The Witness

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “Perfect.” He heard the relief in her voice.

  Lately, the bulk of Brian’s business centered around background checks for his corporate clients. And although desk work was not exactly his favorite thing, he had ponied up the money for the software that allowed him to conduct detailed searches on anyone, anywhere. With the click of his mouse he could uncover associations between businesses, assets, and people, via access to public records, criminal records, and credit reports. Glad to have this resource at his disposal, he opened the program and entered Leanne Stoddard’s name into the database. There was a Leanne Stoddard in Dayton, Ohio, who had a record for welfare fraud, but she had died a month ago. Another Leanne Gretna Stoddard was wanted for bank robbery but was doing time in upstate New York. He searched for criminal records only and about two dozen names came up, along with corresponding photos. None of them matched his Leanne Stoddard. Certain now that Leanne Stoddard was an alias, Brian realized there was nothing to be done until he discovered her real name.

  It started to rain just as Brian arrived at Bon Air Shopping Center, thirty minutes before he was scheduled to meet Leanne. He drove around the lot until he scored a parking place that allowed him to see the front door of the coffee shop and the approaching walkway from each direction. Through the glass window that faced the street, Brian could see Peet’s was jammed today, a good indicator that Brian and Leanne wouldn’t get a table. No worries. He wasn’t really interested in sitting down and talking to Leanne. No, he was more interested in dropping her off at the hospital and seeing what she did after he left.

  Soon Leanne came walking down the sidewalk carrying a large canvas shopping bag. Brian locked his car and hurried through the rain to meet her. As he ran, he reminded himself to act natural and let her do the talking.

  “Hello,” Brian said.

  “Well hello there.” She stood close to him and pecked him on the cheek. “I’m so looking forward to our trip to Mendocino. I don’t even care if it rains. Our room has a fireplace and I have about ten novels that I’ve been wanting to read. I’m just looking forward to getting away.”

  “Me too,” Brian lied. There would be no trip to Mendocino, of that Brian was certain. He’d rather chew off his own arm than go away for a romantic weekend with Leanne – or whoever she was. They stepped into the coffee shop. As expected, a long line had formed and there wasn’t a table to be had.

  “I don’t have a whole lot of time, I’m sorry to say. Do you mind if we get coffees to go?”

  “Not at all,” Brian said.

  “I have to go into work early. Someone called in sick and we’re short-staffed.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they headed out into the rain, coffees in hand. “Let me get the car. You wait here and stay dry.”

  They didn’t speak on the ride to the hospital. When Leanne reached over and took Brian’s hand, he squeezed back and forced himself to smile.

  “Is something wrong, Brian? You seem preoccupied.”

  “Just work. I become boorish when I’m working on a case. Used to drive my wife nuts,” Brian said. By the time he pulled up in front of the hospital, he was ready for Leanne to be out of his vehicle.

  “See you soon, Brian.”

  He waited until she’d walked into the main entrance of the hospital before he backed into one of a dozen doctors’ parking places near the front door and settled down to wait. Sure enough, not five minutes later, Leanne came back outside. She didn’t notice him as she hurried in the rain to the lower parking area and got into a black Honda Accord. He followed her at a distance as she drove west on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard to the small town of Fairfax.

  Ultimately, she wound up at a nondescript gray apartment complex on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. By Brian’s count, the building held approximately twenty units, providing enough cars and parking to allow Brian to stay hidden. Not that he need have bothered. Leanne had no idea he had followed her. He double parked in front of a pickup truck, safely out of Leanne’s line of sight, as she walked to an end unit and let herself in with a key.

  Brian then pulled into an empty parking space in Leanne’s complex, far enough away so Leanne wouldn’t notice him but close enough to allow him to see her apartment. He waited, his eyes glued to her front door, patient as a saint. Soon the rain stopped, and the sun came out. After about an hour, Leanne came out of her apartment, this time dressed in jeans and a warm jacket. She got back in the Honda and drove away. Brian thought about following her, but then a better plan popped into his head.

