Trimmed to Death Read online

  They could take their customary Sunday nature walk at the farm, Marla thought, although she shuddered at the memory of finding Francine’s body there. Apparently, the farm had reopened since that fateful day. Maybe she’d shop in the marketplace while Brianna and her dad walked the fields. It would give her an opportunity to chat with the saleslady and to avoid the unpleasant mental images from the rows of crops.

  Her stomach churned as they pulled into the farm’s parking lot a couple of hours later. “It’s a shame this place is tainted by a murder,” she told her companions as they walked toward the main buildings. The soil under her New Balance shoes was uneven, and she watched her footing carefully. An occasional squashed strawberry lay amongst clumps of dry grass as a remnant of someone’s pickings.

  “The memories will fade,” Dalton stated, his jaw firm as he strode ahead with a brisk pace. “Newcomers to the area won’t know anything about it, and the rest of us will resume coming here because we like the produce. Let’s hope the owner’s son is wrong about the farm being in jeopardy. Zach Kinsdale didn’t say anything to that effect when I interviewed him.”

  Brianna pointed to the outdoor ticket stand. “How many buckets should we get?”

  “I’m going into the market,” Marla replied. “You two can go picking without me. I’d rather not return to the fields so soon.”

  Dalton gave her a perceptive glance. “Are you okay with coming here?”

  “Yes, of course. I made a promise to Arnie.”

  “Don’t talk to Zach until we’re there. Come on, Brie. I’d like to get some peppers, too, so I’ll need two buckets for myself.”

  They split up. Marla headed inside the market while her family went to the U-Pick side. A blast of air-conditioning hit her as she entered. Several customers were already checking out at the cash register. People came early on the weekends. The parking lot had held a number of other cars. In an hour, the barbecue wagon would open. That drew even more visitors.

  She got a cart and proceeded down the aisles, plucking a fat onion here and a bulbous cucumber there. The gourmet food products tempted her, but she didn’t really need anything except perhaps more olive tapenade. She paused by the display case holding artisan chocolate pieces. Those must be Teri’s confections with their artistic designs.

  Didn’t the sponsor of the bake-off contest also sell items in the store? Oh yes, the olive oils and other imported goods. So at least a couple of the people from the baking competition had a connection here. Were the farm’s owners responsible for vendor contracts, or did they employ a manager for that purpose? She should find out in case Dalton needed to speak to this person.

  Marla approached the saleslady. “Is Mr. Kinsdale, Senior around?” she asked after paying for her items. “My husband and I were hoping to speak to him. Dalton is out in the field picking strawberries, but he’ll be back any minute.”

  The plump woman gave her a kindly smile. “I’m sorry, miss, but Sundays are the one day the Kinsdale boys take off. They won’t do any work on the Sabbath.”

  “You mean, none of the family is here?” Her spirits plunged. How would she keep her promise to Arnie now?

  “You got it. The sales staff runs the U-Pick and marketplace anyway. The barbecue wagon is a separate franchise. So are the vendor carts outside.”

  “I see. Who’s responsible for ordering items to stock in the store?”

  “That would be our sales manager, although Zach may recommend products to him. Sometimes the boss will come across a vendor or an item he likes, and he’ll tell the manager to make an offer on it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why, do you have something you think would be a good addition to our inventory?”

  “I really wanted to talk to the senior Kinsdale about it. Does he go to church on Sundays?”

  The woman nodded. “I believe so, and they have a family dinner. His wife insists on getting the clan together once a week. It’s wonderful how they’re all so close.”

  And close-mouthed, Marla thought. Prying secrets out of them wouldn’t be easy. Or perhaps the other family members didn’t know whatever Zach did about the farm’s status. She really had to talk to the man in charge.

  “Let’s stop by his house,” Dalton suggested when she told him the results of her discussion. “I still want him to look over the list of contestants to see if any names pop out at him as persons of interest. His family should be back from church by now.”

