All Natural Murder (3 page)

“I still don’t feel clean, but I guess that’ll have to do,” she said.

I retrieved the lemonade pitcher from the fridge and poured a glassful. “Have a seat. We need to talk about last night.”

Frowning, Ashlee sat down and watched as I slid into a chair across from her. She eyed my glass. “Where’s my lemonade?”

“In the fridge. Now tell me everything that happened on your date.”

“Why?”

I grabbed a napkin from the holder and wiped the condensation off my glass and the tabletop. “Because
I
know you didn’t kill Bobby Joe, and
you
know you didn’t kill Bobby Joe, but the police don’t know that.”

“They do, too. That cute police officer told me all their questions were routine, like taking my fingerprints, and that I should relax and answer.” Ashlee had taken down her hair from her earlier knot. Now she poofed it up in the back as she talked. “You know, I might ask him out after they catch Bobby Joe’s killer. I’d do it sooner, but that might be a bit tacky.”

I stared at her. Surely Ashlee was adopted. No way were we related. “Your boyfriend just died,” I said.

“Ex-boyfriend.” She examined her fingernails.

If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have missed the tear that ran down her cheek and clung to her jaw. She was still trying to act like she wasn’t upset, but she couldn’t bottle it up forever.

I took a long drag of lemonade to clear my head. “Anyway, you can bet the police told you not to worry. They tell everyone that in the hopes that someone will get too relaxed and let something slip.”

“He was way too hot to lie to me.”

God, give me strength. “Please, Ashlee, tell me what happened. Let’s figure out if the police would be suspicious of anything you did.”

Ashlee gave a big dramatic sigh. “Fine, whatever.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Bobby Joe picked me up about seven, and we went and saw that new action movie, the one with all the racing cars and girls in bikinis.”

“When did the movie let out?” I felt like I should be jotting down her information, but I didn’t want to leave the table and give her a chance to escape.

“Nine, I guess. It was mostly dark by then.” She reached over and grabbed the
Glamour
that had come in yesterday’s mail and started browsing.

“And then?” I prompted before she could get distracted by the latest hair-care article.

She flipped the magazine closed. “Bobby Joe was all jacked from the race cars in the movie and started talking about his big monster truck rally this weekend. I told you about that last week, remember?”

I stared at her blankly.

She jutted her chin forward and let out another sigh, clearly disappointed in my bad memory. “A bunch of other drivers are coming in from out of town? And actual scouts?” My face must have still offered nothing because she threw up her hands. “God, Dana, you never listen to anything I say.”

I had a vague memory of Ashlee whining about how her holiday weekend was ruined because she’d have to spend it at the fairgrounds, watching Bobby Joe in some sort of competition. “Wait, I remember you mentioning something.”

“Nice try. Anyway, he wanted to go down to the track and check out what the other guys were planning. He’s been working on some new routine for weeks that he was keeping as a big surprise from me, but he still wanted to make sure no one had anything close. We stopped for gas on the way, and that’s when I saw all his texts.”

“What did you do, hack into his phone?”

“No, you big snot.” Ashlee squinted her eyes, her poofy hair looking more like a near-sighted cockatoo than an angry sister. “His phone kept buzzing, so I was going to shut it off. But when I picked it up, I saw all these messages.” She raised her voice in a sing-song lilt. “Oh, Bobby Joe, you’re so hot. Oh, Bobby Joe, I can’t wait to hook up with you again. Oh, Bobby Joe, you’re such a man.”

Something heavy sat in the pit of my stomach as I looked at my sister. “Did you tell the police about this?”

“Of course. They need to know what kind of guy Bobby Joe was.”

“And did you use that voice? The one that says, ‘I am so mad that my boyfriend cheated on me’?”

Ashlee flitted her eyes away from my gaze. “I might have. Why?”

I gripped my glass. “Because you’ve handed the cops your motive. Your boyfriend happens to be murdered the same night you find out he’s cheating? What are the odds?”

Ashlee paled under her self-tanner. “I-I didn’t think about that.” She swallowed so loud, I could hear her. “Uh-oh.”

