Going Organic Can Kill You

by McLaughlin, Staci

  “Well, keep digging. I have faith in you.”

  I smiled at Mom. “Thanks.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to take a shower.” Mom rose and retreated to her room.

  I stayed in the recliner and poked at a hole in the sweats material covering my knee, feeling a bit restless. Nothing wrong with a night in. So what if Ashlee was off on a date? My job was demanding. I was tired.

  The doorbell rang. I could hear Mom’s shower running, so I jumped up and went to the door, hitting the porch light switch as I leaned forward to peer through the peephole.

  In the dim light, I recognized Jason standing on the porch.

  What was he doing here? He couldn’t possibly have more questions about my finding Maxwell’s body. Did he have a follow-up question for the other article? But he could have asked at the cricket-chirping contest today.

  I put my hand on the knob, then glanced down. My stained, holey sweats looked back at me.

  Crap. I couldn’t answer the door like this.

  Maybe if I didn’t open the door, he’d go away.

  But I’d already turned on the porch light.

  “Um, just a minute, I need a sec, I’ll be right there,” I called through the door.

  I ran down the hall toward my bedroom, almost tripping as I slid my sweats off before I’d stopped moving. I tossed the sweats on the bed, snatched up the jeans I’d folded on the chair, and slid them on, snagging my foot in one of the legs until I jammed it through.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Coming,” I hollered. I made a quick detour to the bathroom to run a brush through my hair and frown at my lack of makeup. Oh, well, at least I didn’t look like a slob anymore.

  I heard the shower water turn off as I charged to the front door and yanked it open.

  Jason took a step back from the sudden movement. He’d changed from the Pearl Jam T-shirt he’d worn at the contest into a striped dress shirt and dark blue jeans. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, fine. Why do you ask?” Sure it’d taken me five minutes to open the door, but he hadn’t called first, so it was his own fault.

  “I thought ... you just ... never mind.”

  “Can I help you with something?” I asked, studying his defined jaw in the porch light. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? A date for a cousin’s wedding?

  He held an object out, and I stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind me.

  I put out my hand and he dropped the item into my palm. My cell phone. I stared at the phone like it was a five-legged pig.

  “You left it at the contest this afternoon,” Jason said.

  I recovered my wits and stuffed the phone in my back pocket. “Thanks for dropping it by. You didn’t have to.”

  Jason dug the toe of his Oxford shoe into the welcome mat. “I can’t live without my phone. Figured you’d want it back.”

  How pathetic. My phone had been missing for hours, and I hadn’t even noticed. What did that say about my social life?

  A thought struck me. “How did you know where I lived?”

  He gestured toward my rear end, which totally threw me for a second. What did my butt have to do with my address?

  “Ashlee’s in your list of contacts.”

  Oh, he was talking about the phone in my pocket.

  He continued. “Gave her a call and she was more than happy to tell me the address. Even provided directions.”

  I could picture Ashlee grinning as she clutched her phone and gave Jason the information. If she’d seen him in person, she would have drawn him a map. Or driven him home herself. She was hell-bent on getting me a boyfriend.

  But I had more important things on my mind.

  “Any new leads on Maxwell’s murder?” I asked, not bothering to think up a ruse to get the information. “Last time we talked, you said the police didn’t have much to go on.”

  Jason glanced around at the neighboring houses, all shuttered for the night, and stepped closer. “Still not a lot of clues, but they have managed to uncover a few motives.”

  I held my breath. Finally, some progress. “Like what?”

  “One of the deputies overheard Logan and Maxwell arguing in the Daily Grind.”

  The same fight George had mentioned.

  “And Maxwell caught the maid looking at an expensive necklace in his room right before his death.”

  So Heather had told the cops about the necklace. Good for her. “Heather would never kill Maxwell over a misunderstanding like that.”

  Jason swatted at a moth that fluttered in his face on the way to the porch light. “She’s in the middle of a custody dispute with her ex and she was worried that a theft accusation would tilt the judge in his favor.”

