A Healthy Homicide (17 page)

“They do not,” I said. “You want to believe that men love skinny women, because otherwise, all those years of skipping dessert were a total waste.”

“Not true,” Ashlee said.

I savored another spoonful before carefully putting the lid back on the carton, not sure if my nails were dry yet. “I’d love to argue with you some more, but I’ve got work in the morning. Thanks for the ice cream.”

I stuck the carton in the freezer and the spoon in the dishwasher, and then I headed to my room. After I got ready for bed, I lay in the dark and thought about what Brittany had said. Was Patricia behind the call to the health inspector? She’d claimed not to be upset about Carla refusing to make her a partner, but between what Brittany had told me tonight and what Erin had said before, she must have been angrier than she was letting on.

And I couldn’t forget Stan. The only motive I could think of was that he killed Carla to defend his wife’s honor, but that idea seemed ludicrous. This wasn’t the eighteen hundreds. There would be no duel.

Still, someone had murdered Carla, and I needed to focus on eliminating the people on my list. If I could cross off one name at a time, then eventually, there would be only one left: that of the killer.

 

The next morning I stood at the gate to the pigsty. I’d already posted the day’s blog and helped Zennia with the breakfast service. Now it was time to clean up after the pigs.

Wilbur saw me pull on the rubber boots that were kept near the sty and open the gate. He lumbered to his feet and ambled over as I slipped inside and latched the gate behind me. With his curlicue tail wagging, he reminded me of a dog waiting for a treat.

I could only shrug and offer my empty hands. “Sorry. I’ve got nothing for you. But I am cleaning your stall.” This particular chore definitely wasn’t my favorite part of working here, and technically, it wasn’t even my responsibility, but Esther couldn’t always get to it and I knew the pigs appreciated it, even if they didn’t show it. Plus, I kind of liked the little fellows.

I picked up the rake and got to work, chatting with Wilbur as I cleaned. “Anything new with you?” I asked.

He shook his head. I wasn’t sure if he was answering me or if he had a fly buzzing around his eyes.

“I’m starting to get used to living with Ashlee,” I told him. “Of course, I’d like it more if she went grocery shopping on occasion or cleaned up after herself. Talk about being a pig.”

Wilbur snorted loudly.

“No offense,” I said.

I finished cleaning out the old straw and grabbed the hose. Wilbur watched me.

“You guys sure have a peaceful life out here,” I said. “No worries at all.” I saw Gretchen near the spa entrance and nodded in her direction. “Not like poor Gretchen. I don’t believe the police suspect her of killing Carla anymore, but some of the townspeople do.” Wilbur tilted his head as if he was actually following what I was saying. “I’m sure the police will figure things out soon. They must know by now that Miguel lied about his alibi. And how Patricia was supposedly Carla’s best friend, but she’s not always that nice.”

Wilbur pawed at the ground and sniffed the dirt, then snorted again.

“An excellent idea. I
should
talk to her again.”

I finished cleaning the sty and returned the tools to their proper places before scrubbing my hands and forearms at the outside faucet like a doctor prepping for surgery. Then I hosed down the boots before going inside the kitchen to scrub my hands again, trying to stay out of Zennia’s way as she dished up lunch. No matter how much I cleaned my hands after working in the sty, I’d swear I could still smell the muck.

The rooster clock on the kitchen wall showed it was already past noon. Cleaning the sty had taken longer than I’d expected. As I toweled off my hands, my stomach growled so loud that even Zennia heard it.

“There’s plenty of seaweed soup,” she said as she ladled a spoonful into a bowl. “The guests are all raving about how delectable it is.”

I leaned over the bowls full of broth and sniffed. If seaweed tasted anything like it smelled, no way would I ever try it. “What is it with you and seaweed lately?” I asked.

Zennia set the bowl down and wiped up a puddle of soup on the counter before filling another bowl. “I told you how healthy seaweed is, with all its vitamins and minerals, plus all the nutrients from the other vegetables I add. It’s like a health food store in a bowl.”

I knew there was a reason I avoided health food stores. “Thanks, but I have an errand to run in town. I’ll grab lunch there.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” She picked up the bowls of soup and hustled toward the dining room.

