We’d butted heads the first several months after I’d started working here, but now we’d reached a tentative understanding in our working relationship. Plus, we didn’t see each other too often, which helped.
I slid the drawer shut and pulled the chair closer to the computer. Gordon set the clipboard he always carried next to the keyboard and perched on the edge of the desk. He placed his hands on one knee, clearly planning to stay awhile.
“Good morning, Gordon,” I said, wondering what had prompted this unexpected visit. “Did you need to use the computer this morning?”
“No thank you, Dana. I’ll complete my inventory tracking this afternoon. The reason I’m here is that it’s come to my attention that we may have a problem.”
Not what I wanted to hear. “What kind of problem?”
“This new spa downtown.”
I raised my eyebrows. He’d heard about Carla’s death already? Gordon was usually the last to learn what happened in town. “How did you find out?”
“It’s right on Main Street. I couldn’t possibly miss it.”
I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “You must have seen the police cars. I figured everyone would notice those.”
Gordon twisted one of his pinkie rings. “Police cars? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m worried that this new spa will cut into our profits. Our bottom line cannot withstand any decrease in customers.”
Was Gordon just now finding out about the Pampered Life’s opening? “I wouldn’t worry right now, not after what’s happened.”
Before I could explain further, Gordon slid off the edge of the desk and pointed a finger at me. “That’s why I’m in charge of running this place. Of course I need to worry. We have to make sure we don’t lose our clients.”
I straightened up in the chair, the rough fabric scraping against my back. “We won’t. Who knows if the spa will even stay open now?”
He looked at me as if I’d told him we were giving away free towels. “It’s brand new. It’s not going anywhere.”
I could tell he was winding up for a long lecture, so I held up my hand. “Gordon, stop. The owner died last night. For all I know, the Pampered Life will never open for business again.”
Gordon settled back down on the desk and adjusted the knot in his tie. “Died, you say? How?”
“I’m not sure. I heard she drowned.”
His face took on a calculating expression. “Her death certainly changes things.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was almost pleased. Actually, maybe I did know better. I wouldn’t put it past Gordon to place business above all else, even someone’s life. “Carla was a good person. You shouldn’t be happy about what happened to her.”
“I’m not, of course. But let’s not lose sight of what this means for the spa.”
“And let’s not lose sight of the fact that a woman has died, well before her time.”
Gordon nodded as if he agreed, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. He stood and tapped the desk once with two fingers. “Back to work, then. Good job on the blogs lately.” And with that, he walked out.
I grumbled to myself at his insensitive attitude, then booted up the computer and answered half a dozen e-mails. That done, I tried to think up a topic for the day’s blog, but all I could focus on was Carla. I hadn’t heard much gossip about the Pampered Life before it opened. Had she known anyone in town? Surely she had family or friends around here who would miss her.
My train horn ring tone sounded, and I grabbed my phone, thankful for the distraction. My mood instantly lifted when I saw a text from Jason. Wrapping up story. Coffee at ten?
I sent back my assent, knowing he wanted to meet at the Daily Grind. Maybe by the time I got there, Jason would have answers to all my questions, or at least some of them. With that in mind, I refocused on work and blogged about all-natural cold remedies. I posted the finished write-up to the spa’s Web site and then busied myself with a marketing document, one eye on the clock. At a quarter to ten, I headed out, eager to learn what Jason had uncovered.
The Daily Grind coffee shop was an interesting mix of urban meets rural. Behind the counter, stainless-steel espresso machines hissed and steamed as baristas prepared cup after cup of nonfat, no-whip triple concoctions of caffeinated delight. On the customer side of the counter, farm-fresh jams, jellies, and olive oils crowded the shelves. I grabbed a jar of blackberry preserves and placed my coffee order. The coffee shop wasn’t busy, and I easily spotted Jason sitting at a corner table.
I threaded my way past the mostly empty tables, noticing the hint of gold in Jason’s reddish-brown hair as I approached. When he turned toward me, he flashed a smile that emphasized his dimples and made my heart flutter. I slid into the chair across from him and set my preserves on the table.
He held up his coffee cup. “Sorry I ordered without you. I got here early to make a few calls.”
“No worries. I know you’re busy.”
“Between last night’s car accident and this murder, I’ve been swamped.”
My stomach lurched at his words, and I gripped the preserves with both hands. “Did you say murder?” My voice squeaked, and I cleared my throat. Earlier this morning I’d briefly considered the possibility that someone had pushed Carla into the mud bath, but I’d chalked that idea up to watching too many episodes of TV crime shows. “Carla was murdered?” I asked again.
Jason eyed my death grip on the blackberries. “I’m afraid so. Did you know her?”
“We’d only just met, but still, how terrible. Are the police sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“They’re waiting on the test results, but they suspect someone struck her from behind and then pushed her in the mud bath.”
I remembered the pride in Carla’s voice when she declared the mud baths were her favorite part of the spa. And now they were her grave. “No chance she slipped and fell in?”
“Her head wound doesn’t match up with that scenario.”
“Ashlee’s friend said there were drawings on Carla’s feet, like gang markings. Is that true?”
