Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) (9 page)

I tried to block all these questions out with a bite of rice. Thinking about Wendy’s murder suddenly held more appeal.

 

We finished our meal and saw the latest comedy down at the theater. By the time the movie let out, the temperature had dropped to an uncomfortably chilly level. We hurried to the car and were back at my house in minutes. The porch light was on, meaning Mom had already returned from her dinner with Lane. Jason killed the engine, and we sat in companionable silence for a moment.

“You working the festival tomorrow?” Jason asked.

“In the afternoon. I’m stopping by Kimmie’s restaurant in the morning. She’s really upset about Wendy’s death and wants to talk about it.” I almost asked Jason about Wendy’s husband, but then he’d get on my case again about investigating. I wanted to end the evening on good terms.

“That’s nice of you to lend an ear,” he said.

“Really, I want to try some of this food she’s always bragging about. It can’t be that good, can it?”

Jason threw up his hands. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been able to get reservations.”

“Use those newspaper connections. Tell her you want to do a review.”

“Tried that. But when your restaurant’s already been covered by every major Bay Area paper, a small-town weekly doesn’t get you in the door.”

I touched his arm. “Come with me. Kimmie won’t mind.”

“Wish I could, but I’m supposed to take my parents sightseeing in the morning.”

I almost laughed. “Sightseeing in Blossom Valley? What are you going to show them?”

Jason shrugged. “The bowling alley? The tractor collection at the fairgrounds? I have no idea yet.”

“Good luck with that.” I patted my stomach. “And I’ll give you a full report on the delectable eggs Benedict I’m planning to eat.” I reached for the door handle. “For now, I’d better go in.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

We strolled to the door, fingers linked, and stood on the porch for a moment. The porch light glinted off Jason’s reddish brown goatee as he leaned in for a kiss. I closed my eyes. Before our lips met, the front door opened.

“I thought I heard a car door,” Mom said. “How was your evening?”

“Great, Mom,” I said, trying to stifle my irritation as I pulled back from Jason. This wasn’t the first kiss she’d interrupted. “And yours?”

“Marvelous. Lane took me to the most wonderful restaurant. You two should try it some time.” She turned to Jason. “Would you care to come in? Have some coffee?”

He gave Mom a half bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Lewis, but I’ll pass this time. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Next time, then,” Mom said.

I opened the screen door, but I twisted back to face Jason, my gaze lingering on his lips. “Good night.”

“I’ll call you,” he said, and then he walked down the path.

I followed Mom into the house, realizing once more that I really needed more privacy.

 

 

The next morning saw the start of another cool fall day. I donned black slacks and a cream-colored blouse, adding a simple faux-pearl necklace and earrings. I even whipped out my curling iron and spent more than the usual two minutes on my hair. Knowing Le Poêlon was one of the most popular dining spots in the area gave it more weight than when I ate at the Breaking Bread Diner, Blossom Valley’s homey cafe.

Mom was already up and reading the paper when I entered the kitchen. While we chatted, I nibbled a piece of toast to quell the hunger pangs, then retrieved my purse and headed out. I skirted the downtown, which was blocked off for the festival, and merged on the freeway behind a motor home.

Several cars headed west along with me, although the traffic would reverse once afternoon arrived and weekenders left the coast. I pressed the gas pedal down to push my Civic up a long hill. As I coasted down the other side, the road transformed into a series of twists and turns. Redwoods sprang up on either side, making me feel like a Lilliputian in a land of giants.

I flipped on my headlights against the deepening gloom and followed the motor home toward the coast. After thirty more minutes, I crested another hill and could see the ocean off in the distance, a layer of clouds hovering above it. Good thing I’d thrown a sweater in the backseat. A few minutes later, the tang of salty air reached me through the car vents.

At the junction, the motor home swung a left, and I headed right. Following the highway along the coastline, I drove past cypress trees bent so low they almost touched the ground, years of steady wind twisting their trunks.

