I sat down at the desk in the office and jiggled the mouse to activate the screen. My half-finished document that I’d started hours ago still waited. I stared at the picture of the herb garden with the pool in the background, but the only tag lines I could produce were too macabre to print. “Come splash in the pool, mere yards from where a man was knifed.” “Try our organic vegetables, but keep your doors locked.”
Doors locked. Had Maxwell locked his door when he left yoga? The cabin hadn’t been secure when I arrived, but that meant the killer hadn’t locked the door on his way out. Had Maxwell let someone in, not knowing their intent?
I shuddered. Let the police worry about Maxwell. I needed to focus on the brochure. I studied the cracks in the ceiling, tapped my fingers on the keyboard, then forced myself to type a few words to at least feel like I was accomplishing something.
I removed my hands from the keyboard and set them in my lap. What I needed was a glass of Zennia’s lemonade to help the creative juices flow, or at least provide a distraction until I could think of something to write. I saved the file and went into the kitchen, feeling momentary angst that Jason might be waiting to pounce. He didn’t seem like the type who would give up easily.
But only Zennia and Esther were in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure Esther had even moved since she had first sat down. Zennia had freshened Esther’s cup of tea and now held a mug herself.
I took down a glass from the cupboard and grabbed the lemonade pitcher from the fridge. “How’re you holding up, Esther?”
She looked at me, twining her fingers together and squeezing them until the knuckles turned white. “What’s going on out there? Are the guests terribly upset?”
I poured a glass of lemonade and took a sip, my lips puckering at the tartness. “I’ve only seen Tiffany. She was about to doll herself up in anticipation of the paparazzi arriving.”
“The devil’s in that girl,” Zennia said. “I bet she eats trans fats and drinks alcohol all day. She needs a cleansing of both her body and spirit.”
“She’s young and ambitious,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll use Maxwell’s death as an opportunity to plug her new movie.”
Esther sniffed. “At least she’s staying.”
“Tiffany may be the only one,” Gordon said as he walked into the room. He eyed me with my glass of lemonade and frowned.
I reminded myself that he wasn’t my boss and smiled at him.
“What do you mean?” Zennia asked.
“Two couples have requested refunds and are planning to leave as soon as the police give the okay.”
Esther gasped. “Already?”
“Apparently murder wasn’t part of their vacation plans,” Gordon said.
“Do the guests know it was murder?” I asked. “I thought the police would want to keep that part quiet.”
Gordon refastened a cuff link. “One of the deputies let it slip. Not that they could have kept it secret for long. You know how this town is.”
I sure did. Info traveled fast in Blossom Valley. Of course, since I’d had the audacity to move away for college, I was considered an outsider and thus was shunned when the locals shared gossip. But the waitresses at the Breaking Bread Diner would be spreading tidbits faster than the patrons could spread cinnamon butter on their famous honey rolls.
“What should we do?” Esther asked.
“I’ve got a plan,” Gordon said. “I’m going to spread a rumor that Maxwell was the victim of a mob vendetta. If people think the crime was targeted, they might feel safer and stay.”
“You think a mob attack will make people feel safe?” I asked. “Besides, lying to guests is a bad policy.”
Gordon glared at me. “It’s either that or kiss this whole operation good-bye.” He turned to Zennia. “Dinner’s not for a couple of hours, but you’d better be prepared. Some of the guests are bound to be hungry, even with this murder.”
Esther stood, seeming to gather her strength as she rose. “Gordon’s right. We need to get back to work. It’ll do us all some good.” She touched my arm. “Except you, Dana. You should go home and rest.”
“Nonsense,” Gordon said. “She needs to finish those brochures.”
“Don’t be silly. Dana found the body, poor girl.”
Much as I wanted to stay and help Esther, I could feel my energy sagging. Just holding my head up suddenly felt like too much work.
I set my glass on the counter. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow,” I told Esther, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment and giving it a squeeze.
