Murder Most Wholesome

by Staci McLaughlin

  Once I’d exited the highway, I maneuvered through the streets of Zennia’s neighborhood, only making one wrong turn before I located her yellow house again. This time, I parked in the driveway, and Esther followed me up to the front door.

  I rang the doorbell but got no response. After a minute, I rang the bell again.

  “Where could she be?” Esther asked.

  As I put my finger on the buzzer a third time, the door opened a crack, and Zennia peered out. The look of relief on her face was evident. “Oh, it’s you two. I thought you were more ghouls trying to get details about poor Birch’s death.”

  “We wanted to make sure you were all right,” I said. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I turned the ringer off. Everyone in town has been calling and asking completely inappropriate questions. These people are despicable!”

  The venom in her voice made me wince. Zennia was normally so unflappable. “Ignore them. They’ll have moved on to another topic by tomorrow.”

  “I can’t imagine anything will be as exciting as a murder, but let’s forget about those gossipmongers.” She stepped back from the door and beckoned us inside. “I’m glad you two are here to keep me company. Stewing in one’s own thoughts isn’t healthy.”

  Esther stepped up and gave Zennia a hug. “I’m awful sorry about what happened to that man. You let us know how we can help.”

  Zennia hugged her in return. “Thank you.” She gestured us into the house, and we all stepped inside.

  The interior of her home had a decidedly more relaxed feel now that Detective Palmer and the other officer were gone. I bypassed the wicker chairs and took a seat in the rocker in the corner, brushing aside a large plant frond that hung over the back. While Esther chose a wicker chair and tried to get settled, my gaze fell on an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. Uh-oh.

  Zennia caught me looking. “It’s for medicinal purposes,” she said.

  I’d never known Zennia to drink, not even a little wine with dinner, but if ever she was going to start, the day she found the body of her former lover might be a good time. She sank into the other wicker chair and put a hand to her head. “I still can’t believe someone killed Birch in my front yard.”

  “What was he even doing here that early?” I asked. “And how did he know where you lived?”

  “I have no idea.”

  No doubt the police were searching for answers to those very questions.

  We fell silent. Esther fingered the hem of her blouse while her eyes flitted around the room. Zennia rubbed her temple and stared at her lap.

  Trying to think of a topic that didn’t involve Birch or the police, I looked around for inspiration and noticed a plastic tub of beads next to the bottle of whiskey. I leaned forward and picked up a large cobalt blue bead. “This is lovely.”

  Zennia raised her head, her face brightening. “I wanted to honor Birch in some way. I’m making a necklace. That way, when I sense my memory of him slipping away, I can wear the necklace and feel closer to him.”

  “I should remember that for my Arnold,” Esther said. “Sometimes I miss him terribly. It’s hard to believe he’s been gone for two years already.”

  Zennia capped the whiskey bottle and set it on the fireplace mantel. Then she knelt down on the floor next to the table. “Would you like to make one with me now?”

  “I’d love to.” Esther pulled the wicker chair closer to the coffee table.

  “What a nice idea,” I said. I fingered the St. Christopher necklace given to me by my dad years ago and that I still wore almost every day. “Maybe I could make a bracelet in honor of my dad.” Plus, creating the jewelry was a good way to distract Zennia from the morning’s events.

  “Whatever brings you peace,” Zennia said.

  I knelt on the other side of the coffee table as she handed out elastic cords to each of us.

  “Use any beads you like,” she said.

  She opened a zippered pouch on the table and pulled out several large needles and little metal coils. She passed around the needles, and I copied her as she threaded the cord on the needle. Across from me, Esther did the same. Zennia then clamped a metal coil on the other end of her cord, and Esther and I followed suit.

  “Okay, we’re all set,” Zennia said. She selected a speckled bead from the bin and slid it over the needle. “This reminds me of my time at the commune. Seems like we were always making jewelry or other crafts.”

  I picked up the cobalt blue bead that had first drawn my attention and held it up to the light, turning my hand to watch the bead sparkle. Blue had been my father’s favorite color, and the choice seemed fitting.

  “How did you and Birch meet?” I asked Zennia. “Was it at the commune, or did you two move there together?”

  “We met at a coffee shop where I was waitressing in San Francisco. I’d moved there from a little town in Iowa a few weeks before, and I didn’t know another living soul. I was feeling lost.”

  “Didn’t you say you met Birch when you were only nineteen or twenty?” I asked. “And you moved to San Francisco by yourself?” I tried to remember my mindset back when I was twenty. I was a sophomore in college and still trying to figure out my life at that age. Though I was technically living on my own, my parents were a short drive away if I needed anything. I wasn’t sure I could have moved halfway across the U.S. by myself.

  “With all the stories I’d heard about San Francisco, it seemed like the perfect place for me, a city where everyone loves taking care of their bodies both physically and spiritually.” She dropped an orange glass bead onto her cord. “Birch came into the café one day. He was twenty years my senior, but otherwise, we were like two peas in a pod. I’d start a sentence and he’d finish it. Everything I told him, he agreed with.”

