Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) (23 page)

 

After I’d devoured each scallop morsel and sopped up every drop of sauce with bread, I finished my iced tea and signaled to Kimmie. She excused herself from her conversation with a waiter and came to my table.

“All finished?” she asked.

I patted my belly. “I might not be able to stand up from this table! I’m so full.”

“Well, try. We need to get over to Invisible Prints. I don’t want to be gone from the restaurant too long.”

“After that meal, accompanying you is the least I can do.” I rose. “Let’s take separate cars, so I don’t have to double back.”

“Fine. Are you parked out front?” When I nodded, she said, “My car’s in back. We can meet at Invisible Prints.”

I walked past the tables full of diners and out the front door of the restaurant. The rain fell steadily as I rushed to my car. Once inside, I ran my fingers through my wet hair and got out my phone. Mom and Ashlee were probably still on their dates, but I felt the need to call someone and let them know my plans. This weather was looking more treacherous every minute, and I wasn’t crazy about driving in it.

After I left messages for them, I called Jason. “Hi, I just wanted to touch base. I’m over here in Mendocino and had the most amazing scallop dish of my life at Kimmie’s restaurant.”

“Are you gloating?” he asked. I could hear the teasing in his voice.

“Maybe a little.”

“If you’re done eating, does that mean you’re about to drive home in this storm?”

“Afraid so, after a quick trip to Invisible Prints. Kimmie has to find some tickets she and Wendy purchased together, and she’s too chicken to go by herself.”

“Sounds like Kimmie. Drive carefully and call me as soon as you get home.”

“Will do.” I stuck the phone back into my pocket, started the engine, and followed the highway along the coastline. My headlights illuminated the bent eucalyptus trees, which bordered the road, looking like specters reaching down to pluck my car into the air. I almost missed the turnoff to Invisible Prints, the driveway nothing more than an extra dark shadow off to one side. Through the rain, the building itself was barely discernible.

I pulled into the driveway, parked as close to the front door as possible, and killed my headlights. Darkness fell over the car like a heavy blanket, making me feel all alone in the world. I listened to the rain drumming on my car roof until headlights swept up the drive. Kimmie pulled in next to me.

I took a moment to enjoy the dryness of my car, then stepped out and darted for cover under the eaves, motioning for Kimmie to join me as I ran by. While I shivered beneath the overhang, I watched as her car door opened and a large umbrella popped into view. She stepped out, as if on a Sunday stroll through the park, and walked to where I waited.

“Dana, you’re going to get soaked. Why on earth don’t you have an umbrella?”

I already was soaked, but she probably realized that. “I forgot to grab one on my way out the door.”

“I always carry an umbrella with me. This type of foresight has helped me so much in life.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with.” I moved to the side while she opened her purse. She pulled out a key and inserted it into the lock. Moments later, we were inside the building.

Even with so many windows, the interior was pitch-black on this dark night. I shuddered, wishing I didn’t watch so many horror films. Kimmie hit the switch on the wall. A soft glow bathed the lobby. “I’m sure Wendy left the gala tickets in her office.” She climbed the stairs, and I followed. She stopped at the first door and turned on the light inside the room.

I hadn’t been inside Wendy’s office on my earlier visits. While Kimmie rummaged through the desk drawers, I studied the room. The furniture was mostly glass and metal, its stark appearance reminiscent of Wendy’s living room. The walls held pale prints of pink orchids and white daisies. On the desk, an eight-by-ten photo in a sterling silver frame showed Wendy and Preston laughing together. I looked away, and my gaze fell on the shredder. What had Drew said? That the scraps of paper were in the wrong shredder?

“Found them!” Kimmie held two tickets aloft for me to see before she stuffed them into her purse. “Thanks for coming with me. Now let’s go. I need to get back to the restaurant.” She hustled toward the door, but I didn’t move.

“Can’t you wait a few minutes?” I asked. “As long as we’re here, let’s look around.”

Kimmie turned back. “What for?”

“Anything. I might find information that will help me figure out the motive for these murders.”

