So much for taking their minds off Olive’s fall.
“A small tour would be nice,” Olive said. “I’m trapped indoors all day with my job. Getting fresh air might be just what the doctor ordered.”
“All right. A short tour, as long as it’s not too hard on my joints.” Connie bent her knees slightly, as if testing to see if they were healthy enough for a tour.
Gordon walked over to the hostess stand and came back with two coupons. He handed one to Connie and the other to Olive. “I’d also like to offer you both a complimentary return trip to the spa. I would love to accompany you on the tour as well, but duty calls.” He moved quickly toward the exit as if he wanted to break into a sprint but was holding himself back. Guess he was done with customer relations for the day.
“Wish I could join you,” Gretchen said, “but I have another client arriving any minute.”
I grabbed the container of soup from the small table where I’d almost forgotten it and handed it to her. She thanked me and headed toward the back of the spa, most likely to set up.
Olive and Connie followed me out and down the path to the vegetable garden, where several ripening strawberries were peeking out from under the plants. The nearby lettuce leaves were such a vibrant green that they practically glowed.
“This garden is the source for almost all the salads served here at Esther’s place,” I said.
Olive squatted next to the nearest strawberry plant and inhaled so deeply that I thought she’d suck a strawberry right up her nose. “Homegrown strawberries are much tastier than the ones they sell at the supermarket.”
“You’ve got that little plot of land behind your trailer,” Connie said. “You should try growing your own.”
“Birch got the green thumb in our family. He could coax anything to grow.”
My ears perked up at Birch’s name, but I was careful not to let my interest show. “Sounds like my mom,” I said. “Except she grows flowers, rather than vegetables.”
“Birch had the same luck with flowers, too. I swear, the sickliest plant would spring back to life when he started singing to it.”
“Make sure you don’t sing to any flowers, Olive,” Connie said. “With your voice, you’d kill ’em dead.”
Olive looked stricken, and Connie patted her arm. “Geez,” Connie said, “poor choice of words.” She turned to me. “Her brother was murdered a few days ago.”
Olive stared at her feet.
“I’m sorry. That’s awful,” I said. “Do the police know who did it?” I doubted Olive had more information than Jason, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“They haven’t told me if they do,” Olive said softly.
She checked her watch, and I realized we’d gotten completely sidetracked from the tour. Oops.
“If you’ll follow me,” I said, “I’ll show you our herb garden over by the kitchen. It’s the secret to all of Zennia’s delicious concoctions.” I didn’t know if this was true, since I rarely ate Zennia’s meals, but I’d seen her add plenty of herbs to her dishes. She must believe they served a purpose.
Olive and Connie trailed behind me as I walked back toward the spa and turned at the guest cabins. A woman swam in the nearby pool, but she didn’t break stride as we passed by.
I stepped onto the gravel that covered a small plot near the kitchen door and plucked a sprig of lavender off the closest bush. I handed it to Olive.
She sniffed it and gave it to Connie. “Reminds me of my sleep mask. Not that it helps me sleep.”
“You’re working too hard,” Connie said. “You don’t have enough time to unwind.”
“I need the money. I have bills to pay. You know that.”
Connie threw the lavender on the ground. “Tell that cheap boss of yours to give you a raise.”
“Not with that fancy new casino opening up over near the coast.” Olive pressed her lips together. “Everyone’s talking about how that’s going to hurt business.”
“Have you worked there long?” I asked.
“Almost four years. That casino’s gotten me through tough times, but management wants the young, pretty waitresses to draw in the gamblers. The only guys ogling me these days are the ones too weak to carry their oxygen tanks to the tables with the cuter waitresses.” None of us laughed at her joke, probably because there was too much truth behind it.
“Enough of this smelly stuff,” Connie said, gesturing at the lavender bush. “Didn’t you mention animals?”
“Yes, pigs and chickens. Right this way.” I led them past the redwood tree and onto the path near Wilbur’s pen.
When Wilbur saw us, he lumbered to his feet and came over, with his curlicue tail wagging. If Olive and Connie hadn’t been with me, I’d have run back to the kitchen for a treat.
Olive walked straight up to the fence rail and leaned over to pat Wilbur on the head. “What a beautiful pig.”
At Olive’s words, I’d swear Wilbur dipped his head as if taking a bow.
“I used to have a pig like this when I was a girl. Birch and I raised them for 4-H.” She sighed. “I wish I could have made peace with my feelings about Birch. If only I’d known what would happen to him.”
I’d heard the sentiment from other people and always thought of my dad and what I wouldn’t give for one more chance to tell him I loved him. “I’m sure he knew how much you cared for him,” I said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Olive said. “We didn’t get along much the last few years, not after what happened. Even after he moved back to the commune, I rarely saw him.” She looked me in the eye. “I blamed him for my husband’s death, you see, even if the police didn’t agree with me.” She grasped the fence rail. “And now I can’t help but wonder if God has stepped in and returned the favor.”
Chapter 17
At Olive’s declaration, Connie threw her arms around her friend. “Stop getting yourself riled up. It’s all over now. No sense overworking your heart.”
