A Healthy Homicide

by Staci McLaughlin

  “So what are you doing here?” Erin asked as she brought the knife down again. She seemed entirely too comfortable holding that thing.

  I held up the locket. “You forgot this last night. I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

  She stretched across the counter and snatched it out of my hand after I hurriedly uncurled my fingers so she didn’t break the delicate chain. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice I’d lost it.”

  “Well, you left in a bit of a hurry.”

  She began cutting up the mango with swift, powerful strokes. That poor mango didn’t stand a chance. “No thanks to that busybody Patricia.” She glared at me, and I felt a surge of panic in my chest. “I was nice to that lady because Aunt Carla liked her. Now that Aunt Carla is dead, don’t think I’m spending another minute with Patricia.”

  “Why are you so angry with her?”

  “She’s so phony-baloney, acting like she’s your best friend so she can try to run your life. And I know she talks about me behind my back.”

  I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, but something must have slipped through, because Erin noticed.

  “I knew it.” She pointed the knife at me, and I took a half step back. “What did she say about me?”

  “Nothing big. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “She seems to want only what’s best for you.”

  “You saw the way she tried to boss me around. Just because she and Carla were such good friends, Patricia acts like she owes it to Carla to make sure I become this poster kid for Middle America, Ms. Upstanding Citizen herself. Well, I know what she really thinks of me, and I won’t stand for it.” She grabbed a papaya from the basket.

  I thought back to Stan’s remark about Carla and Patricia almost being partners. Maybe Erin knew about the situation and could fill me in. “It’s probably a good thing she didn’t go into business with Carla. Then she would have been around all the time,” I said, taking a wild guess that this was the deal Stan had been alluding to.

  She gave me a smug smile, proving I’d hit the mark. “Heard about that, did you? Man, was Patricia steamed when it didn’t happen. It was all her idea, and Aunt Carla wanted nothing to do with it.”

  “Patricia made it sound like they were both in favor of a partnership,” I said. I dared to lean on the counter, like we were two girlfriends sharing a little gossip.

  Erin paused in her slicing. “That’s what Patricia wants to believe, but it’s not true. She gave Aunt Carla some decorating tips for the spa and somehow got it in her head that she needed to help run the place. She doesn’t have a business degree. She has no experience. She’s just some bored housewife with nothing better to do.”

  “How did Carla get out of it?”

  “Gave her some line about not wanting to risk all of Patricia’s money on a new business. Told Patricia that if the place went under, she’d never be able to forgive herself.”

  While the answer sounded legitimate, it was still a pretty weak reason to turn down her best friend. I wondered if Patricia had recognized the excuse as the brush-off that it was. Had she gotten mad enough to kill Carla?

  “How did Patricia take the news?”

  “Pretended like everything was fine, but she was always making little comments under her breath like she wanted to run the show. And now she’s set her sights on me. Well, she can forget it.” Erin brought the knife down in a series of quick strokes until the papaya collapsed into a pile of mush, her breath coming out in short puffs. “Say, what are you asking for, anyway?” she demanded, eyeing me. “You spying for Patricia?”

  Definitely my signal to leave.

  “No, of course not. Stan talked about a possible deal last night, and Patricia seemed upset about it. I was only wondering.” I made a show of looking at my wrist, even though I wasn’t wearing a watch. “I should be getting back to work. My lunch break’s almost over.” I backed toward the door. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  “If I even stay in this stupid town.” Erin rammed the knife tip into the cutting board, leaving the blade quivering upright, like an exclamation point to her statement. “You can pass that along to Patricia.”

  I didn’t respond as I hastened down the hall to the front door before she could pull the knife back out and hurl it at me. Once outside, I hurried down the walk but stopped at the gate when I saw a familiar muscle car parked across the street. Erin’s boyfriend, Ricky, sat behind the wheel. I winced at the ugly dent that marred the back panel of the driver’s side. As clean and waxed as he kept that car, that dent had to irritate him every time he looked at it. I didn’t remember the dent being there before, but then again, I wasn’t positive that I’d seen the driver’s side on previous occasions. Who knew how long it had been there?

  As I opened the gate, Ricky climbed out of the car and walked across the street, his expression hard to read with his plastic-framed sunglasses covering his eyes. I tensed as I felt him studying me. He wasn’t a big guy, but sometimes the little ones were scrappy. I could only hope he was more even-tempered than Erin.

  “You a friend of Erin’s?” he asked as he reached the gate.

  “More like an acquaintance. I knew her aunt.” Barely, I added silently.

  He removed his sunglasses. “Rough stuff. Carla was a nice lady.”

  My nose twitched as I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. “Did you know her well?”

  “No, but she took good care of Erin.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  He hooked the sunglasses onto his T-shirt. “’ Course, I was hoping we could be friends. I felt bad about the way things ended between us.” I’d swear he sounded hurt. Had Carla’s approval meant that much to him? He cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door. “I should get up there.”

  He stepped to the side so that I could move past him. As I unlocked my car door, I glanced back at the house and saw Erin open the door. When she saw Ricky, she threw her arms around him, and I felt a tug at my heart at her obvious adoration. Smiling in spite of myself, I got in my car and pulled away.

