20
Gretchen came out from the back in time to see Lily run down the path. “Is she all right?” she asked.
Explaining the situation seemed too complicated, so I thought up a quick excuse. “She remembered an appointment she was late for.”
“Getting all stressed again is going to ruin the effects of her massage.”
“At least she’ll be a repeat customer,” I said.
A pregnant woman, who looked to be five or six months along, entered the tent, and Gretchen and I ceased our conversation. Gretchen greeted the woman and led her to the back, while I found a pair of scissors and cut open the first box. Instead of rocks, I found bottles of creams and oils. I moved among the partitioned sections, avoiding the one with the customer, while I unpacked the shipment.
After I’d placed the last bottle on a shelf, I gathered up the empty cardboard boxes and left the tent. I followed the path past the chicken coop, where several chickens pecked at the ground or clucked at each other. I wondered what they were talking about. Farther down the path, Wilbur and his friends lay around the pen, and I stopped near the fence. Wilbur rose and lumbered over to where I stood, sticking his snout through the wood railings.
I set down the empty boxes and patted his nose. “Hey, buddy. You guys having a good day?”
Wilbur snorted.
“Mine’s been okay,” I told him. “Right now, I’m trying to picture this woman, Lily, as a killer. She seems much too nice. People who buy organic produce and save the whales usually don’t slit someone’s throat at a festival.”
Another snort. I could always count on Wilbur to agree with me.
“I know, right? And she got really upset when talking about all that money she paid Invisible Prints. Could she have killed Wendy over it?”
Wilbur remained silent.
“Yeah, probably not. I need to keep digging.” I grabbed the boxes and carried them to the recycling bin, where I broke them down and tossed them in. I entered the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. The fridge contained packages of tofu, the bowl of chicken salad with cod-liver oil dressing, and vegetables, lots of vegetables. In the back, hidden behind the Brussels sprouts, a package of sliced turkey breast waited.
I snatched the pack up as though it might turn into tofurkey if I didn’t act fast enough. Success! Now what to do with it? The only bread in the kitchen was Zennia’s chia rolls. The only mayonnaise was Zennia’s homemade tofu mayo. But plain turkey was too . . . well, plain. Maybe if I piled on the meat, I wouldn’t taste the other ingredients as much.
I pulled out a chia roll, added a thin layer of tofu mayo, and stacked up the turkey slices. With one final look at the tiny seeds that populated the bread, I took a bite. Not bad. The seeds added an unusual crunch and the mayo was soft and creamy. I’d even be willing in a pinch to eat another one sometime. I was popping the last bit into my mouth when Gordon walked in.
He set his clipboard on the table and noticed the half-empty turkey package on the counter. “Isn’t that my turkey?”
“Yours? I figured Zennia bought that for any guests who refused to try her other offerings.”
Gordon glowered at me. “When has Zennia
ever
purchased processed deli meats? I keep a pack here so I can guarantee an edible lunch in this place.”
“Sorry. I’ll buy you a replacement pack.”
He twisted his pinkie ring around and around before letting his hands drop to his sides. “Don’t worry about it. There’s still some left.”
I all but gaped at Gordon and his new personality. If I’d eaten his turkey three months ago, he’d have driven me to the store himself to make sure I bought more. I’d noticed with the farm’s recent steady reservations that he was becoming a much more agreeable person, but extra guests couldn’t completely explain his new attitude. I’d have to watch him, make sure he didn’t suddenly explode in a rage and blow up the whole farm.
Gordon picked up his clipboard and stepped over to the stove. He opened a cupboard to one side and began counting the salad plates, jotting down the number. That done, he moved on to the dinner plates. Guess he hadn’t given up all his obsessive-compulsive habits. Did he think Zennia was stealing dishes to add to her personal collection, or that guests threw away their food, plates and all, when they didn’t like something?
I rinsed my plate in the sink, wondering if Gordon had included it in his tally, and went to the office. After a couple of hours working on a magazine ad and a newsletter, I found my mind turning to everything I’d learned so far about Wendy’s murder.
Lily had lost thirty thousand dollars to Wendy’s bogus company while she tried to offset all her cross-country flights to see that online boyfriend of hers. Not nearly as much as the two million Marvin might have lost when he provided the venture capital funds to Wendy, but still a considerable chunk, especially on a nurse’s salary. Lily probably overheard the argument in the festival booth, but would she immediately assume it was true or give Wendy the benefit of the doubt? Were those flowers she’d brought to the booth the next day a sign of mourning or of guilt?
Marvin had the better motive. Did he have any way to recover that money? He’d left the festival in an awful hurry after Wendy’s body was found. But if he was the killer, why hadn’t he left even earlier, as soon as he killed Wendy?
Maybe Helen had found out about the embezzlement and killed Wendy, outraged that Wendy had ruined the company Helen had helped build. But with Wendy gone, Helen might not be able to save Invisible Prints. All that work would have been for naught.
