Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) (8 page)

 

Maybe it was the warmer weather once noon rolled around, maybe it was because Saturday TV was usually so bad, but the afternoon brought a steady stream of attendees to the festival. These were real attendees, too, not just people wanting to see where Wendy was murdered. I spent two hours spouting the virtues of the farm and spa and the benefits of all that fresh air. I couldn’t get anyone to try Zennia’s cabbage-and-broccoli creation, but who could blame them?

Eventually interest in the farm waned as fewer people stopped. I wondered how I could draw in more folks.

“I’ll give a free, state-of-the-art oinking pen to anyone brave enough to try this delicious secret recipe,” I said on impulse to a clump of people walking past.

The group slowed as one. “Aren’t the pens free, anyway?” a man in a bowling-style shirt asked.

I cupped my fingers around the dozen or so remaining pens and dragged them closer to me. “Nope. Only the most courageous of souls shall have the honor of a pig pen bestowed upon them.”

“What’s in it?” he asked.

“All sorts of nutritious goodies. A little cabbage, a little tofu . . .” I stopped before I listed the broccoli and calamari.

The man grimaced. For a moment, I thought my ploy had failed. Then his friend piped up, “I’m game.”

I hastily popped the lid off the Crock-Pot and scooped a spoonful into a cup before he could chicken out. The man stared at the contents as though he was about to eat a live scorpion. I could see him take a deep breath before putting the cup to his lips and throwing his head back. He chewed for a moment and swallowed. The group watched his every move, me included.

“You know,” he said to no one in particular, “it’s not half bad.”

I felt the muscles in my shoulders relax. “See, everyone, the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa offers healthy and delicious meals.” I plucked a pen off the table. “Here’s your reward.”

The man chuckled and stuck the pen inside his shirt pocket. I surveyed the rest of the group. “Who’s next?”

Three more people tried samples, each commenting that it was tastier than they’d anticipated. As they moved away, a new surge of attendees appeared. Before I knew it, five o’clock rolled around, the official ending time for the festival.

I couldn’t help humming as I packed up the few remaining brochures, two pens, and the other items that littered the table. The festival had gone from an absolute failure to something bordering on success, and we still had one more day.

“Great turnout this afternoon,” Jim called as he unclipped his mushroom-dyed shirts from the line and placed them in a plastic bin.

“Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings,” I hollered back.

I lugged the Crock-Pot to my car, set it on the floor on the passenger side, and went back to retrieve everything else. If I hurried, I could return the supplies to the farm so they’d be available for Gordon in the morning. After that, I needed to race home to shower and change. I had a date with Jason.

 

 

The house was silent as I unlocked the door and walked inside. Ashlee and Mom must have already left for their dates. I took a moment to relish the silence, something in short supply with three people living here, especially when one was as chatty as Ashlee. Before I relaxed too much, I headed for the bathroom, where I took a quick shower, fiddled with my hair, and applied a touch of makeup. That done, I turned to the contents of my closet and donned a pair of skinny jeans, a thin sweater, and black ankle boots. I returned to the bathroom for a final mirror check.

As I applied one more coat of mascara, the doorbell rang. Jason waited on the porch in fresh-pressed chinos and a crisp white dress shirt under a leather jacket. His reddish brown hair was still damp.

“How’s my favorite girl?” he asked, offering me his smile that heated up my insides.

“Even better, now that you’re here,” I said. “Let me grab my purse.” I retrieved it from the kitchen table, where I’d left it, and joined him, pulling the door closed and locking it behind me.

Jason put an arm around my waist as we walked down the path. He opened the car door for me when we reached his silver Volvo, the car of choice for safety-minded drivers, according to Jason. I’d been secretly amused when he’d first explained the reason for his purchase, but I’d grown to appreciate his practical nature.

I slid into the seat and buckled up while Jason did the same.

He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Did the festival go better today? I didn’t hear about any more murders.”

