All Natural Murder (9 page)

While I drove to work the next morning, I thought about what my next step should be as I dug into Bobby Joe’s life. I’d met quite a few people, but wasn’t sure I’d learned much. Maria had vanished the second I tried to talk to her, Crusher had evaded my questions about Bobby Joe, and Tara had almost told me something, but her husband had whisked her back inside before she could. Yolanda had given me some interesting info about Bobby Joe and Stump being drug dealers, but I had to wonder if that was merely the imaginings of a lonely, old woman.

Maybe with a little more digging, I could find out what Tara had been about to tell me. And if I staked out the Breaking Bread Diner long enough, Maria might tell me how serious her relationship with Bobby Joe had been. A long-term relationship would involve feelings, possibly even murderous jealousy, if Bobby Joe had tried to break up with Maria.

I pulled into the spa’s almost full lot and parked in my usual spot. The rest of the weekend guests must have arrived last night, which meant a full dining room for Zennia. Once I typed up the day’s blog, the kitchen would be my next stop. Of course, first, I needed to think up a topic for the blog, not always the easiest of tasks. After only two months, I felt like I’d covered almost every aspect of the spa and farm.

I entered through the front door, figuring no one would be arriving this early. I didn’t feel like chatting with any guests just yet. When I’d lived in San Jose, I’d had a forty-minute commute during which I could drink coffee, listen to talk radio, and generally wake up to the day. My current ten-minute commute wasn’t the same.

As I approached the lobby door, I spotted a fuzzy yellow blob waddling across the sidewalk. Another loose duck. Esther really needed to add that bottom board to the fence. I gently picked up the duck and put it with the others, counting to make sure no one else had made a run for it. That finished, I went inside.

Both the lobby and the office were empty, and I settled into the desk chair to think up a topic. The last several blogs had covered this heat wave. The ones before that had covered perks of the spa, including the benefits of regular exercise, soaks in the hot springs, and breathing unpolluted air. Maybe I should write about green cleaning products today. Or the old-fashioned method of making your own. People might find that useful.

I did a little research and found recipes for self-made window cleaners, bleach solutions, and sink scrubbers, then typed up and posted the blog.

Gordon walked in as I brought up my Yahoo e-mail account.

“Working hard, I see,” he said. He pushed some papers aside on the desk and picked up his trusty clipboard. The way he carried it around with him all day, I’d assumed he slept with the thing, but apparently not.

He consulted the top sheet. “What are you doing this morning?”

“I unearthed a few more Fourth of July decorations that I wanted to put up, plus I noticed the parking lot was full when I arrived, so I figured Zennia could use my help prepping lunch.”

“Zennia’s fine. I spoke with her a moment ago. I’ve got two candidates coming in for the yoga instructor position. You need to interview them.”

Could be an interesting way to spend a Saturday morning. It beat catching loose ducks or cooking octopus. “What time are they scheduled?”

“Nine and ten.” He pulled a stack of sheets off the clipboard and handed them to me. “Here are their résumés. See if you can base some of your questions on what’s in them.”

“Got it. What about salary and benefits?”

“I’ll handle the salary aspect for anyone who makes it past this first round. Remember, we want someone who shows up on time and knows how to follow instructions.”

Well, that’s what
Gordon
wanted, at any rate. “And someone who knows yoga, right?”

Gordon straightened and reclipped the remaining pages. “That goes without saying.”

“I should have enough time to read over these résumés and do a little yoga research before anyone arrives.”

“Then get to it.”

I gave Gordon a mock salute, but he’d already walked out. Probably for the best. Gordon wasn’t known for his sense of irony.

Travis, the first guy I’d be interviewing, had almost no yoga experience. According to his résumé, he’d earned an associate’s degree from Sonoma State and done a summer stint at a yoga studio. Considering Gordon’s usually high standards, I wasn’t sure why he’d called Travis in, unless he wanted me to interview anyone who submitted an application and weed out all the misfits.

Evan, the ten o’clock appointment, had worked in a yoga studio in San Francisco for three years, plus he had a degree in kinesiology. He definitely had promise.

I had twenty minutes before Travis’s scheduled arrival, so I surfed the Web for trick questions I could ask each applicant and brushed up on my yoga knowledge. If nothing else, I’d taken a few yoga classes down in San Jose and could ask the candidates to demonstrate a pose or two. If I wanted to get really tricky, I could ask about alternate poses for people with back injuries or disabilities.

