A Healthy Homicide (14 page)

“It’s possible.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “She wanted me to skip my meeting, you know. Said I’d have more fun with her. She was right, but I had already missed the last meeting and felt I had to go. If only I’d listened to her.” He turned away from me and swiped his eyes.

He seemed to be honestly grieving her loss. My heart seized up at his obvious pain. “Even if the killer used the back door to gain entry, you can’t blame yourself.”

“I need to blame someone.”

“Then blame the person who killed her,” I said.

He looked at me, and I saw a flash of anger in his soft brown eyes. “Trust me, I do.”

We’d reached the entrance to the spa. “Here we are,” I said.

Miguel smoothed down his hair, rubbed his eyes one more time, and stepped inside the tent. I heard him say, “I’m Miguel, your nine o’clock appointment.”

“You’re the one with the possible torn muscle?” Gretchen asked. “Right this way.” Their voices faded as they moved away from the entrance.

When I could no longer hear anything, I retraced my steps toward the cabins, thinking about my conversation with Miguel. It struck me as odd that he had used the back entrance to the spa for his clandestine meetings with Carla, and yet he had attended her Celebration of Life, as if he had nothing to hide.

At any rate, he was clearly crushed by Carla’s death. But were those tears based on grief over Carla’s untimely demise or guilt over killing her?

 

When I returned to the farmhouse, I forced myself to concentrate on finishing my write-up for Esther’s composting class so I could post it to our Web site. After that, I fine-tuned the ad I planned for the
Blossom Valley Herald.
When I was satisfied, I called the paper to talk about prices and placement. That accomplished, I headed for the kitchen. Lunch was fast approaching. Since I didn’t have any additional marketing work at the moment, I’d see if Zennia needed my help.

I sniffed the air as I walked into the kitchen. The aroma was tangy and sweet. At the stove, Zennia was stirring something in a pot. I crossed the room and peered in.

“That smells scrumptious. What is it?” I asked.

“Mustard sauce to pour over the tilapia I’m serving for lunch. It has almost no fat but still manages to taste truly decadent.”

“I’m sure the guests will love it.” I was continually impressed by Zennia’s wealth of food knowledge. That didn’t mean I always wanted to eat what she was offering, but this particular recipe description made my mouth water. “If there’s any extra left over from lunch, could I have it?”

Zennia’s mouth fell open a little, but she recovered quickly. “You’re volunteering to eat my food?”

“Just this once. I promise not to make a habit of it.” I looked at the kitchen counters and noted the absence of any side dishes. “In the meantime, do you need any help?”

“I’m not expecting very many people, but I do need to finish the entrée. Think you could make a quick garden salad? Only if you don’t have other work, of course.”

“I’m all yours at the moment.” I went to the refrigerator and gathered a head of red-leaf lettuce and a couple of cucumbers and carrots.

We worked in companionable silence. While I washed the lettuce, sliced the cucumbers, and peeled and shredded the carrots, Zennia stirred and seasoned her sauce. When twelve o’clock arrived, I filled individual salad bowls, drizzled on some homemade poppy seed dressing, and carried two bowls into the dining room. Only four people sat at the tables. We normally drew a larger lunch crowd with our spa and lunch combos, and I wondered where everyone was.

I went back to the kitchen for two more bowls, and then I stood inside the door of the dining room, filling the occasional request for extra dressing or more water. Out the French doors, I saw two women sit down at one of the picnic tables. I grabbed two sets of silverware rolled in napkins from the sideboard and went to the kitchen for two more salads.

I carried everything outside and set it before the women. As one of the women unrolled her napkin, she dropped her knife on the cement. I bent down and retrieved it.

“Let me run inside and get you another one.” I glanced up as I spoke and recognized the thirtysomething brunette and her blond companion as the same two who had dined here a few days ago, the ones who had first mentioned Carla dating a married man. What else might they know?

I hurried inside for another knife and brought it outside. After I handed the knife to the woman, I lingered a moment to see what they’d talk about, but they were discussing a television show they’d both watched the night before. Disappointed, I moved back inside to make sure the other diners didn’t need anything.

For the next few minutes, I stayed busy as I brought requested items and cleared away plates. While I moved around, I kept my eye on the two women sitting outside. They hadn’t stopped talking once, but every time I went out to the patio, they were discussing celebrity gossip. By the time I went outside to remove their plates, I’d about given up hope.

Then the brunette at my elbow brushed some dandruff off her shoulder and whispered to her companion, “Turn around. There she is.”

The little hairs on my neck prickled. As the blonde craned her head to check behind her, I looked up in anticipation and felt my stomach plunge. Gretchen was approaching the pool area from the direction of the spa. She was undoubtedly the target of the woman’s remark.

