Going Organic Can Kill You (16 page)

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Authors: Staci McLaughlin

BOOK: Going Organic Can Kill You
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Dinner was starting? “I had no idea it was so late. I’ll be right there.”
I pressed the E
ND
C
ALL
button. We had reached the cabins, and I turned to Sheila.
Before I could speak, she waved her hand. “Go on. I need to change for dinner.”
I jogged around the cabins and past the pool. Sure enough, people were wandering in the side door leading to the dining room. I hurried in the kitchen door.
Zennia had both hands in a glass bowl full of clams, her apron with a cow embroidered on the front covered in bits of slimy stuff. She gestured with her head toward the plates on the counter.
“The Brussels sprouts are ready to go out.”
I rinsed my hands, then grabbed two plates. The smell of my least favorite vegetable hit me in the face and I tried not to gag. Mustn’t let the guests know what they were in for. They’d find out soon enough.
I carted the plates out to the dining room and set them before the first two diners. Both crinkled their noses and looked at me.
“Tonight, we’re starting our meal with a delicious serving of sautéed Brussels sprouts,” I said brightly, pasting a smile on my face. Then I turned and hurried out before they could ask any questions.
Once I’d finished serving everyone, I stepped back and surveyed the room. Neither Tiffany nor Logan was at dinner. Perhaps they were dining out together. A Hollywood starlet and a producer’s assistant, plotting to storm the movie industry.
I noticed an odd silence in the room. Where was the clinking of silverware on china? Several sets of hungry eyes gazed upon me with displeasure. I hastily removed the salad plates, trying not to make eye contact. Someone might stab me with their fork.
I took the dishes back to the kitchen where Zennia stirred a giant pot on the stove.
She glanced at the full plates. “No, Dana, you serve those to the guests.”
“I did. Apparently, Brussels sprouts aren’t a spa favorite.”
“Everyone here wants to see where Maxwell was murdered. These guests don’t care about their health and the role vitamins and minerals play in their diets.” She gestured to the counter. “Oh, well, serve the stew. You can eat the sprouts when you’re finished.”
I eyed the giant green orbs. “Um, thanks, Zennia, but I promised my mom I’d eat dinner with her when I got home.”
“Fine.” She took two plates, stepped on the pedal to open the garbage can, and dumped the contents of both plates into the trash. “But when your colon is suffering, don’t complain to me.”
“I promise, not a word.” I picked up two bowls of stew, wincing as I touched the hot ceramic, and hurried out to the dining room. I thumped the bowls on the table, sloshing broth over the side of each.
“Sorry,” I told the diners, dabbing at the tablecloth with an extra napkin. “Hot bowls.”
If working at the farm didn’t pan out, waitressing should clearly be avoided.
With the diners busily slurping their stew, I returned to the kitchen. Zennia was wiping down the counters.
“Thanks for your help, Dana. I can handle the rest of the dishes if you’d like to go home.”
My stomach growled and I clapped a hand over it. “Thanks, I bet Mom’s waiting right now with that dinner.” If not, I’d make a run through a drive-through somewhere.
I stopped by the office for my purse and found Esther at the desk, a notepad before her.
“Dana, I didn’t realize you were still here,” she said.
I slid the desk drawer open to the left of Esther and retrieved my purse. “On my way home right now. I just finished serving dinner.”
“Aren’t you a dear. I know you weren’t expecting to do all this extra work, but I can’t possibly afford to hire anyone else, even part time.”
“I like the variety.” And the paycheck. If it weren’t for Esther keeping me on to do these odd jobs, I’d be standing in the unemployment line right now.
Esther shook her head. “With all this trouble we’ve been having, poor Arnold would turn over in his grave—if I hadn’t had him cremated.”
“The place just needs a boost, something new to distract everyone from the murder.” I snapped my fingers. “Say, Esther, did you know about the hot springs off Chicken Run Trail?”
Esther pursed her lips and tapped them with a finger. “The hot springs? Haven’t thought about that area in a coon’s age. It’s so far back on the property.”
I could hear the excitement in my voice as I proposed the idea. “But you could open it to the guests. Offer a nice soak in a natural spring. People would love it.”
Esther’s eyebrows came together as she frowned. “But it’s not that close to the trail. How would people even reach it?”
“You’d have to clear out all that brush, make a new trail, maybe add some benches and a shower area. But think of the payoff. That place up the highway, the one that boasts about Jack London being a regular guest, has been open for years.”
“Gee, sounds awful expensive. I don’t have that kind of money right now.”
