Brownie Points for Murder

by Nicole Ellis

  “That smells so good. I’m starving.”

  “You’re as bad as the kids,” Desi teased. She expertly tossed the spaghetti noodles in with the semi-homemade sauce and meatballs she’d cooked.

  “Hey, I never had lunch.” My stomach grumbled.

  “Yeah, I can tell,” she said. “Kids! Sit down at the table. Dinner’s ready.” The thundering herd of elephants returned, and the kids plopped themselves down at the table. I placed Ella in a highchair and gave her some finger foods.

  Mikey grabbed for the spaghetti, and I glared at him. He gave me a ‘what?’ look. “I think Aunt Desi and Uncle Tomàs want to say grace.”

  “Grace?”

  “Shh…” I held my finger up to my mouth. He did this every time he ate at their house. Although neither Mikey’s father nor I were religious, I probably needed to start explaining family customs to him.

  “Heavenly father—” Tomàs began. The doorbell rang. He shot an inquisitive glance at Desi, who shrugged. He refolded his napkin and laid it on the table before getting up to answer the doorbell. He peered through the peephole and opened the door just enough to slip out and close it behind him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Desi craned her head around and peeked out the window next to the solid oak front door.

  “There’s a police car out there. Probably one of Tomàs’s co-workers from the station. They stop by here once in awhile when they need to get ahold of him and can’t reach him on his cell.”

  Through the open windows in the living room, we could hear Tomàs and another man talking. They spoke in hushed tones at first and then Tomàs’s voice grew louder.

  “Arnofsky, you can’t be serious. My wife?”

  The other man said something, but I couldn’t make it out.

  Desi and I exchanged worried glances.

  “Mommy, what’s going on?” Anthony asked. “Why is Daddy outside? I want to eat.”

  Desi’s focus remained on what was going on outside. I reached for Anthony’s and Mikey’s plates and served them each a helping of spaghetti and meatballs.

  “It’s ok, boys. Here you go,” I said. “Anthony, your dad’s talking with someone from work. Go ahead and eat.” He obediently stuck his fork in his food but didn’t lift any to his mouth.

  “How was school? Did Ms. Rachel have you do any art projects today?” I faked a smile and hoped my face wasn’t as ashen as it felt. Something was very wrong. “Desi, what is it?” What’s going on?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know.” She stood and walked to the door, opening it halfway. A uniformed policeman stood on the Torres’s front porch.

  “Hello, Mrs. Torres. I was just telling Tomàs I’m going to need to ask you a few questions about the death of Samuel Westen.”

  “Mrs. Torres? John—I’ve known you for five years. For goodness sakes, Tomàs and I sat next to you and your wife at the department Christmas party.” Desi’s voice shook and she gripped the doorframe tightly. “What’s going on here? I barely knew Samuel Westen, so I doubt I’d be much help in your investigation.”

  “Mrs. Torres… Desi. We’re investigating the possibility that Mr. Westen’s death was not an accident. Perhaps we could talk down at the station?” Officer John Arnofsky asked. “It looks like you have guests over. I’m sorry for any inconvenience to you or your family.” He hung his head and averted eye contact with Tomàs.

  “No. You’re not taking my wife anywhere,” Tomàs said, shaking his head. “We were just sitting down for a family dinner. We can both meet you at the station later, but right now we’re busy. Besides, what could my wife possibly know about Samuel Westen’s death?” He moved so he stood in front of Desi, who now leaned against the door, rubbing her belly.

  At the dining room table, Anthony’s lower lip quivered and a tear slid down his face.

  “Auntie Jill? Who is that?” The spaghetti and meatballs on his plate were congealed and untouched. Next to him, Mikey nibbled on a piece of garlic bread and looked like he also was trying to hold back tears.

  “It’s ok, sweetie.” I leaned over to hug my nephew. “He’s a friend of your parents.”

