A Healthy Homicide (11 page)

I listened. I didn’t hear any more voices, but now I heard footsteps. They were coming this way. I tensed and leaned into Jason as I waited to see who came around the corner. Jason placed a hand on my shoulder, but his grip was far too relaxed.

Why wasn’t he more worried? Who was in here with us?

What if it was the killer?

 

As the footsteps got closer, I thought about making a run for it.

Jason moved up beside me. “Are you all right?”

I started to shush him again, but just then, Stan and Patricia came around the corner from the back. I laughed in relief when I saw them.

Patricia swatted Stan’s chest with the back of her hand. “See, Stan? I told you someone was out here.”

“You’re always right, dear.” Stan squinted at us in the dim lighting. He pointed at me. “Dana, right?” He shifted his finger to Jason. “You’re the reporter. Jason, is it?”

“Right,” Jason said. “We were walking by and saw the light on in the back. We wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

I liked the way he said that. He made us sound like Good Samaritans, not the nosey parkers with crazy imaginations that we really were. Well, I was, at least.

“Everything’s great,” Patricia said. “I’ve decided to open a craft store here. We were discussing the amount of space and the layout.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “How exciting.”

“New businesses are a big deal around here. I could run an article in the
Herald,
if you’re interested,” Jason said.

Patricia clapped her hands together. “I’d love that. I want the whole world to know.”

“It’ll be a huge success,” Stan said. “If anyone knows their way around hot glue guns and scrapbooks, it’s my Patricia.” He gave a hearty laugh, and I noticed how much younger it made him appear. He must have been quite the looker back when he wooed Patricia.

“This place will be a crafter’s dream, with drawers of beads and sequins and top-quality card stock, not to mention all the workshops I’m planning to teach. I know what I’m doing,” Patricia said. “To think Carla didn’t want to be my business partner.”

Was that it? Had Carla’s refusal to allow Patricia into the spa business spurred her on to open this place? Maybe she couldn’t let the rejection go and decided she could do a better job alone.

“Yes, well, now that we know you’re not a burglar, we’ll be on our way,” I said.

“Have a nice evening,” Jason added.

“Be sure to stop by for the grand opening in a month or two,” Stan called after us as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. I pulled my jacket tighter against the rapidly cooling night air, and we walked back up the street, toward the Breaking Bread Diner and Jason’s car.

“Do you think Patricia decided to open her own store before or after Carla’s death?” I asked.

“Hard to say,” Jason said. “Maybe she’d been toying with the idea once her offer to Carla fell through, and Carla’s murder made her realize she shouldn’t wait. Unexpected death has a way of making people take a closer look at their lives.”

“Or maybe she held out hope that Carla’s business would struggle, and Carla would beg Patricia to invest, after all,” I said. “Once Carla was gone, that plan disappeared with her, but the motivation to open her own business stayed.” Another thought struck me. “You don’t suppose Patricia was so bitter about Carla not wanting to be partners that she killed her and opened this place as a kind of after-the-fact, in-your-face retaliation, do you?”

Jason stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “If it was revenge she wanted, it’d make more sense to open the store right away so she could make sure her business was more successful than Carla’s.”

“True.”

We reached his car, and Jason held open the door for me. I slid into the passenger seat and waited for him to shut the door and walk around to his side. “How long does it take to open a new business, anyway?” I asked as I clicked my seat belt into place. “Maybe you’re right that Patricia planned all this a while ago, but Carla was killed before Patricia could bring the idea to fruition.”

“Odd that she didn’t tell us about the craft store before now.” Jason turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life. “Did she say anything to you?”

“At the Celebration of Life, she made reference to big plans. This must be what she meant.” I leaned my head against the leather seat and closed my eyes. Thinking about murder all the time was exhausting.

We rode to my apartment in silence. When we got there, Jason walked me to the door.

“Interesting night,” I said as I dug out my keys.

“Every night with you is interesting.”

“That must be why you hang out with me.”

I turned to face him, and his eyes traveled up and down my body. “That’s one reason.”

He leaned in, and we locked lips. My whole body sizzled.

When we broke apart, Jason brushed my bottom lip with his thumb, his gaze lingering on my face. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky.