Once she was gone, I went to the stove and looked into the pot, noting the dark green squares floating on top of the broth. My head filled with visions of seagulls circling over the ocean surf. I wrinkled my nose. No seaweed soup for me.

I retrieved my purse from the office, cut through the lobby, and sidestepped the ducks on my way down the sidewalk. Once in my car, I drove to town and pulled into a slot directly in front of Patricia’s store. I could hear hammering the moment I opened my car door, and it only got louder as I approached the shop.

Through the plate-glass window that covered most of the storefront, I could see two workmen moving around inside. One was patching a hole in the wall, while the other constructed what looked to be a counter. Off to the side, Patricia watched them, wearing spotless white coveralls and holding a clipboard in her hand, reminding me of Gordon when he was supervising one of us at the farm.

As I stepped inside, Patricia caught sight of me. “What a nice surprise, Dana,” she said, though judging by the way she scrunched up her face, I had to assume she was more annoyed than pleased.

“Hi, Patricia,” I said, raising my voice over the din. “I wanted to see how your shop is coming along. My mom’s been bugging me for an update.” Totally untrue, but a little buttering up never hurt.

“Oh, she’s so sweet.” She waved me over. “Not much has changed since the last time I saw you, but come on back and we can talk.” She turned toward the man measuring the counter. “I’ll only be gone a minute.”

He nodded, and she led the way to the back room. The space was mostly empty, save for an old wooden desk that someone had polished to a glossy sheen and a plush black office chair on wheels. In one corner someone had flipped over a straight-backed chair and had rested the seat on a worktable so that the legs pointed toward the ceiling.

“There now. It’s much quieter. I can’t stand to yell over that racket,” Patricia said. She sat in the cushioned chair and set the clipboard down. “You can tell your mom everything is on track. I still hope to open in another few weeks.”

“You must know what you’re doing.”

The hammering ceased, and Patricia popped up from the chair. She stepped around the corner, and the hammering resumed. She returned to her seat and shifted her weight a few times to get settled. “My job is to keep everyone else in line at this point. As soon as the construction work is finished, I can start getting everything else ready.”

With the only other chair resting upside down on the worktable, I had nowhere to sit. Instead, I moved around the room, noting the scratches and chips in the walls, which I was sure Patricia would soon cover with a fresh coat of paint. I walked to the overturned chair and saw thick gobs of glue where the legs met the seat. The sharp smell of glue was evident in the air. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Is Stan helping you?”

Patricia sighed. “In a roundabout way. He’s picking up the slack at home so I can devote more time here. Considering all the years I’ve taken care of him, it’s only fair.”

“Still, that’s awfully nice of him. Some guys are so spoiled by their wives that they become completely useless. You’ve got quite a husband there.” I couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and wiggle one chair leg. It moved easily in my hand. I glanced back in time to see Patricia grimace.

“Guess that hasn’t finished drying,” she commented.

I felt myself flush and dropped my hand. “Sorry.” I switched topics. “So what do you think about Erin packing up the Pampered Life? I’m assuming you already know about it, since I heard the news from Stan.”

Patricia gave me a sharp look, as if Stan was not allowed to speak to anyone without his wife present.

“I ran into him at the supermarket,” I added.

She smiled, though the expression looked strained. “That explains it. Excuse me a minute.” She disappeared around the corner, and I heard her talking to the men. When Patricia returned, she settled back in the chair. “I offered to help Erin pack. I figured it was a big task for one person, but of course, she didn’t want my help. She never does.”

“I’m sure she’s still grieving over Carla’s death. She might have wanted time to go through her aunt’s belongings in solitude.”

Patricia shook her head. “She’s too stubborn to ask for help. I can’t wait until she comes crawling to me when she can’t figure out how to empty the mud baths. I already have the number of a guy who can do the job, but I won’t be giving her my help until she wants it.”

I couldn’t tell if Patricia was upset that Erin had refused her help because Patricia didn’t like being excluded from things or because she truly cared for the niece of her best friend. “Think you’ll see any more of Erin now that Carla’s gone?”

“I doubt it,” she practically spat. “I feel an obligation to look after her for Carla’s sake, but if she rebuffs me at every turn, I don’t see how I can. I’m sure Ricky will knock her up any day now, and she’ll move into that trailer with him and his mother.”

