Murder Most Wholesome

by Staci McLaughlin

  “They used to try and give the cabins to families, especially those with children. As for the rest, the policy used to be that the longer you’ve lived here, the more permanent your housing.”

  The policy made sense, but I wondered if the newer arrivals resented having to wait their turn for one of the private cabins. Obviously, no one would have killed Birch strictly for a shot at his house, but the living arrangements might have created tension.

  When we reached the end of the meadow, I expected Zennia to go in the back door, but she started around the side of the building instead.

  “Don’t you want to join everyone for lunch?” I asked.

  She slowed her steps but didn’t stop. “I’m sure we’ll find something to eat on the drive home, unless you’re absolutely starving.”

  “No, I can wait. I just thought you’d want to talk to people about Birch. Having everyone gathered at lunch seems like a good way to accomplish that.”

  “The women who were knitting and quilting told me all sorts of stories about him, and I’m starting to get a good sense of Birch’s time here the last few months. He was clearly loved.”

  Zennia unlocked her car, and I got in the passenger side. Once we were both buckled up, she started the engine and backed out of the lot. The drive back to civilization seemed to take half the time as the trip out here, and she soon reached the turnoff for the highway.

  As we neared the Mighty Eagle Casino, Zennia said, “Why don’t we stop for lunch?”

  I glanced at her in surprise. She’d described the casino as a blight, and now she wanted to eat here? “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve heard the restaurant serves organic salads. I’m curious to see what they’re offering.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned into the casino’s driveway. Even at lunchtime on a weekday, the parking lot was two-thirds full, with several shiny Cadillacs taking up two spaces each. A shuttle bus was parked to one side.

  Zennia parked in a vacant spot. As we walked toward the casino entrance, I marveled at the size of the large, stone structure. I pulled open the door, and a blast of arctic air greeted us in the dimly lit, smoky room. I grabbed my upper arms at the chill and started coughing from the smoke. A neon sign on the back wall promised a café if I’d only follow the flashing arrow. I headed in that direction.

  On my way by, I watched as one elderly woman sitting at the penny slots took a roll of bills out of her bra, peeled off a five, and shoved the roll back in her bra. She saw me looking, scowled, and snatched the front of her blouse closed like I was a peeping pervert. As if.

  The air in the café was considerably fresher, and the light was much brighter. A young woman with a dragon tattoo on her neck extracted two menus from a holder on the side of the hostess stand and led us to a table by the window.

  Through the glass, I saw mostly trees, with only a small shed interrupting the view. It gave the intended illusion of being close to nature for anyone who didn’t want to actually go outside.

  We sat down, and the hostess handed each of us a menu. “Your server will be right with you,” she said. “I believe Olive is assigned to your table.”

  At that, Zennia sat up straighter and jerked her head around, checking each corner of the room.

  I eyed her. “You seem awfully excited all of a sudden.” I flipped open the menu and scanned the contents. Burgers, wraps, and sandwiches fought for space among offerings of fish and chips, ribs, and fried chicken. I smacked my lips. “After seeing this menu, I’m pretty excited myself. The only question is whether I can eat the bacon cheeseburger and fries and still drink an entire chocolate milkshake.”

  When Zennia didn’t comment on my lunch choice, I peeked over the top of the menu. She was still scanning the restaurant.

  I lowered my menu. “You always give me a hard time when I pick an unhealthy dish for lunch. What’s going on?”

  Zennia stopped looking around and placed her hands in her lap, like a child caught misbehaving. “Nothing. I’m deciding on what to order.”

  “It helps if you open the menu.”

  Zennia blushed and reached for hers, but I put my hand on top before she could pick it up.

  “You told me you wanted to try this restaurant for its organic salads,” I said, “but you obviously aren’t interested in the food, and you’ve been acting strangely ever since the hostess mentioned Olive. Do you know Olive?”

