A Healthy Homicide

 

My route to work brought me down Main Street, and I slowed the car as I neared the Pampered Life. Three cop cars were parked at the curb, the only sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Still, three cars seemed like two too many, and I had to wonder how Carla had died.

According to Ashlee, Brittany had discovered Carla in one of the mud baths. Had she fallen asleep while taking a soak and somehow drowned? Slipped on the tile floor and hit her head before falling into the muck? Or had she been helped along by someone? While I knew nothing about Carla, I had a hard time envisioning anyone shoving that happy, smiling face into a trough full of mud and holding her down until she suffocated. I shuddered at the image and brought my attention back to the spa. . . .

 

GOING ORGANIC CAN KILL YOU
ALL NATURAL MURDER
GREEN LIVING CAN BE DEADLY
A HEALTHY HOMICIDE

 

 

 

Staci McLaughlin

 

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

 

 

Esther O’Connell, owner of the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa, burst through the kitchen door. Her gray curls were clinging to her forehead. Her plump cheeks were flushed. “We’re ruined, Dana,” she cried. She flopped into the nearest chair to catch her breath.

I felt a flutter of concern as I set the rooster-shaped mug I’d been hand drying on the counter. I hurried to where Esther sat, fanning herself. “What happened?”

“It’s that new spa on Main Street. My friend Mary Beth stopped in the other day to see what all the fuss was about. She said it’s fancier than beaded lace.” Esther let her hand droop. “Who’ll want to visit my ordinary old spa now?”

As the designated Jill-of-all-trades here at the farm, I knew it was time for some damage control. I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “People rave about your place. I know for a fact we’ve been booked all week.”

The worry lines in her face only deepened. Esther was a fairly recent widow who had plowed her life savings into the place, and she constantly fussed about the financial status of the farm and spa. I couldn’t say I blamed her. “They come here because we’re the only spa in town,” she said. “At least we were. Who’s to say they won’t switch to this new place?”

I rested a hand on her knee. “I say.”

“Say what?” asked Zennia, the spa’s creative and health-minded cook, as she walked in from the hall.

I hadn’t heard Zennia approach in her Birkenstocks, but I immediately roped her into the conversation, knowing her serene demeanor would help. “Esther’s worried about that new spa on Main Street.”

Zennia didn’t pause on her way to the refrigerator. She swung open the door and pulled out the lemonade pitcher. “People are always curious about a new business, but their loyalty will win out. Everyone loves Gretchen.”

Twenty-four-year-old Gretchen Levitt, our newest employee, had started a few months back. Between her knot-melting massages and wrinkle-reducing facials, she’d quickly cemented her place at the spa.

“I hope you two are right,” Esther said. “Seems like there’s always something to worry about with this place.” She rose from her chair and glanced down at her faded plaid shirt. “I’d better change. I have bunco in a bit.” She trudged out of the kitchen, leaving Zennia and me alone.

I returned to the counter and picked up the dish towel before grabbing another mug from the rack. “Have you heard anything about the new place? It’s called the Pampered Life, right?”

Zennia flicked her long black braid over her shoulder. The gray streaks were becoming more noticeable, but no way would Zennia dye her hair. Too many chemicals. “Right. I heard a woman from San Francisco moved up here to open it.”

I set the dried mug on a cupboard shelf. “Well, I’m sure once the newness wears off, it won’t impact Esther’s place.”
Much,
I added silently and mentally crossed my fingers. While customers seemed happy with our modest offerings, a full-scale spa that provided all the services we couldn’t might draw people away. But I kept that thought to myself.

I finished drying the dishes and hung the towel on the oven door handle. “I’m going to run into town for my lunch break.”

“We have plenty of leftover chickpea and seaweed salad, if you’d like some,” Zennia offered. “It’s chock-full of iron and magnesium.”

“And the guests didn’t gobble it all up?” I said in mock surprise. “I’m stunned.”

Zennia gave me a knowing smile. “You’ll come around one day.”

“Today’s not that day, I’m afraid. I have my mind set on a BLT.” I licked my lips. “With extra mayonnaise.”

Zennia clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. Don’t say such things.”

Laughing, I headed down the hall to grab my purse from the desk drawer in the office. I spent most of my working hours here in the office, promoting the spa, although Esther occasionally asked me to serve meals, catch loose animals, and help with pretty much anything else that needed doing around the place.

I crossed the unoccupied lobby and pushed open the front door. A breeze tickled my skin, and the chatter of birds greeted me on the cool spring day. A flock of ducks drifted on the surface of the small pond near the front.

I walked to my aging Civic in the corner of the lot, climbed inside, and started it up. The engine had begun to make a funny squealing sound on colder days, but I’d decided to ignore it. Having just moved from my mom’s house into a barely furnished apartment with my younger sister, Ashlee, I couldn’t afford any additional expenses right now.

The drive down the highway was quick, and within five minutes, I was cruising the three blocks of businesses and restaurants that made up Blossom Valley’s main strip. With the slumping economy the past few years, the downtown had experienced a considerable number of turnovers and vacancies, but I’d noticed a recent uptick in new businesses, and those that had managed to stay afloat during the downturn didn’t look like they were closing their doors anytime soon.

