Murder Most Wholesome

by Staci McLaughlin

  I bypassed the office and entered the lobby, where I stopped short. Ryan stood at the counter, a collection of jars spread before him.

  He gave me a quizzical look. “Hey. Ashlee’s sister, right?”

  “Right,” I said, staring. Why on earth was Ryan touting the commune’s jams and jellies here? What happened to his plan of taking over the world through online sales?

  Gordon cleared his throat. “You two know each other?”

  “He had a date with Ashlee a few nights ago,” I said.

  “I’m planning to call her,” Ryan said hastily. “I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

  Wasn’t that every guy’s excuse? “Sure” was all I said. I could have let him know Ashlee wasn’t exactly waiting by the phone, but on behalf of all the girls out there who still were, I decided not to let him off the hook.

  “This isn’t going to affect your opinion of the jams, is it?” Gordon asked.

  “I can still be impartial,” I said, but I saw Ryan’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, as if he was nervous.

  “Excellent. Gretchen is seeing to a client right now, but let me find Esther and solicit her opinion as well. One moment.” He headed for the stairs, which led to Esther’s bedroom and sitting room on the second floor, leaving me alone with Ryan.

  Ryan busied himself with straightening the jars.

  “I’m surprised someone else from the commune isn’t handling this,” I said. “I heard you were interested in ramping up the online sales side.”

  Ryan pushed his glasses back with a finger. “Few of the residents at the commune have any business sense. I know for a fact that the future of the commune lies in online sales, but we still have a lot of work ahead of us. While I get that side up and running, I’m exploring other ways to drum up business. We’re even planning a booth at the fair this weekend.”

  “Is the commune in that much trouble? The place has managed to support itself for decades,” I said.

  He started to roll his eyes but caught himself. “The majority of regular customers have been buying from us since the commune opened, but they’re starting to die off, and we’re having trouble attracting new customers. At the same time, costs continue to climb, and every one of those buildings needs major improvements. We can’t survive on what we sell at the farmers markets and that mail-order business, no matter what the old-timers say.”

  I heard the floor creak upstairs and knew my time was about up. I hurried on. “I notice you say ‘we’ a lot. For someone who’s only lived at the commune a short while, you’ve really put yourself in the middle of things. How do the long-term residents feel about the way you seem to be taking over?”

  His jaw tensed, and I wondered if he’d let something slip in his anger, but as I’d feared, Esther and Gordon came downstairs right then, saving Ryan from having to defend himself. He brushed past me and stepped over to Esther, his attention on her.

  “I’m Ryan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shook Esther’s hand. “I’ve brought all of our top sellers today for you to try. Blackberry preserves, lemon curd, clover honey . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “It all sounds delicious. I think this is a wonderful idea to sell your jams and whatnot here.”

  “How about we try them first?” Gordon said.

  Ryan moved back to the counter and pulled out a plate and a box of organic nine-grain crackers from a tote bag. I noticed he managed to look everywhere but at me.

  While we watched, he opened the box, unscrewed the lid on ajar, and spread the contents on the crackers. He arranged everything on the plate and passed it around. We each took a cracker.

  I ate my portion, savoring the sweet blackberry flavor. Esther ate her bite and proceeded to lick each finger, which I took as a sign she liked the jam as well. Even Gordon managed to say, “Not bad.” Next, we sampled the honey, followed by the lemon curd.

  “I like everything I’ve tried,” I told Ryan and Gordon. “I might even buy the lemon curd for myself, although I have no idea what to do with it.”

  “Put it on breakfast items, like pancakes, scones, or blueberry muffins,” Ryan said, finally making eye contact, though his gaze instantly dropped.

  “I always like to fill those premade tart shells with the curd,” Esther said. “It makes an easy dessert.”

  Gordon went behind the counter, reached down, and came up with his clipboard. “If everyone’s finished comparing recipes, Ryan and I have business that needs attending to. Esther, it might be a good idea if you stayed as well to finalize the details.”

  I guessed that meant I wasn’t welcome. I’d been hoping to ask Ryan more questions, but maybe I’d luck out and he’d be at the commune when Zennia and I stopped by later.

  “If you don’t need me, I’ll be in the office,” I said.

  “Thanks for your help, Dana,” Esther said.

  I went into the office and caught up on correspondence before I returned to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Zennia’s vegetarian chili recipe took no time at all to make and even less time to clean up. Before I knew it, three o’clock arrived. I updated my time card, gathered my belongings, and walked to my car.

  A few minutes later, I pulled into Zennia’s driveway, where she was already waiting, purse in hand. I’d barely managed to slow to a stop before she pulled open the passenger door and got in.

  She shut the door and turned to me, breathless. “I dreamed about Birch last night.”

  What could have been in this dream that had her so excited? “What was it about?”

  “Birch came to visit me in the garden and assured me that he’s at peace now. He said I should look toward healing and stop dwelling on his death.”

  I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway while she clicked her seat belt into place. “Birch is right, you know,” I said, feeling slightly silly for agreeing with a dead man, and one in a dream, no less.

  Zennia patted my knee. “I told you this second trip to the commune is exactly what my heart needs. This dream confirms it.” She looked so earnest that I could only nod in agreement.