  “No, I don’t,” Zennia said firmly. She pulled the menu out from under my hand and popped it open, hiding her face. I continued to stare at the back of her menu, trying not to get distracted by the giant picture of a hot fudge sundae while I waited for her to look at me. Eventually, she did. “I have a confession to make.”

  I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands. “I’m all ears.”

  Zennia studied the tablecloth like I might quiz her on it later. “I didn’t come here for the organic salad.”

  “Good thing, because I checked the menu, and they don’t have one.”

  That earned me a small smile. “I wanted to stop because one of the quilters mentioned Birch’s sister, Olive, works here as a waitress.”

  “I didn’t realize Birch had a sister, but you didn’t need to get me here under false pretenses.”

  “But I have no real reason to see her,” Zennia said. “It’s pure curiosity that made me want to pull in, and I’m ashamed of showing such weakness.”

  I leaned back in my chair and smoothed down the tablecloth that I’d managed to wrinkle with my elbows. “Maybe she can fill in what Birch has been up to the last few years.”

  Zennia shook her head. “I doubt if she’s spent much time with him. One quilter said the relationship between Olive and Birch was . . . how did she put it? Complicated. That’s the word she used. She said Olive had every reason to hate Birch.”

  Zennia’s declaration brought one question to mind. Did Olive hate Birch enough to kill him?

  Chapter 10

  A waitress stepped up to our table. “Hi, I’m Olive. I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

  I took a good look at her. I wasn’t sure of her age, but I guessed she was close to Birch’s sixty-plus years, based on the murder’s worth of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and the deep wrinkles around her mouth. She appeared to be a couple of inches shorter than me, which put her at five foot three, and she carried an extra thirty pounds on her frame.

  “Iced tea, please,” I said.

  “Hot tea for me,” Zennia said. “Anything herbal is fine.”

  “Be right back with that,” Olive said.

  She left, and I leaned toward Zennia. “Okay, tell me what you know.”

  Zennia slid her napkin from under her silverware and spread it in her lap. “You know I don’t like to gossip.”

  “But you’re the one who told me about Birch and his sister. And insisted we stop here for lunch so you could see her. Why?”

  “Shame on me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She started gnawing on her bottom lip, and I couldn’t help but wonder at her state of mind. Zennia was generally more self-assured than this. Birch’s death must still be weighing heavily on her, even after our trip to the commune.

  “Okay, you don’t have to tell me.” I picked up my menu again, wondering if I could eat all the food I was planning to order, or if my intentions were bigger than my stomach.

  I heard a sigh from across the table and put the menu down.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Zennia said. “You’re not the type to spread gossip around either. I’m most likely hesitating because the story doesn’t cast Birch in a particularly good light.”

  Zennia paused. I waited, not wanting to push her.

  After a moment, she started up again. “All the women were telling me about how happy they were that Birch was living at Evergreen. Even though he’d only been back a few months, a lot of the residents sought his guidance over issues that cro
pped up at the commune. Then one lady commented on how no one ever had a problem with Birch, and another lady started hemming and hawing and said not to forget about his sister’s husband.”

  “Olive’s husband didn’t like Birch, not Olive herself?”

  Before she could answer, Olive returned with our drinks. Zennia shut her mouth faster than an early morning robin that’s snagged a worm.

  “Ready to order?” She set down the drinks and put her hands behind her back, waiting for us to speak. She was one of those waitresses who memorized orders instead of writing them down. I wasn’t sure when that method had become trendy, but I was always partly awed and partly alarmed, like I was a participant in a magic show that could go horribly wrong when I ended up with tofu and celery sticks instead of a burger and fries.

  With slight misgiving, I ordered the bacon cheeseburger but decided against the shake, while Zennia opted for a garden salad with grilled chicken and oil-and-vinegar dressing.

  “I’ll put your orders in right away.” Olive collected our menus and headed to the computer station in the corner.

  “What happened with Olive’s husband?” I asked as soon as she’d stepped away.