What about Kurt? He had plenty of reasons to kill his own sister. His landlord said Kurt’s car was in the driveway the entire day, which would imply Kurt was home, but Buck hadn’t seen him until that evening. Buck had also mentioned that Kurt had never parked in the driveway before. The festival wasn’t too far from where he lived. Had he parked in the driveway so Buck could provide his alibi, and then walked to the festival to kill Wendy?
And then there was Preston. Kimmie felt positive that Preston had wanted to end the marriage, and Ashlee had heard much the same. Was it true he’d get nothing in a divorce? With that large life insurance settlement Jason had mentioned, maybe Preston had decided that murder was the more profitable option.
I put my thoughts about Wendy’s murder away. Time to get home. I updated my time card, shut down the computer, and left through the lobby. As I crossed the parking lot, I tried to dig my keys out of my purse, marveling at how they always managed to hide at the bottom. Once I’d extracted them, I glanced up and froze. The keys slipped from my hand and clanged against the pavement.
Someone had keyed my car. No, that wasn’t quite right. Someone had scratched an entire message on it.
BACK OF
was etched in huge block letters on my hood, the ugliness of the marred paint screaming at me. Whoever did this must have gotten spooked because he or she had only started the vertical line of the last
F,
but I didn’t need the missing letter to understand the message. Someone was threatening me.
21
My hands shook as I stooped down and felt along the ground until my fingers closed on my dropped keys. I couldn’t take my eyes off the hood. Who could have done something so vicious?
My mind instantly flew to Kurt. He’d been plenty upset when I’d dropped off the memorial service program earlier. Maybe he hadn’t believed me when I’d said I wasn’t spying on him. Or else he didn’t like the questions I’d been asking. This could be his way of scaring me off.
Well, he could forget that idea. One little scratched-up hood wasn’t going to stop me from finding out what had happened to Wendy. In fact, it made me want to ask even more questions. But maybe I’d bring Jason along next time. Just in case.
Still shaking, I went back to the office and put a call through to the police. I had no proof that Kurt was responsible, but I at least wanted the incident documented. Plus, my insurance company would most likely require a police report.
The nice thing about living in a small town was that the crime rate was low. An officer arrived within minutes of my call, eager to take a look. My scratched hood was probably the biggest case he’d seen all day. He inspected the car, took some notes, and gave me a case number for the insurance forms. I asked about fingerprints, but he politely informed me that the police didn’t usually dust for fingerprints in vandalism cases.
A short while later, I’d provided the insurance company with all the necessary information, and they’d promised to have a claims adjuster meet me at the body shop in the morning. I got into my car, thankful that I couldn’t see the letters on my hood from the driver’s seat.
As I drove, I found myself checking the rearview mirror more often than usual, but no one appeared to be following me. When I reached home, I found Ashlee’s Camaro in the driveway and felt momentary panic that she’d see my hood and demand an explanation. I had absolutely no idea what I would tell her. With any luck, she’d want to talk about apartments as soon as I walked in.
Sure enough, I’d barely crossed the threshold before she popped out of the living room. “Finally! I thought you’d never get home.”
“Wow, such a grand welcome. You must have really missed me today.”
“Not really, but I’ve got photos of those two apartment complexes up on my laptop. Let’s go look at them.” She walked back toward the living room, and I followed after her, glad to have a distraction from the attack on my car. She sank onto the couch and leaned toward her laptop, where it sat open on the coffee table. I set my purse on the floor near the couch corner and sat down beside her, angling the laptop until I could see the screen without any glare.
Ashlee tapped the keyboard. “Both places have okay rent and a pool,” Ashlee said.
I glanced at the pictures as she clicked through, but the two looked almost identical. “What about utilities and garbage service? Are those included in the rent? What type of security deposit do they require?”
“I didn’t bother to find out about that stuff, but look.” She pointed at the screen. “This one has a gym. That means lots of hot guys getting all sweaty.”
Or it might mean two weight machines stuck behind the boiler in some utility closet.
“I’ll need more information than that,” I said. “We need to visit these places.”
Ashlee slapped her laptop closed and stood. “Perfect, let’s go.”
“What about dinner?” Mom usually made us dinner. It felt rude to run off when she’d gone to all the trouble.
“I asked Mom, and dinner’s not till seven tonight. That gives us time to run over there.”
Might as well go now. Otherwise, Ashlee would pester me all night. I retrieved my purse from the floor. “One complex. We don’t have time for both.” I walked to the front door, with Ashlee practically stepping on my heels. Before I could twist the knob, Mom came in from the kitchen.
“Oh, good, you’re both here. I have big news.”
Big news? For a split second, I thought she might tell me she was marrying Lane. How would I feel about that? What if she asked me to be a bridesmaid? My hand tightened on the knob.
“I got a job,” Mom said.
