A Healthy Homicide (8 page)

“I planned to be an interior decorator, but you know how it goes. Met Stan in college, when I was a student and he was a TA. I always did go for the older man. Anyway, I got pregnant my junior year, and life got in the way. I couldn’t finish my degree and take care of a new family at the same time.”

The woman moved away, and I grabbed a plate from the stack. I took a scoop of Patricia’s fruit salad and saw her nod of approval. “Did you ever consider going back to school?” I asked.

Stan walked up to the table right then, and Patricia gave him a loving look. “I already had my hands full with the house and one child, and then the second came along. School seemed like the last thing I had time for.” Patricia put her arm around Stan’s thick waist. “Besides, someone has to take care of this big lug.”

Stan kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Another couple of months and both kids will be done with college. You should come up with a project for yourself now, honey. You have such a good head for business. It’s too bad that plan with Carla didn’t pan out.”

Patricia pressed her lips together as her face noticeably reddened. A man at the buffet table bumped into me, then muttered, “Excuse me.” I stepped to the side and grabbed a large strawberry before it could roll off my plate.

When I looked at Patricia again, her face was returning to its original color. “Don’t forget I’ve got big plans of my own.” She patted Stan’s arm. “I need to check the ice.” She walked toward the living room.

Stan gave me a little smile and muttered something about the other guests before moving away, leaving me to wonder about his comment.

What plan did Patricia have with Carla? Why had she gotten so upset when Stan brought it up? I’d have to try to talk to either Patricia or Stan again before I left.

I spooned up a few more items, including a helping of my own casserole. My hand trembled as I rolled a Tater Tot around with my fork. What if it stank?

I scooped up a pile of corn kernels and hamburger and then speared the Tater Tot before raising the forkful to my mouth. I closed my eyes in anticipation. The slightly salty, soupy filling spread across my tongue.
Not bad. Not bad at all.

After I’d finished my helping, I nibbled some noodles while I observed the dozen or so people who now stood around the kitchen. I spotted Brittany in the corner, dressed in a short black dress and four-inch heels, talking with another girl her age. A moment later Erin joined the group, wearing faded jeans and a hoodie. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, tossed my paper plate in the trash can at the end of the table, and walked over.

“No way was I letting her keep me away from Aunt Carla’s memorial. Who does she think she is?” Erin was saying to Brittany and her friend.

Brittany nodded rapidly, reminding me of a bobble head. “You’re totally right. She’s such a witch.” She giggled.

The girls watched me approach and stopped talking, as if by some secret signal. They all looked at me, waiting.

“Hi, Erin. I don’t think I offered my condolences to you yesterday. I’m so sorry about Carla’s passing.”

Erin looked at her shoes, while Brittany and the other girl shuffled away. I guessed the talk had turned too serious for them. “Thanks. She was pretty cool.”

“I’ve heard only wonderful things about her from everyone.” No need to mention the rumors about the married boyfriend, but the thought made me glance around the room, as if he might be standing nearby this very minute. No luck. I saw only women. Even Stan hadn’t returned.

“I owe her a lot,” Erin said. “Without her help, I would have quit nursing school ages ago.”

Her eyes kept flitting to where Brittany and the other girl huddled nearby, so I shifted a bit to block her view. “Where do you go to school?”

“Santa Rosa. I was in one of my night classes when Aunt Carla died.”

So she’d been dozens of miles away when Carla was murdered. Or had she? Back in college I’d taken more than one class that contained well over a hundred students, and the professors never bothered to record attendance. Were these nursing classes held in small classrooms or large lecture halls? Would anyone remember if Erin had been there?

I saw her attention stray to her friends again. “That’s quite a drive to attend class every day,” I said.

She focused back on me. “Yeah, but the rent’s free. School costs too much already. Thank God I have only one more semester. Who knows what’ll happen now that Aunt Carla is gone.” She flipped her hair back, and some strands got caught in a gold chain around her neck. As she worked to untangle her hair, she pulled the chain up and revealed a gold locket with delicate roses etched on the front.

“Beautiful necklace.”

“Aunt Carla gave it to me when I moved in with her.” She unclasped the necklace, pulled the final strands out, and handed it to me.

I cracked the locket open to find a younger version of Carla staring up at me on one side and a picture of Erin when she must have been six or seven years old on the other.