  Careful not to be seen, Brian walked to Leanne’s apartment and knocked softly on the door. After double-checking to make sure no one was watching him, he used his library card to jimmy the cheap lock and was inside the apartment in no time. He walked through the living room to a sliding glass door that led to a private patio with a tall privacy fence. Calculating that he could easily jump over the fence in a pinch, Brian covered his hand with his shirtsleeve, so as not to leave fingerprints, and opened the sliding glass door a crack. If Leanne came back and surprised him, he could slip out the back and be over the fence in a heartbeat.

  Once his escape route was in place, he stood in the middle of Leanne’s apartment. A lone couch and a coffee table were the only furniture in this room. No pictures hung on the walls, no personal items were scattered about. The space was barren and completely without soul. He moved into the kitchen. A patina of dust and grime covered the counters and the stove. The refrigerator was empty. As in not one lick of food. So were the cabinets. He remembered Leanne’s promise to make Olivia and him a nice dinner at her condo near the hospital. He wondered what she would have done if they had taken her up on her offer.

  Unlike the rest of the house, the bedroom showed evidence of occupancy. A full-sized bed sat in the middle of the small room, unmade and messy. Several dresses and two purses were tossed in the middle of the bunched-up covers, as though Leanne had tried on various outfits and couldn’t be bothered to put away the discards. A three-legged dining chair served as a nightstand, holding a wind-up clock and a small dish that held a pair of cheap costume earrings. The dresser was the only nice piece of furniture in the house. It looked like an antique, probably made of mahogany. Lipsticks, a broken mirror, and a pile of unopened mail sat on top of it.

  Brian picked up the letters and thumbed through them. It took a couple of seconds for his brain to register the name on the envelopes. Taking the stack of mail over to the window, Brian studied the envelopes in the light. He went back through the rest of the pile: an offer for a VISA card from Bank of the North, an interest-free credit card, a new Macy’s card, a bank statement, an electric bill, and a phone bill, all addressed to Maureen Vickery, Brian’s deceased wife, at this apartment’s address. Now he knew what Olivia had stumbled on when she found Leanne in the office.

  White-hot anger bloomed deep in Brian’s psyche. How dare this woman use Maureen’s good name for her scheme? God help him, he could kill her and not feel a drop of remorse. Heart pounding, Brian took out his cell phone and took photos of each and every envelope. He had half a mind to steal the lot of them, but knew that wasn’t a good idea. The last thing he needed was Leanne to become suspicious.

  When he was finished, he emailed the photos to himself, just in case something happened to his phone before he got back to the office. He’d have to involve the police, no doubt about that. But the dynamic had changed now. Careful to make sure no one saw him as he slipped out of the apartment, Brian headed to the safety of his car. The tables had turned. Brian, who had been Leanne Stoddard’s prey, was now the predator.

  Chapter 21

  Ebby

  Thursday, January 8

  Ebby stared at the flames from the gas logs in Felicity’s fireplace. They weren’t the same as a real fire, with the sound of crackling wood and the familiar smell that triggered memories of a happier time, but the evening was chilly, and the warmth felt good. On its surface, the scene seemed peaceful. Felicity sat on the couch, her laptop resti
ng on her legs, beavering away on Ebby’s written notes. A half-empty bottle of wine and a pizza box took up most of the space on the coffee table. Just underneath this tableau of domestic bliss were the worries about his current situation, namely his arrest for a murder he didn’t remember.

  She looked up and they both stared at the licking tendrils of fire, momentarily mesmerized.

  “What is it about the sound of crackling wood that is so relaxing?”

  Ebby refilled Felicity’s wine glass.

  “Thanks,” Felicity said. “Ebs, don’t worry, okay? I know how hard this is. But you didn’t kill your mother. Olivia will be able to prove that.”

  “I certainly haven’t made it easy for her, have I? Confessing at the party, confessing to the police.” He stared at the fire while Felicity turned her focus back to Ebby’s notes.

  She read one of the pages, comparing it to the computer screen. Satisfied, she set the page aside and picked up her wine glass. “This cookbook is really good, Ebs. The instructions are easy to follow, and the recipes are similar to the ones you serve at the restaurant. Tell me again what your agent said.”

  Ebby smiled at Felicity’s attempt to change the subject. “She loved it, but maybe isn’t quite as enthusiastic as you are.”