The blonde turned back around and tapped her fingers on the table. Her penciled-in eyebrows were raised so high, they almost reached her hairline. “I can’t believe this place hasn’t fired her yet. She might have killed that lady.”

“I bet they can’t fire her until the police arrest her. You know how everyone sues the second they get canned nowadays.”

“Still, you’d think she’d quit. The humiliation alone would keep me hiding in my house.”

During this little exchange, I’d been moving the silverware around, stacking and restacking the plates, and doing anything else to appear occupied. The blonde cleared her throat and jerked her head in my direction, as if I somehow wouldn’t notice the movement. They both stopped talking.

“Care for any dessert?” I asked.

“Just coffee,” the brunette said. She ran her tongue over her teeth and brushed at her shoulder again.

“Coffee would be good,” agreed the other. “I’ll need the caffeine to keep me awake this afternoon.”

I carried their dirty plates into the kitchen, wondering if I should have defended Gretchen to those two busybodies. But what would be the point? They’d believe what they wanted to believe, regardless of what I said. Besides, arguing with customers wasn’t good for spa business. They seemed like the type who would complain to all their friends. And to Gordon, too.

Zennia was already washing the lunch dishes at the sink, and I added the two I was carrying to her stack. I filled two cups with the fair trade organic coffee she always had brewing and set them on a tray with a sugar container and the creamer.

When I got back outside, the women had stopped talking about Gretchen and had moved on to Ricky, if the one comment about that “scuzzy little boyfriend of Erin’s” was any indication.

“He can’t be that bad,” the brunette argued. “I heard he got a partial scholarship to one of the UC schools, but he couldn’t afford to go even with the extra help.”

“I’m not surprised,” the blonde groused. “His mom is dirt poor.”

She sounded exactly like Patricia, and I had to wonder if that was who she was getting her information from. I rolled my eyes in disgust at her haughty tone as I went back inside.

The dining room had emptied out, and I cleared the few remaining forks and coffee cups. By the time I’d stripped the tables and put the linens in the washing machine, I was starving. Zennia was still washing dishes, but she refused my offer to help, so I made myself a plate of fish with mustard sauce and sat down at the kitchen table. I took a bite. It was fantastic. I resisted the urge to gobble up the entire plate at once and wondered what other dishes I had missed out on by refusing Zennia’s offerings.

As I was scraping up the last bits of fish, Zennia sat down across from me.

“Well?” she demanded.

I pretended not to know what she was asking. “Well, no problems with the lunch service. Everything went like clockwork.”

Zennia wagged a finger at me. “You know what I’m talking about. How was the sauce?”

I dabbed at my lips with a napkin. “I’ll admit, it was good. I’d eat it again.”

She clapped her hands together. “I knew you’d like it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Zennia loved it when people enjoyed her cooking.

After I washed and dried my plate, I returned to the office to catch up on correspondence. The newspaper had sent an e-mail confirmation for my order, and several people had commented on today’s blog about making your own air freshener gels. I spent the rest of the afternoon helping to clean the guest cabins and manning the front desk while Gordon ran an errand.

When the workday wound down, I removed my purse from the desk drawer and pulled on my sweater, mumbling to myself, “Don’t forget the milk. Don’t forget the milk,” over and over. Otherwise, I’d drive right past the Meat and Potatoes supermarket without stopping, and no way would I go back out again once I was comfortably seated on my couch at home.

In the lobby Gordon was hunched over a spiral-bound notebook that lay open on the counter. He turned back a few pages and then forward again, his frown deepening. I realized he was studying the spa’s appointment book, and my throat tightened a notch.

When he saw me, he held up a hand, signaling me to stop. I slowed my steps, though not without some hesitation.

“I’ve been looking through the spa’s bookings,” he said. “Our appointments are down significantly. Gretchen used to struggle to fit everyone in. Now she has huge gaps in her schedule.”

I couldn’t stop my grimace. I didn’t like where Gordon was heading. “Maybe it’s the time of year,” I suggested. “With spring here, people might prefer to spend time outdoors rather than inside a spa.” I took two steps toward the door, hoping Gordon would let the topic drop.

“Nonsense,” he said. “It’s those rumors that Gretchen killed the lady from the other spa. I told you her murder would be our undoing.”

I aborted my attempt to leave and walked over to the counter. “Don’t jump to conclusions. The drop in appointments could easily be a coincidence. With tax time around the corner, people might be watching their money more closely.”

Gordon flipped more pages back and forth, making a snapping sound as he whipped the paper to and fro. “That doesn’t explain everyone. Look, I know you’re friends with Gretchen. I like her, too.” He rested his hand on the appointment book. “Tell you what. Rather than firing Gretchen, I can put her on leave and hire a temp worker until these rumors blow over. And if they don’t, then I may need to let her go.”