“Carla remembered the pictures were in an old album, and thought I might like them,” Erin said. “The locket’s my favorite thing she ever gave me.” Erin’s eyes misted up, and she passed a hand over them. “I wish we hadn’t been fighting so much the last couple of weeks.”

“What were you fighting about?” I didn’t expect Erin to actually answer, but she surprised me.

“My boyfriend. Aunt Carla decided she didn’t like him, but she never even gave him a chance. It got so bad, I told her I’d move out if she didn’t at least try to like him. He’s an awesome guy, and I wasn’t going to have her nagging me all day about the two of us.”

Was that the threat Jessica had overheard that day, when Carla was talking on the phone to Erin? Was Erin simply choosing her boyfriend over her aunt?

“Oh, crap,” Erin said from beside me.

I looked over and saw Patricia come into the kitchen. When she caught sight of Erin, she frowned, then rearranged her face into a smile. She made a beeline for where we stood. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stan heading our way from the other direction, as if hoping to intercept Patricia, but he was too slow.

I tensed as I recalled the ugly scene between Patricia and Erin outside the spa last night. Was I about to witness an encore performance?

 

“Erin, so glad you could make it,” Patricia oozed, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Thank you for planning a memorial for Aunt Carla,” Erin replied, a frosty edge to her tone.

“And thank you for not bringing Ricky.”

“He’s waiting for me outside.”

Patricia managed to squeak out an “Oh” before Stan joined us. He put his arm around Erin’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Hiya. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

There was an awkward silence. I could feel people around us watching our little group like we were stage actors putting on an impromptu performance.

“Erin was telling me about nursing school,” I said.

Patricia gave Erin a concerned look. “Oh, dear, will you be able to continue school? I assume you’ll be moving out of Carla’s house now.”

Erin stiffened. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

A young man in loose jeans and a black T-shirt appeared in the doorway. A thin patch of dark hair sprouted from his chin, making me wonder if he was trying to grow a beard. When he shifted around, I spotted an angel tattoo on his forearm and realized this was Erin’s boyfriend. Judging by the look of distaste on Patricia’s face, she’d spotted Ricky, too.

Erin caught the look and smiled. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Please,” Patricia said, laying a hand on Erin’s arm. “Carla would be so upset to know you were throwing your life away on that boy.”

Erin shoved Patricia’s hand away, and Patricia jerked it back with a gasp. In a flash, Stan took the hand and clasped it between both of his.

“Ricky is amazing,” Erin said. “Aunt Carla would have realized that eventually, if she hadn’t been killed.” She hurried past Patricia and over to Ricky. She gave him a hearty kiss on the lips and then cast a backward glance at Patricia for good measure. The two walked hand in hand out of the kitchen.

Patricia sniffed, as if Ricky had left a bad smell in the room. “She’ll ruin her life. Carla was her only hope.”

“She must be doing something right if she’s almost finished with her degree,” I said. “That takes commitment.”

Patricia didn’t acknowledge my comment as she continued to stare at the doorway through which Erin and Ricky had disappeared.

Stan patted the hand still trapped between his. “I think she’ll be fine, honey.”

She whirled on him. “How can you say that? You know what she’s done. Why, she’s just lucky that her mom’s boyfriend didn’t call the police. If her mom hadn’t talked him out of it, that girl would be in jail right now.”

Now, that was interesting. “For what?” I asked.

Patricia placed a hand over her mouth, but it seemed like a practiced gesture. “Oh my, I shouldn’t say.” She paused with dramatic flair. “Erin stabbed one of her mom’s boyfriends.”

“What?” I blurted. “And she wasn’t arrested?”

Patricia shook her head. “Can you believe it? Her mom patched the guy up and convinced him to keep his mouth shut. That’s when Erin moved in with Carla. I told Carla not to allow it—you can see how unstable Erin is—but Carla always had such a big heart.”

“She sure did,” Stan added. “One of her many attributes.”

Erin hadn’t struck me as the violent type, but then again, I barely knew her. As I considered the implications of what Patricia had said, I became aware that I was gripping a small object in my hand. I looked down to find Erin’s locket dangling from my closed fist. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to return it.

“Excuse me,” I told Patricia and Stan as I pushed my way through the throng of people, who seemed intent on blocking my way. Maybe I’d luck out and Erin and Ricky were slow walkers. Maybe they were making out in front of Patricia’s house just to spite the woman.

