All Natural Murder (2 page)

Esther finished catching her breath. “Sure, they run away a lot, but they’re so darn cute. And the kids love them so.”

I didn’t point out that we’d had no more than three kids stay with us. Besides, she was right: the ducks were pretty cute.

Esther patted my arm. “You’re always such a dear, Dana. Would you round them up with me?”

I looked at Zennia to see if she needed my assistance with breakfast, but she waved her hand in a shooing motion.

“Call me quackers, but I’ll help,” I said.

Zennia chuckled as I walked out the kitchen door, Esther shadowing me through the herb garden. No little ducks were hiding under the mint leaves. I stopped at the toolshed for a cardboard box, then wandered by the pool area.

The surface of the water was as smooth as the patio tables. I craned my neck to peek under the chaise longues in case the ducks had decided to seek refuge from the summer heat, but the space was empty.

I suspected the ducklings were entertaining the pigs again, but I held out hope they’d still be waddling down the sidewalk and we could intercept them. No such luck. One glance at the pigsty showed little yellow feathers coated in mud and only God knew what else, although I had a pretty good idea.

I placed my hand on the top railing. The fence around the sty was the same style as the slat fence around the pond out front. Three rails with large gaps in between. “Ever think of enclosing the ducklings in a more escape-proof fence? Maybe add a bottom board to keep them in?”

“I couldn’t do that to the precious little things,” Esther said. “Then they’d feel like prisoners.”

“We could give them an hour of yard exercise every day. Isn’t that what they do in real prisons?”

Esther tittered. “Oh, Dana, you’re a hoot.”

I hadn’t actually been kidding, but apparently Esther wasn’t keen on fencing in her pets. I scanned the area near the gate for the rubber boots that usually sat there, but the boots were missing. Someone had probably left them at the chicken coop or off in the vegetable garden. Those boots had a habit of walking away.

With a resigned sigh, I slipped off my sandals, opened the gate to the sty, and placed one bare foot in the muck. Mud and mystery objects, cool and slimy, squeezed between my toes. I shuddered as I added my other foot to the mixture, ready to catch those fuzzy felons and get out of the pen.

Wilbur, an occasional escapee himself, snorted at me. The four other pigs started a backup chorus of squeals and snuffles. Joy.

I grabbed the least muddy duckling, careful not to squeeze too hard, and handed it off to Esther, who dipped the duck in a nearby bucket of water and placed it in the cardboard box. I grabbed another duck, and we repeated the process.

By the fifth bird, my hands and wrists were covered in mud, the brown goo inching toward my elbows. The sixth pooped in my hand, but really, what difference did it make at this point?

I looked around the pen for the final escapee, not seeing any yellow peeking through the brown. The pigs had quieted down and were huddled in a group at the far side of the pen, watching the day’s entertainment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Wilbur was smirking as he watched me play the farm’s version of hide-and-seek.

Movement caught my attention across the pen. A brown blob crept toward the fence and the freedom beyond the rail. I jerked my head toward the duckling to point him out to Esther. She nodded her head in return, just as I heard the opening bars of my cell’s ringtone coming from my pocket.

I raised my gunk-covered hands and continued to listen as Coldplay got louder, wondering who was calling at this exact moment. Oh well, if it was important, they’d call back.

I took two steps toward the moving blob, the pigs shuffling and snorting in nervous anticipation. These pigs really needed more excitement in their lives.

Chris Martin started singing again. I abandoned the errant duckling and slopped over to the gate, ignoring the sucking sounds from my feet. I snatched a nearby rag from a fence post, rubbed my hands mostly clean, and gingerly slid my phone from my pocket. The display showed my home number. Ashlee should be at work by now, leaving only Mom to call me here. But she was old-school when it came to interrupting someone’s workday. This might be serious after all.

I pressed the green button and held the phone to my ear, crinkling my nose at a whiff of pig smells. The duckling popped his head up from the mud, and I eased toward him.

“Dana,” Mom said, her voice clearly strained, “I need you home right now. Your sister’s in trouble.

“What’s wrong with Ashlee?” I asked, the grip on my phone tightening as I ran down a mental list of possibilities. Had she crashed her car again? Been fired? Gotten in a fistfight down at the Prescription for Joy drugstore over the last tube of Cotton Candy lipstick?