Saying a quick good-bye to the others, I retrieved my purse from the office, updated my time sheet, then slipped out the kitchen door. I took the back path past the pigsty and cabins to reach my car on the far side of the lot, hoping to avoid questions from the guests or the police. No one stopped me, not even Jason.
Once in my Honda, I locked the door and sat for a moment. People were checking out. And who could blame them? But if we ran out of customers, Esther would have to shutter the farm. I’d be out of a job.
Again.
Then what would I do?
6
I took the on-ramp for the highway and drove toward home. As usual, traffic was light yet slow, a sharp contrast to the Bay Area freeways that I’d been navigating up until six weeks ago. A lingering memory of fast-paced Silicon Valley encouraged me to press the gas pedal a little harder but I immediately let up to stay with the flow of traffic. The highway patrol was notorious for ticketing along this stretch.
Exiting at Main Street, I cruised through the two blocks of downtown. Vacant shops were interspersed among the open but clearly struggling stores. Leaves on the oak trees lining the street drooped as if in despair, a sharp contrast to the rainbow balloon arch over the door of the Get the Scoop ice cream parlor. At least the parking lot of the nearby Breaking Bread Diner was half full, even at this early dinner hour. I’d have to stop for a grilled cheese sandwich one of these days.
Seeing the now-defunct video rental store, I wondered if nearby Mendocino was suffering as well. Probably not. Tourists flocked to the town’s whale-watching events and music festivals. But without the stunning coastal views and artist atmosphere, Blossom Valley was merely another stop-off for gas and Big Macs on the way to the ocean.
I hung a left on Orchard Street and studied the houses. When I was growing up, children had filled the streets on warm evenings, running through sprinklers or playing impromptu games of tag. Now, once pristine houses showed cracks in the paint, the lawns in front slightly overgrown, the aging owners finding it harder to keep up appearances. Long gone were the kids running around the yards. We’d all grown up and moved on.
Unfortunately, some of us, namely me, had moved back.
My sister Ashlee’s red Camaro occupied the driveway, so I flipped a U-turn and pulled to the curb in front of the light blue single-story ranch-style house where I’d spent my childhood. A dogwood tree sat at the edge of the rectangular lawn, its delicate pink blooms beginning to brown. African daisies and peonies waved hello from the red brick planter box that stretched across much of the house front. I stepped out of the car, reached back for my purse, and headed up the walk. Before I reached the porch, the front door flew open.
Mom bounded down the steps in dark blue slacks and a simple cotton blouse. She hugged me in a tight squeeze. “Dana, thank God you’re all right. Tell me what happened.”
She released me and I took a step back to regain my balance, clutching my purse to my chest. I studied Mom in the afternoon light. Since Dad’s death last year, she’d aged a good decade, her once salt-and-pepper hair now a solid gray, new wrinkles visible every time I visited. But now that I was here to stay awhile, maybe I could stunt the aging process.
“Are you talking about one of the guests dying?” I asked. “How did you find out?”
“Everybody knows about the murder,” Ashlee said as she popped out the front door and joined us on the walk.
Her blond hair gleamed an
d her baby blues sparkled. We shared the same eye color, but hers always appeared a shade bluer, aided by the ever-present eye shadow and liner.
Ashlee blew a bubble, then plucked bits of gum off her bottom lip as she continued. “Lucy at the salon has a daughter who’s dating the cousin of the 911 operator and she heard you found some dead guy riddled with holes and bleeding all over the place. What was that like? Was that totally gross?”
I reminded myself that my younger sister had never found a dead body. Her only experience with murder was from watching NCIS.
“As a matter of fact, Ashlee, the whole thing was pretty horrible. A man was killed, you know.”
“But you didn’t know the guy, right?”
Did that really matter? “No.”
Mom glanced around. “Girls, let’s get in the house before the neighbors see us out here. We don’t want them gossiping.”
Gossiping about what? That we were talking on our own porch? I looked across the street at the closed windows, no crack in the blinds where an evil neighbor gossiper might be peeking through the slats.
With a last look around, I followed Mom indoors, Ashlee practically bouncing on my heels in her eagerness to find out more about my grisly discovery.