  “Desi, I don’t really have a choice. I need to ask you some questions. Either we do it here or we can go down to the station,” said Officer Arnofsky. “With your son here it might be best to talk somewhere else.”

  “If his death wasn’t accidental, was he murdered? Am I a suspect?”

  “No, Desi, of course not.” Tomàs glared at his co-worker. “Is she?”

  The policeman squirmed and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit uniform.

  “I’m sorry, Tomàs. I can’t go over the case details. All I can say is, we need to talk with your wife.”

  The fan over the table sucked in cold air from outside, chilling me to the bone. What was going on here? How could Desi be involved with Mr. Westen’s death? He’d accidentally fallen from the cliff above the beach. I’d found the body myself. This made no sense. I shivered and rubbed my bare arms. I was rising to turn off the fan when Desi cried out in pain.

  10

  My heart dropped and I froze in place.

  “Desi, are you alright?” Fear clouded Tomàs’s voice.

  She shook her head and slumped against the door, grabbing her stomach and moaning.

  “Something’s wrong. The baby. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks contractions all day, but this is different.” Her face paled. “Tomàs, I need to get to the hospital right now.”

  He took action.

  “Jill, can you watch Anthony? And call Beth and Lincoln. Let them know we’re heading in to the hospital. I’ll call you when we know something.” He turned toward Officer Arnofsky.

  “John, this is going to have to wait. Can you escort us to St. Mary’s in Everton?” Officer Arnofsky yanked his car keys out of his pocket and ran to his patrol car. Tomàs helped Desi, her face crumpled in pain, to their car.

  Anthony started bawling and ran after them. “Mommy, Mommy.”

  I caught him before he could follow them out the door and picked him up, holding him tightly against me. “It’s ok, honey. Don’t worry—your mommy is going to be fine. Your daddy is taking her in to the doctor to check on the baby.” He calmed down slightly and pressed his head into my neck. I fished around in my purse and plucked out my cell phone, expertly speed-dialing Adam and Desi’s parents with one hand.

  Their mother answered after the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Beth. It’s me, Jill. I’m over at Desi and Tomàs’s house with Anthony. We were having dinner and Desi had pains and thought something was wrong with the baby. They left for the hospital a few minutes ago. Tomàs asked for me to call and let you know.” I didn’t want to worry Beth with any mention of the police visit, so I purposefully left that detail out.

  “Did they go to St. Mary’s?” Beth asked.

  “Yes.”

  She shouted to her husband that they needed to leave and then partially covered the phone for a moment to fill Lincoln in on Desi’s health.

  “If she has to spend the night, Anthony can come stay with Grandma and Grandpa,” Beth said to me. “Are you going to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know yet. They just left. I don’t want to bring the kids until she’s ready for visitors.” I settled Anthony down on the couch and paced the length of the living room. “I’m worried though. She looked like she was in a lot of pain, and with her history…”

  Beth said, “Ok, we’re leaving now. I’ll give you a call when we get to the hospital, and we can come get Anthony later or you can meet us at St. Mary’s.” Through the phone, I heard the sound of car doors slamming and seat belts clasping.

  “He can always stay with us if you can’t get him tonight, although he’d probably feel more comfortable in his room at your house.” One room of Beth and Lincoln’s house had been turned into a bedroom for the boys to stay in when they visited, complete with bunk beds and a wooden toy chest.


  While waiting for news from the hospital, I situated the boys in front of the TV with a favorite cartoon and cleared the dining table. How had this happened? Desi hadn’t even known about Mr. Westen’s death until I told her. In what world was a disagreement over a café lease a good motive for murder?

  She hadn’t been involved with his death any more than I had. I tried to console myself with the thought that countless people had wanted him dead, and the police would have plenty of suspects.

  I scrubbed the dinner plates so hard the finish came off one in a small spot. I retired the sponge and sank into the recliner, hugging my knees tightly to my chest. Now it was my turn for tears, which I tried to hide from the boys. Luckily, they were too engrossed in the antics of the cartoon characters to notice me. If anything happened to the baby, Desi and Tomàs would be devastated. I couldn’t watch them go through that again.