The object in my gut expanded in size and doubled in weight. “What do you mean, uh-oh?”

“Well, I didn’t say anything to the cops, but . . .” Her voice trailed away.

I leaned across the table. “But what?”

She still wouldn’t meet my gaze as she traced a chip in the surface of the table wood. “We argued in his truck on the drive to the fairgrounds. When we got there, we were still fighting all the way across the parking lot. And I yelled at him in front of a bunch of people.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Totally understandable. The cops would expect you to chew him out.”

Ashlee shook her head, tendrils of blond hair waving around her face. “I don’t care so much that I got all huffy in front of his stupid friends. It’s what I said.” Tears pooled along her lower lids as she finally met my gaze. “I told Bobby Joe I was going to kill him.”

Ashlee swiped at the tears. “Everyone must have heard me threaten to kill Bobby Joe. Do you think someone will tell the cops?”

I stood, too tense to remain seated. I rubbed my forehead with one hand, but the thoughts in my brain didn’t get any clearer. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating about what you said. But we should ask that lawyer, Harry. He might suggest you tell the police yourself, before someone else mentions it.”

Ashlee jumped up, the tension contagious. “Oh God, I’m going to be arrested.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I’m too pretty to go to jail. Someone will want me for their girlfriend.”

Leave it to Ashlee to turn a serious situation into a preposterous one. The three-year age difference between us now felt like three decades. “Don’t overreact. You were mad at Bobby Joe. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re angry. The cops will be interested in a lot more than your little outburst.”

I tried to recall my first week at the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa, when one of the guests had been murdered, and the steps the detectives had taken to find his killer. I snapped my fingers.

“Do the police have the murder weapon, whatever it is? Maybe it has prints on it, and that’s why they wanted yours for comparison. The cops will know you didn’t kill Bobby Joe as soon as the results come back.”

Ashlee rubbed her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think so?”

Actually, I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure how Bobby Joe had died, but any killer who watched TV would know to wipe off his prints. I nodded anyway, wanting to calm Ashlee down. “I’m sure they’ll figure out who the real killer is in no time.”

Ashlee smiled, the tears already drying on her cheeks. “I bet you’re right.” She touched her hair and frowned. “I need to take a shower. That station gave me the willies with all those criminals. Who knows what cooties jumped on me.”

According to the
Herald
, the biggest criminal so far this week had been some kid who’d tried to rob the Hole in One doughnut shop with a water gun and a ski mask. His math teacher had been buying a newspaper at the same time and recognized his voice, and the kid had burst into tears and cried for his mommy. Not exactly scum of the earth. Of course, now the major criminal in town was whoever killed Bobby Joe, but he obviously wasn’t down at the police station yet if the cops were talking to Ashlee.

She went into the bathroom, and a moment later, I heard water running. I wandered aimlessly around the kitchen, straightening the dish towel, putting the chef’s knife back in the block, anything to keep busy.

I could go back to the spa and put in a few more hours. I could definitely use the money, and Ashlee really didn’t need me here. The police hadn’t arrested her. Maybe this whole thing would blow right over.

The doorbell rang before I could decide, and I went to answer it.

Jason stood on the doorstep in a white dress shirt and crisp chinos. My heart flip-flopped as he smiled at me, his green eyes brighter than usual in the light of the summer day.

I took a step back. “Uh, Jason, hi.” Wow, what a fantastic opening line. I’d been on a date with the guy last night, and here I was acting like we were practically strangers.

His smile faltered. “Dana, this is awkward.”

I studied him, unsure of what he meant, until he held up his spiral notebook, the one he kept in his pocket at all times as the
Herald
’s lead reporter, in case a major story broke. With a rush of insight, I realized one had.

“I’m covering Bobby Joe’s murder,” he said. “I’ve been talking to the cops all morning, and now I need to interview Ashlee. Sorry.”

I shook my head, disgusted with how dense I’d been. A crime as big as murder would be headline news in Blossom Valley. And, my sister, as girlfriend of the victim, would be part of the story.

