A Healthy Homicide (7 page)

Erin paused in midstride before continuing on. At the curb she turned back. “He’s the only one I can count on now.” With that, she yanked open the car door and slid onto the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. The engine revved, and the car roared away from the curb.

I felt like I’d been caught in the middle of an after-school special in which the young, naive girl was drawn to the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, and her family was trying to keep the two lovers apart. I half expected a cheesy sound track to start playing over an invisible sound system.

Patricia handed her coffee cup to Stan and grabbed the stack of remaining flyers. “I hope those two don’t show up at my house tomorrow night. I put a lot of effort into planning this memorial, and I won’t have it ruined by any of their shenanigans.” She retrieved her tape dispenser, head held high. “Let’s go, Stan.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied, but she’d already walked away. He trailed after her, carrying her coffee, along with his own.

I got back in my car and drove home. I couldn’t wait to change out of my grungy work clothes, thaw a meal in the microwave, and call Jason and tell him about what I’d witnessed. Between telling him about Carla’s married boyfriend at lunch and now this information about her niece, he might include me in the byline of one of his articles. Or take me out for a romantic dinner. Considering I’d uncovered at least two solid suspects in Carla’s murder, we might even need to order some champagne.

 

At home I parked in my designated spot next to Ashlee’s Camaro, climbed the stairs, and opened the door to a dark apartment. I stopped. Ashlee’s car was here, but where was Ashlee? At the on-site gym? Visiting a friend? I heard slurping noises coming from the direction of the couch and hit the light switch on the wall.

Ashlee and Chip were sitting on the couch. Well, Chip was sitting on the couch. Ashlee was propped in his lap, with their limbs intertwined and their faces mashed together. The sudden burst of light must have penetrated their consciousness, because they pulled apart. Ashlee then turned and gave me a big grin, while Chip tried to wipe the lip gloss off his face.

“Hey, sis. Home so soon?”

“Same time as every day.” I tossed my keys on the kitchen table and slipped off my jacket. “Don’t let me interrupt anything.”

“Naw, we gotta get going, anyway,” Chip said, still wiping his cheek. “My roommate’s having a party tonight. Hey, you wanna come?”

I’d been to one of Chip’s roommate’s parties shortly after we’d moved to the complex, hoping to meet some of my new neighbors. The party had involved beer bongs, Ping-Pong shots, and random girls running around looking for their underwear. Thank goodness Ashlee hadn’t been one of them.

“Maybe next time.”

“You got it.”

Ashlee slid off Chip’s lap, her fingers still interlaced with his. “Guess I’ll get ready.”

Before she could walk away, Chip gave her hand a tug and pulled her back down. “Maybe we got a little more time, after all.”

Ashlee giggled and leaned in for a kiss. I made a dash for my room, the slurping sounds following me. I’d been planning to eat dinner before calling Jason, but after that little display, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I’d call Jason first. Talking to him always got my appetite revving.

I shut the door to my room, changed into a T-shirt and pajama pants, and lay across my bed, on my belly, to dial. Jason answered right away.

“I was about to call you,” he said warmly. “How was the rest of work?” I could hear traffic in the background.

“Nice and boring. It was the ride home that was interesting.”

“What happened?”

I flipped over on my back and leaned against the pillows, shifting from side to side until I’d made a comfortable hollow. “I stopped by Carla’s spa. A friend of hers was posting flyers about a Celebration of Life for Carla tomorrow.”

“You must mean Patricia. She brought a flyer by the
Herald’
s office as I was leaving just now. I’ll be covering the event for the paper.”

“Great. Guess I’ll see you there. I’m planning to stop by.”

“An even better reason to go,” Jason said softly.

I felt my insides heat up and started mentally sifting through my closet for what I’d wear tomorrow night, forgetting for a moment that I’d be attending a memorial service, not going on a date.

“You still there?” Jason asked.

“Yep, sorry. Anyway, while I was chatting with Patricia, Carla’s niece showed up.”

Jason whistled. “This isn’t the elusive Erin I’ve heard so much about, is it? I can’t find her anywhere.”

“The same. And she brought along her boyfriend, who Carla didn’t approve of, according to Patricia.”

“Did you catch his name?”

“Ricky’s his first name, but that’s all I know.” I rested my head on the headboard and studied the water stains in the corner of the ceiling. The stains had first appeared after a good rain last week, and the landlord had promised to find and patch the leak. So far, I hadn’t seen any signs of repair. I guessed I needed to remind him.

