All Natural Murder (4 page)

Was it something I said?

Or something the man arguing with her had said?

I scraped the burned edges off my bagel, slathered on the cream cheese, and gobbled up my breakfast, anxious to get to work. I’d already wasted enough time at the restaurant, especially since I’d found out absolutely nothing. Except that Maria had apparently been struck by a spontaneous case of stomach flu.

With a last gulp of coffee, I tossed a couple dollars on the table, paid my tab at the door, and hopped in my Civic. The morning heat was stifling. I flipped on the air conditioner as I eased out of the parking lot. Summers in Blossom Valley often reached ice-cream-for-dinner temperatures, but this latest heat wave was almost unbearable.

At the farm, I parked on the side closest to the pond and made sure all the little ducklings were paddling in the water. At least I wouldn’t be on duck roundup this morning.

The lobby was empty, the rustle of the potted ficus leaves the only movement as warm air drifted in the door with me. The blue-and-white checkered love seat and matching blue wing chairs patiently waited for guests to sit and browse through the activity brochures spread out on the side table.

I went down the hall and hung a left into the office. While I waited for the computer to boot up, I read the book spines in the bookcase by the door. Esther was always adding new titles to her eclectic collection. I spotted
Learn Mandarin in Minutes
, the latest purchase, and wondered how long it would be until she was speaking Chinese. Of course, she’d purchased a book on learning hip-hop a while back, and I had yet to hear her rap a single verse.

After checking e-mail, I typed up the spa’s daily blog. When the farm had first opened and I’d started the blog, I’d heard nary a peep in reply, leading me to believe that no one ever read the thing. But then a few comments started to trickle in, and now I had a steady group of readers, some former guests, others random people. I tried to put in extra effort now that I knew my posts weren’t merely disappearing into cyberspace.

With the hot weather, I’d focused the week’s topics on staying cool, keeping pets comfortable, and eating rehydrating foods. I’d use today’s entry to describe how to read sunblock labels, verifying both UVA and UVB information.

I worked steadily for twenty minutes, while occasional sounds drifted in the open door. Based on the clink of silverware on dishes, Zennia was prepping breakfast, the one meal of the day when the food she prepared was what most folks would consider normal. Homemade granola, yogurt parfaits, and omelets from eggs produced by the farm’s chickens were all part of her repertoire.

I read through my blog one last time, posted it to the spa site, and headed down the hall to see if Zennia needed help.

Today, she wore a yellow tank sundress, the light cotton material brushing the floor, the tips of her Birkenstocks peeking out as she moved.

She was slicing peaches on a cutting board and paused to wave the knife at me. “There you are. You know, you sped out of here so fast yesterday that you didn’t get to try my new recipe for natto.”

“What’s natto?” I asked a little fearfully. I never knew what to expect from Zennia’s cooking.

“It’s made from soybeans that have been fermented with special bacteria that provide lots of healthy probiotics for your digestive system.”

Finally, a benefit to Ashlee being taken downtown for questioning. I’d avoided natto. “Gee, Zennia, sorry about that. Family emergency and all.”

She pointed over her shoulder at the fridge. “Don’t worry. I saved you a bowl. It’s there whenever you’re hungry.”

With a bowl of natto waiting for me, I might never be hungry again.

Zennia set the knife on the cutting board and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I heard about Ashlee being involved in that man’s murder. How is she holding up?”

For a moment, I wondered how Zennia had already heard, but then I remembered her nephew worked for the sheriff’s department. Besides that, in a town of only five thousand residents, everyone had most likely heard about Bobby Joe by now. And everyone knew Ashlee was his girlfriend.

“She’s doing okay,” I said. “But she wasn’t really involved with his death. I mean, she was home long before someone killed him.”

Zennia hung the dish towel back up. “Of course Ashlee had nothing to do with his death. Everyone knows she’s sweet as agave nectar.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you saying that.” At least I could count on Zennia’s support. I could only imagine what the other residents of Blossom Valley were saying.

“If you’re not busy this morning, Esther mentioned that Heather’s home taking care of a sick child, so she might need help with the rooms.”