  My smile drooped as I headed to the nearest fast-food restaurant with a drive-through. Erin obviously cared about Ricky, but at what cost? Had Carla insisted that Erin stop seeing Ricky, and had Erin killed her aunt rather than give up her true love, or had I been watching too many made-for-TV movies? I’d heard of cases in the news where a teenager killed her parents over a boyfriend, but Erin was a grown woman and Carla was her aunt, not her mom.

  And what about Patricia’s assertion that Erin had stabbed her mom’s boyfriend? I’d learned nothing about that, other than Erin was handy with a knife. Had Carla been using that knowledge as leverage against Erin?

  On the flip side, Erin had exposed a possible motive for Patricia. If she’d set her sights on owning half the spa or at least helping to manage it, she might have reacted badly when Carla turned her down. Erin had mentioned she was a control freak. Maybe she’d snapped.

  And what of Ricky? Erin was clearly smitten, but Carla and Patricia both seemed to think he was nothing but trouble. I hadn’t gotten that vibe, but I’d spoken to him for only a few minutes.

  I felt a headache coming on, no doubt from all this convoluted thinking. Nothing a chocolate milk shake couldn’t cure. I added one to my cheeseburger order, retrieved my lunch at the take-out window, and headed for the highway.

  Back at Esther’s place, I pulled into my parking spot. The day had warmed considerably, and I decided to eat at one of the picnic tables, provided the guests weren’t already dining there. I grabbed my bag and followed the path that wound by the vegetable garden. I was about to turn past the cabins when movement over by the spa tent caught my attention.

  I watched Gretchen enter the tent and frowned. Wasn’t she supposed to be sick? Why was she here, skulking around the farm? For one wild moment, I thought she might be robbing the place, cracking under the pressure from the police, but I immediately admonished myself. Entering the place where y
ou worked could hardly be considered skulking. Gretchen was an employee at the farm and could come and go as she pleased. She’d probably recovered from whatever illness had kept her home this morning, and decided to come in.

  While I stood there, waiting to see if Gretchen would emerge, I sucked on my straw and noticed the shake was already beginning to soften, even in this mild spring weather. I took one last drag on the straw and walked toward the spa tent, pausing at the doorway.

  Gretchen was slouched in the same rattan chair I’d occupied that morning, when I’d called to shuffle her appointments around. Her legs were stretched out in front of her; one arm was draped over her eyes.

  I coughed to announce my presence, and she lowered her arm, squinting against the light. Hmm . . . pale skin, sensitivity to light. I’d seen Ashlee with these exact symptoms last week, when she’d come home from an all-night party. Perhaps Gretchen’s mystery illness was a hangover.

  “Feeling better?” I asked in a hushed tone, in case she had tied one on last night.

  “Not really,” she said. She pushed against the armrests to raise herself in the chair. The wood creaked in protest. “But all I was doing at home was staring at the wall, feeling sorry for myself. I thought if I came here, I’d at least get some work done.”

  I sat down in the other chair and set my lunch on the small table in between. “I’m afraid I canceled all your afternoon appointments. Esther didn’t think you’d be back today.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not ready to face any clients yet.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I need to make sure we have enough supplies, put in some orders, and give the massage tables a good cleaning.”

  Cleaning seemed to be an activity a lot of people did when they were upset, myself included. After my father passed away, my apartment down in the Bay Area had never been so clean. I’d spent hours scrubbing every square inch, as if I could wipe away my grief, or at least forget about it for a little while.

  Gretchen groaned, dragging me from my memories. “What am I going to do? I’m in such a mess.”

  She sounded even more morose than the last time we’d talked. Between the rumors from the townspeople and the questions from the police, I didn’t know how much more she could handle.

  I leaned forward and laid my forearms on my thighs, my hands dangling between my knees. “Look, keep your head up. As soon as the police find the killer, people will stop gossiping about you. Try not to let the rumors get to you so much. These people don’t know you like I do.”

  Gretchen sat up even straighter, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “People are talking about me? What are they saying?”

  Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “Isn’t that what you’re upset about?”

  “No, I’m worried about getting in trouble with the police.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Gretchen, we’ve been over this. The police are not focusing solely on you. They have other suspects.”

  Gretchen shook her head. “But you don’t know what I’ve done.”

  That stopped me. What was she confessing to? I almost didn’t want her to continue, afraid of what she might admit to. “What did you do?” I finally asked.

  She pressed a hand to her temple. “I can’t say.”

  I threw myself back against the chair, trying to hide my annoyance. “Look, Gretchen, I want to help, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Nothing you’ve done can possibly be as bad as you think.” At least I hoped not.

  “But it is.” She rubbed her forehead and then let her hand drop. “I lied to the police. If they find out, I know they’ll arrest me.” She reached out for me. “Oh, Dana, what’s going to happen?”

  I could only stare at her. Did the local jail allow visitors? I might need to find out.

  Chapter 14

  Gretchen slapped a hand over her mouth and grimaced, like she was trying not to throw up, but I was too worried about her admission to pay attention to any stomach troubles.

