Detective Palmer sat down in one of the wicker chairs and motioned for me to sit next to him. As I did, I glanced into the nearby breakfast nook and saw a uniformed officer filling out paperwork at a small, round table.
“Care to tell me what you’re doing here?” Detective Palmer asked as he took a notebook and ballpoint pen out of his inside jacket pocket. He clicked open the pen and scribbled at the top of the page.
I crossed my legs, then crossed them the other way, trying to get comfortable in the chair. I gave up and put both feet flat on the floor. “Zennia called the farm to tell us that she’d found Birch dead this morning.”
“What time was this?”
“Fairly early. Shortly after eight?” I shifted my feet. Though Detective Palmer was only asking me routine questions, I felt like a giant laser beam was shining straight down on my head, burning my skull.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
I straightened up in the chair, annoyed. “Telling you. I remember checking the clock to see if I had enough time to drive over here and still get back to the farm to help Esther with lunch service. If Zennia isn’t back at work by that time, of course.” I suddenly felt too constricted in the chair and stood up to move around.
Detective Palmer looked up from his notebook to see what I was doing and then resumed writing. “Did you know the deceased?”
I walked over to the fireplace to study the pictures on the mantel. I recognized younger versions of Zennia in several of them. “I met him for the first time last night. I saw him staring at Zennia at the farmers market and thought he was a stalker creep, but it turned out he’s Zennia’s long-lost boyfriend from their days at a commune.”
He raised his eyebrows at that. “Commune?”
“Can you believe it? There’s a commune not more than an hour from here. I guess the two of them lived out there for a while.”
“You must be talking about Evergreen.” He consulted his notes. “How did he seem? Happy to see her? Upset?”
“He was thrilled. Acted like their reunion was written in the stars, that fate had brought them together again.”
“What else do you remember about the conversation?”
“Not much. Zennia and Birch talked briefly before I joined them, and then we didn’t have a chance to say hardly anything before that guy, Frank, showed up. He and Birch got in the van and left right after that.”
“That all you can remember?”
I straightened a photo on the mantel. “That’s all that happened.”
Detective Palmer checked over his notes and then tucked his notepad and pen back in his jacket pocket. He rose from the chair. “That’s all for now. Call me if you think of anything important.”
“Of course.”
He started past me, but stopped. “Otherwise, don’t call me.”
Ouch. “What do you mean?”
Detective Palmer glowered at me. “You know exactly what I mean. Somehow you manage to put yourself in the middle of every single murder investigation in this town. I want you out of this one. Understand?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve been involved in every case,” I said. His glower deepened, which I would have thought was physically impossible if I wasn’t actually seeing it. “But no worries. The thought of looking into Birch’s death never even crossed my mind.”
“Right,” he said.
He walked over and sat down at the table across from the uniformed officer. I took that as my cue to leave and slipped out of the house.
Outside, Zennia was pacing in her driveway. When she saw me, she rushed over.
“How was it? He wasn’t too hard on you, was he?”
“Detective Palmer is always perfectly polite.”
“But it’s the way he studies you, like he knows all your inner secrets. Any minute, I thought he was going to ask me about the time I stole all the coins from my grandfather’s wishing well when I was six.”
I chuckled. “He’s a good detective, but he’s not that good.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and cringed. “I need to get to the farm.”
“Did the detective say I was free to go with you?”
“Shoot, I forgot to ask.”
“That’s all right. I’ll run in and find out.”
She dashed into the house, leaving me alone. Officer Sanguinetti still stood at the end of the driveway, but he was watching the street. The people I’d seen working in the yard earlier were gone. I edged closer to the hedge that separated the driveway from the lawn area and peered over, holding my breath in anticipation.
There was little to see. Little yellow plastic triangles with black numbers littered the grass next to the hedge. Birch’s body was nowhere in sight.
I noticed a gap in the hedge a little farther along the driveway and moved over to the opening. As long as the police were finished searching for evidence, it couldn’t hurt if I took a closer look, right?
I’d just turned my body sideways to slip through the space when I heard someone clear their throat right next to me. Officer Sanguinetti had snuck up the driveway while I’d been snooping.
“This is still a crime scene, ma’am.”
I felt my face heat up. “Right. I forgot. Sorry about that.”
Zennia came out of the house, saving me from further embarrassment. She was followed by Detective Palmer and the other officer. Zennia had donned a light sweater and carried her purse, definitely a promising sign that the police were done with her.
Remembering Detective Palmer’s warning to me, I stepped away from the hedge before he could notice how close I was to the lawn and get the wrong idea, even if it was the right idea. “Are you able to leave now?” I asked Zennia.
“Detective Palmer told me the police are finished for now. They might come back to search the yard more, but if I’m not home, that’s fine.” She pulled out her car keys. “I can’t wait to get to work. I need a break from all this.”
“Great. I’ll see you at the farm in a few minutes.”
