Read Going Organic Can Kill You Online
Authors: Staci McLaughlin
Going Organic Can Kill You (17 page)
“Dana,” Esther said, “Detective Caffrey needs to talk to the staff again about Maxwell’s murder.”
I looked back toward Heather to ask her to wait for me, but the doorway was empty. I’d have to catch her another time. Right now, I’d rather try to gather information from Detective Caffrey, if he was willing to share.
“Any progress?” I asked him as he and Esther stopped before me.
“I don’t comment on open investigations. But we need to go over your statement.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go sit in the dining room.”
Now was my opportunity to pass along all the information I’d gathered, from Queenie witnessing Maxwell’s little tryst and talking about blood spilling, to someone pushing me, to Sheila having possession of the necklace. Even if she claimed Maxwell gave her the jewelry as a gift, the police would want to verify her story.
I followed the detective across the hall. The tables were set, ready for the lunch crowd, the silverware and maroon napkins laid out atop the cream tablecloth. Out the glass doors, I could see Sheila still sitting by the pool. Tiffany and Logan were no longer at the table.
Detective Caffrey pulled a chair out, then sat down on the opposite side of the table. Guess this was my interrogation seat.
I sat down and clasped my hands in front of me on the table. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve found out quite a bit that I want to share.”
As he yanked his notebook from his dress shirt pocket, the springs hooked on his tie and he struggled to extract the cloth. “Let’s start with what you saw the day of the murder. Oftentimes witnesses will remember details on the second or third telling, once the emotions have calmed down.”
I leaned forward. “First, let me tell you what Queenie said.”
“Ms. Lewis, again, we’re talking about you.”
My hands bumped a fork and I lined it back up with the knife. “But her information might be important.”
The muscle below his eye began to twitch. “Is there a reason you’re being difficult, Ms. Lewis?”
I leaned back in my chair. Why wasn’t he listening to me? “That’s not my intention. But I told you everything last time.”
“So tell me again. From the last time you saw Maxwell Mendelsohn on Sunday. Alive, that is.”
I drummed my fingers on my knee and studied the daffodil in the bud vase on the table. “Well, I was helping Esther catch a loose pig when I saw Maxwell in Christian’s yoga class.”
“Who else was there?”
“Tiffany, Sheila, and a woman I hadn’t met. I believe she checked out the next day, and I never saw her after that yoga class.”
Detective Caffrey scribbled in his notebook, the pen’s scratching noises clearly audible in the quiet room. “How did Mr. Mendelsohn appear?”
“Fine. I noticed he was eyeing Sheila, his ex-wife, although I didn’t know she was his ex-wife at that point.”
Detective Caffrey wrote in his book. The eye spasm had ceased.
When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “Maxwell couldn’t complete the tree pose and got mad. Stormed off before class ended.”
“Then what did you see?”
I thought back to that day, Maxwell walking off, everyone returning to yoga. “Nothing. But when I talked to Logan later, he mentioned that his boss was angry before yoga, though he didn’t know why.”
Detective Caffrey stopped writing. “Let’s focus on what you personally saw.”
“But whoever Maxwell was upset with might have killed him. And did you know Maxwell wanted to reunite with Sheila? Even bought her a fancy necklace.”
At this, Detective Caffrey closed his notebook with a snap. “Ms. Lewis, I was afraid of this.”
My heart stilled. “What do you mean?”
“This is a criminal investigation.”
“I know, that’s why I’m passing along all this information.”
Detective Caffrey frowned. “What you’re doing is looking at a charge of obstructing justice.”
Criminy, what did I do?
18
“Obstructing justice? I’m helping you.” The nerve of that man!
The tic started below Detective Caffrey’s eye again. He should really see his doctor about that. “We don’t call it
helping
when a citizen gathers information from suspects in a murder investigation.”
helping
when a citizen gathers information from suspects in a murder investigation.”
“You make it sound like I’m interviewing people.” I put my hands on my hips to show him how offended I was by his accusation, though the table partially obscured his view and probably ruined the effect. “I mean, if I run into someone, I might talk about the murder—everyone is—but I’m certainly not trying to do your job. People tell me things. It’s a curse.” Especially when they tell me about their ex-husband’s package size.
Based on the speed of his eye twitch, I could only assume my answer didn’t please him. Maybe the curse remark was a stretch.
“Let me be clear,” he said. “I cannot have regular citizens interfering. I’m warning you to stay out.”
“I’m no ordinary citizen. I found the body, remember?”
Detective Caffrey glowered at me. I felt my skin heat up, little beads of perspiration forming at my hairline.
“I mean, yes sir.”
With a sigh, Detective Caffrey opened his notebook again. “Let’s jump ahead to when you found the body.”
“Right. I was taking clean towels to each room. Maxwell’s door was unlocked, so I stood outside for a minute ...”
The detective held up his hand. “Hold on. His door wasn’t locked?”
“Didn’t I tell you that before?”
