A Healthy Homicide

by Staci McLaughlin

  “Thanks. I might do that.”

  There was a pause. I spoke before I lost my nerve. “I’m sure your wife appreciates you keeping in shape.”

  Miguel gave me a funny look. “Wife? I’m not married.” As he said this, he slipped his left hand into his pants pocket.

  I feigned confusion. “I’d swear someone told me you were married. Guess I heard wrong.”

  The line moved forward, but Miguel stayed where he was. “I thought you knew I was dating Carla. Why would you think I was married?”

  I felt my cheeks heat up. “Some guys don’t let marriage stop them from dating.” Yikes. Had I actually just said that?

  “I’m not one of those guys,” he snapped. He turned his back on me and stepped up to place his order.

  He’d sounded so insulted that I had to wonder if all those rumors were wrong. Even Sue Ellen had gotten conflicting reports on Miguel’s marital status. But why had he hidden his hand when I commented on his wife? And if Miguel wasn’t married, did he have another motive for murdering Carla?

  The cashier next to Miguel’s opened up, and I moved over to order a biscuit sandwich, hash browns, and coffee. By the time I had paid for my meal and had gone to wait by the pickup area, Miguel already had his food and was heading out the door. He didn’t wave good-bye, not that I expected him to.

  My order came up right then, and I grabbed my take-out bag and coffee and returned to the parking lot in time to see him pull out of the lot. I settled into my car and sipped my coffee while I thought about Miguel. If he didn’t have a jealous wife causing problems, I couldn’t imagine another reason for Miguel to kill Carla.

  What dark secret could he be harboring that would result in murder?

  And if such a secret existed, how could I find out?

  Chapter 16

  Stowing questions about Miguel in the back of my mind, I pulled into traffic and drove to the farm. Half a dozen cars sat in the parking lot. A man and a woman were loading a suitcase into the trunk of their compact.

  I took the back path and entered the farmhouse through the kitchen door. Zennia stood near the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl. A large plate of bacon strips lay on the counter.

  Even though I was already holding breakfast in my paper take-out bag, my mouth instantly watered at the sight. “Zennia, I didn’t know you ever fried up bacon.” I set the bag and coffee cup on the oak table and hurried over to the counter.

  “It’s not real bacon,” she said. “It’s facon.”

  My hand froze over the glistening strips. I glanced at Zennia and saw the hint of a smile. “Facon?”

  “Right. It’s made from textured vegetable protein. You crisp it up, and it tastes exactly like real bacon.”

  Somehow I doubted that. I let my hand fall to my side. “I should eat my own breakfast. Don’t want to waste money.” With a last look at the faux pork product, I sat down at the table and pulled my egg-and-sausage biscuit sandwich out of the bag.

  Zennia took a whisk from a drawer and started beating the eggs. She nodded toward the sandwich I was unwrapping. “My bacon isn’t any faker than the food in that sandwich. For heaven’s sake, the scrambled eggs are folded into a square.”

  “The eggs come from very uptight hens.” I took a bite, savoring the salty sausage flavor. Way better than facon. “Have you seen Gretchen this morning?”

  Zennia leaned the whisk handle against the inside of the bowl and used two hands to set a large cast-iron skillet on a burner. “Not yet. I don’t know if she called Esther, either, although I’m sure Esther would have mentioned it when I saw her a minute ago if Gretchen wasn’t coming in.”

  “Well, she showed up yesterday afternoon to track inventory and clean up, so I imagine she’ll be here.”

  “I didn’t realize she’d even stopped by.” Zennia turned the dial on the stove. Blue flames popped into view under the skillet. “With the spa so far from the kitchen, I don’t see her every day.”

  I’d have to stop by after breakfast and see if Gretchen had followed through on her promise to talk to Detective Palmer. I hated to be the one to report how she lied about entering Carla’s spa that night, but the police needed to know about the man she’d overheard Carla arguing with.