“Was his skin all pale?” she asked, stalking me as I walked into the living room.
I sat down in the recliner and settled into the familiar contour of the thinning cushion. I released a sigh, some of the tension escaping with my breath. Though the brown corduroy seat had a bald patch and I had to use two hands on the footstool release lever, the recliner had been Dad’s favorite and Mom refused to replace it.
Ashlee perched nearby on the edge of the brown and beige floral couch, almost sliding off the chenille surface as she leaned toward me. She lowered her voice to a whisper, even though Mom was in the kitchen and out of earshot. “I heard that when someone dies, they, you know, poop their pants. Did he?”
“Ashlee, please!” I snapped. “I’m not going to talk about it.”
Ashlee put a hand over her chest like I’d stabbed her with her mascara wand, just as Mom walked into the room with a glass of iced tea, the ice cubes stacked in a neat pile.
“Now, Dana, don’t yell. It’s perfectly natural that your sister is curious. No one ever gets killed in this town. People are bound to have questions.” She handed me the glass. “Drink this tea. You look thirsty.”
How exactly did one look thirsty? Were my eyes bulging? My lips cracked? Man, was I cranky. I sipped the tea and instantly felt better, though I kept that info to myself.
“I never would have gotten you that job if I’d known how dangerous it was,” Mom said.
“You couldn’t know someone would be murdered,” I said, pressing the glass against my temple, the condensation cool against my warm skin. “Odds are better that I’d win best tap dancer at the Blossom Valley talent contest, and I don’t even know how to tap dance.”
Mom took the glass from me and set it on a ceramic coaster on the oak end table. “But Esther must be beside herself. First, Arnold passes away, now her dream spa is home to a crime as ugly as murder.”
“Sure, she’s upset. Gordon, that manager she hired, convinced her that people would run screaming when they heard about the murder.”
Ashlee shivered. “I wouldn’t stay where a man was killed. Talk about creepy.”
“Poor Esther,” Mom said. “I wish I could help somehow.”
Too lazy to bend down, I used the toe of one Ked to shove the heel of the other off my foot. It thunked on the floor. I wiggled my free toe into the heel of the other shoe and it dropped down to its partner. “Don’t worry. I told Esther I’d try to find out information to pass along to the police, help with their investigation.”
Ashlee popped another bubble. “Just like that Mentalist guy.”
Mom picked up my shoes and placed them to the side of the recliner with only the tiniest of frowns. “Isn’t that dangerous? Someone was murdered, Dana. I don’t like the idea of you poking around.”
“I’m not going to sneak into guests’ cabins at night or rifle through their luggage. All I’m doing is paying extra attention, looking for anything odd or out of place.” Well, I’d do a bit more snooping than that, but no need to worry Mom.
“The killer might get suspicious, you eavesdropping like that. You could get hurt.”
I straightened in the chair. “You want to help Esther, and I’m in a position to do so. The faster the police solve the murder, the sooner Esther can get back to business.” The more I talked, the more I was warming to the idea that I could really help the police. And Esther.
So far, I knew little about Maxwell other than his Hollywood background, but both Logan and Tiffany knew him. They’d be first on my suspect list, along with Heather since she’d conned me into changing the towels. And I’d seen enough Castle episodes that I’d recognize a clue when I found one. Probably.
“Dana’s right, Mom. Let her help.” Ashlee leaned toward me. “Now tell me about the murder.”
“Lay off, would you?”
A hint of color tinged Ashlee’s cheeks. “I know finding him must have been awful. But everyone at the vet clinic will be pestering me for information tomorrow.”
“Tell them you don’t know anything.”
“Are you kidding? When my own sister found the guy?”
“Can’t help you.” Technically, I could, but rehashing the details again about finding Maxwell’s body had about as much appeal as eating one of Zennia’s faux fish sticks.
Mom patted Ashlee’s head like one of the dogs at the vet clinic where Ashlee worked. “Let’s go easy on Dana. She’s had a rough day.”
