“You’re sweet to cook for us, Ebs, but why all the fuss? And don’t you want to use the food processor for that garlic? It would be much quicker.”
Ebby had a collection of food processors at his home and at the restaurant. When he was cooking for pleasure, he preferred to use his good knives. That way he could have his hands on the food and see it grow and change from separate ingredients into one well-blended dish. “No, thanks. I’m good with the knife.”
Melinda filled the kettle with water. Once it was on the stove, she faced him. “Why did you call this family dinner tonight? Does it have to do with what happened at the restaurant? We’re worried about you, Ebby.”
“Yes, you could say that. I want to tell you all about what happened at the restaurant. But there’s no need to worry. Promise,” Ebby said, his knife flying as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.
Melinda moved close to him, leaning against the counter as she spoke in a soft voice. “Ebs, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks. Your clothes are hanging off you. No offense, but you look like you’re about to have a breakdown. What’s going on?”
Ebby sighed, set his knife down and turned to face Melinda. “I’d rather wait and tell everyone at the same time, if you don’t mind.”
When the kettle had boiled, Melinda busied herself with her teabag, not meeting Ebby’s eyes. “You’re still going forward with selling the house?”
“There’s no change with regard to selling the house. My brother will get his money.” Ebby put the chopped garlic into a small glass bowl and set it aside. Then he took half a dozen tomatoes and started to chop those.
The Engstroms’ twenty acres, nestled up against King Mountain and the Marin County Open Space, would fetch a king’s ransom. Mark was eager to get his hands on enough cash to bail him out of his latest financial debacle. But Ebby, who had built his own cottage on a secluded part of the property, and Elodie, who – against Mark and Melinda’s vociferous protestations – lived in her Airstream trailer on her own little parcel of the property, weren’t too enthusiastic about selling the land that had been in the Engstrom family for generations. The main residence was over a hundred years old and needed major repairs. One entire wing, thankfully situated at the back of the property and out of view from the street, had holes in the roof and out of safety concerns had been boarded up after Cynthia’s murder. Nature had run her course, and now that section of the house was overgrown with ivy and falling down.
Even though Mark and Melinda lived in the house, Mark refused to foot the bill for any of the needed repairs. Even though Fiona had moved out of the family home ages ago, she had offered to step in and pay to at least have the disused wing demolished. Mark had refused that offer as well, and the structure that had housed Engstroms’ past and present had slowly become more and more run-down. When a developer had approached Mark with an exorbitant offer, Ebby and Elodie had reluctantly agreed to sell the property. The house where Ebby’s mother had been murdered was to be sold. After it was pillaged of its heart-pine flooring, marble hearth, original windows, and vintage fixtures, it would be razed.
“Time to let all the bad memories go, Ebs. You’ll be able to buy any house you want. It’s time to move on. Your brother is concerned about what’s best for you, you know. He’s worried that you living here is taking its toll.”
Melinda had always been kind to Ebby, even before she and Mark were married. Over the years, Ebby had witnessed the deterioration of Mark and Melinda’s relationship, had watched Melinda become a shell of herself. Mark did that to people. Ebby knew his brother wasn’t kind to his wife. Many a time he’d caught glimpses of bruises on her arms. After he’d confronted her about them, she’d taken to wearing long sleeves and refused to discuss the matter further. Ebby had encouraged Melinda to report the abuse, but she had changed the subject and made it clear any discussion on the matter was over. Whenever Ebby had threatened to do the reporting himself, Melinda was quick to explain that she’d fallen or bumped into something. At a loss to do anything, Ebby had no choice but to let it go.
There was no mistaking the terror in her eyes when Mark lost his temper, but Ebby stayed out of their marriage, telling himself that if things got really bad, Melinda would leave. But she hadn’t. She’d chosen to stay with her bully of a husband. Out of pity, Ebby bit back his anger as he turned to face his sister-in-law. “My brother doesn’t give a fig what happens to me. He’s after the money, and you know it. I’m not selling the house to help my brother.” Ebby needed to face the past. Once he did, he would be glad to get away from the Engstrom house and its horrible memories. But he didn’t tell Melinda that.