His comments instantly transported me back a few months, to when he’d tried to get me ousted from my job, as well. The stress and uncertainty at the time had been crushing, and I knew Gretchen would feel the same way.

“You can’t do that. It would destroy her, and she’s in bad enough shape as it is. Gretchen loves this job.”

“And she’s good at it, but she’s only one employee here. I have to think about all of you, plus the welfare of this farm.” He looked at his watch. “I won’t bother to run my idea past Esther tonight. But if the number of appointments doesn’t increase soon, I may have no choice. Now I need to get to the high school. Tonight is the first meeting for that business club I told you about.”

I was so busy worrying about Gretchen that it took me a moment to even remember he was planning to start a business club. “Did a lot of students sign up?”

“Six, at last count. I’m sure once word gets out, membership will increase. If people want to succeed in business, they need to start young, and I’ve got the expertise to help them.” He slapped the appointment book shut. “I’ll put this back in the spa, on the off chance someone calls to book a session. Let’s hope someone does, for Gretchen’s sake.” He strode out of the lobby and in the direction of the spa tent.

I watched him through the window, gnawing on my lower lip. I knew Gordon wanted only what was best for Esther’s place, but Gretchen would be devastated if she got laid off.

Still, Gordon was right that people were gossiping about Gretchen. I’d overheard those two women myself at lunch. Plus, Brittany had mentioned the rumors about Gretchen’s involvement in Carla’s murder at the Celebration of Life. This town thrived on speculation.

I slapped my hand on the counter in frustration. Gretchen was my friend, and I knew there was only one way to stop the rumors. The police had to find Carla’s killer. And if they didn’t, I would.

 

As I drove toward town from the farm, I barely noticed the spring blossoms covering the pear tree branches in the orchards. I ignored the rows of grapevines marching toward the hills in the nearby vineyards. Most evenings I found the drive charming, but Gretchen’s potential suspension weighed heavily on my mind.

I exited the highway and drove down Main Street, studying the Pampered Life on my way by. Someone had propped the front door open. Were the police still searching the spa for clues? If so, where was the police car? The side lot next to the spa was empty, as was the parking space at the curb. If it wasn’t the police, who else could it be?

I was so distracted by the spa’s open door that I almost blew past the side street for the Meat and Potatoes market. At the last second I hung a right, drove down the block, and pulled into the parking lot. Once through the automatic doors, I grabbed a basket and went in search of the cereal section. The market was busy with the after-work crowd. People shifted and spun around each other like we were all part of a synchronized dance.

In the breakfast aisle I narrowly avoided getting hit by a woman pushing a cart with a screaming toddler but bumped into a man as he moved out of the way of an elderly lady in a scooter. “Excuse me,” I said without looking up, my gaze focused on the brightly colored boxes of sugary cereals. Which one cost the least but still held the best prize?

“Fancy running into you here,” the man said.

I turned toward the voice and discovered that I’d bumped into Stan. He was dressed in a slightly wrinkled blue shirt and striped tie, clearly on his way home from the office. He smiled at me, and I caught a glimpse of boyish charm peeking through his grown-up exterior.

I smiled back and automatically peeked in his basket. I saw a package of steaks, a box of tampons, a bottle of red wine, and a bouquet of white and yellow daisies. He followed my gaze, and his cheeks reddened.

“Running an errand for Patricia,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure she’ll love the flowers.” No need to mention the tampons. I studied the cereal selection once more and grabbed the box advertising a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo inside. “How’s she feeling these days?” I asked as I placed the box in my basket. “I’m sure all the work on the craft store is helping to distract her from Carla’s death.”

Stan shifted his own basket from one hand to the other. “That store has been a blessing. We were both so shocked when Carla was killed. Who would do such a thing? She was a beautiful, vivacious woman. I can’t imagine anyone disliking her enough to kill her.”

I wondered if he’d use those same words to describe Carla in front of Patricia. She seemed like the jealous type. “The police may find that she was killed during a robbery gone bad. The killer might not have known what a wonderful person she was.”

Stan’s face drooped. “That would almost be worse, to snuff out such a lovely life with no thought as to how her death would impact those around her. And with Erin packing up everything at the Pampered Life, soon no one in this town will even remember Carla was here.”

“Is that who was at the spa just now? I saw the front door open, but I thought perhaps the police were still combing through everything.”

“The police said they’re finished with that part of their investigation.” He switched hands for the basket again. Patricia was probably wondering where her steaks were. “Carla was renting the space for the spa, and the landlord’s already asking what will happen with the business. Erin’s moving everything to Carla’s house so she doesn’t have to pay another month’s rent. She can’t do much else until probate closes.”

“Is she in charge of handling Carla’s estate?”