  Heather hadn’t mentioned the custody battle when I’d spoken to her. Women had been known to go to extremes to protect their children. Even murder.

  Jason stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and leaned his back against the wall. I couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lean body.

  “The cops are working those two angles right now while they dig for additional motives,” he said.

  Not exactly the breakthrough I was hoping for. I already knew that stuff.

  I pulled my phone out and opened it while I thought about possible suspects, slightly annoyed that I’d had no new calls all afternoon. “I talked to Maxwell’s ex-wife, but I don’t see a motive for her. She told me that he wanted to reconcile. He was tired of the phony Hollywood women.”

  “Really. A couple of guests mentioned seeing Sheila and Christian in a lovers’ embrace the night before the murder,” Jason said.

  “Sheila and Christian? I thought he was interested in Tiffany.” Had I misread that look he’d given her during yoga? Was he merely a guy admiring a pretty girl?

  Jason rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “Maybe they’re wrong. Or Christian’s a busy fellow.” Under the porch light, the red in his hair gleamed, tinged with gold.

  The moth flew away from the light and settled in his hair. I brushed it gently away with my fingertips. “I hope not. I’d like to think there are some decent men left in this world. Or at least this town.”

  Jason studied his fingernails. “Me, I like to date one woman at a time.” He glanced up and smiled.

  My breath caught in my throat. Was he talking about me? “I couldn’t agree more. Why play the field? Get to know one person first, see if it’s a good match.”

  He took a step forward, until our shoes were almost touching. Being so close, my face grew warm and my heartbeat picked up.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You have to find out if you share chemistry.” His breath smelled minty.

  I definitely wouldn’t mind doing a chemistry experiment with him, mix together a few fluids, see if they combusted.

  Without another word, Jason cupped my face in both his hands and leaned in.

  My lips tingled in anticipation.

  The front door opened.

  Son of a birch tree.

  21

  Jason dropped his hands as we both turned toward the door, but I could feel the imprint of his fingers on my cheeks.

  “Dana, I thought I heard voices,” Mom said. She was dressed in her favorite housecoat, the pocket torn, the collar threaded. Her face had been scrubbed of makeup and her hair stuck out in all directions from when she’d toweled it off. “When I got out of the shower and didn’t see you, I thought you’d gone somewhere without telling me. If I’d known I was interrupting a little romance, I wouldn’t have opened the door.”

  Someone kill me now.

  “I left my phone at the cricket-chirping contest and Jason was kind enough to drive it over,” I said.

  “And they say chivalry is dead. Pretend you never saw me,” Mom said. “I’ll go back to watching my shows.” She started to close the door, then swung it back open. “By the way, you write wonderful articles for the paper.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lewis.”

  She
turned to go.

  I felt my shoulders relax.

  She turned back. “I especially loved that piece on the history of the lumber mill.”

  “Thank you.”

  I silently willed Mom away but she didn’t move.

  “My uncle used to work at the mill,” she added.

  “You don’t say,” Jason said, shifting his feet and sticking his hands in his pockets, obviously not interested in talking about my uncle.

  “That’s great, Mom. Good night.” Maybe that’d give her the hint to go back inside. Not that it mattered now. Jason was probably already thinking that any time he spent with me would also involve Mom and her memory trips back to the golden days of Blossom Valley. Living at home wasn’t exactly a selling point where men were concerned.

  “See you in a minute, Dana.” She closed the door with a click. Through the window, I watched her figure retreat, then hang a left toward the living room.

  I looked at Jason, fully illuminated in the glow of the porch light, his lips red and inviting.

  “I should let you go in,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “A real pleasure.”

  A handshake? Nothing more? But the moment was gone, replaced by a hint of doubt. What had possessed me to almost kiss Jason in the first place? I barely knew the guy.

