All Natural Murder (10 page)

I leaned toward Jason so far, my hair dipped into my salad dressing. I grabbed a napkin and wiped off the strands. “How awesome would that be if Maria’s husband found out about the affair and killed Bobby Joe?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at me, and I felt instantly chastened.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s tragic that Bobby Joe was murdered, but it’d sure be nice if the police could prove the betrayed husband did it and stop considering Ashlee a suspect.”

“There’s no evidence that the husband is guilty,” Jason said. “He claims he didn’t even know about the affair.”

I wadded up the napkin and set it on the table. “Exactly what I would say if my wife’s boyfriend was murdered.”

“Sure, but the police are thinking that if this guy’s lying, who’s to say Ashlee isn’t lying, too?”

I shoved my salad away, my appetite gone. “I’m saying she’s not.”

Jason reached across the table and squeezed my hand, but I pulled out of his grasp.

“Ashlee didn’t kill Bobby Joe,” I said.

“I know. I’m looking at it from the point of view of the cops.”

I leaned back in the booth and crossed my arms. “How about looking at it from my point of view?”

Jason fidgeted with his knife and fork until he’d lined them up. “Look, I’m only pointing out that the cops think Ashlee had plenty of time to go back and kill Bobby Joe.”

“But she didn’t.”

Jason tried again to grab my hand, but I was too far away. “Dana, I know Ashlee is innocent. We’re on the same side here.”

“Not really. You’re a journalist. You’re only after the story. Whatever sells.” I knew I was being silly and defensive, but I couldn’t stop myself. Would it have killed him to not mention Ashlee as a possible suspect when talking to me?

Jason lowered his voice with a tone that bordered on condescending. “That’s my job. But I’m always fair.”

“Good to know.”

We broke into an awkward silence. I pulled my phone out of my purse and glanced at the time. “Guess I’d better get back to work.” I retrieved some bills from my wallet and threw them on the table.

“Lunch was my treat, remember?” Jason said.

“I’d rather pay for mine, thanks.” I stood and hoisted my purse strap onto my shoulder.

Jason half-rose, but I waved him back down.

By the time I’d crossed the parking lot and gotten in my car, I was over my fit of anger and had moved to bewilderment. The sweltering air felt heavy as it settled in my lungs, threatening to suffocate me. Maybe I should go back in and apologize. Or maybe Jason should have been more supportive. Or maybe we both needed a cooling-off period.

I was glad Jason was busy tonight. I didn’t want to take him to the monster truck rally anyway. At least that’s what I’d tell myself.

I started the car and drove back to work.

 

 

In the lobby, Gordon scribbled on his clipboard at the counter. His unnaturally dark hair gleamed under the overhead lights as he bent forward. As soon as he noticed me, he set his pen down, automatically adjusting the knot in his tie.

“Didn’t realize you were taking a lunch break today.”

“Yep, decided to grab a bite in town.” My voice held a note of challenge. After my spat with Jason, I wasn’t taking any of Gordon’s guff.

“I wanted to know why you left me that note saying I shouldn’t hire Evan.”

I gave Gordon a thumbs down. “Evan’s out. We’ll need to interview more candidates.”

“I don’t understand. He was on time. He wore a jacket. He’s perfect.”

If only Gordon had heard the Kama Sutra comments, but the idea of repeating them made me want to gag. “A perfect pervert. Trust me. He’s not a good fit.”

Gordon opened his mouth, no doubt to argue more, but he must have seen I wasn’t in the mood. “I’ll arrange for more interviews. We’ve had a few more résumés come in.”

“Good.”

I stalked to the office, where I thumped down on the office chair and dropped my purse in the drawer. I spent the next couple of hours pretending to work on marketing brochures while pouting about my lunch with Jason. My sulk fest was temporarily interrupted when the Steddelbeckers requested more towels. Considering how many I’d already taken them, they must be furnishing a spare bathroom or two at home.

That task completed, I helped Zennia prep for dinner, checked on Wilbur and his pig friends, and counted the ducks. Twice. By that time, I’d run out of ways to pretend I was working and decided to call it a day.

