“Good for her.” Mom lowered her voice and leaned in, keeping one eye on the dressing room area. “I don’t want to upset you, but Sue Ellen is hearing a lot of tittle-tattle about your masseuse. People are convinced she’s involved in that murder. More than one person has told Sue Ellen they won’t go to the spa as long as she’s working there.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my forehead. “I’ve heard similar remarks. Unfortunately, this kind of talk won’t die down until the police make an arrest.”
“I just hope they don’t arrest your masseuse,” Mom said. “That’ll damage the reputation of Esther’s place.”
“Sounds like the damage has already started.” I felt worry gnaw at my gut. “Say, Mom, maybe you could ask your friends to book a session at the spa? Only until the police clear everything up, of course.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. So many of my friends love being pampered. They’ll jump at the idea. Consider it done.”
The woman came out of the back area, dressed in her original clothes and carrying the emerald-green dress like it was a priceless heirloom.
“I need to ring her up,” Mom said.
“And I need to grab my lunch before my hour is completely gone. I just wanted to say hi.”
“I’m glad you did.” Mom gave me a quick hug before she hurried to the register.
I went out the door and back across the street to where my car waited outside Patricia’s shop. As I climbed inside, I could see the workmen moving around through the window. I didn’t see Patricia, but I suspected she was lurking nearby.
I stopped on my way out of town for a fish sandwich and fries to go. As I drove back to the farm, I thought about what Mom had said about people avoiding the spa. Gordon had already commented that appointments were down. If he found out the situation was even more serious than he believed, he’d insist that Esther fire Gretchen immediately. There’d be no way Gretchen—or I—could change his mind.
I parked the car and followed the path to the kitchen. As I walked through the back door, I heard Zennia gasp. She jumped up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table and dashed over to open the trash can. I heard the crinkle of cellophane as she threw something in.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked her.
She whirled around, rapidly chewing whatever was in her mouth. She squeezed out a muffled “No.”
Not sure why Zennia was acting so oddly, I moved over to where she stood and lifted the trash can lid. On top of the pile of detritus sat a familiar wrapper. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Zennia, are you eating a Twinkie?”
She held up a hand while she finished swallowing. “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said as soon as she could speak.
I felt a huge grin spread over my face. “I’m thinking that for all your lectures about how the food you put in your mouth determines whether your body thrives or fails, you like the occasional unhealthy treat as much as the rest of us.”
She pushed the trash can lid down. “I do not. It’s only this one time. I gave in to a childhood treat, is all.”
After the grief she’d given me over the past few months when she caught me eating anything deep-fried or sugar filled, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “I don’t know that. You could be in this kitchen all day long, stuffing your face with Ring Dings and miniature powdered doughnuts.”
She swiped at her mouth, as if telltale crumbs might still be lingering there. “Twinkies are my one weakness. My grandmother used to keep a supply at her house for my after-school snack. Eating one always brings back those wonderful memories. Plus, I had a bowl of seaweed soup first to counterbalance all that sugar.”
Her mention of the seaweed soup reminded me of my fish sandwich. I grabbed a plate out of the cupboard and a napkin out of the holder. “Is it my imagination, or are you cooking foods that are almost normal lately? Even the seaweed soup looked a bit tame, compared with other dishes I’ve seen you make.”
“I had an epiphany,” Zennia said. “As much as I love introducing guests to new dishes, not all my creations have been well received. I’ve decided the most important thing is for people to eat healthy, even if they stick with the more tried-and-true foods.”
I set my lunch on the table and sat down while Zennia washed a dish in the sink. “If your other creations are anything like that fish with mustard sauce you made the other day, count me in.” I bit into my sandwich.
As I swallowed my bite, Gretchen came in the back door, singing to herself. She broke off when she saw us, and said, “Hey, guys.” She went to the refrigerator and started poking through the contents on the shelves, eventually pulling out a carton of yogurt. “So I did have one more in here.”