  Zennia turned to me, her face tense. “Has Jason said anything to you about whether the police have any new suspects? I’m worried about Gretchen. She’s taking these visits from that detective very hard.”

  “It would stress anyone out. Jason didn’t mention a new suspect, but he doesn’t always tell me the inside scoop.”

  “What good is having a reporter boyfriend if he won’t share with you?”

  I waggled my eyebrows at her. “He has plenty of other qualities to make up for it.”

  “Like those dimples.” Zennia gave me a wicked grin. “And that cute butt.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Zennia!”

  Zennia swatted me with a dish towel. “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.”

  I felt my cheeks flame hotter than the stove burner. “Well, sure, but he’s my boyfriend.”

  “That doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t look. We just have to make sure we don’t touch.”

  I took a sip of coffee to keep from laughing. “I appreciate that. Speaking of boyfriends, I did run into Carla’s boyfriend this morning, when I stopped for breakfast.”

  “Did Carla have a boyfriend? I don’t know anything about her.”

  “Yes, and I’ve heard rumors that he’s married. He might have killed Carla to keep his wife from discovering the affair. Of course, Miguel swears he’s single.”

  Zennia turned toward the stove. I heard the eggs sizzle as they hit the hot pan. “He wouldn’t be the first guy to try to cover up an affair,” she called over her shoulder. “I can name countless politicians who refuted everything right up until there was no room left to maneuver. Even then, they still tried to lie.”

  “It’s just that he seemed so hurt when I suggested it.” I pulled out my hash brown patty, crumpled up my sandwich wrapper, and stuffed it in the bag. “Then again, he instantly tucked his hand in his pocket when I asked about a wife, like he didn’t want me to see a wedding ring.”

  “Sounds guilty to me.” Zennia grabbed a spatula from a drawer and shoved the eggs around the skillet.

  “I have to admit, he does remind me of a politician,” I said. “He can be quite the charmer. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.”

  Zennia hefted up the skillet and dumped the eggs onto a large white platter. “What’s Miguel’s last name?”

  I closed my eyes to concentrate. What had Jason said? “Ruiz, I think. He works for the public works department.”

  “Oh, I know him.”

  My eyes popped open. “You do?”

  “Well, rather, I knew him. He attended a meeting that I protested at a few years ago over an increase in water rates. Water is a necessity of life, for both plants and animals, including us humans. They were proposing a thirty percent rate hike. This town has a lot of low-income seniors who couldn’t afford that.” Zennia looked like she was winding up to embark on quite the rant. I hurried to get her back on track.

  “What do you remember about him? Any chance he brought his wife to the meeting, and she had bright green hair and was covered in tattoos?” At this point, I was looking for any concrete proof that Miguel was married, no matter how outlandish.

  Zennia laughed, the water rates forgotten. “I’m sure that would ring a bell, but even now I’d almost swear he had a wife. One of my friends was complaining that all the good ones were taken.” She tapped her chin. “Come to think of it, she’d even attended their wedding. I remember she refused to come to the meeting, because she felt the situation would be too awkward if she protested against a friend.” She nodded. “Yes, that was it.”

  The loser.

  Miguel was married, after all.

  He could deny it all he wanted, but now I knew he had the perfect reason to kill Carla. Where w
as he the night Carla was murdered?

  Esther bustled into the kitchen, humming quietly. “Morning, you two.” She turned to me. “Dana, I had the most wonderful idea while I was taking out the recycling last night.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I’d like to teach a composting class.”

  I worked to hide my surprise. Esther had never been overly involved in activities at the farm, preferring to leave the day-to-day management to Gordon. I had always thought she’d enjoy the business more if she could see how much the guests liked the place, but she seemed to prefer taking a backseat. I rose and gave her a hug. “Esther, that’s a fantastic idea. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Oh, gracious,” she said, blushing, “you make it sound like such a big to-do, but I’m not talking anything fancy, just a little class to teach newbies the basics. I was thinking once a month would be plenty. We can always add more if enough people sign up.”

