by Nicole Ellis
“I know, but they’re going to be built anyways. This could be really good for me. A friend of mine referred me for a full-time marketing position, but I don’t think this is the right time for that with Adam being gone so much and all.”
Beth was quiet for a moment. “Jill, I know I shouldn’t say this with Adam being my son, but if this is something you’re interested in pursuing, he’s going to have to figure out a way for both of you to get the careers you want. But only if it’s what you really want. And there’s always an opening for you at the Boathouse. Just think about it and let us know. Lincoln and I will be here to support you and Adam with whatever you decide.”
“I will. But for right now, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Has Desi said anything to you lately about the BeansTalk building being sold?”
“She hasn’t talked about it much with everything going on. The last time she mentioned it was when we attended the town council meeting.” She turned serious. “I hope with his passing that it’s no longer an issue?”
“I don’t know. I spoke with Samuel Westen’s daughter, Anna, about it. I think you know her? She used to work at the Boathouse. Anyways, she is against selling the BeansTalk building, but we found some paperwork indicating it may be too late. She’s checking with her attorney.”
“Yes, I know Anna. We volunteer together at the Ericksville Historical Society.” Beth leaned back in her office chair and looked up at me. “Please don’t tell Desi. I don’t think she can handle that right now. I may have led her to believe that everything was going to be ok with the lease.”
“Sure. I won’t mention it to her. But it gets worse. My friend, who’s a real estate agent in town, just told me Samuel Westen planned to sell the land his own house sits on for one of those mega developments. I had no idea he’d even planned it.”
Beth shook her head. “That’s old Samuel. Rotten to the core and not caring about anyone else.”
“No kidding. The more I learn about the man, the more I realize people must have been lining up at his doorstep to kill him. Heck, at this point, even I have motive to kill him.”
“Jill, don’t say that. The police already suspect Desi—this family can’t take much more. What did Adam say about Westen’s land being developed?”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. I just found out today, and he’s out of town for work.”
“He’s been traveling a lot lately,” Beth observed, her eyes focused sharply on me. “How are you doing alone with the kids? Do you want to come stay with Lincoln and I? I worry about you alone in that house, especially with Samuel Westen’s murder happening right nearby.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about us. Remember, I’ve got Goldie to protect me.”
“Hah! Goldie is more likely to lick an intruder to death than anything else.”
“True, but really, don’t worry. Like I said, practically everyone in town hated Samuel Westen. I don’t think there is quite that level of detestation for me,” I said wryly. “But in all seriousness, I think I’m more in danger of Mikey driving me crazy. He won’t listen to anything I say, and I feel like I’ve tried everything with him. Amazon is making a mint off of my parenting book orders.”
Beth nodded sympathetically. “It will get better. If I learned anything raising four kids, it’s that none of the stages last forever. Soon Mikey will be back to being your sweet little boy again. It may not be tomorrow or next week, but it will be here sooner than you think.”
Anthony and Mikey shrieked loudly from the other room, cutting off our conversation.
“Boys!” Beth called. “The crew needs to get in there to set up tables for the event tonight. Please come in here.” Turning to me, she said, “They play together so nicely. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you and Adam decided to settle down in Ericksville.”
Mikey and Anthony came running up to us, their faces flushed. “Can we have a drink, Grandma?” Mikey asked.
Beth answered, “Sure honey, there’s chocolate milk in the fridge.”
“Are you ok with having Anthony here? Aren’t you getting ready for an event?” I asked.
Beth looked down at her wristwatch. “Tomàs should be here soon to get Anthony.”
As if on cue, Tomàs poked his head into the office. “Did I hear my name?” He smiled, but beneath his smile, he looked as though he’d aged ten years in the last few days. “Hey, Jill—does Mikey want to spend the night at our house? It’s Saturday, so I thought I’d take the boys to see Desi and then bring them back to our house for some Chinese food and a movie. Would that be ok with you? I know having Mikey around would help take Anthony’s mind off his mom being in the hospital.”
“That’s fine with me, but are you sure? I don’t want to add to your stress. Mikey can be quite a handful,” I said.
“If I can handle breaking up a fight today between two men who were drunker than skunks before noon, I think I can handle two three-year-olds.”
“Ok, do you need anything for him? He’ll probably fit in a pair of Anthony’s pajamas. Don’t forget to put a Pull-Up on him at night. And he likes to have the light on for a few minutes before he falls asleep.”
“Jill, don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
“Tomàs,” I whispered urgently, not wanting the boys to hear, “what did they say down at the station about Desi and the brownies?”
“I told the guys in charge of the investigation. They don’t have the results back from the lab yet, so they’re still not sure how Westen was poisoned. I don’t know much more. But, Jill? Don’t say anything to Desi about any of it.”
I nodded.
“Mikey, Anthony, let’s go,” Tomàs hollered down the hallway. The boys peeked around the corner.
“What, Dad?” Anthony asked.
“It’s time to go home,” Tomàs said. He turned to Mikey. “Mikey, your mom said you could spend the night with us. What movie do you want to see?” The boys cheered and ran to Tomàs, shouting movie suggestions in their little high-pitched voices as the three of them went out the door together.