I went down the driveway and walked to the corner. As I unlocked my car door, I looked up at the house I’d parked in front of and saw the blinds drop back into position in an upstairs window.
Someone had been watching me. If they made a habit of looking out that window, they might have seen who entered and exited the cul-de-sac this morning when Birch was murdered. Detective Palmer might hit pay dirt with a witness.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, I heard a horn toot and saw Zennia drive past. I started my car and followed her, glad I wouldn’t have to re-navigate the small streets on my own to find my way out.
When we reached the freeway, she settled on a steady fifty-five miles-per-hour, while I pulled into the passing lane and zipped ahead with a little wave.
At the farm, I entered through the lobby and found Gordon standing at the check-in counter, typing on the reservation computer’s keyboard. “Zennia’s not with you?”
“She’s right behind me. You know how slow she drives.”
“Can’t fault her for being fuel-efficient. Think of the money she saves.”
“Think how long it takes her to get anywhere.”
Gordon shrugged. “So long as she gets here before the guests are ready to eat.”
“Good point.” I walked past Gordon and said, “I have a little work to finish in the office. When Zennia gets here, could you let her know I’ll help her in the kitchen in a few minutes?”
He nodded, his attention back on the screen. I went down the hall, dropped my purse in the desk drawer, and moved the mouse to activate the computer. I felt too fidgety to be working on the computer, but I always posted my blog first thing and today’s post was several hours late already, thanks to everything that had happened this morning.
I opened the word processing program and forced myself to concentrate as I edited my discussion on naturally flavored water. After a few more changes, I uploaded the blog to the farm’s Web site and made sure the photos were formatted correctly. While I was on
the site, I also answered a handful of comments from the previous day.
That finished, I pushed back my chair, stretched, and went into the kitchen to see if Zennia needed any help. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a butcher’s knife clutched in her hand. Several piles of freshly cut vegetables lay before her, so I knew she’d been working on them, but now she looked at a mound of diced zucchini as if she’d never seen the vegetable before.
“Zennia, are you all right?” I asked, an uneasy feeling settling into my stomach.
She slowly looked up at me. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Do what? Make lunch? I can finish for you, if you’ll tell me what to do.”
“That’s the problem. I can’t remember what to do. My mind is a complete blank.”
I studied the piles on the table. “Okay, let’s try to figure this out. I see zucchini, and eggplant, and asparagus,” I said in a singsong voice, like I was addressing a classroom of kindergarteners. Zennia showed no reaction, and I tried again. “Were you going to sauté everything? Put them over a bed of quinoa like you sometimes do?”
Zennia set down the knife and pushed herself up from the table. “I need to go home.”
That uneasy feeling started to spread to my limbs. “Wouldn’t you rather stay? I’m sure Esther would let you use her sitting room upstairs to rest.”
“No, I made a mistake coming to work. I should go home.”
“Will you be okay by yourself? Is there a friend you can call?” I didn’t like letting Zennia leave in her current state, but someone needed to stay and feed the guests.
“I’m sure a bit of quiet time will fix everything.” She looked at her hands. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to help with lunch after all.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Worry about yourself.”
“Thanks, Dana.” Slightly dazed, she wandered through the doorway and into the hall. I watched her for a moment before turning my attention to the contents on the table. What on earth could I serve the vegetables with? I had no idea how to cook quinoa. Or any of the other grains Zennia kept stocked in the kitchen.
I opened the pantry door to see if I could find a box of rice with cooking directions on the back, but all I found were canisters of pastas and grains that Zennia filled from the bulk bin at the health food store.
I heard the back door open, and Gretchen came in. With the spa tent on the other side of the guest cabins, Gretchen and I rarely saw each other. Sometimes I felt like we worked at completely different places.
“Gretchen, please tell me you know how to cook quinoa.”
She gave me a blank look. “I don’t even know how to spell it.”
“Too bad. I’m trying to come up with lunch for the guests, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Gretchen ran her hand through her short black hair. “I wish I could help, but my next massage client will be here any minute. I came in to grab extra towels from the laundry room.”
“That’s all right. I’ll figure something out.”
Gretchen left the kitchen, and I went back to searching the pantry. My eyes settled on ajar of natural peanut butter. Hmm . . .
Zennia had baked a fresh loaf of seven-seed wheat bread yesterday afternoon, and she almost always kept ajar of strawberry preserves in the refrigerator. What guest wouldn’t love a throwback to their childhood with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch?
With one eye on the rooster clock, I quickly assembled five sandwiches, based on the number of guests I’d seen at breakfast. Now what to do with the vegetables? I couldn’t throw them away.
I stared at the diced eggplant, hoping for inspiration. When none came, I scooped everything into a large bowl, drizzled olive oil on top, and added a splash of balsamic vinegar and a dash of salt and pepper. After giving the vegetables a good toss, I plucked out a piece of zucchini to try.
Unsurprisingly, it tasted like zucchini. But wasn’t that why people were staying here? For all the healthy living? I’d tell them we were experimenting with a raw food diet today.
