All Natural Murder (5 page)

“A few years. I’m starting to make a name for myself again. This rally could be my big shot to the majors.” He smiled at me and rubbed his chin.

Ashlee had said almost the same thing about Bobby Joe. “My sister’s dating a driver. Well, used to date him. Bobby Joe Jones. Do you know him?”

At the mention of Bobby Joe’s name, the toothy smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. His sudden change in demeanor made goose bumps prickle my skin.

He crossed his arms and stepped toward me. “Who did you say you were again?”

Suddenly he looked awfully big and the doorway behind him looked awfully small. “I’m Dana. I work here at the spa.” I took a step back as Crusher continued to glare. His name didn’t sound so funny anymore.

“So you’re friends with Bobby Joe, huh? You digging around in my room, hoping to find out about my moves?” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “Well, good luck, ’cause I’ve got everything right up here.”

This monster truck business was more competitive than I’d realized. And from the sounds of it, he hadn’t heard about Bobby Joe’s murder. “Look, I wasn’t going through your things.” I gestured toward the coffee table. “I looked through the magazines and saw that baseball sheet with the odds, that’s all.”

Crusher held up the piece of paper. “So that’s what this is about. Do you even work here?”

“Let me get my boss. She can vouch for me.” I craned my head to see if Esther would magically appear in the doorway as if by mental summons, but no one was there.

“I want to know who sent you. Was it Vince?”

“Look, let me find my boss. We’ll get this straightened out.”

I stepped to the side to maneuver around him, but he matched my step with one of his own. With a coffee table on one side and the couch on the other, I had nowhere to go. I was trapped.

Crusher moved toward me, and I held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Stop right there. I am an employee of the spa. I am not a spy. And if you don’t let me go, I’m calling the police.” A total bluff, but maybe my stern tone would make him reconsider whatever he was about to do.

He stepped back and to the side, gesturing for me to walk through with a sweep of his arm. “Whoa, honey. I’m not keeping you here.”

I quick-stepped over to the vacuum and grabbed the handle.

“But the next time you clean my room, try not to snoop,” he added.

“I wasn’t snooping.” Well, maybe a little. Head held high, I wheeled the vacuum out the door and down the breezeway, where I stopped and sagged against the wall.

What had happened there? The man had gone from Mr. McFlirty to Mr. McThreaty as soon as I mentioned Bobby Joe’s name. And what was with the spy business? And who was Vince? Monster trucks weren’t synonymous with espionage. Maybe Ashlee could clue me in.

I left the vacuum by the wall and hurried down the path. As I passed the second cabin, I heard, “Dana!”

I backed up a couple of steps and poked my head in. “Yes, Esther?”

“Did you finish the cabins already?”

“Both were occupied. I’ll come back later.” I really wanted to call Ashlee, so I didn’t offer to help with the vacant cabins. Before Esther suggested the idea herself, I scooted past the door and around the corner.

This time, the pool area was empty, though someone, probably Crusher, had dragged a chaise longue from under the shade of the redwood tree so it sat directly in the sun. A blue jay squawked on a low-hanging branch, and another jay farther away answered.

With Zennia most likely in the kitchen, I slipped into the dining room through the French doors to avoid further conversation, intent on getting my cell phone. The sky-blue walls seemed to take a couple of degrees off the room’s already cool temperature. Zennia had filled the slender vases on each table with red dahlias, and they provided a bright pop against the cream tablecloths. The barn-shaped clock and the framed photographs on the wall, which showed the farm and Blossom Valley five decades ago, combined with the crisp linens and gleaming silverware, gave the room a homey yet elegant vibe.

I stepped into the hall and went straight across to the office where my cell phone waited in my purse. I really needed to remember to carry it with me and save myself some walking.

Gordon sat at the computer, and I almost let out a groan. Couldn’t I make one little phone call without his listening in? He’d no doubt have some comment about making personal calls on company time.

He still wore his suit, jacket and all, and had recombed his hair to its usual gleaming helmet. “Dana. Just the person I was looking for.”

Yippee, my lucky day.

“I placed an ad in the
Herald
earlier this week for a yoga instructor here at the spa and have already received a few résumés. I’ll be calling one or two in and thought you could be the first line of defense. Weed out the riffraff. When you find a decent candidate, I’ll conduct a more formal interview and make the final selection.”