Now I eyed the front of the Pampered Life as I passed by. If I hadn’t known it used to be a hardware store, I’d have never guessed. The new owner had darkened all the windows, etching the words
The Pampered Life
in cursive script across the glass. A green-and-white-striped awning stretched across the front, and a redwood and wrought-iron park bench sat to one side of the door. A sandwich board on the sidewalk announced a Botox party next week, only ten dollars per filler. I reached up and felt the skin next to my mouth, wondering if twenty-nine was too young to worry about wrinkles. Still, even at ten dollars a pop, I wouldn’t be getting Botox anytime soon. Or ever.

I drove to the next block and pulled into the Breaking Bread Diner lot. I parked between a dusty pickup truck and a motorcycle and walked inside. The stools that lined the counter were empty, and I settled on the closest one.

Betty, the waitress who normally took my order, was helping a customer at a nearby booth. She nodded in my direction. “Be with you in a minute, hon.”

I nodded back and pulled my phone from my pocket to check for messages. I sent a quick text to Ashlee to see if she’d had a chance to pick up any toilet cleaner, and then I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. We were still working out chore duties, even resorting to a chart on the fridge. Ashlee’s plan seemed to be to ignore the dirty dishes and grime-covered counters until I broke down and cleaned them myself. Sometimes her plan worked, much to my self-loathing.

Betty finished with the customer and made her way over to where I sat. “What can I get you today?” she asked.

“BLT and iced tea, please.”

“Extra mayo?”

“Absolutely.” An idea popped into my mind. “Say, make that to go. I have to run an errand right now.”

“Sure thing. Give me ten minutes.” She finished scribbling on her pad and stuck it in an apron pocket.

“I’ll be back by then,” I told her and slid off the stool. I pushed through the door and walked out onto the street, taking quick strides toward my intended target: the Pampered Life.

Now that Esther had told me how fabulous her friend thought the place was, I wanted to see it for myself. Surely it couldn’t be that much better than ours. And if this spa was the greatest thing since laser-hair removal, then maybe I could collect ideas for Esther’s place. While I loved our little spa, there was always room for improvement.

As I neared the building, I slowed to peer through the windows, but the tinted glass made it impossible to see inside. I pushed open the door and stepped in. Soothing piano music flowed from speakers mounted in the corners of the dimly lit space. The scent of jasmine reached my nose. In the corner, a small tranquility fountain burbled, the large marble ball in the middle spinning merrily. Three overstuffed recliners filled the small lobby area, along with several potted ferns. Photos of woods and meadows lined the walls. I was about to take my phone from my pocket to sneak some pictures when an ultrathin girl stepped through the archway at the back of the lobby and moved behind the counter.

“Welcome to the Pampered Life,” she said. Her rose-red lips shone brightly against her pale skin. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud compared to her soft lilt. “I noticed you opened recently, and wanted to stop by.” I approached the counter, noting all the lotions and bath salts for sale on the shelves behind her, then looked down at the counter. “Oh, good. A brochure.” I picked one up from the stack and flipped it open, eager to see what they offered.

The prices next to the list of services immediately drew my attention, and I stifled a gasp. They were charging twice what Esther charged for the thirty-minute massages, and even more for their facials. This place would make a killing if they could line up enough clients. My mind churned as I thought up promotional deals to keep our own customers from straying. We already offered a lunch and spa treatment package, but we might need to implement a loyalty rewards program or a bring-a-friend discount until the excitement over this new place waned.

I was only halfway through the list of offerings when the girl started talking again. “We have a wide range of services here,” she said. “We do all types of massage, including Swedish and deep tissue, plus facials.”

Everything we offered at Esther’s place. I felt myself relax a notch.

The girl picked up a pencil and tapped it in time with her words. “Then, we’ve got the extras, like mud baths, Brazilian waxes, Botox injections . . .”

My muscles tensed again. So this place wasn’t exactly like Esther’s. At least the farm had animals, a unique plus. The guests always commented on how much they enjoyed our ducks, pigs, and chickens. “Sounds like you’ve got everything I could ever need,” I interrupted as she rattled off more items.

The pencil tapping stopped, and she nodded excitedly. “Yes, and we offer payment plans. The last thing you want to stress about is how to pay to relax.”

“An excellent point,” I said. Could we afford to institute payment plans at Esther’s? I might have to run the idea past her.

“Hey, let me tell you about our wrap treatment. You start with an all-over body exfoliation—”

The girl broke off her explanation as a woman in her midforties entered from the back. With her perfect posture and tall, willowy frame, she was the type who could make yoga pants and a T-shirt look like formal business attire.

She appraised me for a moment and then turned toward the girl. “Jessica, do you know what we have here?”

Jessica shook her head, her eyes wide in anticipation.

The woman raised her hand and pointed her index finger at me. “A spy. She’s a spy.”

How did she know? I gulped as a wave of heat washed over me. I was in some deep seaweed.