The Witness

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “She’ll be all right,” Fiona said as she pushed away from the table. Once she was standing, she wobbled on her feet. “Oh, I feel a little woozy.” Fiona put her hand on the mantel as Ebby and Elodie rushed over to her.

  Her face had a grayish tinge and was covered in a sheen of sweat. Ebby thought for a moment she was having a heart attack.

  “Fiona, are you okay?” Ebby stepped close and tried to put his arm around his aunt to hold her up, for she looked like she was about to topple.

  “I’m fine.” Fiona pushed him away. “Really. Found out recently I’m a bit anemic. I’m taking iron.”

  “Thank goodness it wasn’t my cooking,” Ebby said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Fiona smiled. Ebby was glad to see the color coming back into her cheeks. “Your meal was delicious. I just haven’t been feeling well lately.”

  “Why don’t you spend the night at my place, dear?” Elodie said. “You can drive back to the beach after the party.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ebby said. “That way I won’t have to worry about you driving home.”

  ***

  Ebby found Felicity in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. “You don’t have to clean up. Let me take you home. I’ll deal with this later.”

  “It won’t take long with the two of us.” She turned away from him and loaded the last of the plates into the dishwasher. Ebby had been so wrapped up in his dysfunctional family dynamic that he had neglected Felicity. She had hardly spoken a word during dinner. This shouldn’t have surprised Ebby. He should have known better than to invite her to sit down with Melinda and share a meal.

  “Have you noticed Fiona has lost weight?” Felicity asked. “She doesn’t look healthy to me. I’m worried about her.”

  “I know. I’ll ask Elodie about it.” Ebby put the dishtowel he was holding down. “Felicity, what’s wrong? And don’t tell me you’re tired. I know what tired looks like. Tonight you’re not tired.”

  Felicity closed the dishwasher and faced him, her eyes snapping. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d hired an investigator to look into your mother’s murder? I had no business being at that table tonight. I’m not your family. I should have had a choice.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears as she pushed past Ebby to get her coat and purse.

  “Felicity, wait. I’m sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t have been so thoughtless, Ebby. I was embarrassed tonight. Melinda’s going to give me hell tomorrow.”

  “Then don’t come back. Quit. I told you, I’ll hire you. I’ll even give you a raise.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  She flung her purse over her shoulder. “You need to be helping yourself before you try to help me. I’m ready to go home.” And with that, she walked out of the house.

  They didn’t speak on the ride home. Felicity sat next to Ebby, her head tilted back and her eyes closed, as though she were asleep. But Ebby knew she wasn’t sleeping; she was avoiding conversation. He let her be and thought about the events of the evening. Everything had gone how he’d expected. Mark’s anger was a bit much, but Ebby knew his older brother liked to be in control, and the idea of Ebby making plans to solve his mother’s murder without consulting him first was likely an unwelcome surprise.

  Felicity opened her eyes and sat up as he pulled to a stop at her apartment. “Do you want me to walk you up?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry if I snapped at you, Ebs. I understand your need to find out what happened, but I just wish you would have confided in me.”

  “You’re right,” Ebby said. “It was insensitive of me. Do you want me to talk to Melinda for you?”

  “Please don’t,” Felicity said. “Trust me, that will just make things worse. See you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, see you at the party.”

  Felicity waved and headed to her apartment. He waited until she was safely inside before setting off home, his thoughts turning back to his mother’s murder. In fact, 1984 had been a cruel year for the Engstrom family. Elliot – Ebby’s father – had died of a sudden heart attack in June. After his father’s death, the family dynamic had shifted. To Ebby, it felt as though his mother had given all of her love and devotion to her eldest son, leaving thirteen-year-old Ebby to fend for himself. During this time, Ebby and Elodie bonded. Then in December, Cynthia had been murdered.