Even though Gordon wanted me to interview the people first so he wouldn’t have to waste his own time, I was secretly pleased. Back when I worked in marketing at a computer software company in San Jose, I’d loved first-round interviews. People who looked fantastic on paper would be far less stellar in person, much like online dating. I recalled the woman who arrived for an interview dressed as a clown and made balloon animals while we talked to convince me of her creativity, the woman who brought her yappy terrier because the dog sitter was sick, and the man who was a construction worker until an alien abduction turned him toward marketing. I never quite got that last one. Did the aliens want him to convince the public that aliens were good and ease the way for when their mother ship landed?

“Dana,” Gordon snapped. “Are you listening?”

The man who’d brought UFO bookmarks to the interview vanished from my mind’s eye. “What? Yes, that sounds great. Let me know when you’ve set up the interviews.”

I bent down, opened the bottom drawer of the desk, careful not to bang Gordon’s knee, and slid my phone out of my purse. I sensed Gordon staring at me as I eased the drawer shut and felt compelled to say something.

“Like to keep it handy, what with that family emergency and all.” I had no idea why the guy always made me feel like I needed an excuse. Esther’s farm wasn’t a jail. I was allowed more than one phone call.

Gordon rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “That’s right, your sister being a murderer. Make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work.”

I felt the blood rush to my head as a ringing sounded in my ears. “My sister didn’t kill anyone,” I managed to squeeze out between my compressed lips. I turned on my heel and marched out, reminding myself that Gordon wasn’t my boss, even if he was the farm manager. It was a tricky situation that called for just enough obedience that Gordon wouldn’t complain to Esther. Still, if I wanted to take an early break to make a personal phone call, that was well within my rights.

Then again, no need to broadcast it. I slipped out the dining room door, crossed the patio area, cut through the bushes by the redwood tree, and landed on the Hen House Trail near the chicken coop. Both the Hen House and Chicken Run trails looped through the wilder parts of the property, cutting swaths through manzanita, oak, and pine trees and offering guests an opportunity to enjoy nature as they walked around the property.

But it was too hot to walk today. I waved to the chickens out in the yard and spotted Berta pecking at the dirt in the corner. As soon as I rounded the first bend of the trail, I whipped out my phone and checked the reception, always spotty in the area. Two bars. Not the best, but maybe enough.

I punched in Ashlee’s number and waited through four rings. As I started to compose a voice mail message in my head, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Ashlee, it’s me. I need to talk to you.”

“Good timing. We finished an enema on a Great Dane a minute ago. He ate an entire love seat. Leather. Can you imagine?”

I swatted at a horsefly buzzing around my face. “I’d rather not. I wanted to ask you about Bobby Joe and this truck rally. Did he ever talk about a guy named Crusher?”

Ashlee let out a squeal, and I flinched at the sound. “Great name, right? And man, is that guy hot. I almost asked him out right there at the fairgrounds after I found out Bobby Joe was cheating on me. He would have been so jealous. Wish I hadn’t chickened out.”

Guess she was recovering from Bobby Joe’s death already.

“So he and Bobby Joe competed quite a bit?” I wiped away the trail of sweat running from my temple to my jaw and wished I’d made the phone call from inside the house, Gordon’s disapproval and eavesdropping be damned.

“Almost every rally. I know Bobby Joe was super worried about this weekend and was trying out that new stuff I told you about that he wouldn’t show me, something that would crush the competition.” Ashlee giggled. “Get it? Crush the competition, and his big rival’s name is Crusher?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Why are you asking me about Crusher?”

“He’s staying here at the spa. I met him a bit ago.” I didn’t add how our meeting had deteriorated into accusations of spying, but now Crusher’s questions made sense. If Bobby Joe was working on new moves, then Crusher probably was too, and he definitely wouldn’t want anyone finding out before the contest, especially with scouts in the audience. No wonder he was paranoid.

“Maybe I should visit you at work,” Ashlee said. “Last I heard, Crusher didn’t have a girlfriend.”

Yep, definitely over Bobby Joe.

“Don’t you think you should be more worried about this police investigation? You know, the one where your boyfriend was murdered?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Ashlee said. “Do you think Crusher had something to do with it? ’Course, killers aren’t usually that good-looking.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Haven’t you heard of the Preppy Killer? Ted Bundy?” Or was I the only one who watched TruTV? I swatted at another fly. “Never mind that. I have no idea if Crusher was involved in Bobby Joe’s murder, but it’s a place to start. Now I have to get back to work.”

“Me, too. A cat needs to be neutered.”