Without the boys, the office was so silent I could hear the refrigerator running in the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Even Ella remained quiet. I picked her up from her Exersaucer and held her on my hip.
“Beth, I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, what’s up?” Beth said.
“Samuel Westen’s funeral is tomorrow at ten o’clock. Do you think you could watch the kids for an extra two hours so I can go? I feel as though I should attend. After all, he was my neighbor.”
“Of course, Jill. No problem. Although he wasn’t a very nice man, it’s still nice to pay your respects to a neighbor.”
“Thanks, Beth. I appreciate it.”
I’d only been home long enough to feed Ella a bottle and a jar of pureed carrots when I received a phone call from Anna Westen.
“Anna, it’s nice to hear from you. How are you doing?” I asked while wiping orange gunk out of Ella’s hair. It amazed me how much area one small container of baby food could cover. She was going to need a bath.
“Hi, Jill. Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you could do me a favor. When I was over at the house the last time, I noticed the kitchen sink was leaking and the plumber finally has time to come out and fix it.”
“Ok, do you need me to let the plumber in?”
“Would you? My son has a baseball game tonight, and this was the only opening all week the plumber had available.”
“When will they be here?”
“In half an hour. Is that ok?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Thanks, I’ll call the company and let them know you’ll meet them there.” Anna gave me the information about the plumbing company and the location of the spare key to her father’s house.“Thanks, Jill, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Glad to be able to help. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I looked down at Ella. She was pretending her hands were windshield wi
pers, moving food from side to side and swiping it off of the highchair tray. I mopped her up as well as I could and put her in the stroller. Bath time was going to have to wait.
I found the key to the Westen house under the third flowerpot from the door, right where Anna had said it would be. I felt like an intruder, even though I had a key and had been given permission to enter. The house was oddly cold for being shut up in the warm weather. Mr. Westen’s ghost was probably haunting his house.
Ella had already fallen asleep in the stroller, so I reclined her seat, put her favorite stuffed bunny on a nearby chair, and turned off the living-room light. From upstairs, a banging noise startled me. Feeling paranoid, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and tiptoed up the stairs. When I neared the top of the stairs, the cause of the noise became apparent. The window in Mr. Westen’s study had been left open and the flimsy vinyl blinds hit the wall with every breeze from outside. I closed the window and rubbed my arms.
Manila file folders on the desk caught my attention. A bank statement from First Bank of Ericksville poked out of the top folder. Anna must have left everything behind that she didn’t need immediately. Curiosity got the best of me. If I wanted to find out who else had a motive to kill Samuel Westen, where better to start than with his biggest love—money. I sat down behind the desk and opened the first file.
A quick survey of his bank statements revealed no surprises. Mr. Westen had been loaded. He didn’t need the money from selling his house or Desi’s building. Pure greed had been his motivation for those sales. Cancelled checks were rubber-banded and stuck in with the bank statements. I grabbed one set of checks and flipped through them. A series of transactions caught my eye. Donations of fifteen thousand dollars a year to Willowby College, for four years in a row. I looked closer. The last check had been written fifteen years ago. There were also smaller, more recent, charitable donations to the Ericksville Garden Society and various other local charities.
So Mr. Westen wasn’t all bad. I had to admit, I’d never thought of him as a particularly generous man. It made me feel better to have some positive impressions of him before I attended his funeral the next day.
His bank statements reflected numerous monthly deposits of around a thousand dollars each, including copies of checks from Desi, which I assumed were lease payments from the buildings in his rental portfolio. A series of deposits had been made for $9,999 a month. What building could that be for? Ericksville wasn’t exactly known for its high-rent district. Whatever building it was, he’d received payments for it for the last two years.
I pulled out the wide middle desk drawer. Instead of being filled with pens and papers like I’d expected, it contained candy bars and Jelly Bellys. Ha! Mr. Westen had been a closet candy addict. Tucked in the back of the drawer was a framed photo of Anna and a small boy who I assumed to be her son. My neighbor must have had some sentimentality if he had kept a photo of them in his desk.
I looked around his desk and the file cabinet for the file Anna had pulled out with the real estate documents. I wanted to know if the deal for Westen’s house and land had gone through prior to his death. Unfortunately, Anna had removed that particular file. I’d have to ask her what she’d discovered next time I spoke with her.
I brightened. Better yet, I could casually ask Elliott Elkins himself when I saw him after the funeral. I could go right to the source without worrying myself sick about a future development being built below my house.
I looked at the ship’s clock on the wall. The plumbers should be at the house in about ten minutes, and I needed to check on Ella. I put the bank statements and checks back in their folders and straightened the files. With luck, Anna wouldn’t notice my snooping.
I was about to go down the stairs to Ella when the closed bedroom door at the top of the stairs seemed to call out my name. I opened the door and the smell of must assailed my senses. Mr. Westen hadn’t used this room much. Looking around, I could see why.