Olive’s face was almost as red as Zennia’s strawberries as she extricated herself from Connie’s embrace. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She grabbed my wrist with a firm grip. Her fingers felt clammy, and I involuntarily shivered. “You must be wondering what’s wrong with me.”
I placed my hand on hers. “Not at all. Your brother died. It’s bound to bring up a lot of emotions. The same thing happened to me when my father died.”
“Still, I don’t normally share such thoughts with strangers. When you’re a waitress, you get used to listening to people rather than talking to them.” She released my wrist. “I guess Birch’s death got me thinking about my husband.”
My skin prickled. “What happened to him, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Olive opened her mouth to answer, but Connie spoke up. “Let’s not drag up those horrible memories. You need to move on.”
I hid my disappointment as Olive said, “You’re probably right.”
“Speaking of moving on, let’s see how the chickens are doing.” I patted Wilbur on the rump and led the way to the coop where Berta and the other chickens spent their days and nights.
A dozen chickens pecked the ground or rested in the fenced-in outdoor area. Several had hatched back in early March, and I still marveled at how fast they’d grown in the last three months. I didn’t see Berta among the flock. She must have been inside the coop.
Olive and Connie spent a few minutes talking about their personal experiences with chickens, though Connie’s mostly involved frying them up and eating them. I mentioned how the birds provided the eggs for the morning omelets and Zennia’s baked goods.
When the women seemed to lose interest in the chickens, I said, “How about a nice walk along the Henhouse Trail? It doesn’t go back far, but the last time I was out that way, I saw a red-tailed hawk and a jackrabbit.”
“I wish I could, but I should be going,” Olive said. “I’ve got work tomorrow and all my uniforms are in the laundry basket waiting to be washed.”
&nbs
p; “And my knees can’t handle much more exercise,” Connie said.
“Well, then, I’ll walk you to your car,” I offered, but Olive shook her head.
“Please don’t bother. You’ve gone out of your way to show us around. I enjoyed the tour.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t half bad,” Connie said.
My skills might not get me a job as a tour guide at Universal Studios, but the women seemed happy. “Would you like to take a few strawberries with you?” I asked.
Olive’s eyes lit up. “Could we?”
“Of course. Let me run in the house for a container, and I’ll meet you over there.”
I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed two disposable containers. By the time I got to the vegetable garden, Olive and Connie were waiting. I picked the ripest berries on the plants and handed each woman a container. “I hope you’ll visit us again.” But watch your step next time, I silently added.
“Thank you,” Olive said, while Connie mumbled her own thanks. They headed back toward the spa and the path that led to the parking lot, while I turned toward the house. In the kitchen, I stopped at the sink to wash my hands. While I lathered on the soap, I thought about Olive and how she blamed Birch for her husband’s death. That might be motive to kill him, but the accident had happened a few years ago. Why kill him now?
Gordon came into the kitchen as I was drying my hands. “I saw those two ladies leave. The old battle-ax was even smiling. Can I assume it went well?”
“As far as I know. They seemed to especially enjoy the animals. Plus, I gave them each a container of strawberries to take home.”
“Good thinking.” Gordon checked his watch. “You’ve had a full day. Why don’t you knock off early?”
While I would love to believe Gordon was concerned about my well-being, I knew his main interest was not paying me overtime if he didn’t need to. “Not a bad idea. I wanted to try out a tofu recipe tonight before I serve it to the guests tomorrow.”
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, as if suddenly struck by a headache. “Since this is for work, I suppose you can expense the ingredients.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t even thought to suggest it.” I saw Gordon wince and knew he wouldn’t be volunteering to cover my expenses in the future. He left the kitchen, still looking pained.
After wrapping up a few items in the office, I updated my time card and drove to the store, the ingredients list for the tofu stir-fry clutched in my hand. I wandered up and down the aisles until I located a small tofu selection practically hidden in the produce department.
I waffled over the choices. Silken? Firm? What did these even mean? Which one had the recipe specified? I grabbed a pack of each, wishing Zennia was here for guidance. I thought about calling her right then but decided to wait until later. I needed to figure these things out for myself.
After finishing my shopping, I drove home. I stepped in the door and emitted a groan when I saw the sorry state of our clothing-strewn apartment. Since Jason would be here later, I needed to clean the place before I could even consider starting dinner.
By the time I’d finished scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom and vacuuming the living room, what remained of the afternoon had slipped away. I dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower and was drying my hair when I heard the muffled sound of knocking over the hum of the hair dryer.
I hurriedly finished my hair, swiped on a touch of lip gloss, and went to answer the door. Jason waited on the other side with a bottle in his hand.
He held it up. “Not sure what goes with tofu, so I picked a white.”
I took the bottle and gave him a kiss, catching a whiff of his cologne. “Whatever you brought will be great. It’s the dinner I’m worried about. I haven’t even started cooking yet.”
Jason followed me into the apartment and shut the door. “Then let me help. You can blame me if dinner tastes terrible.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I removed my only two wineglasses from the kitchen cabinet while Jason uncorked the bottle. I almost turned on music but knew I’d need all my concentration to cook anything resembling a meal, even with Jason’s help. “Let’s get this party started.” I opened the cookbook to the page I’d marked and skimmed the recipe.