Nine o’clock arrived. I grabbed the résumés, a tablet, and a pen, and hurried to the lobby to greet the first applicant. Gordon stood at the front desk. The love seat and chairs were vacant.

“No Travis?” I asked.

Gordon consulted his watch. “Two minutes late already? You can send him home when he gets here. I won’t hire him.”

“A bit harsh, don’t you think? Maybe he had car trouble, maybe he’s ill.”

“No, he’s lazy. And lazy people have no place at this spa.”

Good grief. Gordon should work at West Point, not a vacation resort. “All the same, I’ll at least talk to him.”

After another minute, a beat-up faded green Pinto pulled into the lot. Hadn’t all those exploded by now? The car squealed to a stop, and the driver’s door creaked open. A young man emerged, looking slightly unsure whether he was in the right place. He wore a Nirvana T-shirt and faded jeans with a hole in one knee.

Was this my first interviewee? I couldn’t let Gordon see this guy, or he’d kick him out on the spot.

“I think Travis is here. I’ll take him around to the dining room for his interview,” I said to Gordon, who was bending down and peering into one of the cabinets under the check-in counter. I darted out the front door before he could get a look at the applicant and stop me. Sure, first impressions were important, but sometimes decent people hid behind sloppy exteriors. Of course, Bobby Joe had dressed like a slob and cheated on my sister, so what did I know?

The guy reached the sidewalk as I stepped out the door.

“Are you Travis?” I asked.

He hesitated, then nodded. If he wasn’t sure of his own name, this was going to be a short interview.

“I want to be the yoga guy.”

“Let’s talk about that. I’m Dana, the marketing coordinator.” A slight exaggeration, with the small amount of marketing I did these days, but Travis didn’t need to know the details. “We’ll talk in the dining room.”

I led Travis around the hedge that separated the sidewalk from the large, covered patio and entered through the French doors. At this mid-morning hour, the room was deserted, though I could still discern the faint scent of scrambled eggs that Zennia always whipped up for breakfast. I sat down at the closest table, my back to the patio area, and gestured for Travis to sit across from me. He hadn’t said a word since our introductions and now stared at his hands resting on the tablecloth. Not a promising start.

“Travis, what made you apply for this job?”

He scratched his knee through the hole in his jeans. “I lost my last job a while back, and this one sounded pretty fun.”

Well, I’d give him points for honesty.

“Tell me about the summer you worked at . . .” I glanced at his résumé. “The Yoga Palace.”

A chime sounded from Travis’s direction, and he reached for his back pocket. He pulled out his phone, chuckled at whatever he read on the screen, and set the phone on the table.

Was he kidding me? This interview was going downhill faster than Lindsey Vonn at the winter Olympics.

Travis caught my glare and blushed.

“Sorry. One of my buddies keeps texting me. What were you asking? Right, the Yoga Palace. Yeah, I worked there about three months.”

I expected him to describe his duties, but he stopped talking and leaned back in his chair.

“What did you do there?” I asked.

“Janitorial stuff, mostly. Washed towels, filled water jugs, mopped the floors. I watched a bunch of the classes while I was working. It looked pretty easy.”

Hmm . . . so no actual yoga experience.

Travis saw something over my shoulder, and his eyes widened. I turned and spotted Crusher sitting down at one of the picnic tables on the patio, a magazine in his hand.

“I don’t believe it,” Travis said. “Isn’t that Crusher?”

“He’s a guest here this weekend.”

“I knew he was around for the big rally, but I never thought I’d see him this close.” He jumped from his chair and grabbed his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

“What about our interview?” I asked, but he was already out the door. Who was I kidding anyway? This interview was over the minute it started. I hated when Gordon was right.

I watched as Travis talked to Crusher. Well, talked at him really. He snapped a few pictures with his phone, shook Crusher’s hand, and came back in the dining room as I was preparing to leave.

“Man, I can’t believe it,” he said.

“Big Crusher fan?” I asked.

Travis squeezed his knees together like he was going to wet his pants. “You bet. I’ve followed that guy for years.”

I stacked the papers together on the table. “Sounds like he’s good.”

“The best. He hit a rocky patch the last couple of years. Heard he got dropped by his sponsors, but this event tonight could be his big comeback.”

Travis noticed for the first time that I was holding the papers and walking to the door. “Hey, is the interview over?”

“Oh, it’s over,” I said, not bothering to hide the disdain in my voice.

We crossed the patio with Travis waving at Crusher like a six-year-old would wave at Mickey Mouse. Once we stepped past the hedge and reached the sidewalk, Travis seemed to remember the point of his visit.