The room had belonged to Anna’s brother. Benton’s bedroom didn’t look like it had been touched since he died as a teenager. Trophies lined the back of an oak dresser, and posters of rock stars were peeling off the walls. I flipped on the light. A quilted bedspread covered the scarred wooden twin bed. A baseball bat leaned against the wall in the corner of the room. Like other surfaces in the house, dust didn’t dare sully the furnishings.
Either someone had cleaned Benton’s room after he died, or he had been the neatest teenager I’d ever seen. I peeked into the closet. It was fully of neatly hung, evenly spaced jeans and T-shirts. The top of the desk held only a pencil cup.
In the corner of the room, under the eaves, was a built-in dresser Brenda would die for. I crossed the room and ran my fingers over the intricate woodwork. She was right. The old houses in this area did have some wonderful original details. I wondered if I could replicate it in my house. In Ella’s room, there was an alcove that would be perfect for a built-in dresser.
On impulse, I tapped the bottom of the dresser. It sprang open, revealing a hidden space. It was the ideal place for a teenager to conceal things.
I lay down on the cold wood floor and reached into the hole. At first I didn’t feel anything, but then my fingers closed around a thin glass object. I pulled the object out, taking with it a family of dust bunnies. I brushed the picture frame off, revealing a Polaroid photo of a teenage boy with his arm around a pretty girl of about the same age. Had Benton had a girlfriend? Why had he hidden the picture?
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
The doorbell’s chime woke Ella, and she started screaming. I shoved the picture back into the crevice and closed the compartment.
“Coming!” I shouted, getting to my knees and standing creakily. At thirty-four, I was getting too old to be lying down on hard surfaces.
I played with Ella and her stuffed bunny on the living room floor until the plumbers left. It wasn’t until I put her to bed at night that I realized I’d left the toy at Mr. Westen’s house. I’d have to remember to pick it up after the funeral tomorrow.
18
The sky above the funeral tent was as gray and stormy as the man being buried. There was a surprisingly large turnout for a widely despised man. Anna and her son stood in the front row, garbed in black, directly in front of the closed casket. I held my hand up to wave and smiled at her. She nodded back at me before returning to her discussion with a suited, official-looking man. I squished my way across the damp grass and joined the rest of the mourners gathered at the grave site.
At the back, two men stood ramrod straight, their suit jackets left loose to conceal what I assumed to be holsters. They scanned the crowd discreetly and, every so often, murmured something to one another. I wasn’t surprised to see the cops here. I hoped their job would be as simple as the movie scenes where the police catch the murderer hiding behind a tree at their victim’s funeral. Somehow I didn’t think things happened quite like in the movies.
I craned my neck around to look at a grove of tall alders nearby, but I didn’t catch a glimpse of a killer. However, I did see quite a few of Mr. Westen’s fellow town council members and the mayor. They posed in front of a tree while a man I presumed to be a photographer from the newspaper snapped their picture.
The sound of a microphone crackled across the grassy knoll.
“Good morning. Thank you all for coming out to celebrate the life of one of our city’s most treasured citizens,” said the man in clerical robes.
Many people spoke kind words about Samuel Westen, but their words were hollow. I wondered if they even knew him. When it was Anna’s turn at the podium, she dabbed at her eyes a few times and gave a poignant speech about her father. His death must have affected her more than she had initially realized.
“Hrmph,” someone said under their breath.
I swiveled around. The face of the woman next to me was stony, and she glared at the coffin as though Samuel Westen could see her hatred. The man next to her laid his hand on her arm.
&nb
sp; “Gwen,” he said quietly. She pushed his hand away.
Shocking. Someone else disliked the dead man. I turned back to the service and shifted my weight from side to side. Standing on the uneven ground in heels was a recipe for sore feet.
After the casket was lowered into the ground, I paid my respects to Anna and her son, whom she introduced as Dylan. He politely shook my hand and thanked me for coming. He had a great deal of poise for his age, especially for someone who had, by Anna’s account, been largely ignored by his grandfather.
I walked away from the mourners and was halfway down the hill when my left heel sunk into the ground. I crashed to the ground like a tree being felled.
“Are you ok?” A woman’s voice drifted down to me. I wiggled my extremities and determined the only thing wounded was my pride. That and the last pair of run-free pantyhose I owned.
“Yes, thank you.” I grabbed her outstretched hand and rose shakily on my miraculously still intact heels.
“Not a great day for heels,” the woman observed. I looked at my rescuer. It was the woman who had glared at the casket during the funeral service.
“It’s never a great day for heels.” I laughed and held out my hand. “Jill Andrews. Thanks for helping me up.”
“Gwen Hanson,” she said, with a firm handshake.
“I saw you at the service. Was that your husband with you?”
“Yes, that was Harold. He’s gone to get the car.” She rubbed her knees. “I’ve developed rheumatoid arthritis and, when I have a flare-up, it’s hard for me to get around. But I wasn’t going to miss seeing Samuel Westen being buried six feet under.”
I must have looked shocked because she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, were you close?”
“No, actually, he was my neighbor and he wasn’t very neighborly, if you catch my drift.” I’d tried very hard during the funeral service to think positive things about Mr. Westen, but now that he was in the ground, all bets were off. “How did you know him?”