I gestured to the chair across from me. “Care to join me?”
She grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sat down. “For a minute.”
Zennia dried her hands and glanced at the rooster clock. “Wish I could stay, too, but I’ve got an herb garden to tend to.” She went out the back door while Gretchen pulled the foil top off her yogurt.
“Busy afternoon coming up?” I asked. Surely not all of her clients had abandoned her, even if Sue Ellen seemed to think so.
“I’ve got a session in ten minutes with that one guy, Miguel. Thanks for pointing him in my direction, by the way. He told me you were the reason he called for an appointment.”
From the way she spoke, I realized Gretchen didn’t know exactly who Miguel was or his relationship to Carla. I was curious to know her opinion. “What do you think of him?”
Gretchen shrugged noncommittally, but her cheeks took on a pink tinge. “He seems nice. Um, he did suggest we might have dinner sometime.”
My nose twitched. Something suddenly stank, and it wasn’t my fish sandwich. “Gretchen, I don’t know how to break this to you, but Miguel’s married.”
“What?” Gretchen asked in disbelief. “Why do I always attract guys like that?”
“Not to mention he was dating Carla before she was killed.”
Gretchen almost dropped her spoonful of yogurt. “You gotta be kidding me. And now he’s asking me out? What’s wrong with that guy?”
“Good question.” I chomped down on my sandwich, taking out my disgust on the fish fillet.
Gretchen shoved back from the table and rose. “I can’t wait to get this appointment over with. I’m not sure I want him as a client anymore after what you told me.”
“Maybe once his leg heals, he won’t come back.”
“Or maybe I’ll make sure I’m booked solid whenever he tries to schedule a session.”
I chuckled. “That’s another solution. In any case, let me know if he says anything interesting while he’s here. You know, like how guilty he feels about killing his girlfriend.”
“Don’t I wish. Then all my problems would be solved.” She rinsed out her yogurt container before tossing it in the recycling bin, dropped her spoon in the sink, and trudged out the back door.
I pushed thoughts of Miguel from my mind while I finished my lunch and then went into the office to grab the digital camera from the desk drawer. I tried to update the farm’s Web site every few weeks. While I could reuse some of the vegetable garden photos from the brochure, I wanted to capture the vivid reds and yellows of the spring flowers that had recently bloomed.
After taking half a dozen photos of the daffodils that lined the path leading to the guest cabins, I moved on to the wildflowers that grew among the shrubs, managing to capture a photograph of a bee as it landed on a bright orange poppy.
At the corner of the first cabin, a purple flower caught my eye. I’d just squatted down to get a close-up shot when I heard, “I’d use my camera on that cute guy over by the tent.”
I glanced behind me to find an attractive woman in her late forties standing nearby. I’d seen her visit Gretchen for various spa services before, but I didn’t know exactly who she was. She was staring off into the distance, and I rose from my crouched position to follow her gaze. I saw Miguel a
t the entrance to the spa tent, talking to Gretchen.
“Man, is he smokin’,” the woman said. She saw my raised eyebrows and laughed. “He’s probably too old for you, but he’s right in my ballpark. I’ve had my eye on him for a while now.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
She winked at me. “Not as well as I’d like to. I’m friends with one of his cousins. I bump into him every now and again at family gatherings, things like that. I haven’t seen him in a few months, but now that he’s single again, I might have to try my luck.”
Single? What about his wife? Or did she see Carla’s death as her big opportunity to snatch up Miguel for a little side action, never mind his wife? “Aren’t you the least bit upset that the woman he was seeing was murdered?” I asked. I couldn’t keep the judgmental tone out of my voice.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Who are you talking about?”
“Miguel’s girlfriend, Carla. Isn’t that who you were talking about when you said he was single again?”
The woman raised a hand to her chest. “He has a girlfriend? I was talking about his wife.”
“His wife?” I said stupidly.