“Her mother is, Carla’s sister. But she doesn’t get out much, what with her penchant for drinking, so Erin’s stuck with the work. Of course, Patricia’s offered to help out.” Stan glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I need to get going. Can’t keep the little lady waiting.”

He hustled toward the checkout stand like he could feel Patricia breathing down his neck. I went back to my shopping, grabbing other essentials besides my cereal, including milk, orange juice, and the Pop-Tarts that Ashlee never remembered to buy. Then I threw in a bag of cheese puffs for good measure.

As I wandered the aisles, a nagging sensation followed along with me. I didn’t know why the idea of Erin packing up the spa troubled me, but it did. The police must have uncovered everything they needed for their investigation, or they wouldn’t have let her inside. But what if they’d missed something?

Even if they hadn’t, I wanted answers to some questions that had been troubling me. Namely, when Gretchen overheard Carla arguing with someone in the spa, which room had they been standing in? I’d assumed Carla had been arguing with a man in the office, but what if I was wrong? If it turned out that Gretchen had overheard people arguing in the mud room, then it might not have been Carla at all. It could have been Ricky and Erin whom Gretchen had heard. After one or both of them had killed Carla.

With such disheartening thoughts on my mind, I grabbed three candy bars while in the checkout line. I didn’t know if chocolate would make everything better, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

I paid for my groceries and carried them to the car. With the bags stowed on the passenger seat, I made my way out of the lot and back over to Main Street. As I turned the corner, I saw Erin walking toward the Breaking Bread Diner. I slowed to a crawl and watched as she opened the door to the restaurant. Must be grabbing dinner while she packed up her aunt’s things.

The car behind me honked, and I snapped to attention. On impulse, I turned at the next corner, doubled back, and drove past the Pampered Life. The front door still stood open. I thought about parking across the street from the spa, so my presence wasn’t completely obvious, but I wasn’t planning on being there that long. Instead, I whipped into the parking lot and pulled into a space.

Erin might dine at the restaurant, but even if she decided to bring dinner back to the spa, I knew from experience that the place was slow with to-go orders. Nothing was ever ready when they said it would be. That delay could give me enough time to run in and verify the layout of the spa so that I could figure out exactly where that argument had happened.

Heart thumping, palms already sweating, I got out of my car and headed for the front of the building. At the doorway I looked down the block one last time. The sidewalk was clear. No sign of Erin. This might be my one chance to take a look before Erin closed the place for good. But why hadn’t Erin locked the door before walking to the diner? Was Ricky in the spa?

“Hello?” I called from the doorway.

No answer.

“Hello?” I said more loudly.

Still nothing. Maybe Erin didn’t expect to be gone long, which meant I needed to hurry.

I darted inside before I lost my nerve, and stopped just over the threshold. The artwork had been taken off the walls and stacked together. The small tranquility fountain with the spinning ball had been unplugged and drained of water. Half-full boxes sat in a corner.

With a sense of apprehension, I stepped into the hall. Down at the other end, I could see the back door through which Gretchen had entered the night Carla was killed. If I was remembering correctly, she’d heard the voices to her right. That meant those doors would be on my left now since I was coming from the opposite direction.

I walked over to the first door on my left, which had been closed on my one and only visit to the spa. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. A long massage table covered in towels sat in the middle of the room. Swiftly shutting the door, I moved down the hall. The second door was open, but I barely glanced inside. I already knew from my previous visit that this was the manicure room. That left only one room on this side of the hall.

I opened the door to that room. Yep, the office. A glass and metal desk occupied one side of the room. A stiff-looking office chair was parked in front of it. By one wall sat a filing cabinet, and by the other, a potted palm. Someone had placed a mostly full cardboard box in the corner, and I went over to peek inside. Picture frames and knickknacks, all the things that added a personal touch to an office, filled the box. I poked around to see if I could find anything noteworthy, but nothing caught my eye.

I thought about taking a quick look in the desk drawers, but I was already pressing my luck. Erin could be back at any minute, and God knew what she’d do if she found me here. As it was, the empty rooms and silent hall were creeping me out.

But the visit wasn’t a total loss. I now knew where the office was located, straight across from the mud baths, with the back door in between. If Gretchen had entered through the back door, there was no way she could have mistaken where the voices were coming from. That meant Carla was definitely in the office, probably arguing with Ricky. There was an outside possibility that she’d been arguing with someone I didn’t even know about, but I didn’t think so. With the employees gone for the day and the front door locked, the person must have been familiar with the spa and Carla’s habit of leaving the back entrance unlocked. Erin would have known about that, and she could have easily told Ricky, intentionally or not. Another check mark against Ricky.

I heard a sound coming from the front of the building and froze. Someone had come inside. I could hear them moving around the lobby. If the rustle of a plastic bag was any indication, it was Erin, back with her dinner.

I’d waited too long.

Now I was trapped.