Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) (25 page)

 

Esther O’Connell, owner of the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa, burst through the kitchen door. Her gray curls were clinging to her forehead. Her plump cheeks were flushed. “We’re ruined, Dana!” she cried. She flopped into the nearest chair and paused for breath.

I felt a flutter of concern as I set the rooster-shaped mug I’d been hand-drying on the counter. I hurried to where Esther sat, fanning herself. “What happened?”

“It’s that new spa on Main Street. My friend Mary Beth stopped in the other day to see what all the fuss was about. She said it’s fancier than beaded lace.” Esther let her hand droop. “Who’ll want to visit my boring old spa now?”

As the designated Jill-of-all-trades here at the farm, I knew it was time for some damage control. I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. “People rave about this place. I know for a fact we’ve been booked all week.”

The worry lines in her face only deepened. Esther was a fairly recent widow who had plowed her life savings into the place, and she constantly fussed about the financial status of the farm and spa. I couldn’t say I blamed her. “They come here because we’re the only spa in town. At least we were. Who’s to say they won’t switch to the new place?”

I rested a hand on her knee. “I say.”

“Say what?” Zennia, the spa’s creative and health-minded cook, asked as she walked in from the hall.

I hadn’t heard Zennia approach in her Birkenstocks, but I immediately roped her into the conversation, knowing her serene demeanor would help. “Esther’s worried about that new spa on Main Street.”

Zennia didn’t even pause on her way to the refrigerator. She swung open the door and pulled out the lemonade pitcher. “People might try that place once or twice, but they’ll come back here. Everyone loves Gretchen.”

Gretchen, our newest employee, had started a few months back. Between her knot-melting massages and wrinkle-reducing facials, she’d quickly cemented her place at the spa.

“I hope you two are right,” Esther said. “It seems like there’s always something to worry about with this place.” She rose from her chair and glanced down at her faded plaid shirt. “I’d better change. I have bunco in a bit.” She trudged out of the kitchen, leaving Zennia and me alone.

I rose and picked up the dish towel before grabbing another mug from the rack. “Have you heard anything about the new place? It’s called The Pampered Life, right?”

Zennia flicked her long black braid over her shoulder. The gray streaks were becoming more noticeable, but no way would Zennia dye her hair. Too many chemicals. “Right. I heard some woman from San Francisco moved up here to open it.”

I set the dried mug on a cupboard shelf. “Well, I’m sure once the newness wears off, it won’t impact Esther’s place.” Much, I added silently and mentally crossed my fingers. Our spa hadn’t been open long, and while customers seemed happy here, a full-scale spa that offered all the services we couldn’t might draw people away. But I kept that thought to myself.

I finished drying the dishes and hung the towel on the oven door handle. “Guess I’ll run into town for my lunch break.”

“We have plenty of left-over chickpea and seaweed salad, if you’d like some,” Zennia offered. “It’s chock full of iron and magnesium.”

“And the guests didn’t gobble it all up?” I said in mock surprise. “I’m stunned.”

Zennia gave me a knowing smile. “You’ll come around one day.”

“Today’s not that day, I’m afraid. I have my mind set on a BLT.” I licked my lips. “With extra mayonnaise.”

Zennia clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. Don’t say such things.”

Laughing, I headed down the hall to grab my purse from the desk in the office. I spent most of my working hours in this room promoting the spa, although Esther occasionally asked me to serve meals, catch loose animals, and help with pretty much anything else that needed doing around the place.

I crossed the empty lobby and pushed open the front door. A breeze tickled my skin, and the chatter of birds greeted me on the cool spring day. A flock of ducks drifted on the surface of the small pond near the front.

I walked to my aging Civic, which was parked in the corner of the lot, and climbed inside. The door creaked as I pulled it closed. The engine had started to make a funny squealing sound on colder days, but I’d decided to ignore it. Having just moved from my mom’s house into a barely furnished apartment with my younger sister, Ashlee, I couldn’t afford any additional expenses right now.

After starting the engine, I pulled out of the lot. The drive down the highway was quick, and within five minutes, I was cruising through Blossom Valley’s downtown. I eyed the front of The Pampered Life as I passed by. If I hadn’t known it used to be a hardware store, I’d have never guessed. The new owner had darkened all the windows, etching the words, “The Pampered Life” in cursive script across the glass. A pink-and-white-striped awning stretched across the front, and a redwood and wrought-iron park bench sat to one side of the door. A sandwich board on the sidewalk announced a Botox party next week, only ten dollars per filler. I reached up and felt the skin next to my mouth, wondering if twenty-nine was too young to worry about wrinkles. Still, even at ten dollars a pop, I wouldn’t be getting Botox any time soon. Or ever.