All righty then.
Good to know Patricia had such high aspirations for Erin. “He’s probably a decent guy. He’s still young enough that he has time to pick a career.”

“If he bothers. Did you know Carla was all set to loan that kid money to go to school?”

So the money wasn’t a bribe to buy Ricky off. I perched on the edge of the desk. “That was awfully generous of her. I thought she didn’t like Ricky.”

Patricia picked up the clipboard and scanned the top page. “It was stupid, if you ask me. He never would have paid her back. But she had this crazy idea that if he went to college, he’d make something of himself. She didn’t want Erin dating a bum.”

“I heard he’s a mechanic. That’s a good profession.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is that the next time I talked to Carla, the deal was off. She wasn’t planning to offer him any money, after all, and, boy, was she mad. She never did tell me what got her so upset.”

Interesting.
What had made Carla retract her offer to help Ricky pay for school? Had she uncovered a secret about his past that had made her turn against him? I might need to find some way to track him down and ask him. So long as I wasn’t trapped with him in Carla’s spa again.

Patricia was tapping her pen on the desktop and watching me.

I rose. “I should get out of your way.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she said. “I could use the fresh air.” We passed through the front room, and Patricia stopped to point out a flaw to one of the workmen before continuing on.

Once we were outside, I looked down the street. From where I stood, I could barely make out the green-and-white awning of Carla’s former spa. I already knew how Patricia felt about Erin’s boyfriend, but how did she feel about Carla’s? “Miguel came by the spa the other day. He’s still shaken up over Carla’s death.”

“Miguel is such a dear, sweet man. I keep inviting him to dinner, knowing he must be heartbroken, but he prefers to suffer his grief in private. He has such a strong spirit.”

Funny how Erin was a selfish ingrate when she snubbed Patricia’s invitations, but Miguel was a noble warrior. “He was especially upset that Carla had invited him over that night,” I said, “but he’d chosen to go to a meeting for work. Is that what he told you?”

“Yes, the poor thing. Can you imagine the guilt he must be feeling? I would never be able to live with myself if I were him.”

So Miguel was telling everyone the same story about this work meeting. I guessed that once you lied to the police, you’d better make sure you didn’t change the details. Patricia’s head kept swiveling between me and the shop. She was clearly anxious to get back to supervising the workmen.

“I’ve gotta run,” I said. “Good luck with your business.”

“Thanks, but luck will get me only so far. Determination and smarts will get me the rest of the way.”

I had no doubt Patricia possessed both. I watched as she strode back into the shop and immediately started talking to the men.

But as smart as Patricia was, she hadn’t seen through Miguel’s phony alibi any more than I had. Where had Miguel been the night of Carla’s murder? What was he hiding?

 

The end of my lunch hour was rapidly approaching, but instead of returning to my car, I walked across the street. As long as I was downtown, I might as well see if Mom was working today. Now that I’d moved out of her house, I was continually amazed at how little we saw of each other. I missed the chats we used to have.

The bell chimed as I entered Going Back for Seconds, and I stopped in the doorway to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I spotted Mom in a back corner, talking to a customer. While I waited for her to finish, I browsed the nearby racks. For being secondhand, the merchandise was in impeccable condition. Most of the items were fancy dresses and silk pantsuits, and I had to wonder if the women had worn the outfits for special occasions and then had decided to sell them, knowing they’d never wear them again.

The customer Mom was helping disappeared into one of the dressing rooms in the back, and Mom came over to where I was looking through a collection of cocktail dresses. She plucked a little black dress off the rack. “This would be perfect for a date with Jason.”

I took the dress and held it against myself to see how long it was. The hemline hit mid-thigh. “He’d certainly like it.”

“Keep it in mind for the next time he invites you to a special night out.” She hung it back up. “What brings you into town? Are you off work today?”

“No, I’m on my lunch break and thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”

The customer came out of the dressing room, and Mom rushed over. As the lady spun before the tri-fold mirror and watched the skirt twirl, Mom oohed and aahed in appreciation. The woman took one last look, nodded at her reflection, and went back to the dressing room.