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the door. “Go have a rest and drink your tea.”
She gave him a playful smile as she pinched his arm. “What time’s dinner?”
“When Mark gets back. I’ve got everything prepped so it won’t take long for me to cook and serve.”
“Okay. I’ll leave you to it.”
Left alone in the kitchen, it took Ebby another half hour to pound out the chicken breasts. Once that was finished, he headed back to his cabin to shower and get ready for the evening. As he stepped outside, he took a moment to fill his lungs with the cold January air. Ebby knew how lucky his family was to have this large chunk of property snuggled right up to the public lands preserved for outdoor recreation. Ebby’s great-great-grandfather had built the Engstrom house long before Larkspur was an incorporated city. If it weren’t for Elodie and Fiona, Mark and Melinda would have sold up ages ago.
Ebby looked up at the old house, taking in the shabby paint and the patched roof. The original plan had been to make the repairs in the spring, but then Mark had received the timely offer to sell and explained his reason for doing so. Ebby would never forget Melinda’s look of shock and betrayal, as Mark confessed his staggering losses. He had closed out his commentary by saying, “I can always make more money. That’s not a problem. I just need something to carry me through for the next few months.” Mark had then gone on to tell them that a Mr. Lucius Sanderman and his wife Adrienne had expressed interest in the property and had offered an exorbitant amount of money for the Engstrom house and surrounding acreage. “He’ll let us stay on for three months after the sale goes through, so no one has to hurry to find a place.”
The offer had forced Elodie and Ebby to take stock of their situation. Mark, whose eyes had flashed with dollar signs, was ready to sell. Elliot Engstrom had understood the dynamic between his two very different sons, and in an attempt to keep the Engstrom land in the family, he had the foresight to grant Ebby a fifty-one percent controlling interest in the property. For the first time in Ebby’s life, he hadn’t immediately capitulated to Mark’s demands. Instead he had sat down with his aging aunts, who had surprised him by agreeing to sell. Elodie would go and live with Fiona at the beach. Mark would pay off his creditors, leaving Ebby to forge his own way in the world.
But he wasn’t going anywhere until he found out what happened on the night of his mother’s murder. Mark wouldn’t like it, but those were Ebby’s terms. His family had coddled him and tried to protect him since his mother’s death. They’d seen him through plenty of therapy and support. Ebby was tired of being treated with kid gloves. He was certain that once he remembered everything – even if he implicated himself – he could heal. On a whim, he turned back to the house, coming to a stop at the window of his mother’s study, standing in the exact spot where he had – according to Elodie – been standing the night he had witnessed her brutal murder.
The curtains were closed against the darkness, but Ebby stood in the same place where he had been found as a teenager, lying on the ground, curled into a ball in the pouring rain on the night of her death. Now he paid attention to the placement of his feet and reached a hand out to touch the cold glass, willing his subconscious mind to give up its secrets. Taking a deep breath, he waited. Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?”
“Geez, Mark. You scared me.”
“Not my fault you’re not paying attention. You should be more aware of your surroundings, brother.”
Ebby didn’t respond.
Mark shook his head, turned on his heel, and headed to the house. Ebby watched him go, wondering not for the first time what he had done to make his brother dislike him so.
***
By 6:30 p.m. the mood in the Engstrom house had lightened considerably. Fiona, Elodie, Mark, and Melinda had at least a couple of drinks under their belts, and they could be heard in the living room talking and laughing. Felicity Matthews, the Engstroms’ housekeeper, sat on one of the kitchen stools, chopping the lemon wedges that would garnish the chicken piccata. Tonight, Felicity was here as Ebby’s friend. Felicity’s mother, and grandmother before her, had worked for the Engstrom family. Felicity had always been a part of the Engstrom household. After she had graduated from college, she surprised Ebby when she asked if she could take the job her mother had held before her. Over the years he had asked his aunts why Felicity had taken a job as a domestic when she had a degree and could have struck out on her own. He’d never received a solid answer to this question, and eventually he had stopped asking it. He now considered Felicity one of his closest and most trusted friends.
