Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery)

by McLaughlin, Staci

  Ouch. That must have burned.

  “Invisible Prints must be worth something.” Even as I said this, I realized it wasn’t, not with the allegations of mismanaged funds. Preston confirmed my thoughts.

  “The money for Invisible Prints might be tied up in court for years. I’ll be lucky if I don’t owe money on that stupid company.” He rubbed a hand up and down his face. “I can’t believe the years I wasted with that woman.”

  I probably should have offered more condolences and walked away, found out what was taking Ashlee so long at the gym, but I found myself saying, “Surely, you loved her.” I’d almost swear the setting sun dipped even farther behind the mountain, because the sky definitely darkened.

  “I used to,” Preston said. “We had plans when we first married. Start a family, build a life. Maybe Wendy believed in those plans once, but in the end, her job always came first.” He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pockets so hard that I listened for the sound of stitches tearing. “I quit my job and gave up my career so I could be a stay-at-home dad, but then Wendy admitted she might never be ready to have children. It’d mess up her professional plans. She wanted a house husband to clean the floors and balance the checkbook, someone to meet her at the door every night with dinner and a kiss.” He clutched the zipper on his sweatshirt and ran it up and down.

  I tilted my head and tried to appear guileless. “You always could have adopted,” I said, knowing full well that was his plan. “Then she wouldn’t have had to worry about pregnancy interfering with her career.”

  Preston gave me a sharp look. “You must be a mind reader.”

  Or someone who knew more than she was supposed to know.

  “I was looking into adoption before Wendy was killed,” he said. “She had refused to have a natural child with me, but if I showed up one day with an adopted baby, she couldn’t exactly stick it on the curb, although she might have tried.”

  I pictured a baby seated on a curb with a sign around its neck that said, FREE. Not a good image. “Are you going forward with your plan, now that Wendy’s gone?” I didn’t know what the odds were for a single guy to adopt, but other men must have done it.

  Preston let go of the zipper and rubbed his hands together. “You bet. Even without the insurance money, I think I found a way to get the money I need. I have to look into a few things first.”

  Well, that was curious. Had Preston stumbled upon the missing business funds, or was he referring to something else? Before I could ask any more, I heard Ashlee behind me.

  “Dana, you ready?”

  Not exactly, but Preston probably wouldn’t say any more with Ashlee here. I was surprised he’d said as much as he had.

  “Sure, I’m ready,” I said as she joined us. I gestured toward Preston. “By the way, this is Preston Hartford, Wendy’s husband. This is my sister, Ashlee.”

  Ashlee held out a hand and they shook.

  “Sorry about Wendy,” she said. “Are you thinking about moving here?”

  Preston looked at the buildings, indecision etched on his face. “I might. It depends how this other thing pans out.”

  Ashlee tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, if you do, feel free to stop by our apartment anytime to borrow a cup of sugar or hang out.”

  My head swiveled from Ashlee to Preston and back. Was she hitting on him? His wife hadn’t been dead a week.

  I swatted Ashlee’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  She beamed at Preston, using the smile she always reserved for new guys. “It was so nice meeting you,” she said. She flipped her hair back and practically pranced to her Camaro.

  I gave Preston a much smaller smile and followed after her. By the time I reached the car, she was already gunning the engine, a warning that I’d better move it. I hurried into my seat and was struggling with the seat belt as she backed out of the space at warp speed and zipped toward the street.

  “Slow down,” I said.

  “You gotta make a big exit with guys. Make an impression so they won’t forget you.”

  I snapped my belt into place. “Show some respect. Preston’s wife just died.”

  “Right. That means he’ll need someone to comfort him on these cool fall nights.”

  Had my sister really sunk so low as to hit on recently widowed men? I’d rather not know. “Did you mean it when you told Preston you wanted to move here, or were you just flirting with him? I think this place could work,” I said.

  Ashlee blew through a yellow light. “Up until five minutes ago, I would have said not a chance. Exactly one guy was working out in the gym, and he was at least forty.”