“All right,” Ashlee said. “But tomorrow morning, I want a full report.”
My stomach growled and I clapped a hand over my belly. “Need any help with dinner?” I asked Mom. Anything to get away from all this talk about a murdered man.
“No, but I’m glad you mentioned eating.” She sat down on the couch next to Ashlee, the cushion sagging from years of use, and smoothed her cotton slacks.
The fake Tiffany lamp on the end table cast light on Mom’s face, accentuating the now permanent frown lines.
“Ever since your father’s heart attack,” she said, her voice soft, “I’ve been thinking about how we could have saved him.”
This was the first time in a year that Mom had even mentioned the cause of his passing.
“Mom, don’t,” I said, wanting to reach out and touch her. Ashlee must have read my mind because she stroked Mom’s hand with her own. “The doctors said it was one of those things. You couldn’t have changed what happened.”
“Nonsense,” Mom said. “We ate fried foods and sweets for years. That must have contributed to his death.” She choked out the last word and covered her mouth with her hand.
Ashlee put an arm around her, while I rose from the chair and bent down to give her a hug before returning to my seat.
Mom grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and dabbed at her tears. “I’ve made a decision. Starting today, we improve our eating habits.”
My stomach dropped, most likely from sheer disappointment. More healthy food? That’s all I ate at the spa. Mom’s home dinners of fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy had been my oasis in a desert of quinoa and tofu.
“Great idea, Mom,” Ashlee said as she pinched a bit of skin on her thigh. “I’ve been meaning to drop a few pounds.”
I glanced at her size 0 frame and rolled my eyes.
“Wouldn’t hurt Dana to slim down either,” she added.
“Hey, keep an eye on your own weight.” Just that morning I’d noticed a bit of flab hanging over my jeans, but I certainly didn’t need to hear it from ol’ stick figure over there.
“I’m trying to help you get a man, Dana. You haven’t dated since you moved back.”
“You’re dating enough for the both of us,” I said.
Ashlee stuck her tongue out at me.
&nbs
p; “Girls, could we focus on what I’m saying?” Mom asked.
I felt myself blush. When would I grow up—and Ashlee, too, for that matter?
“No more fatty foods. No more hot fudge sundaes,” Mom said. “I want to be around to see at least one of you girls get married.” Mom looked out the window at the neighbor’s cat grooming himself atop the cross-rail fence.
Ashlee pointed to herself and mouthed the word “Me.”
Mom turned back and Ashlee dropped her hand.
“Our first menu is braised chicken breast with brown rice.” She rose. “I’ll get started.”
Chicken and rice, not the most exciting food, but it beat tofu fish sticks any day.
I jumped up from the recliner. “I’ll help.” I walked with Mom down the hall and into the kitchen. The white stove gleamed under the fluorescent ceiling fixture. Ancestors long dead peered out from the framed pictures on the wall. Out the window over the sink, I saw a squirrel run up the pine tree.
“How about a green salad on the side?” Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed a head of lettuce and a bag of shredded carrots out of the fridge.
I set the carrots on the counter and the lettuce on the cutting board and slid a knife out of the block. “I see the video store went out of business downtown. That’s the third store since I moved back.”
Mom pulled a copper pot off the rack and set it on the counter. “Ever since the lumber mill closed a few years back, people have been struggling. Recovery has been slow, and now with this economy, no one can afford to shop.”
“Is Mendocino having the same problem?”
Mom shook her head. “What better way to forget your troubles than to stay at a nice bed and breakfast overlooking the ocean? And browse in those cute boutiques? Business may be down a bit over there, but nothing like here.”
I shoved the knife tip into the lettuce and cut the head in half. “This town needs more ways to attract the tourists.”
“Esther’s spa should help some. That’s why I’m so happy you’re working there. Some townspeople are convinced her place will create all sorts of new jobs as out-of-towners sign up to stay there. I don’t think the impact will be that great, but every little bit helps.” She stepped around me to pull the chicken from the refrigerator.
Going Organic Can Kill You (Blossom Valley Mysteries) Page 5