“Do I start right away? I mean, I have plans later this afternoon, but I could work until then.”

How accommodating of him. “Look, Travis, thanks for coming in for the interview, but we need someone with experience.” I was going to stop there, but really, someone needed to help the kid out. “And if I could give you a bit of advice, don’t answer your cell phone next time you’re being interviewed. Or run out to photograph a celebrity. It’s not professional.”

“You mean I’m not getting the job?” Based on his raised eyebrows and open mouth, the news came as a surprise.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Geez, my mom’s gonna be pissed. She really wants her scrapbooking room back.”

I held out my hand. His face lit up like maybe I had money hidden in my palm and was offering it to him, then realized I was waiting to shake.

“Good luck to you,” I said.

He stomped across the sidewalk, yanked open the Pinto door, the hinges screaming in protest, and slammed the door shut. Guess that hadn’t gone like he’d expected.

As Travis puttered out of the lot, I reread the papers in my hand, verifying that Evan, the next candidate, had some actual yoga experience. I didn’t want a blank stare when I asked about a Sun Salutation or the Triangle Pose.

Car keys jangled behind me, and I turned to find Crusher coming around the hedge from the patio.

“Hey,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

His tone sounded friendly enough, but I worried for a second that he’d complain about Travis drooling all over him. I hadn’t exactly stopped the kid.

Instead, Crusher handed me two slender pieces of paper: tickets to the monster truck rally.

“You look like the kind of girl who likes excitement. And since I’m busy tonight, watching me is the next best thing.”

If that was a pickup line, he needed more practice. “Thanks. I’ll try to make it.”

“I gave you two tickets so you can bring one of your girlfriends along. I hate to see a pretty lady sit alone.”

“Great.” I was thinking about inviting Jason but kept that to myself.

Crusher broadened his smile. That grin could make a grown woman squeal like a teenager, and I was pretty sure he used that to his advantage. But with his ability to turn it on and off like a light, you had to wonder how sincere it was.

Crusher broke into my thoughts. “It’s my way of saying sorry for the way I acted yesterday.”

Wow, I hadn’t expected an apology. “That’s okay. I mean, I was reading your magazines instead of cleaning your room.” And Crusher had caught me, which was beyond embarrassing.

“I’m not normally like that,” he said. “I’m hyped up about this rally. It’s a big deal for me.”

If Travis was right that Crusher had been in a slump the last few years, I could understand his anxiety.

“A misunderstanding,” I said. “Let’s forget it happened.”

Crusher threw his arms around me in a bear hug, and I automatically returned the embrace. He smelled of motor grease, and I wrinkled my nose.

He released me and stepped back. “See you tonight, then.”

Why did the way he said that make it sound like a date?

Crusher headed to the tall pickup truck parked at the outer limits of the lot, and I returned to the house. I cut through the lobby, nodding to Gordon, who was talking on the phone, and went into the office to drop off the tickets, checking the clock on the wall on my way in. Two minutes to ten. My next interview could arrive at any time.

As I opened the bottom desk drawer and stuck the tickets in my purse, my cell phone rang from its depths. I rustled around, shoving my wallet and sunglass case to one side, and finally grabbed the phone, cursing all the while. When would I remember to carry this thing in a pocket?

“Hello?”

“Dana? It’s Jason.”

Instant guilt flooded through me. For one wild moment, I thought he’d seen Crusher hand me the tickets and was calling to stake his claim, but of course that was absurd.

“Dana, hello?”

I sat down and rested one foot on the open desk drawer. “I’m here.”

“Are you available for lunch today? We could meet at Eat Your Heart Out cafe, my treat.”

“Your treat? What’s the occasion?” Did that question imply he was cheap? I needed to work on my flirting skills.

“Lunch with a gorgeous lady is occasion enough.”

I twirled some hair around my finger. “Maybe I can sit with you until she shows up.”

Jason let out a low chuckle that quickened my pulse. “She’ll be so jealous when she sees you that she’ll cancel.”

“You’ve convinced me. See you at noon.”

I pushed the O
FF
button, dropped my phone in my purse, and vowed to start carrying it tomorrow. I grabbed the papers and pen I’d set on the desk and hurried back out to the lobby to see if my interviewee was on time.

Gordon stood by the ficus, talking to a man in tan Dockers, a white dress shirt, and a navy blue sports jacket. Already an improvement over Travis.

I joined the two men by the potted plant, glancing quickly at the top sheet to remind myself of the man’s name. “Evan?”