“I hope your family doesn’t mind me being here and sitting at the table for dinner,” Felicity said. “Fiona and Elodie won’t care, but Melinda’s become rather formal lately. She won’t take kindly to eating dinner with the help.”
“You’re not the help, and Melinda doesn’t have anything to say about it.” Ebby added some garlic-infused stock to the pan. “This is my house, too, remember. You’re my guest. I want you here.” He poured them each a small glass of wine and raised his glass in a toast. “To friendship.”
“Friendship.” Felicity sipped from her glass. “Ebby, why am I here? I wish you’d tell me what you’ve got up your sleeve. I get the feeling you’re going to drop some bombshell on us tonight.”
Ebby hesitated. “I am. Mark isn’t going to be happy – I’ll tell you that much.”
“And why am I here?”
“For moral support,” Ebby said.
“Okay,” Felicity said. “I can do moral support. Are you ready to start plating up the food?”
“Yes,” Ebby said. “You’re here for dinner, not to work.”
Ebby had just started to arrange the chicken breasts over pasta, while Felicity added slices of garnish and loaded them on a tray to carry into the dining room, when Melinda came into the kitchen.
“I’ll deal with the food. Why don’t you start cleaning up in here? And before we sit down to dinner, would you mind putting the laundry in the dryer?” Melinda started to push Felicity away from the counter and take her place there.
“No,” Ebby said. “Felicity is here as my guest. She’s not on the clock. She’s having dinner with me, with the family.”
“Ebby, she doesn’t mind—”
“You think she’d speak up if she did?”
Melinda turned to Felicity. “Do you feel that way, Felicity?”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ebby said. “Felicity is not getting involved in this. This is between you and me. Felicity is my guest. She has kindly offered to help me serve dinner. Now if you’d like to go back into the living room, I’ll serve everyone and let you know when you can all sit down.”
Melinda gave Felicity a look that said I’ll deal with you later before she did as Ebby asked.
“I’ll pay for that Sunday,” Felicity said.
“Why do you put up with her?” Ebby asked. “Is it my imagination, or has she become more cruel lately?”
“It’s not your imagination,” Felicity said.
“Come work for me. You can manage my restaurant. I’ll double your salary.”
Felicity ignored him. “Come on, chef. Plate up.”
They worked in companionable silence while Ebby served the chicken, garnished it with the buttery lemon sauce, and topped it with capers. Once the food was arranged on the plates, Felicity divvied up the Caesar salad, while Ebby carried the bruschetta to the dining room. Once the dinner was served, Ebby summoned everyone to the table. For a few minutes they ate in silence. On more than one occasion, Ebby noticed Melinda staring at Felicity, a look of blatant hostility in her eyes. The aunts picked up on it too and did their best to lighten the mood with innocuous small talk.
Even Mark was duly impressed. After he cleaned his plate, he said, “Compliments to the chef. This was excellent, Ebby.”
“Thank you.”
Mark pushed back from the table, crossed his legs, and drank his wine. “Why have you called us here, Ebby? You’ve obviously got something to tell us. Now would be the time.”
Felicity stood and started to clear the empty plates.
“I’ll do that, Felicity. Please stay seated.” Ebby stood up and faced his family. “I know you’ve all been worried about me, especially after my episode at the restaurant. It’s clear I’m starting to remember what I witnessed the night mom died.”
When Mark started to interrupt, Fiona said, “Be quiet, Mark. Let him finish.”
Ebby cast his eyes around the table. Melinda, Mark, Elodie, Fiona, and Felicity stared at him with reluctant expectation. He knew once he told them what had been happening and his plan to find out who killed his mother, there would be no going back.
