A Healthy Homicide

by Staci McLaughlin

  I drove across town to Jason’s home in a quiet residential neighborhood that was a mix of retirees and young married couples. Everyone mowed their lawn and trimmed their hedges, and an ice cream truck cruised through the neighborhood most summer evenings. I pulled to the curb in front of the two-story duplex where Jason rented one side, and shut off the engine, humming to myself as I got out of the car. Jason opened the front door before I even got up the walk.

  I eyed his black apron with the words Kiss the Chef stitched across the front. “Is that a direct order?” I teased.

  “Absolutely,” Jason said.

  We kissed, and then I stepped into the house. Jason motioned for me to follow him to the kitchen, where his oval oak table was covered by a white tablecloth. Two candles, already lit, stood in silver candleholders. An opened bottle of chardonnay and two glasses waited off to one side.

  Jason poured a glass of wine for each of us and handed me one. I took a sip and wandered over to study what was on the counter. Piles of chopped vegetables covered the bamboo cutting board. Two fillets of delicate, pale fish lay on a paper towel–lined plate to the side of the sink.

  “What’s with all the vegetables?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I’m making ratatouille.” Before I could protest, he went on, “Don’t worry. I know it’s a lot of vegetables, but you’ll love it. Trust me.”

  “What’s the occasion?” In all the time we’d been dating, Jason had cooked for me only once, and that meal had involved a jar of spaghetti sauce, a package of dried spaghetti, and a loaf of frozen garlic bread, reflecting my own style of cooking.

  “As much as I loved those chili dogs you served the other night, I wanted to make a dish that was a little more, um, sophisticated.”

  I put one hand on my hip. “Are you mocking my chili dogs?”

  “Never. But I wanted to show you my own talent in the kitchen.” He led me to the living room, where I could hear a current R & B song coming from small speakers near the TV. “Enjoy the music, and I’ll start cooking the vegetables.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t sit around while you do all the work.”

  “I want you to. I’ll be done in five.”

  I settled on the supple leather sofa and sipped my wine, tapping my foot along to the music. I could hear Jason puttering around the kitchen for a few minutes, before he came into the living room and sat down next to me, his glass of wine in one hand.

  He placed his other hand on my knee, his expression one of concern. “You sounded upset on the phone earlier. What’s going on?”

  I focused on the blank TV while I thought about how best to phrase my answer. I knew Jason would be unhappy that I’d put myself in danger. “I had a little run-in with Erin at the spa.”

  Jason leaned toward me, almost spilling some wine. “What kind of run-in?”

  Careful to keep my gaze on the TV, I said, “The spa door was open when I was driving home, so I decided to pop in for a minute to see if Erin needed any help.”

  “Why would you think Erin was there?”

  “I ran into Stan at the supermarket. He told me she was packing up Carla’s things. Anyway, when I got inside, she wasn’t there, so I thought I’d take a quick look around. She caught me in the office and thought I was snooping.”

  I risked a peek at Jason. He was frowning. “You shouldn’t have gone in there alone like that. A woman was killed at that place, in case you forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget. But like I said, Erin wasn’t there when I first went in. And the spa is on a public street. The door was open. People were constantly going by.” A slight exaggeration, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “It was still a stupid thing to do,” Jason grumbled.

  I stiffened. “Look, Gordon’s worried about how this murder is affecting the spa. He noticed appointments are down, and he might lay off Gretchen because of it. She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean you have to put yourself in harm’s way.” Jason vigorously rubbed the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “What happened then?”

  Based on Jason’s already negative reaction, I decided to skip right over the part where Erin threatened me with the scissors. “Ricky showed up.”

  “What?” Jason yelled. Apparently, that answer wasn’t any better. He used his free hand to grab my shoulder, startling me with his intensity. “You were alone in the spa with two murder suspects?”

  “Only briefly. Plus, the door was open.” Now that I was sitting safely on Jason’s sofa, I could afford to be dismissive. I’d never let him know how scared I’d been at the time. I pointed toward the kitchen. “How’s the ratatouille coming along?”