  Dalton had returned from the fields hot and sweaty and was glad to cool off inside the market. Brianna added a jar of dilled mustard, a package of organic sliced turkey, and a bunch of arugula to their bag, for her school lunches.

  They packed the bundles into their car trunk and then headed off in a cloud of dust. Zach Kinsdale’s residence wasn’t too far away. He lived in a quiet residential community bordered by a canal system. His property must be at least an acre, Marla thought, viewing the expanse of grass dotted with spindly evergreens. The sprawling one-story house had a white tile roof and sand-colored exterior.

  “You again,” the farmer exclaimed as he answered their summons at the front door. Dressed in a shirt and tie with belted black pants, he appeared to have come home directly from church.

  “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but we were in the area and I have a few more questions,” Dalton explained. “This is my wife, Marla, and our daughter, Brianna.”

  “Nice to meet you, ladies. Come in then. We’re relaxing before we begin meal preparations. Grace, we have company,” he hollered.

  A woman bustled in from the kitchen, judging from the apron she hastily discarded. Zach did the introductions. Evidently, she hadn’t met Dalton before.

  They took seats in the living room while Marla surreptitiously studied the man’s wife. She wore a pretty lavender dress with pearl jewelry and black heeled sandals. Her blond hair, styled in a bob, was a bit too brassy. Marla’s gaze wandered to a shelving unit. It held cat figurines, framed photos, and a porcelain tea set in addition to books. A built-in bar took up another corner. As though noticing her scrutiny, a black cat with white paws and a snowy tail slinked into view.

  Marla crossed her legs when the cat nudged her ankles. She smoothed her jeans, aware of how rumpled the three of them must look.

  “I was hoping you’d glance over this list and tell me if any names jump out at you as significant to Francine’s case.” Dalton handed Zach a crumpled piece of paper he’d taken from his pocket. “It’s all the people from the bake-off and Find Franny competitions.”

  “I can’t believe that poor woman died at our farm,” Grace said in a cultured tone. With her elegant manner and slender form, she didn’t appear the way Marla pictured a farmer’s wife.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy,” Marla agreed. “Had you ever met Francine?”

  “No, I hadn’t the pleasure. Wasn’t she editor of some magazine?”

  “She was publisher of Eat Well Now.”

  “Oh, I don’t subscribe to those journals that tell people how to eat. If you listen to all the advice about what’s bad for you, you’d have nothing on your plate.” Grace gave a low chuckle to emphasize her point.

  “I understand your farm uses sustainable growing techniques and natural pest management,” Marla commented to Zach.

  “We do our best to guard the environment, Mrs. Vail. Our planet is a fragile thing. People should do everything possible to preserve it for future generations.”

  “I agree. So who do you think might have wanted to harm Francine? Was it somebody who disagreed with her magazine’s philosophy about healthy eating habits?”

  Zach snickered. “You’ll probably find half a dozen people who had a grudge against her. I’m not saying I know who or why, but nobody is universally well-liked. There’s always someone who is jealous or wants what the other person has.”

  “Or it could have been somebody protecting a secret. Did Francine know your farm was in trouble?”

  Chapter Five

  “Where the hell did you hear that?
” Zach demanded, his shoulders tensing.

  Marla waved a hand in the air. “Your son Rory is friends with my pal, Arnie Hartman. Arnie mentioned to me that Rory seems concerned about the place.”

  “Rory is a good kid but he’s a dreamer. He can get strange ideas in his head, like becoming an hotelier. Did Arnie mention their joint venture to you? My boy doesn’t have a mind for business. You should take anything he says with a grain of salt, because he can easily misinterpret things.”

  Dalton leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Do you make all the decisions for the family?”

  “I’ll get my brothers’ advice but they’re happy to let me take charge. We’re equal partners in terms of ownership.”

  Marla glanced at Brianna, who was texting on her cell phone. No doubt the teen was avidly listening, though. Maybe she’d pick up some pointers for her school debate team.

  “How many siblings do you have?” Marla asked Zach in a friendly tone.

  Zach dashed a hand through his sandy hair. “Two brothers and a sister.”