Nothing wrong with that. I set my own hours, per my agreement with Esther. Still, I left through the French doors in case Gordon was staking out his usual spot at the computer. I didn’t need his critical gaze on me. By the time I reached home, I had all but decided to skip the rally tonight.

Ashlee’s Camaro occupied the driveway, and I parked on the street. I half expected her to come running out the front door, screeching, like she had yesterday, but the door remained closed, the yard quiet. The African daisies in the planter drooped, a reflection of my mood, while yellow jackets hovered over the brown-tinged grass.

Inside the house, the air conditioner hummed quietly. Ashlee sat in the recliner in a tube top and short shorts, her gaze riveted on the TV. I dropped my purse on the coffee table, sank onto the couch, and kicked off my sandals.

When a commercial advertising male-enhancement drugs appeared, Ashlee dragged her gaze from the screen. “Dana, I didn’t see you come in.”

Heaven help us if the house ever caught fire. She’d never notice.

“I got home a minute ago. Where’s Mom?”

“She went to Martha’s house for an early dinner, and then they’re catching some old-lady movie down at the theater.”

I didn’t bother asking if the movie starred a bunch of old ladies or appealed to old ladies. Probably neither. For Ashlee, anyone over forty was old. I was just happy Mom was socializing more these days, rather than staying home and grieving over Dad.

“You got plans tonight?” Ashlee asked.

“Not anymore.” Maybe never again with the way things had ended with Jason. “You?”

“Nobody asked me out this week.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Do you think it’s because of Bobby Joe? That guys think I’m a murderer?”

If I was a guy, I wouldn’t date someone whose last boyfriend was murdered, especially since the police hadn’t caught the killer, but the type of guys Ashlee attracted might not be as choosy. “They probably figure you’re in mourning,” I offered.

Ashlee put her lip back where it belonged. “You’re right. Guys can be so sweet that way.”

Or maybe they figured they wouldn’t get lucky if she was too distraught over Bobby Joe’s death.

She picked at her fingernail polish. “I hate being home on a Saturday night. I feel like such a loser.”

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “Staying home on a Saturday night does not make you a loser. I do it all the time.”

Ashlee raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as if I was merely proving her point. Gah, she was so frustrating.

I rubbed my forehead. “Tell you what. Crusher gave me a couple tickets to tonight’s rally if you want them. You can take one of your friends.”

“All my friends have dates on Saturday night. They’re not losers.”

One more loser comment and she wouldn’t live to see next Saturday night. “Find yourself a date. Ask a guy out.”

Ashlee’s mouth dropped open, and I had the urge to throw a penny in it, like the clown’s mouth at the carousel.

“Are you kidding? That would be social suicide, taking another man to a place where Bobby Joe was supposed to perform tonight. Can you imagine what people would say?”

She actually had a point, for once. Even I would be gossiping about that one.

“Well, you can always go by yourself. Or not go at all. It was only a suggestion.”

“Or . . .” Ashlee didn’t finish the sentence, just smiled at me.

“No, forget it.”

“Please come with me,” she said, clasping her hands under her chin like a beggar. “You need to get out more, meet some guys.”

I lifted one foot onto the coffee table and studied my toes to avoid her gaze. “I have Jason.” At least I did until our little tiff at lunch.

“You guys aren’t married. You need to live a little. Crusher obviously thinks so if he gave you those tickets. He was probably flirting with you.”

I felt my resolve weakening like a dieter at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Why stay home because I was mad at Jason? No need to sequester myself from the rest of life. And I’d never been to a truck rally before. Maybe some of Bobby Joe’s buddies would be there. Or some of his enemies. I still needed to find out more about my sister’s boyfriend.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

Ashlee squealed and ran off to her room, no doubt to start the primping process.

I heard the grinding hum of the garage door. A moment later, Mom stepped into the house carrying a hanger, her purchase hidden in a long plastic bag.

I rose from the couch. “Ashlee said you and Martha were going to dinner and a movie tonight. Did something happen?”

“Martha got one of her migraines, so I decided to do some shopping. Going Back for Seconds was having their annual Fourth of July sale.” She held the hanger higher. “I picked up this beautiful dress with a matching brocade jacket for half off.”

