A Healthy Homicide (4 page)

“Thanks.” I took a sip, feeling the hot beverage course its way down my throat. “I know Brittany found her only this morning, but do the police suspect anyone yet?”

“Not that I know of. They’re still investigating how the killer gained entry to the spa.”

I picked at the hole in the plastic lid on my coffee cup. “Do they think someone broke in to rob the place and Carla interrupted them?”

“That’s one theory. If Carla let her killer in, that changes things. It means it wasn’t a random killing.”

I trembled at the thought and looked at my cup. Was it worse to be killed by a stranger or by someone you knew and trusted? Definitely the latter, knowing in your final seconds that you’d been betrayed. I hoped Carla hadn’t suffered. But death by mud? It sounded awful.

Jason drained his cup and tossed it in the nearby trash can. “Let’s pick a more cheerful topic. I’d love to get together tonight, if I’m caught up at work.”

“Sure. Come on over. I’ll make you my famous chili dogs.”

“Wow. You’re making chili from scratch? I didn’t know you cooked.”

I’d been planning to open a can that I had sitting in my cupboard, but still, I didn’t appreciate Jason’s incredulous tone. “I might,” I hedged. “And I’ll add extra cheese and jalapeños.”

Jason laughed. “How could I refuse such a tempting offer?”

I leaned toward him. “You’ll be so fired up that you’ll need an extinguisher to put out the flames.”

Jason’s gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips. “Are we still talking about the chili dogs?”

“Maybe.” I winked at him.

“I’ll be there at seven.”

We stood at the same time. Jason followed me out of the coffee shop, the barista nodding at us on our way by. When we reached my car, Jason pulled me into a hug, and I rested my head on his chest for a moment. I caught the spicy scent of his cologne as we broke apart.

“See you tonight,” he said before stepping over to his car.

With a wave, I got in my own car and drove through town. Whenever thoughts of Carla crept into my mind, I chased them away. The police would find her killer. Jason would keep me updated. I had no reason to obsess over her death. Except I couldn’t help it. One minute, she was laughing and showing me around her treasured spa, and the next, she was buried in a mud bath. I still couldn’t quite accept that fate.

I took the exit for the farm and bounced and jolted down the potholed lane. When I reached the lot, I noticed a dark blue Ford Taurus parked in one of the spaces and slammed on my brakes, craning my head to study the car. I could be wrong, but I was almost positive that car belonged to Detective Palmer, one of Blossom Valley’s finest. What was he doing here?

 

I hit the gas pedal and shot into the first available parking spot, then stomped on the brakes. The car jerked to a stop. I jumped out and trotted to the lobby door, my heart beating faster with each step. Inside, Gordon stood behind the counter, jotting notes on his clipboard. My step faltered as I noted his calm behavior. Maybe I’d been wrong about the car.

He glanced up when I entered and slapped his ballpoint pen on his clipboard. “Did you know the police are here?” he demanded.

Then again, maybe I’d been right. I crossed the room and stopped before the counter, bending over slightly to catch my breath. “I thought that was Detective Palmer’s car outside. What does he want?”

“He didn’t say, other than to ask if Gretchen was working today.”

I straightened up. “Gretchen? Why would he want to talk to her?” With such a small police force, every detective, including Palmer, would be working on Carla’s murder, but I failed to see how Gretchen was involved.

“Again, the detective did not share that information with me.” Gordon checked his watch. “They’ve been in the dining room for the past fifteen minutes. They’ll need to leave soon so we can set up for lunch service.”

“Forget lunch. I want to know why he’s interested in Gretchen.” I moved down the hall toward the dining room.

“Tell him he has five minutes,” Gordon called after me.

Right.
I was going to kick out a police officer while he was investigating a murder just so guests wouldn’t have to eat on the patio.
Not likely.

I stopped at the open door of the dining room and peeked in. Detective Palmer sat at one of the tables, facing the door. Gretchen sat across from him with her back to me, but her stiff posture and the way she clenched the chair seat told me she wasn’t enjoying the conversation.

Detective Palmer raised his eyes to me, and I’d swear he fought the urge to roll them. His buzz cut was longer than the last time we’d spoken, but his face was as stern as ever. “We’ll be done in a minute.”

I stepped fully into the room. “What’s going on?”

Gretchen lifted her head but didn’t turn around.

“Official police business,” Detective Palmer said. “Please wait outside.”

I didn’t budge. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No.”

I’d dealt with Detective Palmer a few times before, and we’d established a reserved yet mutually respectful relationship. Sometimes he even joked with me. I had a feeling today wasn’t one of those days.

