“Amen to that. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”
I ended the call and punched the number for Jason.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said when he answered.
“You have to help me. I’m in way over my head,” I said.
“What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”
“Yes, mostly because I haven’t cooked for anyone yet, other than those sandwiches, and that wasn’t cooking but rather assembling, so I didn’t technically make anything.” I paused for breath.
“Slow down,” Jason said. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re going to be cooking at the farm?”
“For now. Zennia’s taking time off, and Gordon asked me to fill in.”
“And you said yes?” Even over the phone, I could hear the amazement in his voice.
“He’s paying me overtime.”
“He must be desperate. I hate to remind you, but Zennia is a healthy cook, as in vegetables, whole grains, lean protein, the whole gambit.”
I groaned. “Man, I’m in big trouble.”
“Okay, let’s think. Breakfast is easy. Toast and jam, oatmeal, fruit. Doesn’t Zennia usually cook omelets?”
A feeling of panic surged through me. “I can’t make an omelet. I can barely scramble an egg. They always dry out and stick to the pan.”
“Eggs are easy.”
“Says who?” I asked.
“Tell you what, I’m wrapping up a few things here. I’ll stop by when I’m done and show you how to make an omelet. We can even perfect your scrambled egg technique while I’m there.”
The tightness in my stomach eased. “You mean it? That would be fantastic. Give me an hour. I need to go to the store.”
“Are you sure? All you need are eggs, butter, milk if you don’t have any cream—”
“Wait, slow down. Let me make a list.”
“Don’t you have that stuff in your fridge?”
“I have butter. And milk, although it tasted a little sour this morning. I used my last egg when I made those boxed brownies a few days ago.”
Jason laughed. “You really are in trouble. On second thought, why don’t you come over to my house around six? I have everything you need.”
And then some, I thought to myself. “I’ll be there.”
I set down the phone and put my head in my hands. Starting tomorrow, I was the new cook in the kitchen. I just hoped I didn’t poison anyone.
Chapter 11
With time to kill, so to speak, before dinner with Jason, I decided to visit Mom. When I was growing up, dinner often involved fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy, but after my father passed away, Mom had revamped her cooking style and purchased a slew of healthy cookbooks to go with the change. Surely one of those books would have simple recipes I could prepare at the farm. If not, I could always search the Internet, but it might take me longer to cull through the thousands and thousands of choices than to flip through a handful of books.
I called first to make sure she wasn’t working this afternoon, and then drove the ten minutes to her house. The light blue, single-story home with the small lawn and dogwood tree out front hadn’t changed since my last visit a couple of weeks ago, and I hoped it never did.
As I came up the walk, Mom opened the front door. Even on this warm day, she wore a sweater set and slacks. “I thought I heard your car. Come in, come in.” She motioned me inside and closed the door before leading me into the living room. A partially assembled jigsaw puzzle waited on a card table.
The picture on the box showed a Victorian village at Christmas. I scanned the pieces on the table, picked one up, and pressed it into place, completing a tiny chimney. “Ta-da.” I glanced back at the box. “Now you only have around five hundred pieces to go.”
“Keep your hands off my puzzle,” Mom said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. I sat down on the beige floral couch while Mom settled into the battered recliner that had been my dad’s favorite seat. “What have you been up to lately?” she asked.
I realized with a start that I hadn’t told Mom about Birch’s death. “Life was nice and quiet up until a man from Zennia’s past was murdered in her front yard.”
Mom blanched. “Good heavens, is that where he was found? I read Jason’s article, of course, but I didn’t recognize the address. How is Zennia holding up?”
“Not well. That’s why I’m here. She’s decided to take time off from work, and I agreed to fill in as the farm’s cook. I wanted to borrow a few of your cookbooks for ideas.”
“How come every time you need to cook a new dish, you raid my cookbooks?” Mom teased.
“Because you have the largest collection of anyone I know.”
She stood. “In that case, follow me. We’ll find you the perfect book.”
We went out to the kitchen, and Mom bent down in front of her waist-high bookcase. She scanned the titles, mumbling to herself, “Too complicated, too many ingredients, too much technique . . .” She pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to me. “This one has basic but good recipes.”
I squatted down next to her to get a better look. The cover showed a basket full of vegetables. That would definitely fit the bill. I took the book and set it on the nearby table.
Mom continued to sort through the rest. “You said the murder victim was from Zennia’s past. Where did she know him from?”
“Turns out she and Birch met over twenty-five years ago in San Francisco where she was waitressing. They fell in love and moved to the commune out here. Do you know about the commune?”
“Evergreen?” Mom said. “Sure. Everyone knows about that place.”
Everyone but me, apparently.
“Has Birch been living there all these years?” Mom asked.
“No, he moved away right after Zennia left and only came back a few months ago.”
“How fascinating.” She ran her fingers along the spines of the books. “Aha, here’s another good one.” She removed it from the shelf and held it out to me. “You know, I should give Millie a call. She lives out there, and I should make sure she’s all right.”