I swung my arm as I spoke, almost hitting Esther with my purse. “You’d make the money back in new reservations for sure.”
Esther offered a half smile. “I’ll sleep on it. Thanks for trying to help.”
“I know we can make this place a success. We just have to try.”
I left Esther and walked to my car, purse slung over my shoulder. Daylight had all but vanished, emphasizing how fast darkness descended in the country, compared to San Jose and all its lights. I slipped behind the wheel of my Honda and drove home, traffic almost nonexistent on the highway. The few minutes of driving gave me quiet time to reflect on Maxwell’s death.
What did I know so far? Mostly that no one had a very strong motive for killing him. Logan only worked for Maxwell to get his screenplay produced, and after all those silly and sometimes humiliating errands, Maxwell had ridiculed his work. But that seemed like a weak reason to murder someone, especially if Logan was already thinking about finding another job. Had Logan applied to Tiger Shark Studios before Maxwell was killed or after?
What about Heather? Maxwell had caught her trying on the necklace intended for Sheila, but even if Maxwell had reported the incident to Esther, surely Heather would have known that Esther wouldn’t fire her over one guest complaint.
Which brought me to Sheila and the necklace. How odd that those two would just happen to stay at the spa at the same time and that Maxwell would suddenly decide to reconcile in such a short time. Sheila’s story was a little too pat. I’d have to keep my eye on her.
 
At home, Mom had turned on the porch light and a warm glow embraced the front door. I pulled in the driveway, surprised to see Ashlee’s car missing. The sound of my engine’s fan accompanied me as I exited the car and walked up the path.
I opened the front door, stepped inside, and stopped. Mom stood in the entryway, arms crossed over her chest.
“Dana Marie Lewis, how could you betray me like this?”
Uh-oh. My mind flipped through my actions of the last few days, trying to locate the source of her anger. I wasn’t sure what I’d done, but whenever I heard my full name, I was in deep doo-doo.
17
Before I could speak, Mom took hold of my wrist and dragged me inside, glancing around, probably wondering if the neighbors had seen her in her pink sweat suit with the rhinestone-studded collar, a Christmas gift from Ashlee.
She slammed the door shut. “To think I had to find out from Sue Ellen, of all people.”
Uh-oh. Sue Ellen was Mom’s archenemy in all things gossip-related. Whatever I’d done, Sue Ellen finding out first would only add to Mom’s ire.
“Please, Mom, calm down.”
She stared at me, tapping her slippered foot at warp speed. “Calm down? Calm down? My daughter is dating an absolute hunk and she can’t even tell her own mother?”
“Wait, are you talking about me or Ashlee?” After all, Ashlee was the serial dater in the family.
“Stop playing games, young lady. Sue Ellen saw you on your little date at the Eat Your Heart Out café with that reporter, Jason.”
The fog in my brain cleared. Now the sun shone down with brilliant clarity on those little gray cells. Sue Ellen was the driver of the blue Saturn, the one who had almost hit another car because she was so busy staring at us.
“Jason was interviewing me for the
Herald
.”
“Over coffee?”
“He suggested moving off site to make the interview more casual. When he was done asking questions, he took me straight back to the farm where he talked to the rest of the staff.”
“Haven’t I told you to stay away from that café? All the bikers hang out there. You’ll get a reputation.”
“New owners. Not a biker in sight.”
Mom continued to tap her foot but had slowed to Greyhound Bus speed. “And you weren’t kissing outside the restaurant?”
“Of course not.”
“Sue Ellen swears she saw you give Jason a quick smooch while standing by his car.”
What on earth was wrong with Sue Ellen? Then the scene from the parking lot came to mind, and I laughed.
Mom eyed me with clear suspicion, ready to disbelieve whatever I said.
“I tripped. On that crappy pavement. I was getting into his car when I stumbled into him.”
“A likely story.”
I shrugged. “It’s the truth. Besides, I’m twenty-eight. I could marry Jason if I wanted to and wouldn’t have to tell you or anyone else.” I pointed down the hall. “I’m going to make my dinner now.”
“No need. I waited for you. The butcher had a big sale on calf liver today.”
Geez, I should have eaten Zennia’s Brussels sprouts. “Where’s Ashlee?” Wouldn’t want her to miss out on liver.
“On a date. At least Ashlee tells me when she’s dating someone.”
“I’m not dating Jason!”
Mom walked into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “If you say so.”
I rolled my eyes and followed behind, watching as she lifted a platter out of the oven. I pulled forks and knives from the silverware drawer.