He smirked. “Is Ashlee’s friend named Brittany?” When I nodded, he said, “She’s an odd one. I’ve never met anyone who giggled through an entire interview before, especially one that involved a murder.” He sipped his coffee. “She told me the same thing about the mud symbols, but the police denied it. Said some mud splatter had dried on the foot that was sticking out. Nothing more.”
I stared out the window, and Jason took one of my hands, his fingers warm and comforting. I turned back to find his green eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right? You seem pretty upset.”
“She was so excited about her new business. And she seemed genuinely nice. Her death is such a shame.”
Jason squeezed my hand in reply as the barista called my name. I started to rise, but Jason waved me back down. “I’ll get it.” He returned a moment later and handed me my white mocha.
“Thanks.” I took a sip, feeling the hot beverage course its way down my throat. “I know Brittany found her only this morning, but do the police suspect anyone yet?”
“Not that I know of. They’re still investigating how the killer gained entry to the spa.”
I picked at the hole in the plastic lid on my coffee cup. “Do they think someone broke in to rob the place and Carla interrupted them?”
“That’s one theory. If Carla let her killer in, that changes things. It means it wasn’t a random killing.”
I trembled at the thought and looked at my cup. Was it worse to be killed by a stranger or by someone you knew and trusted? Definitely the latter, knowing in your final seconds that you’d been betrayed. I hoped Carla hadn’t suffered. But death by mud? It sounded awful.
Jason drained his cup and tossed it in the nearby trash can. “Let’s pick a more cheerful topic. I’d love to get together tonight, if I’m caught up at work.”
“Sure. Come on over. I’ll make you my famous chili d
ogs.”
“Wow. You’re making chili from scratch? I didn’t know you cooked.”
I’d been planning to open a can that I had sitting in my cupboard, but still, I didn’t appreciate Jason’s incredulous tone. “I might,” I hedged. “And I’ll add extra cheese and jalapeños.”
Jason laughed. “How could I refuse such a tempting offer?”
I leaned toward him. “You’ll be so fired up that you’ll need an extinguisher to put out the flames.”
Jason’s gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips. “Are we still talking about the chili dogs?”
“Maybe.” I winked at him.
“I’ll be there at seven.”
We stood at the same time. Jason followed me out of the coffee shop, the barista nodding at us on our way by. When we reached my car, Jason pulled me into a hug, and I rested my head on his chest for a moment. I caught the spicy scent of his cologne as we broke apart.
“See you tonight,” he said before stepping over to his car.
With a wave, I got in my own car and drove through town. Whenever thoughts of Carla crept into my mind, I chased them away. The police would find her killer. Jason would keep me updated. I had no reason to obsess over her death. Except I couldn’t help it. One minute, she was laughing and showing me around her treasured spa, and the next, she was buried in a mud bath. I still couldn’t quite accept that fate.
I took the exit for the farm and bounced and jolted down the potholed lane. When I reached the lot, I noticed a dark blue Ford Taurus parked in one of the spaces and slammed on my brakes, craning my head to study the car. I could be wrong, but I was almost positive that car belonged to Detective Palmer, one of Blossom Valley’s finest. What was he doing here?
Chapter 5
I hit the gas pedal and shot into the first available parking spot, then stomped on the brakes. The car jerked to a stop. I jumped out and trotted to the lobby door, my heart beating faster with each step. Inside, Gordon stood behind the counter, jotting notes on his clipboard. My step faltered as I noted his calm behavior. Maybe I’d been wrong about the car.
He glanced up when I entered and slapped his ballpoint pen on his clipboard. “Did you know the police are here?” he demanded.
Then again, maybe I’d been right. I crossed the room and stopped before the counter, bending over slightly to catch my breath. “I thought that was Detective Palmer’s car outside. What does he want?”
“He didn’t say, other than to ask if Gretchen was working today.”
I straightened up. “Gretchen? Why would he want to talk to her?” With such a small police force, every detective, including Palmer, would be working on Carla’s murder, but I failed to see how Gretchen was involved.
“Again, the detective did not share that information with me.” Gordon checked his watch. “They’ve been in the dining room for the past fifteen minutes. They’ll need to leave soon so we can set up for lunch service.”
“Forget lunch. I want to know why he’s interested in Gretchen.” I moved down the hall toward the dining room.
“Tell him he has five minutes,” Gordon called after me.
Right. I was going to kick out a police officer while he was investigating a murder just so guests wouldn’t have to eat on the patio. Not likely.
I stopped at the open door of the dining room and peeked in. Detective Palmer sat at one of the tables, facing the door. Gretchen sat across from him with her back to me, but her stiff posture and the way she clenched the chair seat told me she wasn’t enjoying the conversation.
Detective Palmer raised his eyes to me, and I’d swear he fought the urge to roll them. His buzz cut was longer than the last time we’d spoken, but his face was as stern as ever. “We’ll be done in a minute.”
I stepped fully into the room. “What’s going on?”
Gretchen lifted her head but didn’t turn around.