“Okay, I’ll check with her.” I hadn’t seen Esther in the house this morning, but maybe she was out on the grounds somewhere. The farm had acres of woods and trails, a hot springs, vegetable gardens, and the guest cabins, and I often went hours without seeing my boss. I headed out the back door of the kitchen in search of Esther and any work she needed me to do around the farm, admiring the deep green of the basil as I passed through the herb garden, its scent reminding me of Mom’s spaghetti sauce.

A man, presumably one of the guests, swam laps in the pool. As I walked by, the tattoo of a pelican popped out of the water with each stroke of his arm, making it appear as if the bird was diving for fish. He reached the end of the pool and turned in my direction, catching me in mid-stare. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and he spent a lot of time outdoors if his tan was any indication. I smiled and nodded hello before hurrying my steps toward the main path.

The ten guest cabins were on my left, but every door was closed, with no maid cart in sight. Esther must not have started cleaning yet. I followed the paved path toward the vegetable garden, wishing I’d worn a hat to block the sun.

In the distance, I spotted Gordon, the manager, dressed in a suit and standing among the tomato plants. As I approached, he scowled at a plant and kicked the dirt. A cloud of dust puffed up, then settled on his shiny leather shoes. His frown deepened. I noticed his clipboard, a constant companion, tucked under one arm. I’d never managed to see what he wrote on those pages, but he always carried it with him.

“What brings you out here this morning?” I asked as I stopped before him. Gordon rarely strayed from the lobby unless he wanted to spy on the employees.

His hair, normally stiffly gelled into uniform rows, drooped in the heat, a lock breaking ranks and falling across his forehead. “That fool, Clarence, called last night to say his wife was in labor and he was taking her to the hospital.”

Clarence was our latest staff addition. After attending several organic farming classes, he’d been hired to tend to the ever-growing vegetable and herb gardens, with the understanding that he could take vacation time once his wife had her baby.

I plucked a deep-red tomato off the nearest plant, sure Zennia would find a use for it. “How exciting. I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“Makes no difference. He’s going to be out for two weeks either way.” He grabbed a rotten tomato off the ground and chucked it into a nearby zucchini plant. “I thought women spent hours in labor. I bet he could have finished spraying this morning and still made it to the hospital before that kid pops out.”

Gordon, always the sensitive guy. Sometimes I wondered if he’d been raised by robots. “Maybe he didn’t want to risk missing the miracle of life.”

“Whatever. Now I’m stuck figuring out what to use to kill the damn worms on these tomato plants.”

He pointed to a plant, and I leaned in for a closer look. Nestled on one of the leaves was a plump green worm, three inches in length, with protrusions on his head that resembled horns. As I stared, the worm reared up and waved his body at me.

I drew my head back with a shudder. “Yuck. We definitely need to get rid of those.”

“Yeah, but with what? Clarence mixes all his own natural pesticides, and I can’t read his labels. I’ve got half a mind to stop by the hardware store and grab a bottle of bug spray.”

“This is an organic farm. You can’t use chemicals.” If Zennia got wind he’d even suggested such an idea, she’d have to meditate for a week to calm herself down

Gordon grunted, beads of sweat visible on his hairline. “Once wouldn’t hurt anything. I don’t have time to drive all over town searching for that all-natural nonsense.”

“Did you text Clarence about it? I’m sure he could tell you which bottle to use. You know, as long as his wife isn’t mid-push or anything.” Visions of Clarence in hospital scrubs texting on his smartphone while his wife lay nearby, her mouth open in a scream, filled my head, but I banished the thought and focused on Gordon.

“Texting is for teenagers.” He pulled his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket and peered at the screen as if mystified. “But it might be the only way.”

“Great. You contact Clarence. I’m off to find Esther.” I wound my way through the plants and back onto the path. This time, when I approached the cabins, I spotted the maid’s cart in front of the first cabin, the door partly ajar.

I popped my head in and saw Esther running a dust rag over the dresser top, her faded red peasant blouse sticking to her back in places.

“Esther,” I said.

She jerked around, a hand flying to her top button. “Mercy me, you scared an extra five years off my life.”