He stuck out his hand, giving me a firm and dry shake. “You must be Dana.”

“I am. Let’s go talk in the dining room.”

Evan shook Gordon’s hand while Gordon used his left hand to clap him on the back and give me a thumbs-up that Evan couldn’t see.

Gordon had been right about the last guy, but I’d wait and talk to Evan before I agreed with his assessment of this one.

Once settled in the dining chairs, Evan and I spoke for a good hour; for most of that time he described his childhood in a Buddhist home and how it’d set the course for his life. He insisted on demonstrating several moves, from Downward-facing Dog to the Boat pose. The Dockers gave the effect that he was a businessman on a lunch break, though his flexibility made it clear he didn’t sit behind a desk all day.

After we’d covered his work history and I’d already decided he definitely qualified for Gordon’s second-round interview, I capped my pen and stood.

“Thanks for coming in,” I said. “You’ll be hearing from us, I’m sure.”

“Wonderful,” Evan said. “Any chance I can see where the classes will be held?”

I stepped outside the French doors and pointed to the smaller patio near the pool. “Right there.”

Evan frowned. “In the open like that?”

“Sure. Nothing beats practicing yoga in the fresh air and sunshine, right?”

“I’m worried about the Kama Sutra poses.”

I tapped my palm against my ear to see if my hearing was blocked. “What’s that now?”

Evan reached an arm behind his back and thrust a hip out. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.

“My Kama Sutra poses. I pair off the men and women and have them reenact the more yoga-based moves.”

Did he really use a sex book to design his yoga teachings? I should have known his polished style and stellar résumé were hiding a giant gotcha. “I don’t think that’ll work here. The guests wouldn’t be comfortable with that idea.”

“Not at first, but I give everyone a cup of my kava root tea. It relaxes the mind and lowers inhibitions.”

Why did his tea sound suspiciously like a roofie?

Evan was waiting for a comment. “Get out of here, you pervert” ran through my mind, but instead I said, “I’ll mention that to Gordon.”

“Excellent. I can already tell this place is more open-minded than Yoga for Yuppies. Boy, did they get mad when I held naked yoga week. So did the cops. Apparently you need a permit for that kind of thing.”

Okay, time for this guy to go. Now. “Thanks again. The parking lot’s over there.” I gestured toward the hedge and hurried back inside the dining room before Evan could say more. I glanced once over my shoulder to see him still standing by the doors, a frown on his face. Guess he realized there wouldn’t be a follow-up call.

I went into the office to drop off the papers. Gordon sat in the desk chair, talking on the phone. I signaled to him that I’d finished with Evan, but he waved me away and turned his back. No way did I want him calling Evan back before I had a chance to talk to him, so I jotted down a note that Evan didn’t pass the first interview and left it on the keyboard. That finished, I joined Zennia in the kitchen.

Following her instructions, I prepped the green salads for lunch, laid out the linen napkins and silverware in the dining room, and placed red, white, and blue carnations in the vase on each table. By that time, I already knew I’d be a few minutes late meeting Jason, so I stopped in the bathroom only long enough to brush my hair and apply lip gloss. That done, I breezed past Gordon in the lobby and trotted to my car. I’d fill Gordon in on his little yoga instructor pick when I got back.

The parking lot of the Eat Your Heart Out cafe was full, and I parked on the street under the giant shadow cast by the smokestack of the now-defunct lumber mill. By the time I walked across the potholed lot and stepped onto the wooden walkway with the missing planks, sweat trickled down my back and along my hairline. At least my work shirt was navy blue, which might mean the sweat circles wouldn’t show as much.

I opened the door to the cafe, and a wave of air greeted me as the giant fan near the counter rotated in my direction. I held my arms a few inches from my body in hopes the air would dry my shirt a little.

All the booths were occupied, but I saw an arm waving from the back. I recognized Jason and headed over. As I slid onto the cloth-covered bench seat, a waitress arrived.

“Iced tea, please.”

She noted the soda already in front of Jason and left.

“Most people towel off after a shower,” Jason commented as I plucked a napkin from the dispenser and dabbed my forehead.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” I crumpled up the napkin and dropped it on the table. With only the standing fan near the door and a handful of ceiling fans, the place was just short of stifling. “Maybe we should have met at the ice cream parlor.”

The waitress reappeared with my iced tea, and Jason and I ordered, a club sandwich for him and a Cobb salad for me. The burgers here were the best in town, but I wasn’t ordering food off the grill in this heat.