“You poor dear. What can we do for you?” Fiona asked.
“It’s time I start to do things for myself,” Ebby said. “I called us together tonight because I wanted to let you know that I’ve hired someone to investigate Mom’s murder, have a look with fresh eyes. I feel called to do this. My hope is that you will understand and support me.”
Melinda squeezed her wine glass so tightly that it shattered, sending white wine into puddles on her plate. Small drops of blood dripped from her finger onto the white linen tablecloth.
“The hell you will,” Mark said, slamming his fist on the table.
“Stop it, Mark,” Fiona said. “There’s no need for you to lose your temper. If you can’t be civilized about this, you can leave.”
Historically Fiona was the only person in the family who stood up to Mark when he was angry. Ebby shot her a look of gratitude.
“Carry on, Ebby,” she said.
“I want to find out who killed my mother. I’ve suffered my entire adult life from the effects of that night. Surely you can understand why I would want to find out once and for all what happened, Mark?”
Mark didn’t answer. He guzzled the last of his wine and refilled his glass. Melinda put a hand on his arm. He pushed it away.
“I could have hurt someone when I passed out at the restaurant.” Ebby sat down, exhausted all of a sudden. “I’m going to do this.”
“So who did you hire and how will they proceed?” Mark asked.
“I hired Olivia Sinclair. She knows and cares about our family. Today I met with her and the investigator who works in her office. I know it’s a long shot. They were very candid about my small chance of success. Especially because the police aren’t likely to share their case files. But they’re going to look into it. Best-case scenario, they find new evidence or see something the police missed, and the case will be reopened. I’m hoping that educating myself about what happened the night Mom was murdered will help me remember that night.” Ebby looked around the table, making eye contact with each and every person seated there. “I know this is difficult, but I need to do this.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Mark said. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I understand things are difficult for you. But digging up the past now could have a negative effect on selling the property. Lucius is aware of Mom’s murder. I had to disclose it to him, but Adrienne – who controls the purse strings – is superstitious. It won’t do for her to find out about it. This could put the kibosh on the whole deal. And I need this right now. Seriously
. I’m in trouble.”
“You’ve been in trouble before, Mark, and you’ll be in trouble again,” Fiona said. “Even if your buyers go elsewhere, I promise you people will line up for this property. And don’t even think about suggesting that your financial woes are more important than your brother’s need to heal himself. Unless, of course, you weren’t entirely forthcoming as to the seriousness of your financial situation?” Fiona let the question hang in the air.
Ebby studied his aging aunt, noticing for the first time that her face had an ashen shade to it, and that her hand shook when she lifted her wine glass.
Mark shook his head. “It’s not just that. Don’t you all remember what it was like after Mom died? We were hounded by reporters. Hounded. For months. Won’t that kind of attention make things worse for you?” Mark got up from his chair and walked over to Ebby. Without thinking, Ebby rose, not wanting his brother to tower over him. Mark put a surprisingly gentle hand on Ebby’s shoulder. “You’re my brother, and I love you. I’ll help you – we’ll all help you – deal with your memories. I get how important that is. But I’m begging you, don’t bring outsiders into our family business. We can go to the police together and ask them what’s happening with the case, maybe spark some interest. Whatever you want, Ebs.”
Ebby shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mark. I have to do this my way.”
Mark stepped away. “Then you can suffer the consequences.” He stormed out of the room. In the distance a door slammed. Melinda threw her napkin on the table and hurried after him.
“Felicity,” Elodie said, “are you okay? You look pale.”
Felicity stood and started gathering up the plates. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
Ebby had been so worried about telling his family that he had hired an investigator, he had all but forgotten Felicity. Elodie was right. Felicity was pale and her eyes had a hunted look in them. As she headed into the kitchen with the dinner plates, Ebby caught a glimpse of her face in the buffet mirror and realized that Felicity was terrified.
The Witness Page 4