  Then I crossed my fingers and prayed that Zennia wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Chapter 21

  Since Zennia had driven to the commune on our last trip, I offered to drive this time. As we drove past the Mighty Eagle Casino, I wondered if Olive was working today or if management had found an excuse to fire her and the other older workers, like she’d been worried about the other day at the spa.

  After the series of twists and turns and narrowing roads, I drove across the small bridge and pulled into the commune’s parking area. Off in the meadow, I could see half a dozen children playing, but I didn’t see any grown-ups working in the rows of vegetables on the other side of the barn.

  The doors of the low-slung building stood open. As I got out of the car, I could hear loud voices coming from inside.

  I nodded toward the building. “Sounds like people are riled up in there. Sure you want to interrupt?”

  She tilted her head, considering. “Let’s at least take a peek to see if Pearl’s in there.”

  Wondering what awaited us, I entered with Zennia right behind me. The room was packed. All the seats at the round tables were occupied, and more people were standing along the walls. Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, while Frank stood on the small stage and tried to quiet down the crowd. Even from across the room, I could see the sweat circles under his arms. Looking around at the angry faces, I didn’t envy his position.

  “Hey,” he shouted, “we’re not going to accomplish anything at this rate. You have to pipe down.”

  The noise level dropped a smidge. I heard a voice shout from the side. “I didn’t move here to be a computer start-up like in Silicon Valley. I came to live off the grid.”

  A man near me, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and dirty jeans, raised his own voice in counterpoint. “We need to make more money. We have bills to pay, mouths to feed.”

  A few “yeahs” followed his
remarks, and then the crowd broke into an uproar. Frank placed his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that brought silence to the room.

  “You all know majority rules here,” he said. “Let’s stop talking and start voting.” A few angry murmurs rippled through the crowd, and Frank waited a moment until there was quiet. “Everyone in favor of Ryan’s online sales plans, raise your hand.” A young woman near the front put hers up, and the people on either side of her did the same.

  As hands rose around the room, I tried to take a quick count, but Frank spoke again before I’d had a chance to finish.

  “Those opposed,” he said.

  All the hands that were up lowered, while others rose. I couldn’t be sure, but the two sides appeared evenly split. Based on the way his shoulders slumped, Frank seemed to agree with me. “That didn’t help,” he said.

  “We need a leader,” an older woman in a peasant top shouted. “If Birch was here, he’d know what to do.” More voices backed up her statement.

  “Well, Birch isn’t here,” Frank said, pacing around the front of the small stage. “We need to figure this out on our own. I want everyone to go back to their cabins and think about what’s best for the commune. We’ll meet here again tomorrow night and conduct a written vote to make sure everyone is counted. Be here at seven.”

  He stepped down from the stage, and conversation broke out throughout the room once more. Zennia and I stayed against the wall while most of the assembly filed out. A few people were arguing, while others were whispering to one another.

  At the table closest to where I stood, a pair of older women were sitting and talking in low, urgent voices.

  “. . . don’t know if I can still live here,” I heard one woman say.

  “But where can we go?” was the other’s reply.

  When the departing crowd slowed to a trickle, I leaned toward Zennia. “Did you spot Pearl?”

  Zennia shook her head. “I was keeping a close eye on everyone as they left. She must not have been at the meeting. Remember what Millie said about how she avoids politics?”

  “True. Any idea where she might be?” I scanned the remaining members, but Pearl wasn’t among them.

  “I think that’s her car in the parking lot, the one with the I LOVE TEA bumper sticker. Perhaps she’s in her cabin. We’ll have to ask someone where that is.”

  Millie suddenly appeared at Zennia’s elbow. “Ask what?”

  “Where Pearl lives,” Zennia said. “I want to see if she has the photos.”

  “I told her you might be stopping by,” Millie said. “She’s in the old Stewart cabin toward the back of the property. I’d go with you, but I want to talk to Frank about this vote tomorrow night.”

  “That’s all right. I think I remember the way,” Zennia said.

  She and I exited to the brick patio out back and were greeted by a gust of wind. I clasped my upper arms at the sudden chill. “I should have brought my jacket.”

  “The wind will die down once we’re among the trees.”

  Together, we trudged across the open field. A white butterfly flitted along with us for a short while before veering off and fluttering away.

  “I wonder how the vote will turn out,” I said. “Everyone seems to have such strong feelings about it. Most likely half the people here aren’t going to be happy with the outcome.”

  “They’ll have to make peace with what the majority decides,” Zennia said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a few abandon the commune when the vote doesn’t go their way, but most will stay.”

  “Where will the others go?” I asked.

  “Wherever fate takes them. Perhaps to another commune. There are several up north.”

  We reached the low slope that led to the quilting house, as I liked to call it. Zennia led the way around the building. She picked a path that eventually took us to a small meadow filled with beehives. I could hear the buzzing of the bees and kept an eye out for any errant members who might fly my way, but we reached the other side without incident.

  Here, three new paths branched off from the edge of the meadow, but Zennia picked one without hesitation, and we continued on. As we walked, the woods became denser. The closeness of the trees, with their thick and tall trunks, almost blocked out all sunlight, creating an atmosphere similar to dusk. The smell of dust and decaying wood filled the air.