  I had to question Birch’s motivation. Zennia was an attractive woman, and when she was younger, she must have been downright hot, as Ashlee would say. Birch probably took one look at Zennia and agreed to whatever she said in hopes that she’d fall for him. I kept that thought to myself. “Had you ever considered living on a commune?” I asked instead.

  “Not at all, but Birch had recently returned from living there for the summer and was absolutely smitten. Once we became inseparable, he insisted that we go back together. I was young and inexperienced in life, and his description made it sound absolutely heavenly.”

  “And it wasn’t?” I picked through the container of beads and selected a white-and-blue striped one. I added it to my growing row.

  “Not quite as heavenly as I’d pictured. But I was in love, and I thought that was all I needed.”

  “Puppy love makes us do foolish things,” Esther said. She’d managed to find several animal-shaped beads and seemed to be fashioning a farm-style necklace. “Before I met my Arnold, I almost ran off with my first steady boyfriend. It was prom night, and he wanted to take his daddy’s truck over the county line where he’d heard a pastor would marry us even though we were too young. If we hadn’t run out of gas, who knows what would have happened.”

  “I’ve never gone quite that far,” I said, “but it’s easy to get swept up in the moment, especially when the guy promises to love you forever.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Zennia dug through the pile of beads. “And don’t get me wrong about the commune. Evergreen is a wonderful place to live, but rather limiting. I saw the same people day after day. We had the same conversations over and over. I felt like I wasn’t growing as a person. The commune was so insular that I decided I needed to leave. Unfortunately, I couldn’t convince Birch to go with me, so I left without him.”

  “That was a bold move,” I said.

  “It certainly took a fair amount of courage. After all, I thought Birch was the smartest man I’d ever met. When he told me I was making a mistake, I second-guessed myself every step of the way.”

  “Was it the second-guessing that brought you back to the commune to look for Birch?” I added a final bead to my b
racelet and held up both ends to make sure the pattern was consistent.

  “I wanted to see him again so I could decide once and for all if living in the great wide world alone was better than living at the commune with Birch. Life contains many choices, and you have to be willing to give up one thing to keep another.”

  I knew exactly what Zennia meant. I’d left the Bay Area a while back to move home and help my mom after my dad died of a heart attack. At the time, I’d felt like I’d given up my independence in order to be loyal to my mom, but in the end, the trade-off had been worth it. I couldn’t imagine leaving Blossom Valley and my life here for anything.

  Zennia laid her almost-finished necklace on the table and took mine. “Let me finish that off for you.” She removed the metal coil and needle and tied the ends together. She handed mine back, added two more beads to her necklace, and started to tie it off.

  As she added one last knot and pulled on both ends, the cord snapped. The beads slid off in one smooth motion and clattered onto the coffee table. Esther and I scrambled to stop the rolling beads, but several fell to the floor.

  Zennia watched them go. “That’s quite an omen, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Esther said. “Could have just as easily been me.”

  “No, as I was making this necklace, I felt like it didn’t represent Birch. Perhaps the years apart have taken their toll and I’ve lost the essence of his spirit. Maybe I should visit the commune, get an idea of how Birch spent his last few months.” She dropped her cord on the table. “Dana, I know tomorrow is your day off. Any chance you could go with me? I’d rather not make the trip alone.”

  My mind buzzed at the suggestion. Here was my chance to see an honest-to-goodness commune, and maybe even find out more about Birch and why he was murdered.

  I slipped the bracelet on my wrist, stood up from the table, and looked at Zennia. “What time do we leave?”

  Chapter 7

  At nine the next morning, I pulled up to Zennia’s house. Esther and I had kept Zennia company until eleven the previous night, cooking scrambled eggs for dinner and talking about her days before and after her stint at the commune. Even when I could barely keep my eyes open, Zennia still seemed eager for us to stay. She only agreed to let us leave after I reminded her that I’d see her again this morning. By the time I’d run Esther back out to the farm and gotten myself home, I’d gone straight to bed.

  I rang Zennia’s doorbell, bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation of our trip to the commune. After a minute, she opened the front door.

  “Morning, Zennia. How did you sleep?”

  She waved me inside. “I spent much of the night thinking about Birch, but I managed to nod off around three. Of course, I woke right up at five, but two hours of sleep is better than none, I guess.”

  “Maybe seeing the commune today will help you deal with Birch’s death.”

  She locked the front door from the inside and led me through the kitchen. “I’m grateful to Esther for cooking the meals at the farm today so I can go out there. I can’t remember the last time in my life I felt this unbalanced.” She opened a door that led to the garage.

  Inside, a gardening table sat against one wall, with trowels, seed packets, and small pots covering the surface. Four cardboard boxes were stacked in a nearby corner. Other than those items and Zennia’s Prius, the garage was empty, a far cry from my mom’s, which was overflowing with unused furniture, boxed-up mementos, and Christmas decorations.

  Zennia pushed the button to open the garage door, and we got in her car. On the drive, she turned on a New Age music CD and concentrated on the road, seemingly deep in thought. I studied the passing landscape. The pear trees in the nearby orchards were laden with white blossoms and fruit buds, and endless rows of grapevines covered the hills.

