Murder Most Wholesome

by Staci McLaughlin

  I swept the pile of spilled food into the dustpan and emptied it into the trash. I spoke to Esther over my shoulder as I stowed the broom and dustpan back in the closet. “I saw scones in the freezer a couple of days ago, and I know Zennia was making a fresh batch of her honey butter yesterday. We can thaw out the scones to serve with the parfaits.”

  Esther blew out her breath. “That should be enough. I knew you’d think of something.”

  She pulled down two more glasses from the cupboard while I rummaged in the freezer for the bag of scones. I placed them in the oven to defrost, grabbed the two finished parfaits, and carried them to the dining room to see if any guests were waiting.

  A couple in their early thirties sat at a table near the window, holding hands and talking. When they saw me approach, the woman eased her hands away to make room for the glasses.

  “Scones with honey butter will be coming up in a moment,” I told them.

  As I stepped away, an older man entered the dining room through the French doors off the patio and headed straight to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of coffee. I hurried to the kitchen to see if Esther had finished another parfait.

  Instead, she was talking to Gordon, the farm’s manager. He was dressed in his customary suit and tie, with his black hair slicked back like a waterfall of oil.

  “She must be on her way by now,” Esther was saying. “She never misses work.”

  “Are you and Dana covering breakfast for today?” Gordon scowled at the food-strewn table. “Zennia had better be here to take care of lunch.”

  “Is Gretchen here yet?” I asked of our twenty-four-year-old, ultratalented spa specialist. An extra pair of hands in the kitchen couldn’t hurt.

  “Yes,” Gordon said, “but she’s with an early client. You two are on your own until Zennia arrives.”

  “I only hope she’s okay,” Esther added.

  As usual, Esther was worried about the employees, and Gordon was concerned with the business. Although Esther was the boss, Gordon handled the day-to-day operations. His focus on the bottom line never wavered.

  “Esther’s right,” I said. “She’s probably driving over here this very minute.”

  Gordon sighed, straightened his tie, and picked up the clipboard he always carried. “Just make sure the guests are kept happy until then,” he told me before he strode out of the kitchen, already concentrating on the next task on his to-do list.

  While Esther prepared more parfaits, I lined two small baskets with linen napkins and placed scones in each one. That done, I retrieved the crock of honey butter from the fridge and spooned portions into individual ramekins. “It really isn’t like Zennia to be this late without calling,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it.” Esther dropped a blob of yogurt in a glass. “I’m beside myself with worry, picturing all sorts of terrible accidents from car wrecks to killer bee stings.”

  I stopped on my way to returning the butter crock to the fridge and looked at Esther. “Killer bees?”

  She blushed. “I was watching the nature channel last night. And you know how many flowers Zennia has in that garden of hers.”

  “I think we can rule out bee stings, but I’ll definitely give her a call as soon as breakfast is over. Maybe she just overslept.”

  “Maybe,” Esther agreed, but she didn’t sound convinced. Neither was I.

  I placed the butter ramekins in each basket, carried them out to the waiting diners, and dashed back to the kitchen for the other parfait. Another couple arrived, and Esther confirmed they were the last of the guests. Once they were served, Esther wiped down the countertop and table while I washed and dried the handful of dishes.

  I was hanging up the dish towel on the oven door handle when the kitchen phone rang. Esther was trying to squeeze the lid on the top of the yogurt bowl, so I snatched up the receiver from its place on the counter.

  “O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa. Dana speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Dana, it’s Zennia.”

  Her normally low and relaxed voice sounded so high and strained that it took me a moment to realize it was really her.

  “Zennia, are you sick? Did something happen?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’ll have to miss work today.”

  Across the room, Esther stopped fighting the yogurt lid and started mouthing things to me that I couldn’t figure out. I held up a finger for her to wait a moment. “What’s wrong?” I said into the phone.

  “Do you remember Birch, the man I introduced you to at the farmers market?” Zennia asked, a tremor in her voice.