I neared the edge of town and pulled into the parking lot for Kimmie’s restaurant. The redwood walls blended in with the natural surroundings, as if the place belonged there. An oversized cast-iron skillet, with the name of the restaurant imprinted on it, hung near the door. I knew I was in the right place, but what I didn’t know was whether Kimmie had forgotten our meeting. My Honda was the only car in the lot. The inside of the restaurant looked dark and closed up.

Still, I locked the car and walked to the front door. I rapped on the glass, then cupped my hands around my face, and peered in. Through the gloom, I could see a figure heading toward the door. I drew my head back.

A moment later, I heard the lock turn, and Kimmie swung the door open. Looking at her pencil skirt and skintight blouse, I wondered how she moved around without feeling like she was trapped in saran wrap all day.

“Oh, good, you’re on time,” she said. “Let’s get this done.”

Wow, such gratitude. “Don’t worry, the drive wasn’t too much trouble,” I commented.

“What?” Kimmie patted her hair, where it was pulled into a bun. “Oh, right, good to hear.” She held the door open wider and I stepped inside.

“I wasn’t sure anyone was here, since there are no cars in the lot.”

Kimmie shut the door, blocking out the ocean breeze. “I make the workers park on the street so they’re not taking up customer spots. I do the same, so they know I don’t think I’m special.” She gestured to the closest table. “Let’s sit here so we won’t be disturbed.”

Now that I was inside, I could see the kitchen through the pass-through window across the room. Chefs worked under the bright lights, the stainless-steel ovens gleaming. The constant sound of pans clattering and people talking was faint but audible. Must be prepping for brunch. A whiff of frying onions drifted out. My stomach growled in return.

“Coffee?” Kimmie asked.

I was thinking more along the lines of a full entree, hash browns and bacon included, but Kimmie probably wanted to talk about Wendy first. “Coffee sounds great.”

Kimmie waved toward the side of the room. “There’s a pot over behind the bar.”

I retrieved a generic white mug from a shelf under the bar, filled it with coffee, and returned to the table. Kimmie waited, drumming her fingernails on the polished wood surface.

“Let’s get started,” she said.

“Yes, let’s.” I sat down and wrapped both hands around the mug, savoring the warmth. “What can you tell me about Wendy’s husband?”

“Preston?” Kimmie lifted one side of her lip to let me know exactly what she thought about Wendy’s husband. “Like I said, he may have been the one to kill Wendy. I’m positive that he’s wanted out of the marriage for a while now.” She tapped her finger on the table. “Make a note to talk to him.”

Bossy, bossy. “Since you already know him, it’d be a big help if you talked to him instead.”

“Oh, no, I’m much too busy here.”

I ripped the top off a sugar packet and dumped the contents in my coffee. “Well, Kimmie, I’m busy, too. If we’re going to figure out who killed Wendy, I’m going to need your cooperation.”

Kimmie traced one finger along the grain in the table wood. “All right, if you must know, Preston and I don’t really get along. He’s got this crazy idea that I don’t like him.”

“Do you?”

“No, but I’m quite good at hiding that from people.” She rotated the diamond ring on her finger until the stone sat exactly on top. “It’s one of my best skills.”

For a half second, I wondered if she actually liked anyone or spent all her time pretending, but then I realized I didn’t care all that much. “Okay, I’ll talk to the husband.” It was probably better if I did it anyway. Who knew if I’d get accurate information from Kimmie? “Now, then, about her brother. I found out that Wendy might have cheated him out of his share of their mother’s inheritance. Do you know anything about that?”

A shout came from the kitchen, and Kimmie leapt to her feet. “That didn’t sound good. I’ll be right back.” She darted across the room.

While I waited for her to return, I sipped my coffee and studied the dining area. With her restaurant so close to the ocean, Kimmie had chosen a nautical theme for the décor. She’d festooned the walls with paintings of clipper ships and schooners, all tastefully done in muted grays and browns. As I drained the last of my cup’s contents, Kimmie sat back down.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine. One of the cooks burned his hand, but he’ll be okay.”