  “What happened five minutes ago?”

  “Didn’t you see those two cars waiting to turn into the complex when we pulled out?”

  “You drove by too fast. At the speed you were going, I would have missed a jumbo jet parked in the street.”

  Ashlee pushed down on the gas, as if to show me what the car could really do. “You think a Greyhound bus is too fast.”

  I pulled on my seat belt to make sure it was secure. “Have you seen the way some of those guys drive?”

  “Man, you kill me sometimes, Dana. Anyway, I saw the drivers of those cars. They were guys, and they were hot. Maybe all the ones our age are still getting off work. We should come back on a Saturday and see who’s in the gym.”

  “Or we could take our chances that plenty of men live here. This place has everything we’re looking for, and it’s in a good part of town. I think maybe we should sign a lease.” Not having to look at any more apartments with Ashlee while she hunted for men would be an added bonus.

  “I’ll think about it.” She pulled into the driveway at home, tires screeching as she made the turn. She shut off the car. “Next up, furniture shopping.”

  Aw, man, I hadn’t even considered the furniture situation. Ashlee didn’t own any and I’d sold all mine on Craigslist before moving back home, even giving away the Papasan chair and futon for free at the end so someone would haul them away for me.

  I unbuckled my seat belt. “We haven’t even signed the lease yet.”

  “We could still figure out what we’re going to buy for when we do.”

  Knowing Ashlee, she really wanted an excuse to go shopping, but I liked the idea of getting all of my ducks in a row. “We could at least look,” I conceded. “We do need a few things.” Such as beds. And a table. And chairs. And everything else. I pushed open my car door and stepped out, grateful to be alive after Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

  Ashlee got out on her side. “Great, when can we go shopping?”

  “Does that mean you want to move into this place?” I walked up the path to the house, glad it was now dark enough that Ashlee wouldn’t notice my hood.

  “Unless I find a better one. Are we going for a theme when we decorate? All pink maybe?”

  I shoved the front door open so hard, it banged against the wall. All pink? Were we moving into Barbie’s Dreamhouse? Not to mention, all those hot guys Ashlee was so interested in would run screaming when they entered her pink palace. “Absolutely not. We’re getting basic black or brown furniture that won’t collapse when we sit on it.” Too bad the nearest Ikea was over a hundred miles away.

  “You’ll change your mind. Pink’s awesome.” Ashlee moved past me and headed for the kitchen. “So how does tomorrow look?”

  “It’s normally my day off, but now that we need to buy furniture, I might work a few extra hours. How about your lunch break?”

  “Great. We’ll start at Have a Seat. I saw the cutest sofa there a while back, and it was only fifteen hundred dollars.”

  I stifled a groan. Forget about a few extra hours at work. Between buying furniture, laying down a security deposit, and paying the first month’s rent, I might need a second job.

  23

  The next morning, I arrived at the body shop and found the claims adjuster waiting. He assessed the damage on my car and approved the request for repairs. The guy at the shop inspec
ted the scratches and promised to start the work immediately. Feeling somewhat better and thankful that neither one had asked who was mad enough to do such damage, I climbed into the loaner car and headed to work.

  Once at the farm, I checked in with Zennia, who requested a handful of parsley from the herb garden. On my way out of the kitchen, I grabbed the bag of leftover bread crumbs Zennia had been collecting from various meal preparations and went out front to the duck pond. In the last few months, the ducklings had gone from fuzzy yellow feather balls to full-sized birds. Now, they eyed me with little interest as they tried to warm themselves in the rays of the feeble morning sun.

  Until I raised the bag of bread crumbs.

  As one, the ducks hopped to their feet and advanced toward me, quacking menacingly. I jammed my hand into the bag for a fistful of crumbs and flung them toward the duck army. That stopped the first rank, but the rest kept marching, getting closer with each step. Their bills opened and closed, ready to eat anything in their path. I threw another handful and jumped back.

