All Natural Murder (13 page)

The crowd had almost completely disappeared, and the cleaning crew was roaming the aisles, stabbing trash with their pointed sticks and depositing everything into garbage bags.

“Come on, let’s go.” I was tired, sore, and a little cranky. I’d missed most of the rally, and I wasn’t sure I was any closer to finding the killer. I hadn’t even talked to any drivers, and right now, I didn’t feel like tracking them down.

But one thing I was almost sure of. Todd absolutely knew about his wife’s affair with Bobby Joe.

Few cars remained in the overflow lot by the time we climbed up the cement stairs and walked down the other side. The sky was dark, the moon new, but the stadium lights illuminated our path to the car.

Traffic through town was heavier than normal, most likely people hitting the fast-food joints for a late-night snack after the rally. But I had to work in the morning and couldn’t afford to stay up any later than I already had. Six o’clock would be here soon enough.

Once home, I changed into PJs, brushed my teeth, and scrubbed my face. Out of habit, I checked my cell phone and saw that I had a voice mail. I punched the button and listened to the automated lady. Then the message started, and my breath caught as I heard Jason’s voice.

“Hey, Dana, Jason here. I wanted to apologize for what happened at lunch. I know Ashlee would never hurt anyone. Being a reporter makes me forget sometimes how difficult it is for the people involved. Anyway, give me a call.”

It was already past eleven. Too late to call. And I had no idea what to say anyway. I’d been so angry at lunch, but now I felt deflated. I’d lashed out at Jason over my frustration at not making more progress. I knew Ashlee hadn’t killed Bobby Joe, but the police had every reason to think she might have. And Jason had every right to point that out. I needed to work harder at finding the real killer, so I could get back to my nice, quiet life.

I switched off the light, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling in the glow from my alarm clock. After a while, I drifted off into a restless sleep.

 

 

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and assessed my health. My head no longer hurt, and my arm muscles protested only a little when I moved. A glance in the mirror showed the bump on my forehead had dwindled to the size of a large zit. Guess I’d live.

I stumbled into the shower and went through my usual morning routine automatically. Khaki shorts and work shirt on, I stopped in the kitchen for a bowl of sugar-free oatmeal, wishing Mom would occasionally splurge on the yummy kind, before getting in the car.

Downtown was blocked off for the Fourth of July parade, so I maneuvered through a series of side streets until I reached the freeway on-ramp. Too bad I had to work instead of watching the parade. Of course, my interest had dimmed once I was too old to collect the candy thrown by the Lions Club members as they rode around in their little cars. Parades weren’t as fun without free candy.

At the farm, the birds chattered noisily in the trees as I followed the path past the cabins and walked through the back door of the kitchen. Zennia, dressed in a muumuu, daisies woven through her braid, was adding fresh blueberries from a strainer to a bowl of white goop.

“Dana, I heard some people in the dining room a moment ago. Can you take the custard out while I prepare the bacon and eggs?”

I eyed the bowls. “Is that real custard?” I knew the bacon was veggie bacon, but maybe the custard was actually custard.

She set the empty strainer in the sink. “Of course the custard is real. How can you have fake custard? I mean, it’s made from tofu, but it still counts as custard.”

No, it didn’t.

I kept that thought to myself as I grabbed two bowls and carried them into the dining room.

Horace and Darlene Steddelbecker sat at the table closest to the French doors, loudly discussing their plans for the day.

“Hikes, bikes, what am I supposed to do with my bum knee?” Darlene asked Horace as I approached the table.

I set the bowls before the couple. “The beach isn’t far from here. You could sit and watch the ocean.”

Horace picked up a spoon and pointed it at me. “Forget it, missy. When one of those big earthquakes California is always having hits, I’m not getting sucked into the ocean.”

“We really don’t have that many earthquakes,” I said, straightening the roses that sat in the vase between them.

“Bull pucky,” Horace said. “We’ve seen the movies.”

And movies were always so accurate. “How about shopping? Blossom Valley has some lovely stores downtown.”

“Too much walking,” Darlene said, tapping her knee.