I smiled. “If you don’t, I will.”

He headed down the stairs to his car, and I went inside the apartment. Ashlee was sitting in her usual spot on the couch, watching TV. She looked up when I entered.

“Hi, Carol Brady. How was your date night with Mike?”

“Carol Brady, huh?” I hung my jacket on the back of a chair.

Ashlee chuckled. “You two are such fuddy-duddies. I know you’re gonna get married someday and have a bazillion kids like on
The Brady Bunch.
Live in some nice house out there in suburbia. It’s only a matter of time. So now I’m calling you guys Mike and Carol.”

I looked at the shoes and socks that littered the floor in front of the television. “Guess that makes you Alice. Why don’t you clean something?”

“Nice try. I’ll clean when I’m ready.”

“I’ll be living in suburbia with all those kids before that ever happens.”

Ashlee stuck her tongue out at me. She was immature enough to be one of my imaginary kids right now. I sat down on the couch next to her, ignoring the TV and thinking about what I’d learned today.

“Hey, do you know Erin’s boyfriend at all?” I asked. If Miguel wasn’t the one arguing with Carla the night she was killed, Ricky was the next most likely choice. Maybe Ashlee could give me some insight into what kind of guy he was.

“I don’t even know Erin, let alone her boyfriend.”

“Oh.” There went that idea.

“Brittany talked about him once. Said he stopped by the spa for Erin, and Carla had a fit. But Brittany says he’s an okay guy. She heard his mom’s sick and he works as a mechanic to help support her. She’s got MS or some disease like that.”

My image of Ricky was only getting murkier. Was he a bad-news thug or a teddy-bear sweetheart? “Why did Carla dislike him so much?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know Carla, either.” Ashlee studied her fingernails. “His friends are kind of shady, so maybe Carla lumped him in with them. Or it could be that wicked car he drives. You know how old people hate those things.”

Carla was only in her forties at the time of her death, and not exactly a Social Security candidate, but Ashlee might be right about the car. It wasn’t the type of vehicle a respectable, career-minded man typically drove.

I pushed myself off the couch. “I’m spent. See you tomorrow.” I went into my bedroom, changed into my pajamas, and replied to a good-night text from Jason. I barely managed to crawl into bed before I fell asleep.

 

 

The next morning I headed into the kitchen for breakfast. An empty space in the cabinet showed where the new box of Pop-Tarts should have been. I grabbed the cereal box and sighed as I shook the box and listened to the few flakes bounce around the bottom. I guessed Ashlee hadn’t made it to the store yet. Now I had no Pop-Tarts and no cereal. Grumbling under my breath, I searched the refrigerator but came up with only an alarmingly stiff piece of pizza and two wrinkled lemons with bluish-green spots on them.

I thought about waking up Ashlee to tell her how irritated I was, but instead decided to turn rotting lemons into lemonade and treat myself to breakfast. I grabbed my keys and purse and drove to the part of town with the fast-food restaurants and gas stations that the tourists stopped at on their way to the Mendocino coast. With little traffic on the road, I slowed down and cruised past the restaurants. I’d eaten on this strip so many times over the past month that I knew all the menus by heart, but I was hoping I’d feel a pull toward one or the other. I passed McDonald’s and shook my head. I’d eaten there three times last week.

As I made my way down the street, I observed a guy in a dark blue sedan going the other way. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was Miguel, Carla’s boyfriend. I watched in my rearview mirror as he pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot. Well, one more meal under the golden arches wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’d get lucky and discover a little gossip to accompany my hash browns.

I slammed my foot on the gas and cranked the wheel to flip a U-turn, flinching as a delivery truck bore down on me. I offered a hurried wave, swooped into the parking lot, and screeched to a stop in the slot next to Miguel’s car. He’d already gone inside the restaurant, and I hurried after him.

Miguel stood in line at the counter in dark gray slacks and a white dress shirt. I got in line behind him and stared at the back of his head, silently willing him to turn around. When that didn’t work, I said, “Hi.”

This time, he turned and flashed me a smile that almost made me swoon. Of course, Jason would look this fantastic when he hit fifty, too. I was sure of it.

“Well, hello again,” he said.