  He looked at me like he’d never heard the word before. Then he jumped up from the sofa. This time, wine sloshed over the side of his glass. “Damn it!” He held his glass aloft and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard muttering and the sound of pots banging before he returned, his wineglass freshly topped off. He took his seat beside me.

  “Now that you’ve calmed down, would you like to know what I found out?” I asked.

  “Who says I’ve calmed down?”

  “I do. Eating ratatouille on an upset stomach is bad for digestion.”

  “Maybe more wine will help.” He drank half the glass in one giant gulp. “So what did you find out on your foolhardy errand?”

  I ignored the little dig. “Erin and Ricky admitted that Erin was in the car when Ricky had his accident.”

  “No surprise there. I was positive she was the one, and I’m pretty sure Detective Palmer knows it, too.”

  “Then why doesn’t he arrest her?”

  “He would if he had more evidence. He still might bring her in for further questioning.”

  I scooted forward on the sofa. “Speaking of Erin, she said something interesting about Carla offering Ricky money. What do you suppose that’s about?”

  Jason swirled the remaining wine in his glass. “No idea. Think she was trying to buy him off to leave Erin alone?”

  “It’s a possibility. Of course, Ricky might not have taken too kindly to that idea and might have killed her.”

  “Seems easier to simply refuse the money.”

  “I guess.” I set my wineglass on the table, thinking. “That’s two people who could have committed the crime, now that Erin’s alibi is no good.” I snapped my fingers. “That reminds me. I ran into Miguel at the spa today, and he was at some meeting when Carla was killed.”

  Jason leaned back on the sofa, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “That’s what he told you and the police, but I asked around, and no one remembers him at the work meeting he supposedly attended. More than one person noted his absence, in fact. What do you want to bet his alibi is as phony as Erin’s?”

  I stared at Jason as his news sank in. Son of a seaweed wrap. Miguel had lied to me.

  Chapter 25

  I slammed my fist down on the coffee table, rattling the wineglasses. “I knew it. I knew Miguel was hiding something. Worse yet, he lied to me, and I fell for it.” I didn’t know if I was madder at Miguel for being so dishonest or at myself for being so gullible.

  “Don’t forget he lied to the police, too,” Jason said. “Not just to you.”

  I stood and paced the confines of the small living room. Jason watched me with a bemused expression. “He had such a sob story,” I said. “All about how he was partly responsible for Carla’s death because she’d wanted him to skip the meeting that night and he’d insisted on going, anyway. How if he’d only met with Carla, she might still be alive.” I threw up my hands. “And I fell for that malarkey.” I stopped pacing. “If he wasn’t at the meeting, then where was he?”

  “Who knows? Detective Palmer mentioned a follow-up visit once he realized Miguel’s alibi was questionable, but I haven’t heard anything.” He held up one finger. “Hang on a sec. I need to check the fish.” He disappeared into the kitchen, while I resumed my pacing.

  After a moment he came b
ack in, holding the half-empty bottle of wine, and I joined him on the sofa, trying to calm myself. “Speaking of Detective Palmer, did he ever find that dog statue you mentioned?” I asked, picking up my glass.

  “No. It wasn’t in the office, and the police didn’t find it when they searched Carla’s home, either.”

  “So it probably is the murder weapon.”

  Jason drank some wine. “If the statue even exists. The police don’t want to speculate.”

  I set down my glass and rubbed my hands on my thighs. “I’m not sure it matters, anyway. Anyone could have grabbed the statue while arguing with Carla, so it doesn’t point us to one particular person.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “Okay, so far we have Miguel, Erin, and Ricky as people who could have killed Carla. Anyone else?”

  Jason refilled my wineglass and topped off his own before setting the bottle on the table. “Patricia and Stan,” he said.

  “Stan?” I’d almost forgotten about the guy. While he was as good a suspect as any, he struck me as so . . . unremarkable. Plus, he and his assistant were working the night Carla was killed. “But he has an alibi.”