“It’s Bobby Joe,” Mom said, the words spilling out so fast, I expected them to drip from the receiver.

The duckling moved closer, and I lunged for it. With my attention half on the phone, I lost my balance and went down on one knee, using my free hand to break my fall. Mud shot up and splattered my shirt. Perfect.

Behind me, Esther gasped, but I was too embarrassed to look at her.

“Dana, are you there?” Mom asked in my ear.

I focused back on the conversation, a little crankier thanks to the mud decorating my shirt. “Is she still upset about Bobby Joe? She told me last night they weren’t even serious. Tell her to find some new guy at work today, and she’ll forget all about Bobby Joe.”

The pause on the other end made me wonder if my cell service had cut out, something that happened often at the farm.

Then I heard Mom again, her voice practically a whisper.

“He’s dead.”

By reflex, I grabbed my St. Christopher medal, a gift from my father that I had worn around my neck every day since his death. I stared at Esther, not really seeing her as she clutched her box full of ducks. I forgot all about the mud and poo bits smeared on my hands and clothes, the sweat trickling down my temples.

As if from a distance, I heard Esther say, “Dana, what is it?”

But the phone and my mother’s last words were all I could focus on. “What do you mean Bobby Joe’s dead? How?”

“Murdered. At the fairgrounds. The police asked Ashlee all sorts of questions about what they did last night, what time she got home, if anything out of the ordinary happened.” I heard a sob.

“Hang on, Mom. I’ll be right there.” I clicked off the phone and jammed it in my pocket.

Bobby Joe.

Dead.

My mind couldn’t grasp the finality of that. How could he suddenly be gone? Murdered, of all things. And now the police were talking to Ashlee.

Esther watched me, her grip on the cardboard box so tight that the corners were bending. A bright yellow head peeked over the top, the cheerful color a sharp contrast to the dark news I’d just received.

“Everything all right, dear?” Esther asked. “You look like someone dropped your basket of eggs.”

I wasn’t familiar with that exact phrase, but I understood her meaning. “Family emergency. I need to get home.”

She bit her lower lip, worry etched in the lines of her face. “I can catch the last duck. You go on home. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

Murder was about as serious as it got, but I didn’t want to take the time to explain what had happened. I slogged out of the muck, stopped at the garden hose to wash off, and slipped on my sandals. Then I jogged through the kitchen with barely a nod to Zennia, grabbed my purse from the bottom drawer of the office desk, and jotted down my departure on my time card. Before I reached the lobby, I’d already extracted my keys from my purse.

Gordon Stewart, the spa’s manager, stood at the front desk, pounding on the computer keys like Victor Borge on the piano. His fingers froze when he saw me with my purse and keys in hand.

He consulted the gold watch peeking out from the sleeve of his suit jacket, then frowned at me. “Going out?” he asked, his tone stern.

Every muscle in my back stiffened. Even though Esther owned the place and was technically my boss, Gordon managed the day-to-day operations and devoted most of that time to shadowing the employees and offering suggestions on how we could improve at our jobs. I was one of his favorite “works in progress,” as he liked to call me.

“Family emergency. I’m leaving for the day.”

I grabbed the doorknob, but Gordon spoke before I could make my escape.

“Unacceptable. We’ve got a big holiday weekend, and guests arrive tomorrow. You’re supposed to help Esther finish the decorations, I’m not sure all the rooms are ready yet, and you need to reply to any comments on the farm’s blog today. We can’t afford to have you dodging your responsibilities here.”

Dodging my responsibilities? Could he be any more dramatic? “Right now my responsibilities are at home. I’ve already asked Esther and updated my time card. I might be back later, but I’ll have to play it by ear.” I jerked the door open, walked out, and pulled the door closed behind me, but not before a “Now wait . . .” escaped through the gap.

Too bad. My sister needed me.

Luck was with me as I raced down the highway. The California Highway Patrol officer, notorious for ticketing anyone going over sixty-five on this stretch, wasn’t lurking behind his usual billboard. As I pulled up to the house, I found Mom’s car backing out of the garage. She must have spotted me in the rearview mirror, because she immediately braked and shut off the engine.

I climbed out of my car as she exited hers, and we met in the driveway, Mom’s freshly curled silver hair gleaming in the bright summer sun. Even in this July heat, she wore brown slacks and a red sweater set. I felt hot just looking at her.