Jason brought me back to the present conversation. “I talked to Patricia briefly when she dropped off the flyer. I tried to dig for info about Erin, and she mentioned that she and Carla had butted heads the past few weeks. Carla had even said something about Erin moving out.”

“Interesting. Maybe Carla asked Erin to move out, and Erin didn’t take the news too well.” I sat up and opened my nightstand drawer. I rummaged around for a pen to write myself a note about the landlord. “Did Patricia know anything about Carla having a boyfriend?”

“I asked, but she made some excuse about hanging more flyers and rushed off without answering.”

I gave up on the pen search and flopped back down on the bed. “Patricia’s husband was with her tonight. I wondered if maybe he was the boyfriend, but he seems the type who would ask his wife’s permission before cheating on her. More likely, Patricia is embarrassed that her friend was dating a married man, and didn’t want to admit it to you.”

“I plan to ask her again tomorrow.” I heard rustling sounds over the phone, and then Jason spoke again. “I’ve got to get to this city council meeting. Any chance you’d like to join me?”

I considered the offer. As much as I liked hanging out with Jason, I’d had a long week, and my pajama pants were awfully comfy. “Will there be any chairs thrown this time? Any nude protestors?”

Jason chuckled. “Not twice in a row. That last meeting was a rarity. Tonight’s topics are replacing the stoplight at the edge of town and the contract for the new trash collector. Not exactly nude-worthy stuff.”

“Forget it, then. No offense, but even with you there, it’s not worth getting dressed for.”

Jason gave an entirely different type of whistle this time. “You’re not dressed? I can always skip the city council meeting. I could be at your place in five minutes.”

I felt myself blush and was glad he couldn’t see it. “Oh, stop. I’m wearing pajamas.”

“Don’t tell me what kind. I’d rather imagine it.” The murmur of voices came over the line. “Looks like the meeting’s about to start. I’ll see you at the service tomorrow.”

“See you then,” I said and hung up, my face still radiating heat. Before leaving my bedroom, I poked my head out first to make sure I wouldn’t be interrupting any R-rated activity. The couch was empty, the slightly flattened cushion the only evidence of its recent occupants.

I padded over to the kitchen and rummaged around for dinner, pulling a tray of macaroni and cheese from the freezer. While I watched the package of pasta rotate inside the microwave, I wondered about Carla’s service. I certainly didn’t expect any nude protestors there, but if Ricky and Erin showed up, I might just see someone throw a chair. No way was I missing that.

 

 

The next morning my eyes flew open at 6:00 a.m. I reminded myself that it was my day off, but my mind was already racing through my to-do list for the day. After five minutes of trying to relax, I admitted defeat and threw back the covers. A short while later I emerged from the bathroom with my hair still damp from my shower and went into the kitchen for breakfast.

I grabbed the box of Pop-Tarts out of the cupboard. I shook the box, then turned it upside down. Empty. Ashlee must have eaten the last packet. I grabbed a box of cereal from the same shelf and dumped a pile of flakes into a bowl. I retrieved the half-gallon carton of milk from the fridge and tipped it over the cereal. Three drops fell out. Not a good start to the day.

Ashlee emerged from her room at that moment, her blond hair flat on one side and sticking straight out on the other. I was still trying to shake loose an extra drop or two of milk, and a look of guilt flashed across her face.

“I meant to go to the store last night,” she said. “I’ll run by this morning.”

“Pick up some Pop-Tarts while you’re there, would you? Get two boxes if they’re on sale.”

Ashlee dropped into a kitchen chair and put a hand on her head. “I have to remember to get some aspirin, too. These late nights are killing me.”

I got a spoon from the silverware drawer and carried that and the bowl of cereal to the table. I sat down across from Ashlee. “Good party?”

Ashlee scowled at her fingernails. “Crap, I chipped my manicure already. Must have been from bowling.”

“There was bowling at the party?” I ate a spoonful of dry cereal, dreaming of milk all the while.

“No, the party started to get rowdy, so Chip and I went to the bowling alley. That place was more packed than Chip’s. We hooked up with Brittany and some guy she’s been dating. I should have stayed at the party.”

“Why? What happened at the bowling alley?”

Ashlee reached over and snagged the box of cereal. “This girl Brittany knows showed up and kept crying. She totally ruined the mood.”

Only Ashlee could make a trip to the bowling alley sound like a soap opera. “What was she so upset about?”