Jason took a quick step forward into the house, as if afraid I’d slam the door in his face. “I need to nail down the events of last night. I’d like Ashlee to tell me exactly what she and Bobby Joe did before he was killed.”

Was it too late to throw him out? I liked Jason. A lot. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him questioning my sister. “She had nothing to do with his murder. She must have been home long before he even died, remember?” My words picked up pace. “You heard her here in the house when you dropped me off. I already told that detective that. Did you?” I stopped for breath and looked at Jason, waiting for him to back up my sister’s alibi.

Jason put one hand on my shoulder, still holding his notebook in the other. “I know Ashlee would never kill anyone.”

“And you told the cops she was here last night?”

“They didn’t ask, and I’m not sure it matters.”

My breath caught as hope soared through me. “What do you mean? The police know who did it already? Did they arrest someone after they talked to Ashlee?”

We’d left the station only a short time ago, but maybe another detective had been off arresting the killer.

“Afraid not. I meant the coroner has narrowed the time of death to between eleven and one. Ashlee had plenty of time to leave here and go kill Bobby Joe.” Jason watched my face as it melted with disappointment. “Not that she would have,” he added belatedly.

My knees trembled, and I suddenly wanted to sit down. I always mocked the damsel in distress who swooned at bad news, but I now understood what she was feeling. My sister didn’t have an alibi for when her boyfriend was killed. On the same night she discovered he was cheating on her.

“What about the murder weapon?” I blurted out, remembering my comments to Ashlee a few minutes before. Maybe the police had found fingerprints, slim as the chance was.

“Killed by a blow to the head with a tailpipe.”

“You can kill someone with a tailpipe?”

Jason ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair. “If you hit him hard enough. And his wallet held a few bucks, so robbery wasn’t the motive. Looks like a heat-of-the-moment killing.”

Another mark against Ashlee. Call me stubborn, but I was going to find a ray of sunshine if I had to search through fifty rain clouds. “Any prints on the pipe?” I pressed.

“Nope. Wiped clean.”

So much for that theory.

I heard a noise in the hall and turned to find Ashlee behind me, toweling her hair off. Her bare legs stuck out of a pair of artistically frayed denim shorts, her pink T-shirt declaring, “I’m a Babe.”

“What’s this about prints?” she asked, giving her hair one last good rub before running her hands through it to separate the tresses. I noted that she’d applied mascara before emerging from the bathroom.

“Jason was telling me that the police didn’t find any on the murder weapon.” I tried for casual, but my voice sounded tight.

“What?” Ashlee shrieked. She glared at me. “You told me they’d find prints. That I wouldn’t be in trouble anymore.”

“Calm down,” I said. “I’m sure the police know you’re innocent.”

Jason cleared his throat, and I whirled around.

“What?” Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation of his answer.

“There is one more thing.” He fiddled with his notebook and stared at a point over my shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “Two witnesses at the fairgrounds last night have already told the cops that Ashlee threatened to kill Bobby Joe.”

I felt like I’d been slapped. Ashlee had said she’d told Bobby Joe she’d kill him, but I assumed she’d been embellishing what she’d said. But people, real people, had seen my sister threaten her boyfriend right before he was murdered.

Behind me, Ashlee let out a wail. I rushed over and put an arm around her shoulder. “The police will solve this.”

“No, they won’t,” she blubbered, hugging the towel. “No one ever gets murdered in this town, except for that one time at your spa. And you’re the one who caught the killer.” Ashlee sniffled. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

I saw where she was heading and cut her off. “Forget it. The police will do their job.”

She slipped out from under my arm and faced me. “You have to help me, Dana. You have to solve Bobby Joe’s murder before the police throw me in the slammer. I know you can do it.”

I shook my head, but it was an automatic reflex. I was going to help my sister.

What else could I do?

I managed to hustle Jason out of the house after only a handful of questions. As I closed the door and leaned against its wood surface, I could hear Ashlee crying in the living room and went in.