  Dalton took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Let’s see. Janet is married to Tony Winters, correct? And he’s vice president of Amalfi Consolidated that sponsored the bake-off. Janet organized the day’s events.”

  Marla’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t realized their sponsor’s wife was related to the farm family.

  Zach’s walnut eyes darkened. “We’re happy to have Tony’s support. Where are you going with this, Detective?”

  Dalton pointed to the list he’d given Zach. “Does Tony have any interest in the farm besides selling his company’s products in your store?”

  “Of course he’s interested. His sister has a stake in the farm’s ownership.”

  Dalton shook his head. “I mean, does he have an actual financial interest in the place?”

  “Oh, you mean like a loan? Certainly not. Our property is free and clear. We inherited it from our Pa.” His gaze flickered between Dalton and Marla as though he challenged them to refute his statement.

  Was there an element of fear hidden there? Dalton could easily look up the farm’s title information. Had he already done so?

  “How about the judges?” Dalton persisted. “Did any of them have a beef with Francine that you knew about?”

  Zach’s mouth thinned. “I don’t know all these people personally, Detective. But let’s see. Carlton Paige is the food critic, yes? He writes his column for the newspaper, so I can’t see what problem he’d have with the lady’s magazine. She might have disagreed with his reviews but that wouldn’t be a motive to kill someone.”

  “Tristan Marsh is pastry chef at The Royal Palate. Have you ever eaten there?”

  “That place is too fancy for us. Right, Grace?” He grinned at his wife, who sat in a lone armchair and looked stiffly poised.

  “Their menu choices are too eclectic for our choosing,” Grace replied in a smooth tone. “Janet knows the guy, though. They met at a menswear store when she was shopping for her husband. I gathered the pastry chef has expensive taste in clothes.”

  “Was he ever featured in Francine’s magazine?” Marla queried. She couldn’t conceive of a connection between the two otherwise.

  “I wouldn’t know, dear. I don’t read the publication. I like the TV show with Raquel Hayes. She’s very entertaining and I always learn something new.”

  “I’ll have to watch it more often, although I don’t have much time for television. At the end of the day, I’m tired from work and there are chores to do at home.”

  Dalton shifted restlessly in his chair, and she could tell he was ready to go. Since he didn’t seem to have any further questions, Marla continued to hold the conversational ball.

  “One more thing, and then we’ll be on our way,” she said with an amiable smile. “I understand Francine had participated in the Find Franny game before, so she wasn’t a first-timer to the festival. Did you either of you speak to her before the scavenger hunt started?”

  Zach rose and so did his wife. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Vail. We were both too busy to greet everyone. The harvest festival is enormously popular, and we give press interviews as well as overseeing the staff and vendors. I’m sure you understand.”

  Marla understood perfectly as he ushered them to the door. He was lying.

  Teri the chocolate lady had identified the handsome man speaking to Francine. It was none other than Zach Kinsdale. This took place after the bake-off contest but before the Find Franny game. Had their encounter slipped Zach’s mind in the confusion, or had he fabricated his reply on purpose?

  “He knows more than he’s letting on,” she said during the drive east. The car smelled like ripened strawberries. She couldn’t wait to get home and eat some of the fresh fruit.

  Dalton focused on the road lined by shrubbery as they sped past an intersection. “I’ll check into their finances tomorrow to see if the man is telling the truth about not having any loans. What are you planning to do on your day off?”

  “The dogs are due for their annual check-ups at the vet. After that, I thought I’d talk to Carlton Paige. Becky Forest indicated the food critic might be a useful source.”

  “Hey, Dad, did you consider the wife’s role?” Brianna inquired from the back seat. “Maybe her husband was having an affair with Francine, and Grace bumped her off.”

  “Brianna, you shouldn’t be thinking such things,” Dalton said with a glance at the rearview mirror.

  Marla peered at him. “She has a good point. You should look into Grace’s movements the day of the festival. You’re the one who’s always told me to examine all the angles.”