“Funny running into you so soon,” I said. Never mind that I’d cut through traffic and clipped the curb to make it happen.

“I don’t normally eat at places like this, but I’m in a hurry this morning, and I work right down the street.” He laid a hand on his flat stomach. “I hate to miss breakfast. Gotta fuel the old body at my age. I’m a runner.” Then he cringed. “Though my leg’s been acting up lately.”

Seeing an opening, I stepped right in. “You should stop by the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa. Our masseuse, Gretchen, sometimes treats athletes for muscle problems.”

“Thanks. I might do that.”

There was a pause. I spoke before I lost my nerve. “I’m sure your wife appreciates you keeping in shape.”

Miguel gave me a funny look. “Wife? I’m not married.” As he said this, he slipped his left hand into his pants pocket.

I feigned confusion. “I’d swear someone told me you were married. Guess I heard wrong.”

The line moved forward, but Miguel stayed where he was. “I thought you knew I was dating Carla. Why would you think I was married?”

I felt my cheeks heat up. “Some guys don’t let marriage stop them from dating.” Yikes. Had I actually just said that?

“I’m not one of those guys,” he snapped. He turned his back on me and stepped up to place his order.

He’d sounded so insulted that I had to wonder if all those rumors were wrong. Even Sue Ellen had gotten conflicting reports on Miguel’s marital status. But why had he hidden his hand when I commented on his wife? And if Miguel wasn’t married, did he have another motive for murdering Carla?

The cashier next to Miguel’s opened up, and I moved over to order a biscuit sandwich, hash browns, and coffee. By the time I had paid for my meal and had gone to wait by the pickup area, Miguel already had his food and was heading out the door. He didn’t wave good-bye, not that I expected him to.

My order came up right then, and I grabbed my take-out bag and coffee and returned to the parking lot in time to see him pull out of the lot. I settled into my car and sipped my coffee while I thought about Miguel. If he didn’t have a jealous wife causing problems, I couldn’t imagine another reason for Miguel to kill Carla.

What dark secret could he be harboring that would result in murder?

And if such a secret existed, how could I find out?

 

Stowing questions about Miguel in the back of my mind, I pulled into traffic and drove to the farm. Half a dozen cars sat in the parking lot. A man and a woman were loading a suitcase into the trunk of their compact.

I took the back path and entered the farmhouse through the kitchen door. Zennia stood near the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl. A large plate of bacon strips lay on the counter.

Even though I was already holding breakfast in my paper take-out bag, my mouth instantly watered at the sight. “Zennia, I didn’t know you ever fried up bacon.” I set the bag and coffee cup on the oak table and hurried over to the counter.

“It’s not real bacon,” she said. “It’s facon.”

My hand froze over the glistening strips. I glanced at Zennia and saw the hint of a smile. “Facon?”

“Right. It’s made from textured vegetable protein. You crisp it up, and it tastes exactly like real bacon.”

Somehow I doubted that. I let my hand fall to my side. “I should eat my own breakfast. Don’t want to waste money.” With a last look at the faux pork product, I sat down at the table and pulled my egg-and-sausage biscuit sandwich out of the bag.

Zennia took a whisk from a drawer and started beating the eggs. She nodded toward the sandwich I was unwrapping. “My bacon isn’t any faker than the food in that sandwich. For heaven’s sake, the scrambled eggs are folded into a square.”

“The eggs come from very uptight hens.” I took a bite, savoring the salty sausage flavor. Way better than facon. “Have you seen Gretchen this morning?”

Zennia leaned the whisk handle against the inside of the bowl and used two hands to set a large cast-iron skillet on a burner. “Not yet. I don’t know if she called Esther, either, although I’m sure Esther would have mentioned it when I saw her a minute ago if Gretchen wasn’t coming in.”

“Well, she showed up yesterday afternoon to track inventory and clean up, so I imagine she’ll be here.”

“I didn’t realize she’d even stopped by.” Zennia turned the dial on the stove. Blue flames popped into view under the skillet. “With the spa so far from the kitchen, I don’t see her every day.”

I’d have to stop by after breakfast and see if Gretchen had followed through on her promise to talk to Detective Palmer. I hated to be the one to report how she lied about entering Carla’s spa that night, but the police needed to know about the man she’d overheard Carla arguing with.