Mom returned to where I waited. “That emerald-green color is stunning with her complexion.” She lifted a jacket and fussed with the shoulders until the material hung straight.

“It looks like you’re enjoying this job,” I said.

“I couldn’t be happier. How’s work at the farm?”

“The spa side has been slow lately, but I’m sure business will pick up again. And Esther is teaching a composting class in a couple of days.”

“Good for her.” Mom lowered her voice and leaned in, keeping one eye on the dressing room area. “I don’t want to upset you, but Sue Ellen is hearing a lot of tittle-tattle about your masseuse. People are convinced she’s involved in that murder. More than one person has told Sue Ellen they won’t go to the spa as long as she’s working there.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my forehead. “I’ve heard similar remarks. Unfortunately, this kind of talk won’t die down until the police make an arrest.”

“I just hope they don’t arrest your masseuse,” Mom said. “That’ll damage the reputation of Esther’s place.”

“Sounds like the damage has already started.” I felt worry gnaw at my gut. “Say, Mom, maybe you could ask your friends to book a session at the spa? Only until the police clear everything up, of course.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. So many of my friends love being pampered. They’ll jump at the idea. Consider it done.”

The woman came out of the back area, dressed in her original clothes and carrying the emerald-green dress like it was a priceless heirloom.

“I need to ring her up,” Mom said.

“And I need to grab my lunch before my hour is completely gone. I just wanted to say hi.”

“I’m glad you did.” Mom gave me a quick hug before she hurried to the register.

I went out the door and back across the street to where my car waited outside Patricia’s shop. As I climbed inside, I could see the workmen moving around through the window. I didn’t see Patricia, but I suspected she was lurking nearby.

I stopped on my way out of town for a fish sandwich and fries to go. As I drove back to the farm, I thought about what Mom had said about people avoiding the spa. Gordon had already commented that appointments were down. If he found out the situation was even more serious than he believed, he’d insist that Esther fire Gretchen immediately. There’d be no way Gretchen—or I—could change his mind.

I parked the car and followed the path to the kitchen. As I walked through the back door, I heard Zennia gasp. She jumped up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table and dashed over to open the trash can. I heard the crinkle of cellophane as she threw something in.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked her.

She whirled around, rapidly chewing whatever was in her mouth. She squeezed out a muffled “No.”

Not sure why Zennia was acting so oddly, I moved over to where she stood and lifted the trash can lid. On top of the pile of detritus sat a familiar wrapper. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Zennia, are you eating a Twinkie?”

She held up a hand while she finished swallowing. “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said as soon as she could speak.

I felt a huge grin spread over my face. “I’m thinking that for all your lectures about how the food you put in your mouth determines whether your body thrives or fails, you like the occasional unhealthy treat as much as the rest of us.”

She pushed the trash can lid down. “I do not. It’s only this one time. I gave in to a childhood treat, is all.”

After the grief she’d given me over the past few months when she caught me eating anything deep-fried or sugar filled, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “I don’t know that. You could be in this kitchen all day long, stuffing your face with Ring Dings and miniature powdered doughnuts.”

She swiped at her mouth, as if telltale crumbs might still be lingering there. “Twinkies are my one weakness. My grandmother used to keep a supply at her house for my after-school snack. Eating one always brings back those wonderful memories. Plus, I had a bowl of seaweed soup first to counterbalance all that sugar.”

Her mention of the seaweed soup reminded me of my fish sandwich. I grabbed a plate out of the cupboard and a napkin out of the holder. “Is it my imagination, or are you cooking foods that are almost normal lately? Even the seaweed soup looked a bit tame, compared with other dishes I’ve seen you make.”

“I had an epiphany,” Zennia said. “As much as I love introducing guests to new dishes, not all my creations have been well received. I’ve decided the most important thing is for people to eat healthy, even if they stick with the more tried-and-true foods.”

I set my lunch on the table and sat down while Zennia washed a dish in the sink. “If your other creations are anything like that fish with mustard sauce you made the other day, count me in.” I bit into my sandwich.

As I swallowed my bite, Gretchen came in the back door, singing to herself. She broke off when she saw us, and said, “Hey, guys.” She went to the refrigerator and started poking through the contents on the shelves, eventually pulling out a carton of yogurt. “So I did have one more in here.”

