Free All Natural Murder by Staci McLaughlin

tinkling overhead. The hum of the nearby waist-high freezer, holding an assortment of ice cream treats, reached my ears as I stepped into the mart. The low-wattage overhead bulbs offered feeble light. Several rows of shelves held the usual assortment of chips, candy, and cheap wine. A refrigerated row in the back stocked milk, energy drinks, and beer.
    To my right, an open doorway led to the knickknack shop. I could see a display case with arrowheads, wine-bottle stoppers, and necklaces with charms made of abalone shell. On top of the display case, a row of tiny trees in dirt-filled plastic cups sat before a sign that read, G ROW Y OUR O WN R EDWOOD .
    Behind the counter, I spotted the ugly shells, marked for three dollars and ninety-nine cents. Even that low price seemed too high. I could see a little magnet on the back, but no one would stick that on their fridge.
    “Can I help you, little lady?” a gruff voice called from the back of the store. I squinted into the gloom and saw a man stocking Twinkies at the end of a row. I gasped at what I thought was a dead squirrel on his head but realized the fuzzy pile was his toupee. He was in his late fifties, and as he rose to standing, his knees popped, the sound echoing off the linoleum. His beer gut jiggled under his striped dress shirt.
    Better to question him outright, or take the roundabout approach? “I’m picking up a few snacks,” I said. I grabbed two Snickers bars, a bag of M&Ms, and a pack of gum from the closest shelf. As I neared the counter with my treasures, I snatched a bag of Funyuns off the display rack on the end for good measure. I hadn’t had a bag of those salty, onion-flavored rings in years, and I had a sudden craving.
    Of course, I’d have to hide everything in my car. If Mom caught sight of all this sugar and saturated fat, she’d toss everything in the trash without a second thought.
    I dumped my stash on the smooth beige surface, and the man squeezed into the narrow opening at the end of the counter to stand before the cash register. He shuffled the snacks around.
    “Guess you’re not watching your figure like most of the ladies I know.”
    I snapped my mouth shut before I could reply. I wanted information from this guy, and smarting off wouldn’t help.
    “You the owner here?” I asked instead, trying for a casual tone. He looked like a rounder version of the guy who used to run the place, but it had been a lot of years, and I didn’t remember the guy wearing an ugly toupee back then.
    “Donald Popielak. This here’s my store. Owned and operated it for thirty years.”
    So it was him. I looked around, nodding my approval. “That’s impressive, especially now with the economy so slow.”
    “I’m great with money, got a real head for business. Plus I’m careful about who I hire. I want customers to have a good experience when they shop here. That way they’ll come back.”
    Just the opening I wanted. I bowed my head and shook it, going for commiserating. “Sure is a shame what happened to Bobby Joe. I heard he was your best worker.” Then again, this last bit of information was provided by Bobby Joe himself, so it might have been an exaggeration.
    “That fool got his head bashed in, from what I heard. Guess he didn’t know jujitsu, like I do. He could have defended himself.” He grabbed my candy bars and ran them over the scanner. “’Course, I don’t know where you heard he was my best employee. My best employee is me.” Donald let out a hearty laugh as he shook out a plastic bag and dropped my purchases inside.
    “Still, now you’ll have to replace him. What a hassle.” This wasn’t getting me any closer to finding out about Bobby Joe, but I wanted to keep Donald talking.
    Donald let out a growl so deep that for a moment I wondered if he was hiding a pet Rottweiler behind the counter. “Any fool can pump gas. I’ll have a replacement by tomorrow. And any new employee is bound to show up on time more than Bobby Joe