  ****

  The next morning, Marla examined the pet hairs on the linoleum floor at the veterinarian’s office. She held her dogs loosely by their leashes in the waiting room. Her golden retriever explored the perimeter while her poodle played a sniffing game with a smaller canine.

  Marla and the owner—a young woman in athletic garb—exchanged understanding smiles. Pet owners shared commonalities that gave them a mutual interest. The room smelled of animal mixed with a cleaning solution scent.

  Nearby, a bearded man sat with his cat in a portable cage. Marla suppressed an inner smile. She wouldn’t have taken him for a cat person.

  Her turn came, and she leapt from her seat to follow the technician. Inside the cubicle assigned to her, she greeted the female doctor and gave a status report on her pets. Dr. Nelson, a pleasant woman with hair a shade darker than Marla’s chestnut brown, wore a white lab coat and a friendly smile. She performed the examinations with skilled efficiency. Marla cringed when her precious pets received their annual vaccinations. It hurt her more than it did them.

  “Did you go to the harvest festival at Kinsdale Farms this year?” she asked the vet, knowing the woman liked to attend. “I entered the bake-off contest for the first time. A percentage of the proceeds went to the Safety First Alliance where I volunteer. We educate the public about the dangers of leaving children in hot cars, but we also include pets.”

  “I’m aware of the group. It’s a worthy cause. We have their brochures in our front office. I didn’t make it to the festival this year, though. Would you believe one of our clients organized the whole thing? That would be an enormous undertaking for anyone, but Janet loves planning social events.”

  “Do you mean Janet Winters? Her husband’s company sponsored our competition and provided the award.”

  “It was generous of Tony to get his firm involved. I can’t imagine why Janet would be worried about him.”

  “Worried? How so?”

  Dr. Nelson bit her lip. “Sorry, I shouldn’t repeat things. Your pets look fine. If you’ll follow me to the front, we’ll renew their heartworm meds and Spooks’ eye drops.”

  Marla wanted to pursue her remark about Janet but dutifully trailed the animal doctor toward the checkout counter. Her dogs, reattached to their leashes, bounded ahead toward freedom. As Dr. Nelson scribbled notes in their charts, Mar
la posed one more question.

  “By any chance, do you know Carlton Paige, the food critic? He was one of our judges at the bake-off contest. The man struck me as a dog lover.” That’s because he looks like one, Marla thought but didn’t say aloud.

  Dr. Nelson’s face split into a grin. “Sure enough. Carlton takes his pets to the dog park every day. You’ll never find a more dedicated owner.”

  “Which park would that be? The one over by Fig Tree Lane?”

  “No, it’s out west off of Nob Hill.”

  “Maybe I’ll take these guys there. They could use a good run. Thanks for the info.”

  When she’d called the newspaper where Carlton’s restaurant reviews appeared, the person there said he worked from home and emailed in his pieces. Dalton wouldn’t approve of her going alone to his residence, so this would give her the perfect opportunity to encounter him on a casual basis.

  She released the dogs in the enclosure at the dog park, smiling at their high spirits as they charged around the grassy area. Unfortunately, Marla had no idea what time of day Carlton usually showed up. It was not quite ten, but he might have been there earlier.

  She struck up a conversation with another dog owner while watching her pets cavort on the field. Spooks chased after another small animal while Lucky ran from one corner to the next. Once the woman left, Marla stayed on the bench. The tranquil park lulled her into shedding her concerns. A soft breeze rustled through the trees and caressed her skin. She inhaled the freshly-mown grass scent, and observed the fluffy clouds scudding overhead in a bright blue sky.

  “Marla Vail? Fancy meeting you here,” said a familiar nasal voice.

  Startled, she jerked upright. She’d become so mesmerized by the peacefulness of the place that she’d forgotten her purpose in coming. Carlton Paige stared at her from his rotund face, his complexion reddened. A black lab and a smaller dog with a pug face strained on their leashes held in his hand. He let them go into the fenced field and rolled up the restraints.

  “Hello, Mr. Paige. Nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise. Which dog is yours?”