“Official police business,” Detective Palmer said. “Please wait outside.”
I didn’t budge. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No.”
I’d dealt with Detective Palmer a few times before, and we’d established a reserved yet mutually respectful relationship. Sometimes he even joked with me. I had a feeling today wasn’t one of those days.
When he didn’t say anything else, I gave Gretchen one last look, then crossed the hall to the office. I didn’t even attempt to get any work done, knowing it would be a waste of time. Instead, I sat in the swivel chair and swung back and forth while keeping an eye on the dining room door. When Gretchen and Detective Palmer didn’t emerge after three or four minutes, I went down the hall to see if Zennia knew anything.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, shelling peas. As I entered, she tossed an empty pod into an already full bowl. The pod teetered on the pile but didn’t fall. Without my asking, she said, “I’m making my pea and mint salad. I thought it would balance well with my seasoned tofu, rather than the lamb people often serve it with.”
I cringed as an image of a tofu lamb running across a field popped into my head, but I managed to say, “Sounds delicious. I’ll have to try some.”
Zennia gave me a questioning look.
“Well, the pea salad, anyway.” I gestured toward the hall. “Any idea why the cops are talking to Gretchen?”
She sucked in her breath. “The police? No. I didn’t realize they were here.”
“Detective Palmer is in the dining room with her now. I’m sure it’s related to Carla’s murder, but I don’t know why.”
Zennia dropped the peas in her hand. Two rolled across the table and fell onto the floor. “The new spa owner? Gordon mentioned something about her dying. Seemed almost happy about it. But you say she was murdered?”
I rubbed my arms and shivered, though the kitchen wasn’t drafty. “Yes, but how is Gretchen involved?”
Zennia wiped her hands on a dish towel. “That dear girl? She can’t be. Her spirit is pure.”
“Maybe Detective Palmer wanted to ask her some questions about spa procedures, since Gretchen has so much experience.” It was a ridiculous theory but the only one I could come up with. I thought back to my talk with Gretchen the previous evening. She’d said she had a plan to keep the new spa from impacting our business. Was her plan somehow tied to Carla’s death?
Zennia interrupted my musings. “I’m glad Esther went into town to run errands. She’d be so frazzled to find the police here.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled myself,” I said. I heard the sound of voices in the hall, and I stuck my head out. I saw Detective Palmer standing outside the dining room. He said a few words, presumably to Gretchen, then walked toward the lobby. I waited a moment, but Gretchen didn’t come out. “I’ll be back,” I told Zennia.
She lifted a hand in acknowledgment and resumed shelling peas. I entered the dining room and saw Gretchen still at the table, her shoulders shaking. I could hear her sobs as I approached, and I placed a hand on her back.
She flinched at the touch and looked up. “Oh, hi, Dana.” She swiped at the tears and sniffed. “Sorry for the waterworks.”
I eased into the chair next to her and clasped my hands between my knees as I leaned toward her. “What’s wrong, Gretchen?”
“Someone killed the owner of the Pampered Life last night.”
“I heard. But why was Detective Palmer talking to you?”
Tears filled Gretchen’s eyes again. I went to the sideboard against the back wall and grabbed a beige cloth napkin, then returned to my seat and handed it to her. She dabbed at the tears.
“Someone saw me there,” she whispered.
I felt my eyes widen. “At the Pampered Life? You went there?”
Gretchen gulped. “After work. From the way the detective was talking, it must have been around the time of the murder. I bet he thinks I killed that woman.” Gretchen broke into fresh sobs.
I leaned my elbows on the table and studied Gretchen’s face. “But why were you there? Is this related to the plan you
mentioned last night?”
Gretchen wiped her eyes again. “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about. You told me how stylish it was, and I thought I could steal a few of their ideas, beef up our place if it didn’t cost too much.”
“I had the exact same thought. Surely Detective Palmer understood that.”
She lurched up from her seat and began pacing between the tables. “But I got there after closing. People saw me peeping in the windows. Probably thought I was planning a robbery. I even tried the back door. It was unlocked.” She stopped next to the chair in which she’d been seated and turned toward me, her eyes pleading. “But I didn’t go in. You have to believe me.”
I held up my hands, afraid she’d start crying again. “Of course I believe you.”
“But the detective didn’t. I bet he thought I broke in to steal equipment and killed that lady when she caught me.”
Jason had said that a botched robbery was one theory the police were investigating, but Gretchen didn’t need to hear that. I shook my head. “I’ve dealt with Detective Palmer before. He isn’t the type to jump to conclusions.”
Gretchen gripped the back of her chair. “I hope you’re right. This is the first job I’ve had where I can see myself staying for a while. I’ve been working my butt off to earn everyone’s respect.”
“And you’ve got it. Esther knows you’d never kill anyone. No one will fire you.”
She straightened up and rubbed her hands over her short dark hair, every muscle in her arms tense. “Gordon might try. You know how uptight he is about any bad publicity for this place.”
I could definitely attest to that, considering Gordon had tried to get me fired once upon a time. “Esther won’t listen to him.”
A Healthy Homicide Page 3