“No. See what I mean about remembering extra details? But go on.”
“I poked my head in, saw his feet, and debated whether to come back. But then I figured I’d try to sneak in and not wake him. That’s when his phone rang. When he didn’t wake up, I stepped up to the bed and saw that he was dead.”
I tried to ignore the fact that I’d made a rhyme, but the phrase
I’m a poet and didn’t know it
popped into my head. Good grief, we were talking about a dead guy and all I could do was act like a ten-year-old.
I’m a poet and didn’t know it
popped into my head. Good grief, we were talking about a dead guy and all I could do was act like a ten-year-old.
Detective Caffrey and I sat in silence while he jotted my information down.
“Say,” I finally said, “did you guys figure out who that note was from? The one that asked Maxwell to meet them behind the chicken coop?”
Detective Caffrey stilled, all but his tic, which increased in pace. Uh-oh.
“Did you tell anyone else about the note?” His voice was calm, his words carefully spaced.
“I don’t think so.” Had I?
“Ms. Lewis, that note may be critical to finding the killer. Letting that information slip would be worse than your habit of talking to suspects.”
I felt like creeping beneath the tablecloth under his cop stare. “I won’t mention it. But speaking of the chickens, now might be a good time to tell you how someone shoved me when I found a money clip by the coop. Snatched it right out of my hand.”
He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “You were physically assaulted? When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Detective Caffrey sighed again. Did I tire him out that much?
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I wasn’t hurt. And I didn’t see the person. And who knows if the clip is connected to the murder.” The reasons had sounded plausible yesterday, but sitting before the detective, I wondered if keeping quiet had been the best decision.
“Tell me what the money clip looked like.”
I picked at a speck of lint on the tablecloth. “I only saw it for a second. It was silver.”
Detective Caffrey clicked his pen, repeatedly. His expression held a hint of exasperation. “That’s all for now. I may have additional questions. And will you contact me immediately if anyone assaults you again?”
“You bet.” Just call me Miss Cooperation.
He rose, stuffed his notebook in his shirt pocket, and walked out of the dining room.
I stayed in my chair, studying the silverware and thinking about our conversation. That detective was one tightlipped fellow. I’d learned nothing about the investigation.
Maybe I needed to stay out of the way, like the detective said. Of course, if people volunteered information, I couldn’t help that. What was I supposed to do, plug my ears?
I stood and stretched, feeling the muscles in my back loosen a bit. I should listen to my advice to Zennia and try Christian’s yoga class. Improve my flexibility. Or I could stop by the Watering Hole for a margarita instead. That’d relax
all
my muscles.
all
my muscles.
As I stepped from the dining room, Esther exited the office across the hall, pulling the edge of her green blouse down to cover her belly.
“Dana, are you done with the detective?”
“Just finished. Now I need to see if Zennia needs help with lunch.”
Esther waved her hand. “I’ll help her. You need to leave for the cricket-chirping contest.”
I glanced at my watch. “Setup isn’t for over an hour. I could help here.”
“Nonsense. You skedaddle now. You’re a sweetheart for filling in at the contest for me.”
Or a gutless wonder for not refusing her request.
The interior of my Honda was too warm for comfort and I pulled away from the seat, trying to keep my shirt from sticking. Though summer was a few weeks away, the temperature continued to rise. I hit the air-conditioning switch and pulled out of the lot.
With an hour to kill, I exited at State Street, zipped through the Taco Bell drive-thru, and drove my gordita and chalupa treasures home.
Ashlee’s Camaro sat in the driveway.
She must be on her lunch break.
I flipped a U, pulled up to the curb, and got out, waving to Mr. McGowen, our thirty-year neighbor working in his yard next door.
She must be on her lunch break.
I flipped a U, pulled up to the curb, and got out, waving to Mr. McGowen, our thirty-year neighbor working in his yard next door.
The inside of the house was dark and cool. I headed straight for the kitchen, the aroma from my Mexican food making my mouth water.
At the table, Ashlee ate the last quarter of a tuna sandwich.
When she saw my plastic bag, her eyes lit up.
“If I’d known you were stopping at Taco Bell, I’d have put in my order.”
I nodded toward her plate. “Tuna not doing it for you?”
“With low-fat mayo, tuna packed in water, and whole-wheat bread, that chalupa wrapper would taste better. But gotta keep those pounds off.”
I sat down across from her and emptied my bag, more interested in eating tasty food than losing weight. “You on your lunch break?”
“Nope, off for the rest of the day. Fleas took over the office, so the vet had to close this afternoon.”
Cheese spilled out of my chalupa as I unwrapped it and I stuffed every last shred back in. “Where’s Mom?”
“The store. Buying more food we’re not going to like.”
I bowed my head and pretended to weep. “Thank goodness for fast food.”
With her last bite of sandwich gone, Ashlee pushed her plate away, then sipped her bottled water. She studied me a moment, clearly wanting to say something.
“Yes?” I asked, sinking my teeth into the gordita shell.