  “Well, it’s like this,” Zennia said. She stopped talking, and her eyes grew wide.

  Olive was standing at our table again. I tried to hide my surprise at her return, but I felt my face get warm as I wondered if she’d overheard my question.

  If she had, she didn’t show it. “I’m sorry. Did you say you wanted a side of fries or coleslaw with your burger?”

  “Fries, please.”

  “Right, sorry.” She went back to the computer.

  I watched her for a moment to make sure she wouldn’t be darting back to our table. When she stayed put, I turned to Zennia. “Well?”

  “Olive’s husband was killed in a car crash a few years back. Birch was the one driving.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  She nodded. “The police ruled it an accident. No charges were ever filed, but Birch blamed himself anyway. He refused to drive from that day forward.”

  “How about Olive? Did she blame Birch?”

  “I have no idea, but the woman who was telling me all this said Olive never came to the commune to visit Birch when he moved back a few months ago, even though she lives in the area. They couldn’t have been on the best of terms.”

  Olive returned to our table, carrying two large plates, which she set before us. “Can I get you anything else?”

  I surveyed the food. “I think we’re good, thanks.” I took a bite of my burger while I thought about how I would feel if Ashlee were the driver of a car in which Jason was killed. Sure, my younger sister was one of the worst drivers I’d ever ridden with, but would I hold her responsible for an accident? I didn’t think so. It would be like losing both a boyfriend and a sister at the same time.

  “How come you never met Olive before now?” I asked. “I mean, back when you were living at the commune?”

  Zennia picked up her fork and poked at a piece of chicken. “I don’t know. We rarely left the commune, and the place doesn’t get a lot of visitors. We were just living our own lives back then.”

  We finished our meal, each lost in our own thoughts. When Olive brought us the check, I realized we hadn’t asked her a thing about her brother, but now, I didn’t have the heart. Maybe those deep wrinkles and weathered skin weren’t from long hours waiting on people in a smoke-filled casino. Maybe it was the grief of losing a husband first, and now, a brother as well. I almost reached over and offered her my condolences but remembered at the last second that I wasn’t supposed to know her.

  Instead, I left a hefty tip with the bill, though I knew it wouldn’t dent her grief. Still, maybe it would give her a reason to smile, if only for a moment.

  On the way out, I fed a dollar bill into a slot machine. The money vanished after a single pull.

  The woman at the next machine crushed out her cigarette in an ashtray full of butts. “A guy won twenty thousand dollars on that machine yesterday.”

  “Too bad I wasn’t here yesterday.” I thought about sticking another dollar in, but then thought better of it. I joined Zennia where she waited by the exit, and together, we walked to the car.

  * * *

  Traffic on the drive back to Zennia’s house was almost nonexistent, and Zennia pulled into her garage in short order. She shut off the engine but made no move to get out of the car.

  As she fiddled with the clasp of her purse, a sense of unease settled in my gut along with the remains of my cheeseburger. “So, uh, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” I said brightly.

  Zennia stared out the windshield toward her gardening table and remained silent.

  “You are coming back, aren’t you?” I couldn’t serve peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to the guests every day. They’d start chucking the whole wheat rolls at me.

  “I thought this trip today would help me find closure,” she said, “but I still feel lost. If everyone loved Birch, who could have possibly killed him?”

  “I’m sure the police will figure it out,” I said, a trace of desperation in my voice. “You know how good Detective Palmer is.”

  Zennia held up her hand and pointed to a Band-Aid on her thumb that I hadn’t noticed before. “I was slicing a tomato to add to my scrambled egg whites this morning, and all I could think about was how much Birch loved the first tomatoes of the season. He used to savor them like they were the most delicious food on earth. I teared up so badly that I cut myself. If I can’t make my own breakfast, how can I possibly cook for all those guests?”

  “You can handle it,” I said. “As soon as you stand in front of the stove, you’ll start cooking on autopilot.”