I momentarily missed the Bickersons and the meals where they never spoke. Too bad they’d checked out instead of the Steddelbeckers.

Horace poked at the custard with his spoon, then set the spoon back on the table and shoved the bowl away. “I reckon we oughta stop at one shop. You know Susan will be expecting something, what with sending us on this trip and all.”

Darlene banged her own spoon on the table. “You’re right. She’s always wanting something, that one.”

I didn’t think one little souvenir in exchange for a free vacation was asking too much, but the Steddelbeckers seemed like the type who would begrudge a dehydrated and dying man a glass of water if they had to hand it to him.

“Well, missy,” Horace said to me, “where can we pick up souvenirs on the cheap? I don’t want none of these shops that jack up the prices when they see a tourist walk in.”

I thought about the new antiques shop, the wine bar, and the accessories store that had all opened on the main drag. None of those would suit the Steddelbeckers. But I knew of one place that would. I’d seen a whole shop full of cheap trinkets and knickknacks just yesterday.

“Running on Fumes is a gas station on the other side of town. The owner also runs a souvenir shop, and he sells all types of gifts from the area, like redwood burls, abalone jewelry, and seashells.”

Horace raised his hand like we were in math class and not a dining room.

“At reasonable prices,” I added.

He put his hand down.

I gave them brief directions on how to find the station. “I’ll be back in a minute with your bacon and eggs.”

Darlene held out both custard bowls. “Take these with you. We don’t want them.”

I accepted the bowls without a word and took them to the kitchen, where I set them on the counter. Zennia looked up from where she was plating the eggs at the other end.

“Let me guess. The Steddelbeckers?”

“Good guess.”

Zennia shook her head and slapped a pile of scrambled eggs on the plate. “I can’t believe those people. They kicked up such a fuss last night over dinner that I eventually had to make them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And then they wouldn’t eat those because I used organic, all-natural peanut butter, and they only like Skippy. I can’t wait until they go home.”

“At least they’ll be out shopping this morning. Maybe they’ll even eat lunch in town.”

“I wouldn’t be so lucky,” Zennia said.

“You’re probably right. They’d need to spend money if they bought lunch.”

Zennia laughed as I grabbed two plates and returned to the dining room. Another couple had shown up for breakfast while I’d been in the kitchen and now sat across the room.

I set the plates down in front of the Steddelbeckers, and Darlene immediately jabbed the eggs with her fork, much like Horace had poked his custard.

“These aren’t none of that egg substitute nonsense, are they?”

“Nope, the eggs were laid by chickens right here at the spa.”

“Good, ’cause I’m getting tired of all this healthy food. I need something with preservatives. If you can keep food fresh that long with preservatives, think about how long you could keep your body fresh.”

I almost laughed at her convoluted logic. Before she could ask if the bacon was from a pig, I escaped to the kitchen for more custard for the new guests.

The rest of the guests arrived, and I got busy serving them. When people had shuffled back out of the dining room, I helped Zennia with the dishes, then went to the office to work on the day’s blog.

As I was typing the last few words, Gordon popped his head in. “Dana, did you get those spa visitor demographics I asked for?”

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Demographics?”

Gordon stretched out an arm and tugged on the shirt cuff peeking out from his suit jacket. “I asked you on Friday to supply an overview on the age, sex, and ethnicity of most spa guests.”

I searched my memory for the infrequent conversations I’d had with Gordon over the last couple of days, but nothing relating to visitor stats came to mind. “I don’t recall you asking me for that, but I’d be happy to pull something together for you.”

Gordon glanced over his shoulder and stepped all the way into the office, lowering his voice. “You better not let your personal life interfere with this job. You know how important the success of this spa is to Esther. To all of us.”

“I’ll have that information for you later this morning.”

“See that you do. And you’ve got a woman coming in at two o’clock to interview for the yoga instructor position. Be ready.” He spun around and strode out of the room.

How could I have forgotten Gordon’s request? I thought I’d been handling both my job and investigating Bobby Joe’s murder pretty well, but maybe I was slipping.

