’re hungry. It makes the most wonderful sandwich with my chia seed bread.”

  I rinsed my hands and grabbed the hand towel on the counter, wondering if I should rinse out my ears. “Did you say ‘chia seed’?”

  “The seeds are full of omega-three fatty acids.”

  I bit back a smile. “If I eat chia seeds, will grass sprout out of my head? Will guests think I’m a Chia Pet?”

  Zennia wagged a finger at me. “You can’t hide behind your white bread and commercial-bought mayonnaise forever. You’ll come around sooner or later.”

  I raised my hand. “I vote for later.”

  I left the kitchen before Zennia could convince me to try the cod-liver oil dressing and went into the office. After I replied to a handful of new blog comments, I pulled up the document I’d drafted about the spa facial for a final read-through. As I made a small change in the last paragraph, Esther appeared in the doorway.

  “Dana, honey bear, the UPS man delivered a bunch of boxes for the spa. Would you mind taking them back and unpacking? Gretchen has a full schedule today, and I want to make sure she has everything she needs. They’re on the porch.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” I saved my document and stood. “The spa certainly seems to be attracting a lot of customers lately.”

  Esther beamed. “Mercy me, yes. Even people who live in town are showing up for this new spa stuff. I never dreamed when I turned this itty-bitty farm into a bed-and-breakfast last year that it would be such a success, knock on wood.” She reached over and rapped her knuckles on the desk. “Especially after all those troubles a few months back.”

  “People love this place with all the animals and nature trails. I’m not surprised in the least that it’s becoming more popular.” That was a bit of a stretch. More than once, the farm had been on the verge of collapse, and none of us knew if we could stay open. I could only hope this latest stretch of guests was the start of stability.

  “Since things have steadied out, I’m going to help my friend with her organic chocolate business. She’ll give me a big discount if I’ll put a bar in every room. It’ll help get her name out there.”

  “I’m sure the guests will love that. Sounds like a win-win for both of you.” I moved past Esther. “I’ll get those boxes now.”

  I went out to the front porch, where the stack waited. I picked up the first box and wondered if Gretchen was teaching classes in weight lifting on the side. Either that, or she’d ordered a box of rocks for some sort of hot-stone massage. I staggered off the porch and down the path, while the ducks watched from the pond. One even quacked in encouragement.

  Once I reached the spa tent, I dropped the box inside the door with a thud. I could hear Gretchen talking to someone, so I went to retrieve the other boxes, rather than disturb them with my unpacking. Three trips later, I was out of breath and out of upper-body strength. I sat down in one of the rattan chairs in the waiting area, but I popped right back up when Gretchen appeared. I glimpsed brown hair over her shoulder as her client followed behind her.

  Gretchen stepped to the stand, which held the appointment book, and I saw that the client was Lily, Invisible Prints’ loyal, earth-loving customer. My eyes lit up at this unexpected opportunity.

  She smiled shyly. “The spa looked so gorgeous in the brochures you were handing out at the festival that I had to stop in and try a massage for myself.”

  Wow, someone had actually come here because of my brochure. I stood a little taller right then. “And how was it?”

  “Spectacular. Gretchen has magic hands.”

  Gretchen waved away her compliment. “Oh, stop. I see here we have an opening a week from today. Will that work?”

  “Perfect. How much do I owe you?”

  Gretchen gave her the total, and Lily handed over a credit card. While Gretchen ran it through the machine, Lily turned back to me. “I had to get these knots out of my neck. After everything that’s happened this week, I was too tense to concentrate at work.”

  I rubbed my neck, as though the mere mention of tension had caused my own muscles to tighten. “Wendy’s death was definitely a shock.”

  She accepted the slip from Gretchen, along with a pen. “Not even her death. The lies that Wendy told. The evil, evil lies. She wasn’t doing a thing with all that money I gave her.” She pressed so hard when she signed her name that she tore through the paper. “Here I thought I was helping the world.” She jerked the paper toward Gretchen.

  This was definitely a new side to Lily. Maybe she wasn’t the meek, little environmentalist I’d pegged her as. Ever the professional, Gretchen pretended she hadn’t noticed Lily’s agitated state as she accepted the signed copy. She stowed it in the cash register and moved toward the back of the tent, raising her eyebrows at me before going around the corner.

  I shifted in the doorway so Lily couldn’t get past me and leave. “Did you pay Wendy a lot?”

  “At least thirty thousand dollars.”

  My eyes widened. Yep, that was a lot. “You must have been pretty mad when you found out the truth.”

  Lily swiped at a strand of hair in her face. I noticed that her nails were bitten down and ragged. Her beautiful French manicure was destroyed. “I felt more betrayed than anything. You put your trust in somebody you look up to, and then they turn out to be a phony? It hurts.”

  I thought back to how upset Lily had gotten when I’d asked her what she’d heard the day of the festival. She’d obviously overheard Marvin accuse Wendy of stealing all the investment money. Maybe she’d been so mad at Wendy that she’d killed her without planning to do so.

  “So what are you going to do now?” I asked.

  Lily chewed on an already-bedraggled nail. “What can I do? If Invisible Prints stays in business, I can try for a refund, but Wendy probably already spent my money. I guess I’ll have to file it away under a life lesson.”

  I wasn’t letting her off the hook that easy. I crossed my arms and stared at her until she made eye contact. “That’s an expensive lesson. You must have been furious.”

  “You have no idea. I just—I just . . . I had to do something.” Lily burst into tears and brushed past me. She ran from the tent, and her last words rang in my ears.

  What exactly had Lily done?

  20

  Gretchen came o
ut from the back in time to see Lily run down the path. “Is she all right?” she asked.

  Explaining the situation seemed too complicated, so I thought up a quick excuse. “She remembered an appointment she was late for.”

  “Getting all stressed again is going to ruin the effects of her massage.”

  “At least she’ll be a repeat customer,” I said.

  A pregnant woman, who looked to be five or six months along, entered the tent, and Gretchen and I ceased our conversation. Gretchen greeted the woman and led her to the back, while I found a pair of scissors and cut open the first box. Instead of rocks, I found bottles of creams and oils. I moved among the partitioned sections, avoiding the one with the customer, while I unpacked the shipment.

  After I’d placed the last bottle on a shelf, I gathered up the empty cardboard boxes and left the tent. I followed the path past the chicken coop, where several chickens pecked at the ground or clucked at each other. I wondered what they were talking about. Farther down the path, Wilbur and his friends lay around the pen, and I stopped near the fence. Wilbur rose and lumbered over to where I stood, sticking his snout through the wood railings.

  I set down the empty boxes and patted his nose. “Hey, buddy. You guys having a good day?”

  Wilbur snorted.

  “Mine’s been okay,” I told him. “Right now, I’m trying to picture this woman, Lily, as a killer. She seems much too nice. People who buy organic produce and save the whales usually don’t slit someone’s throat at a festival.”

  Another snort. I could always count on Wilbur to agree with me.

  “I know, right? And she got really upset when talking about all that money she paid Invisible Prints. Could she have killed Wendy over it?”

  Wilbur remained silent.

  “Yeah, probably not. I need to keep digging.” I grabbed the boxes and carried them to the recycling bin, where I broke them down and tossed them in. I entered the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. The fridge contained packages of tofu, the bowl of chicken salad with cod-liver oil dressing, and vegetables, lots of vegetables. In the back, hidden behind the Brussels sprouts, a package of sliced turkey breast waited.