Going Organic Can Kill You

by McLaughlin, Staci

  Someone was dead in there.

  22

  I sat frozen in the dirt, staring at the trailer. The fake eggs and bacon roiled in my stomach as I recalled the scene inside. Whose arm was that? It must belong to Queenie. Could she be alive?

  Not a chance. I recognized the smell of death. And the odor was three times as strong here as when I’d found Maxwell’s body. I needed help. Now.

  With a last look at the open trailer door, I jumped up and ran to my Honda. Twice I stumbled on the uneven dirt but kept running. When I reached my car, I wrenched the door open and pawed through the contents of my purse until I found my phone. Reception bars lit up the screen and I almost sobbed in relief.

  After a quick call to the 911 operator, who instructed me to wait for emergency crews, I stood by the hood, trying to regain a bit of control. How could I have found another dead body so soon after the last? What were the odds?

  Across the field, the trailer door swayed slightly in the light wind, emitting a squeak. Bees buzzed to the side of me, a steady reminder that life still existed.

  A breeze tickled the nape of my neck and I whirled around. The copse of trees and shrubs loomed behind me, blotting out the road that led to freedom. A rustling in the grass reached my ears and I swung back around. Probably a feral cat. I sensed the shadows behind me again and my skin prickled.

  I clutched my cell phone and climbed back into the car. I yanked the power lock button three times, listening to the click each time, and then checked my rearview mirror. Only the trees reflected back.

  How had Queenie died, if her body was the one lying in the trailer? I’d only met her once, but judging by her Medusa hair and filthy teeth, health care wasn’t high on her list of concerns. She might have had cancer, or even malaria. But I’d had the same question about Maxwell, and look how that had turned out. Better wait for the authorities to determine the cause of her death.

  Movement in the rearview mirror caught my eye, and I swung around in my seat. A fire truck rolled down the lane, oak tree branches snapping against the side, shrubs scratching the tires. I got out of the car and the truck pulled up next to me, engine rumbling, revealing an ambulance and an unmarked police car behind the massive vehicle.

  Detective Caffrey stepped out of the car, dressed in a navy blue polo shirt and khaki-colored Dockers, his scalp gleaming between the hairs of his buzz cut. If he’d had a whistle around his neck, he’d have been the spitting image of a high school gym coach. He said something to the paramedics, and they trotted toward the trailer, slowing to a walk after one guy stepped in the gopher hole and almost fell. They disappeared inside, but one paramedic immediately reemerged.

  He started back across the rough ground and Detective Caffrey met him halfway. They conferred for several moments, then the other paramedic stepped out of the trailer. Even in the quiet field, I could only hear the murmur of voices. But the fact that the paramedics weren’t in a rush confirmed my certainty that Queenie, or whoever was in the trailer, was dead.

  Of course, I’d know that for sure if I wandered over to the men. Surely Detective Caffrey would want to speak with me, and if I just happened to overhear what the paramedics were saying while fulfilling my civic duty, he couldn’t get mad. Could he?

  I made my way over the crumbly ground and reached the trio just as one paramedic said, “ligature marks.” Then he spotted me over the detective’s shoulder and stopped talking.

  Ligature marks? Didn’t they use that term when someone was strangled? Or was it when someone had been tied up?

  Detective Caffrey glanced at me, his frown deepening, then turned back and nodded to the paramedics before facing me.

  Without a word, he put a hand on my elbow and led me a few feet away. When he spoke, the smell of coffee reached my nose.

  “Ms. Lewis, explain to me how you managed to stumble across yet another body.”

  I shook his hand off my elbow and crossed my arms. “I stopped by to chat with Queenie on my way to work this morning.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you and Queenie were such good friends.” The sarcasm oozed from his voice like a dollop of honey on a drizzle stick.

  “We’re not. But you blew me off when I mentioned how Queenie saw a couple of people near her property, and I wanted to find out what else she might know.”

