All Natural Murder by Staci McLaughlin Page A

loud.” He gestured with his can at the stereo.
    “You like Christian Rock?” Guess he didn’t actually listen to the words.
    “You bet. I’m way spiritual. Go to church every Sunday.”
    I sniffed the air and wondered if he kept his nice church clothes in the car so they wouldn’t reek.
    “So you can’t help me with Bobby Joe?” I asked. If Stump couldn’t provide anything new, I wanted to go home, breathe some fresh air, and wash my clothes.
    “Naw. Everything was going great for him, man. He was real jazzed about this monster truck rally. Thought it’d be his big break.”
    Exactly what Ashlee had said. Maybe Bobby Joe had more ambition than I’d given him credit for.
    “Well, thanks again. I’ll let myself out.”
    He hadn’t actually moved, but I figured I’d say that anyway.
    I stepped outside, closed the door, and took three deep breaths of muggy air. Heaven. An African American woman on the patio directly in front of me was watering the geraniums in her hanging pots, only she was mostly watering the cement as she tried to surreptitiously watch me and kept missing the plants. Perhaps this was the neighbor Ashlee said was spying on her.
    With a little wave, which the woman ignored, I followed the path out to the front and stopped at the curb. I looked to the left, then to the right, then in front of me again.
    My car was gone.
    And so was Ashlee.

10
    I stared at the empty parking space, as if my car might magically materialize, then yanked my cell from my pocket and speed-dialed Ashlee. As I listened to first one ring, then another, a whisper of panic started in my stomach and slithered its way up my throat. I’d left her alone in an iffy neighborhood. What if someone had decided to steal my car and Ashlee along with it?
    Ashlee answered on the third ring. “Hey, you finally done?”
    Guess she hadn’t been kidnapped. I scanned the street, wondering if she had parked out of view, playing a little prank on her older sister.
    “Where are you?” I asked. “And where’s my car?”
    “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I told you it was too hot to sit out there, so I drove over to Get the Scoop.”
    My earlier thread of panic twisted into a knot of anger. “Get back here and pick me up.” I could barely get the words out from between my clenched teeth.
    “Relax, I’ll be right there. I’m almost done with my cone, anyway.”
    “Forget your stupid ice cream and get over here.” But I was talking to myself. She’d already hung up.
    I jammed my phone into my pocket, then paced up and down the sidewalk, working myself into a sweat. The nosy neighbor came out front to water her daisies. Those must be the most overwatered flowers in the neighborhood.
    I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and walked over.
    “Beautiful flowers,” I said to the woman. The deep lines in her face and white hair put her age at eighty or so. Her T-shirt said, “Official Antique.”
    “Thank you, honey. I do love to garden.” She plucked a dead leaf off a stem.
    “It shows. I’m Dana, by the way.”
    “Yolanda.”
    I pretended to admire the blossoms for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time. “Say, I bet you have a good view of everything that goes on around here.”
    Yolanda sniffed. “Well, I try to stay out of other people’s business.”
    Yeah, right. “I’m sure you do. But it can’t hurt to keep an eye on things, make sure the neighborhood’s safe.”
    “So true. I do my part.” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “I couldn’t help but notice you went into that riffraff’s apartment. They’re not friends of yours, are they?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    Yolanda gave me the once-over. “I didn’t think you were the type.”
    “What type is that?” Even as I asked the question, I’d swear I caught a whiff of pot floating by.
    “Druggies, stoners, potheads.”
    Wow, Yolanda was pretty hip.
    Her enthusiasm increased as she talked, her arms waving more