Going Organic Can Kill You (4 page)

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Authors: Staci McLaughlin

BOOK: Going Organic Can Kill You
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4
Esther gripped my arm so hard that I winced.
“Murdered?” I said. “Are you sure?”
The paramedic pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket and stuck it between his lips. “Judging by the stab wound to his gut, it couldn’t be anything else.” He pulled a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette, exhaling a burst of smoke in my direction.
I barely registered the haze, instead picturing Maxwell as I’d seen him on the bed, in that odd position with his hands tucked under his body. He must have been gripping his stomach when he fell over and died. The poor man.
Two of the guests came around the corner at the other end of the cabins and glanced at us with obvious interest.
The woman fanned a hand before her face. “Smoking, at a spa,” she said, loud enough to reach us. “The shame.”
Her companion shook his head at us and they let themselves into their cabin. The paramedic kept smoking.
Deputy Williams popped his head out Maxwell’s door. “Shut up, Carl, and stop blabbing about how the victim died.” He turned his gaze on me. “And, you, ma’am. The detective will want to talk to you as soon as he gets out here. Go wait in the house.”
I pressed my palms against my stomach. “Why do I need to wait in the house? Am I a suspect?” I could almost hear the clang of the cell door slamming shut.
The deputy scowled at me. “You can wait wherever you want. I just need to know where you are so I can tell the detective.”
I felt myself blush at my overreaction. “Oh, then the house is fine.” No need to call my lawyer just yet. Not that I had one.
I turned to go, Esther clutching my arm once more. I wanted to shake her loose, take a minute for myself, but one look at her drawn face and trembling mouth told me she was on the verge of hysteria. I patted her hand, a gesture I’d been repeating all day, and escorted her down the path.
On my way by the pool area, I glanced at the empty patio, marveling at how I’d seen Maxwell only hours before, attempting yoga. What had happened between then and now? Had someone entered his room and attacked him? I couldn’t quite picture Maxwell stabbing himself in the stomach. I shuddered and kept walking.
“Dana?” Esther whispered beside me. “Do you think one of the guests killed him?”
“Let’s let the police worry about that,” I said, trying to sound soothing. But of course one of the guests killed him. Or one of the employees. After only a month on the job, what did I know about any of these people? But because killers didn’t exist in my Pollyanna universe, a tiny part of me clung to the hope that Maxwell had tripped and fallen on the knife by accident.
I led the way back into the kitchen and deposited Esther in a chair. Zennia was washing dishes at the sink. When she saw us, she raised an eyebrow in query.
“Maxwell, that producer guy, died,” I said.
She dropped the fork she’d been cleaning. It clanked in the sink. “Oh, Dana, no.” She wiped her hands on her apron, her hair in disarray, springing out of her braid. “Esther, let me get you a cup of tea, my special herbal blend.” She turned on the burner under the kettle and pulled a teacup off the hook on the wall. “Dana, would you like some?”
“Not right now, thanks. I don’t feel like sitting.”
I wanted to check on Gordon, see if he needed help. Dealing directly with the guests didn’t fall under my normal job description, but this situation wasn’t exactly normal either.
Knowing Zennia would keep an eye on Esther, I followed the sound of voices down the hall and found most of the guests in the lobby. A few sat on the blue-and-white checked sofa or in the matching blue wingback chairs. The rest stood in groups of two and three. I spotted Logan sitting in a corner alone, partially obscured by the ficus. He was texting on his BlackBerry, his white dress shirt now wrinkled. I wasn’t sure why almost everyone had congregated here, but at least the only people near the cabins were the couple I’d seen earlier.
Gordon saw me enter the room and broke from his group to join me. “What the hell is going on? Have the police told you anything?”
I pulled him into the hall and kept my voice low. “Maxwell didn’t die of natural causes. The police haven’t said anything official, but he was probably murdered.”
Gordon’s face turned as red as a stop sign. “You’d better be kidding.”
I stared at him. “I wouldn’t joke about murder.”
“How could he go and get himself killed during my opening weekend? What am I going to tell the clients?”
A man was dead and that was Gordon’s first question? “I’m sure Maxwell didn’t
plan
to be murdered. But I think we should tell the guests. The police will want everyone available for questioning. No sense making the cops chase people around the farm all afternoon.”
“Fine, I’ll tell them.” Gordon whirled around and stepped back into the lobby. “Everyone, could I have your attention please?”
Conversations petered out and all eyes turned on Gordon.
“Unfortunately, there’s been a death here at the farm.” Several gasps emanated from the group. “Maxwell Mendelsohn.” At this, Logan stopped texting and looked up, a lock of hair breaking loose and hanging in his eyes. “Please wait here until the police have a chance to speak with each of you.”
Several people started talking to each other, the volume gradually rising. Gordon raised a hand and the room fell silent.
“I understand what a terrible inconvenience this is for everyone,” Gordon said. “I’ll make sure the police conduct their interviews as quickly as possible so you can get back to enjoying all the fine amenities the O’Connell Farm and Spa has to offer.”
Enjoy the spa after a man was murdered? I could use a little of whatever spiked cider Gordon was sipping.
“In the meantime,” he continued, “I’ll arrange for some snacks and drinks to tide you over.” With that, he walked past me and headed toward the kitchen.
The minute he moved, everyone started talking at once.
“Maxwell’s dead?” Tiffany said, her hazel-green eyes wide.
“Which one was Maxwell?” a man I didn’t know asked.
Guess his vacation wouldn’t be too affected by the news.
I backed out of the room before anyone could ask me questions and bumped into someone from behind.