  Detective Caffrey pulled his notebook from his pants pocket and flipped through the pages so fast a page ripped off. He stuffed it under another page and kept flipping until he reached a blank one. “You sure don’t listen very well. I told you to back off and let us do our jobs.”

  “Look, if I can find out new information, you might solve the murder faster.”

  The detective wiped a hand across his mouth, probably brushing away all the dirty words he wanted to shout at me. “Never mind that now. Let’s focus on the events of the morning. What did you do when you got here?” he said.

  I pointed to my car. “I parked right there and called out to Queenie. When she didn’t answer, I banged on her trailer door. It came open, I got a whiff of the interior, saw an arm, and called you guys.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see any other cars on the road when you drove in?” he asked.

  “No.” Would it have been better if I’d seen a car? Someone to back up my claim for when I arrived? Or did he think the killer might still be nearby? Detective Caffrey’s expression provided no answers and I waited for his next question.

  “Did you touch anything? We may need to fingerprint you for comparison.”

  Fingerprint me? Like a criminal? “Are you saying Queenie was murdered?”

  “How do you know the body is Queenie? You told the 911 operator that you didn’t step inside the trailer.”

  My throat constricted as a ball of anger swelled. “Stop trying to trick me. Who else would be in that trailer?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who keeps finding bodies.”

  My breathing quickened at his question. “I’m having a run of bad luck. Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with either death?”

  Detective Caffrey removed his sunglasses. “All I’m saying is that in my professional experience, no one discovers two bodies in one week unless they are somehow involved.”

  I blew out a gust of air, along with my exasperation. “Look, Detective Caffrey. I don’t like your insinuations that I had anything to do with Queenie’s death. I mean, that trailer stank. She’s been dead a while.”

  “The medical examiner will determine time of death.” Detective Caffrey flipped the notebook closed. “You can go, but make sure you’re available for more questions.” He stalked off toward the trailer.

  I watched his back, not sure where to go, what to do. Work was the last thing on my mind, but I had an obligation to Esther.

  Two bodies in four days. In Blossom Valley. Was Queenie’s death tied to Maxwell’s murder? Too early to jump to conclusions. Queenie could have tripped over a honey jar and broken her neck, for all I knew.

  The sound of snapping twigs carried across the field and I looked in the direction of the farm. Gordon came thundering out of the underbrush like a charging rhino, if a rhino wore a pin-striped suit and too much hair gel. I saw Detective Caffrey momentarily rest his hand on the butt of his gun before relaxing.

  Gordon marched across the terrain, impervious to the holes and ruts, and stopped before the trailer. He spoke with Detective Caffrey for a moment, the detective shaking his head repeatedly, then Gordon saw me.

  Oh, joy.

  He stomped over, burrs sticking to his slacks, twigs clinging to the gel in his hair. “What happened with the crazy lady?”

  “Queenie?” Maybe mentioning her name would remind Gordon that yesterday she was a living, breathing person. “All I know is she’s dead.”

  Gordon scowled. “Better not be another murder. Think what that’ll do to the farm.”

  How about the poor dead people? Did he care about them at all?

/>   I looked back at where he’d burst through the shrubbery. “How did you even know anything had happened?”

  Gordon had been picking the burrs off his pant leg, and he now straightened up. “Why do you ask?”

  “Wondering what brought you over here. The trailer isn’t exactly in the middle of downtown, and you can’t see it from most places on the farm.”

  “If you must know, Esther told me about the hot springs and I went to check out the area. I saw the emergency vehicles from there.”

  That didn’t sound right. When I’d been at the springs with Sheila, I hadn’t noticed a view to Queenie’s trailer. In fact, I’d thought her property was much farther south. “You can see her trailer from there?”

  “If you know where to look.” He avoided my gaze and picked at his pants again.

  Gordon wasn’t normally one to act coy. I wondered what was really going on, not that he’d tell me.

  “You working today?” he asked.

  I ran down the options. Go home and mope. Go to the farm and mope. Go home and watch bad daytime TV. Go to the farm and suffer Zennia’s cooking. At least her food would distract me from my late-morning discovery. And the aroma of Brussels sprouts might replace the smell of death that clung to my nostrils, barging into my awareness at unexpected moments. Then again, the sprouts might add to the stench.

