A Healthy Homicide

by Staci McLaughlin

  “Esther won’t listen to whom?” Gordon demanded from the doorway.

  I hadn’t seen him approach and could only hope he hadn’t heard much. “One of Gretchen’s clients keeps insisting that he needs a massage without the towel,” I lied. “Claims it chafes him. He said he’d complain to Esther next time.” I kept my eyes trained on Gordon, not trusting myself to look at Gretchen.

  “Preposterous,” Gordon said. “The towel stays on.”

  “Exactly what I said.” I rose. “I’ll get back to work now.”

  Gordon lingered in the doorway, as if he didn’t quite believe my tale, but he moved aside as I walked toward him. “See that you do.” As I headed for the office, I heard him say, “Gretchen, I want to talk to you about this visit from the police.”

  I shook my head. I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of Gordon’s wrath. It wasn’t pretty.

  Even with thoughts of Carla’s murder lingering in the back of my mind, I was able to finish the marketing document. At noon I helped Zennia serve the tofu to the guests before I sampled the pea and mint salad. It was the first vegetable I’d eaten all week, and it didn’t taste half bad.

  After lunch I wandered out to the pigpen to visit Wilbur and his pink and black buddies. When he saw me, he plodded over to the fence, nose working overtime as he sniffed the air for any hint of food. I pulled my hand from behind my back and offered him a handful of grapes I’d taken from the kitchen. With a snort and some gulps, he gobbled them up.

  “Did you hear the news? Someone killed a spa owner last night.”

  Wilbur sniffed in my direction, but he was probably searching for more grapes.

  “Detective Palmer came by a while ago to talk to Gretchen.”

  Wilbur snorted.

  “She said she visited the place last night, and the back door was unlocked. That must be how the killer got in, but did Carla normally not lock her doors? Or was it bad timing that she picked this one night to get lax with her security?”

  Wilbur sighed, as if this whole conversation was boring him. He lowered himself to the ground and rolled on his side.

  “Fine. Be that way,” I said. I walked down the path to the chicken coop. Several chickens wandered about the yard, pecking the dirt, but none paid any attention to me. I passed the guest cabins, where all the doors were closed, and spent a few minutes straightening the lounge chairs near the pool. The weather was too cool for swimming, but the guests still enjoyed the Jacuzzi. I gathered two bunched-up towels from the pavement and dropped them off at the laundry room before returning to the office.

  I toiled away at the computer for the rest of the afternoon. When quitting time arrived, I grabbed my purse and jacket, anxious to get moving. I needed to stop by the store for hot dog buns and then clean the apartment before Jason got there.

  Traffic on the highway was nothing compared to commuter traffic in the Bay Area, where I’d been living until a few months after my father’s death. Still, I found myself tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as we puttered along well below the speed limit. Finally, I reached my exit and zipped off the highway and into downtown.

  On my way past the Pampered Life, I noticed a grouping of candles and flowers on the bench outside the door. How nice. Most people probably hadn’t even known Carla, but they still felt the need to acknowledge her passing.

  At the Meat and Potatoes grocery store, I walked straight to the bread aisle for a bag of buns. On the way to the checkout, I passed a stand full of flower bouquets and paused. I’d felt so touched when I saw the memorial for Carla, maybe I should add to the offerings. I could spare a few minutes.

  I selected a bouquet of carnations and daisies and took it to the counter with my hot dog buns. The cashier slid the flowers in their plastic wrapper over the scanner. “These are awful pretty. Buying them for someone special?”

  “That spa owner who was killed last night.” I felt myself blush as I spoke, though I wasn’t sure why I should feel embarrassed. “They’ve set up a memorial outside her business.”

  “That’s real thoughtful.” She rang up the buns, then announced my total. “I couldn’t believe when I heard what happened. I mean, a killer loose here in Blossom Valley? I have to work till closing most nights, and you can bet I’ll have my husband come pick me up from now on. No way I’m walking to my car by myself anymore.”

  I handed her a twenty. “I’m sure it was an isolated incident.” At least I hoped so.

