Read Going Organic Can Kill You Online
Authors: Staci McLaughlin
Going Organic Can Kill You (22 page)
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.”
“I’ll find out what’s happening.” I walked toward the lobby. If Gordon was at his usual spot behind the counter, he might know where the guests were.
As I approached the front of the house, loud voices reached my ears.
“I want my money back. Now.”
“We’re not staying here. We might be killed.”
Yikes, the guests had definitely heard the news.
I emerged into the lobby. Esther stood behind the counter, a barrier to the mob of guests who clustered around. Several had suitcases at their feet.
Esther’s panicked gaze flitted to me. “Excuse me for a moment,” she told the crowd.
One man leaned over the counter and tried to grab her sleeve as she hurried toward me. “I want out of here right this minute,” he said.
“I’ll help everyone in a second.” Esther slipped down the hall in front of me and I followed her. She stopped near the office door.
“Oh, Dana, everyone knows about Queenie’s death. They’re all demanding refunds.” She clutched the front of her blouse. “I’m ruined.”
I hugged her, looking over her shoulder toward the empty dining room. Going out of business should be the least of her worries. The bigger question was whether or not the killer was finished.
23
Esther stepped back. “What are we going to do, Dana?” She brushed at her tears, smearing her rouge. “Help me save my farm.”
“Can we rent the rooms at half rate?” I asked. “Offer a free night? Run a contest promotion?” Gordon was always spouting off about his genius at running the farm. Where was he with a clipboard of ideas? Off ironing his ties?
Esther twined her fingers together. “Everyone’s so angry. I’m afraid to even suggest they stay.”
“We have to try. If everyone leaves, can the farm remain open?”
“I don’t see how, especially if we give people a full refund,” Esther said.
“Then we won’t. It’s perfectly reasonable to charge guests for the days they’ve already stayed.”
The murmuring from the lobby was increasing in volume. I glanced in that direction, envisioning a crowd of angry villagers marching down the hall, waving torches and pitchforks.
“We need to act right now,” I said.
I gripped Esther’s arm and practically dragged her back to the lobby. At the sight of us, the mass of guests moved together and inched toward us.
Esther squirmed out of my grasp and darted behind the counter, as if the flimsy board would protect her.
I held up my hands, noting dirt under my nails from when I’d stumbled at Queenie’s trailer. “Everyone, please listen. We’d be happy to accommodate those guests who would like to check out. But first, let me offer you a fantastic deal.”
The man who’d tried to grab Esther earlier glared at me. He’d better not try to touch me or I’d poke him in the eye.
“Forget your deals. I want to leave. And I want my money back.”
“You’re welcome to leave, sir,” I said. “But for the rest of you, we’d like to provide the remainder of your stay at half the usual price.”
“You can’t buy our lives,” Mr. Big Mouth said.
“Yeah,” a woman in the back yelled. “I’m outta here.”
I waited for Esther to take charge as the owner, but she gripped the counter, her eyes open wide, her mouth closed tight.
Guess I’d have to deal with the guests myself. I squeezed past her to reach the computer. “All right, form a single line and we’ll get you out of here as quick as possible. We’ll charge for the nights you stayed, but anyone who prepaid will get a refund for any additional nights, no penalty for checking out early.”
More murmuring ensued as people shuffled into place. After a moment, a ragged line snaked from the counter to the front door. First up was Mr. Big Mouth.
“I’ve never heard of such nonsense,” he said, “having to pay after something so shocking.”
“Did you enjoy your stay up until this morning?” I asked.
He scowled at me as he signed his credit card slip. “I should get a full refund. Being chased off by a killer like this.”
“I’m sorry your stay ended with an unexpected death. Of a stranger,” I added. “Here’s a copy of your receipt.” I glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with the petite blonde behind him. “Could I help the next guest please?”
Mr. Big Mouth picked up his suitcase and barged for the door, bumping into several guests on his way out. The door swung shut behind him and the tension in the room dropped a notch.
Considering most of the guests had checked in to be close to the site where the famous Maxwell Mendelsohn was murdered, they sure were in a hurry to leave now. Guess they hadn’t bargained on a second death.