I was so absorbed in what Mom said that the book slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor. I barely noticed. Millie? The same woman who refused to use the new computer program at the commune?
“Um, Dana?” Mom asked, her eyebrows raised.
I scrambled to pick up the book I’d dropped. “Where do you know Millie from?”
Mom took the book from me and carefully brushed off the cover. “I’ve known Millie for years. I used to make quilts for a children’s charity way back when, and Millie and a few other women at the commune used to donate their own work. The charity folded several years ago, but I run into Millie at the farmers market every now and again.” After she’d inspected the corners to make sure they weren’t bent, she handed the cookbook back to me.
I delicately set it on the table with the other one as if it were a Fabergé egg without its case. “How does Millie like life out there? Zennia said she’s lived there since before even Zennia herself arrived.”
“Clearly the commune suits her. Although the last time we talked, she was quite upset with a new gentleman who recently moved there.”
“Do you remember his name? I saw her arguing with a guy named Ryan when Zennia and I were there earlier today.”
She handed me another book. “I’m not sure if she ever mentioned his name. What were they arguing about?”
“He’s created a new computer program that he wanted Millie to try out, but she refused.”
Mom nodded. “Sounds like Millie. Her ancestors are Pomo Indians, and she’s always embraced the idea of living off the land as simply and with as little waste as possible. Now that you mention it, I remember Millie saying that this new man wants to modernize the entire commune by selling their knitting projects and jarred food over the Internet, even using social networking sites to pull in business.”
I blinked at Mom. I didn’t realize she even knew about social networ
king. Maybe she was hipper than I gave her credit for. “How do the other members feel about that? Can someone new make such big changes?”
“Not by himself.” Mom stood and dusted off her knees, abandoning her cookbook search as she warmed to the topic. “Decisions at the commune are made as a group, with the majority deciding what changes are allowed. If this Ryan fellow could convince enough members, especially the older ones who hold a lot of sway with the rest of the group, he could get the changes approved. Of course, with Millie fighting him, he’s got an uphill battle.”
I wondered how many members of the commune were involved in Ryan and Millie’s dispute. How had Birch felt? Even though he’d only returned a few months ago, people might have listened to him because of his age and past experience at the commune. If he’d pushed for the changes, he could have made any number of enemies. Then again, if he’d squashed the idea, the other half of the commune would be unhappy. The women in the quilting cabin felt everyone loved Birch. Either they were wrong, or Birch had kept his opinions to himself.
“Earth to Dana,” Mom said.
I rose from the floor and straightened out my pant leg. “I was thinking about this drama at the commune. I thought those places were one giant lovefest.”
“Maybe when they first started,” Mom said, “but nowadays, you have to make money to keep a commune running. They’ve got property taxes and groceries and upkeep to contend with.”
The pressure of living at a commune was not unlike living in an apartment. “It’s survived this long without problems,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say that. Millie hasn’t specifically told me anything, but I’ve gotten the impression that money is always tight at Evergreen.”
“Makes me wonder if all this is connected to Birch’s death,” I said.
“Hard to say. Someone could have killed him for any number of reasons.” Mom placed a hand on the short stack of cookbooks. “Will these be enough?”
“To get me started.” I picked up the books. “Can I come back if I need more?”
“Of course. Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s fish night.”
I smiled at that. Even though Ashlee and I had moved out of Mom’s house a couple of months ago, Mom still stuck to her regularly scheduled dinners.
“Thanks, but Jason invited me over. He’s going to show me how to make a proper omelet so I can wow the guests.”
“A man who’s good looking and cooks? I’ve told you before that he’s a keeper. Don’t let him get away.”
“Get away? I’m not an ogre who’s locked him in a dungeon. In fact, Jason thinks I’m not half bad myself.”
“You two are quite a pair.”
I noticed she didn’t say a pair of what, but I hugged her anyway. “Thanks for your help with my cooking adventure.”
“Don’t hesitate to call with any questions.” Mom followed me to the door.
Once at my car, I placed the books on the passenger seat and started up the engine. I gave Mom a little wave before pulling away from the curb. There was just enough time to get ready before I was due at Jason’s house. This ogre’s hair could use a good brushing.
* * *
An hour later, I parked in front of the duplex where Jason rented one half. His side of the yard was well manicured and clutter-free. I couldn’t say the same for his neighbor, who had a lawn full of weeds and a rusted heap of a car in the driveway. Jason had been ecstatic when his neighbor mentioned moving to Arizona, but so far, the move appeared to be all talk.
I walked up the path and knocked on the door. Jason opened it right away. His short reddish-brown hair looked damp, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. He gave me such a teeth-rattling kiss that I worried a neighbor might see us and call the cops. “You’re sure in a mood,” I said as I stepped inside.
“Seeing you does that to me.” He led the way into the kitchen area where butter, cream, and a carton of eggs waited on the counter. “Okay, first I teach, and then we eat.”
