All Natural Murder (11 page)

We made our way across the dirt expanse, dodging the steady stream of cars pulling into the lot. Had the whole town turned out for the truck rally? I felt my pocket to make sure the tickets were still there as I bypassed the ticket booth and headed for the main entrance.

I handed the tickets to the beefy security guy, who tore off the stubs and handed them back. Then I tossed my keys into a little plastic bowl and waited while he passed a wand over my body. When it didn’t shriek, he waved me through and repeated the process on Ashlee.

When he nodded at her, I took a few steps forward to get out of the way of people behind me, then paused to assess. I was expecting a small crowd with easy access to the drivers, allowing me to talk to anyone who might have known Bobby Joe. But we’d be sitting in the stands, completely separated from the participants. I might not be able to interview the other drivers at all.

“Let’s get our food first, then sit down,” I told Ashlee as I listened to the murmur of the crowd inside. “Who knows if our seats will be boxed in.” Plus it would save Ashlee an extra trip up and down the stairs in those shoes.

“Sounds good. I’m starved. Wonder what they have here.”

“Probably the usual mix of hot dogs, hamburgers, and fries.”

Ashlee tugged at her waistline. “This skirt barely fits as it is. Maybe I’ll just have a Coke. Diet.”

I wasn’t wasting this chance to eat something deep fried, but Ashlee was more calorie-conscious than I was. “Suit yourself.”

We went inside the stadium, where the noise increased significantly. People milled about in the aisle, drinking beer out of plastic cups and high-fiving each other for no obvious reason. Most of the girls wore tank tops and short skirts, while the guys wore T-shirts and ratty jeans. The air practically crackled with energy.

I got in the concession line, already picturing a corn dog.

“Grab my Diet Coke, will you?” Ashlee said. “I need to use the little girl’s room.”

I nodded and faced forward again, watching as a heavyset guy with pork-chop sideburns tried to carry four beers in his meaty hands. With each step he took, beer sloshed over the sides, followed by cursing that would make Chris Rock blush.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, wishing I hadn’t when I saw who stood behind me.

“Dana! It’s so lovely to see you again.”

Kimmie Wheeler, former classmate and current snob, leaned toward me. She’d darkened her long straight hair since the last time I’d seen her, but she still wore shrink-wrap clothes and blindingly bright jewelry.

“Kimmie, it’s you,” was all I could muster.

“How have you been?” She lowered her voice. “Are you still working at that spa?”

“Yep, it’s going great.”

Kimmie tilted her head and gave me a sympathetic frown. “Still can’t find anything else, huh?”

I straightened my posture so I could look down on her. “I like working at the spa, thanks.”

“Good for you. The world always needs helpers.”

Ugh. I checked the front of the line, but it had barely moved. I was stuck with Kimmie for a while.

“What brings you to a truck rally?” I asked. I knew operas and symphonies were more her style.

“One of our customers had tickets and asked us to join him. Normally my hubby and I wouldn’t bother, what with how busy we are running the most popular restaurant in Mendocino, but he donates a considerable amount to our fund-raisers, so we couldn’t say no.”

“Sounds like business is going great for you.”

“We’re booked through September. Everyone wants to eat there and tell their friends they got a table.” Kimmie petted the chunk of black hair that lay over one shoulder, smoothing it down. “I’d try to squeeze you in, but I can’t even fit in my friends these days.”

“No worries. I don’t get to Mendocino much anyway.” And when I did, I certainly wouldn’t give my money to Kimmie by eating at her restaurant.

“Right, you do have to work and all.”

The line moved forward, and I felt a spark of hope. My escape was only three people away.

Kimmie lowered her voice again and leaned in closer, placing her hand on my arm. With the buzz of the crowd, I could barely make out the words.

“I heard about your sister killing her boyfriend. How are you holding up?”

I stepped back, jerking my arm away. “She didn’t kill him.” I might have spoken too loudly since the guy behind Kimmie stared at me and shuffled backward.

Kimmie reached for me again, but I shifted away. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I totally understand why she killed him. If my husband cheated on me, I’d kill him too. Not that he ever would. He adores me.”

“I’m not kidding. Ashlee did not kill Bobby Joe.”

“Of course, of course, don’t get upset.” Her gaze flickered from one side to the other, her face tight with faint panic. Looking for security? Worried that killing was a genetic trait in my family?

Disgusted, I faced the counter, intent on ignoring Kimmie, but then I thought about her remark and turned back.

“How did you know Bobby Joe cheated on her?” I was pretty sure Kimmie hadn’t been loitering around the fairgrounds two nights ago, and I didn’t know how in tune she was with Blossom Valley gossip. She only dragged herself here from Mendocino to visit her aging mother or pander to a donor.