I gestured to the chair across from me. “Care to join me?”

She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sat down. “For a minute.”

Zennia dried her hands and glanced at the rooster clock. “Wish I could stay, too, but I’ve got an herb garden to tend to.” She went out the back door while Gretchen pulled the foil top off her yogurt.

“Busy afternoon coming up?” I asked. Surely not all of her clients had abandoned her, even if Sue Ellen seemed to think so.

“I’ve got a session in ten minutes with that one guy, Miguel. Thanks for pointing him in my direction, by the way. He told me you were the reason he called for an appointment.”

From the way she spoke, I realized Gretchen didn’t know exactly who Miguel was or his relationship to Carla. I was curious to know her opinion. “What do you think of him?”

Gretchen shrugged noncommittally, but her cheeks took on a pink tinge. “He seems nice. Um, he did suggest we might have dinner sometime.”

My nose twitched. Something suddenly stank, and it wasn’t my fish sandwich. “Gretchen, I don’t know how to break this to you, but Miguel’s married.”

“What?” Gretchen asked in disbelief. “Why do I always attract guys like that?”

“Not to mention he was dating Carla before she was killed.”

Gretchen almost dropped her spoonful of yogurt. “You gotta be kidding me. And now he’s asking me out? What’s wrong with that guy?”

“Good question.” I chomped down on my sandwich, taking out my disgust on the fish fillet.

Gretchen shoved back from the table and rose. “I can’t wait to get this appointment over with. I’m not sure I want him as a client anymore after what you told me.”

“Maybe once his leg heals, he won’t come back.”

“Or maybe I’ll make sure I’m booked solid whenever he tries to schedule a session.”

I chuckled. “That’s another solution. In any case, let me know if he says anything interesting while he’s here. You know, like how guilty he feels about killing his girlfriend.”

“Don’t I wish. Then all my problems would be solved.” She rinsed out her yogurt container before tossing it in the recycling bin, dropped her spoon in the sink, and trudged out the back door.

I pushed thoughts of Miguel from my mind while I finished my lunch and then went into the office to grab the digital camera from the desk drawer. I tried to update the farm’s Web site every few weeks. While I could reuse some of the vegetable garden photos from the brochure, I wanted to capture the vivid reds and yellows of the spring flowers that had recently bloomed.

After taking half a dozen photos of the daffodils that lined the path leading to the guest cabins, I moved on to the wildflowers that grew among the shrubs, managing to capture a photograph of a bee as it landed on a bright orange poppy.

At the corner of the first cabin, a purple flower caught my eye. I’d just squatted down to get a close-up shot when I heard, “I’d use my camera on that cute guy over by the tent.”

I glanced behind me to find an attractive woman in her late forties standing nearby. I’d seen her visit Gretchen for various spa services before, but I didn’t know exactly who she was. She was staring off into the distance, and I rose from my crouched position to follow her gaze. I saw Miguel at the entrance to the spa tent, talking to Gretchen.

“Man, is he smokin’,” the woman said. She saw my raised eyebrows and laughed. “He’s probably too old for you, but he’s right in my ballpark. I’ve had my eye on him for a while now.”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

She winked at me. “Not as well as I’d like to. I’m friends with one of his cousins. I bump into him every now and again at family gatherings, things like that. I haven’t seen him in a few months, but now that he’s single again, I might have to try my luck.”

Single? What about his wife?
Or did she see Carla’s death as her big opportunity to snatch up Miguel for a little side action, never mind his wife? “Aren’t you the least bit upset that the woman he was seeing was murdered?” I asked. I couldn’t keep the judgmental tone out of my voice.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Who are you talking about?”

“Miguel’s girlfriend, Carla. Isn’t that who you were talking about when you said he was single again?”

The woman raised a hand to her chest. “He has a girlfriend? I was talking about his wife.”

“His wife?” I said stupidly.

“Yeah, he finally divorced the old battle-ax. I figure he’s ready to jump in the dating pool again. But you’re saying he already has.”

She kept talking, but I tuned her out. Miguel was divorced? What did that mean for Carla’s murder?

I was more confused than ever.