“Who’s Ashlee seeing now?”
“Some fellow named Rockford.”
I set the glasses on the table with a clunk. “Where did she meet a guy named Rockford?”
Mom placed a hot pad in the middle of the table, then went back for the platter. “Through her friend, Karen. He’s one of her clients.”
“Isn’t Karen a parole officer?”
Mom speared a giant piece of liver and slapped it on my plate. “You know how kindhearted Ashlee is. She believes everyone deserves a second chance.”
I stared at the dark slab of meat. Would she say the same about Maxwell’s killer?
 
The next morning, I mucked out the sty, while Wilbur and the other pigs snorted at my inexperience. Next time Esther requested I perform this particular chore, I was going to suggest she include it as a possible guest activity. I could already visualize the brochure:
EXPERIENCE REAL LIFE ON A FARM
!
PLAY WITH THE LITTLE PIGGIES
! Someone was bound to fall for it.
I spread fresh straw in their bedding area, my cell phone flopping from my pocket onto the ground. One pig tried to sniff it, possibly looking for a snack, but I grabbed the phone and stuffed it back in my pocket. I hosed down the outside ground and dumped a bucket of feed into the trough.
Suddenly Wilbur and the gang weren’t smirking at the new girl.
I stepped out of the sty, checking over my shoulder for any pig followers, but their noses were buried in the trough. The slurping noises turned my stomach a bit. Holding the fence rail for support, I slipped off one rubber boot and stuck my foot in my sandal, then repeated the process with my other foot. Time to wash up.
At the kitchen sink, I squirted extra liquid soap on my hands, scrubbing the skin under hot water until my hands burned. Zennia sat at the table, her black hair up in its usual braid, arranging late-season daffodils in a shallow bowl. The yellow of the flowers was almost an exact match to the color of her scoop-necked blouse. Several cuttings and a matching empty bowl sat on the counter.
“Beautiful flowers, Zennia.”
She moved several daffodils over and added fern sprigs. “Flowers are vital to one’s health, you know. Their beauty and fragrance relax one’s body and free the mind.” She stepped back and eyed the bowl. “I’m setting a bowl on each picnic table.”
“Let me.” I inhaled the scent of the yellow flowers as I carried the bowl out the back door and around to the patio.
Tiffany and Logan sat at the end of one table, playing cards.
As I set the bowl in the center, Logan laid down his hand. “Gin.”
Tiffany giggled. “You are so good at this game. You need to teach me your secrets.” She touched Logan’s hand and he blushed.
Well, weren’t these two kids cozy? Perhaps Tiffany had heard about Logan’s new job and she had her eye on Tiger Shark Studios’ latest movie project.
On the edge of the patio, Sheila sat in a chaise longue, writing in a journal. She wore a beige strapless mesh cover-up over her black one-piece swimsuit.
She glanced up. “Morning, Dana.”
I walked over to where she sat. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better, thanks. I’m sorry I burdened you with my problems yesterday.”
“I know you guys weren’t married anymore, but I’m sure you still loved Maxwell. My dad died last year and I miss him all the time.” I felt tears form in my eyes as I said the words. I was still surprised at how emotional I got talking about him. And those unexpected reminders were the worst. He’d sometimes buy us cupcakes on Saturdays as a surprise, and even now, walking into a bakery made me cry.
Sheila gripped her journal. “Maxwell will always hold a special place in my heart. That’s why I’m writing in my journal today. To deal with all these emotions. I learned that in my anger management class.”
“Anger management?” I asked sharply.
Sheila waved her hand. “A minor transgression after too much wine. Nothing worth talking about.”
Unless she hadn’t gotten a handle on that anger. Then it was definitely worth talking about. I glanced around, noting the empty pool and vacant lounge chairs. “Awful quiet this morning.”
“Most of the guests decided to caravan over to Mendocino for some early morning whale watching, followed by boutique shopping and wine tasting. They invited me along, but considering I live in Mendocino year round, I’ve sampled enough wine to start a second career as a sommelier.”
Oh, to have such problems. Instead, I needed to retrieve the second bowl of flowers. As I turned toward the house, Christian and Gordon emerged from the back door and walked to the edge of the pool.
“If I move the mats to the patio,” Christian said, “we’ll have the necessary space.”
“Unacceptable,” Gordon said. “Guests like to socialize by the picnic tables. We can’t cover the area with your silly yoga mats.”
Christian gestured toward the smaller patio. “With the increase in class attendance, we can’t all fit on that side of the pool. We need to move to a larger area where our energy can flow freely.”