She stepped closer once more. Apparently her desire to gossip beat out her fear that I might kill her. “Everyone knows. Of course, I knew first, but then I have an inside connection.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know Maria, the one Bobby Joe cheated with? Her mother works for me, although I’m considering firing her. I mean, if you can’t clean a toilet properly, you shouldn’t be in the maid business.”

I tried not to think about Kimmie’s toilets. They probably had solid-gold seats and diamond-studded flush handles. “And Maria’s mom knew about the affair?”

“What’s with the questions?” She poked me in the shoulder. “You little devil. You’re trying to solve Bobby Joe’s murder. That’s so cute.”

“My sister is in the middle of this. Nothing cute about that. Now tell me whether her mom knew about Maria and Bobby Joe.”

“She did. In fact, Rosa was so upset that she forgot to dust the top of my refrigerator.” Kimmie wrinkled her nose. “Sloppy, sloppy. But she couldn’t believe her daughter would step out like that. Of course, I wasn’t surprised in the least, with how Maria’s husband treats her.”

“How’s that?”

“He beats her. I don’t know why she doesn’t pack up and leave.”

The guy in front of me stepped to the side, and I reached the front of the line, but now I wasn’t so eager to leave. I mulled over the information as I absentmindedly placed my order.

If Maria’s husband smacked her around, then he had a temper, just as Jason had said. What would he do if he found out Bobby Joe was sleeping with his wife? Kill him?

Kimmie had confirmed that Todd was a solid suspect. Now I just had to figure out what to do with the information.

I stepped over to the condiment stand and grabbed a handful of napkins while I waited for my order, all the while thinking about Maria and her abusive husband. What I’d taken to be under-eye circles the one time I’d seen her at the Breaking Bread Diner could in fact have been black eyes. I’d even thought those circles looked like bruises. Had he hit her after finding out about Bobby Joe, then hunted down Bobby Joe and finished the job?

As Kimmie joined me to wait for her food, Ashlee headed over from the direction of the bathrooms. Kimmie spotted Ashlee and rushed to her, throwing her arms around her. Trapped in the embrace, Ashlee raised her eyebrows at me, and I offered a little wave. Kimmie let go and stepped back, giving Ashlee a chance to escape to my side.

“Who the hell is that?” she whispered out the side of her mouth.

“She and I were friends in high school, but I guess you don’t remember her. She heard about Bobby Joe.”

Kimmie’s gaze started at Ashlee’s styled hair and ended at her sandals. “You look wonderful after all that’s happened. It’s so nice of the police not to arrest you yet.”

“Why would they arrest me?”

Kimmie smiled at Ashlee like they shared a big secret. “You know why.”

Ashlee stepped up to Kimmie so they were toe to toe. “No, I don’t. You’re going to need to spell it out for me.”

Kimmie’s eyes narrowed, but her smile never faltered. “Fine. Everyone knows you’re a killer.”

I gaped at Kimmie. Did she really just say that?

Ashlee stood a little taller, seemingly unfazed. “Did one of your customers tell you that? Maybe you should worry less about me and more about your food. I hear you serve frozen scallops at that restaurant of yours.”

Kimmie gasped. “I do not!”

“Order up!”

Thank God.

I snatched the cardboard containers from the takeout window and shoved Ashlee toward the stairs. “’Bye, Kimmie. Gotta go see the rally.”

I hustled Ashlee in front of me, but she managed to crane her head around for one last comment. “By the way, your roots are showing.”

I glanced back in time to see Kimmie slap a hand on top of her head, then concentrated on fighting my way through the crowd.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I inspected the food in my hands. Three burgers peeked out at me from beneath yellow paper.

“Where’s my Diet Coke?” Ashlee asked.

And where was my corn dog? I’d been so caught up in what Kimmie had said that I’d flubbed the entire order.

“I’ll grab your soda in a bit. Have a burger.”

She stared at the open cardboard boxes in my outstretched hands, shrugged, and grabbed one. Guess her jean skirt had a little give after all.

I balanced the remaining two boxes in one hand and pulled out the tickets, searching for the seat numbers. Crusher had hooked us up with seats only three rows back and on the end of the aisle so we wouldn’t have to climb over anyone to get to the bathroom or food stands. Nice.

We sat down, and I surveyed the crowd. Everyone was chowing down on burgers and hot dogs, chugging beer, and chatting up their seat mates. I finished the last bite of my second burger, my stomach grumbling in protest, and crumpled up the wrapper.