Trying to settle my sudden unease, I concentrated on posting my blog, then started on the demographics Gordon had asked for. I finished the task quickly, and I wondered if I’d pushed it out of my mind because I knew it wouldn’t take long. That still would be no excuse for forgetting altogether.

When I finished collecting the information, I leaned back in my chair. Too early to help Zennia with lunch prep. I could always wander around the grounds and see what needed tidying. But first . . .

I checked my cell phone. The screen was blank. No new calls. I waited a full minute, staring at the screen, on the off chance it would ring by some magical coincidence. When nothing happened, I punched in Jason’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Jason Forrester speaking.” His tone was brisk and businesslike.

“Uh, hey Jason, it’s Dana. I got your message.”

Silence was my only response, and I plunged ahead.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday, too. I’m worried about Ashlee, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Sorry, I can’t talk about this now. I’m working on a major story. I’ll call you later, promise.”

Click.
He hung up.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the length of the call. Thirty-two measly seconds. I knew when Jason was working on a story that he blocked out the rest of the world, but I’d been apologizing. He could have at least acknowledged that.

I tossed my phone in the drawer with my purse. If he called back, he could talk to my voice mail. I had things to do, too.

My internal voice started lecturing me on my immaturity, but I shut it down and went into the hall. The kitchen was empty, and I grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter. Munching away, I strolled through the herb garden, the scent of rosemary and thyme heavy in the air. A squirrel darted up the nearby oak tree, an acorn stuck in its mouth, while honey bees hovered over the lavender. I wondered if they’d sting me, like Jason had stung me a moment ago. Or maybe I was being melodramatic.

I wandered over to the pigsty and chucked my apple core in the direction of Wilbur and his pals. As he made a grab for the core, I leaned on the rail.

“What a day, Wilbur. Gordon is all over my case about doing a better job.”

Wilbur snorted twice.

“I know, he’s always demanding, but what if he’s right this time? I have been focusing on Bobby Joe’s murder quite a bit.”

No response this time.

“And to top it off, I called Jason to apologize, and he gave me the brush-off. Isn’t that rude?”

Wilbur snorted.

“I thought so.” Sure, a pig was the one agreeing with me, but as long as somebody validated my feelings, I was okay with that.

Wilbur went back to rooting in the mud, and I straightened up. “Thanks for listening.”

I strolled by the chicken coop, but the yard was empty and quiet. No doubt the chickens were hiding inside the coop to escape the mid-morning sun.

“Dana, yoo-hoo.”

Esther trotted down the path toward me, her peach-colored cotton skirt rising and falling as she moved.

“Esther, how are you?”

“Right as rain, thanks.” She glanced up at the blue and cloudless sky. “Speaking of rain, I wouldn’t mind a little these days.”

“You and me both.” I heard a chicken cluck from within the hen house. Guess she agreed.

Esther wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, strands of one gray curl sticking to her skin. “I’m glad I ran into you. Zennia mentioned she needs tomatoes for today’s lunch. Could you pick them for her?”

“You bet.” I gestured toward the cabins. “It’s nice having so many guests here, isn’t it?”

Esther nodded and fiddled with a button on her white blouse. “The summer’s been slow, that’s for sure. This truck rally has been a boon for the town, but it’s only one weekend. We need more events to bring in guests.”

Guess I shouldn’t have been handing out those bottles of shampoo to the Steddelbeckers so freely, what with business being slow.

“How’s your Blossom Valley Rejuvenation Committee?” I asked. “Coming up with any new projects?” The committee, all three members of it, tried to promote the town and increase tourism through a hodgepodge of events, including the cricket-chirping contest I’d helped with a couple months back.

Esther pulled her blouse away from her skin and fanned herself with her other hand. “We’ve got a few ideas going.” She patted my arm. “I’ve got to get inside now. I’m melting like my favorite praline ice cream.”

I followed her back to the kitchen and snagged the large basket from its usual spot on the counter, then went back out and stopped by the toolshed for a pair of gardening gloves. After Gordon had pointed out those tomato worms, I wasn’t taking a chance on accidentally touching one. The temperature was rapidly approaching triple digits, so I threw on an old straw hat I found hanging on a peg.