  Two ducks had ignored the crumbs but stopped at the edge of the sidewalk as if held back by an invisible force field. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I hurried around the house to the herb garden, glancing back to see if I was being followed, and, at the same time, feeling foolish that I was running from a bunch of ducks. But those ducks could get mean when they were hungry.

  With no ducks in pursuit, I squatted before the parsley plant and broke off several stems. The fresh, grassy scent of the herb filled my nostrils as I snapped off a few more sprigs. That finished, I carried my bundle and the remaining bread crumbs into the kitchen.

  Zennia stood at the counter, slicing a peach. Juice glistened on the cutting board, and the sleeves of her loose-fitting blouse looked ready to unroll into the moisture at any minute. My mouth watered as I inhaled the fruit’s sweet scent.

  I waved the herbs in the air. “Parsley for the chef.”

  “Thanks, Dana.” Zennia pointed her knife at the refrigerator. “Could you do me one more favor and see if the gooey duck has finished thawing?”

  I set the parsley on the counter. “If not, maybe we can cover it with a blanket, help warm it up.” I swung the fridge door open, wondering why the duck was gooey. Was she making a special sauce? Marinating it in a thick liquid?

  I scanned the shelves, noting the packages of tofu, soy milk, and a bowl full of what appeared to be rubber hoses attached to rocks. I wasn’t sure that belonged in the fridge, but the kitchen was Zennia’s domain. I moved the milk to the side, but only a head of lettuce and a cucumber waited. “Doesn’t packaged duck look the same as the chicken I buy at the supermarket?” I called over my shoulder.

  Zennia broke into peals of laughter, and I turned to stare at her as a piece of peach slid onto the floor. She hurriedly picked it up and tossed the slice into the sink, laughing all the while. “Sorry,” she said when she could speak again, “but gooey duck isn’t an actual duck. It’s a clam.”

  “What? Then why is it called a duck?”

  Zennia wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and joined me at the open fridge. “No one knows, although they think it was a translation error.” She reached past me and pulled out the bowl full of rocks and hoses.

  I stared at what I now realized were pale and rubbery clams. The things were even uglier up close. What was with that giant hose? “You’re going to make people eat that for lunch?”

  She poked at one. “Maybe dinner now, since they’re not done thawing.”

  I grimaced. “But why? What’s wrong with regular clams?”

  “These taste much better than the ones you’d normally find at the store, and I can guarantee most guests won’t have tried them before. I want to offer unique cuisine to make the spa stand out from our competitors.”

  “Oh, your cuisine is unique all right.”

  Zennia put the clams back in the fridge and shut the door. “I wish some of these items weren’t so expensive. Heaven help me if Gordon starts tracking how I spend my budget.”

  “As long as the guests are happy.” Of course they probably wouldn’t be happy if they saw those clams in their natural form. I sure hoped Zennia was planning to chop them up.

  “Speaking of Gordon, he had to run into town to talk to a supplier and asked me to cover the front desk, but I need to start my sauce,” she said as she resumed slicing. “Would you mind watching the desk for fifteen minutes? I believe one person is checking in today, but I don’t know what time they’re arriving.”

  I was already halfway out the door when I said, “I’m on it.” Anything to get away from the giant clams. They might suck my face off.

  In the lobby, I stood behind the counter and took in the silence of the room. Most guests were probably walking on the nature trails or sleeping in. Out the window, I watched the ducks waddle around the grass, occasionally slipping into the water for a swim. They’d calmed back down now that they’d gobbled up all the bread crumbs.

  I checked the clock on the wall. Two minutes had passed. No wonder Gordon was always working on his clipboard or futzing on the computer. Manning the front desk was boring.

  But, wait . . . a maroon BMW glided down the road and into the parking lot, pulling into a vacant space near the lobby. Was this the new guest Zennia had mentioned?