  She counted out my change. “Well, she was new in town, so maybe she brought the trouble with her. You know how different the city is.”

  “Maybe.” I pocketed the money and hurried out of the store. In the car I drove the few blocks back to Carla’s spa and parked along the curb. Three women milled around the bench, and I recognized one of them as Jessica, the receptionist who’d been working at the spa when I visited the day before. She and another girl, who looked to be a few years younger than me, maybe around Ashlee’s age, stood close together, talking. The third woman, wearing a jogging suit and brilliant-white athletic shoes, stood to the side, clutching a lit candle.

  I approached the group and laid my bouquet with the others on the bench. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for Carla. The two girls temporarily halted their conversation and then resumed talking.

  “I hate to look for another job. I mean, I just got this one,” Jessica said.

  “Yeah, but what can you do?” the other girl said. The tips of her shoulder-length bright red hair looked like they’d been dipped in a tar pit. “I mean, I gotta work if I want to pay my phone bill. My folks are, like, so uptight that way.” She giggled.

  I took the opportunity to wedge myself into the discussion. “You guys think the spa will close down permanently?”

  They both looked at me, then at each other. The red-haired girl laughed again. “What else could happen? Carla’s dead. Who’s going to pay us?”

  The woman in the jogging suit frowned at the girl but didn’t speak.

  “Knock it off, Brittany,” Jessica said. “Who cares about the money now?”

  Wait, Brittany? Was this Ashlee’s friend Brittany? Ashlee talked about her all the time, but I’d never actually met the girl. I was sure I would have remembered the red hair. And the inappropriate laughing. Hadn’t Jason mentioned that?

  “I do.” Brittany flipped up a chunk of hair and studied the black tips. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally bummed about losing this cush job, too. And about what happened to Carla, of course.”

  “Good place to work?” I asked.

  Jessica nodded. “The best. Carla was super flexible with my hours. I can work only certain days because I go to school, and she fixed the schedule for me.”

  “Yeah, and the work was easy,” Brittany said. “Answering phones and making appointments, stuff like that.”

  For a second, I thought she’d finish speaking without giggling, but she threw one in at the end. I gritted my teeth. When Brittany didn’t say anything else, I turned to the woman with the candle. “Did you work for Carla, too?”

  She set the candle under the bench, where the flame reflected off the cellophane wrappers of the various bouquets, creating a semicircle of fire. “No, I never met the woman, but her death is so tragic. I felt I should pay my respects. How about you?”

  “I met her only briefly, but she seemed like a nice person. She certainly didn’t deserve to die the way she did.”

  Jessica snapped her fingers. “That’s where I know you from. You came in the shop yesterday.”

  “That was me.” My phone vibrated, and I pulled it from my pocket. Beside me, both Brittany and Jessica glanced at their phones, too, as if the movement was as contagious as a yawn.

  On the tiny screen, I saw a text from Jason that he was on his way. Criminy. Where had the time gone? At this rate, he’d probably beat me to my apartment, and I hadn’t even cleaned the bathroom yet.

  I stuffed the phone in my pocket and pulled out my keys. “Good luck wit
h the job hunt,” I told Jessica and Brittany. “I hope the cops figure out who killed Carla.”

  Jessica straightened a group of flowers on the bench and turned with an air of importance. “I already told them who did it.”

  “What?” Brittany and I said in unison. Why hadn’t she said anything before?

  Jessica looked all around, as if eavesdroppers were lurking behind the buildings, but the only activity outside of our group was the occasional car driving past. For all I knew, one of them might even be Jason’s.

  “She was so mad at her niece the other day.” She elbowed Brittany’s side. “You remember, don’t you? We were straightening up the front office, and she kept ragging on us about every little thing. It’s the only time she was ever mad about anything.”

  Brittany shrugged. “I thought she was mad because I kept texting my friends during work. It’s not like we had any customers right then. Well, except the ones in the back rooms. And the ones waiting in the lobby. I don’t know why my texting would bug her so much.”

  I choked down a laugh while Jessica rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t it. It was something Erin did.”