“Zennia mentioned that Heather is out today, and I wondered if you needed help with the rooms.”

“That would be peachy. Only two cabins have guests right now, but we’re expecting a full house after tomorrow’s check-in, so I was freshening up the other rooms, too. Why don’t you do cabins four and six, where the guests are?” She held up a little American flag on a wooden stick. “I’m also putting these flags you ordered in each cabin to start off the holiday weekend.”

“Great, I’ll do that, too. Which reminds me, I’m hanging the balloons and banners this afternoon.”

“I can always count on you,” Esther said. She returned to dusting.

I grabbed the vacuum handle with one hand and the pass key dangling off the cart with the other and rolled down to cabin six. A D
O
N
OT
D
ISTURB
sign hung from the knob. I moved down two doors, where the knob was empty, and knocked. No answer, so I used the key to let myself in, steeling myself.

Two months earlier, I’d been in this exact situation when I’d entered a cabin and found a dead body. I’d cleaned the rooms several times since then, but I always got a little shiver when I first walked in.

The cabin was dark, the blackout curtains drawn. I pulled the cord, and sunlight poured into the room, making me squint. Several papers lay on the floor, and I gathered them up into a stack. I glanced at the top sheet. Baseball teams and odds ran down the page. Maybe this guest liked to bet on the games. I set the pages on the coffee table, near a stack of magazines.

Other than the papers on the floor, whoever was staying here was relatively neat. This person had remade the bed, smoothing out the tan spread with its embroidered leaves. No trash littered the floor, no clothes hung off the chairs. The only other signs of occupancy were a rolling suitcase in the corner, a partly open closet door, and the magazines.

The bright color of the clothing in the closet drew my attention, and I took a peek. A padded jumpsuit, like race-car drivers wore, hung from the rod. Pictures of flames and rocks covered the thick material. A matching helmet with flames sat on the closet floor. I returned to the magazines, wondering what they had to do with the clothes and helmet in the closet. The top one showed an off-road vehicle leaping over a dirt hill. I poked through the rest of the stack. All three magazines focused on off-roading or racing.

Ashlee’s comments came back to me. Was this person somehow involved in the big monster truck tournament this weekend? What other reason could they have for that outfit in the closet? I picked up a magazine and flipped through it, seeing page after page of dirt tracks and mud-covered trucks.

“Find something to your liking?” a voice boomed behind me.

With a squeal, I dropped the magazine on the floor and whirled around. The guy from the pool stood in the doorway, water from his slicked-back blond hair running in rivulets down the side of his head and over his bare chest. His hair was a smidge too long, his arms a little soft. I could see the hint of a six-pack outline under the layer of flab covering his belly, making me wonder if he’d been sipping a can from a different kind of six-pack lately.

“I’m so sorry, sir. That magazine caught my eye while I was vacuuming your room.”

He gestured at the vacuum sitting in the corner. “It works better if you turn it on.” He gave me a slow smile.

I felt my face heat up. This guy probably wasn’t even as old as me, and yet I felt as guilty and embarrassed as the time the principal caught me skipping school.

“I’ll come back later. I don’t want to get in your way.”

He rubbed his belly, whether to scratch an itch or draw attention to what he clearly thought was a spectacular body, I wasn’t sure.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here for a towel, then I’m back to the pool.” He nodded toward the magazine on the floor, and I hastily snatched it up and laid it back on the pile. “If you like monster trucks, you should come to the big rally tomorrow night. I’ll be competing. I’m known as Crusher.”

I stifled a giggle. The name sounded like something a cheesy WWE wrestler would use. But I wondered how many other drivers were on the monster truck circuit. Was it small enough that he and Bobby Joe would have known each other?

“I might have to stop by. I don’t think we’ve ever had a monster truck driver stay here at the spa.”

“All the motels in town were booked, but I’m glad I ended up here. The quiet is helping me focus my thoughts and get ready for tomorrow’s competition.”

I felt my gaze wander to his bare chest and willed myself to keep my focus on his face. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “Have you been competing long?” If he had, he must have met Bobby Joe at some point.