  I extended my hand and we shook. He held onto my hand for an extra moment, then released it and walked down the path. At the sidewalk, he turned and waved. I waved back, then went into the house, listening to the sound of his engine fade away as I shut the door.

  Mom was waiting in Dad’s recliner, pretending to watch television. As soon as I stepped into the living room, she hit the MUTE button.

  “Jason seems nice,” she said.

  I sank onto the couch. “Yep.” I picked up the latest People off the end table and flipped through the pages.

  “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

  “I know.” He was definitely hot, and smart to boot, but did I want to get involved with anyone right now, when my job and future were so uncertain?

  Mom stopped looking my way and focused on Dad’s picture on the mantel. I snuck peeks at her as her expression softened and her eyes grew misty.

  I closed the magazine. “Say, Mom, don’t you take salsa classes on Tuesday nights?”

  “I quit when your father died.”

  “Have you thought about joining again?”

  Mom pulled a tissue from the box on the table and blotted her nose. “A woman in mourning should not be gallivanting around town, laughing and dancing.”

  I rolled the magazine into a tube. “Dad passed away almost a year ago. He certainly wouldn’t expect you to be sitting at home after all this time, letting your own life come to a standstill.”

  Mom gripped the arm of the recliner. “I just miss him so much.”

  I swallowed, trying to remove the lump that had magically appeared in my throat. Just seeing Mom in that recliner brought back all the nights Dad was sitting there, the two of us watching Jeopardy!, shouting out the answers together. I touched the St. Christopher medal around my neck. “I miss him, too. But when I keep busy and don’t have time to dwell, the pain doesn’t hurt as much.”

  She offered a half smile. “When did my daughter get smarter than me?”

  As Mom said this, I heard the roar of an engine outside. Was a plane landing on the lawn? A moment later, the front door opened and Ashlee burst into the room. At first I thought she had a handkerchief tied around her waist, but then I realized she was wearing a miniskirt. I hadn’t seen so much leg since Tiffany’s getup at the spa.

  “How was your date?” I asked. With all that leg showing, I could guarantee Bobby Joe had been happy.

  “Awesome, of course. Bobby Joe took me four-wheeling in his pickup.” Ashlee clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, my God, I have a great idea. I met Bobby Joe’s cousin tonight and he’s a real cutie. We should totally double-date. Wouldn’t that be the best?”

  I pictured Ashlee and Bobby Joe playing tonsil hockey while his cousin and I tried to focus on whatever movie was playing at the drive-in. Not a pretty sight. “Let me just think about that one,” I said.

  “Don’t think too long or some other girl will snatch him up.”

  I snapped my fingers. “And I’ll just kick myself if that happens.” I rose from the couch. “I’m off to bed.”

  Ashlee winked at me. “Next time I talk to Bobby Joe, I’ll ask if his cousin is single. We’ll get you a man yet.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her and stalked down the hall. I didn’t need Ashlee to set me up with random cousins of her latest conquests. I could get my own man. Couldn’t I?

  After a quick tooth brushing, I stripped off my clothes, threw on my pajamas, and flopped into bed, still picturing Jason’s lips, remembering his hands on my cheeks, as I drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning, I wolfed down scrambled Egg Beaters and soy bacon, checking the wall clock as I choked on the salty cardboard. I’d failed to set the alarm and was running behind schedule. To top it all off, I’d found a patch of poison oak on my arm, another hazard of working at the spa. I’d dug up a bottle of calamine lotion that had been under the bathroom sink since before I went away to college, but the medicine wasn’t helping the itching.

  Mom walked into the kitchen. “Slow down, you’ll get indigestion.”

  “Running late. No time to chew.” I swallowed a lump of egg substitute and gulped my orange juice.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I wanted to swing by Queenie’s place this morning on my way to work.” It had suddenly occurred to me that I needed to pry more info from the honey lady. I didn’t know whether the two people on the bench had anything to do with Maxwell’s death or what those references to blood meant, but if I could convince Queenie to speak in plain English, I might learn something.