Below us, shells of Volkswagen beetles and compacts, painted green, purple, or yellow, windows and all, sat wedged between mounds of dirt in the center of the arena. A stoplight-type contraption hung against a pole to the side. American flags hung from the light posts. Several more had been stretched along the boards that lined the track.

A roar rose from the crowd, competing with the sound of an engine as a monster truck rolled onto the course, kicking up dust. The sides were painted in a tiger-stripe pattern; giant flaming eyes stared from the hood and long fangs protruded from the grill. The oversize tires looked cartoonishly inflated, as though Bugs Bunny might suddenly show up and pop one with a giant needle. The driver sat square in the middle of the cab and waved through the grimy windshield.

The crowd’s yelling grew to a feverish pitch as a second truck, this one painted like a ghost, zoomed out. I clapped my hands over my ears. Whose idea was this again?

The trucks drove around until they were at opposite points on the circular track, then the stoplight turned green. Each truck scrambled forward, accompanied by more cheering as they raced around the track, leaping over the outermost dirt piles.

I leaned toward Ashlee, who was busily texting. “Why did they start so far apart? How can they race like that?”

She glanced toward the track, then down at her phone, her fingers never slowing. “It’s based on time, not actual racing. Whoever drives the fastest moves on to the next round.”

“You mean there are more than these two trucks?”

Ashlee snorted in response.

Then again, two trucks would make for a very short rally. Plus, I hadn’t seen Crusher yet, and I knew he was competing tonight.

The two trucks stopped racing, and the guy in the ghost truck pumped his fist in the air while the announcer on the loudspeaker rattled off a time. The first strains of “Stars and Stripes” blared from the same loudspeaker as the trucks cleared the track. I used the break to study the crowd.

To my right and a few rows up, a flash of cheetah print caught my eye. Who did that remind me of? The woman turned in my direction. Tara, Donald’s wife. As I watched, she squeezed past the other people in the aisle and headed toward the concession stand.

I whipped around to Ashlee. “I’ll get your Coke now.”

“Diet,” Ashlee said, as if I needed yet another reminder.

Jumping from my seat, I trotted after Tara, following her progress as she climbed the stairs and headed away from me. I thought she’d stop at the closest food stand, but she passed it without slowing. Heading to the bathroom maybe? Nope, she walked right by the entrance. I followed her across the concrete expanse, down a flight of steps, and over to a large patio area.

A cluster of people stood in the fenced-in space, all puffing on cigarettes. Aha. Now it made sense.

Tara joined the group, a cigarette and lighter already in her grasp, like a sleight-of-hand magic trick you wouldn’t want your kids to see. She caught sight of me as I struggled to think up an excuse for my presence.

“Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday?” she asked. She flicked the lighter, touched her cigarette to the flame, and inhaled.

Busted. “Tara, right? I’m Dana. We spoke outside your gas station.” Technically her husband’s station, but that sounded rude.

“Yeah, I remember now.” She noticed my empty hands. “Do you smoke?”

“Uh, no, I mean, um, I used to?” She remained silent as she tapped ash off the tip of her cigarette, and I plunged ahead. “I quit a while back, but I miss this.” I gestured with my arm at the other smokers, some coughing, others checking their phones or fidgeting with their lighters.

Tara immediately nodded. “I know, right? People don’t understand how smoking brings everyone together. They keep banning it everywhere, thinking people will feel all lonely and give it up. But the fewer places there are to smoke, the more people will have to hang around the same places. It’s like our own private club.”

Huh, I’d never thought of it that way before. Maybe I should send an e-mail to the anti-smoking lobbyists with this bit of insight.

“The only thing is I have to make sure Donald doesn’t catch me. Lucky for me, he’s sponsoring one of the trucks and wanted to talk to the driver about where to place the sticker for the station.”

Lucky for me, too, since it gave me a chance to talk to Tara alone.

“We never finished our conversation from yesterday,” I said, “and I was really interested in what you had to say.”

Tara flicked more ash. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Because my sister’s boyfriend was murdered? Because the police had their eye on Ashlee, and I needed another suspect? Sure, Maria’s husband was at the top of my list, but it never hurt to have a backup.

I opted for a vague version of the truth. “My sister was dating Bobby Joe, and I’m trying to find out who would want to kill him.”

“So you want to know if Donald did it.”

“No, of course not.” Okay, yes, I’d love to know that, but I couldn’t very well admit it. “If I can find out why Donald was upset with Bobby Joe, it might point me in another direction.”

Tara puffed on her cigarette while she studied me with an intensity that made my insides quiver. She was proving to be shrewder than I’d originally guessed.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she said. “But I don’t want you bothering Donald about Bobby Joe anymore. The cops are already pestering us enough. So I’ll tell you, and then you leave us alone. You got it?”