Ouch. “Should he go to the hospital?”

“Oh, it’s not that serious. Besides, his shift’s almost over. He can go then.” She patted her bun. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“Wendy, and her mother’s inheritance.”

“Right. Kurt’s bitter because he didn’t get his share, or what he considered his share, I should say. He really had no claim on that money.”

I pressed the point, not willing to dismiss Kurt’s complaints as readily as Kimmie. “He believed his mom had promised half to him.”

“She might have. But that must have been before she got sick. Wendy’s the one who visited her every day, took her to all her doctor’s appointments, worked with the hospital to make sure she got the right care.”

I momentarily wondered what would happen if Mom ever got sick. How would we take care of her? How could we afford it? I squeezed my mug and focused back on Kimmie. “And where was Kurt while Wendy was helping out?”

She shrugged. “At home, I guess. Wendy said he only visited twice that entire year. He was having trouble with his marriage, so he used that as an excuse. But, obviously, Wendy’s mom saw through that, because she changed her will a couple of months before she died. Wendy earned that money, but Kurt didn’t see it that way.”

“Wow, you sure know a lot about what happened.”

Kimmie’s mouth drooped at the corners. “Wendy was very upset and told me about it.”

Wendy used to confide in me about her troubles. I felt another stab of regret that we’d lost touch. “Do you think he killed Wendy over the inheritance?”

“He was furious about it, stopped talking to her as soon as probate closed, but he’s always been a weak man. I can’t imagine him doing anything physical.”

I wasn’t ready to cross his name off my list just yet. Sometimes the person you least expected turned out to be the killer. I’d already found that out myself. Still, I sensed that Kimmie didn’t have any more information about Kurt. “What about Preston? Anything I should know before I talk to him?”

“There’s another weak man in Wendy’s life. He doesn’t even work. What kind of man is that?”

“Do they have kids? Is he a stay-at-home dad?”

“Nope. He sits at home all day and does God knows what. I would have kicked the bum out a long time ago.”

Remembering Wendy at the festival with her polished appearance and enthusiastic attitude, I had a hard time matching her up with the couch potato Kimmie was describing. I was suddenly more interested in meeting Preston.

Kimmie glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch. She wore enough diamonds to start her own jewelry store. “Sorry to cut this short, but are we about done? I need to talk to the wait staff before we open.”

“That’s it for now. I’ll talk to Preston, and then I might stop by Invisible Prints for a quick look at the operation. They’re here in town, right?”

“Well, technically, they’re outside of town, a little ways down the highway. You can’t miss the billboard.”

So I was looking for a giant billboard for a company that promised to help restore the beauty of nature. I wondered if Wendy had thought about the irony, or if she was solely interested in drawing in customers.

I rose, and Kimmie followed suit.

She walked behind the bar, bent down, and straightened up with a cluster of keys in her hand. She sorted through them for a moment before putting them back. “I’d lend you my spare key to Invisible Prints, but I left it on my key ring at home. Oh, well, I’m sure someone will be there.”

“Why do you have a spare key?”

“Wendy and I got together on an almost weekly basis to talk about our businesses. She was usually upstairs in her office when I’d stop by, so it was easier to give me a key to let myself in. She has . . . well, had one for here as well.”

She walked me the few feet to the door and held it open, ever the conscientious hostess. A blast of ocean air swept in, and I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing I’d brought the sweater with me instead of leaving it in the car.

“Let me know if you find out anything you think might help,” I said as I stepped outside.

“And you make sure to start sending me those status reports so we can be synced up at all times.”

I turned around to tell her she might as well give up on this status report idea, but she’d already shut the door. At that moment, I realized I hadn’t gotten breakfast, either. So much for those hash browns and eggs. I could only hope the day got better from here.

 

Wendy had lived in a two-story yellow Craftsman home in a quiet neighborhood in Mendocino, where the yards were full of flowers and shrubs, and the houses were set far apart. A dark blue Lexus sat in the driveway, giving me hope that Preston would be home.