When he didn’t say anything else, I gave Gretchen one last look, then crossed the hall to the office. I didn’t even attempt to get any work done, knowing it would be a waste of time. Instead, I sat in the swivel chair and swung back and forth while keeping an eye on the dining room door. When Gretchen and Detective Palmer didn’t emerge after three or four minutes, I went down the hall to see if Zennia knew anything.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, shelling peas. As I entered, she tossed an empty pod into an already full bowl. The pod teetered on the pile but didn’t fall. Without my asking, she said, “I’m making my pea and mint salad. I thought it would balance well with my seasoned tofu, rather than the lamb people often serve it with.”

I cringed as an image of a tofu lamb running across a field popped into my head, but I managed to say, “Sounds delicious. I’ll have to try some.”

Zennia gave me a questioning look.

“Well, the pea salad, anyway.” I gestured toward the hall. “Any idea why the cops are talking to Gretchen?”

She sucked in her breath. “The police? No. I didn’t realize they were here.”

“Detective Palmer is in the dining room with her now. I’m sure it’s related to Carla’s murder, but I don’t know why.”

Zennia dropped the peas in her hand. Two rolled across the table and fell onto the floor. “The new spa owner? Gordon mentioned something about her dying. Seemed almost happy about it. But you say she was murdered?”

I rubbed my arms and shivered, though the kitchen wasn’t drafty. “Yes, but how is Gretchen involved?”

Zennia wiped her hands on a dish towel. “That dear girl? She can’t be. Her spirit is pure.”

“Maybe Detective Palmer wanted to ask her some questions about spa procedures, since Gretchen has so much experience.” It was a ridiculous theory but the only one I could come up with. I thought back to my talk with Gretchen the previous evening. She’d said she had a plan to keep the new spa from impacting our business. Was her plan somehow tied to Carla’s death?

Zennia interrupted my musings. “I’m glad Esther went into town to run errands. She’d be so frazzled to find the police here.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled myself,” I said. I heard the sound of voices in the hall, and I stuck my head out. I saw Detective Palmer standing outside the dining room. He said a few words, presumably to Gretchen, then walked toward the lobby. I waited a moment, but Gretchen didn’t come out. “I’ll be back,” I told Zennia.

She lifted a hand in acknowledgment and resumed shelling peas. I entered the dining room and saw Gretchen still at the table, her shoulders shaking. I could hear her sobs as I approached, and I placed a hand on her back.

She flinched at the touch and looked up. “Oh, hi, Dana.” She swiped at the tears and sniffed. “Sorry for the waterworks.”

I eased into the chair next to her and clasped my hands between my knees as I leaned toward her. “What’s wrong, Gretchen?”

“Someone killed the owner of the Pampered Life last night.”

“I heard. But why was Detective Palmer talking to you?”

Tears filled Gretchen’s eyes again. I went to the sideboard against the back wall and grabbed a beige cloth napkin, then returned to my seat and handed it to her. She dabbed at the tears.

“Someone saw me there,” she whispered.

I felt my eyes widen. “At the Pampered Life? You went there?”

Gretchen gulped. “After work. From the way the detective was talking, it must have been around the time of the murder. I bet he thinks I killed that woman.” Gretchen broke into fresh sobs.

I leaned my elbows on the table and studied Gretchen’s face. “But why were you there? Is this related to the plan you mentioned last night?”

Gretchen wiped her eyes again. “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about. You told me how stylish it was, and I thought I could steal a few of their ideas, beef up our place if it didn’t cost too much.”

“I had the exact same thought. Surely Detective Palmer understood that.”

She lurched up from her seat and began pacing between the tables. “But I got there after closing. People saw me peeping in the windows. Probably thought I was planning a robbery. I even tried the back door. It was unlocked.” She stopped next to the chair in which she’d been seated and turned toward me, her eyes pleading. “But I didn’t go in. You have to believe me.”

I held up my hands, afraid she’d start crying again. “Of course I believe you.”

“But the detective didn’t. I bet he thought I broke in to steal equipment and killed that lady when she caught me.”

Jason had said that a botched robbery was one theory the police were investigating, but Gretchen didn’t need to hear that. I shook my head. “I’ve dealt with Detective Palmer before. He isn’t the type to jump to conclusions.”

Gretchen gripped the back of her chair. “I hope you’re right. This is the first job I’ve had where I can see myself staying for a while. I’ve been working my butt off to earn everyone’s respect.”

“And you’ve got it. Esther knows you’d never kill anyone. No one will fire you.”

She straightened up and rubbed her hands over her short dark hair, every muscle in her arms tense. “Gordon might try. You know how uptight he is about any bad publicity for this place.”

I could definitely attest to that, considering Gordon had tried to get me fired once upon a time. “Esther won’t listen to him.”

“Esther won’t listen to whom?” Gordon demanded from the doorway.

I hadn’t seen him approach and could only hope he hadn’t heard much. “One of Gretchen’s clients keeps insisting that he needs a massage without the towel,” I lied. “Claims it chafes him. He said he’d complain to Esther next time.” I kept my eyes trained on Gordon, not trusting myself to look at Gretchen.