Mom encircled me with a hug. “Dana, thank goodness you’re home. I don’t know what to do about Ashlee.”

I gave Mom a squeeze and let her go. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. The police can’t possibly believe Ashlee had anything to do with Bobby Joe’s death. Is she inside?” As I asked the question, I realized her car was gone, which meant she was too. “She didn’t go back to work after being questioned, did she?”

Mom shook her head. “That nice policeman who asked her all the questions wanted her to go down to the station. I was on my way there now to see what was taking so long.”

I forgot to breathe as Mom burst into tears. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blotted her eyes as I placed a hand on her back and reminded myself to inhale.

“The police station? Did they arrest her?” An image of Ashlee behind bars, wearing blue denim and trading cigarettes for playing cards, sprang to mind. I needed to stop watching those old
Charlie’s Angels
reruns.

“Not yet. They wanted to get her fingerprints, something to do with comparing them to ones they found in Bobby Joe’s pickup truck.”

“And she went? Without asking a lawyer if that was a good idea?”

Mom twisted the handkerchief, her eyes growing large. “Do you think that was a mistake? The police were so polite, and they said people get fingerprinted all the time for this kind of thing.” She wound the handkerchief tighter. “Are they going to lock my baby up?”

I eased the handkerchief from Mom’s grip and gently wiped at the mascara streaks on her cheeks.

“I’m sure she hasn’t been arrested,” I said. “But we should call a lawyer. Do you know one?”

“I already called Harry Wilson, your father’s old attorney, and asked that he go down to the station in case Ashlee needed him. After what you’ve said, I’m glad I did.”

“Me, too.”

Mom moved toward her car. “Now, I really need to get down there. Ashlee needs me at a time like this.”

I walked over and grabbed the passenger-side handle. “I’ll go with you. She needs all our support right now.”

I climbed in the car and clicked my seat belt while Mom backed out of the driveway. The drive to the station was brief and silent. I glanced at Mom and saw her chewing her lip as she clenched the steering wheel.

In the lot, Mom parked and hopped out of the car. I practically had to jog to keep up with her as she hurried to the entrance of the single-story brick building. “Slow down,” I said. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Mom said, yanking one of the double glass doors open.

She didn’t have long to wait. Ashlee stood in the lobby, still dressed in her vet smock from when she’d been at work. She’d piled her blond hair atop her head in a loose knot, her Coach sunglasses perched in front. She was talking to an older gentleman in a tailored suit that did a good job of hiding his paunch. Beside him, another man, also in a suit, listened to the conversation.

Ashlee spotted us and breezed over, as though she was window shopping at the mall, not down at the police station at the request of the cops.

“Mom, Dana, what are you guys doing here?” she asked.

Mom ran to Ashlee’s side. “Thank God,” she said. Mom squeezed Ashlee so hard, I heard her squeak. She stepped back, keeping her hands on Ashlee’s shoulders. “What happened? Did you talk to Harry?”

Ashlee gestured to the two men. “He’s right there.” I had to assume Harry the lawyer was the one in the better-fitting suit. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not sure how good he is. He doesn’t even own an iPhone.”

Apparently the best lawyers had only the hippest phones. At least in Ashlee’s world.

“Harry is a well-respected attorney in this town,” Mom said, keeping her voice low to match Ashlee’s. “I wanted his advice on how you should deal with the police.”

As if sensing the conversation was about him, Harry shook hands with the other man and headed over to us. “Dorothy, so wonderful to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

“Harry, thank you for coming down here so quickly. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

He glanced at his watch, a silver number that probably cost more than a month’s salary at the farm. “I’m afraid I’m due in court soon. I’ll try to call you later today and fill you in, but I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about.” He walked toward the door, Mom plucking at his sleeve as if that might stop him.

“Let me walk out with you. I had a quick question,” she said.

The other man walked up to Ashlee. “Thank you for coming down here, Ms. Lewis. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

Ashlee reached up and patted her hair. “Anything for the local law enforcement.”

I’d swear if she batted her eyelashes any faster, he’d have to issue her a ticket for excessive speed.

I stuck out my hand. “I’m Ashlee’s sister, Dana. What can you tell me about Bobby Joe’s death?”