  “Whatever you want,” I agreed. “We can nail down specifics before I draft up some ads for the Herald, even the Penny Saver. And, of course, I’ll blog about it on our Web site.”

  “And I’ll tell all my friends in my meditation circle,” Zennia said. “Most of them already compost, but we’ve had some new, younger members join recently who I’m sure would be interested.”

  Esther patted her gray curls. “Gosh, my little plan might work out. Dana, let me sit on this a spell and figure out all the nitty-gritty. Maybe we can get together after lunch.”

  “Let me know whenever you’re ready,” I said.

  Esther hummed her way back out of the room, while Zennia popped two slices of sprouted wheat bread into the toaster.

  I drained the rest of my coffee, sorted my breakfast trash in the containers under the sink, and said good-bye to Zennia. Time to find Gretchen.

  The air outside was cool, but the morning sun warmed my head and shoulders as I wound my way past the pigsty. I stopped at the fence, and Wilbur wandered over to stick his snout between the wooden boards. I patted his head, almost giggling as the coarse bristles tickled my skin, and he snorted his thanks. I continued on my way, nodding to Berta and the other chickens before cutting past the cabins.

  Inside the spa tent, Gretchen was in one of the partitioned areas in the back, folding towels and singing softly. When she saw me, she broke off from her singing and smiled. I noticed her cheeks held more color than they had yesterday afternoon. “Dana, good morning.”

  “You seem in good spirits.”

  She shook a towel out and began folding it. “That’s because I did what I said I would. I talked to the police.”

  “You called Detective Palmer?”

  “Better. After you left, I decided to go down to the station. I thought the police might be more understanding if we could talk face-to-face and they could see how sorry I was for not telling them everything before.” She finished folding the towel and added it to the stack on the massage table. “Of course, I was so nervous, I ran a red light and almost hit a bus on my way down, but I finally got there.”

  “And everything went okay?”

  “Yep. I mean, sure, he was mad when I first told him. Talked about obstructing justice, interfering with police duty, stuff like that. It was total gibberish to me, but then he calmed down and asked me a bunch of questions about that night. He seemed happy with my answers.”

  I grabbed a loose towel off the stack of laundry and snapped it open. “What exactly did you tell him?” I folded the towel in half.

  “About the fight I overheard, what little I remembered of it, anyway. He kept asking me about the man’s voice, how deep it was, if he had an accent, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help.”

  “You never know. Just the fact that you heard a man there is important.” I picked up another towel. “That reminds me. Could you tell what room Carla was in when you heard her talking?”

  Gretchen shrugged. “I have no idea. I’d never been inside the spa before. I could tell the voices were somewhere on the right, but that was about it.”

  I tried to remember which rooms were on the right when Carla gave me the brief tour, but most of the doors had been closed. Was it important to know where Carla was during the argument? Somehow, I thought it was.

  “What happened then?” I asked.

  “He sent me home. Said he might call me back with more questions later, but that was it. I think everything’s fine now.”

  I hadn’t realized how anxious I was about Gretchen’s situation until I felt relief flood through me. My fingers and toes tingled. “I’m so glad, Gretchen. I knew telling him was the right thing to do.”

  She held a towel to her chest, keeping her eyes downcast. “I know I should have told him sooner. I could have saved myself a lot of grief.”

  “At least you told him now. That’s the important thing.”

  A “Yoo-hoo” sounded from the front of the tent before she could say more. Gretchen dropped the towel back on the laundry pile and hurried toward the lobby area. I added my towel to the stack of folded ones and followed her.

  A middle-aged woman in pumpkin-colored stretch pants and a long yellow T-shirt waited at the hostess stand. Her face brightened when she saw us. “Gretchen, I can’t tell you the terrible week I’ve had. Thank goodness you had an opening this morning.”