“Maybe I should go down there before the sale ends.” Although the idea of wearing a skirt or dress made me tired. The pantyhose, the slip, the heels. So much work. And then you had to find matching jewelry. Thank God I worked at a farm and spa, where the animals couldn’t care less what I wore.

Mom glanced at the clock on the mantel, and I automatically looked as well, my gaze pausing on Dad’s nearby picture before moving on to the time. Half past five.

“You girls have anything fun planned tonight?”

“We’re going to the monster truck rally.” As usual, I felt guilty at the idea of leaving Mom alone in the house at night. Too bad Martha was sick. “Say, Mom, why don’t you come? It’s bound to be fun.” And surely tickets were still available.

Mom scrunched up her nose. “I’m not much of a monster truck gal. Now that my plans with Martha have fallen through, I might attend the seniors’ dance down at the community center. Some of the girls are supposed to be there.”

I knew from past references that the girls in question all belonged to Mom’s salsa class. Guess my image of Mom as a lonely, sad widow needed an update.

“Speaking of which,” Mom said, “let me get ready. I’m wearing my new dress.”

“I should change, too. My spa shirt isn’t the cleanest thing.” I followed Mom down the hall and made a detour into my room. I stood before my open closet and stared at my clothes. Let’s see, a bunch of guys would be driving giant trucks around a dirt track. I could probably get away with casual wear. I grabbed a sleeveless cotton top off a hanger, pulled a pair of jeans from the dresser, and changed. That done, I brushed my hair and teeth and touched up my lip gloss. What the heck, it was Saturday night; I added a coat of mascara and smidge of eyeliner for good measure. Then I went back to the living room to wait for Ashlee.

After twenty minutes, the fastest she’d ever gotten ready, I heard her emerge from her room. She stopped before the recliner and held her arms out.

“Ta-da. What do you think?”

She wore a denim miniskirt with a button-up, short-sleeved black blouse and strappy heels. She’d pulled her hair back into a bun, and her makeup was barely discernible.

“Um, you look good?” My comment came out as a question. I wasn’t sure what she expected me to say.

“My top half says I’m sorry Bobby Joe is dead. My bottom half says, ‘Hey, I’m not dead. Don’t forget about me.’”

If scientists ever figured out a way to observe someone’s thought processes, I was volunteering Ashlee. “I think you nailed it.”

“Thanks.” She squinted at my face. “Hey, you’re wearing eyeliner. Good to see you putting in an effort for a change.”

If I smacked her hard enough, maybe I could knock her out and go to the rally without her. Or better yet, stay home.

“Shall we go?” I asked, rising from the chair.

I decided not to lug my purse with me and instead put my ID, a couple of twenties, the tickets, my phone, and my keys in my pocket. God only knew why I was bothering to take my phone. Jason wouldn’t be calling.

With Ashlee strapped into the passenger seat, I drove through town past a smattering of fast-food restaurants and gas stations. Beyond the Taco Bell, I hung a right into the fairgrounds lot.

I’d last been to the fairgrounds back in May, when I’d helped set up and assist at the annual cricket-chirping contest. The contest had been a success as far as cricket chirping went, but the twenty or so attendants seemed paltry in comparison to the hundreds of people weaving their way between parked cars on their way to the track.

As I slowed to a crawl to avoid running over any spectators, I thought about how the cricket-chirping contest was where Ashlee and Bobby Joe had met. I suddenly wished Ashlee had never gone with me to that contest. Then she never would have met Bobby Joe, and she wouldn’t be in this mess.

The paved main lot was full, and an attendant in an orange vest waved us around back to the dirt overflow lot. My car was old, and I didn’t mind driving through the rutted dirt, but Ashlee was gonna have a hell of a time in those heels.

Sure enough, as soon as she stepped out of the car, I heard all about it.

“My shoes! They’re filthy! Do you have any idea how much these cost?”

I held up one foot, my white Keds showing the strain of working at a farm. “More than mine?”

Ashlee slapped a hand to her chest. “God, I don’t know why I talk to you about fashion.”

“You can stop any time.”

She growled at me like an angry kitty, and I smiled back.