She inched closer to the door. “I’m sure the police already have everything. Besides, what you’re suggesting doesn’t seem quite legal.”

I gestured toward the desk. “We’re here for a perfectly valid reason. You even used a key.”

“Sounds sketchy to me. Do you have any idea what my friends would say if I got arrested for trespassing? They’d kick me right out of my Women of High Morals Club.”

I wouldn’t mind getting kicked out of a club with a name like that, but Kimmie seemed troubled by the idea. “No one’s getting arrested. All you have to do is stand here. Come on, Kimmie. You’re the one who insisted I find out who killed Wendy. The least you can do is spare a few minutes.”

She yanked on her jacket lapels. “You might not care about your reputation, but I do. Make sure you close the door all the way when you leave. It locks automatically.” She turned on her heel and strode out. All I could do was watch her, mouth agape, as she clomped down the stairs and out the door.

Now, what was I supposed to do? I was already here. It would be silly to leave without looking around, but I wasn’t crazy about staying here alone.

Kimmie was probably right. The police must have found anything that might be important by now. But as I moved toward the door, I glanced again at the shredder. What had Drew meant when she said she would have found the evidence sooner, except it was in the wrong shredder? Had Drew’s remark been the ramblings of a drunk, or did she have important information that she would have explained if Kurt hadn’t shown up right then? It was definitely an odd comment. I’d take two minutes to call her about it, and then I was out of here.

I pulled out my phone, glad I’d stored Drew’s contact information on it. I tried to ignore the silent office and the dark outside as I waited for the call to connect. Drew answered on the second ring, sounding more sober than the last time we’d talked.

“Drew, it’s Dana. I wanted to ask you about something you told me yesterday.”

She interrupted me before I could ask. “Ignore everything I said. I was drunk. Kurt’s a nice guy, and I don’t want you to think he isn’t.”

“I don’t want to talk about Kurt. It’s those shredded documents you found.”

Drew exhaled loudly into the phone. “I’m not an accountant. Who knows what I found? I only thought they were suspicious, but Marvin realized right away it was proof that Wendy stole all that money.”

“But you said you found them in the wrong shredder. What did you mean?”

“Oh, that. I never found anything in Wendy’s shredder, at least nothing I could piece together. But I figured as long as I was snooping, I might as well open all the shredders. Kurt just knew Wendy was up to no good. I found the documents in Helen’s office. I guess Wendy figured she’d be doubly careful by using someone else’s shredder to get rid of everything.”

Or Wendy wasn’t the one shredding the papers.

A chill ran through me.

Through the phone, I heard a voice in the background, and Drew said, “I gotta go.” She hung up.

That was fine with me. I was too busy thinking about the implications of Drew finding the evidence in Helen’s shredder. Was Helen shredding the documents to hide Wendy’s illegal activities until Helen could line up a job? Or was Wendy really so crafty that she’d use Helen’s shredder to point the finger elsewhere? She might be that smart, considering she’d embezzled two million dollars.

But who said Wendy had embezzled the money? We’d all assumed that the disappearing funds had led to her murder, but that didn’t mean she was the guilty party. Wendy was terrible at math. She’d traded favors in high school so someone else would do her homework, and Preston had mentioned that he’d been the one to balance the checkbook at home. Hadn’t Drew said that Wendy met with clients and lined up new customers, while Helen ran the back office? Which meant Helen was in charge of the books. How easy would it be to blame a dead woman for embezzling and send the police off in the wrong direction? Pretty darn brilliant, as a matter of fact.

Mind whirring, I realized I was still holding my phone and stuck it back into my pocket. Was Wendy’s death a matter of convenience for Helen, or had she helped it along? Perhaps Wendy had found out about the embezzlement and realized Helen was responsible. Had she confronted Helen, and Helen killed her so she couldn’t tell anyone? Or was I jumping to conclusions?

Still, if Helen was sloppy enough to shred incriminating documents in her own office, maybe more pieces were waiting for me to find. I might as well check, considering her office was next door. After that, I was definitely on my way.