I threw open the front door to rush after them but stopped short when I almost ran into Jason on the other side.

He stepped back in surprise. “Leaving already?”

I moved past him to the walkway. “Hang on a sec. I’ll be right back.” But even as I spoke, I heard the rumble of an engine on the next block. I jogged out to the sidewalk in time to see Ricky’s muscle car pull out and drive away, heading in the opposite direction.
Shoot.

Jason joined me on the sidewalk. “What was that about?”

I pointed toward Ricky’s car, the taillights barely visible from down the street. “You missed all the excitement.”

He groaned. “Never tell a reporter that.”

“It was quite the show.” I swung my arms around. “Fireworks, dancing bears, guys on stilts.”

Jason crossed his arms. “What really happened?”

“Patricia and Erin had another fight about Ricky. But get this. Patricia told me that the reason Erin moved out of her mom’s house was that she stabbed her mom’s boyfriend.”

Jason dug his notebook out of his back pocket and flipped through the pages. “That never showed up in my background check.”

I lowered my voice as a couple came out of the house and walked to their car. “That’s because the boyfriend didn’t call the cops. Erin’s mom convinced him not to.”

“So we have no way of knowing if this story is even true,” Jason said.

“Unless you ask Erin, but she could easily deny it. I also discovered that she was in class when Carla was murdered, or at least that was her claim.” I held up the necklace. “Maybe I’ll work both of those topics into the conversation when I return her locket.”

Jason reached out and opened it. “Why do you have her locket?”

“I was looking at it when she and Patricia started talking. She flew out of here before I could give it back. No way can I trust Patricia to return it, the way those two ended things a minute ago.”

“I can take the locket back for you.”

I removed the necklace from his grasp. “Right, sure you can. Then you can ask Erin all those reporter questions you’re dying to know the answers to.” I dropped it in my pants pocket. “She commented on how important the locket is to her. I’m the one who had it last, so I’m the one who should return it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” More people came outside, and Jason watched them. “It’s not ending already, is it?”

“Not that I know of.” I took his arm. “Come on. I’ll go back in with you. I never had dessert.”

I led him through the living room, where I noticed a blown-up photo of Carla on a side table, which I’d somehow missed the first time through, and on into the kitchen. Jason headed straight for Patricia, and I stepped over to the buffet table to let him work. While I snacked on a brownie, I watched as he infiltrated the group with an easy smile and a handshake.

Brittany wandered past the table, eyeing all the dessert platters. “I wish I wasn’t on a diet,” she whined. She didn’t have an extra inch to pinch as far as I could see, but maybe she was like Ashlee, who always seemed to be on one diet or another. She saw the brownie in my hand. “Bikini season is coming up, you know.”

I smiled at her. “But brownie season is here now.”

“Huh?” She surveyed the table again. “I guess this mini chocolate chip cookie would be okay.” She nibbled the tiniest bite off one edge. “Say, you work at that spa outside of town, right? That place with all the pigs and stuff?”

“Right.”

“Someone told me that a girl from your place killed Carla because our spa was so much cooler. A bunch of people saw her sneak in the back door, and then
bam!
Carla’s dead.”

Oh God, is that what people are saying?
“No one from Esther’s place killed anyone.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Brittany giggled. I hoped she choked on that ridiculously small cookie.

While I stood fuming, I became aware of a handsome Hispanic man in his early fifties standing alone by a curio cabinet. He sipped a cup of punch, his eyes constantly shifting around the room. The only other men I’d seen so far tonight had been accompanied by a wife or girlfriend, but this guy appeared to be alone.

I nudged Brittany and nodded in his direction. “Do you know who that is?”

Brittany peered at him. “I saw him drop by the spa once or twice around closing, but Carla never told us his name. He sure is hot.”

Interesting.
Was this the mystery boyfriend? I’d considered Stan as a likely option, but this guy was way better looking. Definitely an eleven out of ten, like the woman at lunch had said.

I finished eating my brownie and dusted off my hands. I left Brittany hovering over the cookies and muttering, “I guess a couple more would be okay,” and made my way over to the man in the corner.

He watched my approach with a small smile playing on his lips.

“Nice turnout,” I said, failing to come up with a more original icebreaker.

“Yes, Carla would be pleased.”

I stuck out my hand, hoping I’d gotten all the brownie crumbs off. “I’m Dana.”