“One’s more than enough. But the afternoon was phenomenal. I even got people to try one of Zennia’s dishes.”

“No small feat. Did you have to pay them?”

I put a finger to my lips. “Hmm . . . does bribing them with a free pen count? But don’t tell Zennia. She takes such pride in her cooking.”

Jason made a zipping motion across his mouth. “My lips are sealed, especially when it comes to Zennia’s cooking.”

“Mine, too.” I watched the buildings pass by as we turned off Main Street, drove down Second, and pulled into the lot at Table for Two. Since this was the sole restaurant in town with actual tablecloths and a wine list, we’d become regulars here over the last few months. My mouth watered as I mentally pictured a buttery platter of shrimp scampi with garlic bread.

The restaurant was half full, but I knew it’d fill up by the time we were done. The waitress led us to a table in the corner, away from the kitchen and through traffic. She handed us our menus and left.

I set my menu to the side and rested my arms on the table.

“Tell me about the murder,” I said.

Jason grinned. “Couldn’t even wait for us to order, huh?”

“Give me one thing. Call it an appetizer of sorts.”

“A tidbit of info, huh?” He closed his menu and laid it down as well. “I’ve found out that Wendy and her brother had a strained relationship.”

“Kimmie mentioned that. Any idea why?”

Jason tapped his chin. “I may have used my investigative reporting skills to find out.”

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “And?”

Jason shook his head. “That’s the appetizer you wanted.”

“What?”
I practically yelled, then lowered my voice as a diner at the next table looked over. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’ll tell you more in a minute.”

Before I could plead my case, the waitress returned with a basket of rolls, and we placed our orders. As soon as she departed, I pointed at Jason. “Okay, now tell me.”

He gave a fake cough and patted his throat. “I’m parched. I couldn’t possibly talk until after our drinks arrive.”

I thought about chucking a roll at him, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me act like a two-year-old. Instead, I pulled the roll apart and slapped some butter on one half, using more force than necessary. Jason watched me with a bemused expression, occasionally waggling his eyebrows at me. Who did he think he was, Groucho Marx? I didn’t find him nearly as funny at the moment.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I muttered. “But don’t expect me to share with you, either.”

One eyebrow shot up. “And what do you know?”

Practically nothing, but I wouldn’t admit that to him. “I’ll see how good your information is first.”

I finished the half of the roll as Jason brushed at imaginary crumbs on the tablecloth. The waitress brought an iced tea for me and a glass of red wine for Jason. I tore the wrapper off my straw and took a long sip. Jason picked up my wrapper, rolled it in a tiny ball, and set it near his glass before sipping his own drink.

“Is your throat still dry?” I asked, offering a smile along with my words.

Jason smacked his lips together. “Much better. I wouldn’t have left you in suspense much longer anyway. I just like the way your nose gets red when you’re angry. Makes you adorable.”

“Forget about my nose and tell me what you found out about Wendy and her brother.”

“They had a falling-out over money.”

Money again. What had Wendy been doing to have so many arguments over money?

“What happened?” I asked.

“Their mom died a while back. She’d always said she’d split everything evenly between the two, but she changed her will shortly before her death. Wendy got the bulk of the estate, while Kurt got a few sports memorabilia and knickknacks, which had belonged to their father. He wasn’t happy.”

“Kurt’s not the first guy to get cut out of a will, but shouldn’t he be mad at his mom? Why blame Wendy?”

“He said when his mom was diagnosed with cancer last year, Wendy swooped right in to care for her and started planting the idea that she deserved all the money. Kurt’s almost positive she conned their mom into changing her will while their mother was under medication. The fact that the will was handwritten made him even more suspicious.”

I moved my elbows off the table as the waitress arrived with our meal. She set the platter of scampi before me, and I inhaled the pungent smell of garlic intermingled with the sweet aroma of warm butter and white wine. She gave Jason his T-bone steak and baked potato. We took a moment to get settled.

When we both had forks in hand, I said, “That’s a pretty serious accusation. Did he do anything about it?”