I walked up the path, with a border of driftwood on one side and a birdbath on the other. I rang the bell and heard a chime from inside, followed by footsteps. The door opened, and a man in sweatpants peered out at me. Based on the stubble sprouting from his chin, he hadn’t shaved this morning and maybe not yesterday, either. He ran a hand over his short brown hair, drawing attention to a hole in the armpit of his Henley shirt.

“Yes?”

I suddenly wished I had a casserole to offer. “Preston?”

“That’s me. And you are?”

“I’m Dana Lewis. I was a friend of your wife’s. I wanted to offer my condolences and see how you’re doing during this difficult time.”

He gave me a closer look. “You were a friend of Wendy’s? I don’t remember ever meeting you.”

“I knew her back in high school. But I ran into her at the festival the day . . . ,” I trailed off, pausing, not wanting to mention her murder. “The day before yesterday,” I concluded.

Preston’s smile was wistful. “You knew Wendy in high school? I’d love to hear about it.”

This guy was not the picture of a husband who was unhappy in a marriage. I had to wonder if Kimmie had made up the story because she didn’t like him.

“Do you have time now?” What better way to get into the house? I’d found that the inside of a house could tell you a lot about a person.

He stepped aside so I could enter. I’d expected more resistance, considering we’d never met, but his wan face and the exhausted look to his eyes made me think he welcomed any kind of distraction right about now.

The front entryway had large mirrors on opposite walls, with mahogany tables under each. A copper umbrella stand sat near the archway to the living room. It was the last bit of color I’d see as I walked in, because the living room was all white: white carpet, white sofa and chairs, and clear glass tables. The paintings on the walls had gray trees and cloudy skies, which didn’t add the least bit of color.

Preston hit a switch on the wall. I blinked in the sudden glare as light from the overhead fixture bounced off the glass. “Wendy loved this room,” he said. “She thought it looked so pure and clean.”

He sat on one of the white cloth chairs. I settled on the leather sofa, suddenly worried I had dirt on my pants, which could transfer to the flawless surface.

Preston frowned at his sweats. “Sorry, I’m a mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors this morning.”

“My fault for not calling first. I happened to be in the area.” I shifted my weight and crossed my legs. “How long were you and Wendy married?”

“Four years. Seemed like forever when we celebrated our anniversary back in July. But now that she’s gone, we really had no time at all together.”

I nodded in commiseration as I thought of my dad. Since he’d been around my whole life, I always felt we’d have all the time in the world. Once he was gone, I realized our time had been far too short.

I cleared my throat as I shook free from the memories. “Did you two have children?” Kimmie had already said they didn’t, but what did Kimmie know?

“Not yet,” Preston said, “although I wanted to start a family right away.” The muscles in his face tensed, hardening his appearance. “Wendy was focused on her career. She figured we had years before we had to worry about kids. Guess she was wrong.”

What did someone say to that?

Preston ran a hand over his face. When he looked back up, the small smile had returned. “Tell me about Wendy when she was a child.”

I uncrossed my legs and scooted closer to the sofa’s edge. “She was always the most popular girl in class. She had so many friends and belonged to all the clubs.”

“That’s Wendy. She lit up every room.”

She really had. I felt myself matching his smile as I remembered how much fun she’d been. Then I remembered she was dead, and that wiped the smile off my face. “That’s why her death is so shocking. Can you think of any reason someone would kill her?”

Preston looked at his hands. The nails were trimmed, and the skin was smooth. “No one. I already told the police that Wendy’s business was doing great. She had lots of friends.” He glanced up, the sadness on his face replaced by concern. “There was that one man who stopped by the house on Friday morning.”

I leaned closer. “What man?”

“I didn’t catch his name, but he came by really early, demanding to talk to Wendy. When I told him she’d already left for the green-living festival, he raced out of here.”

I had only seen one guy who’d been angry with Wendy on Friday morning. “Was he driving a maroon BMW?”

Preston jerked in surprise. “Yes. Do you know him?”