“Brittany said her aunt died. She should have stayed home if she was that bummed out, but she guilted Brittany into attending some memorial service today.” Ashlee scooped out a handful of cereal and shoveled it into her mouth, crumbs and flakes falling all around her.

I pulled my bowl closer so she wouldn’t drop her drool-covered cereal in it.
Dead aunt? Memorial service?
“Was this girl named Erin?”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” Ashlee rose to her feet with a groan. “Guess I’ll get ready for work. We’ve got a lizard coming in that needs its stitches removed.”

“You’re making that up,” I said.

“Am not. Poor guy fell off the roof and got scratched by a nail. It happens more than you’d think.” Ashlee disappeared into her room.

I finished my cereal, my thoughts on Ashlee’s comments, not about the lizard but about Erin. So she was going to the memorial service, after all. Between that and Brittany the giggler attending, Patricia was sure to be in a foul mood. This evening might turn out to be even more interesting than I’d originally suspected.

Now I needed to figure out what dish to bring. What went with a side of drama?

 

I owned so few cookbooks that I hesitated to even call them a collection. Every book was a hand-me-down from my mom and offered small meals with few ingredients that took less than twenty minutes to make. Perfect for a single girl in an apartment, but not so great for a Celebration of Life. An event like that called for warm, comforting casseroles and plates of gooey chocolate brownies.

After glancing through a few recipes in one of the newer cookbooks, I slammed the book shut, cleared my breakfast dishes, and grabbed my jacket. Time to call in reinforcements. I went down to my car.

Ten minutes later I pulled up in front of Mom’s house. It was a one-story ranch-style house, painted light blue with white trim. Up until a few weeks ago I’d called this place home. Now I stood on the doorstep and wondered if I should knock or use my key. Before I could decide, the door swung open.

“I thought I heard a car,” Mom said. She ushered me inside and shut the door. “I’m so happy to see you. Come on in and sit for a while.”

I headed toward the living room, Mom bustling along behind me. On the TV a group of women sat around a table, chatting. Mom muted the volume and smoothed down the front of her twin sweater set before taking a seat in the tattered brown corduroy recliner, which used to be my dad’s favorite spot. Her salt-and-pepper hair looked freshly permed, and I noticed she was careful not to lean her head against the chair’s thinly padded headrest.

“What brings you by this morning?”

I perched on the edge of the couch. “I need a super-easy casserole recipe for a party tonight. With all your cookbooks, I thought you might know of a dish like that.”

“Nothing comes to mind, but I’m sure one of my books will have what you’re looking for. You’ll need to drag them out of the garage. Now that we’re eating healthier, I packed most of them up. They all use pounds of butter and too much cheese.”

I stood and rubbed my hands together. “Yum. That’s exactly the kind of recipe I’m looking for.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Mom picked up the remote control. “The boxes are in the corner by the water heater.”

I went out to the garage and eased around her sedan to reach the far corner. A tall stack of boxes waited for me. I pulled the top one toward me, fell back against Mom’s car from the weight, and dumped the box on the cement floor. A girl could get a workout looking up recipes. Fortunately, when I opened the top, an array of covers featuring housewives wearing aprons smiled up at me. I closed the top, shoved my fingers under the bottom of the box, and lugged it into the house. Mom had returned to watching television but muted the volume once more when I came in.

“That was fast,” she said.

“First one I opened looks promising.” I dropped the box on the floor with a thump and sat down cross-legged in front of it. Before I took out the first book, I paused. “Do you have to work this morning? I can take this with me.”

“No, I go in after lunch.” Mom had recently gotten a part-time job at Going Back for Seconds, a women’s clothing consignment store downtown. Ever since my father died, I’d worried that his pension wouldn’t cover the bills. Now that Mom had gone to work, I could breathe a little easier and stop trying to sneak money into her purse.

Mom rose from the recliner and crouched down on the floor near me. She pulled a cookbook out of the box and ran her hands over the cover. “I bought this the first year your father and I were married.” She glanced at the picture of Dad on the mantel and smiled wistfully. She set the book back in the box. “What kind of party is it? A potluck dinner?”

Did people still have those? “There’s a Celebration of Life for that spa owner who died. Everyone’s supposed to bring a dish.”

“In that case, I know just the book you need.” She began rummaging through the box. “You know, Sue Ellen called me all in a tizzy yesterday about the woman who was killed.”