  “What did she do?” I was torn between waiting to see what Jessica had to say and hightailing it back to my apartment, where I knew a sink full of dirty dishes likely waited for me, along with Ashlee’s clothes strewn all over the place. I’d give her thirty more seconds to get to the point.

  “I don’t know. But one thing I do remember. When she called Erin later on the phone, I heard Carla say not to threaten her. She wouldn’t stand for it.” Jessica took a step toward me, the glee clear on her face. “And that’s why I told the cops that Erin must have killed her.”

  Chapter 6

  “That’s what you’re basing your theory on?” I asked. “One snippet of a conversation you overheard?” Jessica had sounded so confident that she knew who killed Carla, but obviously she was guessing. I couldn’t resist peeking at the time on my phone. I needed to get going. My kitchen wouldn’t clean itself.

  Anger flashed across Jessica’s face at my obvious doubt, replacing the brashness from a moment ago. “You got anything better?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But that threat Carla was talking about could have referred to anything from blabbing a family secret to borrowing her car for a destruction derby. I doubt it’s connected to her murder.”

  “Well, the cops were pretty interested in what I told them. I bet it’s the big break that’ll get Erin arrested.”

  Brittany grabbed Jessica’s wrist. “If that happens, a bunch of news channels will want to interview you. You might even be on a talk show.” She giggled. “I’d totally watch that.”

  “You think so?” Jessica asked.

  The woman in the jogging suit made a disgusted snort and turned away. I felt like doing the same.

  “Okay, well, good night,” I said to no one in particular. I walked off as the two girls started discussing what Jessica should wear for her debut TV appearance. Once in the car, I overcranked the engine and then scraped the curb as I sped toward home.

  At the complex, I surveyed the guest parking spots and let out a breath. Jason’s Volvo was nowhere in sight. I grabbed the hot dog buns and my purse off the passenger seat and trotted up the stairs. In my haste, I dropped my keys as I tried to unlock the door. I mumbled under my breath as I bent to retrieve the keys, and then I let myself in. The apartment was dark. My foot struck an object on the carpet as I headed for the kitchen.

  I switched on a light and turned back to find a pair of Ashlee’s sandals on the floor. I was starting to think she had no idea what a closet was for. I snatched up the shoes, grabbed her jacket and socks off the couch, and tossed everything into her room before slamming the door shut, shaking my head at the mess. The weatherman hadn’t reported any tornado activity in Blossom Valley, but maybe Ashlee’s room had suffered an isolated incident.

  I hesitated in the hall, torn between cleaning the kitchen and wiping down the bathroom. Jason would definitely see the kitchen, since he usually helped me with dinner, but he might not need to use the facilities. I quickly transferred the dirty dishes from the sink to the dishwasher and grabbed the bottle of cleaner and a rag from the cabinet. I was scrubbing off the last smears of chocolate ice cream that had dried on the counter when the doorbell rang.

  The sound gave me a burst of energy, and I hurriedly stowed the cleaning supplies back under the sink before I rinsed my hands and took down a can of chili from the cupboard. I cranked open the can and dumped the contents into a pot as the doorbell rang again.

  “Coming!” I tossed the empty can in the recycling bag under the sink, where Jason wouldn’t see it, put the pot on the burner, turned the burner on, and then ran my hands over my hair to smooth any errant strands. After a last look around the kitchen, I trotted over and opened the door.

  Jason stood on the porch, a six-pack of amber ale in his hand. His hair looked damp, the ends curling along his collar. He must have run home to shower before coming over, which was more than I could say for myself. I looked down at my work khakis and polo shirt and winced.

  “I’m running behind schedule. I haven’t had a chance to change.”

  Jason pulled me close for a kiss. “You always look like a knockout to me.” He stepped into the apartment.

  “Thanks, but I’m sure you’d prefer I not smell like pig.”

  He smiled. “I thought we were having bacon with our chili dogs.”

  He set the beer bottles on the counter, and I rummaged through the silverware drawer for a bottle opener. I popped the top off a beer and handed it to him. “Enjoy. I’ll be right back.”

