Sprinkles of Suspicion

by Kim Davis

  She nodded, retrieved a cupcake from the container, broke off a piece, and popped it into her mouth. I was relieved to see her grin, especially after she took a second and then a third bite. “I can’t wait to try it with the frosting.”

  Something fragrant bubbled on her industrial-sized stovetop. I picked up the heavy wooden spoon from the red ceramic spoon rest and lifted the lid that perched on her cast-iron Dutch oven. The heady fragrance of rich beef married with a bold red wine, garlic, onions, carrots, and tomatoes filled the kitchen. I might have drooled while I stirred her beef daube Provençal stew.

  “Can you turn off the burner?” Carrie finished off the rest of the cupcake and closed the cabinet door. “I took it out of the oven fifteen minutes ago, but it wasn’t thick enough. The extra liquid should have cooked off by now. We can reheat it right before dinner.”

  “Looks perfect.” I really wanted to eat a bowl right now but knew Carrie would scold me.

  “Would you start the cornbread muffins while I get the girls their popcorn?”

  “Uh-hum.” I caved in and put a tablespoon-sized bite of stew in my mouth. I needed to make sure she had properly seasoned the stew. At least that would be my excuse if my sister complained.

  Since I spent so much time helping Carrie with her catering, I knew her kitchen as well as my own. I busied myself stirring cornmeal, flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt together, along with a pinch of cayenne pepper. Thomas would appreciate a lot more spice, but Sophie and Kaylee would complain. My sister came back as I whipped eggs and milk together.

  “You’re off work early today.”

  “Yep.” I gave the batter a quick stir.

  Here came the lecture, although I wasn’t sure what issue she would tackle first. I considered stalling by asking about her pregnancy but decided to let her vent about my shortcomings first. The evening would be more pleasant that way.

  “I got a call from Thomas early this afternoon.”

  I froze. Someone from my company must have called him. If he knew they had fired me, then so did my sister. Rats! I’d hoped to hide my disgrace for a few days and find another job in the meantime. But deep down, I knew I only kidded myself. No one would hire a murder suspect.

  “I didn’t believe his news, so I called your office line. Imagine my surprise when your phone had a recorded message to press zero for assistance with no option for leaving a voice mail. What’s going on?”

  “Apparently, Mr. Wilkins couldn’t handle my notorious Facebook photo and being questioned by the police about Tori. I got fired.” The more I thought about it, the angrier and more hurt I became. Why had Tori wanted to ruin my life so completely? I couldn’t tell my sister someone tried to blackmail my boss from my company email account because that person certainly had been Tori, and I’d never hear the end of her blaming me for my choice of friends.

  “What are you going to do? How are you going to pay your mortgage and pay Mother back?”

  I whipped my head around so fast to look at my sister that I became a little dizzy. “Wha… what? What do you mean pay Mother back?”

  “The money you borrowed when you and Philip bought your condo. How did you forget borrowing thirty thousand dollars?” My sister shook her head. “I was a little hurt you never told me but figured your sense of pride, or Philip’s pride, kept you from sharing with me.”

  The room spun, and I had to sit down or else I would have fallen. I found a kitchen chair as my knees collapsed. “I didn’t borrow money from Mother. This is the first I’ve heard anything about it.”

  I looked at my sister as we both said, “Philip!”

  “That snake! That, that….” I bit my tongue when I remembered my nieces were in the house and had radar ears. “Why would he do that without even asking me? He’s the one who borrowed it, so he will have to pay it back.”

  Deep down I acknowledged I would be the one to pay. Philip counted on the fact that I’d never skip out on repaying my mother the debt.

  “How could he keep it a secret?” My sister stared at me incredulously. “You’re an accountant and should have your finger on every penny that comes in and out of your house.”

  “You’re not married to someone like Philip,” I whined. “He has this macho image that a man is the head of the household and takes care of everything. Honestly, I got so sick of numbers after working with them all day long, I was happy he wanted to do all the banking and bill paying.”

  I looked at the statements every once in a while, but I didn’t pay close attention. I realized several months had passed since I’d bothered to look. I had been involved in several detailed, brain-numbing audits for my employer’s clients. My head swam with numbers by the end of the day, which often included long overtime hours. My weekends had been busy with my baking for my sister’s catering contracts, so I didn’t do much besides bake and perform general household chores. It looked like I had wrongfully assumed my husband had our finances under control. It was also entirely possible Philip had hidden any incriminating documents in case I went looking.

  “How much has he paid her back?” I hoped he had poured the extra cash from my overtime checks into repaying the loan. I’d been hyperaware our mortgage was more than I was comfortable with when we purchased the house, but Philip had insisted on buying it anyway.

  My sister remained silent but gave a small shake of her head.

  My mouth fell open, and the blood drained from my face again. “He hasn’t paid her one red cent?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the case. He always gave Mother the sob story that the bank tacked on so many fees that the mortgage ended up being much higher than you expected.” Carrie narrowed her eyes. “She never said anything because he told her you were super-stressed out from demanding to buy your condo in the first place. He put the blame all on you.”