Relief ran through me, swiftly replaced by confusion. I released the knob and moved toward Mom. “A job? Where?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said. “It’s not time to put this old cow out to pasture yet.”
Mom and Esther should get together some time and compare farm phrases. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that I didn’t realize you were even considering a job.”
“I’ve been bored lately. You can only play so much bunco. Janine, who owns that Going Back for Seconds clothing store, is an occasional alternate for our group and mentioned she was looking for a new salesclerk. I convinced her to hire me.”
I gave Mom a hug. “That’s wonderful. I bet you’ll love it.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Ashlee said. “Congratulations. Do they have a family-and-friends discount?”
“I’ll find out,” Mom said. She seemed to notice for the first time that we were standing by the front door. “What are you two up to? Are you on your way out?”
“We’re gonna check out an apartment complex,” Ashlee said. “See how many single guys live there.”
At the mention of apartments, I realized that with Mom getting a job, money wouldn’t be so tight. Dad’s survivor pension didn’t provide much, and I’d been contributing to Mom’s bills, though she always protested. In the back of my mind, I’d been saving the excuse that Mom needed my paycheck as a last-minute way to bail out of this apartment hunting. With Mom’s new job, that excuse vanished. I wasn’t sure if I was delighted or terrified.
“Do you need me to hold up dinner?” Mom asked. “We’re having baked fish, with steamed broccoli.”
Wait . . . if I move out, I can eat whatever I want for dinner. No more brown rice and plain chicken. No more whole wheat pasta and low-fat salad dressings. Then again, no more Mom making my dinner for me. I’ll have to cook my own.
“Dana, let’s go,” Ashlee said. While I’d been wondering how many days in a row I could eat Top Ramen, she’d pulled her phone and car keys out of her pocket.
“Right. We’ll be back for dinner, Mom.” I hurried after Ashlee as she headed to her car. I climbed into the passenger seat and clicked my seat belt, yanking on it to make sure it was securely fastened. You never knew what Ashlee’s driving would be like.
She buckled up behind the wheel, started the engine, threw the car in reverse, and hurtled backward out of the driveway. Behind us, a horn blared. I whipped my head around as a car drove into the other lane to avoid getting broadsided by Ashlee.
“Where did that guy come from?” Ashlee muttered.
The good thing about backing up so fast was that Ashlee had completely missed seeing my scratched hood. “I think that’s why car manufacturers put rearview mirrors in cars. So you can look behind you before you back up.”
At the mention of the mirror, Ashlee glanced in it, but only to fix her hair. “Ha-ha. You’re such a comedian.”
She barreled down the street, slowed down at the stop sign, and roared ahead. In less than ten minutes, we’d arrived at the Walnut Hills Apartments. From the outside, the place looked decent enough. Flower beds bordered the parking lot. Rows of purple and white blooms bobbed in the breeze. The buildings appeared to have been painted recently in a dark brown color. Flags flew in front of a single-story building, which I took to be the rental office.
Ashlee parked in a guest spot, and we walked to the office. Except for a single car driving by, the complex was quiet, a good sign. In the office, a young woman in a business suit sat behind a desk. When Ashlee explained we were interested in renting a place, she grabbed a set of keys out of a desk drawer and walked us across the lot, pointing out the gym and pool along the way, as well as the laundry facilities.
Ugh, I’ll have no more free access to a washer and dryer.
Another thing I hadn’t considered. It was amazing how much I’d forgotten about living on my own in San Jose.
The two-bedroom apartment reminded me of any other, with plain white walls, neutral carpeting, and older appliances in the kitchen. The woman rattled off all the amenities as she walked us back out, locking the door behind us.
“Feel free to walk around the grounds,” she said. “Most people here work all day, so the area is quiet. We have the occasional Saturday-night party, but the office staff is sensitive to noise control.”
Guess Ashlee wouldn’t be having any of those keggers she’d been hinting at.
“Thanks for the tour,” I said.
“I should mention that we have only two 2-bedroom apartments left, so you might want to grab one before it’s gone.” She headed back to the office.
She could try the pressure sale all she wanted, but I needed time to think about the place. “Ready to get home?” I asked Ashlee. “Mom will be waiting with dinner.”
“In a minute,” Ashlee said, “I want to see if any guys are working out in the gym.”
Knowing Ashlee, this was probably the biggest factor for deciding where we would live. Maybe she could bed down on a weight machine at the local gym and save herself some rent money.
As I turned to follow Ashlee, I noticed a familiar dark blue Lexus pull into the guest spot next to Ashlee’s Camaro. Sure enough, Preston, dressed in jeans and a plain gray sweatshirt, stepped out of the driver’s side.
Forget hot guys lifting weights. What was he doing here? Suppose I was wrong about Kurt scratching my hood. Maybe it had been Preston. I swallowed hard.
Did he follow me here to make sure I’d gotten his message?