  Felicity and her mother, Allegra, had lived with the Engstroms in their own suite of rooms until Elliot died. Ebby had a vague recollection of them moving out of the house after that and getting their own apartment, but he couldn’t remember why. Melinda and Mark had been together since high school. Melinda spent so much time at the Engstrom house she surely had come to know Felicity as a child. Why didn’t Melinda like Felicity now? More importantly, he didn’t understand why Felicity stayed. He knew she had a college degree and she was extremely capable. Why in the world would she spend all these years working as a servant for a woman who was so cruel to her?

  Ebby felt a headache coming on just as he pulled to a stop in front of his cabin. The radio was turned to a classic old-school rock station that played all the songs that Ebby grew up with. He had just opened the door to his car, when “How Much I Feel” by Ambrosia blasted over the airwaves. As though someone had flipped a switch, his breath suddenly came in short gasps as stars floated before his eyes. He felt his body slump in the seat of the car, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

  In his mind’s eye, he felt the rain falling on him as he stood outside the window of his mother’s study. The sting of Mary Beth’s rejection was fresh and raw and searing. His clothes were soaked through as the scene in the office unfolded before him. Unable to move, he watched as the mysterious figure dressed in baggy clothes came into the room. Helpless to do anything, he watched the now familiar argument between his domineering mother and her murderer, watched as the murderer picked up the silver letter opener on his mother’s desk, shaped like a dagger, its hilt encrusted with semiprecious stones. The letter opener gleamed in a surreal, radiant fashion. He waited, certain this time he would get a look at the killer’s face.

  In the background, he caught a glimpse of his childhood self, a shimmery wavering vision, standing in the alcove just outside the office. In an instant, Ebby saw himself covered in his mother’s blood, frantic, as if suspended in time. Just as the would-be murderer slowly turned to the window, everything went black and Ebby slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 5

  Olivia

  Sunday, January 4

  Guests had been asked to arrive at Elodie’s party for drinks at two o’clock, with the actual sit-down luncheon starting at 3 o’clock. Olivia, who had been attending this annual event for years, was expected to come to Elodie’s trailer early for a pre-party glass of champagne, as she had every year since her mother passed nineteen years ago.

  Last year, Richard, Olivia’s jackass of an ex-husband, hadn’t come with her, claiming that he had a mountain of work to tend to, his usual excuse to avoid social gatherings. Olivia now knew that her reprobate of a husband had likely been spending his day bumping boots with his mistress. She didn’t care. Not anymore. Slowing as she passed the drive that led to the Engstrom house, Olivia could make out the pointed top of a shining white tent through the trees. A valet parking company had been hired for the occasion. One white-coated man was moving a podium on a dolly, while another was unloading an electric golf cart from a trailer. Keeping her eyes on the narrow twisty road that led to the back of the Engstrom property, Olivia drove past the bricked pillars that graced the entrance toward the main house and instead turned onto a dirt road marked by a brick mailbox.

  She followed the winding lane through a group of tall redwoods toward the silvery shine of Elodie’s Airstream, mindful of the crater-sized potholes. As she turned the final corner, Elodie’s unusual house came into view.

  As Olivia pulled in next to a brand-new Volvo, Elodie stepped outsi
de, waving her arms like a teenager and grinning from ear to ear. She was dressed in a bright purple dress, black and purple striped tights, with purple lace-up boots tying her ensemble together. Her silver curls had been piled up on top of her head and secured in place with rhinestone clips.

  Olivia grabbed a bottle of Veuve Clicquot with a bow around the neck off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car just as Elodie reached her. “Happy birthday, Elodie. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Oh, thank you for coming. Come in. I’m with Fiona. We’re having oysters and champagne before we head over to the party.”

  Olivia wondered if Elodie’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes were a result of her birthday mood or the birthday booze.

  As if reading her mind, Elodie said, “It’s my birthday, so I’m going to get a little tipsy, do some dancing, and enjoy watching Melinda fidget. Did you come alone?”

  “Brian will be joining us at the party.”

  “Very well. Fiona and I will take very good care of you until he gets here. You’ll sit next to me at lunch and everyone will tell you how much you resemble your mother.”