  “Can you imagine walking back to your cabin at night?” I said. “It must be unbelievably dark, even on nights with a full moon. What about wild animals?” My voice trembled, and I coughed to cover the sound.

  “There might be a few, like mountain lions or the occasional bear,” Zennia said. As she spoke, she stepped in a small depression in the dirt, and I saw her foot wobble. “But I’d be more worried about twisting my ankle.”

  “Good point, especially for people of Pearl’s age.”

  After a few more minutes, we came upon a small cabin almost hidden among the trees. Beyond the cabin, I saw a tiny building that was probably an outhouse. It even had a crescent moon cutout in the narrow door. Right then, I knew I’d never live on a commune, unless they could guarantee me a cabin with indoor plumbing.

  I climbed the two steps up to the porch and knocked on the door. All I heard in response was silence. The place was small enough that Pearl should have answered within seconds if she was home. Turning to Zennia, I said, “Looks like she’s out.”

  She glanced around at the enormous trees that kept the area dark and gloomy. “I guess we could wait,” she said doubtfully. “Although if she’s working on a sewing project, she might not be back until after supper. Let’s start at the building where everyone does their sewing and the barn after that. I don’t know why we didn’t check those places first and save ourselves the trip out here.”

  We followed the path back to the bees. A rustling sound came from my right, and I peered into the thick bushes filling the nearby landscape but didn’t see anything. It was probably a squirrel or a bird, but I still remembered how Frank had surprised me the last time I’d wandered into the woods.

  We emerged from the canopy of trees and into the bee meadow. Sunlight streamed down on me, and I squinted at the sudden brightness.

  “What a difference,” I said.

  “I don’t remember that cabin being in such a dark location,” Zennia said, “but I’m sure the trees have grown in the last twenty-five years.”

  When we reached the quilting house, I went up the steps and opened the door without knocking. Pearl sat inside by herself, sewing. She jerked her needle with a start when she saw us.

  “Goodness, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said. “I thought everyone was at the meeting.”

  “I hope we didn’t startle you,” Zennia said as she moved past me and into the room. “Millie told me you found some old photographs that I might like.”

  Pearl reached in her sewing bag and pulled out a wrinkled brown envelope. “I knew you’d want to see them. Millie said you might stop by today, and I’ve been carrying them around with me.” She handed the envelope to Zennia. “Can I get you any tea while you look at them?”

  What was this woman’s obsession with tea?

  “No, thank you,” Zennia said as she sat in the nearest chair. I noticed her hands were trembling as she lifted the flap and pulled out the photos. I took a seat next to her and waited while she went through the stack. Occasionally, she would run her finger along one of the images, as if she could touch the people in the picture.

  She held one up. “This was when Birch and I first arrived here.” The photo showed a much younger Zennia, with her long hair hanging well past her waist. She wore a short summer dress and cowboy boots. Though I’d only met him once, I easily recognized Birch as the man with her. He looked exactly the same, only with darker hair. He even sported the beard. Zennia was laughing and gazing at Birch with obvious adoration.

  “You both seem so happy,” I said.

  “Best time of my life. Looking at this photo, I can’t imag
ine why I ever left.”

  She continued through the pile, passing each photo to me as she finished with it. When she handed me the last one, she closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, I could see tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Poor Birch,” was all she said.

  Pearl murmured in agreement from where she sat, still sewing.

  A loud clanging noise interrupted the quiet, and I looked questioningly at Pearl.

  “Supper bell,” she said. “Won’t you join us?”

  Zennia laid a hand on my arm. “Could we, Dana? I’d love to see who else will be there.”

  My stomach clenched at the thought of what might pass for dinner here. Pine needle soup? Dandelion salad? But I’d survived plenty of Zennia’s healthy fare. Eating one meal at the commune wouldn’t kill me.

  “Sure. Why not?” I said.

  I put the photos back into the envelope and gave it to Zennia. Together, the three of us left the quilting house and walked down to the main building. I noticed that Zennia carried herself straighter, and her step seemed lighter. Perhaps this trip to the commune had helped her after all. Maybe she’d found that inner peace she’d been searching for.

  And on a selfish note, maybe she was one step closer to returning to her position as the farm’s cook.

  We reached the building, crossed the brick patio, and entered the main room. The place was crowded but quiet, as if people were tiptoeing around the topic of online sales. The aroma of spices filled the air, and I felt a pang of hunger. Whatever we were having couldn’t be all bad if it smelled this good.

  A small group waited for their turn at the buffet table, and Zennia, Pearl, and I got in line. When I reached the front, I grabbed a plate and silverware and scooped up what looked to be stew with brown rice. When we’d all loaded our plates, Zennia led the way to a mostly empty table. I picked a chair and Pearl sat next to me, with Zennia on the other side of her.

  I was halfway through my plate full of food, which was surprisingly tasty, when Frank sat down in the adjoining chair with a thud. He gave me a curt nod that didn’t invite conversation before he began shoveling food into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, and I turned slightly away, tuning into what Pearl was saying.