“Got it.” What else could I say? Whether I meant it was another story.

“Donald thought Bobby Joe was skimming off the till.”

First a womanizer, then a possible drug dealer, and now a thief. What the hell kind of guy was Ashlee dating?

“So when Donald said he wouldn’t fire Bobby Joe without proof, he meant that he only suspected Bobby Joe of stealing but didn’t know for sure?”

Tara nodded. “The money kept disappearing during Bobby Joe’s shifts, or at least that’s when Donald would notice. He was gonna install a camera right over the cash register to catch him in the act, but now I guess he doesn’t need to.”

“Did you think Bobby Joe was stealing?”

“Heck no. Bobby Joe was a sweetheart. I told Donald it’s that girl, the new one, but she bats her eyelashes at him and sticks her chest out every time he walks by, so he doesn’t listen to me. And here I’m supposed to be his wife.”

She dropped her cigarette and ground it into the dirt with her strappy heel. She and Ashlee had the same taste in footwear. “Look, I need to get back.” She poked her finger against my breastbone. “Stay away from Donald.”

I batted her finger away. Why was she so afraid of me talking to Donald? “I will if you answer one more question. Where were you and Donald on Thursday night?”

Tara looked like she wanted to poke me again, but she didn’t. “At the gas station, like I always am. Donald was running the store, and I was in the house watching TV. Now, excuse me.” She hurried off.

I watched her go, disappointed. I’d been counting on Tara to reveal a secret worth killing over, but Bobby Joe skimming money was hardly a murdering offense, only something worth firing him over. A slim possibility existed that Donald had confronted Bobby Joe about the theft, lost his temper, and hit him so hard it killed him. But that was as likely as Ashlee wearing white after Labor Day.

Still, I had one more person mad at Bobby Joe. But had Bobby Joe really stolen from the station? The ATM statement in his room had showed such a low balance that he could definitely have used the extra money. I’d have to ask Ashlee if he had carried a lot of cash on their dates.

I climbed the stairs and walked back across the concourse, remembering to stop and grab Ashlee a soda. As I stood behind a sweaty guy with thinning hair, a thunderous roar erupted from the crowd. I whirled around and tried to look over the retaining wall but couldn’t see what the crowd was cheering about. The announcer babbled about a catwalking wheelie, but I could barely hear him over the rest of the noise.

Great, the one big moment at the rally, and I was stuck in line. I picked up my drink a moment later, but by then, the audience had already settled down. “You’re a Grand Old Flag” started playing, another patriotic reminder that tomorrow was the Fourth of July. I should already be in bed, getting a good night’s sleep. With so many guests staying at Esther’s, I was bound to be busy in the morning.

When I returned to our seats with the soda, a grungy-looking guy in his early twenties sat in my spot, his lank body hunched over as he and Ashlee whispered to each other.

“Ahem,” I said.

Guilt flashed across Ashlee’s face.

“Dana, you’re back,” she said.

I held the cup aloft. “Here’s your soda.”

The man jumped up and into the aisle, his ponytail swinging from the movement. “Your throne, milady.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I squeezed past him and sat down, handing Ashlee her soda.

Ashlee giggled. “Isn’t he something?”

“He’s something, all right.” I watched as Ashlee put her thumb to her ear, her pinky to her lips, and mouthed, “Call me,” to her suitor. He blew her a kiss and clomped up the stairs.

I’d only been gone fifteen minutes, and Ashlee had already picked up a new man. Guess he hadn’t heard about Bobby Joe. Or if he had, he didn’t care.

“What was all the excitement about?” I asked.

“He saw me when we went down the stairs to our seats and waited for a chance to talk to me. So romantic.”

“I’m not talking about your love life. I meant what was the crowd cheering about a few minutes ago?”

Ashlee shrugged, losing interest. “I didn’t notice. I was talking to Rusty.”

Did people really name their kids Rusty these days?

“The announcer mentioned a catwalking move,” I prompted.

Ashlee gave me one of her signature looks that let me know I was a total idiot. “Seriously, Dana. This is a truck rally, not a fashion show. There’s no catwalk.”

Sometimes I wondered why I spoke to my sister at all.

But I needed information about Bobby Joe. As I opened my mouth to ask about his finances, I noticed a new truck enter the field, the base coat a shiny black with a fist made out of boulders appearing on the side. On the hood, the word “Crusher” was spelled out in letters shaped like rocks. I sat up straighter and leaned forward, watching as Crusher paused at his starting position. When the green light popped on, he raced around the track, a Rottweiler truck zipping around the other side, dust billowing up from the track. The announcer declared Crusher the winner, and I cheered along with the crowd.