“Yeah, he finally divorced the old battle-ax. I figure he’s ready to jump in the dating pool again. But you’re saying he already has.”
She kept talking, but I tuned her out. Miguel was divorced? What did that mean for Carla’s murder?
I was more confused than ever.
Chapter 28
I struggled to come to grips with Miguel’s marital status. I needed to rethink everything I thought I knew about the guy. No wife meant no motive. He was a freewheeling single male who could date whomever he wanted. There went all my theories about why he might have killed Carla.
“You okay?” the woman asked me.
I brought my attention back to her and shook my head. “Guess I got lost in my thoughts.”
She nudged me with her elbow. “He’s coming this way. How do I look?” She smoothed down her hair and stuck out her chest.
Miguel reached us before I could answer.
“Hi, Miguel,” the woman sang, thrusting her chest out even more. She’d better watch it, or she’d throw her back out.
Miguel flashed his straight white teeth. “Why, Valerie, it’s been far too long. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Oh, here and there. I’ve been volunteering at my son’s school. You know how I love working with children.”
“It’s one of your sterling qualities.” He nodded toward me. “And, Dana, you’re looking lovely, as always.”
I considered my navy blue polo shirt and khakis with fresh dirt stains on the knees. “Um, thanks.” Now that I knew Miguel was divorced, I was looking at him in a whole new light. He wasn’t some sleazy married guy with no morals. He was a single guy playing the field. No law against that.
Valerie stepped up to Miguel’s side and laid a hand on his arm. I noticed she managed to lean a boob against him, too. “Will I be seeing you at Patty’s birthday party next weekend?” she cooed.
“I’m planning to stop by. I’ll look for you.”
“Be sure that you do,” Valerie gushed as she squeezed his arm. I felt like I was getting a free lesson in Flirting 101.
Miguel patted her hand and shifted away from her. “I must bid you ladies adieu. Work calls.” He strolled down the path, hands in his pockets.
Valerie turned back to me, feeling her cheek. “Does the spa have chemical peels?”
“No, but we do offer facials with all-natural ingredients.”
Valerie waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good, but it won’t get rid of these wrinkles before that party. Guess I’ll cancel my massage. I don’t have much time to whip myself into shape.”
I wanted to tell her that all the time in the world wouldn’t turn back the clock and make her a twenty-something vixen, but she’d already rushed off to talk to Gretchen.
When she was out of sight, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. I was about to hit Jason’s number when one of the nearby cabin doors opened. A couple emerged, laughing and talking. They said hello on their way by, and I decided that the middle of the path was not the best location to make a private phone call.
Still holding my phone, I cut past the cabins and followed the Chicken Run Trail, careful not to walk too far in among the trees. Reception tended to be spotty farther along the path. I stopped under an oak tree and listened for any sound. Other than the hum of insects and an occasional bird chirping, the area was silent.
Certain I wouldn’t be overheard, I made the call.
“Hey, Dana,” Jason said when he answered. His words were slightly distorted.
“Did I interrupt your lunch?” I asked.
“I’m eating a sandwich at my desk, but I’d much rather talk to you.”
At his words, I got that warm, fuzzy feeling that was becoming a regular sensation anytime I talked to Jason. “You’ll never guess why I called.”
“You won a free cruise, and I’m the lucky guest?”
“No.”
“You’ve secretly been taking striptease lessons and need to practice on me for homework?”
“No.” Although that one did sound tempting.
“Too bad,” Jason said. “I give up. Why’d you call?”
My grip tightened as I pictured how excited he’d be at my news. “Miguel is divorced. He wasn’t cheating on a jealous wife, after all. Or even a wife who wasn’t jealous. That means he had no reason to kill Carla.”
“Huh.”
I hadn’t expected Jason to drive straight over to celebrate my discovery, but I had anticipated a little more enthusiasm. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Sorry. You did an excellent job finding out Miguel is single.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I said, not hiding my irritation.