I made short work of the remaining clients until only one guest remained. After I’d completed the paperwork, I carried her duffel bag to her car while she wheeled her suitcase.
When I returned to the lobby, Esther still stood behind the counter, her eyes glazed, almost as if she were in a trance. I waved a hand in front of her. “Esther?”
She blinked several times. “Why did everyone leave?”
Because two people were dead? Because one murder was sensational but two were scary?
Gordon strode into the lobby from the hall, clipboard in hand, a few burrs still sticking to his pants cuffs. I hadn’t seen him since our little exchange in front of Jason and my stomach tightened at the memory.
“Where are the lunch diners?” he asked Esther.
Esther opened her mouth to speak and burst into tears.
“Get a grip on yourself, woman.” He turned to me. “What the hell’s going on?”
Gee, this guy was all heart.
“Most guests checked out after hearing about Queenie’s death,” I said.
Gordon slapped a hand on the counter. “And you let them go?”
“I offered a discount, but no one was interested.” Thanks to Mr. Big Mouth.
“You should have insisted. Kept them here until you convinced them.”
I swept my arm around, indicating the lobby. “We’re a spa, not a prison. If people want to leave, they can.”
“You blew it this time, Lewis,” Gordon snarled.
I felt my hands curl into fists, every muscle in my arms tense. “Me? Where were you? Your job is to man this desk and handle the guests.”
A hand settled on my arm and I glanced at Esther. Tears still pooled along her lower lids.
“Please stop,” she whispered. “I can’t stand the fighting.”
My anger immediately dissipated and I uncurled my fingers. “Sorry, I’m upset about the loss to the farm.”
Esther sniffed. “Me, too.”
“If you women can get hold of your emotions,” Gordon said, his upper lip curled in disgust, “we can assess the damage. Everyone couldn’t have checked out.”
I bristled at his comments, but now wasn’t the time to engage in a war on sexism. “A few are still here,” I said.
“We’ll focus on convincing them to stay.”
“How? Gift certificates to local restaurants?” I ticked off the ideas on my fingers. “A guided tour of the trails? Or one of us could drive everyone to Mendocino for whale watching.”
“Good ideas,” Gordon said.
Did he just compliment me?
“I can rent a limo,” he continued. “Really glam it up. Let me see who the remaining guests are and I’ll make some calls.”
Esther stood silent during our little exchange, in that trance-like state again. Sometimes I wished she’d stiffen up and take charge, considering her farm was at stake.
“Esther,” I said, “we need to keep running the farm like it’s a full house. Did Heather clean the rooms this morning? I don’t remember seeing her.”
“She has a custody hearing today.” She blinked twice. “Dana, could you help me clean the rooms?”
The idea of scrubbing floors and laying out fresh sheets sounded soothing for some reason. But if I opened a door and found another body, I’d be leaving almost as fast as Mr. Big Mouth. “Let’s get the equipment.”
Gordon stepped over to the computer as Esther and I walked down the hall to the laundry room. The maid’s cart sat waiting, the bottles full of cleaner. I pushed the cart out of the house and onto the path while Esther followed with the vacuum cleaner. The wheels on the vacuum rattled down the cement path, but Esther and I were the only people around to hear the sound.
We stopped at the row of cabins. Some guests had been in such a hurry to leave that they’d left their room doors open, adding to the air of desertion. I looked at the handful of doors still closed, wondering if the cabins were occupied.
Esther stepped on the vacuum base to release the handle. “I’ll vacuum the first room while you clean the second, then we’ll switch. How does that sound?”
“Fine.” I grabbed a spray bottle and rag from the cart and stepped up to the closed door. I raised my hand to knock, then stopped, my pulse quickening. What if another dead body was waiting for me? How much more of this could I take? I stared at the wooden door, frozen.
“Dana?” Esther said.
I snapped my head in her direction.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
I nodded, feeling foolish. I knocked at the cabin, then entered the room while Esther knocked on the one next door. Sure enough, no dead body. I stripped the bed, remade it with clean sheets, and went to retrieve the dirty towels from the bathroom.