“I’m wondering what you’re doing home.”
“Eating lunch.”
“I mean, why did you move back?”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “To spend more time with you.”
“I’m serious, Dana. You had a killer job at that computer company. I’m sure you could’ve landed a new spot at another company. Why are you here?”
I gazed at Ashlee with her too bright lipstick and overload of eye shadow, not sure how much to say. But even though she was my little sister, now would be a good time to treat her as an adult.
“Because I don’t think Mom is coping very well with Dad’s death.”
Ashlee crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s fine. I’m here all the time.”
“But I know Dad’s life insurance barely covered the funeral and he had such a small pension. Money is tight, and I want to help out.”
“Go get another high paying job in San Jose and mail a check every month.”
I resisted the urge to tell Ashlee how I’d turned down a generous offer from a large Bay Area firm. She wouldn’t understand.
“Mom barely accepts my rent check. She wouldn’t allow me to mail money home just to help. Living here, I can buy groceries, gas up her car, and lighten the burden.”
Ashlee tugged at the label on her bottle. “I do what I can, but the vet cut my hours and he was a cheapskate to start with.”
“But together, we can help Mom pay her bills and more importantly, heal from Dad’s death.”
Before I could say more, I heard the familiar hum of the garage door. A moment later, Mom stepped into the house, carrying a paper sack with a celery stalk poking out the top.
I crumpled up my gordita wrapper and took the bag from Mom. She sat down in my vacant chair as I unpacked the groceries.
“Boy, eating more fruits and vegetables is certainly increasing my trips to the store,” she said.
“Then we should definitely go back to the way we used to eat,” I said. “You’d save money and time.”
Mom laughed. “Nice try, but our new diet is here to stay.” She glanced at the clock, a hint of worry around her eyes. “What are you doing home so early?”
I shoved the vegetable crisper closed and folded up the paper bag. “Eating lunch before I set up for the cricket-chirping contest at the fairgrounds.”
“Is it that time of year already?” Mom asked.
I stuffed the bag in the thin space between the fridge and the counter. “You mean you’ve heard of this contest?”
“Well, sure, Fester Cartemberg from up the street came in second place last year.”
So the contest really existed. For some reason, I’d secretly believed that when I arrived at the fairgrounds, no one would be there. That the cricket-chirping contest was a mass delusion of the committee.
“There’s a contest where people chirp like crickets?” Ashlee asked.
“Your idea’s better,” I said. “Instead, people bring their pet crickets, and whichever is the best chirper wins.”
Ashlee drained her water and plunked the bottle on the table. “This I’ve got to see. Mind if I tag along?”
If the cricket contest was a bust, maybe Ashlee and I could entertain the contestants with our little “Me and My Shadow” dance routine from grade school.
Then again, maybe not.
“The contest’s open to the public, but if you want to go early with me, you’ll need to help set up.”
“You bet.”
I knew Ashlee’s idea of helping would be to keep a chair seat warm, but I’ve been wrong before.
“We’d better go if we don’t want to be late.”
She tugged her T-shirt at the waist. “One sec, I have to change.”
Was there a cricket-chirping dress code I hadn’t heard of? “You look fine. Besides, we don’t have time for you to pick out a new outfit.”
Mom checked the clock again. “You have a few minutes, Dana, and you know Ashlee takes pride in her appearance.”
Ashlee stuck her tongue out at me and strolled into her room.
With Mom watching, I tried to stifle my impatience. Instead, I threw my lunch wrappers in the trash, washed Ashlee’s sandwich plate, and wiped down the counters.
Still no Ashlee.
I opened the fridge door and shuffled the yogurt and milk cartons around on the shelves, lining the yogurts up like soldiers in a dairy parade. I shut the door with a snap and paced around the kitchen.
“Dana, for heaven’s sake. Sit down and relax,” Mom said.
While I’d been puttering, she’d opened an issue of
Star
magazine. I stood over her shoulder and read about the starlets hitting the clubs and the latest romances. Mom occasionally glanced over her shoulder at me but didn’t say anything. I made sure to breathe extra loud until she flipped the magazine closed.
Star
magazine. I stood over her shoulder and read about the starlets hitting the clubs and the latest romances. Mom occasionally glanced over her shoulder at me but didn’t say anything. I made sure to breathe extra loud until she flipped the magazine closed.
“Ashlee! Hurry up!” Mom hollered.
I heard the door to Ashlee’s room open and she entered the kitchen.
“I’m ready.”
I studied her outfit. She’d changed into a black short-sleeved blouse and black miniskirt with black stockings and black boots.
“How is that getup better than what you were wearing before?”
Ashlee gave me a look like she questioned my sanity. “Hello? I’m dressed like a cricket. They’re black, right?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh, God, make the pain stop.”
“What pain?” Ashlee asked.
Mom smacked my arm.
“Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go.” Time to enter the exciting world of cricket chirping. Jason had better show up or this was going to be one long afternoon.
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