On that note, I hung up. As I stuffed the phone into my back pocket, I heard a rustling sound coming from the direction of the house. Probably a squirrel galloping through the bushes.

I headed back, but stopped when I heard another noise ahead of me, one that didn’t sound like a squirrel. Were those footsteps? As I rounded the corner of the trail, I heard louder crackling, followed by a giant splash. I picked up my pace, looped around the redwood tree, and came out on the patio.

Crusher was back in the pool, water marks on the cement indicating the splash I’d heard. Practicing his cannonballs? Or running back and jumping into the pool so I wouldn’t know he’d been listening to my end of the phone call?

I watched Crusher touch the far wall, flip around, and cut through the water for another lap. A monster truck deal that involved sponsors, fame, and a large paycheck might be important enough to kill for. Maybe Crusher had decided to eliminate the competition to guarantee his success.

Definitely worth looking into.

I just hoped my theories weren’t all wet.

I hurried past Crusher in the pool and went around the corner. Esther was working in the second-to-last vacant cabin, so I grabbed some cleaning bottles and rags from the maid’s cart and made short work of Crusher’s bed and bath, followed by a quick vacuum. At the last second, I grabbed one of the flags from a stack on the cart and laid it across a pillow.

The D
O
N
OT
D
ISTURB
sign no longer hung from the other cabin door, so after a knock and a pause, I entered. The cover on one side of the bed was smooth, while the other side was rumpled. A pillow rested at one end of the couch, the imprint of a head still obvious. I knew the room belonged to a married couple, and I’d taken to calling them the Bickersons, though the name didn’t really fit. You had to actually talk to each other if you wanted to bicker.

I finished cleaning their room, added a flag to the bed and one to the couch, and pushed the vacuum back out the door. Esther was draping her dust rag over the side of the cart outside.

“I can take the cleaning supplies back to the house,” I said.

Esther mopped her face with a fresh towel, then added it to the bag of dirty linens. “Thanks. That’ll give me a chance to see those giant green worms Gordon was complaining about. I can’t imagine they’re as awful as he says.”

A shudder ran through my shoulders as I remembered the plump, horned worm. “They’re pretty bad. One look was enough for me.”

Esther patted my arm. “You lived in the city too long. You’ll get used to all these creepy crawlies now that you’re outside so much of the day.”

“No, thanks. If you need me, I’ll be in the nice, air-conditioned house.”

I attached the vacuum to the front of the cart and pushed the whole thing down the path as Crusher came around the corner.

My heart did a double-beat. Did he know I’d returned to his room to finish cleaning? Would he accuse me of snooping again? But rather than grill me like a hot dog, he scrubbed at his hair with the towel as he walked by, pretending not to see me. Either he was embarrassed by his earlier behavior or he felt guilty about eavesdropping on my phone call to Ashlee. I really wanted to know which one it was.

I wheeled the cart past the pool and patio, the picnic tables still empty, and entered the kitchen. I nodded at Zennia as she hovered over a large plastic bowl at the counter, then pushed the cart down the hall and wedged it in a corner of the laundry room.

Back in the kitchen, I peeked in the bowl and saw that Zennia was cleaning an octopus. I didn’t even want to know where she’d found such a thing to feed the poor guests. After more than two months of helping prep and serve meals, my stomach still shrank when I saw most of Zennia’s cooking. Why couldn’t she use normal ingredients, like something without so many legs? But I knew Zennia prided herself on opening people’s minds to unusual foods.

She thrust her knife into the octopus body, creating a squishy tearing sound that made my stomach roil.

“Need any help with lunch?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.

“I’m sure I can find you something to do.” She set the knife down and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “This octopus has almost gotten the best of me. I’ve hacked it up so much that I’m worried I won’t have enough for the guests. So unfortunate. I really wanted you to try this recipe.”

My spirits lifted as the threat of octopus for lunch vanished, but I managed not to smile. “Maybe next time.” Guess I’d have to stop in town for some yummy, fat-filled fast food.

“Good thing I saved that natto from yesterday,” Zennia said.

Oh, right, that. “Good thing,” I muttered. I scanned the kitchen, wanting to change the subject before she suggested I try the natto right now. “How about I whip up a salad for everyone?”

“Great idea. I picked the tomatoes and cucumbers this morning.” She placed the octopus parts in a large pot boiling on the stove.