  Several miles outside of town, we reached an interchange. Whenever I drove out this way, I followed the road west to the small coastal town of Mendocino and the Pacific Ocean, but Zennia aimed her car east, toward the redwood forest and the far-off mountains beyond.

  As the road wound through the trees, stores and roadside attractions popped into view every now and again, beckoning with their signs that touted one-of-a-kind curios, homemade goods, and hand-picked vegetables. An occasional driveway or mailbox marked the existence of a residence hidden somewhere among the trees.

  Zennia swung around a turn, and a small hill with a large structure loomed into view. I’d seen the signs for the Mighty Eagle Casino ever since we’d left the freeway, but the sight of the massive building and paved parking lot among the dense trees still caught me off guard.

  “Wow. I’ve heard people talk about the casino, but it’s bigger than I imagined,” I said.

  “A blight on the landscape,” Zennia said.

  After roughly fifteen more minutes, she turned onto an unmarked, narrow road surrounded on both sides by towering redwoods. My stomach started to protest as she maneuvered through a series of turns. I rolled down the window to let in fresh air.

  “Feeling all right?” Zennia asked.

  “A little carsick is all.”

  “Tell yourself it’s mind over matter.”

  “Somebody needs to tell my stomach,” I said, gulping in a lungful of air. “Are you sure this is the right way? All these side roads look the same to me.”

  “I remember the route. Plus, there are signs, if you’re aware of them. At the turnoff back there, a daisy was painted on the post.”

  I checked the side mirror, though the post was long gone. “Guess I was too busy trying not to throw up to notice.”

  Zennia laughed. “Only a few more minutes and we’ll be there.”

  Sure enough, just when I thought I was in danger of ruining Zennia’s upholstery with the contents of my stomach, she flipped on her turn signal. She turned down a one-lane, unpaved road. Redwood trees lined both sides, and a few of the longer branches scratched against the sides of the car, making screeching noises that set my teeth on edge.

  As we approached a rickety bridge, a wood sign declared we were at the Evergreen commune. We crossed the bridge, and the lane opened up into a large dirt lot cleared of trees and bushes. Across the way, a long, single-story building beckoned. Past that, I could see a meadow, with a large red barn and several smaller wooden structures where the land rose up. To the right of the barn, an enormous area with rows of plants was surrounded by a wire fence. Several people worked among the rows, but from this distance, I couldn’t tell what they were growing.

  Zennia drove over to the long building and parked next to a battered, slightly rusty Datsun pickup. I got out and inhaled the cool crisp air, feeling my stomach start to settle down now that I was no longer inside a moving vehicle. A strong breeze blew through the trees, creating a hushed sound, almost like a whisper.

  The other cars in the lot were mostly older models with dents, dings, and scratches in the bodies, and I wondered where the people who owned them were. I wasn’t sure if I was expecting a group of giggling children to pour out of the building and shower us with daisies, or maybe a bearded man in a robe to wave his arm and declare us his guests, but I found the place spookily quiet. “Where’s the welcome committee?”

  Zennia shrugged. “Going about their regular business, I assume. I’m sure we’ll find someone inside.”

  She shut her car door and took a moment to study the building.

  “Does the place look the same as the last time you were here?” I asked.

  “I see more outbuildings back near the tree line. Perhaps they added cabins. Back when I lived here, this building was the hub of the commune. Everyone ate their meals in the large gathering room, and we held our meetings here when the weather kept us from meeting outside.”

  We walked over, and Zennia pulled open the glass door. We stepped into a massive room with parquet floors and several round tables with folding chairs. On the other side of the room was a small stage with speakers and a microphone stand. The walls w
ere covered with motivational posters and handmade blankets.

  “This room is almost the same as when I left twenty-five years ago,” Zennia said as she headed toward a hallway on our left. I followed along, noting a bulletin board on the wall as we passed. One flyer offered a free slightly used recliner, while another sought volunteers to help organize a group outing.

  Partway down the hall, Zennia stopped at an open door. Birch’s friend, Frank, sat inside at a desk covered in papers and binders. He was lifting up the corners of the papers and peering underneath, clearly searching for something.

  Zennia knocked on the doorframe, and he quickly straightened the papers into a pile before standing and offering his hand. His gaze lingered on Zennia. “Oh, it’s you, Zennia. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday.” His tone was one of curiosity with a hint of gruffness, definitely an improvement from the hostility I’d seen when he’d encountered Detective Palmer at Zennia’s house yesterday morning.

  Zennia smiled at him fondly. “How have you been, Frank?”

  He ran a roughened hand through his short gray hair. “I have to be honest. Not great after what happened to Birch, poor guy. I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “Neither can I,” Zennia said. “And killed in my own yard, no less.”

  “Any idea why Birch was at Zennia’s house so early in the morning?” I asked.

  Frank looked between Zennia and me and didn’t answer.

  “I’m Dana. I work with Zennia,” I said. When he nodded, I went on. “About Birch?”

  “I’m the one who drove him there.”

  I waited, but Frank didn’t elaborate. “And why was he there?” I asked again.

  “To see Zennia.”

  Well, duh. If Frank had initially been this unhelpful with Detective Palmer, I had to give the detective credit for not shooting him.