Chapter 1
I pointed to a round, bumpy vegetable on a folding table at the Blossom Valley farmers’ market and turned to Zennia, the health-minded and Zen-like cook at the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa, the bed-and-breakfast where I worked. “What on earth is that thing?”
She gave me a patient smile. “Cauliflower, Dana.”
“But it’s orange.”
“Some varieties are.”
None that I’d ever seen. Then again, Zennia could identify more vegetables than anyone I knew. I surveyed the rest of the produce that was laid out on the table. “You must be in heaven when you come here every week.”
She picked up a clump of pea pods. “Based on the way you keep wrinkling your nose, I’m guessing you’re not.”
I reached up and touched my nose. “It’s an automatic reflex. I don’t think all vegetables are bad. Those peas you’re holding would taste downright yummy if you drowned them in melted cheese and covered them with a buttery crumb topping.”
“Good grief,” Zennia muttered. “And spoil the sweet peas?”
It was a warm evening in late May, and I’d agreed to accompany Zennia to this week’s farmers’ market. The event was held at Blossom Valley’s largest park, where a wide sidewalk lined an expansive square of lush green lawn. Two dozen vendors had set up a collection of tables and displays overflowing with ripe vegetables, sweet-scented fruits, and brightly-colored flowers on the sidewalk in hopes of attracting customers. One innovative farmer had chosen to back up his pickup truck to the sidewalk and lower his tailgate to display several types of lettuce, saving himself the time and trouble of unloading his crop.
On the grass, children played tag while a handful of people sunbathed on beach towels and others tossed Frisbees or balls to their dogs. In the summer months, the park would host outdoor concerts, eating competitions, and the Fourth of July fireworks show, but for now, fruits and vegetables were the main focus.
Even though my primary responsibility at the O’Connell farm was to provide marketing services, my official duties rarely took up the entire work day. I often helped Zennia prepare and serve meals for the guests, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by the market and expand my fruit and vegetable knowledge. Considering I couldn’t recognize several types of produce for sale, I clearly needed to brush up.
“Next time I make my spring barley risotto, I’ll be sure to have you help me,” Zennia said, sorting through a pile of string beans. “One bite and you’ll realize why I love vegetables so much.”
I pointed to a nearby stall, where a variety of cheeses and several bottles of local olive oil weighed down a folding table. My mouth watered at the sight. “Right now, I’m going to check out what kind of Monterey Jack that guy is selling.”
“Suit yourself.” Zennia moved on to a booth where a woman was displaying asparagus while I homed in on the cheese guy, a tall, thin man with a pronounced Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down as he told me about each and every cheese on his table.
“If you’re looking for a good Jack cheese, try the dill. What you want to do is toast slices of ciabatta bread and spread on a little mayonnaise. Then add the dill Jack, a layer of tomato slices, and a sprinkle of salt, and you’re all set.” He kissed his fingertips. “Perfection. Put it under the broiler for a minute, and it’s even better, if that’s possible.”
I selected a wedge and studied the other offerings. “What about the garlic Jack?”
The man rubbed his stomach, as if the mere mention made him ravenous. “All you need is a hunk of plain, old bread to go with that.”
I picked up a wrapped piece of garlic Jack and paid the man for both cheeses before storing my purchases in the reusable tote Zennia had given me a few months back. With a nod of thanks, I walked over to the booth where I’d seen Zennia before we’d separated, only to find she was no longer there.
The crowd had picked up considerably while I’d been shopping, but I managed to spot her bright yellow blouse across the lawn. A few feet away from the table where she stood, an older man sporting a short gray beard and wearing a henley shirt and cargo shorts was giving her the once-over. I smiled. I’d have to let Zennia know she had an admirer. With her long dark hair and tall, athletic figure, she probably had more than one.