He brought his own hand up. “Miguel.”

“Did you know Carla well?” I asked.

He gave me that indulgent smile again, and I realized he thought I was one of those gossipmongers who liked to meddle in other people’s business. Actually, he wasn’t too far off the mark in this case.

“Well enough.” He took another sip of punch, and I looked at his ring finger as he raised the cup to his lips. Was that a faint tan line I detected or merely a shadow? “Were you and Carla friends?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I met her only that day . . . the day she, uh, died. Terrible what happened to her.”

“Yes. I still can’t believe it. But the police will catch her killer.”

“I hope so.” And I did, for Gretchen’s sake as much as Carla’s. “Any idea who would want to harm Carla?”

Miguel inspected his punch. “You’d know the scuttlebutt more than I.”

I found myself slightly offended by the accusatory tone in his voice. “I’m afraid I’m out of the loop these days.”

He seemed to relax with that answer. “Me too. Sorry if I offended you. I feel like everyone in the room is staring at me. Guess it’s making me paranoid.”

“Oh, they’re staring at you, all right, but it’s because you’re the only guy here.”

He looked around and laughed. “You’re right. I hadn’t noticed that.”

Patricia materialized at my elbow and laid a hand on Miguel’s arm. “Oh, Miguel, I was hoping you’d come tonight. How have you been dealing with everything?”

From the way she spoke, it sounded like Miguel had known Carla quite well. Looked like my assumption that he was the boyfriend was correct.

He shifted uncomfortably under Patricia’s questioning gaze. “I’m coping. Thank you for asking.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Kind of you to offer, but I’ll be fine.”

Patricia would not be deterred. “Still, come with me. Talk to Stan. He lost his mother last year, so I’m sure he can offer some insight into dealing with your grief.”

Miguel held up a hand. “I really don’t think—”

“Nonsense,” Patricia said. “I insist.”

Miguel turned his head so that only I could see him roll his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged away.

A moment later Jason took the place recently vacated by Miguel. The light from the curio cabinet lit up the gold highlights in his reddish-brown hair. “Who was that?”

I looked around to make sure we were fairly isolated in our corner. “I’m almost positive that’s Carla’s boyfriend.”

“Mind waiting here a minute?” Jason asked. Without staying to hear my answer, he went in the direction Miguel and Patricia had gone.

I walked over to the buffet table and helped myself to another brownie. I hadn’t even finished it before Jason returned. “That was fast,” I said.

“He didn’t feel like talking. Shut down like the lights when the power goes out. I’ll try again another time.” He grabbed a cookie off the table. “I did talk to Stan, but he wasn’t much help. He mentioned working late with his assistant, Alonzo, the night Carla died, but he didn’t know anything about Miguel.”

So Erin was in class, and Stan was working late. I wondered who else had an alibi for that night. I glanced around the room. The crowd was thinning out. Even Brittany had disappeared, taking her giggles with her. “Get what you need for your next article?”

“Enough. Patricia gave me more personal background, such as what Carla was like growing up, how they dreamed of rooming together in college, that sort of thing. It’ll make a nice personal angle for a story.”

“Good for you. I think newspaper articles should center more on the victims and less on the killers.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not what sells copy.” Jason picked up a plate from the end of the buffet line. “What’s good here?”

I pretended to survey the spread. “The Tater Tot casserole is pretty terrific.”

Jason picked up the serving spoon and poked at the contents of the casserole. “Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly. He studied Patricia’s watermelon basket. “That fruit bowl looks good.”

I picked up a fork and speared a chunk of cantaloupe to hold up. “It’s fruit. Plain, boring fruit. The casserole is a compilation of sweet and savory, with a warm, gooey filling that’s perfect for such a somber event.”

“You made the casserole, didn’t you?” He scooped up a large mouthful and took a bite. As he chewed, he gave me an appraising look. “Between the chili dogs and this dish, you’re becoming quite the cook.”

I stepped closer to Jason until our toes were practically touching. “Keep sweet-talking me, and you may get dessert.”

Jason glanced back at the table. “You brought dessert, too?”

“Nope, it’s a special dessert. Just for you.” I winked at him. “When we’re alone.”

Jason laughed a deep, throaty laugh. “Can’t wait.”

We chatted while he ate his plate of food. By the time he was finished, few people remained in the kitchen, and I didn’t know any of them.