  “That, that… rat! He’s the one who wore me down, begged me to buy the place when I was uncomfortable with the price.” My face felt hot, and I became short of breath. “I’ve got to go talk to Mother and explain. What am I going to do? I don’t have a job. We’re going to have to sell the condo. Where will I live?”

  “You can stay with us.” My sister gave me a brief hug. “And Thomas can help you find a job.”

  I pointed at her belly. “You’ve got a full house with another one on the way. But thanks for the offer.”

  “There’s always Mother. She has plenty of room.”

  I shivered. Move in with Mother? “Perish that idea! My car would be more comfortable than living with her.”

  “I’ll call Thomas and see if he can find you a job. Hopefully things won’t get so desperate.”

  “No one will want to hire me.” I groaned. “I’m a murder suspect. Plus, everyone has seen that photo on Facebook.”

  My sister laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “That photo might be useful if you get an interview with the right person.” Her eyebrows wagged up and down.

  “Ick. I don’t want to work for someone like that.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though.

  My sister dished up a bowl of the succulent beef stew and handed it to me. “Eat this then go talk to Mother. She’ll know what you should do.”

  And that was exactly what I worried about.

  I made a detour home before driving to my mother’s house. If I examined the mortgage and credit card statements, I might have a better grasp of what financial crisis faced me. I hoped I wouldn’t find anything else Philip might have hidden from me. A tingly sensation crept down my spine, and I got a terrible premonition about our financial situation, but I shook it off. I would concentrate on the facts once I had them in hand.

  When I opened the door, I missed Piper jumping into my arms. I needed to add her custody to my list of things to resolve with Philip. I hoped he would at least let me have joint custody. Full-time would be better, and he could have visitation rights on his days off. How did my life dissolve into this mess? Why did Philip and Tori need to destroy
my carefully planned life?

  I opened filing drawers in our home office, looking for bank statements and any other documentation that would give me an overall picture of what faced me. Philip would try to stick me with the entire debt, and I had no illusions that it wouldn’t take a lot of money for attorney fees to force him to help pay. Money I certainly didn’t have and money that needed to go to my attorney to keep me out of prison.

  No financial documents were found in our office, aside from paid invoices for utilities and cell phones. I moved on to our bedroom and rifled through drawers but came up empty-handed. Philip had done a thorough job of removing most of his belongings, so there wasn’t much to go through. He must have taken all the financial files with him. But why?

  I went through my own drawers, just in case he had hidden the files there for some unknown reason. Although I didn’t find the files, I came across an old jewelry box that my paternal grandmother had given me as a child. The wooden box, painted a delicate pink shade, was now scratched and marked with age. The box had held the trinkets and coins she gave me on each visit. Those gifts ended with her untimely death right after I turned five, and even though I barely remembered her, I had kept the box all these years. It now held the few photos I had of my grandmother, my dad, and my very young self. A lump filled my throat. People I loved always seemed to leave me.

  I wrestled with the jammed tarnished brass latch and opened the cover of the box. Years had passed since I’d thumbed through the photos. They brought up painful memories that were best left buried, but in my current mood, I wanted to see them again. An old black-and-white photo of my grandmother as a young teen sat on top of the few photos. She wore a dark pencil skirt and a white frothy blouse with the requisite pearls wrapped around her neck. Her hair, cut chin-length, had a wave to it. The photo printed in black and white, so I couldn’t tell the color of her hair. It wasn’t blonde, dark brown, or black. I wondered if it might be red like mine. I set her photo aside and picked up the one of her holding my father, in which he appeared as a toddler. He appeared to be squirming to get out of her arms, and I remembered her telling me he had always been a handful.

  A sandwich-sized plastic baggie wedged beneath the remaining photos grabbed my attention. I didn’t remember putting anything in my jewelry box other than the photos. I pulled the bag out and saw it contained a small, four-inch-by-six-inch, highly colorful, abstract painting. I’d never set eyes on this painting before. Bold multi-hued blue geometric patterns covered the background, while slashes of red and yellow lines were randomly strewn across the canvas.

  I held it up to the light and looked at the tiny signature in one of the corners to see if I recognized it. I didn’t, so I pulled my cell phone out and Googled the artist’s name. Once the information loaded, along with a photo of the local artist who created the piece, I almost dropped my phone. In fact, I almost fainted.

  The painting I held in my hands was titled Chaotic Zeus and was valued close to ten thousand dollars. It had been stolen two months before. The artist was Mrs. Landow herself, painting under the name of Arlette Land. In addition to this painting being stolen right before the planned exhibit, twenty other canvases had suffered the same fate and had never been found. The value of the stolen artwork totaled close to half a million dollars.

  How did it get into my jewelry box? I certainly didn’t place it there, and I was sure Philip wouldn’t be involved in stolen art. Had Tori been involved in the art theft like Mrs. Landow had accused her? Did Tori plan on me taking the fall for the theft to get me out of the picture so she could have Philip? My hands trembled while I tried to decide what to do. If the police searched my house and found the painting, I would be in a world of trouble—more trouble than I needed with my current woes.