  Realization dawned. Zennia must have hooked up with Birch last night. That’s why she wasn’t at work, and now she was embarrassed. I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I remember. Did you guys end up getting together?”

  No response.

  “Zennia? Are you still there?”

  “Dana, Birch is dead. Someone killed him in my flower garden.”

  Chapter 4

  I placed one hand on the table to steady myself and sank into the closest chair. “Zennia, what are you talking about? What do you mean someone killed Birch?”

  From behind me, I heard Esther gasp. A moment later, she sat down next to me and repeatedly tapped my knee until I looked at her. She mouthed, “Who?” and lifted her hands up in a pantomime that would have made me laugh if the topic hadn’t been so serious.

  Before I could answer her, Zennia started talking again. “I met a friend for breakfast early this morning. When I came back home, Birch was dead in my front yard.”

  “Maybe he had a heart attack. Or a swarm of killer bees attacked him.” As I said the last, I squeezed my eyes shut. Esther and her crazy ideas. Good grief.

  “A swarm of bees?” Zennia asked.

  “Never mind. Forget the bees,” I said. “Why would you think he was killed?”

  “From what the police said. As soon as I found Birch, I called nine-one-one. You wouldn’t believe how many people showed up. Not to mention the sirens. They must have woken up the whole neighborhood.”

  I remembered the sirens I’d heard as I was leaving the apartment this morning and wondered if they had come from the emergency vehicles en route to Zennia’s house or if they were on another call.

  “I overheard one of the officers mention ligature marks. That means he was strangled, right?”

  I gulped. “That sounds right.” Esther touched my knee again, and I covered the mouthpiece on the phone to talk to her. “Zennia isn’t here yet because a friend died in her front yard this morning.”

  Esther stopped patting my knee and started patting her chest. “Mercy me. Someone she knows?”

  “Yes, but from a long time ago. She ran into him last night at the farmers market.” Zennia was talking again, and I tuned back in.

  “What should we do about lunch service?” she asked. “The police said they’d let me go as soon as they’re finished with their questions.” Her voice rose in pitch. “How long are they going to be here?”

  “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. I’ll be right there.” I hung up and turned to Esther. “I’d like to go help Zennia. I have a light workload today, and I could be back before lunch service. Would that be okay?”

  Esther was nodding before I’d even asked the question. “Of course, the poor dear. Zennia needs someone with her.”

  Gordon strode into the kitchen, muttering into his cell phone. He ended his call and looked from Esther to me. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Have you heard from Zennia?”

  “There’s trouble at her house. I’m on my way to see her,” I said.

  “What about your marketing projects?”

  I knew that would be Gordon’s first question, and I was ready for it. “As I told Esther, I have nothing pressing today, and I’ll be back before lunch prep.”

  His gaze turned sharp. “Does this mean Zennia won’t be in at all? What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

  “Some
one died in her yard,” Esther said. “Can you believe it?”

  Gordon took a step back. “My God, is Zennia all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but the sooner I can get to her, the sooner I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Gordon looked at his watch. “Good idea, but I need you back by eleven at the latest. Tell Zennia to get here when she can, providing she’s up to it.”

  I checked the rooster clock on the wall. That gave me well over two hours, plenty of time to offer Zennia support and spring her from the cops. At least I hoped that’s what would happen.

  I hurried to the office for my keys. Once in my car, I sped down the freeway and took the off-ramp for Zennia’s place on the outskirts of town. I’d only been there once before, and I soon got lost in the maze of small streets.

  I cruised through the neighborhood, trying to find a familiar landmark. At last, I saw a cluster of police cruisers at the end of a cul-de-sac and knew I’d found Zennia’s house. All the curb parking inside the cul-de-sac was taken. I parked my car in the first available space at the corner and walked back.

  As I got closer, I recognized the massive branches of the ancient oak and the dark green hedge that ran all the way around Zennia’s yard. I knew from my previous visit that, on the other side of the hedge, a wrought-iron bench sat underneath the oak tree. One could sit there and enjoy the view of her green lawn with dozens of thriving bushes all along the border. At the time, I’d thought it was the perfect spot for reading a good book on a warm summer day.