Jason read over my shoulder. He grabbed a bell pepper from the bag on the counter, rinsed it off, and started slicing. I retrieved a package of tofu out of the fridge and cut open the plastic cover. The white square glistened in the overhead light. I poked it with my finger, and a small dent appeared where my nail cut it.
“Afraid it’s going to jump up and bite you?” Jason asked with a smile.
“I’ve never cooked tofu before. Is there a special method I should use?”
He shrugged. “I think you just slice it up.”
I picked up the package and reached in to pull the block of tofu out. The block fell apart and crumbled all over my fingers.
The squishy texture made me cringe. “Yuck.” I grabbed a paper towel to dry my hand. “How am I supposed to slice this?”
Jason paused in his cutting. “Is that the only kind you bought?”
“I also have a firm type. Not sure what the difference is, but it’s got to be better than this blob.” I went back to the refrigerator and grabbed the other package. The moment I opened it, I could tell this tofu was more stable. Still, I sliced the block up as fast as I could, before the tofu could change its mind and melt into a puddle.
Jason had finished with the bell pepper and moved on to an onion. I made the sauce while he finished chopping everything.
I double-checked the recipe. “Guess I’m ready to cook.” I stared at the pile of vegetables and sliced tofu. Suddenly nervous, I gulped down half a glass of wine.
Jason put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “It’s only a stir-fry,” he said.
“Right.” I grabbed the large skillet that Mom gave me back when I left home for college, placed it on the burner, and cranked the heat to high. I poured a small amount of oil in the skillet.
Jason stood to one side and drank his wine. “Need any help?”
“Thanks, but I need to learn this on my own.”
While I waited for the skillet to heat up, I filled Jason in on Olive’s trip to the spa this afternoon and our conversation about her brother.
“I ran across news about the accident when I was researching Birch’s background today,” Jason said. “Apparently Birch was driving down the highway, lost control, and hit a tree. According to the article, he didn’t remember the accident, so he may have fallen asleep. I couldn’t find a follow-up article. That must have been the end of any investigation.”
I added the tofu to the skillet. Oil spit in all directions when the tofu hit the hot surface, and a loud sizzle sounded. I pushed the tofu around with the spatula. “But why would Olive say that Birch killed her husband? Doesn’t sound like that was even a possibility based on what happened,” I said.
“If Birch did fall asleep, maybe she blamed him for that.”
I retrieved the cutting board full of vegetables and carried it to the stove. “Maybe.” I scraped the vegetables into the skillet.
Jason was silent while I worked, but I could feel his eyes tracking my movements. After a minute, I stirred the bowl of sauce one last time and dumped it in the skillet with everything else. A cloud of steam puffed up, followed by a surprisingly enticing scent of salty goodness. I inhaled deeply, and my stomach growled in response.
I turned off the burner.
Jason was the first to break the silence. “Can’t wait to try it.”
“Oddly enough, neither can I. I never thought I’d look forward to tofu and vegetables.”
“Must be because you made it yourself. I’ve read that’s how parents get little kids to try new foods by having them help cook.”
“Great. I’m like a little kid in your eyes?” I said.
“Oh no, you’re all woman.”
I felt my whole body flame up at his comment. “Wow, you sur
e know how to get a girl all hot and bothered.” I busied myself with removing plates from the cupboard. “Better eat before the food gets cold,” I said over my shoulder.
Jason moved next to me to spoon up a serving, and I could sense the closeness of his body, which did nothing to cool mine. I had a feeling that if he touched my skin, it would sizzle like the vegetables.
I almost fanned myself as I said, “Find yourself a seat at the table.” I scooped up my own helping, dug out a couple of forks from the drawer, and retrieved two napkins. We settled at the kitchen table, and I smoothed a napkin in my lap.
We each speared a piece of tofu, and together, we took a bite. The salt from the soy sauce hit my tongue, sending my taste buds soaring. I waited for Jason’s reaction.
“This is good,” he said. For a second, I wondered if he was simply being nice, but his green eyes held nothing but sincerity.
“It is, isn’t it?” I took a bite of vegetables. “The broccoli isn’t bad either.”
We focused on our eating. When I’d swallowed the last chunk of carrot, I chased the food down with wine. “You know, I’m usually full when I finish dinner. I can’t say the same here.”
“You could serve the stir-fry over brown rice tomorrow.”
“Of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.” I looked over my shoulder toward the kitchen cabinets. “If we’re still hungry later, I have packaged cupcakes.”
Jason chuckled. “The perfect way to finish a healthy meal.” He stood up and carried his dishes to the sink.
I followed with my own plate and silverware. Jason rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.
“Since we’re being healthy tonight, how about a walk?” I asked.
“Count me in.”
After slipping on a sweatshirt, I locked the apartment door and led the way downstairs. The evening air was cool but not too chilly. A smattering of clouds were visible in the late-evening sky.
I was still reveling in my mealtime success as we crossed the parking lot of the apartment complex and stepped onto the paved walking trail that wound through the neighborhood.
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