  Olivia followed Elodie into the trailer, where Fiona, in complete contrast to her sister, was dressed in a tailored wool dress in subdued navy blue. Pearl earrings hung from her ears, and her thick snow-white hair was styled in a sleek bob at her shoulders. Fiona was gaunt, drawn, and rigid-looking, especially in comparison to Elodie’s round and rosy vigor. Olivia watched as Fiona set a silver tray layered with crushed ice and topped with oysters on the half shell on the table. A half pint of Belvedere vodka also sat on ice, along with lemons and what looked to be cocktail sauce.

  The inside of Elodie’s Airstream always reminded Olivia of a fairy tale. The walls and ceiling were lined with wood veneer in a herringbone pattern. A kitchenette, comprised of a granite counter, a copper sink, and a tiny copper hood over a ceramic stove, took up one wall. The kitchen nook – as Elodie liked to call it – consisted of comfortable built-in seats snuggled around an old table, with cushions upholstered in vibrant purple tones.

  “Hello, Olivia,” Fiona said, handing Olivia a crystal flute brimming with golden bubbles and joining her at the table.

  “Thank you. And hello.”

  Fiona raised her glass and said, “Before we sit down, I’d like to propose a toast. To Olivia, a trusted friend.”

  Olivia held her glass up while Elodie and Fiona drank to her. Once they were all seated, Olivia said, “What a spread!”

  “Let’s not talk about that,” Elodie said. “So this is how we do it.” She took one of the oysters, splashed a little vodka on it, added a little cocktail sauce, and ate it straight from the shell. “Try it,” Elodie encouraged.

  “You can use a fork if you wish,” Fiona said.

  Olivia skipped the vodka and ate the oyster plain. It was clean and delicious and tasted of the ocean.

  “Have another,” Elodie said. “I’ve got a dozen more, if we want them.”

  “Thanks,” Olivia said, helping herself. “Won’t there be lots of food at your party?”

  Elodie opened a fresh bottle of champagne, topping off Olivia and Fiona’s glasses before she refilled her own. She giggled when she overfilled her glass, soaking the linen tablecloth. “You may not remember this, Olivia, but in the old days, my annual birthday party would start with a long hike, followed by a picnic dinner outside. Your mother and father both used to come every year. But we all got older and the hikes turned into walks, and when half of us needed walkers, we stopped the walking and hiking all together. You must remember that I always served the same meal after our hikes: lobster, green salad, crab cocktail, crusty French bread and a never-ending supply of champagne. I love eating the decadent food off the good linen on the picnic table under the trees. The irreverence of it suited me.”

  Fiona patted her sister’s hand. “Don’t get too upset, Elodie, dear.”

  Elodie brushed off her sister and kept talking. “This year Melinda offered to see to things, promised to keep the same menu and the guest list small enough to be intimate. I hate big parties where I feel like I have to talk to everyone and have quality time with no one. Anyway, I trusted her. Of course, not only did she change the menu, most of the guests are Mark’s friends and business associates. She’s got a hundred people coming! One hundred. Can you even fathom that? And she’s making them eat beef, which I loathe. To make matters even worse, as I was getting ready this morning, I started thinking of all the friends I’ve lost.” She looked at Olivia and Fiona with sad eyes. “That’s the thing about getting old. If you’re lucky enough to keep on ticking, you lose everyone you love. I don’t even want to go to this party. I’d rather stay here with the two of you.”

  “That’s enough, Elodie. You’ll have a grand time and you know it. You’re lucky enough to be alive, and we’ve got these wonderful oysters and this extravagant champagne. And that’s nonsense about the guests. Of course Mark invited business associates, but you will know most of the people, and don’t even try to tell me you don’t like them. You love them. And they love you.”

  “Okay, okay.” Elodie waved off her sister’s comments.

  When the two sisters glanced at each other in unspoken communication, Olivia pushed her champagne flute away.

  “We need to talk to you about Ebby,” Fiona said.

  “I suggested he come to you, Olivia. He’s really struggling, thinking he’s starting to remember the night his mother was murdered. We’re hoping you can guide him through the process.”