  But now, yellow crime scene tape ran atop the hedge on the side closest to the sidewalk. Several official-looking people clustered together just inside the hedge, and I felt a shiver run up my back. That must be the spot where Zennia discovered Birch’s body.

  I reached the corner of the hedge and turned to walk up the driveway. A uniformed officer who probably wasn’t old enough to drink yet held up one hand. “Ma’am, this is a crime scene.”

  I read the officer’s nameplate. “I’m here to see Zennia, Officer Sanguinetti. She’s expecting me.”

  The officer spoke into the radio at his shoulder. A moment later, the front door opened, and Zennia rushed out of the house. She raced down the driveway and grasped me by the arms. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I gave her a hug and studied the worry lines around her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She pulled me toward the street and away from the officer. “Not really. The police have been perfectly polite, but still, they’re intimidating. I wanted to call you as soon as they arrived this morning, but they kept asking me questions and telling me to wait. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be out of here soon. Any idea what Birch was doing here? Did you talk to him again after we ran into him yesterday?”

  “No. You can imagine my surprise when I found him this morning. I went to fill the bird feeders along the edges of the lawn before I left for work, and there he was.”

  “You didn’t notice him when you came back from breakfast?”

  “His body was right up next to the hedge.” She shivered but kept talking. “Almost like someone was trying to hide it.”

  I noticed the cop was inching incrementally closer, so I led Zennia a few feet down the sidewalk. “Did you realize the body was Birch right away?”

  “Only when I got near him.” Zennia paled at the memory. “For some ridiculous reason, I thought he might be taking a nap. How absurd is that? As soon as I saw his face, frozen like that, I knew.”

  I recognized the hysteria in her voice and rubbed her back until she regained her calm. “It must have been such a shock.”

  “I think I may have screamed. Then I ran in the house to call the police.”

  The sound of an engine reached me, and a familiar-looking white van rumbled into the cul-de-sac. The brakes emitted a squeaking noise as the van slowed to a stop behind the patrol cars. The driver’s door opened, and I recognized Frank as he climbed out.

  “Hey,” I said to Zennia. “Isn’t that the guy who was with Birch last night at the farmers market? What’s he doing here?”

  Officer Sanguinetti marched over to Frank before Frank could reach the sidewalk. I could practically see the officer gathering his courage as he sized up Frank’s bulky frame. “Excuse me, sir, you can’t block those cars.”

  Frank glared at him. “I ain’t staying. I’m picking up my friend.”

  “What’s the name of your friend?” Officer Sanguinetti asked.

  Frank caught sight of Zennia and me. “Where’s Birch? I’m supposed to pick him up,” he said, ignoring the officer’s question.

  Zennia and I exchanged uneasy glances. Which one of us was going to break the news of Birch’s death? Was it even our place?

  Officer Sanguinetti spoke into his radio, and I automatically looked back at the door of Zennia’s house to see who would emerge this time.

  After a pause, Detective Palmer, one of Blossom Valley’s few police detectives, came out of the house. Even if I hadn’t known he was a cop, I would have pegged him as one, thanks to his buzz cut and neutral, navy blue suit.

  He stared at me as he walked down the driveway. This wasn’t the first time I’d been peripherally involved in a murder investigation, and I steeled myself for a lecture about how I was always around whenever someone stumbled over a dead body.

  Instead, he bypassed me and spoke to Officer Sanguinetti in a low voice. I was straining to catch a word or two when Frank loomed into view.

  “What’s this all about?” he demanded. “Why won’t anyone tell me where Birch is?”

  Detective Palmer broke away from the officer. “Sir, I need to ask you to come inside with me to answer a few questions.”

  Frank took a step back. “No way. I know my rights, and you pigs can’t hassle me.”