  Jason stroked his goatee. “I’d forgotten. Although everyone’s alibi seems iffy at this point.”

  I considered this as I sipped my wine. Thinking about Stan’s alibi reminded me of Miguel’s. How had I not questioned it? Was it because those crocodile tears had looked so real?

  Jason cleared his throat. “I hate to bring this up. . . .”

  My stomach tightened at his tone. “Yes?”

  “Is there any chance Gretchen could have killed Carla? A witness did see her at the spa around the time Carla died, and Gretchen admitted to being there.” He was studying my face.

  I shook my head. “I won’t even consider it. Gretchen is too kind to murder someone. If she says she’s innocent, then I believe her.”

  “She started working at the spa only a few months ago. How well do you know her?” Jason said, pressing.

  “Well enough.”

  A timer dinged in the kitchen. I was grateful for the interruption.

  Jason rose from the sofa. “Dinner’s ready.” He held out a hand and helped me up. “If you feel like you might faint from my amazing cooking, give me some warning and I’ll rush you right into the bedroom to lie down,” he said, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

  I took his arm and leaned into him. “Ha! I may have to faint on purpose.”

  We walked out of the living room and over to the table, where he pulled out a chair at one of the place settings. I smiled up at him as I sat down; then I set my wineglass by the silverware.

  Jason grabbed both clean plates and took them to the stove. When he returned, the plates were covered with vegetables and fish. He put one before me and took the opposite seat, staring at me expectantly.

  I looked around the table for any seasonings or condiments I was supposed to add, but didn’t see any. “What?” I finally asked.

  “I’m waiting for you to take the first bite.”

  Picking up my fork, I speared a cube of eggplant and added a piece of fish. I put the bite in my mouth, feeling Jason’s eyes on me the entire time. After I’d swallowed, I said, “Delicious. Absolutely delicious.”

  Jason smiled. “See? Vegetables aren’t your enemy. I bet you’d even eat this again.”

  “Only if you make it for me.”

  He laughed. “At least you’re open to the idea.” He picked up his own fork. “Now let’s eat.”

  Two hours later I was back in my car, and Jason was watching me pull away from the curb. We’d lingered over dinner before cleaning up the kitchen and spending some time getting cozy on the sofa. After we parted, I drove through the quiet streets of Blossom Valley. Only the Get the Scoop ice cream parlor and the Breaking Bread Diner appeared to be open this late.

  At the apartment complex I pulled into my parking space and shut off the engine. The sound of my footsteps accompanied me as I crossed the lot and started up the stairs to the apartment. Off to my right, a cricket chirped from a nearby bush. The scent of wood smoke filled the air.

  When I was halfway up the stairs, I felt more than heard a rhythmic beat coming from my apartment. As I got closer, I could feel my insides vibrate in time with the rhythm. Uh-oh.

  I trotted up the last couple of steps and flung open the unlocked door. Loud music poured over me in waves, the pulse pounding away. Ashlee sat on the couch, the fingers of one hand splayed out on the coffee table. Across from her, Brittany sat on the floor, painting Ashlee’s nails.

  I rushed across the room to the stereo and cranked down the volume. Blissful silence fell on my ears.

  “Hey,” Ashlee barked, whirling around, “I was listening to that.”

  “So was everyone else in the complex. We don’t want another complaint from the neighbors.”

  Ashlee made a pouty face but didn’t protest further. I walked over to the couch and looked at Brittany’s handiwork. “Black fingernail polish? I didn’t know you liked the Goth look.”

  Ashlee stuck out her bottom lip. “I’m in mourning.”

  “Did someone die?” She didn’t look terribly upset, but you never knew with Ashlee.

  Brittany paused with the nail polish brush hovering over Ashlee’s pinkie nail. “She and Chip broke up. We’re having a closure ceremony.”

  “Closure ceremony?” How had I never heard of this before?

  “You know,” Brittany said, “she updated her relationship status on Facebook, deleted his contact info from her phone, and now I’m painting her nails. After that, we’re going to eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Each.”