As I headed in her direction, I stopped to buy a green plastic container of sweet-smelling strawberries. I’d noticed some pre-made sponge cake shells at the Meat and Potatoes grocery store when I’d shopped there last week. With a little whipped cream, I was looking at the makings of easy strawberry shortcake.
I gingerly placed my strawberries in my tote and looked across the grass toward Zennia again. My gaze drifted to the left, and I shivered. The man I’d noticed admiring her stood in the same spot, apparently transfixed. He watched as Zennia browsed among the tables and talked to the sellers. When she moved to the next table, he advanced a few steps in her direction, never letting his stare waver.
I started across the lawn to warn Zennia. Maybe that guy had a perfectly innocent reason to be so focused on her, but then again, maybe not. Either way, I didn’t like the way he was acting. I picked up my pace.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving through the air and jerked my head around as a Frisbee streaked straight toward my face. I raised my arm to deflect it, and the plastic disc hit my forearm with a sharp sting before falling to the grass.
A boy of about ten ran over and picked it up. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled to his feet.
“No problem,” I said. “Those Frisbees have minds of their own.” I watched him run back to his friends, and then I scanned the people before me and frowned. Zennia was still in sight, but the man in the cargo shorts had vanished. I checked the nearby tables and spotted him standing behind a trio of women who were huddled in a semi-circle. They seemed to be comparing the contents of their bags as if the items were rare jewels from the lost city of Atlantis. The man cast one last glance at Zennia before moving farther back into the crowd and disappearing from sight.
I chuckled to myself. I really needed to stop watching so many scary movies. Seeing masked men with machetes stalking young co-eds in skimpy clothes was making me paranoid.
Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I reached Zennia as she was paying the vendor.
She caught sight of me. “There you are. Find anything good?”
I hefted my bag. “Cheese and strawberries.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely combination. I found some baby artichokes.”
I glanced behind me but didn’t see the mystery man anywhere. “I don’t think you noticed, but some guy was totally checking you out while you were shopping.”
Zennia’s cheeks instantly turned pink. “Oh, stop. I’m not some young girl. No one checks me out anymore.”
“Give yourself more credit. Mid-forties is prime dating age nowadays. And obviously guys do still give you the eye. I saw it for myself. He was staring at you for so long that I almost felt the urge to call the cops.”
Zennia waved her hand, like she was swiping the compliment away, but I could tell she was pleased. “Shall we keep shopping? I think I saw some sunflower bouquets when we first came in. Those would really brighten the farm’s dining room.”
We wandered around the square, stopping at the occasional table. By the time we made the circuit, my bag was noticeably heavier, though it paled in comparison to Zennia’s two teeming totes.
“Do you need help carrying your bags to the car?” I asked as we stepped to the edge of the park and away from the vendors.
“I’ll manage.” We carried our purchases to the parking lot and stopped at Zennia’s Prius.
I bent down and gently set my own bag on the pavement so I could help Zennia load her bags into the trunk. As I straightened up, I glanced across the lot and froze.
The man was back. The one who’d been watching Zennia.
This time, he stood next to the open passenger door of a nondescript white van, the kind that always made me think of stories I’d heard about Ted Bundy. Once more, he was staring at Zennia.
“Zennia,” I said sharply.
She was in the middle of lifting one of the bags to place in the trunk, but when I said her name, she immediately turned to look at me. The movement sent her off balance, and the bag slipped from her grasp and hit the pavement. Two heads of broccoli and several small onions fell out the top and rolled under a nearby car.
“The broccoli is making a run for it,” she joked as she bent down to retrieve the wayward vegetables.
I knelt down with her and helped gather the onions as quickly as I could. “Don’t worry about that. I saw that guy again.” From my crouched position, I couldn’t see over the car, but I jerked my head in his general direction. “Do you know him?”
Zennia stood and scanned the lot. “What guy?”
I hastily tossed the last onion in the bag and rose. I looked toward the van where I’d seen him standing only moments ago and shook my head. “Never mind.”
For the second time that day, the man had disappeared.