Free Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) by Staci McLaughlin Page A

me to that new restaurant in Santa Rosa,” Mom said.
    I’d initially been troubled when Mom started dating a few months ago, with Dad’s death still a presence in our lives. But Lane had proven to be a decent guy, and I’d grudgingly accepted the situation.
    I finished the rest of my stew and helped with the dishes before settling down to watch TV. All the while, I was wondering how I could possibly look into Wendy’s death without Mom catching on. I didn’t like to deceive her, but I didn’t want to worry her, either.
    Sometimes living at home had its drawbacks, and now was one of those times. I’d just have to be crafty about it and hope I didn’t get caught.

9
     
    Early the next morning, I ran out to the farm to retrieve my box of brochures and pig pens and assured Gordon I didn’t need any extra help running the booth. Though I did start to second-guess myself when I arrived at the festival and saw the crowds. It wasn’t even eight yet and swarms of people were already showing up. I hurriedly set up the folding table and awning, but everyone headed straight for Wendy’s booth and clustered around the entrance. The crime scene tape was gone, but no one stepped inside the tent.
    “So that’s where it happened,” an older woman said.
    “Is that a bloodstain?” a man asked as he pointed to the pavement and what, in all likelihood, was actually an oil stain.
    I tuned them out as I arranged my brochures, popped the photo collage on the easel, and laid out my pens. Then I stood at attention and waited to bestow the benefits of the O’Connell Farm and Spa on any interested attendees, occasionally calling out to the crowd and offering them brochures.
    People wandered past, most ignoring me as they examined the scene of the crime. A handful slowed to scan my brochures, and three even took pens, but no one talked to me.
    When the next woman moved in to grab a pen, I spoke up. “While you’re here, let me tell you about our new spa services,” I said. My voice sounded as perky as those home-shopping network hosts’.
    The woman avoided my gaze as she drew her hand back and eased into the flow of traffic, moving past. She must be under the mistaken impression that pig pens bite. Or else I did. I readied my smile for the next person who came close enough, but no one did. They moved past as though they were at the zoo and the dead person’s booth was the star white-tiger exhibit. I should start charging for each peek. I’d make a fortune for the farm.
    After the next twenty people didn’t as much as glance in my direction, I let my smile droop and dug my cell phone out of my pocket to check the time. Thirty minutes? I’ve only been here thirty minutes? Egads, this day will go on forever!
    Maybe I’d talk to some of the other booth owners, ask if they had seen anything yesterday. If I’d heard that man yelling at Wendy, surely the guy on the other side of her booth had, too.
    I stepped from behind the table, moved around the people at Wendy’s tent, and approached the booth on the other side. Behind a folding table, a solar panel stood on end, propped up on some type of stand. The table itself held glossy postcards and little pots with plastic flowers that waved in the sunlight. A stack of visors with the company’s name printed on top sat to one side.
    The man behind the table beamed at me, exposing crooked teeth. One of his front ones was the same color as the cappuccino I’d purchased on my way to work this morning. “Good morning, ma’am. I appreciate you stopping by today. Are you interested in installing solar panels on your roof?” He spoke so fast, his words tripped over one another.
    Do I sound this desperate? No wonder the woman left.
    “Sorry, I run the booth two down. I was wondering how business is this morning for you.”
    His smile winked out, replaced by a scowl. “Not great. This damn murder has everyone distracted. No one can talk about anything else.”
    “It’s big news. Were you