Gordon came into the kitchen as I was spooning my vegetable salad onto each plate. “I saw a couple heading for the dining room. Zennia told me on her way out that you’d be taking over lunch, and I wanted to make sure we were on track.” He saw the plate closest to him. “What the hell is that?”
“Peanut butter and jelly on homemade bread with a seasonal salad tossed in a light vinaigrette.” Not a bad spin, if I did say so myself.
“We can’t serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to the guests. People will demand their money back. They’ll pack up and go home.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating a wee bit?” I said. “They might question it, but if we present the food with confidence, they’ll think we planned this meal weeks ago.”
“Somehow I doubt that, but we don’t have any alternatives at the moment. You’ll have to do your best.”
I grabbed two plates and carried them into the dining room, where the couple who had arrived first for breakfast this morning now sat. I placed a plate in front of the woman. She eyed the food and then me. “Seriously?”
“We’re following the raw food diet mentality,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.
“Sure you’re not cleaning out the fridge?”
“I think it will be delicious,” her companion said as he poked an asparagus spear with his fork.
“You would. Coming here was your idea.”
“And it’s been perfectly charming,” he said, looking up at me with a rapidly reddening face.
The woman continued to goad him, and I retreated to the kitchen. Perhaps her disappointment in her companion would take her mind off her sandwich.
I finished lunch service without garnering any more comments about the meal. After I’d cleaned up the kitchen, I called Zennia to see how she was feeling. When she didn’t answer, I called Jason to talk about Birch’s death, but I could tell he was only half listening. He was already hard at work on his story for the next morning’s edition of the Herald.
We hung up, and I started researching costs for ad placements in a few of the national magazines. Soon, the afternoon was gone.
Esther came into the office as I was wrapping up work for the evening. She sank into the guest chair near the door and fanned her face. “The temperature sure has picked up today.”
“Really? I haven’t been outside since lunch.” I closed the program I’d been using and shut down the computer.
“Gordon told me about Zennia leaving in the middle of lunch service. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help. They switched the day for my weekly Bunco game because Edna’s getting a new hip tomorrow.”
“Lunch was no problem. We only had a few guests.” I didn’t mention that I’d served them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, although I didn’t think Esther would care as much as Gordon had.
Esther fiddled with a button on her denim shirt. “But what if she’s not back by this weekend? We’re expecting a full house.”
“I don’t think Zennia will miss any more work. The shock from this morning probably caught up to her, but after a good night’s sleep, she’ll be fine.” Wouldn’t she?
“I hope you’re right. I don’t like thinking about Zennia being alone at a time like this.”
Her comments echoed my own thoughts, and I tried to quell the worry I could feel building up. “You know, I tried calling her a couple of times this afternoon, but she didn’t answer. I think I’ll try again.” I lifted the receiver on the desk phone and punched in Zennia’s number. Esther watched me as I listened to the ringing. When Zennia’s voice mail kicked on, I hung up.
“Still no answer?” Esther asked.
“She’s probably sleeping,” I assured her, but I caught myself staring at the phone all the same. Why wasn’t Zennia answering? Had she turned off the ringer so she wouldn’t be disturbed?
Or had something else happened?
Chapter 6
“I bet Zennia’s busy meditat
ing,” I told Esther. “Still, I’ll swing by her place on my way home.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Esther said. “Maybe I’ll follow you out there.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think we’ll stay long? It’s getting on to dinnertime.”
I knew Esther’s eyesight wasn’t the best at night, and she wouldn’t visit Zennia if it meant driving after dark. Ever since she’d almost swerved into a minivan full of kids when she couldn’t see the lane stripes, she’d restricted herself to daytime driving. “I’m not sure, but you can ride with me.”
“I couldn’t ask you to drive me back out here later,” she said, although I could tell she was torn.
“I don’t mind.”
She stood and patted my arm. “If you’re sure, I’ll run upstairs and freshen up.”
Once she was gone, I pulled out my phone and called Jason. He answered on the second ring. “Hey, beautiful. Dinner tonight? I’m finally caught up at work.”
“Afraid I need a rain check. Esther and I want to stop by Zennia’s place and see how she’s doing. I’m surprised you’re not over there interviewing her right now.”
“I’ve spent most of the day trying to gather information from the police and doing background research. I might contact Zennia tomorrow.”
“She heard one of the cops say Birch was strangled. Is that true?”
“It’s too soon to release the cause of death, but that’s the rumor. Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than that, but I’ve put together a story with less.”
Esther came back into the office wearing the same clothes she’d left in, but she’d combed her hair and applied a coat of pink lipstick.
“Time to go,” I said, “but I’ll try to call you later.”
“I’d like that,” Jason said.
I gathered my belongings, and Esther and I walked out the door. During the drive, Esther prattled on about her Bunco game and how one of her friends was trying to convince her to take up quilting again. I offered comments here and there, but I knew little about Bunco and even less about quilting.
Murder Most Wholesome Page 4