  The call from Tomàs came a little after nine o’clock.

  “You can come to the hospital now.” His words were flat and weary.

  “How is Desi? And the baby?”

  “Desi’s tired, but the baby…” He paused. I assumed he’d covered the phone with his hand because I heard a muffled discussion with another male in the background and then Tomàs came back on the line. “Jill, I’ve got to go, the doctor’s here. She’s in Room 814.”

  I called Beth and Lincoln’s cell phones, but there was no answer on either line and I feared the worst. I herded the three kids into the van, and we rode in silence to the hospital.

  11

  I let go of Mikey’s hand just long enough to push the elevator button for the eighth floor maternity ward. Anthony tightly clutched my other hand, causing my wedding ring to dig into my finger. Ella poked her head out of the baby carrier for a moment to take in her surroundings.

  The walls of the metal elevator shaft closed in on me and my anxiety levels rose with every floor we passed. St. Mary’s had undergone a recent remodel featuring soothing shades of blues and greens, but the pervasive hospital odors brought back bad memories of previous visits. It didn’t matter how a hospital was decorated, they all smelled the same—a cross between antiseptic and sickness.

  When we entered Desi’s room, Lincoln came to take Ella from me, and I went to her bedside, across from Beth.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” My shoes squeaked on the linoleum flooring as I walked over to her bedside. I squeezed her hand and she limply returned the gesture. She looked like she could use a week’s worth of sleep.

  “Baby’s still in there.”

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  She rubbed her protruding belly through the starched sheet draped over it. “They gave me something to stop the contractions but want to keep me on hospital bed rest for as long as possible.” She frowned. “They’re hoping I can make it to thirty-six weeks, but I’ll be getting a series of steroid shots for the baby’s lungs, just in case. I told them not to worry, I’m not letting Baby Torres out anytime soon.” Behind her, monitors beeped every so often and displayed the baby’s heart rate. Anthony’s eyes were huge and shiny with tears. I put my hands on his shoulders and nudged him toward his mother.

  He walked up to Desi hesitantly. “Mommy?”

  “I’m ok, honey. Baby’s ok too.” She leaned over as much as possible to hug her son. He melted into her and sobbed. Tomàs came up behind Anthony and handed him a Kleenex. He, too, put his arm around his son and grabbed Desi’s hand. The three of them huddled together for a moment, silently embracing before Anthony pulled away and stood awkwardly by the bedside. After a moment, he joined his cousin on the couch. The two boys leaned against their grandfather and watched the hospital room’s TV. Tomàs took a seat next to his wife, still holding her hand.

  “The doctor seemed optimistic that the baby will be ok but said absolutely no stress. I’m going to have a talk with the lead on the Westen case and find out what is going on,” said Tomàs. He leaned against the back of the padded metal chair and stretched out his long legs.

  “What do you mean, the Westen case?” asked Beth. “What’s going on? Does this have something to do with Samuel Westen’s death?” Her eyes narrowed, and she went into full suspicious mother mode.

  Desi glared at Tomàs.

  “It’s nothing, Mom. Everything is fine. The police just had some questions about Samuel Westen’s death.”

  “But—” Beth started to say.

  “Beth, shh.” Lincoln chided his wife from his position on the purple-striped fold-out couch, where he sat with Ella and the two boys. “Remember, the doctor said no stress.”

  Behind him, boat lights shone on the waters of the Everton marina. Beyond that, I could see clear across the Sound to Willowby Island.

  A nurse poked her head into the room and surveyed the crowd. “Does anyone want coffee? I can bring a pot of coffee and some mugs in here.”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “No, I think we’re good. Thank you, Linda,” Desi said. She relaxed into the mound of pillows behind her.

  “Desi, this is more like Club Med than a hospital,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “I know. If I’m going to be stuck in a bed for six more weeks, I could do worse than room service and a water view.”