  “I’ll give work a try. Did you want a lift to the farm?”

  Gordon pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I don’t mind the walk.”

  Good. Much as I wanted to know why he was lying about seeing the vehicles from the hot springs, being trapped in a tiny automobile with Gordon was not on my list of things to do today. Of course, neither was finding a body.

  “I’ll see you over there, then,” I said.

  As I walked to my car, I kept an eye on Detective Caffrey, half expecting him to wave me down and insist I stay for more questions, but he was talking to a fireman by the trailer and didn’t notice me.

  With a puff of dust and a spin of tires, I turned around and drove down the lane, squeezing past the emergency vehicles. A few right turns brought me to the farm and I parked in the lot. The news crews were completely absent today, thank goodness. Guess they hadn’t heard about Queenie’s death.

  I walked in the front door to the lobby, grateful no one was waiting, eased down the hall, and slipped into the office, closing the door with barely a whisper. Explaining the situation to anyone sounded like too much work at the moment. Gordon could spread the word when he got back. Right now, I’d focus on my job and type up today’s blog.

  For the next hour, I sat before the keyboard, pounding out a piece describing the benefits of the sun and how even an overnight stay at the spa would expose you to hours of sunlight, whether while participating in Christian’s yoga classes or walking on the trails. Every so often, I heard voices in the hall as people walked by the office but no one opened the door. After the first draft was complete, I saved the file and stood. Couldn’t hide out forever.

  The hall was empty when I opened the door, but I heard voices in the lobby, one of which sounded like Jason’s. My heart hammered at the thought of seeing him, and my hand flew to my hair to brush down the errant strands before I made my way down the hall.

  In the lobby, Tiffany and Jason chatted by the front door, Tiffany all giggles. When he saw me, Jason smiled, making my insides melt into a puddle.

  “Dana, I’m glad to see you.”

  Tiffany glanced at Jason, then raised her eyebrows at me, grinning. “Looks like I’m in the way here.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said.

  Jason spoke up. “Actually, I need to talk to you in private. About Queenie.”

  My stomach sank. If Jason wanted to question me, Queenie most likely hadn’t died of natural causes.

  Tiffany waved her hand. “I’m hitting the beach over in Mendocino today, so don’t let me interrupt you two cuties.” She sashayed out the door, drawing attention to the snug fit of her sweatpants. According to the glittery letters on the back, her butt was “Hot Stuff.”

  To his credit, Jason didn’t even notice. He sat in one of the wingback chairs and patted the cushion of the other one.

  “Sit. Tell me about finding Queenie.”

  I sat in the indicated chair and glanced at my knees. Blond stubble poked out in all directions where I’d missed a few spots while shaving in a hurry this morning. I placed my hands over the offending area.

  “What have you heard?” I asked.

  “I spoke to the cops at the trailer. Detective Caffrey tried to keep the info from me, but one of my buddies from the department was out there. He said they’re waiting for the autopsy but someone most likely strangled her.”

  God, how horrible. Putting your hands around someone’s throat and squeezing the life out of them seemed so personal compared to a quick jab to the gut.

  “This has to be related to Maxwell’s death,” I said.

  Jason nodded. “Two murders so close together are absolutely connected. But how?”

  I thought about the only time I’d spoken to Queenie, her vague ranting and raving. “When I talked to her, she mentioned how when someone spilled blood, their own blood would be spilled in return. Think she saw something related to Maxwell’s murder?”

  Jason leaned forward, completely absorbed with what I was saying. “It’s entirely possible. Did she say anything else?”

  “She mentioned Maxwell and a woman making out on a bench near her property,” I said slowly. “But why would that make her such a threat?”

  “No idea. Unless the woman needed to hide her identity, keep her husband from finding out.”

  “I found a pair of underwear near the tree. They didn’t look like married lady’s undies.”