  I could almost guarantee her week hadn’t been as bad as Gretchen’s. Based on the wink Gretchen gave me, I had a feeling she was thinking the same thing.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I told her. I smiled at the woman and walked out of the tent. I took a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air and enjoy the deep blue of the cloudless sky. An unusual amount of rain had hit Blossom Valley over the winter, and I was glad to see the sunny days returning.

  Off in the distance, I saw a man near the vegetable gardens, walking along the path toward the spa. As he got closer, I recognized Detective Palmer. Worry twisted my insides. Maybe he’d changed his mind about arresting Gretchen for lying to him. Maybe he was here to cart her off to the county jail.

  Gretchen and I might have celebrated too soon.

  Chapter 17

  I stood my ground and waited for Detective Palmer to get closer, wondering if there was anything I could say to keep him from hauling Gretchen away in handcuffs. When he was within earshot, I called out, “Detective Palmer, isn’t it great how Gretchen decided to help you guys with your investigation?”

  I heard a sigh escape his lips as he reached me. He crossed his arms over his navy blue polo shirt. “Exactly what do you know about it?”

  “I know she told you how she overheard two people arguing in the Pampered Life right before Carla was murdered.”

  His frown deepened. “You knew this before I did?”

  I stood there under his unrelenting gaze. The sun felt much warmer all of a sudden. In my efforts to help Gretchen, I might have landed in water hotter than the farm’s Jacuzzi. “The minute Gretchen told me what she’d heard, I insisted she contact you,” I assured him.

  “Good. I’m sure you know better than to keep information from the police.”

  “Absolutely.” I glanced back inside the tent, but Gretchen was nowhere in sight. She must have taken her client to one of the sections in the back. Still, I lowered my voice. “You’re not here to arrest her, are you?”

  Detective Palmer’s eyes locked on mine. “What makes you think that?”

  I shifted my weight. “Why else would you be here?”

  “That’s police business.”

  “Do you have any solid suspects at least?”

  “We’re exploring several avenues.”

  I’d noticed a long time ago that the detective had a knack for never actually answering my questions. Today was no exception. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got the situation well in hand.” I smiled.

  He didn’t smile back. “Is Gretchen in the spa right now?”

  “Yes, but she’s with a client.”

  “I’m sure she understands that a homi
cide investigation comes before her customers.”

  I held up my hands. “Of course. Only, I was thinking about the gossip that would start if people find out you were visiting her at work.”

  “I’ll be discreet. Now excuse me.”

  He moved past me into the tent. I was tempted to follow him, but I knew he’d order me right back outside. Besides, he’d implied that he wasn’t here to arrest Gretchen, and even if he was, there wasn’t anything I could do to stop him, as much as I’d like to think I could.

  With no work to keep me outside, I returned to the house. As I crossed the patio area, I could see a few people still eating breakfast in the dining room. Zennia was in the kitchen, sprinkling minced chives on a pile of scrambled eggs. A fresh pile of facon waited on paper towels on the counter. I almost snagged one of the salty brown strips, but then I remembered it was a processed vegetable product and left it on the counter.

  “Need me to serve?” I asked.

  Zennia wiped some egg bits off the plate’s rim. “That’s all right. I’m working on my last two orders right now.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in the office if you need me.” As I passed the doorway to the dining room, I could hear people talking while they ate their eggs and facon. I wondered if they knew what they were really eating.

  In the office Gordon was hunched over the printer. As I watched, he pressed several buttons on the control panel and then slapped the top of the printer.

  “Printer acting up again?” I asked from the doorway. “It kept jamming on me last week.”

  He whirled around and scowled. “The stupid thing keeps telling me it’s out of cyan. I’m trying to print an inventory list in regular black ink, but it won’t let me.”

  I stepped into the room and pulled open the supply drawer. “I’m guessing we don’t have a new cyan cartridge?”

  “No. I forgot to order a replacement when I installed the last one.” He checked his watch. “Look, I hate to ask, but could you run to town and get a new one? One of our suppliers is coming out any minute to discuss pricing, and I can’t leave. You’d be doing me a huge favor. I’d owe you one.”