Zennia turned to me, her face tense. “Has Jason said anything to you about whether the police have any new suspects? I’m worried about Gretchen. She’s taking these visits from that detective very hard.”

“It would stress anyone out. Jason didn’t mention a new suspect, but he doesn’t always tell me the inside scoop.”

“What good is having a reporter boyfriend if he won’t share with you?”

I waggled my eyebrows at her. “He has plenty of other qualities to make up for it.”

“Like those dimples.” Zennia gave me a wicked grin. “And that cute butt.”

My mouth dropped open. “Zennia!”

Zennia swatted me with a dish towel. “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.”

I felt my cheeks flame hotter than the stove burner. “Well, sure, but he’s my boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t look. We just have to make sure we don’t touch.”

I took a sip of coffee to keep from laughing. “I appreciate that. Speaking of boyfriends, I did run into Carla’s boyfriend this morning, when I stopped for breakfast.”

“Did Carla have a boyfriend? I don’t know anything about her.”

“Yes, and I’ve heard rumors that he’s married. He might have killed Carla to keep his wife from discovering the affair. Of course, Miguel swears he’s single.”

Zennia turned toward the stove. I heard the eggs sizzle as they hit the hot pan. “He wouldn’t be the first guy to try to cover up an affair,” she called over her shoulder. “I can name countless politicians who refuted everything right up until there was no room left to maneuver. Even then, they still tried to lie.”

“It’s just that he seemed so hurt when I suggested it.” I pulled out my hash brown patty, crumpled up my sandwich wrapper, and stuffed it in the bag. “Then again, he instantly tucked his hand in his pocket when I asked about a wife, like he didn’t want me to see a wedding ring.”

“Sounds guilty to me.” Zennia grabbed a spatula from a drawer and shoved the eggs around the skillet.

“I have to admit, he does remind me of a politician,” I said. “He can be quite the charmer. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.”

Zennia hefted up the skillet and dumped the eggs onto a large white platter. “What’s Miguel’s last name?”

I closed my eyes to concentrate. What had Jason said? “Ruiz, I think. He works for the public works department.”

“Oh, I know him.”

My eyes popped open. “You do?”

“Well, rather, I knew him. He attended a meeting that I protested at a few years ago over an increase in water rates. Water is a necessity of life, for both plants and animals, including us humans. They were proposing a thirty percent rate hike. This town has a lot of low-income seniors who couldn’t afford that.” Zennia looked like she was winding up to embark on quite the rant. I hurried to get her back on track.

“What do you remember about him? Any chance he brought his wife to the meeting, and she had bright green hair and was covered in tattoos?” At this point, I was looking for any concrete proof that Miguel was married, no matter how outlandish.

Zennia laughed, the water rates forgotten. “I’m sure that would ring a bell, but even now I’d almost swear he had a wife. One of my friends was complaining that all the good ones were taken.” She tapped her chin. “Come to think of it, she’d even attended their wedding. I remember she refused to come to the meeting, because she felt the situation would be too awkward if she protested against a friend.” She nodded. “Yes, that was it.”

Miguel was married, after all.

He could deny it all he wanted, but now I knew he had the perfect reason to kill Carla. Where was he the night Carla was murdered?

Esther bustled into the kitchen, humming quietly. “Morning, you two.” She turned to me. “Dana, I had the most wonderful idea while I was taking out the recycling last night.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I’d like to teach a composting class.”

I worked to hide my surprise. Esther had never been overly involved in activities at the farm, preferring to leave the day-to-day management to Gordon. I had always thought she’d enjoy the business more if she could see how much the guests liked the place, but she seemed to prefer taking a backseat. I rose and gave her a hug. “Esther, that’s a fantastic idea. I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh, gracious,” she said, blushing, “you make it sound like such a big to-do, but I’m not talking anything fancy, just a little class to teach newbies the basics. I was thinking once a month would be plenty. We can always add more if enough people sign up.”

“Whatever you want,” I agreed. “We can nail down specifics before I draft up some ads for the
Herald,
even the
Penny Saver.
And, of course, I’ll blog about it on our Web site.”