She was curled up on the end of the couch, covered by a cream afghan even though the room was already so warm that I felt like going outside and running through the sprinklers. Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears.

I sat down on the other end of the couch. “Don’t cry. So the cops didn’t find any prints. So a few people heard you yelling at your cheating boyfriend. A jury won’t convict you on that.”

She bolted up on the couch, the afghan falling to her waist. “A jury? You think it’ll get as far as a jury?”

Oops. Bad timing for that phrase. “No way. The police won’t even arrest you. You have nothing to worry about.”

But did she? The Blossom Valley police department, such as it was, had little experience with murder. Even the murder at the farm had been covered by the Mendocino County Sheriff’s Department. The local police hadn’t seen a murder in years.

Of course, Ashlee had a way of magically skipping through life while being showered with good luck and smiles. The police would no doubt trip over the solution without even trying, and she’d be cleared.

Still, did I really want to bet my sister’s future on a group of officers who spent most of their days handing out speeding tickets to unsuspecting tourists driving through town on their way to the ocean? Probably not. I’d solved one murder a couple months back. Maybe I could at least look into this one, provided I could still do all my work at the farm. Esther was counting on me to help make the guests’ stay memorable for the big holiday weekend. We needed the repeat business to guarantee the farm’s survival.

I took a deep breath and hoped I wouldn’t regret my next words. “Ashlee, I promise I’ll see what I can find out about Bobby Joe’s murder.”

Ashlee grabbed my hand with a gasp, not one to tone down the drama. “I knew you would.”

The tears instantly stopped falling. The sniffles and runny nose vanished. Had I been played?

“Don’t get too excited. I can’t guarantee I’ll find out anything that will help.”

Ashlee tidied the afghan around her waist. “You’ll solve the whole thing. You’d never let me down.”

Gee, no pressure there.

I leaned forward and grabbed a pen that was sitting on the coffee table, along with the tablet Mom used to make her grocery lists. “Okay, tell me about Bobby Joe. Why would anyone want to kill him?” For a moment, I wondered if this was how Jason felt when he was conducting an interview.

Ashlee recoiled at the question. “I would never date anyone people wanted to kill. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

Considering Ashlee had dated an ex-convict, a guy who peddled Gucci knock-offs from his Web site, and pretty much any other guy who asked her out, I opted not to answer her question.

“Look, the police don’t think he was killed during a robbery. And random auto parts must be all over that fairground during a truck rally. Whoever killed Bobby Joe probably grabbed the tailpipe on the spur of the moment. We need to figure out who was angry with him and what set the killer off. Was Bobby Joe still working at that gas station?”

Ashlee nodded. “For now. Until he hit the big time with his monster truck career.”

I held my pen over the tablet. “You mentioned a competition this weekend. Was he really that good?”

“The best. You should have seen him jump those cars and whip around the track. He would have been famous. And I would have been right there with him, like those Nascar wives you see on TV.”

I put one hand over the other so I wouldn’t slap my forehead in disbelief. Or slap my sister. “Did you forget the part where he cheated on you?”

Ashlee waved her hand in dismissal. “We would have worked through that. Our love ran deep. I bet we would have gotten married if he hadn’t been killed like that.”

Oh no, here we went. Last night, Bobby Joe was a tool. Today he was a marriage-worthy monster truck master, cut down in his prime. Tomorrow, he’d be in line for sainthood.

“What can you tell me about this girl he was cheating with?”

Ashlee played with a pom-pom on the fringe of the afghan. “She must have been some hussy who got him drunk and took advantage of him, that’s all I can come up with.”

“Does this hussy have a name?”

“Melissa, Martha, Maria. Yeah, Maria sounds right. Bobby Joe said he met her at the Breaking Bread Diner. She waitresses there.”

I jotted down the name, not hiding my smirk. “The diner doesn’t serve alcohol.”

Ashlee stopped fiddling with the pom-pom. “What?”

“You said she must have gotten Bobby Joe drunk for him to cheat on you. The diner doesn’t serve alcohol, remember?” I really shouldn’t tease my sister at a time like this, but sometimes these opportunities jumped out, and I couldn’t stop myself.

