All Natural Murder (24 page)

I coughed and spluttered as I forced the lemonade down.

Zennia handed me a napkin. “Goodness, are you all right?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Would you like some of my kelp tea? It relaxes the muscles. Might help your throat.”

I shook my head emphatically and willed my throat to calm down before Zennia served me slimy weeds from the ocean. I managed to whisper, “I’m fine.”

“Whoo, you gave me a scare there,” she said.

I swallowed more lemonade to lube my throat before I spoke again. “Any idea who the police are thinking about arresting?”

Zennia laid a hand on my arm. “I am so thoughtless. My chi must be misfiring today. I completely forgot Ashlee was involved in this mess.”

“Is that who the police are about to arrest? Please, I need to know.”

She looked at her tea cup. I really don’t know. Maybe it’s that Todd fellow that my nephew mentioned before.”

I couldn’t tell whether Zennia was lying to protect me or really didn’t know. But the answer didn’t matter. I needed to clear Ashlee’s name no matter what. What else could I do to help? I’d interviewed everyone, broken into Todd’s truck, and confronted Donald about his drug dealings. I was running out of options.

I realized with a start that Zennia was talking to me. “Sorry, what’s that?”

Zennia gestured toward two full boxes of vegetables sitting near the back door that had escaped my attention until now. “I was saying that we’ve been overrun by tomatoes and zucchini with this hot weather. With so few guests, I can’t possibly use everything before it spoils, and I was wondering if you could take the extras to the food bank.”

“I’d be happy to.” I could use the alone time to figure out my next steps with Ashlee. Maybe I’d come up with a course of action while I was in town.

Zennia took the box of zucchini, while I grabbed the box of tomatoes. We loaded them in the back of my car, and I headed out.

On the drive, I once more struggled with whether I should tell the police about Donald’s drug dealings and that he was possibly working with Stump. I’d hesitated because I’d wanted the police’s full attention on Bobby Joe’s murder. But if the cops were using that time to build a case against Ashlee, maybe I needed to provide a distraction after all. Or maybe the drugs were somehow responsible for Bobby Joe’s death.

I exited the freeway, swung through the nearest drive-thru for an iced tea, then pulled into the first shady spot I could find. I dialed Jason’s number on my cell phone, crossing my fingers that he wasn’t too involved with work. I needed his full attention.

“Dana, it’s good to hear from you.” The warmth in his voice sent a rush of pleasure through me.

“Jason, I need some advice.”

I’d heard typing in the background when he’d first spoken, but the sound ceased.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“I’ve discovered that two of the suspects in Bobby Joe’s murder are involved in other illegal stuff, and I’m not sure if I should tell the police. They might forget all about the murder investigation.”

“What kind of illegal activity?”

The excitement in his voice leaked through the cell connection. I could imagine the journalist antenna sprouting from the back of his head.

“Drug sales.”

Jason let out a low whistle. “You said two. Are we talking a husband-and-wife team here?”

I sucked some iced tea through the straw. “No. It’s Stump and Donald. I never would have even realized those two knew each other except I stopped by the gas station yesterday right in the middle of a sale and put the pieces together.”

“Stump was selling to Donald? What was it? Meth?”

“Pot. And Stump is supplying the stuff to Donald, who then hides it in this ugly little seashell and sells it to people pretending to buy gas.”

A rumble came over the phone. I was so surprised by the sound that it took me a moment to process that Jason was laughing.

“What’s so funny? This could be important.”

Jason kept chortling while I struggled with the urge to hang up on him. When he spoke, his voice still sounded amused. “Sorry. I was picturing a major meth ring with underworld connections, but it sounds like a small-time pot operation to me. The cops don’t care about those around here. They’re way too common.”

“Even though I caught Donald in the act?” The cops in the Bay Area seemed to focus more on the large marijuana growers, but surely any drug bust was a big deal in this town.

“They might send an undercover officer out there to try and buy a bag, but they’re not going to pull anyone off another case. I’m pretty sure even my eighty-year-old neighbor sells pot in her spare time.”

Jason laughed again. Good thing we weren’t in the same room, or I might accidentally kick him in the shins.

“Huh.” Another potential dead end. Then again, Donald had seemed pretty worked up when I’d discovered his secret. Just because Jason felt the cops would overlook Donald’s dealings didn’t mean Donald wasn’t worried about it. I mulled this over.

In the silence, I heard Jason resume his typing.

“Working on a big story?” I asked.

“Article about the cooling centers being shut down due to budget cuts. A timely topic with this heat wave.”

I wished he hadn’t mentioned the heat wave. The car immediately felt hotter. I turned the ignition key and hit the A/C button, then sipped some iced tea.

“I thought those centers were popular,” I said.