I heard typing over the phone. “I’m not, but even if Miguel doesn’t have a wife, he still lied about his alibi. I have to wonder why.”
In my excitement over the divorce, I’d forgotten about Miguel’s nonexistent alibi. “Let’s think. Maybe he panicked. Maybe he doesn’t have any way to prove where he was that night, and was worried the police would arrest him if he couldn’t establish his whereabouts.”
“They’d need a lot more than that,” Jason said. “Lots of people can’t provide evidence of where they were on any given day.”
“He might not know that. Spouses and boyfriends are usually at the top of a cop’s suspect list.” But it did seem odd. Where had Miguel been that night? Assuming he wasn’t the one who killed Carla, why else would he need to lie?
Jason broke into my thoughts. “Okay, let’s say Miguel has no motive. Who does that leave us with?”
I used my free hand to count off the suspects. “Erin, of course. Carla didn’t approve of her relationship with Ricky and threatened to kick Erin out of the house. Ricky, for the same reason . . . Plus, Carla withdrew her offer to give Ricky a loan for school.” I paused for breath. “Then there’s Patricia, who wanted to partner with Carla on the spa, but Carla turned her down. Plus, Stan, who . . .” My voice trailed off. I still had no ideas about Stan.
Jason read my mind. “Even without a motive, we gotta keep him on the list.”
“Yeah, we should. You know, I was talking to Patricia, and she got all bent out of shape when I mentioned I’d spoken to Stan. Remember how I told you I ran into him last night at the grocery store?”
“Yes, that was right before you went to the spa by yourself, and Erin caught you,” he said dryly. “I remember.”
I kept talking before he got sidetracked by my lack of judgment. “Anyway, I thought it was some weird control thing that she didn’t like people talking to her husband when she wasn’t around, but maybe that wasn’t the reason. Maybe Patricia knows Stan killed Carla for whatever reason, and she’s afraid he’ll bust out with a confession if she’s not there to stop him.”
The phone was silent for so long that I th
ought my call had been dropped. Then Jason spoke again. “Does Stan strike you as the type to have emotional outbursts?”
I visualized Stan in his conservative suit, buying his wife’s feminine hygiene products. “Well, no. He’s definitely a steady Eddie. Aren’t most accountants? But maybe the guilt’s getting to him.”
“Sorry. I’m not buying it.”
I sighed. “Me neither. Especially since he has an alibi.”
I heard whistling behind me and whirled around, my heart thumping. I wasn’t sure who to expect, but it was only an older gentleman, whom I recognized as one of the guests. He wore a straw hat on his head and had a pair of binoculars around his neck. He carried a book about birds in one hand.
“Oops. I gotta go,” I told Jason.
“Me, too, but let me know if you find out anything else.”
“Right back atcha.” I clicked off, said hello to the man, and headed back to the house.
I waved to Berta and the chickens on my way past the chicken coop and cut through the hedge near the redwood tree. A man was soaking in the Jacuzzi, a glass of wine nearby. Another man and a woman were playing Scrabble at one of the picnic tables. I slipped in the French doors of the dining room and crossed the hall to the office.
Once in my chair, I downloaded the scant few photos from the camera onto the computer and realized I needed to take a lot more before I could update the Web site. I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the farm, taking photos of anything interesting that caught my eye and trying to get the pigs and chickens to cooperate. They had an uncanny knack for turning around right when I clicked a photo, giving me plenty of shots of their backsides. I deleted those.
By the time I finished sorting through the pictures and picking the best ones for the site, it was time to go home. I decided to leave through the kitchen door so I could say good-bye to Wilbur. I followed the path to the pigsty and stopped a moment to give him a friendly pat before moving on. As I passed the spa entrance, Gretchen came out, pulling on her jacket. I slowed my steps and waited for her to catch up before I resumed my regular pace.
“Heading home?” I asked.
A Healthy Homicide Page 19