  The driver’s-side door opened, and out stepped Marvin in a black business suit and orange dress shirt. What was he doing here? I leaned on the counter and watched as he popped the car’s trunk and removed a black briefcase and a suitcase, setting the suitcase’s wheels on the pavement and pulling up the handle. I moved to the computer and brought up the reservation system. Sure enough, Marvin Stevens was our expected guest for the next two nights.

  I bounced on my toes while I awaited his approach. He wheeled the case across the parking lot and up onto the curb, with what I considered infinitesimal slowness. Eventually he maneuvered the suitcase around a duck on the sidewalk and entered the lobby.

  I stood behind the counter, hands folded on the surface, the picture of professionalism. “Good morning, sir. Checking in?”

  He parked the carry-on and gave a curt nod. “Reservation for Marvin Stevens.”

  I pretended to type on the keyboard, even though his information was already in front of me. Couldn’t let him know I’d been spying on his reservation. “Oh, yes, here you are. And what brings you to the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa today?”

  “Every bed-and-breakfast in Mendocino is booked solid. Is it normally like that?”

  “People usually take one last vacation before the cold weather settles in.” I hit a button on the computer. “I’ll need to swipe a credit card and then I’ll get your key.”

  Marvin pulled his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a card. “Still, it’s inconvenient for me.”

  “Mendocino’s loss is our gain. We appreciate your business.” I ran his card through the machine.

  “I refuse to stay in chain hotels. The walls are paper-thin in those places. I can’t have people overhearing my business dealings.”

  I handed back his card. “You sound busy.”

  He pulled out his smartphone and thumbed the screen. “I’ve got several meetings later today to handle a deal that went sour. I need to find out where my money situation stands.”

  Aha, now we’re cooking. “You mean with Invisible Prints?” I asked.

  Marvin’s eyes narrowed as he looked up from his phone. “How do you know about that?”

  “I was there at the company when you, um—” I’d been about to say “yelled,” but that seemed antagonistic—“asked where your investment money went.”

  “You were there?”

  “Standing next to Drew.”

  Marvin glanced at his phone again. “Guess I didn’t see you. I was too mad to focus.”

  “Any word on what happened to your money?”

  “Not yet. The accountant is looking at the books. With Wendy dead, we may never know.”

  I lai
d Marvin’s room key on the counter. “Couldn’t you sue for the money? Invisible Prints must have some assets.”

  “If there’s no money to recoup, there’s no money. This wouldn’t be the first company my firm has invested in that went bankrupt.”

  That was odd. I hadn’t realized a firm had invested the money. I’d assumed it was from Marvin’s private bank account. “How’d you discover the embezzlement, anyway?”

  Marvin studied me. “What’s your interest in this?”

  I held up my hands. “I went to school with Wendy. I’m having trouble believing she would do this.”

  “Well, she did. And she got caught, thanks to an anonymous tip.” He snatched up the key. “Now excuse me. I have to get ready for my appointment.”

  “Of course. Can I show you to your room?”

  “I can find it.” Marvin’s tone was clipped, and I wondered if he was upset by my questions or the loss of the money. Probably both.

  “Follow the sidewalk to the vegetable garden, hang a left, and the path will take you right to the cabins. You’re in number nine.”

  He nodded his thanks. I watched as he wheeled his suitcase out the door and down the sidewalk. Who had been the source of the anonymous tip? With such a small company, only a handful of people could have discovered the embezzlement. Helen was the likely choice, as vice president, but why would she tip off Marvin and effectively ruin the company? Drew hadn’t worked there long, but maybe she had access to the company’s files. Still, wouldn’t she go to the police if she discovered money was missing?

  That left Preston. But again, why squeal to Marvin? Wouldn’t he have asked his own wife about the money first? And Wendy’s income was their only income. Preston would be risking their entire lifestyle if he turned in his wife.

  I’d managed to rule out everyone, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who might have found out about the embezzlement.

  Who am I missing?

  24

  While I mulled over the source of the anonymous tip, my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket and smiled when I saw Jason’s name on the screen.