“They are. But the city council sees them as a luxury item.”

I shook my head, not that Jason could see that. “Tell that to some ninety-year-old sitting at home with no air-conditioning.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Jason cleared his throat. “Say, how about dinner tonight?”

“Are you asking out of personal interest or as a reporter who wants to interview me about my drug-busting skills?”

Jason laughed. “I’ll definitely be off the clock, I promise. And you have to take a break from all this Bobby Joe stuff, too.”

I’d been about to laugh, but the sound died in my throat. “I can’t guarantee that. Zennia thinks the police are about to arrest someone, and that someone could easily be Ashlee. They stopped by to see her again yesterday.”

“I know you’re worried about your sister, but you can’t obsess every minute. You need a night off to get your head straight.”

He had a point. I felt like all I did was think about the information I had, then get confused, then review it all again with no progress. It was like exercising on a stationary bike—all you did was wear yourself out without getting anywhere. “I’ll try. That’s the best I can do.”

“Deal. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

I hung up, feeling almost giddy. Dinner might be what Jason and I needed to smooth over the week we’d been having.

With a renewed burst of energy, I dropped my cup into the holder and pulled out into traffic. I passed the new downtown shops, pleased to see cars parked out in front of the wine bar, before turning onto a side street and driving by a row of mostly vacant buildings. On the next block, Second Kitchen sat alone. Someone had attempted to paint over the graffiti on the two sides that I could see, but some of the words still showed through. A new blue awning covered the door, and a man in a T-shirt and shorts swept up broken glass in the parking lot.

I pulled around back to where a rolling garage door sat open and popped my trunk. A man in cargo pants and a plaid shirt appeared in the doorway and approached my car as I got out.

“Vegetables from the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa,” I told him. He grabbed the first box without a word. I took hold of the second one and followed him inside.

Three people worked in the large, high-ceilinged room, sorting through boxes, stocking shelves, and breaking down cardboard. I set down my box where the man indicated and straightened up, noting a woman whose back was to me. She turned around, and I sucked in my breath.

Tara.

She caught sight of me at the same moment and glanced over her shoulder as if she planned to run for an available exit. With none in sight, her shoulders sagged a smidge, or maybe that was my imagination. She offered me something that was probably meant to be a smile but looked instead like she’d just swallowed a bug.

I stepped around boxes and bags of canned goods to reach her side. “I didn’t realize you volunteered here,” I said.

Tara rubbed her hands on her jeans and studied her palms. “I’ve visited a food bank more than once when money was short. Now that I’m not starving, I like to help out when I can. It’s one of the few places Donald lets me go on my own.”

“He does keep you on a short leash.”

Tara brushed her hair away from her face. “He likes to keep an eye on his prize. I’m young and good-looking. He’s old and not exactly hot.”

Did Donald know his wife described him in such an unflattering light?

The man who’d helped empty my trunk came over. “Tara, when you get a chance, we need to box up some lunches for those kids.”

Tara nodded and moved toward a shelf on the far wall. I tagged along, knowing I was slowing her down as I tried to figure out why I was talking to her at all. What could she tell me that she hadn’t already?

While she grabbed some paper bags and a stack of napkins, I hovered nearby, waiting for her to finish.

She looked at me. “Are you gonna bother me with more questions about Bobby Joe? I already told you everything I know.”

“Look, the police still haven’t solved his death. I have to figure out who killed him.”

“Tara, we got a huge shipment of canned corn,” the man called again. “Give me a hand, will ya?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was trying to keep me from asking questions. Or maybe my lack of progress was making me paranoid.

Tara went to the open garage door, where a large truck now idled, and began pulling boxes off the back. We couldn’t exactly talk while she carted boxes back and forth, so I grabbed one myself and stacked it with the others. After several minutes of lifting and hefting, the truck was empty, and I was winded. Tara wasn’t the least out of breath, and she smoked. How embarrassing.

As the truck pulled away, Tara nodded at me. “Thanks for the help. Guess I owe you now.”

I wasn’t one to turn down voluntary cooperation. “Have you thought of anything useful since we last talked?”

Tara walked back into the building, me right behind her, and returned to the shelves where she’d been working earlier. She grabbed a package of juice boxes and used a nearby box cutter to slice through the plastic. When she didn’t answer, I started to wonder if she’d heard my question.

“Nope, sorry,” she finally said. She shook out a paper bag and stuffed a napkin inside, followed by the juice box. “But I haven’t been thinking about it. I’ve got my own problems.” She closed her eyes. When she opened them, I’d swear I saw tears, but she blinked, and the moisture was gone.

Something was definitely troubling her. Had she found out about Donald’s drug activities? Did she disapprove of his pot selling?

With any luck, I was about to find out.