  She shook her head. “Not likely.”

  I wanted to argue more, but I knew I was arguing for Esther’s and my sake, not for Zennia’s. How could I pressure Zennia to return to her job when she was clearly struggling?

  “Are you quitting?” I asked, almost afraid to hear her answer. The farm would be crippled without Zennia to cook for everyone. Gordon might keel over from heart failure the moment he heard.

  “No,” she said, “but I believe I need a vacation. Do you realize I haven’t taken more than a couple of days off since the farm opened?”

  “You certainly deserve a break,” I said. “No one’s questioning that.”

  “Good,” Zennia said. “I believe I’ll call Esther right now and let her know my decision.”

  I could only sit there, dumbfounded, as she got out of the car. The farm had lost its cook, even if only temporarily. Where did that leave the rest of us?

  I suspected I’d find out soon enough. And I wouldn’t like the answer.

  * * *

  Back at my apartment, I tossed my keys on the table and removed my shoes, placing them by the door. I settled onto the couch and clicked on the TV, trying not to think about anything: not dead bodies, not absentee cooks, not scary guys in the woods. I flipped through the channels until I recognized an old comedy show. My eyes fixed on the screen, and I felt my mind relax as I listened to the canned laughter.

  Halfway through the episode, my cell phone rang, snapping me out of my vegetative state. I checked the caller ID and wasn’t surprised to see Gordon’s name. As soon as Zennia called Esther, Esther probably panicked and turned to Gordon for advice.

  With a sense of dread, I answered. “Hi, Gordon.”

  “Dana,” he said gruffly, “this is Gordon.” Either he’d failed to notice I’d already addressed him by name, or that’s how he always announced his presence on the phone. “I just spoke to Esther, and she says Zennia has decided to take a leave of absence.”

  My blood ran a little colder at his words. A leave of absence sounded a lot longer than a brief vacation. “For how long?”

  “She didn’t specify. She wants to keep the situation fluid.”

  More prerecorded laughter drew my attention to the TV, and I picked up the re
mote to turn it off. “What are we going to do about a cook?”

  “That’s why I’m calling you. Those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches aren’t going to land you a feature in Food & Wine magazine, but they did get us out of a tight spot.”

  “Can you hire someone?”

  “That takes time, which we don’t have. We need a cook in that kitchen first thing in the morning. That’s why I thought you could fill in.”

  “Gordon, I’m probably the least qualified person to cook for the guests.”

  “No, I am,” he said. “I can’t even cook toast.”

  “What about Gretchen?” I asked.

  “Her schedule is full at the spa. Her massages and facials have been a steady source of income for this place, and I don’t want to disrupt that.”

  Good to know my marketing job was so easily dispensed with. “And Esther?”

  “She offered to cook on your days off, but she can’t handle two meals every day, plus she’s helping that friend of hers in the hospital.”

  “I don’t know . . .” I let the sentence dangle while I tried to think of another solution. The thought of being responsible for feeding the guests was enough to give me heartburn.

  I heard a strange noise coming over the phone. If I wasn’t mistaken, Gordon was grinding his teeth.

  “I’ll pay you time and a half for the extra hours,” Gordon growled.

  That caught my attention. Ashlee and I paid our bills on time every month, but sometimes it was close. I couldn’t afford to turn down extra cash that I could sock away in the bank, especially since I wasn’t sure how much longer my car was going to start up in the mornings.

  “Time and a half, you say?” I wanted to hear him repeat the offer so he couldn’t deny it later.

  “Yes,” he choked out. “I’ll pay you overtime.”

  “Deal, but I have to warn you, my cooking skills are limited. Really limited.” Sure I helped Zennia chop vegetables and assemble side salads, but that was a far cry from planning and cooking a full meal.

  “They can’t possibly be worse than mine. Having you cook is the best we can do, given the circumstances,” Gordon said. “Let’s hope Zennia gets her act together and hurries back to work.”