I grabbed a head of lettuce out of the crisper drawer and a chef’s knife from the wood block. “Where do you buy octopus anyway? I used to see it all the time at the grocery stores in the Bay Area, but never up here.”

“I buy all my seafood from Eduardo. He catches everything fresh, then drives his truck over the hill and sells it at the junction.”

The knife almost sliced my thumb, rather than the lettuce, as I thought about what she had said. “You buy your fish from the back of a truck? In this heat?”

Zennia laughed as she placed a new bowl on the counter and poured olive oil in it. “You make it sound so seedy. Eduardo is licensed, and I like buying local food to help the local economy. Plus, I don’t have to feel guilty about buying from large companies who are depleting our ocean’s fish supply.”

No, instead she could feel guilty when she accidentally poisoned a guest with overheated, tentacled sea life.

“If you say so. Do we still have just the three guests?”

Zennia added a splash of red-wine vinegar to the bowl. “For now, but every cabin is reserved this weekend.”

I opened the cabinet door over the counter and removed three salad bowls. After some slicing and dicing, I assembled the salads and set them on the kitchen table to await delivery to the dining room. Guests knew that lunch was served anytime after twelve, and people generally showed up right on time, probably to get the meal out of the way so they could enjoy their afternoon.

The rooster clock on the wall showed one minute to twelve, so I stepped into the hall and poked my head into the dining room. Sure enough, Crusher sat at one table while the Bickersons occupied another. As usual, the two sat in silence, each staring at the wall over the other’s shoulder. I wondered which one had slept on the couch. I sure hoped they weren’t here to reconcile their marriage. If so, the plan had failed.

I pulled my head back and returned to the kitchen, where I drizzled Zennia’s tofu-based ranch dressing on each salad before taking two bowls to the Bickersons. They nodded their thanks while managing to not look at each other, and I slipped out to grab the last salad bowl.

As I approached Crusher’s table, I tried to think of some way to talk to him after the incident in his cabin, but he saved me the trouble.

“Hey, there, gorgeous,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I almost checked behind me to see if a supermodel had shown up, but apparently he was talking to me. Guess he’d forgotten I was a potential spy.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his Grave Digger T-shirt, and lifted one boot-clad foot onto the neighboring chair. “Hope I didn’t scare you back in my cabin. In my kind of business, you can’t be too careful. Everyone knows I’m making a name for myself, and they want to know how I’m doing it.”

I set the salad bowl on the table and wiped my hands on my shorts, my palms suddenly clammy as I saw an opportunity to question him. “And how are you doing it?” By killing off the competition?

“Hard work and talent.”

“Did Bobby Joe have a lot of talent?” I asked, tensing. Would he freak out again at the name?

But if he was angered by my question, he hid it well. “I guess,” was all he said. He slid his foot off the chair and stabbed a piece of lettuce with his fork. “Now, I gotta eat. I’ve got practice later.” He thrust the greenery into his mouth and stared at the dish while he chewed.

The couple at the other table was intent on their own salads, but I lowered my voice anyway. “I heard you and Bobby Joe were big rivals.”

Crusher smacked his lips. “This dressing’s great. Homemade?”

Guess that was his not-so-subtle way of telling me he wouldn’t be talking about Bobby Joe. “Specialty of the kitchen. I’ll let the chef know you like it.”

I retreated from the room. In the kitchen, Zennia was slicing the octopus into bite-size pieces.

“Dana, thanks for dropping off those salads. I can handle the entrée if you want your lunch now.” She glanced at the fridge, where the natto waited. I still hadn’t quite worked myself up to trying the fermented soybeans with probiotics, whatever the heck those were.

“Gee, um, I really need to run an errand first.” I stared at the tentacle hanging off the cutting board as I tried to think of a believable errand. I rarely had dry-cleaning. I still had plenty of cash from my last trip to the bank. The bills were in the mail. My gas tank was half full.

Well, half full wasn’t completely full, now was it?

“Gas, I need gas. You know how busy it gets in the evenings, especially during the summer.” And if I happened to grab a burger while I was in town, who could blame me?

Zennia gave me a funny look, knowing full well the local gas stations were never busy, but didn’t challenge my claim. “Don’t worry, it’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

Yes, of course it would.

I stopped by the office for my purse, then climbed into my car, turning on the air conditioner before I tuned in to the radio. I roared out of the parking lot and down the lane.

I’d told Zennia I was buying gas, and that was exactly what I was going to do. And what better place than Running on Fumes, the place Bobby Joe worked right up until he was killed?