  “He’s a sensitive man,” Fiona added, glancing askance at Elodie. “I’m not speaking out of turn in saying that, Elodie, so don’t look at me like that. It’s true, though. Ebby is very sensitive. His father’s death was extremely difficult for him.”

  “How so?” Olivia asked.

  Fiona took a deep breath, but Elodie was the one who answered Olivia’s question.

  “Ebby and Elliot were very close, kindred spirits if you will. Father and son were both artistic in temperament, and despite Elliot’s genius at playing the financial markets, his favorite thing to do was be at the beach or hiking in the hills. Ebby’s exactly the same. And, as much as I hate to say it—”

  Fiona interjected. “After Elliot died, Cynthia made no bones about showing favoritism to Mark. Poor Ebby was a vulnerable little boy, just thirteen years old when his father died. She wanted to send him away to boarding school. If it weren’t for Elodie, she would have. Ebby needed love. He needed his mother. I won’t bore you with details, but suffice it to say she wasn’t kind to the poor child.”

  “She’d taken the dog and had it put to sleep, if you can believe that.” Elodie’s voice wavered as she recalled the horrifying event. “Unfortunately, Ebby overheard. After that incident, Cynthia didn’t bother to hide her feelings.

  “But I loved Ebby as though he were my own,” Elodie continued. “And so did Fiona. I was living at the big house at that time, in my own suite of rooms, you know, in the wing that is now dilapidated and tumbling down.” Elodie cast a glance at Fiona and added, “We tried to give Ebby enough love and support to make up for Cynthia’s shortcomings.”

  “The poor kid was bound to have some psychological problems. Aren’t mommy issues the root of all evil?” Fiona asked as she spread cocktail sauce and vodka on an oyster and popped it into her mouth.

  Olivia ignored the amateur psychological analysis and asked, “So what do you think of these flashbacks he’s having?”

  “They started out as nightmares,” Elodie said. “Night terrors, I should say. The doctors told us after Cynthia’s murder that Ebby might have difficulties if his memories of that night came back.”

  “And he is remembering,” Fiona said. “We need to tell her what happened last night. If Olivia is going to help Ebby, she needs to know what’s happening.”

  Elodie gave her sister an imploring look before she downed the rest of her champagne. She spoke as she once again refilled their glasses. “Ebby gathered
us all round for a lovely dinner last night. After we were well fed, he stood up and announced that he had taken my suggestion and hired you to look into Cynthia’s murder.”

  “Mark wasn’t very happy,” Fiona added. “He’s had an offer to sell the house and the surrounding property for an exorbitant sum of money. He doesn’t want attention focused on the family just now.”

  “To make matters worse,” Elodie said, “the wife of the buyer is a superstitious woman and Mark doesn’t want her to discover that a murder took place in the house.”

  “But you’re going to have to disclose that anyway,” Olivia said. “I think that’s California law.”

  “Mark has disclosed it to the husband, but they’ve both come to an understanding and agreed to keep the wife in the dark.”

  That’s got disaster written all over it. Olivia kept her opinion to herself.

  “And Mark does like to be in control,” Elodie said. “He’s always bullied Ebby. Sees himself as the head of the family, reminding us all on a regular basis that he has our financial interests at heart.”

  “Which is nonsense,” Fiona said. “Mark loves money more than anything.”

  “You’re going off topic, Fi.” Elodie turned to Olivia and said, “You saw Ebby when he came to you. Didn’t you notice a change in him? He’s lost weight; he looks like he’s physically ill.”

  “He’s grappling with the past,” Elodie said.

  “That’s what he told me,” Olivia said. “I encouraged him to see a doctor, but he was pretty adamant that he wouldn’t do that.”

  “My hope, Olivia dear, is that you can encourage him. He needs to be under the care of a psychiatrist. We’re hoping you can steer him in that direction,” Elodie said.

  “I agree with you, and I’ll try. Maybe it would help if he found a psychiatrist on his own, if he interviewed potential doctors until he finds one he likes. Maybe I could explain to him that it’s like hiring an employee, make him feel more in control,” Olivia said.