“No, but I saw him talking to Wendy at the festival. Well, yelling at her, really. Something related to money. Do you know anything about that?”

He rubbed at a stain on his sweats. “Money? Wendy and I certainly weren’t having money troubles, and she never mentioned any problems with the company. I can’t imagine what he was talking about.”

I stared out the window at a sparrow hopping on the backyard fence. His twitchy movements reflected my own feelings of anxiety. I was supposedly here to offer condolences, and yet I needed to know if Preston had wanted a divorce. How could I possibly ask such a question?

Preston rose from his chair. “Well, it was nice talking to you.” Definitely an exit line, and I hadn’t worked up a way to ask about a potential split.

I stood as well, my mind whirring. We faced each other across the white carpeting. “Yes, thanks for inviting me in. And again, I’m so sorry for your loss. You two obviously had a wonderful marriage.” I hesitated. “Right?”

Preston gave me a curious look. “Yes, everything was fine.” Was that because they’d really had a good marriage, or was it because his marital problems had ended with Wendy’s death?

“Well, er, great. And again, I’m sorry.”I crossed the room, stepped into the entryway, and opened the front door. I looked back, but Preston was by the window now, looking out at the backyard. I let myself out.

I couldn’t quite get a handle on Preston. He’d been reserved and thoughtful, but not exactly crushed that his wife had just died. Perhaps he was the type who kept a tight grip on his emotions. Or maybe he really wasn’t broken up over Wendy’s death. Either way, I wanted to know more about Preston.

 

 

I got back into the car and crossed the highway back to downtown Mendocino, making a stop at Moody’s for a blueberry muffin and vanilla latte. Once I’d finished eating and brushed the crumbs off my clothes, I started the car and merged onto Highway 1. As I cruised down the road, I could see the ocean off to my right, waves crashing over rocks along the shoreline, seagulls coasting on the air currents.

After a few miles, I spotted the billboard Kimmie had mentioned. Invisible Prints touted solar- and wind-energy projects, as well as reforestation. I waited for a logging truck to thunder past on the highway and swung a left into the driveway.

Invisible Prints was housed in what might have been a onetime vacation home. The two-story affair had windows all along the side that faced the ocean, providing what must be spectacular views. The wood shingles on the walls looked worn and faded from the constantly damp weather, but the front yard sported a sprightly array of ice plants and mosses and an area of river rock, where little white flowers peeked out between the stones.

I parked in the small lot at the end of the short driveway, near two other cars, and walked to the front door. The sense that this was someone’s home was so strong that I almost rang the bell. Then I reminded myself I was at a place of business and turned the knob instead. The door was unlocked. Guess the company was still open, in spite of Wendy’s death. I stepped inside.

The entire downstairs was one open room, and I could see all four walls from where I stood. Three-foot-high partitions created a series of cubicles in the back half of the room. From the looks of it, Wendy had about eight employees. Not too shabby for a young businesswoman.

To my immediate right, a brown suede sofa, a glass coffee table, and a wooden brown chair were grouped together over an area rug to create the atmosphere of a lobby. A side table next to the sofa held a series of small wooden figurines, African in nature. A coordinating stone statue sat in the center of the coffee table. The carved face stared at me.

To my left, a staircase led to a partial second story. The rest was open space, which allowed for the vaulted ceilings in the front and the high windows, which looked out on the ocean. Past the staircase, a long counter ran along the side of the room. A young woman, with spiky blond hair with black tips, stood behind the counter, making notes in an appointment book. I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure I’d seen her at Wendy’s booth the first morning of the festival. Maybe she’d been there to help set up.

She caught sight of me. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today.”

I crossed the room. “I figured as much, but I wanted to stop by anyway. I was friends with Wendy. She was so proud of Invisible Prints that I had to see the company myself.” I gestured to the room at large as if we stood in the Taj Mahal, rather than a single-family residence converted into office space.

“Wendy was certainly enthusiastic, wasn’t she?” The girl held out her hand, exposing bright red nail polish with skull decals. “I’m Drew.”