“Preposterous,” Gordon said. “The towel stays on.”

“Exactly what I said.” I rose. “I’ll get back to work now.”

Gordon lingered in the doorway, as if he didn’t quite believe my tale, but he moved aside as I walked toward him. “See that you do.” As I headed for the office, I heard him say, “Gretchen, I want to talk to you about this visit from the police.”

I shook my head. I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of Gordon’s wrath. It wasn’t pretty.

Even with thoughts of Carla’s murder lingering in the back of my mind, I was able to finish the marketing document. At noon I helped Zennia serve the tofu to the guests before I sampled the pea and mint salad. It was the first vegetable I’d eaten all week, and it didn’t taste half bad.

After lunch I wandered out to the pigpen to visit Wilbur and his pink and black buddies. When he saw me, he plodded over to the fence, nose working overtime as he sniffed the air for any hint of food. I pulled my hand from behind my back and offered him a handful of grapes I’d taken from the kitchen. With a snort and some gulps, he gobbled them up.

“Did you hear the news? Someone killed a spa owner last night.”

Wilbur sniffed in my direction, but he was probably searching for more grapes.

“Detective Palmer came by a while ago to talk to Gretchen.”

Wilbur snorted.

“She said she visited the place last night, and the back door was unlocked. That must be how the killer got in, but did Carla normally not lock her doors? Or was it bad timing that she picked this one night to get lax with her security?”

Wilbur sighed, as if this whole conversation was boring him. He lowered himself to the ground and rolled on his side.

“Fine. Be that way,” I said. I walked down the path to the chicken coop. Several chickens wandered about the yard, pecking the dirt, but none paid any attention to me. I passed the guest cabins, where all the doors were closed, and spent a few minutes straightening the lounge chairs near the pool. The weather was too cool for swimming, but the guests still enjoyed the Jacuzzi. I gathered two bunched-up towels from the pavement and dropped them off at the laundry room before returning to the office.

I toiled away at the computer for the rest of the afternoon. When quitting time arrived, I grabbed my purse and jacket, anxious to get moving. I needed to stop by the store for hot dog buns and then clean the apartment before Jason got there.

Traffic on the highway was nothing compared to commuter traffic in the Bay Area, where I’d been living until a few months after my father’s death. Still, I found myself tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as we puttered along well below the speed limit. Finally, I reached my exit and zipped off the highway and into downtown.

On my way past the Pampered Life, I noticed a grouping of candles and flowers on the bench outside the door.
How nice.
Most people probably hadn’t even known Carla, but they still felt the need to acknowledge her passing.

At the Meat and Potatoes grocery store, I walked straight to the bread aisle for a bag of buns. On the way to the checkout, I passed a stand full of flower bouquets and paused. I’d felt so touched when I saw the memorial for Carla, maybe I should add to the offerings. I could spare a few minutes.

I selected a bouquet of carnations and daisies and took it to the counter with my hot dog buns. The cashier slid the flowers in their plastic wrapper over the scanner. “These are awful pretty. Buying them for someone special?”

“That spa owner who was killed last night.” I felt myself blush as I spoke, though I wasn’t sure why I should feel embarrassed. “They’ve set up a memorial outside her business.”

“That’s real thoughtful.” She rang up the buns, then announced my total. “I couldn’t believe when I heard what happened. I mean, a killer loose here in Blossom Valley? I have to work till closing most nights, and you can bet I’ll have my husband come pick me up from now on. No way I’m walking to my car by myself anymore.”

I handed her a twenty. “I’m sure it was an isolated incident.” At least I hoped so.

She counted out my change. “Well, she was new in town, so maybe she brought the trouble with her. You know how different the city is.”

“Maybe.” I pocketed the money and hurried out of the store. In the car I drove the few blocks back to Carla’s spa and parked along the curb. Three women milled around the bench, and I recognized one of them as Jessica, the receptionist who’d been working at the spa when I visited the day before. She and another girl, who looked to be a few years younger than me, maybe around Ashlee’s age, stood close together, talking. The third woman, wearing a jogging suit and brilliant-white athletic shoes, stood to the side, clutching a lit candle.

I approached the group and laid my bouquet with the others on the bench. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for Carla. The two girls temporarily halted their conversation and then resumed talking.

“I hate to look for another job. I mean, I just got this one,” Jessica said.

“Yeah, but what can you do?” the other girl said. The tips of her shoulder-length bright red hair looked like they’d been dipped in a tar pit. “I mean, I gotta work if I want to pay my phone bill. My folks are, like, so uptight that way.” She giggled.

I took the opportunity to wedge myself into the discussion. “You guys think the spa will close down permanently?”

They both looked at me, then at each other. The red-haired girl laughed again. “What else could happen? Carla’s dead. Who’s going to pay us?”