No towels. People actually stole hotel towels? Tacky, tacky, tacky.
Esther and I alternated cleaning the next few cabins. I knocked on the sixth cabin and called out, “Housekeeping.” The door opened and I backed up a step in surprise.
“Sheila,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were in your room. I’ll come back.”
She seized my arm and yanked me inside, almost making me drop my bottle of cleaner.
“Dana, tell me what’s going on. Was someone else really murdered?”
“Afraid so.”
Sheila sank onto the couch. “My God, another guest?”
“No, a woman over on the next property. Her death probably isn’t related to the farm. She’d spent time in prison, apparently.”
“Did she just get out? Did someone finally get the chance to kill her?”
“Well, she was released a couple of years ago.”
Sheila fiddled with the charm on her earring. “So her prison stay had nothing to do with her death.”
I switched the cleaner bottle from one hand to the other, knowing my theory was a stretch. “Maybe whoever killed her just got paroled. They had to wait to get revenge.”
Sheila looked about as convinced as I felt. She plucked at her sarong. “I want to stay, but I’m scared.”
I sat down on the other end of the couch. “Go with your gut.” As an employee of the spa, I should probably have given her a laundry list of why this was the best place ever, but what if something happened to her? What if the killer wasn’t done?
“I’m not here strictly for the relaxation,” she said.
What then? Zennia’s food? A chance to catch poison oak? I scratched the rash on my arm at the thought.
A flush crept up Sheila’s neck and I recalled Jason’s comment from last night. “Are you talking about Christian?”
Sheila put a hand to her throat. “You won’t tell, will you? I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
So Jason was right. I leaned toward her and rested my hand on the couch cushion. “Esther does have a no-dating policy between guests and employees, but you’re both adults and I don’t see the harm.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thank you. He’s such a wonderful man. I think we have a future together.”
Her relationship with Christian might be the real reason she’d rejected Maxwell’s advances. “Have you two been dating long?”
Sheila blushed a deeper shade of red. “We met at the opening night party. I’m sure I sound like a love-struck teenager, but we had an instant connection. At my age, you act on these impulses. They don’t happen very often.”
Age had nothing to do with it. I was half Sheila’s age, and that sudden spark with a guy was just as rare.
“So you definitely weren’t interested in Maxwell, then.”
Sheila pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing. Then she noticed me watching her and forced her face to relax.
“Absolutely not.” She rotated her bracelet around her wrist, fingering the beads. “Like I said, he tried to bribe me with that necklace, but I recognized all of Maxwell’s tricks. He couldn’t manipulate me like he used to. I shut him down good.”
Shut him down with a knife thrust to the belly?
A knock sounded on the door. “Housekeeping.” I recognized Esther’s voice and inwardly groaned at the interruption.
I rose from the couch. “Guess I’d better finish my rounds.” I spritzed the mirror on the dresser as Esther entered.
“Goodness, Dana,” she said. “We don’t usually clean the rooms with the guests in them.”
“I told her to come in,” Sheila said. “I was on my way out.”
“Of course,” Esther said. “I should have known better.”
Sheila slipped on her mules and walked out the door, giving me a little wave when Esther was busy with the vacuum.
I made quick work of the bed and moved into the bathroom to wipe down the counters. Esther switched off the vacuum and carried in a stack of clean towels.
“Did Sheila ask about the murder?” she asked.
I scrubbed a spot on the mirror. “She heard about Queenie. She’s worried about her own safety now.”
Esther lowered her voice, although we were alone. “I know Gordon wants us to press the guests into staying, but I can’t. Queenie’s death has me so nervous, I jump when the pigs snort too loud. I can’t lie to the guests and tell them everything’s right as rain.”
“I hear ya.” Sheila would probably stay, but no thanks to any effort on my part.
I wiped down the toilet and then loaded the cleaning supplies into the cart. As I dropped a bottle of cleaner into its slot, Esther wheeled the vacuum from the room. Without a word, we walked straight past Maxwell’s cabin and on to the next one.
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