  Jason raised his eyebrows at this announcement. “Do you inspect a lot of married women’s undergarments?”

  I screwed up my mouth. “Don’t be gross. But I would guess the thong belonged to Tiffany. And I can’t imagine why she’d need to keep a liaison with Maxwell secret. Plus, she’s got those little stick arms. Could she possibly strangle a grown woman?”

  Gordon walked into the room from the hall. “Who got strangled?” Then he noticed Jason had his notebook out, and his face turned a mottled purple. “So the cops are sure that honey lady was murdered?”

  Jason stood. “Do you know anything about her death?”

  “Nothing,” Gordon choked out. “Except Dana here seems to find a dead body everywhere she goes. Makes you wonder.”

  “Hey!” I jumped to my feet. “What I’m wondering is how you knew the paramedics were at the trailer. You can’t see the area from the hot springs.”

  Jason’s grip on his pen tightened as he watched Gordon and me argue, no doubt adding fodder to his story about Queenie.

  “Well, I—I,” Gordon sputtered, “I won’t tolerate these accusations.” He stormed past me and down the hall.

  Jason touched my arm. “I didn’t hear you actually accuse him of anything.”

  “But he’s definitely hiding something,” I said.

  “The question is what.” Jason looked down the hall, as if Gordon would suddenly return and explain his anger.

  With his temper, Gordon seemed like a likely candidate to have killed Queenie. But why? And if Queenie’s death was tied to Maxwell’s, what possible reason did Gordon have to kill him?

  “I have to talk to the cops more,” Jason said, “but I’ll try to stop by later.” Jason gave my shoulder a squeeze before walking out the door.

  What was happening to my quiet little existence? I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. Who could be killing people in Blossom Valley?

  I returned to the office, needing a moment to myself to process the murder. I absentmindedly scratched the poison oak patch on my arm, my mind unable to settle, the image of Queenie’s arm and the inside of her trailer popping up time and time again. Two murders. Impossible.

  What did Queenie know about Maxwell’s death
that had gotten her killed? Was it related to the scripture she’d shouted at me? Man, I wish I’d pushed her more that day, found out what she was talking about. Now the chance was gone. Just like Queenie.

  I rose from the chair. Lunch was fast approaching. Serving the guests and listening to them grumble about the food would take my mind off finding Queenie.

  In the kitchen, Zennia was cutting a salmon into chunks, the loose sleeves of her blouse dragging through the raw fish at every slice. If the killer didn’t get to the rest of the guests, the salmonella might.

  “Need any help?” I asked.

  Zennia spun around, her grip firm on the cutlery. “Dana, you gave me a heart attack.” She set the knife on the cutting board. “I’ve been on edge since I heard about Queenie’s death.”

  “You already heard about it?”

  “My nephew works for the sheriff ’s department. He called to warn me to be careful.”

  Did her nephew think we were all in danger now? A shiver ran through me. “But what can we do?”

  “Nothing, really. Focus on the guests and pray that detective solves the murders soon.” Zennia pointed one scale-covered finger at the bowls on the counter. “You can deliver that gazpacho to the guests, if you’d like.”

  I grabbed two bowls, glad to have something to do, and swung around into the dining room. I stood in the doorway, gazpacho held aloft, staring at an empty room. Was I early?

  I returned to the kitchen and glanced at the clock. Noon on the nose.

  Zennia frowned at the bowls in my hand. “Aren’t people hungry?”

  “There are no people. No one showed up for lunch.”

  “What?” Zennia snatched the towel off the rack, wiped her hands, and dropped the cloth on the counter. She brushed past me and into the dining room, then reappeared a moment later.

  “Still no one?” I asked. “Maybe people are running behind today.”

  “Everyone?”

  Good point. A handful of people might lose track of the time, but not every single guest.

  “Maybe they’ve all heard about Queenie’s death already and are watching the police work at her trailer. It’d be just like these people,” Zennia said. She gestured toward the counter. “What am I going to do with all this fish? I can’t waste this beautiful wild salmon.”