Ashlee tried to stamp her foot on the floor, but it got caught in the afghan, and she almost fell off the couch. “Maybe she got him all hopped up on too much caffeine. Bobby Joe wouldn’t cheat on me without a good reason.”

She looked genuinely hurt, and I felt a pang of guilt for picking on her. “You must be right. In fact, I was thinking this girl might have killed Bobby Joe in a rage if he refused to see her again because he cared so much about you.”

Ashlee nodded eagerly. “I bet that’s it. Anyone who would cheat with a taken man is the kind who would kill him.”

I didn’t really think this other woman killed Bobby Joe, but she might be able to provide a few more details about someone who would. All Ashlee would give me were wonderful memories and a glorious, unrealized future. She seemed to have forgotten all of Bobby Joe’s shortcomings now that he was dead. His other friends might remember him differently.

Tomorrow, before I headed to work to finish all the Fourth of July preparations, I’d wake up early and stop for a breakfast of fluffy pancakes with golden syrup and fatty butter.

At the Breaking Bread Diner, of course.

 

 

The diner was packed at six-thirty the next morning. The people who lined the counter acted like they’d been up for hours, all cheerful and alert. I waited at the wooden hostess stand while the waitress led the couple in front of me to a table.

The inside of the diner sported a tractor theme, with photographs of John Deeres and wheat fields filling the walls. Criss-crossed sheaves of dried wheat hung on the wall over the pie display. Toy tractors lined the shelves positioned high on the walls, and a giant tractor wheel sat on a wooden platform in the back corner.

The waitress returned and grabbed a plastic menu from the holder on the side of the stand. “Just you?”

Wasn’t I enough? I wanted to ask. Man, I needed coffee.

I nodded.

“Booth or counter?”

“Actually, I was hoping to sit in Maria’s section.” I crossed my fingers and silently prayed that Ashlee had remembered the correct name.

The waitress scanned the dining area.

“Looks like we have one table free. Follow me.” She wound her way past several diners slurping up their eggs, buttering their toast, and salting their hash browns.

I suppressed the urge to skip as I trailed after her, astounded by my good luck—Ashlee had not only remembered the name, but this was Maria’s shift. Surely that was a good sign.

When the waitress stopped at the only vacant booth along the back wall, I plopped myself down on the Naugahyde seat, wincing as my bottom smacked the hard surface, and looked around. Which waitress was the evil temptress who had lured my sister’s boyfriend over to the dark side?

I could rule out the woman who had seated me since she would have admitted her name when I asked to sit in Maria’s section. While the plump woman in her late sixties handing off a plate of waffles to another customer was attractive enough, Bobby Joe didn’t strike me as the type to woo the geriatric crowd.

Then I noticed a petite, trim Hispanic girl about Ashlee’s age, with a curly mass of hair piled on her head and gold hoop earrings dangling from her lobes. My first thought was that she was almost too short to retrieve the dishes from the pass-thru counter, so this job must be ridiculously awkward for her. My second thought was that she was much too tiny to beat Bobby Joe to death with a tailpipe. Unless she’d kicked him in the shins first and knocked him down.

She stood near the swinging kitchen door, deep in conversation with a man with short brown hair and glasses. I couldn’t be sure, but I’d guess the two were arguing as they leaned in close to talk. Every few seconds, one or the other would look around to see if anyone was watching.

Whatever the guy was telling the girl, she wasn’t happy about it. He held up a smartphone and pointed at the screen, but she shook her head, lips pressed together. He swiftly typed on the keypad and raised the screen again, but the girl turned away. The guy slapped his hand on the wall so hard that several diners looked over. When he noticed the attention he’d drawn, he dropped his hand and stalked out of the restaurant.

Interesting.

Even from a distance, I could see the girl’s cheeks grow pink. She moved to the beverage station but didn’t fill a glass, push a button, or wipe down the machine, making me wonder if she was trying to calm her nerves before returning to work.

