A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1) (19 page)

“I do know what you mean, Sadie.” I opened our study book. Trust Sadie to come up with the most insightful questions I’d ever heard from an eighteen-year-old. “Maybe some people don’t know how to ask for help, or if they do ask, we miss it.”

The thought struck me like lightning as we sat in our circle. Maybe that’s why Seth had dropped by the store. Asking for help, silently, and I hadn’t a clue. Of course, Melinda had shown up, so it wasn’t like I’d had a chance to talk to him before he ran off.

I continued, “So maybe that’s why it’s okay to not be shy to ask each other the hard questions. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Can I pray for you?’ ‘Do you need something?’ Because lots of times, maybe people don’t know what they need. And if we’re Christians, shouldn’t we have some answers? We ought to watch out for each other— without smothering each other, of course. Those New Testament Christians were told over and over again to love each other deeply.”

Oops. A few blank expressions and the sound of imaginary crickets chirping met my ears. Maybe I’d gotten a little too serious for them. But a few faces, deep in thought, told me I might have said something that made sense.

I also realized I’d done what I could to help Melinda. I would back off and pray for her now, pray that someone would enter her life whom she would listen to and trust. She’d certainly had her trust broken, if in fact Robert had already moved on.

So we prayed for Seth and the other requests and continued our lesson. After class, the students said their good-byes, and I entered the hall of churchgoers. Where was Ben?

I hadn’t seen him since the Fourth, which was strange. In all the years he’d been on the road, we usually spoke every day, even if we didn’t get to see each other. And two days without a phone call and Ben still in town—well, something just didn’t feel right.

Our relationship (when I wasn’t freaking out over commitment) felt like cozy relaxation on the front porch. He never chased me. I never chased him. Some couples seemed to thrive on drama, but not us. Yet today, for some reason, I knew I had to talk to him.

I saw him standing at the end of the corridor with Jerry. He stood in his best jeans and pressed shirt, his Bible tucked under his arm. The light from the side entryway caught the blue in his eyes that I could see from a distance. When he looked in my direction, I gave a half wave. There went his dimple.

When I reached the end of the hall, Ben slid his arm around my waist, then released me. “Hi, pretty lady.”

“Hi yourself. So what have you been up to?”

Jerry cleared his throat and excused himself.

Ben blinked. “Er, not much. I had to go up to Jackson.”

“Jackson?”

“Yeah, some stuff for the trucking company. Exit interview. They helped me with a résumé.

“That’s nice. You didn’t mention they helped employees with that—or about-to-be-former employees.”

“They do.” He tugged at his shirt collar, although he didn’t wear a tie. “Oh, I think that’s the music starting.”

We walked into the sanctuary, and I’d never felt so far from him while standing so close. Ben had evaded me. Sure, he was normally on the quiet side, but even Ben was good for more conversation than what we’d just held in the hallway. Maybe it was just my imagination.

His gaze remained fixed straight ahead during the service. I quieted myself. He didn’t have to spill his guts if he didn’t want to. If he was in a quieter mood than normal, so be it.

After the service, we entered the parking lot, and Ben stopped me before I headed to my Jeep. “I’m leaving tonight.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you were going until Tuesday.”

“Someone else canceled, and this is a good trip. I’d be foolish not to take it. I’ll get a little more money in the account.” He gave me a quick hug and a kiss. “See you when I get back.”

“Okay.” I nodded absently. He walked off just like that, leaving me standing and staring after him. I wanted to run after him, but I didn’t want confirmation that a wall had risen between us, even an imaginary one. Ben usually told me when he expected to be home.

I called Momma, hoping she and Daddy were already home from church.

“Hey, Momma.” I did my best to sound cheerful. “You and Daddy going to be home?”

“You come right out, hon.” Her warmth wrapped itself around me. “Diana and Steve aren’t coming today. One of the boys upchucked in the church parking lot, so they’re going straight home. And me and your daddy have all this food waitin’ for someone to eat it.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I am so glad I’m not spending my time cleaning the bathroom, sheets, or little boys’ pajamas,” Di said as she breezed into Tennessee River Soaps on Monday morning. “I think if I had to stay home today, I’d go stark raving mad.”

“So, um, who’s taking care of my nephews?” I pointed at Di. “Surely you didn’t just leave them.”

“Of course not. Steve took a personal day off from work today and told me to get out of the house for a while.” She grabbed a bar of Glorious Gardenia soap and inhaled, smiling.

“That was sweet of him.”

“He does things like that.” Di grinned at me. “I think Ben would, too.”

I nodded and went to restock the displays. While I didn’t have any new product yet, I wanted to make shoppers think there was plenty of merchandise when they walked into the store.

“What is it? Spit it out.”

Nope, no fooling Di either. “Ben’s been acting strange ever since the Fourth. And we had a great time with y’all. I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t called me. I got his voice mail every time I called between the Fourth and yesterday. He barely said ten words to me at church yesterday, and then he left, just like that, last night.” I snapped my fingers and restocked the strawberry soaps, but not without a shudder.

“Well. . .maybe he’s got a lot on his mind.”

“I know. He probably does. He’s leaving a relatively secure job and coming home to who knows what.”

“God knows.”

“Yes, He does.” I moved to the other end of the store to check the floral soaps. “Which is why I’m trying not to sound too lovelorn, like I’m waiting for him to call after a first date. We’re so beyond that now, after seven years.”

“Like I said, he’s probably got a lot going on. He knows you’re there for him.”

I nodded. “Okay. Enough about me. I need your help.” We both cracked up at my statement.

“So what else do you need?”

“Fall’s coming. I need some new soap scents.” I grabbed my notepad and pen from the counter. What I really wanted to do was find a way to help Seth, but there was nothing I could do. Not right now, anyway. “Summer’s halfway over, and I need to look ahead to fall. So help me brainstorm.”