  I flinched at the word pigs, but Detective Palmer showed no reaction. “Sir, I’m asking for your cooperation in this matter.”

  Frank threw his shoulders back and looked between the two cops, as if deciding which one to swing at first. I noticed Officer Sanguinetti’s hand creeping toward his utility belt, whether to grab his gun or his Taser, I wasn’t sure.

  After a tense moment, Frank’s shoulders slumped. “Aw, hell, let’s get your damn questions over with. Otherwise, you’ll slap some trumped-up charge, like obstructing justice, on me. That’s how you guys work.” He was still grumbling as he headed toward the house, with Detective Palmer stepping into line behind him.

  At the door, the detective turned back and pointed at me. “Don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you next.”

  I gulped. “You bet,” I called to him.

  He shut the door, and I pulled out my phone to check the time. Eleven o’clock was approaching fast, but no way would I leave before Detective Palmer had a chance to question me.

  “Any idea how long Detective Palmer will be?” I asked Officer Sanguinetti. “I have to get back to work.”

  He shrugged. “Whenever he’s done with his questions.”

  I bit my lip to keep from making a sarcastic comment. I didn’t want one of those obstructing justice charges either.

  Beside me, Zennia grabbed my arm. “I can’t seem to organize my thoughts this morning. Maybe I’ll brew myself a cup of ashwagandha tea once the police stop using my kitchen table as a place to fill out paperwork.”

  Officer Sanguinetti cleared his throat.

  “Not that I mind,” she added hastily. “Of course I want to do anything I can to help, but I’m not used to such chaos in my house. It’s usually my sanctuary.”

  I laid my hand on Zennia’s, which still gripped my arm. If I ever needed a tourniquet, her hands could make a suitable replacement. As if reading my mind, she loosened her grip.

  “Don’t worry about lunch, Zennia. We only have four or five guests right now, and not all of them will eat at the farm. I’d be surprised if I need to serve more than one or two tables.”

  “No, I want to help. I know I lef
t everyone in the lurch this morning when I didn’t even call. And frankly, being in Esther’s kitchen is exactly what I need right now.”

  “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” I said.

  We watched the police move around the yard, but with the hedge dividing the lawn from the driveway, I couldn’t see much. After a few minutes, voices drew my attention back to the house. Detective Palmer came out with Frank, who was visibly more relaxed. He managed a gruff “Bye now” as he passed Zennia and me.

  The two men stopped at the bottom of the driveway, where Frank slapped Detective Palmer on the shoulder. “Sorry I gave you such a hard time before,” he said. “I’d better get my van out of the way of your guys.”

  “You still have the card I gave you inside?” Detective Palmer asked.

  Frank felt the front pocket of his checkered shirt. “Right here. I’ll give you a holler if I think of anything that might help. I want you to catch whoever did this to Birch.” He climbed into the van, started it up on the third try, and backed out of the cul-de-sac.

  “He sure changed his attitude,” I said to Detective Palmer. “What did you say to him? He was practically eating out of your hand.”

  “Trade secret,” he said without a hint of a smile. He moved toward the house. “You’re up,” he said over his shoulder. He went inside, leaving the door open behind him.

  “If you don’t hear from me in an hour,” I told Zennia, “send in a rescue party.” Too bad I was only partly kidding.

  She gave me a reassuring pat, while I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. A few seconds later, I squared my shoulders and marched toward the house. I was ready to face the detective and his questions, whatever they might be.

  Chapter 5

  Entering Zennia’s home was like walking into the garden center of a home improvement store. Potted plants lined the windowsills and spider plants fell over the sides of several hanging pots. Two wicker chairs with thick cushions occupied the center of the room, and what looked to be a recycled wood crate with a sheet of glass on top served as a coffee table. A rocking chair sat in the corner next to a short palm tree, and a bookcase against the nearest wall held books about meditation, natural medicine, and organic gardening. I didn’t spot a television anywhere, but that didn’t surprise me, considering Zennia’s aversion to what she considered time wasters.