“He wanted to contest it, but first he dug around on his own and found the neighbor who witnessed the signing of the new will. She said their mom was alert and didn’t appear to be under the influence of drugs. Kurt decided he stood a good chance of losing and couldn’t really afford a lawyer anyway, so he let it drop. But he still believes Wendy pressured their mom.”

I pierced a shrimp with my fork. “When people know the end is near, they sometimes reevaluate things. Wendy’s mom could have decided that Wendy deserved the money, even though Kurt needed the money more.”

“I’ll say Kurt needs cash. You should see where he’s living.”

“Yeah, someone’s converted garage doesn’t exactly scream, ‘I’m rich,’” I agreed.

Jason stopped cutting his steak and set his knife down. “How do you know where he lives?”

Oops, I haven’t mentioned my trip to Kurt’s place yet, have I?
“I, um, wanted to offer him my condolences.”

“I didn’t realize you knew Kurt.”

“Not well. I used to see him all the time when I’d go over to Wendy’s house to hang out. It’s been years, but visiting him seemed like the right thing to do.”

Jason picked up his knife and resumed cutting. “Good. For a second there, I thought you were going to meddle in Wendy’s death.”

I clenched my teeth as his words instantly put me on the defensive. “I haven’t done too shabbily when it comes to solving murders.”

“You’ve also managed to almost get killed twice. Look, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I care too much.”

His concern gave me the warm fuzzies, and I momentarily got lost in the idea of how much our relationship had advanced in a few short months. We’d gone from adversaries to friends to . . . what?

Jason was staring at me, and my warm feelings vanished as I thought about his remarks and overprotective attitude. “I’ve learned from past mistakes, thank you. I won’t put myself in any danger this time.”

He set his knife on the plate. His face was an unhealthy pink on its way to red. “So you are investigating. Dana, you swore you’d never do it again.”

Who was he, my mother? “If I want to help solve the murder of one of my closest childhood friends, I will.” I didn’t add that if my job at the farm didn’t pan out, I’d already considered becoming a professional sleuth. I really was pretty good at it.

Jason shoved a bite of steak into his mouth and chewed hard enough that he could have chewed through the bone if he wanted. “We’d better talk about something else.”

“Fine. How’s the visit with your parents going?”

He gulped his wine. “This topic might not be any better.”

My earlier irritation vanished. “It can’t be that bad. I mean, how much time could you possibly be spending with them, anyway? You probably spent all day writing about Wendy’s murder, and now you’re here with me.” That hadn’t struck me as odd before, but now I had to wonder why he wasn’t having dinner with his parents. He could see me any old time, but they were only here for a short while.

“We have an interesting relationship.”

This was one of the rare times Jason was talking about his family. I didn’t want to press too hard, but I couldn’t help asking, “How so?”

“I come from a long line of overachievers: doctors, lawyers, rocket scientists. I mean that literally. My uncle Keith is a scientist at NASA.” He drank more wine before continuing. “When it became obvious that my parents expected me to follow the family line and be a big-money earner rather than pick a career I was interested in, I moved out on my own and put myself through school to get my journalism degree.”

Going against your parents’ wishes took a lot of guts, and I gave Jason mental props for it. “Surely, your parents just want you to be happy.”

Jason grinned wryly. “They’d rather I be rich
and
happy. They’re starting to come to terms with my career choice, but mostly we avoid the topic altogether.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’d still love for you to meet them, though. I almost brought them along tonight, but they’d already made plans with friends in the area.”

The shrimp in my belly started swimming around, creating waves of unease. “Another time, then.” I tossed the words out like they meant nothing, but even I heard the nerves in my voice.

Jason didn’t seem to notice. “Great, I’ll set something up.”

I stared at the remains of my scampi. If they thought a career in journalism was too lowly, how would they feel about a marketing maven who also slopped out the pigsty and collected chicken eggs? Especially one who still lived with her mom?