I sucked down half my iced tea and felt a hint cooler. “I haven’t been this hot since I took a summer job at the stir-fry place.”

Jason winked at me, drawing attention to his green eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty hot most of the time.”

Well. That little comment didn’t help my already overheated face. I pulled the plastic drinks menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers and fanned myself.

“Anyway,” I said after I’d cooled down, “what have you been up to these days? Focusing on Bobby Joe’s murder?” I tucked the menu back behind the shakers.

Jason pulled a napkin from the dispenser and placed it in his lap. “Writing about the murder has definitely been taking all my time. And this morning, my boss handed down a list of other stories I need to cover. It’ll take me all night to get them done.”

I felt a flicker of discontent in my belly. “Too bad. I have tickets to tonight’s monster truck rally. I was wondering if you wanted to go.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I’m not. One of the guests is performing tonight. He gave me the tickets.”

Jason offered a half-smile. “Should I be jealous?”

“You should always be jealous, what with my being so hot and all.”

The waitress appeared with our orders and set the Cobb salad in front of me before moving to Jason’s side to hand him his sandwich. I’d swear she brushed her boob against his upper arm, and a jolt of irritation lodged in my throat. Who was the jealous one now?

I speared an avocado chunk with my fork. “Guess I’ll see if Ashlee wants the tickets.”

“How’s she doing?” Jason took a bite of his sandwich, a glob of mayo sticking to the corner of his mouth. I resisted the urge to lick it off.

“She’s mostly her perky self. But I wanted to ask what you know about Detective Palmer. I’m assuming he’s in charge of the case since he interviewed Ashlee.”

Jason wiped the mayo off his lip. “He moved up here a few years ago from somewhere down near L.A. Wanted to work in a smaller community where he could get to know the people.”

“If you’re looking to move to a small town, Blossom Valley definitely meets the requirement. Is it true he’s Detective Caffrey’s cousin?”

“Yep. Loved it here so much that he convinced Caffrey to move up, too. I heard they grew up down the street from each other, so they’re real close.”

I groaned. “So it’s possible that Detective Caffrey might complain to his cousin about my snooping around in the last murder?”

Jason tried to suppress his smile and failed. “Almost definitely. That was his first homicide, after all, and you stomped all over it. I’m sure he let Palmer know about it, especially if he’s heard your sister is involved this time.”

“Speaking of which, have the police made any progress in Bobby Joe’s murder?” I briefly wondered if the cops had looked at the pictures of Ashlee on her iPod, but I wouldn’t be asking Jason about that.

“No. They’re still tracking down alibis for that window of time between eleven and one.”

I poked at a slice of hard-boiled egg. “Ashlee said she and Bobby Joe got out of the movies around nine. After that, they stopped for gas and then got in a big fight and she was home before I got back at ten. Any idea what Bobby Joe did after that?”

“According to the group he hooked up with, he moped around and tried to get sympathy over being dumped. When that didn’t work, he decided to go practice for the rally. Everyone else went home or hung around in the parking lot. No one saw him after that.”

I set my fork down so fast it clanked against the plate. “If they were in the parking lot, then Ashlee couldn’t have come back without being seen. Surely the police must realize that, right?”

“There’s more than one entrance to the fairgrounds. The detective mentioned that Ashlee could have snuck in another gate.”

The glistening bacon crumbles in my salad looked like fat, greasy worms. “Ashlee didn’t go back out. She was home with me.”

“I know. But they don’t have a better theory right now.”

“What about his employer being mad at him?” I filled Jason in on my conversations with Donald and Tara. “And a neighbor swears Bobby Joe and Stump were both dealing drugs. Maybe they had a fight about business. And Crusher could have wanted his biggest competitor out of the way before the rally tonight.”

Jason smirked. “Crusher?”

“Probably not his given name. Unless his parents had a weird sense of humor. He’s the guy at the spa who gave me tickets for tonight. He’s one of Bobby Joe’s rivals.” I sipped my iced tea. “That leads me back to my point that there are lots of suspects the police should be focusing on. Have you found out anything about Maria? Maybe she had a reason to kill Bobby Joe.”

“I’m looking into it. Same with her husband.”

I swallowed a slice of hard-boiled egg. “I saw her wedding ring, but I thought they might be separated.”

“Nope, in fact they’ve only been married a few months. And the word on the street is that Todd Runyon is the jealous type.”

Jealous types often had violent tempers. I needed to find out more about Maria’s husband and their relationship. But how?