  “Gretchen, what did you lie to the police about?” I asked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “What happened at the Pampered Life the night of the murder.”

  “Did Carla catch you snooping in the spa, after all?”

  Her eyes flew open. “No, I swear, she never saw me there.”

  I wanted to believe her, but she’d already lied once. My face burned as I thought about how I’d defended her reputation against those gossipers. She might have been playing me for a fool the whole time. “So what happened?”

  “I told you. I checked the back door to see if it was locked.” Gretchen paused. “But instead of walking away, I went inside.”

  A chill ran through me. Gretchen had been at the murder scene. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” she insisted. “No one was in the hallway, but I did hear voices. It sounded like they were arguing.”

  “Who’re they?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it was a man and a woman.”

  Had Miguel visited Carla that night? Had Gretchen almost overheard Carla’s murder? She might have been in danger and not even realized it. “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  “Only a little. The woman kept telling the guy not to worry, but he kept repeating that everyone would know.”

  “Know what?” Maybe Miguel was worried that people would find out he and Carla were dating. But then, why had he been at her Celebration of Life if he didn’t want people to know about their relationship?

  Gretchen plucked at the chair cushion. “I didn’t hear the rest. I panicked that they’d catch me in the spa, so I took off. I don’t know what possessed me to go inside in the first place.”

  I felt frustration well up. “Why on earth didn’t you tell this to the police? They need to find whomever Carla was talking to. If he didn’t kill her, he might have seen something that would help them figure out who did.”

  “They could arrest me for trespassing if I told them I went inside the building. Gordon would fire me the minute he heard. No one else in this town would hire me if I got sent to prison.”

  I snatched my milk shake off the side table and sucked down a large gulp, trying to quell my anger. I slapped the cup back down. “People don’t go to prison for trespassing, Gretchen. Besides, you’re missing the bigger picture. If the police can find the man you overheard talking to Carla, then the detective can verify that she was still alive when you were there.”

  At this, Gretchen looked up.

  “Don’t you see?” I said. “You’ll be in the clear. Everyone will know you couldn’t have killed Carla. You’ve got to tell the police.” And if she didn’t, I would.

  Hope lit up Gretchen’s face. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Talking to the cops is your best choice. Look, I don’t know what they’ll do when they find out you lied to them, but it’ll be easier to come clean now than to let the cops find out later on their own. I can give you Detective Palmer’s number. I’m sure I have one of his business cards in my purse.”

  “Wait, I might have one.” Gretchen rose with renewed energy and dug around the shelf of the hostess stand until she pulled out a card. “He left it with me last time we talked.” She studied the small white rectangle. “I’ll give him a call. I hope he isn’t too mad.”

  I rose and gave her a hug. “You’ll feel so much better once you get this off your chest.”

  Gretchen picked up the handset. “I’ll call right now, before I chicken out.”

  “Good idea. I’ll leave you to it.” I grabbed my lunch bag and milk shake and left the tent, my mind already processing Gretchen’s new information. Who was the mystery man talking to Carla? Brittany had told Ashlee that Carla was alone when she left work that night, so when did the guy show up? If Miguel was her boyfriend, it made perfect sense that he might slip in the back door to say hello. But what happened after that? What exactly had they been arguing about, and why would he kill Carla?

  Or maybe Miguel wasn’t the man Gretchen had overheard.
Maybe Ricky had stopped by unannounced and had tried to convince Carla that he was a good enough guy to date Erin. Had Carla insulted him, and had he lashed out by killing her?

  Then again, maybe the argument Gretchen had overheard had nothing to do with Carla’s death. Maybe the guy had left, and the real killer had shown up right after that. Either way, identifying the mystery man could give the police vital information.

  Still mulling over the possibilities, I entered the farmhouse through the French doors, cut through the dining room, and went straight into the office, shutting the door behind me. By now, I was famished, but before I scarfed down my cheeseburger, I sent a quick text to Jason to tell him I’d learned new details about Carla’s murder. We exchanged a few texts before he asked me to dinner. I readily agreed, relieved that I wouldn’t have to stop by the grocery store after work.

  My dinner plans settled, I pulled my cheeseburger from the bag and ate, grimacing with each bite. Cold cheeseburgers were not nearly as tasty as hot cheeseburgers. At least the milk shake was still yummy, even if the consistency was more akin to chocolate milk at this point.

  I finished my meal, such as it was, and turned to the computer. After spending the afternoon polishing a newspaper ad, helping Esther with the laundry, and cleaning the pool, I was ready to call it quits. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and listened to Zennia and Esther, who sat at the kitchen table, discussing the menu for the rest of the week.

  “I still say a nice, juicy rib-eye steak would hit the spot,” said Esther. “And a baked potato smothered with butter and sour cream, like Arthur used to love when he was alive.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Zennia. She looked three shades paler than normal. “Think of the saturated fat,” she whispered.

  “How about chicken?” I asked as I turned off the faucet. “That’s healthier. But don’t tell Berta I’m the one who suggested it. I swear that chicken already hates me.”