“Pumpkin,” Di blurted.

“Who’d like pumpkin-scented soap?”

“Lots of people.”

“Well, I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe something with spice in it.” I jotted down “pumpkin,” put a question mark next to it, and moved on. “What about something cool and brisk, that would remind someone of a fall night?”

“Peppermint?”

“That’s it—how about a nice refreshing foot soap? I hadn’t thought of that before. A foot scrub. Good going, Di. Maybe I could make that one for November.”

“Thanks.” She pulled a plastic sandwich bag out of her purse and opened it. “Want some dried bananas?”

“Sure.” I popped a handful into my mouth and crunched on them. She’d finally switched from making beef jerky to drying fruit. “Okay, more fall products. I’m thinking of doing three to start with. Pumpkin—with reservation. Peppermint—definitely. And. . . ?”

Di went into my office, dragged out my desk chair, and plunked herself onto it next to my stool. “I’m thinking. . .maybe something with apple? Or cloves. . .Autumn Night. . .”

I rested my head on my hand and sighed. Along with Ben’s behavior and Seth’s trouble, summertime and strawberries refused to leave my head. “Not to change the subject, but I’ve been thinking about my cherry scrub. Maybe whoever tampered with it didn’t think the strawberry seeds would be discovered.”

“Okay, this is miles away from soap. Sort of.”

“I was thinking that, as far as I know, the scrub container wasn’t dusted for fingerprints. Jerry has the bowl of Charla’s scrub. He took it so they could test it. Hang on for a second.” I slipped back to the workroom, put my gloves on, and took down the ill-fated cherry scrub container.

Di followed me into the workroom. “So where are you going with this?”

“If they didn’t expect anyone to suspect foul play, maybe—just maybe—their fingerprints are on the lid, on the container. They wouldn’t have bothered to wear gloves. We could be looking at some valuable evidence here.”

“You need to bag it.”

“Right.” Once I grabbed a trash bag and stuffed the container inside, I glanced at my hand. “You know, this container has my prints all over it, too. Sure hope I haven’t smudged any of the killer’s prints since the break-in.”

“Did you touch it a lot?” Di stared at the trash bag. “Just to look at the scrub, when I sifted some strawberry seeds from the soap flakes awhile back.” I could see the wheels turning in Di’s head as I spoke.

“Which brings me back to another big question: How would the killer get strawberries into a powdered form that would blend right in with the soap flakes?”

“Well. . .” Di scanned the room as if the answer were hidden near my workbench or in the storage cabinets. “Something that would leave the seeds behind, for sure.”

“I already figured it couldn’t have been strawberry essence, oil, or a gel. Not with those seeds in the scrub.”

“How about mashed?”

I shook my head. “There was nothing in those dry flakes that made them look any different at first glance, not until I sifted them. Mashed would have still been wet and mushy the next morning. Plus, the flakes would have dissolved and there would have been a mess in the containers.”

“So, dried.”

I shrieked, then ran to the front of the store where Di had left her Baggie of dehydrated bananas on the counter. “Wait, I’ve got it. It’s been in front of us.”

When I returned to the workroom, I held up the bag to show Di. “She could have used a food dehydrator.”

“Wow. It makes sense.” Di held up her hands as if in self-defense. “But really, I didn’t do it!”

“Right, you and most of the other women in Greenburg.” I chomped on a few slices of dried banana. “Thank you, Di, for caving to this latest fad. So, she dehydrated some strawberries, tossed them in a blender—which happened not to grind up the seeds— then brought the powdered strawberries and dumped them in the scrub.”

For the first time in a while, I felt closer than ever to figuring out the means this killer used to murder Charla Thacker. I felt very close to tracking down a killer who still thought she got away with it.

Di grinned. “So does this mean I can start giving you beef jerky again?”

“Moo!” was all I said. No way would I share this news with Jerry just yet. His reluctance didn’t welcome my ideas. But I was determined to find some evidence he couldn’t ignore.

Chapter Nineteen

So what if seventy-five percent of the adult women in Greenburg owned food dehydrators they’d purchased at Value-Mart? The store had discovered a huge marketing gold mine. I didn’t bother to calculate how much the store made selling food dehydrators in Greenburg at nearly forty dollars each.

I bit my lip as I drove to the house Emily and Melinda shared. Maybe I could ask if either of them owned one. Wouldn’t hurt.

Then I smacked my forehead. Di had been so enthusiastic about our breakthrough that morning, but neither she nor I had contemplated how I’d broach the subject with either woman. What was I thinking— that I’d just hop in the Jeep and head out for a friendly visit—uninvited—with two women I barely knew?

It would be extremely tacky of me to offer them some coupons for the store, or free samples of bath salt. If they still considered me the source of the sorrow in their lives, if in fact either of them truly sorrowed over Charla, any reminders of how she had died would only cause their wounds fresh pain. Then again, if one of them was a murderer, it might force her hand.

I decided to show up, ask about Melinda, and watch to see what happened. When I arrived at their house, only one car remained in the driveway, and it wasn’t Melinda’s. I parked the Jeep behind Emily’s vehicle and got out. The place looked cozy, with hanging plant baskets and a swing on the front porch. Music blared from somewhere in the back.

I rapped on the screen door. “Hello?” Maybe she’d hear me above the drums. I heard pounding feet on a hardwood floor growing closer.

Emily, clad in a T-shirt that was missing the lower half and ended miles above her low shorts, leaned against the doorway. “Oh, hey there. You looking for Melinda?”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to see how she was doing.”

“Better.” Emily smiled. “She’s back at work already. Should get home later on, but she mentioned something about dinner with friends.”