We shook. “Dana. Pleased to meet you. Did you work for Wendy long?”

“Only a couple of months. I really needed a job, and this place was hiring.”

She failed to mention a love of environmental affairs, and I got the impression that she was here strictly for the paycheck. “How was business going? Did you guys have a lot of customers?”

Drew tilted her head, exposing a tattoo of a cross on her neck. “Enough to keep us busy, but Wendy was always trying to find more.”

I pointed toward the cubes in the back. “Seems like you’ve got a good-sized staff here.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, well, those cubes aren’t actually in use.”

“What do you mean? Do the other employees work from home?”

Drew cast her gaze down. “There are no other employees. Except for the vice president, of course.”

“Invisible Prints is made up of three people?” I asked, the surprise clear in my voice.

“Well, three’s all we’ve needed so far,” Drew said. “Wendy dealt with the sales and working with people. Helen handles the back office stuff and controls the accounts. I answer the phones and welcome the clients. Wendy talked about hiring more salespeople, but she hadn’t bothered yet.”

“I thought I heard someone,” a woman said from the top of the stairs. I looked up and saw the other woman who’d helped Wendy unpack for the festival. Once again, she wore a dark-colored business suit with sensible flats. Her silver pageboy swished as she descended the stairs.

She held out her hand as soon as her feet touched the bottom step. “I’m Helen Goldstein, vice president here at Invisible Prints.”

“Dana Lewis. I was a friend of Wendy’s.” Every time I repeated that, I wondered if someone would accuse me of being a fraud, but only Preston had questioned why he’d never met me. Everyone else took my presence at face value.

“We’re closed, but is there something I can help you with today?” Helen asked.

“Not really. I wanted to stop by to see Wendy’s company. I’d never had the chance to visit before.” Mainly because I didn’t know it existed.

“I was telling her how the three of us ran the whole company,” Drew chimed in. “We really didn’t need anyone else.”

Helen gave Drew a frosty smile. “Yes, but that’s not generally something we talk about in front of customers. We were planning to expand, once the business took off, which is why we have the cubicles set up.”

“Wendy said it was so . . . ,” Drew started to say, but Helen cut her off.

“That’ll be all, Drew. I’ll let you finish what you were doing, while Dana and I chat in my office.”

Drew strolled back behind the counter, her attitude bordering on insolent. She reached down into a box and came up with a handful of miniature windmills. The image immediately brought back memories of Wendy’s body, with the windmill lying nearby, but I blinked them away and followed Helen upstairs. A long hallway with two doors ran the length of the upstairs. The right side of the hallway was open, except for a waist-high railing. I slowed my steps to enjoy the view of the ocean from this high up before following Helen past the first closed door and on to the second.

The inside of the room held a heavy oak desk, with a high-backed leather executive chair behind it. A small, plain guest chair sat in front of the desk. The walls were covered with degrees and citations. Clearly, Helen knew what she was doing, or at least she had the diplomas to appear so. I wondered if Wendy had that many.

I perched on the edge of the guest chair, wondering why Helen had invited me up.

She settled into the executive chair, looking so comfortable that I suspected the chair had been built to custom fit her. “That’s better. Now we can talk without any prying ears.” She tilted her head. “So, you were a friend of Wendy’s?”

“Yes, although we lost touch for a while.” I didn’t mention how long that “while” was. “I saw her again at the green-living festival, and was impressed with how she’d started her own company at such a young age.”

Helen picked up a pen and tapped the tip on the desk. “Yes, she certainly had a gift.”

“What will happen with the company now?”

A look of annoyance flitted across Helen’s face, but she instantly masked it. “I’m looking into that. Wendy owned the company, although she got monetary backing to start it. It may depend on whether she had a will and what that document specified. I really need to talk to my attorney, as well as hers, to see where things stand. Preston might have additional information.” Helen’s computer made a
ping.
“Excuse me a moment.” She clicked her mouse and read something on the monitor.