Lana had texted that she'd made an extraordinary amount of minestrone, and she insisted I come for dinner to help her eat it. I never turned down a homemade bowl of minestrone, so I pulled on my sweater and boots and walked in the direction of Lana's house.
Jackson was working late. The body in Hickory Flats turned out to be a murder, but the victim's security camera had caught the whole thing. Another disgruntled neighbor, apparently. It made me particularly thankful that my only neighbors were my sisters. Jackson was staying late to finish up the report. He'd had little time to think about Donna's case and was still waiting on a final decision from the captain. Jackson seemed to think he was leaning toward accidental death, and since he couldn't bring up the one witness who heard the scuffle, he was stuck with whatever the captain decided.
It was an especially brisk night, which made the thought of minestrone even more inviting. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Its buddy answered a few seconds later. The constant ruffle of tree leaves and animals skittering through shrubs kept me alert. My pace picked up when a particularly sharp burst of wind sent the shadows around me scattering in every direction. It was the kind of night that was exhilarating and alive with energy. I was glad I'd decided to walk.
I'd just reached Lana's property when my phone rang, sending me skittering a few steps ahead. Admittedly, the liveliness of the surroundings, while refreshing, had put me slightly on edge. It was Jackson.
"Hey, I'm just heading to Lana's for some minestrone soup."
"That sounds way better than the vending machine egg salad sandwich staring back at me from my pile of paperwork."
"You poor man. While I try not to tell you how to live your life, let me just say that egg salad from a vending machine seems like a questionable choice."
"It was either that or tuna salad. It sounds like you're exercising. Wait, are you walking alone to Lana's? It's dark outside."
"I did notice the lack of sunshine, yes." Another flutter in a nearby shrub sent me a few feet ahead.
"Sunni, you know what I mean."
"We're both a couple of daredevils this evening. You and your egg salad and me on my walk in the dark. Lana's house is in view, and her porch lights are lending the whole landscape nice light. Anything new?"
"I'm still stuck on this other case. It'll be done tonight, so I can work on the Garten case."
"Then it is a case?" I asked.
"Not really. Captain wants me to find some solid evidence to put it into the homicide category. My only problem is my solid evidence comes from a ghost."
"I doubt that would go over well. While you were stuck on this case, I paid a visit to Valley Produce. That was where Harris Bodmin worked."
"Was?" he asked.
"He got fired. Apparently, the strawberry incident at the hotel was the last straw. The manager of Valley Produce said he fired Harris today. I think that might have been the reason for his mad dash around town in his truck. He was angry about getting fired." Just hearing Jackson's voice had taken away some of the jitters the noises and shadows had provoked. Not that he could have done much for me sitting over in the precinct, but the sound of his voice always reminded me that I had someone to protect me if I needed it.
"I've got to go talk to Harris. After witnessing his temper in action, I moved him up to the top of the list."
"The list for the case that might ultimately be labeled an accident?" I asked. I opened the gate that led into Lana's inner yard. I could see Lana standing at the stove, stirring a pot. I slowed my pace to finish the call. The inner yard had far less unexplained noises, and the porch lights bathed the whole yard in a warm glow.
"Sometimes it's easier to find more evidence by zeroing in on the killer," Jackson explained. "If I get a confession, then I prove Grant wrong and it becomes a homicide." There was a touch of glee in his voice as he spoke about bettering his superior.
"I spoke to Harris," I said. Before I could tell him about the interaction he interrupted.
"Sunni, you need to stay away from him. I did a little background check on Harris Bodmin. He's been arrested for a public brawl. It's been four years, but he put the other guy in the hospital. The report said he was belligerent during the arrest."
"He was fine," I said. "I admit I was a little intimidated—"
A loud, irritated sigh came through the phone.
"First of all, I was outside. He was inside his garage. In fact, that was something I wanted to mention. He was staining a wooden door a reddish-brown color, and there was plenty of stain on his hands."
"The stains on Donna were plant-based. I'm sure he wasn't using a plant-based stain."
It was my turn to sigh. "That's right. Darn. Thought I had something for you. No, the stain smelled terrible. It wasn't plant-based. He had his neighbor up in arms about the strong smell. Let's just say, Harris wasn't the least bit neighborly about it."
"Be right there," Jackson said to someone in the precinct. "Got to go, Bluebird. Stay clear of Bodmin. I'll be talking to him tomorrow. Say hi to Lana."
"I will." My hands and face were red and cold by the time I reached Lana's kitchen door. The aroma of garlic and oregano circled the house causing my belly to growl with hunger. The minestrone would sure beat the cheese sandwich I had planned for dinner.
Lana was taste testing the soup when I stepped inside. "Hmm, needs some salt." She glanced at me as I rubbed my hands together to warm them. "You walked?"
"I wanted to work up a good appetite and a good amount of brrr before I sat down to minestrone soup. I underestimated the brrr potential." I rubbed my hands together again.
"Yes, well there are these cool little fingery inventions called gloves," she said as she added a pinch of salt to the pot.
"Is that so? Thank goodness I have a wise big sister to fill me in on all of life's little secrets. Jackson says hello by the way." After spending time with Donna and Minnie I realized how grateful I was for my big sister, bossiness and all. I walked over and gave her a little squeeze.
She laughed. "What was that for?"
"Can't a girl hug her big sister without it raising suspicion?"
Lana arched her brow.
"See." I pointed at the brow. "Suspicion raised, literally. I've just come to the conclusion that it's nice to have a big sister… and a little sister. Like bookends." I walked over and picked one of the buttered rolls from my plate. I took a chunk off and tasted it. "See, this is why I walked. Now everything tastes better because all my taste and smell senses have been cleared by the night air."
Lana ladled soup into bowls, and we sat at her kitchen table. I loved having Edward around… most of the time… but I had to admit, sometimes it was nice to eat dinner without him hovering around adding his opinion. And when Lana was around, I had to ignore all his comments.
My first spoonful was packed with veggies and kidney beans. "Yep, this hits the spot, and by spot I mean the vast, empty cavern that is my stomach."
"So Donna Garten is dead," Lana stated plainly. "Did she really get stuck in the freezer?"
I nodded as I finished another spoonful. "The question is—was it an accident or murder?"
Lana sat up straighter. "Really? Word around the catering world is that she got stuck inside because the safety release button wasn't working. A lot of people are vying for that chef position at the hotel. I mentioned to a few of my chef friends that Carlton was going to be in trouble for the safety violation, which meant the hotel might be shut down."
"My big sister knows all," I said with a smile. "You're right. That's exactly what Jackson said. I'm not sure what's going to happen with the hotel. I was supposed to cover the anniversary celebration for the Thornbridge. I'm sort of at a loss now. Might not have anything for Prudence this week."
"You could do a story about how your big sister is always right," she said with a grin.
"Almost always," I said. "Remember, you insisted I buy that lime green dress for the prom, and I looked like a gecko in all my photos."
She laughed. "Oh yeah, not one of my prouder moments as a big sister. Better stick with the dead chef in the freezer story."