Going Organic Can Kill You by Staci McLaughlin

definitely good for Esther and her business. “What’s your friend’s name? I’ve probably met her.”
    “Sheila Davenport.” Kimmie looked at me expectantly.
    Visions of beads and baubles popped into my head, dangling earrings accentuating a slender neck and short auburn hair. “The jewelry designer. She’s nice.”
    Kimmie wrinkled her nose. “Too nice, if you ask me. But these artists live and work through their emotions. And when any type of tragedy occurs, the artistic types suffer more than us normal people.”
    Oh, gag. “Did Sheila know Maxwell? I don’t recall seeing them together except at a yoga class.”
    Kimmie raised one professionally plucked eyebrow. “You mean you don’t know?”
    “Know what?”
    “Sheila is Maxwell’s ex-wife.”

8
    I took a step back and bumped into the French doors. “Sheila is Maxwell’s ex-wife? Are you sure?” Or was Kimmie making that up? Trying to sound important?
    “Of course I’m sure. I was maid of honor at their wedding. And I helped Sheila finish off the second pitcher of margaritas when Maxwell dumped her for that twenty-year-old bimbo he cast in one of his ridiculous movies.” Kimmie ran a finger down the crease along her mouth. Time for another Botox injection. “Not that I’ve ever seen one of his films myself. I only watch movies with value.”
    “Maxwell sounds like a jerk,” I said, then remembered the man was murdered and felt myself flush at my comment.
    “Rumor had it he only married her for her family’s money to start his career, so no surprise things didn’t work out. But Sheila’s the emotional type that will be devastated by his death.”
    She might be even more upset if she was the one who had killed him. Ex-wives made the perfect murder suspects, with those unresolved feelings of love and bitterness. Sheila had just claimed the top spot on my suspect list. “Any chance she still loved him?”
    Kimmie waved a manicured hand. “No. She told me last month over cocktails that the divorce was the best thing to ever happen. She wasted years focusing on Maxwell’s happiness instead of her own. With the jewelry business, she’s realized how fulfilled her life is now.”
    “Glad she got over the two-timing bum.”
    “’Course her grandfather’s trust fund helped. I’d be fulfilled, too, if I were sitting on a few million. Although, between the restaurant and Bob’s plastic surgery business, we’re not exactly hurting.”
    I almost choked on my own saliva. “Did you say a few million?”
    Kimmie glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch. “Gotta run. I want to see Sheila first, and then I have to visit my mom. We keep inviting her to move in with us, what with her poor health. We’ve got plenty of room in that giant house in Mendocino, but she likes it here. God only knows why anyone would choose to stay in Blossom Valley.” I cleared my throat and she blushed. “No offense.”
    “None taken.” Gee, I sure hoped she didn’t accidentally scratch her eye out with those nails of hers. Blood was so hard to remove from acrylic.
    With a “ta-ta” and a wave, Kimmie strolled down the path, heels clacking on the pavement.
    I watched her go, marveling at her revelation. Sheila and Maxwell had been married. Until Maxwell left her for a younger woman. Did that have any bearing on his murder? Why had he been staring at Sheila in yoga class yesterday? His gaze had been more amorous than acrimonious, but she hadn’t even glanced in his direction. Was the note on the nightstand from her? Did the police know about their history together? Surely they’d done a background check on Maxwell and knew about any previous marriages.
    With questions swirling around my head, I entered the farmhouse through the French doors and found Esther in the office. I’d had an epiphany about my job last night while staring into the dark and trying to quiet my inner voice that kept babbling about money issues and mortgage payments. Now was my chance to run my