  I wasn’t sure whether six weeks stuck in a hospital bed sounded blissful or incredibly boring. I wouldn’t mind a kid-free vacation for a few days, but after that, I’m pretty sure I’d miss the little munchkins.

  Desi’s face clouded over as her own responsibilities dawned on her. “What am I going to do about Anthony? I don’t want to take him out of the Busy Bees Preschool. Tomàs works such long hours, and I don’t think I can get Anthony into an after-school program that will work, much less be willing to take him on such short notice. And what about my café? My staff can take care of some of it, but I don’t want them opening and closing every day or placing orders.” Desi’s voice became more agitated with every word, and I could picture the baby flying out of her.

  “Don’t worry about anything. Lincoln and I will help take care of Anthony and everything at home, and Jill can handle the BeansTalk,” Beth said.

  “But we just started our training. I haven’t finished showing her how to make any of the fancier espresso drinks, or place orders, or anything.” Desi tried to sit up in bed. Her husband gently pushed her back on to the pillows.

  “Let them handle it. You’ve got to concentrate on the baby. Everything will be fine. Right, Jill?” Tomàs stared pointedly at me.

  “No problem. When Tomàs is at work, I can swing by Beth and Lincoln’s place and pick up Anthony for school and bring him back. I’ll have the girls at the café teach me how to make all the fancy espresso drinks and everything else. I can bring your laptop to the hospital so you can place any orders and handle administrative tasks from your bed. Don’t worry about a thing.” I patted Desi’s hand. She collapsed into the bed and placed both hands over her stomach.

  “Thank you, all.” Her voice was quiet and weak. “I think I’d like to get some sleep now.”

  Anthony gave his mother a good-night kiss, and Lincoln herded the boys outside. “I’m going to take them down to the vending machine for some hot chocolate,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Desi, honey, I’ll come check on you tomorrow. Give me a call if you need anything. We love you,” Beth said. I said goodbye to Desi as well and Beth grabbed my hand, dragging me out into the hallway, leaving Tomàs alone in the room with his wife.

  When we were a safe distance away from her room, Beth turned to me and said, “So what is this about an investigation into Samuel Westen’s death? How could Desi possibly be involved?”

  “I have no idea. The police came to their house and wanted to question her about his death. It was really odd because even Tomàs didn’t know what was going on,” I said. “I’m the one who found him on the beach this morning. It appeared that he’d fallen off the cliff the day before. I called the police as soon as I found
his body, so I’m not sure what they want to ask Desi about.” All around us, monitors beeped and nurses brushed past to check on patients.

  We moved against the wall to allow a woman in a bathrobe and slippers to plod past us. She looked like she was about to give birth to twin elephants. With every step, she clutched her stomach and doubled over in pain. I winced sympathetically. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been in this same hospital in labor with Ella. A man walked beside her, murmuring to her with each contraction.

  “Desi has a hot temper, but I don’t think she ever had much in-person contact with Samuel Westen outside of the town council meetings. Whatever the police think, we can’t let them question her and endanger her or the baby. They need to figure out what really happened and leave her alone. I swear, Samuel Westen has the capability to cause trouble, even in death.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I’ll keep my ears open. He was my neighbor, and maybe I can use some neighborhood contacts to find out more about him and who would want to kill him.” I suspected the list of possible murderers would be longer than Santa’s list of good girls and boys.

  That night, after the kids were tucked away in bed, I finally had a chance to talk to my husband in person.

  Adam sat on a bar chair, hunched over the kitchen counter, intent on scarfing down his dinner. The rich scent of the recently microwaved jambalaya I had made the day before hung in the air.

  “How’s Desi?” Adam asked between bites. I’d called him before I left for the hospital and let him know about his sister and the police suspecting her in Mr. Westen’s death.

  “She and the baby are ok, but they’re going to keep her on hospital bed rest. They’re hoping she’ll make it to at least thirty-six weeks.”