“Dana,” Heather said. “What’s happened? Why are the police here?” She was chomping on gum, the mint scent mingling with the fainter smell of cigarette smoke.
I studied her, looking for a spark of guilt. Why had she really asked me to change the towels?
“Maxwell was murdered,” I said without preamble, just to see her reaction.
Heather’s face paled, her bottom jaw dropping open, exposing her tongue ring and a wad of gum. Her surprise seemed genuine enough, and I felt a tinge of guilt myself at suspecting her of anything. But a man had most likely been murdered and someone was guilty.
“My God, do they know who did it?” she asked, fingering her T-shirt hem.
“Not yet.” I looked Heather in the eye and hoped my voice wouldn’t tremble with my question. “What were you doing when I was taking the towels to the rooms?” I held my breath as I waited for her answer, wondering if she’d ever ask for my help again. Probably not.
A shadow of emotion that I couldn’t quite name flitted across her face as she broke eye contact, but then her gaze settled over my left shoulder and her expression was replaced with wariness. I turned to see what had caught her attention.
A man approached us from the lobby. His shoulder holster and buzz cut announced his status as a cop before he opened his mouth.
He stopped before me and cleared his throat. “You’re Dana Lewis, right?” His voice was flat and businesslike.
I nodded mutely, my throat suddenly dry.
“I’m Detective Caffrey. I’ll be questioning you. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“Let’s use the office,” I managed to choke out, my voice sounding scratchy. The room was only a few short steps away and I sank into the desk chair, suddenly unsure if my legs would continue to hold my weight.
Detective Caffrey remained standing, looming over me. “You state that you found Mr. Mendelsohn’s body when you entered his room with fresh towels. Is that correct?”
“He was lying on the bed. I thought he was sleeping.” Once more, an image of Maxwell’s prone body came to mind but I blinked it away.
“Doesn’t the maid usually handle the towels?” Detective Caffrey asked.
“Right, but she had something else to do and asked me to help out. Apparently the towels weren’t dry yet when she cleaned the rooms earlier.” What had Heather been doing? She’d been so vague when I asked. Had she somehow known Maxwell was dead and wanted me to find the body? Had she killed him herself and wanted to point the finger at me? Ridiculous.
Detective Caffrey studied me, pen poised over his notebook, as those thoughts galloped through my brain. “Did you want to add anything else?” he asked. “The slightest detail may be important.”
Perhaps Heather had a legitimate reason for not replacing the towels. No sense getting her in trouble with the police until I had a chance to ask her. I looked at Detective Caffrey’s shoes, black and shiny, much like Gordon’s. “No, nothing to add.”
“Had you spoken to Mr. Mendelsohn on previous occasions?”
I thought back to his stay at the farm. “Not that I recall. I mean, I’ve spotted him here and there, but we never spoke. I did talk to his assistant, Logan, when he didn’t show up for lunch.”
“The assistant didn’t show up for lunch or Mr. Mendelsohn?”
“Mr. Mendelsohn. I asked Logan if he was expecting his boss, so I could keep a plate of food ready, and he said yes.” Had Logan been lying to cover his crime? Trying to create an alibi? Good grief, if I kept suspecting everyone, I’d drive myself batty.
Detective Caffrey jotted down a note. “Did you see Mr. Mendelsohn earlier in the day?”
“Around eleven. He was in a yoga class, although he was struggling with the tree pose, got angry, and left.”
Detective Caffrey stopped writing. “He was angry with the tree pose?”
“Right. He almost fell over in front of the whole group.”
“And that’s the last time you saw him?”
I brushed at a patch of dirt on one knee that I had missed earlier. “He went back to his cabin after that.”
“Did you actually see him enter his cabin?”
I thought for a moment, trying to picture the scene. “No, I was helping Esther catch Wilbur before he ate all the vegetables.”
“Are guests restricted on the number of vegetables they can consume?”
“Wilbur’s a pig.”
Detective Caffrey frowned. “He can’t eat that much.”
If the detective had this much trouble following a simple conversation, Maxwell’s killer could rest easy. “No, Wilbur is an actual pig. You know, the oink-oink kind.”
A muscle pulsed below Detective Caffrey’s eye. “Of course he is.” He looked over his pages, then snapped his notebook shut. “If you think of anything else, please contact me immediately.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me.
I tucked the card under the keyboard on the desk. “What now?”
“I need to question the rest of the staff and the guests before they find out what’s happened.”
Uh-oh. “Um, the guests already know Maxwell died.”
The tic under his eye beat faster. “How did they find out?”
I shoved the business card farther under the keyboard. “I explained to Gordon what had happened, and he told them.”
“Who authorized you to release this information?”
“No one. Deputy Williams told me to wait in the house and I thought I’d do you guys a favor by keeping the guests in one spot.” I swiped at my forehead, sure I felt perspiration forming. “But the guests don’t know he was murdered. Only the staff does.”
Detective Caffrey pressed his lips together, his only sign of annoyance. “How many are on staff here?”
“The maid, the manager, the yoga instructor, and the cook. And me, of course.”
“I’ll talk to the maid first,” Detective Caffrey said.
“Let’s see if she’s in the kitchen.”
I stepped into the hall ahead of the detective and nearly bumped into Heather, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. Had she been listening at the door?
“Detective Caffrey wants to talk to you.”
“Me?” Her entire body visibly trembled as she fingered the bump in her jeans pocket.
The detective gestured toward the office. “I’ll need to ask you a few questions.” He followed Heather into the room and shut the door, leaving me standing in the hall.
Had Detective Caffrey noticed Heather shaking? What would she tell him about her absence?
In the kitchen, Esther and Gordon sat across the table from each other. Esther clutched her teacup and stared into the porcelain bottom as if to read the leaves and find out what the future now held for the farm.

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