I walked down the hall, listening to the rain pelt the windows. I saw the headlights of a car as it drove past on the highway, reminding me how far back from the road the building was set. I wondered if anyone could see the lights in the office as they drove by. I needed to leave before someone called the cops and I really did get cited for trespassing. Kimmie would have a field day.

The door to Helen’s office was closed. I flinched at the cool metal of the knob as I opened the door. The room smelled faintly of musty air and stale perfume. Eyeing the shadows in the corners, I turned on the light, illuminating Helen’s vast array of trophies on the bookcase across the room. The woman clearly liked to win. Even her trophy for her fifth-grade citizenship award was on display, for crying out loud.

Not wasting any time, I stepped behind Helen’s desk. Her shredder was tucked to one side in the kneehole, within easy reach while she worked. I dragged it out and popped off the lid. Fresh papers lay curled at the bottom like a bird’s nest. I grabbed a handful and tried to make sense of the scraps.

Drew was right. You could easily read entire words or sets of numbers on the short strips. Wendy must have bought the shredder at a discount store. I tried to make sense of all the bits and pieces, but I couldn’t get a clear picture of what I was looking at. These pieces probably meant nothing. Still, maybe I’d take them home and assemble them like pieces in a Tetris game.

But I couldn’t take the entire shredder with me. Helen would notice. I needed a bag. I poked through Helen’s drawers, moving aside paper clips and boxes of staples, trying to hurry. As I moved to the other side of the desk, my foot bumped the trash can. The can had been emptied recently, and a fresh, empty bag waited. Perfect. I stuffed the shreddings inside, tied off the top, and pulled the bag out of the can.

The bag was thin and flimsy. One snag on a corner of the desk and it would rip. It reminded me of the bags the one guy had used to sell his dog poop at the festival. We definitely couldn’t let him return next year, not after the complaints. My mind flashed back to opening day of the festival.

My mouth went dry.

Helen had been at the festival first thing in the morning and then supposedly left. I’d seen her walk off with Drew. The poop guy had arrived hours later, thanks to his dog’s constipation. How did Helen even know about him if she’d already gone? As far as I knew, she’d never returned to the festival, yet she’d seen the so-called fertilizer booth. I started shaking as I realized what that meant.

Helen
had
to be the killer.

And I was standing in her office like an idiot.

Still clutching the bag, I yanked out my phone and called Detective Palmer. Once more, I got his voice mail. I left a hasty message, then hung up and called Jason. He’d barely gotten his “hello” out before I started babbling.

“Jason, Helen is the killer. It was the dog poop. The dog poop! How did she know about the dog poop guy at the festival? She mentioned him when she was talking to Preston at the funeral, but she’d already left the festival before that guy even showed up.”

“Dana, slow down. I can’t understand you. Did you just say that Helen killed Wendy and Preston?”

I was walking around in circles, heart racing, and forced myself to stand still. “I’m not sure about Preston, but definitely Wendy. I think Helen’s the one who embezzled the money and then murdered Wendy to keep her quiet.”

I heard Jason’s sharp intake of breath. “You’re not still at Invisible Prints, are you?”

“I’m leaving right now.” As if proving my words, I moved to the door. I looked out the large glass windows and saw a pair of headlights swing into the driveway. I almost wet my pants at the sight. “Oh no, Jason. Someone just drove up,” I whispered.

“Get out of there, Dana. Get out now! I’ll call 911.”

“Okay,” I whimpered. I ended the call and hit the wall switch, plunging the room into darkness, but the lights remained on in the main part of the building, like a beacon to my location.

I darted down the hall and flipped the switch at the top of the stairs. The rest of the lights went out. Whoever had pulled up must have noticed my car out front and the lights on, but at least they couldn’t see me inside the now-dark building. Maybe I could escape through a back door, if this place even had one.

Mostly blind, I gingerly stuck out a foot and felt for where the stairs started, grabbing the banister with one hand. The cheap plastic of the shredder bag made a slapping sound on the wood. After the first couple of steps, I worked my way up to a trot.

I was almost to the bottom when I heard the front door open and froze. I stared at the figure barely outlined in the doorway. Then the lights came on.