  Unfortunately, my fingerprints now covered the baggie. I didn’t want to remove the bag because I feared I might damage the artwork. Then I worried because I’d already Googled the painting. What if the police confiscated my phone? They would find my search. I put my family photos back into the jewelry box and returned it to the dresser drawer.

  The stolen art needed to be hidden in case the detective came with a search warrant. The only reasonable thing I could do would be to let my attorney know and follow his advice on turning in the painting without taking the blame for the theft. That would be next to impossible to do now that Mrs. Landow could identify me. I worried, too, that someone else had worked with Tori and would come looking for the artwork.

  Chapter 17

  I grabbed the ladder and some duct tape from the garage and trudged back to my bedroom closet. After placing the baggie inside a zipper plastic bag, I wrapped it inside a paper bag. The dusty attic, which was really not much more than a crawl space located above the master bedroom, contained the furnace. It seemed like the best hiding place I could find, so I taped the package to the back of the furnace. Since it was August, I wasn’t worried about a potential fire. I wouldn’t use the furnace for another several months. Even then, it was on for an hour here or an hour there on chilly mornings before work. The package would be long gone by then.

  After returning the ladder to the garage, I logged into our bank accounts on the laptop. I hoped seeing the complete picture about my financial health would relieve some of my anxiety. At least Philip hadn’t absconded with our laptop, since I couldn’t afford to replace it. I tried a variety of usernames and passwords. With each new one I tried, my hands got shakier and shakier. None of the combinations worked, even though I was positive Philip had told me what it was eons ago. Philip must have changed it. What was he hiding?

  My only choice in finding answers would be to confront Philip and demand an explanation or visit the bank. I chose the bank. I wasn’t ready for a showdown with Philip…yet. Besides, I was never good at confrontation, especially with Philip. It was long past time for me to grow a backbone. It was time to stop being a lemming. Time to step up to the plate and swing the bat. Time to… I rolled my eyes. My mother’s clichés were rubbing off on me.

  Fighting the habit of putting fresh food in Piper’s bowl, I grabbed my keys and headed to the bank. My fingers drummed the steering wheel of my car, the tempo increasing at each stoplight that held me up. I continued to berate myself for becoming so lackadaisical and relying on Philip so completely. Clearly he didn’t have my best interests or those of our marriage in mind. He never had.

  I glanced at my watch when I pulled into the bank’s parking lot. Five forty-five. I had cut it close, but I had fifteen minutes before they closed. Good. That should give me plenty of time to get a recap of my accounts and mortgage. Unless there was a long line, but luck was on my side... this time. The second the young greeter near the door took my name and pointed toward the business side of the bank, a middle-aged man, trying to look much younger than his age by bleaching his short, spiked hair, rose from his glassed-in cubicle and came toward me.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Del Blasser.” He stretched out his hand to shake mine. “How can I help you today?”

  “I’d like to check on my mortgage balance and bank accounts. I seem to have forgotten both my login and passwords. Unfortunately, my husband isn’t available for a few days to remind me what they are.”

  Del raised his eyebrows for an instant then his professionalism took over. “Of course, Missus…?”

  “Emory Martinez. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.” I gave him what I hoped was a charming grin, although, with the way I felt, it was probably a grimace. “I have my bank account numbers but forgot to bring the mortgage statement. Can you help me?”

  The lies were slipping out of my mouth faster and faster. I should be worrying about my soul.

  “Of course, Mrs. Martinez. I’ll just need to see your ID and at least one of your bank account numbers.” He gestured toward his cubicle. “Please come to my office and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some coffee or water?”

  Given the lateness of the day, I was sure he hoped to wrap this up and get out o
f here. Even though I was thirsty, I didn’t want to prolong this man’s workday any longer than necessary.

  I handed him my driver’s license and my checkbook. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  Del exhaled loudly as he clicked away on his keyboard. Obviously, he didn’t want me holding him up past six. He glanced at me a time or two before averting his eyes and concentrating on his computer screen situated on the side of his desk. It angled away from where I was sitting, so I couldn’t see what he was looking at.

  Del blew out a long sigh, shook his head, and then leaned back. “Mrs. Martinez, your mortgage and second mortgage appear to be in arrears, almost to the point of defaulting on the loans.”

  A buzzing began in my ears the moment I heard “second mortgage,” so I almost missed the word “default.” I wished he would take that word back. It meant that my life, as I knew it, was officially over. Without a doubt, I would pay for Philip’s transgressions for the rest of my days.

  I licked my dry lips, which were on the verge of cracking from mashing them so hard together to keep from screaming. “Can you tell me the balances?”

  I almost fell out of the chair when he uttered the ungodly figures. This was it. This meant bankruptcy unless Mother pulled strings and sold the condo right away with a real estate agent willing to waive their fee. Even then I would be repaying both Mother and the bank back for years. I was certain Philip would take the easy route of declaring bankruptcy and walk away scot free. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked several times, trying to keep them from spilling down my cheeks.

  “It appears that interest-only payments have been made for quite some time, and then those stopped two months ago.” The banker mumbled something I didn’t hear, shaking his head. “Am I correct in assuming you weren’t aware of the situation?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady.