We made short work of eating dinner. When we were finished, I rose from the table and carried my plate to the sink. I placed it in the dishwasher and dropped my fork in the silverware caddy. Mom and I cleared the rest of the table, while Ashlee checked her reflection in her dinner knife.
“How about a quick game of cards?” Mom asked as she wiped down the table with a damp rag.
“I’d feel terrible taking all your money after you made such a tasty dinner,” I said.
“Who says I won’t beat the pants off both of you?” Ashlee asked.
I went into the hall and opened up the game closet, then removed the poker chip case from the shelf. I carried it back to the table and unlatched it. “How about you put your money where your mouth is?”
We all sat down, and I divvied up the chips.
“Let’s play for more than a penny a chip tonight,” Ashlee said. “I’ve got my eye on a new pair of shoes.”
Mom pursed her lips. “The pennies are for fun, not to turn you into a professional gambler.”
“You know what’s fun,” Ashlee said, “is strip poker.”
I rolled my eyes, and Mom sighed. We all placed our ante in the middle of the table, and I pulled out the deck of cards. While I shuffled, Ashlee rattled on about some new guy she’d met at the vet’s office where she worked when he brought in his sick turtle. She paused in her rhapsodizing about how gorgeous the guy was to say, “Dana, we should get a turtle. They’re super easy to take care of.”
“I think a turtle still falls under the no-pet clause in our lease. But you could date this guy and take care of his turtle when you’re over at his place.”
Ashlee rearranged the cards in her hand and then folded. “Not a bad idea. That’ll show him how caring I am.”
“Does this mean you’re no longer seeing that other boy?” Mom asked as she tossed a chip onto the stack.
Ashlee scrunched up her nose. “I might still see him sometimes, but I don’t see any kind of future with him.”
That tended to happen with all of Ashlee’s boyfriends after the first month or two. “Well, good luck with this next one,” I said. Ashlee squinted at me to see if I was being sarcastic, but I simply smiled at her.
“So, Dana,” Mom said, “what else do you know about this new craft store? My bunco buddies and I are very excited about the opening. Esther and I might try making a quilt together.”
I folded my own hand of mismatched cards and watched as Mom swooped in and pulled the pile of chips over to her stack.
“Patricia Porter is opening it,” I said. “She’s the one who threw the Celebration of Life for the spa owner that I told you about. She plans to include workshops, although she didn’t tell me exactly what lessons she’ll offer. Considering how excited she is about opening the store, I’m sure she’ll teach people anything and everything.”
“I can’t wait,” Mom said as she started to shuffle. “Patricia Porter . . . Why does that name sound familiar?” She paused in her dealing and looked at Ashlee. “Didn’t she have a daughter in your grade?”
“Porter’s the last name? Not that I know of.” She looked off into the distance, absentmindedly fiddling with her poker chips. “Wait, now that I think about it, there was a girl named Dawn Porter, but she was in all the advanced classes, so I didn’t hang out with her much. Her mom was always on her case about her grades and getting into the top colleges. She could have relaxed more if she’d gone to some of the parties the other kids were throwing, but she was always such a stress case.”
“What parties?” Mom asked.
Ashlee’s eyes grew wide, and I could see her trying to think up an answer. Even with our childhood long behind us, nobody liked getting caught misbehaving. “Oh, you know, study parties at the library, that kind of thing.”
Yeah, right. I was pretty sure that Ashlee had never actually stepped inside the Blossom Valley library the entire time she’d been in school, except maybe to use the bathroom.
Mom set the rest of the deck down and picked up her hand of cards. “Nice try. Anyway, now that you mention Dawn, I remember her mom. She used to be a member of the PTA when you were in elementary school. She was the president, in fact. Ran that association like one of those controlling dance moms you see on TV.”
“I’ve spoken to her only a few times, but she definitely comes across as the take-charge type,” I said as I set two cards facedown and Mom dealt me two new ones.
“She told me once that since she never finished college and started her own career, she’d made raising her children to their highest potential her new career. Of course, she ran off almost everyone who belonged to the PTA. Membership was at an all-time low the second year she was president. People got tired of being roped into all her fund-raisers and projects.”
I wondered if Stan had ever attended those meetings. I could see him being her biggest fan. “I take it PTA president isn’t a position that people elect someone to?”
“By the time the next election came around, the only members left were people who liked her or those who were afraid of her.”
“That’s one way to win.” I fanned out my cards and tried to keep the smile off my face as I realized I had a flush. I cleared my throat. “Think I’ll try three chips this time,” I said as I tossed them into the middle.
Ashlee threw down her cards. “I’m out. You always clear your throat when you have a big hand.”
“I do not,” I said. Did I? I guessed I needed to work on my poker face.
We played for another hour, until Mom had amassed a huge pile of chips and Ashlee and I were both down to tiny stacks.
“Looks like you’re the big winner tonight, Mom,” I said.
Ashlee stuck her lip out. “Guess those shoes will have to wait until payday.”
“And until after you’ve paid me your share of the rent money.” I started putting the chips back in the case. “How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“I’ll let you girls off the hook this time,” Mom said. “It’s so nice to have you home again, even if it’s only for one evening.”
Eating dinner and playing games with Mom and Ashlee had felt so much like old times, that for a moment, I considered asking to sack out in my room for the night, under the Hello Kitty comforter that still graced the twin bed. But I shook off the feeling. My apartment was my new home.
I stowed the poker chip case and the cards where they belonged. “Guess I should get going,” I said. I pulled on my jacket. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”
Ashlee said, “Me too.”
I said good night to Mom and walked out with Ashlee. As I started my car, I felt one last wistful pull toward the house before I drove off into the night.
The next morning I stood in the middle of the kitchen and cursed the empty cupboards. I’d have to stop by the store and at least buy milk and cereal if I ever wanted to eat at home again. With no time to shop before work, I picked up a breakfast burrito at a fast-food joint on my way through town and drove out to the farm. The morning was unusually warm, and I decided to take ten minutes and sit at the picnic table on the patio to eat breakfast. The sparrows and robins accompanied my meal with a steady stream of chirps and trills, begging for a nibble. While I ate, I watched a dragonfly flit around the pool surface before zipping away.
As I popped the last bite in my mouth, one of the French doors to the dining room opened, and Miguel walked out. His appearance was so unexpected that I involuntarily gulped. I swallowed twice more to force the lump of burrito down my throat.
He saw the take-out bag and smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming. I guessed he wasn’t harboring any ill will from yesterday’s encounter. “A fast-food breakfast two mornings in a row. You must like them.”
“Mostly, I don’t like to grocery shop.” I wadded up the greasy wrapper and dropped it in the nearby trash can, saving the paper bag to place in the recycling bin when I got to the kitchen.
“I can relate. If it wasn’t for my trying to eat healthy as
much as possible, I’d never shop for groceries again. The gentleman in the lobby said the spa is back here.” He pointed toward the cabins. “Is that it?”
I shook my head. “Those are the guest cabins. The spa is farther down the trail.” I rose from the table. “I’ll show you.”
Miguel put up his hands in protest. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“No trouble at all.” Plus, this would give me the opportunity to talk to him privately about Carla.
We moved past the pool and toward the guest cabins. I was careful to keep my pace slow, but not so slow that he might notice.
“Have you heard anything from the police lately about Carla’s murder?” I asked, wondering if they were focusing on Miguel as a possible suspect. Did they know he was married? Surely the police had easy access to court records.
“They have stopped by more than once to ask questions but haven’t told me anything. I’d like to at least know they’re getting somewhere with their investigation. Carla deserves justice.”
“I’m sure they’re making progress.” I spotted a fuzzy caterpillar inching its way across the path. I used my paper bag to scoop the caterpillar up and move it to a patch of grass off to the side. A bird might eat it for a snack later, but at least no one would step on it. When I straightened up, I found Miguel smiling at me. “How did you two meet, anyway?”
His smile wilted. “At a chamber of commerce meeting. We got to talking and found we both had similar backgrounds in project management and business administration. We hit it off right away.”
“Sounds like a perfect match.” If only one half of that match hadn’t already been married. I tried to sneak a peek at his ring finger, but I was walking on the wrong side. He probably took the ring off the minute he left the house in the morning, anyway.
“Yes, and we both valued our independence. We wanted to keep the relationship casual.”
A casual relationship was about all Carla could expect given the circumstances.
“I only wish I’d had a chance to say good-bye.” Miguel’s regretful tone caught me off guard, and I glanced over. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were moist.
I softened my tone. Even if he was a no-good cheating scoundrel, he could have still cared deeply for Carla. “I think everyone has that thought when a loved one dies unexpectedly. I felt the same way when my father passed away.”
“Things were going so well between us,” he said. “I realize now that I assumed we’d go on like that forever.”
We were nearing the spa, and I felt like I hadn’t learned anything useful on my little walk with Miguel.
“Did you ever visit Carla at the Pampered Life?” I asked, making a last-ditch effort.
“A few times. Of course, her place was open only a couple of weeks before she . . . well, you know.” He cleared his throat and looked away. After a moment, he spoke again. “I’d stop by after work sometimes, and we’d go to dinner or get coffee.”
A piece of the puzzle snapped into place. “Did she leave the back door unlocked for you?”
His head swiveled in my direction. “How did you know?”
“Just a hunch.” I wondered how many other people knew about this habit. Was her murder planned around this easy access, or did the killer catch a lucky break? “Were you supposed to have dinner with her that night?”
“No. I had a meeting.”
I almost groaned aloud in my disappointment. Here I’d pegged him as the most likely suspect, and he had an alibi.
“But I think she left the door unlocked all the time, in case I stopped by.” He jerked to a halt. “My God, do you think the killer knew that Carla normally did that?”
“It’s possible.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “She wanted me to skip my meeting, you know. Said I’d have more fun with her. She was right, but I had already missed the last meeting and felt I had to go. If only I’d listened to her.” He turned away from me and swiped his eyes.
He seemed to be honestly grieving her loss. My heart seized up at his obvious pain. “Even if the killer used the back door to gain entry, you can’t blame yourself.”
“I need to blame someone.”
“Then blame the person who killed her,” I said.
He looked at me, and I saw a flash of anger in his soft brown eyes. “Trust me, I do.”
We’d reached the entrance to the spa. “Here we are,” I said.
Miguel smoothed down his hair, rubbed his eyes one more time, and stepped inside the tent. I heard him say, “I’m Miguel, your nine o’clock appointment.”
“You’re the one with the possible torn muscle?” Gretchen asked. “Right this way.” Their voices faded as they moved away from the entrance.
When I could no longer hear anything, I retraced my steps toward the cabins, thinking about my conversation with Miguel. It struck me as odd that he had used the back entrance to the spa for his clandestine meetings with Carla, and yet he had attended her Celebration of Life, as if he had nothing to hide.
At any rate, he was clearly crushed by Carla’s death. But were those tears based on grief over Carla’s untimely demise or guilt over killing her?
Chapter 20
When I returned to the farmhouse, I forced myself to concentrate on finishing my write-up for Esther’s composting class so I could post it to our Web site. After that, I fine-tuned the ad I planned for the Blossom Valley Herald. When I was satisfied, I called the paper to talk about prices and placement. That accomplished, I headed for the kitchen. Lunch was fast approaching. Since I didn’t have any additional marketing work at the moment, I’d see if Zennia needed my help.
I sniffed the air as I walked into the kitchen. The aroma was tangy and sweet. At the stove, Zennia was stirring something in a pot. I crossed the room and peered in.
“That smells scrumptious. What is it?” I asked.
“Mustard sauce to pour over the tilapia I’m serving for lunch. It has almost no fat but still manages to taste truly decadent.”
“I’m sure the guests will love it.” I was continually impressed by Zennia’s wealth of food knowledge. That didn’t mean I always wanted to eat what she was offering, but this particular recipe description made my mouth water. “If there’s any extra left over from lunch, could I have it?”
Zennia’s mouth fell open a little, but she recovered quickly. “You’re volunteering to eat my food?”
“Just this once. I promise not to make a habit of it.” I looked at the kitchen counters and noted the absence of any side dishes. “In the meantime, do you need any help?”
“I’m not expecting very many people, but I do need to finish the entrée. Think you could make a quick garden salad? Only if you don’t have other work, of course.”
“I’m all yours at the moment.” I went to the refrigerator and gathered a head of red-leaf lettuce and a couple of cucumbers and carrots.
We worked in companionable silence. While I washed the lettuce, sliced the cucumbers, and peeled and shredded the carrots, Zennia stirred and seasoned her sauce. When twelve o’clock arrived, I filled individual salad bowls, drizzled on some homemade poppy seed dressing, and carried two bowls into the dining room. Only four people sat at the tables. We normally drew a larger lunch crowd with our spa and lunch combos, and I wondered where everyone was.
I went back to the kitchen for two more bowls, and then I stood inside the door of the dining room, filling the occasional request for extra dressing or more water. Out the French doors, I saw two women sit down at one of the picnic tables. I grabbed two sets of silverware rolled in napkins from the sideboard and went to the kitchen for two more salads.
I carried everything outside and set it before the women. As one of the women unrolled her napkin, she dropped her knife on the cement. I bent down and retrieved it.
“Let me run inside and get you another one.” I glanced up as I spoke and recognized the thirtysomething brunette and her blond companion as t
he same two who had dined here a few days ago, the ones who had first mentioned Carla dating a married man. What else might they know?
I hurried inside for another knife and brought it outside. After I handed the knife to the woman, I lingered a moment to see what they’d talk about, but they were discussing a television show they’d both watched the night before. Disappointed, I moved back inside to make sure the other diners didn’t need anything.
For the next few minutes, I stayed busy as I brought requested items and cleared away plates. While I moved around, I kept my eye on the two women sitting outside. They hadn’t stopped talking once, but every time I went out to the patio, they were discussing celebrity gossip. By the time I went outside to remove their plates, I’d about given up hope.
Then the brunette at my elbow brushed some dandruff off her shoulder and whispered to her companion, “Turn around. There she is.”
The little hairs on my neck prickled. As the blonde craned her head to check behind her, I looked up in anticipation and felt my stomach plunge. Gretchen was approaching the pool area from the direction of the spa. She was undoubtedly the target of the woman’s remark.
The blonde turned back around and tapped her fingers on the table. Her penciled-in eyebrows were raised so high, they almost reached her hairline. “I can’t believe this place hasn’t fired her yet. She might have killed that lady.”
“I bet they can’t fire her until the police arrest her. You know how everyone sues the second they get canned nowadays.”
“Still, you’d think she’d quit. The humiliation alone would keep me hiding in my house.”
During this little exchange, I’d been moving the silverware around, stacking and restacking the plates, and doing anything else to appear occupied. The blonde cleared her throat and jerked her head in my direction, as if I somehow wouldn’t notice the movement. They both stopped talking.
“Care for any dessert?” I asked.
“Just coffee,” the brunette said. She ran her tongue over her teeth and brushed at her shoulder again.
A Healthy Homicide Page 14