Green Living Can Be Deadly PDF
Preview Green Living Can Be Deadly
GREEN LIVING CAN BE DEADLY “Dana, where are all the people?” Zennia asked, mirroring my own concerns from earlier. Before I could say anything, a scream sounded from next door. Then another. I stared at Zennia, frozen. She snatched up her chef’s knife and held it close to her chest. “What happened?” she asked. I darted over and ran into Kimmie as she rushed out of the booth. I looked past her through the tent flap and saw Wendy on the pavement, motionless. Her neck was marred by an angry red gash. The wraps lay nearby, tofu and sprouts spilling out onto the pavement. Kimmie grabbed the front of my polo shirt. “Oh, Dana,” she said. Then she fainted. I caught Kimmie in a haphazard hug, slowing her descent as she crumpled to the ground. I’d never had someone faint on me before, but that paled in comparison to whatever had happened to Wendy in that tent.... Books by Staci McLaughlin Going Organic Can Kill You All Natural Murder Green Living Can Be Deadly Published by Kensington Publishing Corp. Green Living Can Be Deadly Staci McLaughlin KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. http://www.kensingtonbooks.com All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected. Table of Contents GREEN LIVING CAN BE DEADLY Books by Staci McLaughlin Title Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 Tips from the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa Teaser chapter Copyright Page 1 A gust of wind blew against the canvas canopy, ripping the pole from Esther’s hand and threatening to topple the entire contraption. I scrambled to grab the pole and forced it into the base. “Got it,” I told Esther. She stepped back and wiped a hand across her brow. “Mercy me, Dana. This setup is harder than I thought.” I glanced around at the nearby stalls along Main Street, where others were struggling to pop up canopies or unfold tables. When I’d first suggested a green- living festival to the Blossom Valley Rejuvenation Committee, which Esther belonged to, I hadn’t anticipated the strong winds that occasionally sprang up during fall here in Blossom Valley. Still, even with these temperamental bursts of air and cooler temperatures, the festival would go on, with the O’Connell Organic Farm and Spa right in the middle of the activity. As owner of the farm, Esther was hoping this festival would draw attention to her bed-and-breakfast and secure her financial future. After a series of murders in the few months since the farm’s opening, business had been understandably slow to pick up, but reservations had steadily risen in the last few weeks, allowing us all to breathe a little easier. As the marketing maven for the farm, as well as the backup maid, waitress, and animal catcher, I liked to think my ads and daily blog had helped with business, though it was probably the discounts and proximity to Mendocino that had pulled everyone in. As long as people booked a stay, I didn’t care why they were here. Unless it was to murder someone. I finished securing the canopy and stepped over to the plastic folding table to retrieve a handful of glossy brochures from a cardboard box beneath it. I fanned the stack out as I spoke to Esther. “I can’t wait to see how many people show up today.” Esther fiddled with a button on her denim blouse. The embroidered pumpkins and fall leaves fit right in with the spirit of the festival. “Heavens, what if no one comes? The farm will get the blame.” “Relax. This will be a huge success, and then you’ll get the credit. We’ve been advertising it for weeks.” I patted her hand, then reached into the box for more brochures. “You should get the credit, Dana. This was your idea, and don’t think I don’t know it. You’ve saved my bacon more than once.” A cough behind me made my hand jerk. Two brochures skittered off the table and slid to the ground. Gordon, the manager of the farm, had slipped into the booth from the back, dressed in his usual tailored suit and tie, every black hair on his head slicked into place. In one hand, he clutched the clipboard that he carried everywhere. “Yes,” he said. “It’s good to see Dana embracing her marketing role. The festival could be the push we need to ensure the farm’s success, provided everyone works hard and remembers the goal of attracting more guests to the farm.” Gordon had spent the first few months as spa manager snapping at employees and watching our every move—a reminder that he was in charge, even if Esther really owned the place. In recent weeks, he’d adopted more of a team captain method that involved pep talks—lots of pep talks—though his abrasive personality occasionally showed through. I usually tuned him out, nodding in all the right places while I mentally ran through my list of errands I needed to run after work or what TV shows I wanted to watch that night. I retrieved the fallen brochures and grabbed a handful of pens with pigs on top from the box under the table. I laid them near the brochures, making sure O’CONNELL ORGANIC FARM AND SPA was clearly visible. Gordon picked up a pen. “How much did you squander on these?” He turned to glare at Esther. “Did you approve this purchase?” Oh, boy, here we go. Esther snatched the pen from Gordon and practically cradled it in her hand. “These pens are cute as newborn bunnies,” Esther said. “When Dana showed me the Web site, I gave her my blessing.” I took the pen from Esther and pushed the pig down. An oink squeaked out. “Long after people throw those brochures in the trash, they’ll still have these pens. Every time they write with one, they’ll think of the spa.” Gordon grunted, which usually meant he agreed, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Let’s put them away for now. I don’t want to run out in the first hour and not have more when the big afternoon crowds show up.” “Don’t worry, I bought a ton of these little piggies, but I can save them for later.” I pushed the pig to hear one more oink, then gathered him up with his other pig pals and dropped them back into the box. You could bet I wouldn’t be whipping out the travel mugs until after Gordon left. He brushed at his suit sleeve, though there wasn’t a speck to be seen. “I have to get to the farm, but I’ll check back later to see if you need anything from me.”
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