I took a paper bag off the stack and shook it open, determined to keep Tara talking. “Let’s go back to why Donald didn’t like Bobby Joe all of a sudden. He thought you two were sleeping together, plus Bobby Joe was skimming from the till. Anything else?” Like that wasn’t enough to make a man mad.

Tara slammed a juice box on the shelf, and I winced. The cardboard bent, but didn’t bust.

“I told you,” she said. “Bobby Joe didn’t steal that money.”

“How can you be so sure? You and Ashlee say Bobby Joe is innocent, but Donald believes otherwise. And Bobby Joe was always short on cash, what with his expensive truck and all those parts. It must have been awfully hard working around that money all day, especially alone, and not be tempted.”

“He didn’t take it.”

“How do you know?” I noticed for the first time that Tara had little dark half-moons under her eyes, partly hidden by concealer. Something was keeping her up at night.

She offered a humorless smile. “I’ve felt bad about Bobby Joe getting blamed ever since he got killed. He doesn’t deserve people talking about him, especially when he didn’t do anything wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “I took the money.”

I knocked the stack of napkins to the floor as I brought my hand up to my chest, and scrambled to pick them up. “You were stealing from your own husband? Why?”

“A little insurance.”

“Insurance against your husband?”

The same guy wandered past us, humming to himself. I must have appeared awfully threatening if he felt the need to constantly remind me of his existence.

“I’m not exactly new to this game. Donald married me as a trophy wife, nothing more.”

I started to interrupt, but she held up a hand.

“I’m sure he loves me in his own way, but our relationship isn’t based on deep conversations and shared worldviews.” She grabbed a tuna pouch from a nearby box and added it to the bag. “He saw me at that diner where I was working, liked the way I shook my booty, and made me an offer. Keep working in a dive in the middle of nowhere or marry him and enjoy the middle-class life.”

“All the more reason not to steal from him, am I right?” I don’t know why I was needling Tara, but I had trouble with a woman blatantly stealing from her husband. Did everyone lie, cheat, or steal in a marriage these days?

Tara gave me a smile that said she knew more about the world than I could ever learn. “You can’t see it through my jeans, but an expiration date is already stamped on my ass.” She slapped her butt, in case I couldn’t find it on my own. “I saw some cellulite last week. Any day now, Donald’s going to decide I’m old and used up at thirty-two and go find himself a younger model.”

A truck rumbled up to the back of the food bank, its brakes squealing as it slowed.

“Is that why you tried to blame the missing money on the other clerk, the young, pretty one you mentioned?”

Tara adjusted her top. “You got it. She has her eye on Donald, and I need to make sure she’s fired before she can sink her pretty little nails into him, if she hasn’t already.”

“You think Donald’s cheating on you with her?”

“Something’s up. He’s been acting squirrely for a while now, making secret phone calls, running errands but bringing nothing back. I know the signs.”

I nodded to keep her words flowing. “So you started stealing the occasional twenty.”

Tara licked her lips like a lion eying a gazelle. “I was stealing before that, but I upped the amount when Donald started acting different. The man never met a dollar he didn’t like. Which is why he made sure I signed a pre-nup. If I leave, I get nothing.”

“Surely if Donald’s the one who cheats, then you could get a settlement. Doesn’t the pre-nup cover situations like that?”

“If I’m the one who asks for the divorce, I get nothing, no matter what. So Donald can sleep around all he wants, and I can either sit there like yesterday’s leftovers or leave with my dignity and not much else. Which is why I decided to take that money. I consider it payment for all those times Donald made me dress like a schoolgirl in bed.”

Ack! Too much information. “And here Donald thinks Bobby Joe was to blame,” I said, circling back to the reason I was talking to her.

Tara started filling another bag. “He must realize by now that he was wrong. I’m still taking my fair share, even with Bobby Joe dead. But things are going to blow up soon.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Donald was totally freaked last night. I don’t know if his honey on the side has a boyfriend, or if he figured out I was on to him, but he was jumpier than one of those twitchy Chihuahuas. Kept looking over his shoulder, sweating every time the phone rang. This morning, he was up and out super early. Maybe he’s gonna run off with the little tramp.”

Or maybe Donald was worried the police were about to arrest him for his drug dealing. Tara seemed completely oblivious to that side of Donald’s life. I wouldn’t be the one to tell her, but I did say, “I’m sure he’s not cheating on you.”

Tara went back to her wise smile. “I wish I had your sunny outlook.” She glanced toward the front of the food bank, where a few people had entered, and gasped. “Oh crap, here comes Donald to drive me home. You need to get out of here. He’ll blow his top if he sees me with you.”

Donald was a man who might have already lost a profitable side business, thanks to me. He was bound to be furious when he saw me here.

Was it too late to run?