Gordon stepped closer to Christian, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Then find a place out of the way. Those mats are a tripping hazard.”
I wedged myself between the two men. “Christian could set the mats out immediately before the classes and remove them as soon as a class is over.”
“Dana, stay out of this,” Gordon said.
A wave of anger rose up in me, and my jaw seized up. “I’m trying to help, Gordon.”
“I’ll handle Christian and his mat issues. You need to focus on your little blog.”
Before I could snap back with a witty retort that I was sure to think of any second, I heard “Yoo-hoo, Dana!”
Esther hustled out of the house, carrying the second bowl of daffodils.
I removed myself from between the Gordon and Christian bookends and met her by the edge of the large patio.
“Morning, Esther. What can I help you with?”
“I wanted to thank you for helping out this morning with the pigs. You really saved my bacon.” Esther chuckled at her own joke. Maybe I’d suggest she perform a stand-up routine for the guests if nothing else panned out.
I straightened a chaise longue that sat at an angle from the others. “It was fun once I got the hang of it.” And the pigs stopped laughing at me.
“Oh, good. So what are your plans for today?”
“I was about to write my blog and then the cricket-chirping contest is this afternoon.”
Esther slapped a hand to the side of her face. “How could I forget the contest? Too bad you’ll miss Zennia’s famous French honey walnut dessert. I’ll see if she can save you some.” I could almost see her writing a mental note as she pressed her lips together. “I never asked how Queenie was when you bought that honey. She wasn’t too much trouble, was she?”
Let’s see. She’d threatened me with a shotgun, ranted about sinners, and scared an extra five years off my life. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Esther leaned toward me. “I don’t mind telling you, she turned more than one hair gray the first few times I saw her. But she’s a kindhearted woman. And quite the Bible lover.”
“She did quote a lot of scripture when I was there. In fact, I think she mentioned Maxwell, though I couldn’t quite figure out what she was babbling about.”
Esther’s hand fluttered to her heart. “Maxwell? Did she know him?”
“Probably not. But she might have seen him with a woman on that bench near her trailer.”
“A woman?”
I leaned in. “Queenie mentioned a golden-haired hussy.”
A faint blush crept up Esther’s throat and into her cheeks. She fanned herself with her hand. “Oh, my goodness me.”
Gordon cleared his throat at my elbow, and I jumped.
“Do you ladies mind if we don’t entertain the guests with this salacious tale?”
I glanced over at the patio. While I’d been regaling Esther with the details, Sheila had lowered her journal and Tiffany and Logan had set their cards on the table, all eyes on me. My bad.
When my gaze settled on Tiffany, she bent her head and stared at her hands. Wish I hadn’t mentioned that part about the golden-haired hussy. “Esther, I’d better write that blog now.”
The steam from Gordon’s anger practically formed a cocoon around him. I turned away from everyone, and slinked into the house, feeling the pressure of everybody staring at my back.
In the office, I drummed my fingers on the desk. Writing a blog every day was proving harder than I had imagined. Well, the writing part was easy. Thinking of a topic was the hard part.
I hadn’t come up with my list of extra topics yet, so I Googled other overnight spas to see if they had their own blogs and whether I could glean some ideas from those. The first hit was a spa in Oregon that catered to the nudist crowd. The next spa, in Arizona, offered rattlesnake taming as an option. The third hit was actually a newspaper article about a spa back east where a woman had been scammed out of her life savings by a gigolo. Guess we weren’t the only spa with a scandal on our hands. But none of these sites was helping me find a blog topic.
I pictured Sheila writing in her journal, remembered her comment yesterday about looking for jewelry inspiration. Living among nature here at the spa clearly helped her tap into her creative side. And that’s what I’d recommend to readers. I typed up the blog, touting the benefits of fresh air and healthy food, and finished by suggesting the spa as an artists’ retreat.
As I hit the POST button, I saw Heather walk past the door. I hadn’t talked to her since I’d confronted her about the towels. She might have seen something in Maxwell’s cabin the morning he was killed that would give me a clue as to why he was angry before yoga.
I jumped up from the desk chair and hurried into the hall. Heather was at the kitchen doorway.
“Heather,” I called.
She stopped just as I heard voices at the other end of the hall. I turned toward the sound and saw Esther and Detective Caffrey enter from the lobby. The detective wore that neutral expression all cops seemed to master, offering no clue as to whether he suspected me of killing Maxwell or was trying to remember if he had enough clean underwear until laundry day.

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