If Blossom Valley ever had a gossip club, Sue Ellen would be president. Nothing happened in town without her knowing it. Sometimes she even gossiped about things that hadn’t actually happened, which was probably why everyone was always so nice to her. No one dared get on her bad side, in case they became her next target.

“What was she upset about?” I asked. “Did she find some dirt on Carla?” As soon as I asked, I knew that couldn’t be right. Uncovering other people’s secrets was what made Sue Ellen happy.

“Aha.” Mom pulled a book from the box and handed it to me. I read the cover:
Hearty Dishes for Any Occasion.
Perfect. “No, the opposite,” Mom said. “Apparently, everyone liked Carla. No one’s had a bad word to say about her.”

“Sue Ellen must hate that.” I paged through the book, looking for the casserole with the least amount of ingredients and prep time. “So she hasn’t found out anything?”

“Nothing exciting. She’s got a friend at the bank who provided Carla with her business loan. She had perfect credit and put up her own house for collateral.”

While Mom talked, I ran my finger down the list of ingredients for a recipe: ground beef, cream of mushroom soup, a can of corn, and Tater Tots. This one definitely had possibilities. It even had a vegetable. I studied the instructions. “So you’re saying a loan shark didn’t sneak up to Blossom Valley and kill Carla when she couldn’t repay a loan?”

“I’m afraid not.”

I used the back flap of the cover jacket as a bookmark and held up the cookbook. “Mind if I take this one?”

“You can take them all. I don’t use them anymore.”

A vision of our modest-size apartment full of boxes of cookbooks I’d probably never use filled my mind. “I’ll start with the one book.” I began repacking the others. “What about Carla’s personal life? I heard she was dating a married guy.”

“Sue Ellen said something along those lines, but no one seems to agree on whether it’s true.”

“That she had a boyfriend or that he’s married?”

“Married. But you know how people in this town love to talk.”

Boy, did I ever. I thought back to when a nosy parent had spotted me with my prom date at the local make-out spot years ago. We were only talking, well, mostly talking, but by the time the story got back to Mom, I was five months pregnant and we were plotting to run away together. It had taken me an hour to calm her down.

I brought myself back to the present. “Even if he is married, maybe he’s separated from his wife. I’ve heard some divorce proceedings last longer than the actual marriage.” I put the final cookbook in the box, refolded the top, and rose to my feet. “Let me put this back.” I hefted the box and carried it back to the stack in the garage.

When I returned to the living room, Mom was brushing lint off of her gray slacks. “I just remembered that I wanted to fill a prescription before work. Of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but if you don’t mind, I need to get going.”

I picked up my jacket and the cookbook. “That’s all right. I’ll leave now, too. I need to stop by the store and then go home and make this casserole. After that, I think it’s my turn to vacuum.”

“How are you and your sister getting along? I’m guessing the new arrangement is working, since Ashlee hasn’t called me even once to complain.”

What did she have to complain about? I did most of the cleaning and grocery shopping. If anyone should be whining about her roommate, it was me. I clutched the cookbook tighter. “We’re still working out the kinks, especially when it comes to who cleans what, but I think we’ll manage.” At least we’d gotten a place with two bathrooms. I couldn’t imagine how much we’d argue over counter space and cleaning duties otherwise.

Mom kissed me on the cheek. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Okay, well, thanks for the cookbook.” I pulled my keys from my pocket and let myself out of the house. Back in the car, I tossed the cookbook on the seat and drove to Meat and Potatoes. A quick trip down the aisles netted me all the ingredients I needed, including a disposable foil casserole dish. Ashlee and I owned very few dishes, and none of them were large enough to accommodate the recipe.

Back at the apartment I stood in my kitchen, torn between making the dish right away, in case I totally messed up and needed to try again, or daring to make it shortly before I had to leave. Surely I could wait. How hard could it be to make a casserole with a Tater Tot topping? And I could always grab a rotisserie chicken at the market if the dish was a total flop.

I decided to tackle my bathroom instead. While I had the supplies out, I went ahead and scrubbed the kitchen after that, then figured I might as well vacuum the carpet while I was in a cleaning mood. By the time I finished, the place was almost as clean as when we first moved in. The only messy spot was Ashlee’s room, but that place needed a hazmat suit and one of those super vacs the car wash used.

A quick glance at the clock on the microwave showed me the afternoon was quickly disappearing. Where had my day gone?