For the next twenty minutes, Jason slowly went through each step involved in making an omelet, from heating the skillet to whisking the eggs to flipping the cooked egg layer over on itself. I nodded when it seemed appropriate and generally followed what he was saying, but I had a strong suspicion that I’d forget his instructions in the morning.
“Easy as pie, right?” Jason asked as he slid a perfectly formed omelet onto a plate. “Actually it’s easier than making a pie.”
Neither one seemed easy to me. I took a bite of the omelet. “This is so fluffy.”
“Thanks to the cream.”
“I hope mine turn out half this good,” I said.
“Follow the steps I showed you, and you’ll be fine.”
We moved to the table and sat down to finish our omelets in companionable silence. Since Jason cooked, I did the dishes. Not a bad deal, considering how few I needed to wash.
When I’d dried my hands and folded the towel back up, I turned to him. “Ready to get whooped at a little Ping-Pong?”
“Don’t get too confident. I’ve been practicing.”
“Still won’t help you,” I said as I headed to the garage, with Jason close behind.
He hit the button to lift the automatic door. The evening light exposed a Ping-Pong table centered on the cement floor. One of Jason’s buddies recently moved out of state and didn’t want to bother taking the table with him. Jason offered to give the table a home, and the Ping-Pong games had become a regular activity for us. I had a two to one average in wins, much to Jason’s chagrin.
He picked up a paddle and the ball. “Prepare to be beaten like that egg in your omelet.”
“Give it your best shot.” I grabbed the paddle on my side of the net and stood at the ready.
Jason served, and I smacked the ball back. We volleyed for several seconds before Jason missed a corner shot, and the ball bounced into a stack of crates lining the garage wall.
I watched as he hunted for the ball. “I drove Zennia out to the commune today. She wanted to meet Birch’s friends.”
“Was it everything you imagined? Did the women braid your hair and offer you flowers?”
“One woman offered me tea, but that was about it. The commune is definitely more modern than I expected.”
Jason knelt down on all fours and peered between two stacks of crates. “I know the ball went over here somewhere.”
I set down my own paddle to help in the search, but before I could start, Jason reached an arm in between the crates and pulled out the ball. “Got it.” He jumped to his feet. “Now you’re going down.”
“Such hostility. It’s only a game.”
“Says the person who normally wins.”
I raised my hands, palms up. “I can’t help it if I have superior Ping-Pong skills.”
“Whatever.” He served again, and I lobbed the ball back to his side of the net. “Who did you meet out there?” Jason asked as he tried to concentrate on the game.
“Frank was there, the guy who drove Birch to Zennia’s house the morning he was killed.”
“Now he’s a product of the sixties. Doesn’t trust the cops, wants to live without the government interfering. From what I gathered off Detective Palmer, Frank would never leave the place if it weren’t for needing groceries and trying to sell whatever the commune produces.”
I missed Jason’s shot, and the ball bounced off his bicycle. It dribbled back in my direction, and I scooped it up. “Sounds a lot like Millie. I didn’t talk to her much, but it turns out my mom knows her.”
Jason missed a hard hit, and the ball ricocheted off a crate and rolled down the driveway. He ran after it to stop it before it reached the street. “Nice one,” he said when he got back. He tossed the ball to me.
I caught it and served. “My mom says Millie is super upset about plans to modernize the commune. Ryan, this new guy I saw when I was out there, wants to start up an online business.”
“They need to do something,” Jason said, never taki
ng his eyes off the ball. “I’ve been digging around and found out the place is in serious financial jeopardy.”
His words reminded me of what Mom had said earlier. “How bad is it?” I asked.
“The commune is close to losing its land. If that happens, the place will shut down.”
It was my turn to miss the ball as it sailed by. If the commune closed, where would all the residents go? What would become of people like Millie? And what, if anything, did it have to do with Birch’s murder?
Chapter 12
I fumbled around the garage floor, trying to trap the Ping-Pong ball under my hand before it could roll away. Just as it reached the corner of the garage, I slapped my hand down and stopped it. I stood up and caught Jason watching me, his green eyes full of amusement.
“Looks like I figured out a way to put you off your game,” he said.
“Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” I stepped over to the table and put extra force behind my serve to prove my point. “Do you think the commune is bankrupt?” I asked as we hit the ball back and forth.
“I don’t know, but according to the records I pulled, they missed the last two property tax payments. They’re racking up late fees and penalties as a result.”
“But the commune’s been around for decades. It can’t close.” I had no idea why I found the idea unsettling, but I did. How would the residents survive out in the real world? Did they have any job skills? Family members to help them?
“The tax man won’t be knocking on their door tomorrow, but they do need a long-term strategy to stay solvent.”
Jason and I kept playing, but my mind was bouncing around more than the ball. Who at the commune was responsible for making sure the bills got paid? Would Millie have to accept Ryan’s changes to keep the place open? How long until the government wielded its mighty hammer and seized their land?
I shook my head. I was starting to sound like Frank with that last one.
I suddenly noticed that Jason had stopped playing. He stood there with the ball clutched in one hand and a giant grin on his face.
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