“And I’ll tell all my friends in my meditation circle,” Zennia said. “Most of them already compost, but we’ve had some new, younger members join recently who I’m sure would be interested.”

Esther patted her gray curls. “Gosh, my little plan might work out. Dana, let me sit on this a spell and figure out all the nitty-gritty. Maybe we can get together after lunch.”

“Let me know whenever you’re ready,” I said.

Esther hummed her way back out of the room, while Zennia popped two slices of sprouted wheat bread into the toaster.

I drained the rest of my coffee, sorted my breakfast trash in the containers under the sink, and said good-bye to Zennia. Time to find Gretchen.

The air outside was cool, but the morning sun warmed my head and shoulders as I wound my way past the pigsty. I stopped at the fence, and Wilbur wandered over to stick his snout between the wooden boards. I patted his head, almost giggling as the coarse bristles tickled my skin, and he snorted his thanks. I continued on my way, nodding to Berta and the other chickens before cutting past the cabins.

Inside the spa tent, Gretchen was in one of the partitioned areas in the back, folding towels and singing softly. When she saw me, she broke off from her singing and smiled. I noticed her cheeks held more color than they had yesterday afternoon. “Dana, good morning.”

“You seem in good spirits.”

She shook a towel out and began folding it. “That’s because I did what I said I would. I talked to the police.”

“You called Detective Palmer?”

“Better. After you left, I decided to go down to the station. I thought the police might be more understanding if we could talk face-to-face and they could see how sorry I was for not telling them everything before.” She finished folding the towel and added it to the stack on the massage table. “Of course, I was so nervous, I ran a red light and almost hit a bus on my way down, but I finally got there.”

“And everything went okay?”

“Yep. I mean, sure, he was mad when I first told him. Talked about obstructing justice, interfering with police duty, stuff like that. It was total gibberish to me, but then he calmed down and asked me a bunch of questions about that night. He seemed happy with my answers.”

I grabbed a loose towel off the stack of laundry and snapped it open. “What exactly did you tell him?” I folded the towel in half.

“About the fight I overheard, what little I remembered of it, anyway. He kept asking me about the man’s voice, how deep it was, if he had an accent, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help.”

“You never know. Just the fact that you heard a man there is important.” I picked up another towel. “That reminds me. Could you tell what room Carla was in when you heard her talking?”

Gretchen shrugged. “I have no idea. I’d never been inside the spa before. I could tell the voices were somewhere on the right, but that was about it.”

I tried to remember which rooms were on the right when Carla gave me the brief tour, but most of the doors had been closed. Was it important to know where Carla was during the argument? Somehow, I thought it was.

“What happened then?” I asked.

“He sent me home. Said he might call me back with more questions later, but that was it. I think everything’s fine now.”

I hadn’t realized how anxious I was about Gretchen’s situation until I felt relief flood through me. My fingers and toes tingled. “I’m so glad, Gretchen. I knew telling him was the right thing to do.”

She held a towel to her chest, keeping her eyes downcast. “I know I should have told him sooner. I could have saved myself a lot of grief.”

“At least you told him now. That’s the important thing.”

A “Yoo-hoo” sounded from the front of the tent before she could say more. Gretchen dropped the towel back on the laundry pile and hurried toward the lobby area. I added my towel to the stack of folded ones and followed her.

A middle-aged woman in pumpkin-colored stretch pants and a long yellow T-shirt waited at the hostess stand. Her face brightened when she saw us. “Gretchen, I can’t tell you the terrible week I’ve had. Thank goodness you had an opening this morning.”

I could almost guarantee her week hadn’t been as bad as Gretchen’s. Based on the wink Gretchen gave me, I had a feeling she was thinking the same thing.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I told her. I smiled at the woman and walked out of the tent. I took a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air and enjoy the deep blue of the cloudless sky. An unusual amount of rain had hit Blossom Valley over the winter, and I was glad to see the sunny days returning.

Off in the distance, I saw a man near the vegetable gardens, walking along the path toward the spa. As he got closer, I recognized Detective Palmer. Worry twisted my insides. Maybe he’d changed his mind about arresting Gretchen for lying to him. Maybe he was here to cart her off to the county jail.

Gretchen and I might have celebrated too soon.