  Ashlee sniffed. “We’re saying good-bye to what I thought was a supergood relationship.”

  I sat down next to Ashlee and patted her knee. “I had no idea you cared about Chip so much. I thought you were getting tired of him.”

  “I was, but I still planned to see him sometimes, when no other guys were free. I’d tagged him as my backup boy, but when I told him that, he said I could forget it. Now he’s gone.”

  “How tragic,” I said with a straight face.

  Brittany lifted her head. “I know, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she bent back over Ashlee’s hand.

  Ashlee turned to me, careful not to move her arm while Brittany worked. “How was dinner with your hubby?”

  Brittany glanced up. “When did you get married, Dana? Hey, Ashlee, we should live together when your sister moves out. We could turn it into a bachelorette pad.” She giggled.

  “Hey! I just moved in,” I said. “Besides, I’m not married.”

  “Might as well be,” Ashlee mumbled.

  Brittany stuck the brush back in the bottle and twisted the top. “I’m never getting married. No man is ever telling me when I need to have dinner ready and on the table.”

  “Actually, Jason made dinner for me tonight,” I said.

  Ashlee snickered. “Man, you have him trained like a puppy.”

  I swatted her arm. “I do not. And at least I have a man.”

  “Ooh, burn,” Brittany said as she scrutinized Ashlee’s nails.

  Ashlee stuck her tongue out at me. “Did he rub your feet while you two talked about rainbows and kittens?”

  “For your information, we spent most of the night talking about murder.”

  “Carla’s murder?” Brittany asked.

  I nodded. “We found out some interesting stuff about Carla’s niece, plus her boyfriend, Miguel.” I was careful not to provide Brittany with too many specifics. I wasn’t sure how much of what Jason had told me needed to be kept quiet.

  Brittany leaned forward. “That hot guy was her boyfriend? I thought she was seeing some old dude. At least that’s what I heard.”

  “Well, Miguel isn’t terribly old, but he is in his early fifties, I think.”

  “Sure doesn’t look it,” Brittany gushed.

  I had to agree with her on that point. Even with the lines around his eyes and the silver streaks in h
is hair, or maybe because of them, he was a good-looking man. I noticed Brittany staring at my hands, and I knew she was critiquing my nails. I curled up my fingers.

  “Let me paint those,” she said, reaching for my hands.

  I instinctively pulled back. “I don’t think black nails would go over well at the farm, especially with Gordon, the manager.”

  Brittany dug around in her tote bag and pulled out a bottle of pale orange polish. “How about Peach Fizz?”

  I tried to remember the last time I’d taken the time to paint my nails. Between cleaning the cabins, feeding the animals, and completing all the other odd jobs I did around the farm, I usually made it my main goal not to break any nails.

  “Sure. Why not?” It might feel nice to be the pampered one for a change. It would be the finishing touch after the dinner Jason had cooked for me.

  Brittany squealed with delight and whipped out a nail file.

  Ashlee jumped up from the couch. “While you two are yammering, I’m getting the ice cream. You want some, Dana? We got extra.”

  The fish and ratatouille had filled me up, but I could always find room for ice cream. “Sure, I’ll take a scoop.”

  Ashlee went into the kitchen, while Brittany started filing my thumbnail.

  “What were we talking about?” she asked as she worked.

  “Trying to figure out who might have killed Carla. Patricia and her husband are two more possibilities.”

  “I don’t know her husband, but you gotta watch out for that Patricia.”

  A kink formed in my shoulder from holding my arm out, and I tried to shift around to find a more comfortable spot while Brittany held tight to my hand. “She comes across as a little controlling, but she’s always been perfectly pleasant to me.”

  Brittany finished filing my nails, wiped down my fingers, and shook the bottle of polish. “I met her only a couple of times, but I could tell she’s one of those phonies. Talks all nice to you, and then she does stuff behind your back. Like, she didn’t even show up for the ribbon-cutting ceremony at the spa. Told Carla she had some huge stomach bug and could barely get out of bed, but I saw her that night eating dinner at the diner.”