I glanced back toward the door and saw the man through the window as he crossed the parking lot. He climbed into an olive-green Ford pickup. The truck had a bumper sticker that I couldn’t read from this distance. My gaze went back to the waitress.

She smoothed her uniform with both hands, then pulled an order pad and pen from her apron pocket as she walked to my table.

She stopped before me, head bowed. “What can I get for you?” She didn’t make eye contact.

Up close, I noticed the sallow hue to her skin, the bags under her eyes big enough to hold a week’s worth of clothes, the marks dark like bruises. Someone was having trouble sleeping.

“Are you Maria?” I asked.

Her gaze flitted from my face to the carpet and back several times, ultimately settling on the carpet with its gold and green pattern. Kind of shy for a waitress. “That’s me. Do I know you?”

I opened my mouth and then shut it. I hadn’t thought up anything to say. I’d been so sure that Maria wouldn’t be working today or that Bobby Joe had lied to Ashlee about where he’d met his mistress that my only focus had been to find this mysterious Maria. Now what?

Maria looked up at me, probably wondering what was taking me so long to answer such a simple question.

“Uh, no, uh, one of my friends said you were a super waitress and that I should ask for you next time I ate here.” God, what a lame story.

Her eyes popped open, and she smiled. “That’s sweet. What’s your friend’s name?”

Good question. What was my imaginary friend’s name? “Um, Ashlee?” Oh, right, that wasn’t a friend, that was my sister. The one whose boyfriend supposedly cheated with this wisp of a girl. My bad.

Maria tapped her pen on her lip. She shook her head, the hoop earrings swinging like a trapeze act. “I don’t remember an Ashlee, but we get lots of people in here.” She pointed at the menu with her pen. “Are you ready to order?”

I hadn’t bothered reading the menu, I’d been so busy thinking up lies. I abandoned my plan to order pancakes and went with a smaller breakfast. “Coffee and a bagel with cream cheese.”

“Great.”

She retrieved the plastic menu with her left hand, a flash of color catching my eye. A simple gold band sat on her finger. My mind hummed as I thought of the implications. Was this really the same Maria who was cheating with Bobby Joe? Had her husband found out and killed him? Is that the man she’d been arguing with when I’d sat down?

Maria headed toward the side counter that held the coffee dispensers and extra cups and plates. I watched her go, then straightened my silverware and tried to think of a way to work the conversation around to Bobby Joe. Not the easiest job in the world, considering I barely knew him, didn’t know Maria at all, and had no reason to make chitchat with a waitress at 6:30
AM
on a Friday morning. But now that I’d spotted a ring, I had to find out if this was indeed the same Maria. Maybe she and her husband were separated. Maybe she was a young widow who was still grieving and that man I’d seen her talking to wasn’t her husband after all.

I sensed movement to my right. The waitress who had originally shown me to my table held up two carafes, separated by the big smile on her face.

“You want your coffee leaded or unleaded, darling?” Her perkiness hurt my ears.

“Leaded.”

She set the orange-topped carafe down, flipped my cup over, and poured coffee from the second carafe, then moved to the next table to offer a refill.

Over by the counter, two waitresses stood near the pass-thru window, chatting, but Maria wasn’t one of them. And she wasn’t waiting on any other tables either. Probably taking a bathroom break. I took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and added a packet of sweetener, still stumped about how to get Maria to open up to me.

Maybe I should have said Bobby Joe was the friend who recommended Maria as a waitress, but that would have set off all kinds of warning bells. Then again, if I asked her about her affair with Bobby Joe, the bells would be clanging pretty loud.

The same waitress who had poured my coffee appeared again, this time carrying my bagel and a sealed packet of cream cheese. She plopped the plate on the table with a clank.

“You need anything else, hon?”

I stared at the slightly burned bagel, wondering if my plans had gone up in smoke. “What happened to Maria?”

The waitress shrugged. “Not sure. All of a sudden she wasn’t feeling so hot and asked me to cover her shift.”

She’d definitely appeared tired when talking to me, but not sick. What had sent her hightailing it out of here so fast?