I pulled the skillet I’d picked up at a garage sale out of the cabinet and dusted the insides off with a dish towel. Fifteen minutes later my ground beef casserole was simmering in the oven, and I was watching a game show on TV while snacking on cheese puffs. Now that was my kind of cooking.

Ashlee came home as the contestant won the top prize and collapsed onstage, in shock. “What the heck happened?” she asked as soon as she walked in the door.

“That lady won a hundred thousand dollars. I’d probably pass out, too.”

She dropped her purse on the floor. “No, I mean this place. Why is it so shiny?” She sniffed the air. “Have you been cooking?”

I licked the cheese puff powder off my fingers. “Contrary to what you might believe, I do know how to follow a recipe. And this place needed a good scrubbing.”

“Thanks, sis. Guess I don’t need to do the kitchen this week, after all.”

I rubbed the rest of the gunk off my fingers with a napkin. “You can take over the job for me next week.”

“Uh-uh, that’s not what the chart says.” She marched into the kitchen. I twisted around on the couch to watch as she jabbed at the calendar that was held to the fridge door with a magnet. “See? I’m on kitchen duty this week. Just because you cleaned when it was my turn doesn’t mean I have to do it next week. That’s when I’ll be doing the rest of the apartment.”

“I’ll remember that when you’re down with the flu and can’t even move your little pinkie finger.”

Ashlee shrugged one shoulder. “You’re the one who insisted on this schedule, so that’s what we follow. But enough about boring old chores. I need to change my clothes.” She slipped off her shoes and left them in the middle of the floor before going to her room.

The kitchen timer dinged. I kicked Ashlee’s shoes into the corner by the sink and removed the casserole from the oven. The Tater Tots were a toasty brown. Liquid bubbled up from underneath. The dish even smelled pretty good. I wrapped the casserole in foil and went into the bedroom to get ready.

I’d never attended a Celebration of Life before, and I wasn’t sure how it differed from a funeral. Should I wear black as a sign of mourning? Or were bright colors more appropriate since we were celebrating Carla before her death? I perused the contents of my closet before settling on black slacks and a red top. Either way, I’d be half right.

By the time I’d brushed my hair and touched up my makeup, it was time to go. I used hot pads to carry the casserole to the car and place it on the floor on the passenger side, then got in on my side and started the engine.

I’d never been to Patricia’s house before, but based on the street name, I assumed it was over in the newer subdivision in town. Sure enough, after cruising down Merlot Avenue and past Chardonnay Lane, I reached the turnoff for Vine Street.

I checked the street numbers until I located Patricia’s address. Her house was a two-story stucco affair with a well-tended yard and two brightly painted birdhouses hanging from a pair of trees. Cars lined both sides of the street, so I drove past and parked on the next block. As I walked back to the house, several more cars slowed down near Patricia’s house. For someone who no one seemed to know, Carla was certainly drawing a crowd. Maybe people liked potlucks. Or more likely, the allure of murder.

The front door was partly ajar, and I could hear voices drifting down the walk. I stepped inside and was immediately greeted by Patricia, who had been lurking off to one side of the door.

“Hello again. Dana, right?” Patricia lifted a corner of the foil covering my casserole. “Are those Tater Tots? How cute. I haven’t eaten those since grade school, when my mom made me eat the cafeteria lunches.” She started to walk away and waved me along. “Come on. We’ll put it by my fruit salad.”

Fruit salad wasn’t exactly haute cuisine. Who was she to mock my Tater Tots? I followed her through clumps of people until we reached a spacious kitchen. A long wood table, already laden with bowls and platters of food, sat against the wall. Patricia took my dish and set it beside a carved-out watermelon full of star-shaped kiwi slices, peeled grapes, and plump, juicy strawberries. Where had she found such ripe strawberries this early in the season?

Patricia leaned in close. “It took me four hours to make this,” she whispered, “but I wanted to create a dish worthy of Carla’s memory.”

I considered the fifteen minutes it had taken me to assemble my Tater Tot and hamburger mess. Well, it was the thought that counted. Right?

“It’s lovely.” I looked around the kitchen, at the dark hardwood floor and marble countertops. “Your home, as well.”

Patricia beamed. “Thank you. I personally decorated every room in this house.”

A woman came up to the table, grabbed a thick paper plate, and began loading it with everything in sight.

“You certainly have an eye for design,” I told Patricia as I watched the woman try to squeeze half a dozen prawns onto her already full plate.