I drove to the next block and pulled into the Breaking Bread Diner lot. I parked between a dusty pickup truck and a motorcycle and walked inside. The stools that lined the counter were empty, and I settled on the closest one.

A waitress was helping a customer at a nearby booth, and she nodded in my direction. “Be with you in a minute, hon.”

I nodded back and pulled my phone from my pocket to check for messages. I’d been here enough times that I didn’t need to study the menu. I sent a quick text to Ashlee to see if she’d had a chance to pick up any toilet cleaner, then stuffed the phone back in my pocket. We were still working out chore duties, even resorting to a chart on the fridge. Ashlee’s plan seemed to be to ignore the dirty dishes and grime-covered counters until I broke down and cleaned them myself. Sometimes her plan worked, much to my self-loathing.

The waitress finished with her customer and made her way over to where I sat. With her short, pink uniform and her dark brown hair piled atop her head, I almost expected her to snap her gum and pull a pencil out of her hair like on an episode of
Alice
.

“What can I get you today?” she asked.

“BLT and iced tea, please.”

“Extra mayo?”

“Absolutely.” An idea popped to mind. “Say, make that to-go. I have to run an errand right now.”

“Sure thing. Give me ten minutes.” She finished scribbling on her pad and stuck it in an apron pocket.

“I’ll be back by then,” I told her and slid off the stool. I pushed through the door and out onto the street, taking quick strides toward my intended target: The Pampered Life.

Now that Esther had told me how fabulous her friend thought the place was, I wanted to see it for myself. Surely it couldn’t be that much better than ours. And if this spa was the greatest thing since laser hair removal, then maybe I could collect ideas for Esther’s place. While I loved our little spa, there was always room for improvement.

As I neared the building, I slowed to peer through the windows, but the tinted glass made it impossible to see inside. I pushed open the door and stepped in. A low-volume techno beat reverberated in the dimly-lit space. The scent of jasmine reached my nose. In the corner, a small water fountain burbled, with the large marble ball in the middle spinning merrily. Three overstuffed recliners, looking much more comfortable than the rattan furniture at our spa, filled the small lobby area, along with several potted ferns. Photos of trees and meadows lined the walls. I was about to take my phone from my pocket to sneak some pictures when an ultrathin girl stepped through the archway at the back of the lobby and moved behind the counter.

“Welcome to the Pampered Life,” she said. Her rose-red lips shone brightly against her pale skin. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud compared to her soft lilt. “I noticed you recently opened and thought I’d stop by.” I approached the counter. “Oh good, a brochure.” I picked one up from the stack, eager to see what they offered.

Before I could look over the glossy pages, the girl started talking again. “We have a wide range of services here,” she said. “We do all types of massage, including Swedish and deep tissue, plus facials.”

Everything we offered at Esther’s place. I felt myself relax a notch.

The girl picked up a pencil and tapped it in time with her words. “Then, we’ve got the extras like mud baths, Brazilians waxes, Botox injections . . .”

My muscles tensed again. So this place wasn’t exactly like Esther’s. “Sounds like you’ve got everything I could ever need,” I interrupted as she rattled off more items.

The pencil-tapping stopped, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes, and we offer payment plans. The last thing you want to stress about is how to pay to relax.”

“How convenient,” I mumbled. Was that something we could afford to do at Esther’s? At least the farm had animals, a unique plus for Esther’s place. The guests always commented on how much they enjoyed our ducks, pigs, and chickens.

“Hey, let me tell you about our seaweed wrap treatment. You start with an all-over body exfoliation—”

The girl broke off her explanation as a woman in her mid-forties entered from the back. With her perfect posture and tall, willowy frame, she was the type who could make yoga pants and a T-shirt look like formal business attire.

She appraised me for a moment, and then turned toward the girl. “Jessica, do you know what we have here?”

Jessica shook her head, her eyes wide in anticipation.

The woman raised her hand and pointed her index finger at me. “A spy. She’s a spy.”

How had she known? I gulped as a wave of heat washed over me. I was in some deep seaweed.