  Mom retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and poured in a pile of bran cereal. “I bought honey from Queenie once. Frankly, she freaked me out with all her doomsday yelling.”

  “That’s Queenie all right. Her place is off the Pine Cone exit, right?”

  “Yes, hang a left onto Pear Tree Lane. Her driveway is the one with all the TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT signs.”

  And judging by how comfortable Queenie had been with her shotgun, those signs weren’t just threats. I wiped my mouth and carried my empty plate to the sink. I glanced back at Mom, dressed in a silk blouse and knee-length skirt. She was wearing lipstick, her hair styled and set. “You’re sure dressed up. Going anywhere special?”

  Mom fiddled with her spoon. “After our little talk last night, I realized you were right. I’ve been using your father’s death as an excuse to avoid people.”

  “You have so many wonderful friends. I’m sure they miss you.”

  “I was worried about those pity stares and awkward comments. But I’ve decided to join the bunco group again.”

  I gave Mom’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “Fantastic. You’ll be happy you did.” For the first time, I felt like my moving back home was having a positive effect, helping to pull Mom out of her slump.

  I grabbed my purse and car keys. “Wish me luck with the honey lady.”

  “Walk slow and call out before you get too close.”

  In the car, I jetted down the highway, risking a ticket in my effort to make up for all the time I’d lost while oversleeping. After taking the Pine Cone exit, I hung a left onto Pear Tree Lane. My coffee cup jiggled in its holder as I maneuvered around the ruts and potholes that littered the road. After a mile, I spotted the hint of a driveway among a clump of shrubs and oak trees. Every tree sported at least two signs, each one warning trespassers to stay away. How did Queenie expect to sell any honey with this attitude? Tourists wouldn’t dare stop here, even if they could find the place.

  I turned onto the tiny dirt road and eased along, waiting for the ping of buckshot on my car hood. The trees thinned out, then vanished, as I emerged at the edge of the field. Queenie’s trailer sat
in the middle, all quiet. I stopped the car where the lane ended and parked.

  As I stepped out of the car, a steady buzzing filled the air. To one side, a stack of frames towered out of the grass, dozens of bees hovering around the hive, landing for a moment, then regaining flight. A bee flew by my head and I waited while he investigated my car hood and windshield. When he wandered away, I took a tentative step forward, keeping one eye on the hive. The other bees ignored me.

  The dry field grass scratched my calves as I walked toward the trailer, making me regret my choice of shorts when dressing this morning. I sidestepped a gopher hole, then stopped when I was still a good distance from the trailer.

  “Queenie?” I called. “I’m here from Esther’s farm again. To buy some honey.” A total lie, but if I announced that I was here to gossip about the lovers on the bench, Queenie might shoot me.

  The only response to my shouting was the constant buzz of bees and occasional cricket chirp. Too bad I hadn’t taken that cricket to the contest yesterday. That five-hundred-dollar prize would have been mine, no problem.

  “Queenie?” I said again. I waited for the trailer door to fly open, for Queenie to stomp down the metal steps.

  But the door remained closed. If she was sleeping, I’d have to wake her. I needed to get to the spa. I was already late.

  I approached the trailer, whistling “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore” the whole time, in case Queenie woke up and thought an intruder was breaking in. When I reached the bottom step, I leaned forward and knocked on the trailer door.

  No response.

  This time, I pounded on the door, the sound echoing in the metal frame. The door creaked open, revealing a sink and stove, cabinets overtop, a skillet hanging off the side at one end.

  “Queenie?” I walked up the steps and poked my head in.

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, a waft of enclosed trailer air hit me, bringing with it an odor I’d smelled once before. Oh no.

  I spotted an arm sticking into the aisle between the sink and the small table across the way. My heart raced and sweat oozed onto my palms. I sprang back, lost my footing, and fell to the ground on my rump.