  I dashed into the bedroom, tore off my work clothes, and donned a pair of dark red jeans and a long-sleeved white top. I ran a brush through my hair and tossed the brush behind me onto the bed on my way out of the room. Jason waited in the kitchen.

  “I would have started dinner, but I didn’t know if you wanted me snooping around your kitchen,” he said. “My mom used to hate when guests did that.”

  I ran my hand along his back as I walked over to the counter. “You’re not just any old guest, but I admire your restraint. That’s impressive for a reporter.” I dug a red onion out of the back of a cabinet, praying it wasn’t moldy, and peeled off the outer layer. “That reminds me. How are your stories on the murder going? Any new leads?”

  “Only bits and pieces.” He took a pull on his beer. “The police didn’t have an update when I called this afternoon, at least none they’re willing to share this early in the investigation. I’m also having trouble finding anyone who knew her.”

  I grabbed a knife from the drawer and began dicing the onion. “I ran into a couple of the employees at the spa, Jessica and Brittany, on my way home.” I felt my eyes well up as the strong fumes of the onion hit me, and I swiped at the tears with the back of my hand. “I know you already talked to Brittany, but what about Jessica? She has this ridiculous theory that Carla’s niece, Erin, is responsible for her murder.”

  “I talked to her,” Jason said. “Her reasoning for why Erin is the killer is flimsy, but I’d sure like to know more about Erin threatening Carla.”

  I finished with the onion, then opened the fridge and removed a package of hot dogs and a bag of shredded cheese. “Have you met Erin yet? Does she live around here?”

  “She lived with Carla. I stopped by the house, but no one answered the door. A car was in the driveway, so she might have been hiding out.”

  I kissed his cheek. “No offense, but I’d hide, too, if a reporter came knocking on my door after my aunt was killed, even one as good looking as you.” I pulled open the hot dog package.

  “You never know. Some people are eager to talk. They see me as the best way to tell their story.” Jason set his beer on the counter. “I can’t let you do all the work.” He grabbed the bag of cheese, tore the top off, and then worked to pry the zippered pieces apart.

  I got the hot dogs started, then stirred the chili an
d turned down the heat. “Who else did you talk to?”

  “The neighbors, although that was a dead end. Seems Carla moved in four months ago but kept to herself. Her niece showed up a month later.”

  “They didn’t move in at the same time?” I asked.

  Jason retrieved two dinner plates from the cupboard. “Not according to the neighbors. One of them thinks Erin’s mom lives in Santa Rosa, but she’s not sure.”

  I was surprised that Carla’s neighbors knew so little about her, but then again, I didn’t often talk to my neighbors, either. When I was younger, people sat on their porches, chatting with anyone who happened to walk by. Now most everyone came home from work, went inside, and watched movies online or clips on YouTube.

  “Did you learn anything else from the neighbors?” I asked.

  “Not much. The one across the street said Carla occasionally had guests. One guy in particular was a repeat visitor, but she didn’t know any names.”

  I used a fork to spear the hot dogs in the boiling water and placed them on the buns. “Let’s hope the police have more luck. Their job sounds impossible right now.”

  I spooned the chili over the hot dogs and sprinkled everything with a healthy dose of cheese and red onion, while Jason found the forks and napkins. I took a plate in each hand, along with a bag of chips, while Jason carried the beers in one hand and the napkins, forks, and jar of sliced jalapeños in the other. Together, we walked into the living room and settled on the couch. I set our plates on the coffee table and picked up the remote.

  “What’s on tonight?” I asked.

  “No idea.” Jason picked up his plate and took a bite of his chili dog. “Wow. This is good. You should cook more often.”

  I looked down at my meal of a processed hot dog, canned chili, and pre-shredded cheese. Well, at least I’d diced the onion myself. “Thanks.” I switched the television to a news channel, and we watched the latest headlines while we ate our chili dogs.

  I was almost finished with mine when I heard a key in the lock and Ashlee burst into the apartment.