We shook while I studied his large brown eyes and tan face. He was borderline handsome, but his buzz cut made his face look too severe, probably to keep the criminals on their toes.

“Detective Palmer,” he said, giving me an amused smile. “And I can’t tell you anything about Bobby Joe’s death.”

“Of course not. I just wanted to let you know that Ashlee was home last night, you know, whenever Bobby Joe was killed.”

Ashlee swatted my arm. “I already told him that.”

“Good, that’s important.” I offered Detective Palmer my most winning smile, hoping he’d let the tiniest of details slip. “Do you know what killed him? Or who?”

Detective Palmer reached into his jacket pocket as though he might show me the murder weapon right here and now, but when he brought back his hand, all it held was a pack of gum. He extracted a stick, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You sure know a lot about the business of murder. Why is that?”

“I don’t like to brag.” Well, maybe a little. “But I helped the sheriff’s department solve a murder awhile back. You should call Detective Caffrey. He’d vouch for how helpful I was.”

The amused smile returned as Detective Palmer chewed his gum, and I felt the first inkling of doubt creep its way inside my gut.

“Detective Caffrey is my cousin, and I remember him telling me all about you. Helpful wasn’t the word he used.”

I felt the skin on my face prickle and knew I was blushing. “He must have been talking about someone else.”

“Must have been.” He winked at me.

Ashlee pinched the back of my arm, and I yelped.

“What are you doing, Dana?” she hissed. “I want to go home, now.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” If this detective didn’t want my help, just as his cousin hadn’t, then I’d go home. His loss.

I marched out of the station with Ashlee right behind. I held the door open while she turned and offered Detective Palmer a little wave and a toss of her head.

Mom was walking back toward the station but stopped when she saw us.

“Are you all finished?” she asked Ashlee.

“Sure, it was no big deal. I’ll see you guys at home.” She turned toward her salsa-red Camaro, but not before I saw her lips tremble. She could pretend all she wanted, but the trip to the police station had shaken her.

I almost offered to drive her but knew Ashlee would reject the offer. Instead I climbed back in Mom’s car, and we trailed her home. She flipped a U-turn and pulled up to the curb, her tires rubbing the cement. Mom parked in the driveway. The trip had been too short for the air-conditioning to do any good, and I was sweating when I got out.

As we headed up the walk, Mom said, “I didn’t have much time with Harry. What did he tell you at the station?”

“He said I shouldn’t answer any questions without him there,” Ashlee said over her shoulder as she stepped onto the porch. We all moved into the house, the sudden drop in temperature an immediate relief. “By then, it was too late,” she said. “I’d already told the cops everything. I mean, why not? I didn’t do anything.”

Mom smoothed down the sleeve of Ashlee’s vet smock. “Of course you didn’t.”

I wasn’t exactly an expert, but all the lawyer shows warned against talking too much. “With Harry there, he could at least tell you when the police are asking you a question that seems totally innocent but that might somehow incriminate you. You wouldn’t even know you were doing it.”

Ashlee curled her lip at me. “Don’t be silly, Dana. I’m too smart for that.”

I didn’t bother to object, though it was sure tempting.

“What else happened at the police station?” Mom asked, plucking at Ashlee’s sleeve. Usually Mom wasn’t so touchy-feely. I sensed that she wanted to convince herself that Ashlee was really here and that they hadn’t forced her to remain behind at the station in one of their holding cells.

“What that cutie of a detective said would happen. Took my fingerprints. That was it.” Ashlee held up her hands. “That reminds me, I need to clean up.” She stalked off toward the bathroom, her leather mules slapping against the linoleum.

Mom watched her go, gnawing her bottom lip again.

“How about I fix you some lemonade, Mom?”

She placed a hand on one temple. “No thank you. I do believe I’ll go lie down for a little while. This whole situation has given me a headache.” She went down the hall.

My heart twisted. Mom had been through so much with Dad’s death, and now this.

Left alone, I went into the kitchen. Now that I’d mentioned the lemonade, I wanted a glass for myself. I wasn’t usually much of a drinker, but considering how this day was going, I thought about adding a splash of vodka. Not that Mom allowed alcohol in the house now that we were super-healthy eaters. Or trying to be.

I pulled a glass from the cupboard and set it on the counter as Ashlee emerged from the bathroom, drying her hands on a towel.