  As Felicity went back to the computer, Ebby pulled out the notebook he’d been using to write down what he remembered about his mother’s murder, along with any information that might be useful to Olivia. The writing had been cathartic, and since he’d been documenting his memories, his vivid dreams and flashbacks had stopped.

  Ebby’s memories of that time of his life were disjointed and vague. Although he and Felicity were close in age, they didn’t really spend a lot of time together as children. Lately Ebby had been wondering why that was. Did his mother – always the domineering engineer of her children’s social lives – deliberately keep Ebby and Felicity apart?

  “How come we never played together when we were kids?” Ebby asked Felicity. “We were close enough in age, and we lived in the same house.”

  Felicity kept typing, her fingers flying over the keys. “Your mother hated my mother. And she hated me.”

  “Hate’s a rather strong word.”

  “No, it’s the truth. We were beneath you.” Felicity spoke without emotion as she flipped the page she was typing from over. “Don’t worry. My feelings weren’t hurt. Your mother – God rest her soul – was a horrible snob. It wouldn’t do for you to play with the help. She probably thought I’d be a bad influence.”

  “I’m sorry, Felicity. My family has not treated you well.” He wanted to ask, for the hundredth time, why Felicity stayed on as an employee after all these years.

  “No need to apologize.” Felicity turned her attention once again to her laptop, while Ebby cleared away the pizza box and dirty dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

  When he came back into the living room, he found Felicity gazing at the fire, her wine glass in hand. “Do you remember when Mark was a senior in high school, and he conned all of his friends into investing in some imaginary scheme?”

  “No,” Ebby said. “What happened?”

  “Well, Mark wound up with a chunk of change. I can’t remember how much. He got his friends to invest, promising that he would double their money. Eventually their parents found out and they came to Cynthia.” Felicity sipped her wine. “This was just before your dad died, if my memory serves. Oh, your parents were furious with Mark. He had spent the money, blown it on God knows what. I thought your mother was going to kill him. Your father wanted to see Mark prosecuted for fraud, but your mother wouldn’t allow it. She covered Mark’s debt and paid all the parents back. But she told him in no uncertain terms that he had abused all her grace, and she had half a mind to disinherit him.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Felicity smirked. “How do you think? I overheard it. I was the daughter of a servant. I was invisible.”

  “Why do you keep working for them? Come to work at the restaurant. I’ll give you a raise. And treat you with the respect you deserve.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I need to stay where I am, Ebby. At least for now.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” Ebby said.

  ***

  For the first time in months, Ebby slept through the night. If he had any dreams, he didn’t remember them when he awoke the next morning. When he rose from the couch, groggy-eyed and disoriented, he realized Felicity must have left for work a while ago. Alone in the house, he stepped into Felicity’s bedroom and studied the surroundings. Until Felicity had graciously taken Ebby into her home, he’d never spent much time here. They usually spent time together at his house or out with his friends, when he could cajole her to join them for a meal or a hike. He had come to believe she lived a humble life and didn’t want him to see her apartment. But he’d been wrong. Her apartment was a spacious one-bedroom, with big windows and lots of light.

  Her decorating style was an unusual combination of austerity and classic. The queen-sized bed sat on a floating platform that made it look like it was hanging suspended in midair. A pristine white duvet, countless comfortable-looking pillows, and a silk tapestry in muted shades of blues gave the room a warm, inviting feel.

  Moving into the living room, Ebby studied the original painting that hung over the sofa, an abstract of a rainy street. The monochromatic vibe was broken up by colorful pillows and the vibrant pottery she had scattered around the apartment. The room was tasteful, artistic, and reflected Felicity through and through. As he popped two pieces of fresh sourdough bread into the toaster and poured himself coffee, Ebby once again wondered at the current situation. Although he had faith in the justice system, he’d watched enough television to know that juries could be fickle. What if his case went to trial and the jury didn’t like him? What if the evidence Olivia presented didn’t convince a jury of his innocence? The idea of spending the rest of his life in prison filled Ebby with a sense of terror. Why in the world had he confessed?

  The toaster dinged and his sourdough bread popped up. He didn’t want it anymore, the hunger in his belly replaced by a knot of worry. As he turned to walk into the kitchen, he inadvertently tripped on the rug, sending his coffee flying. Most of it landed on the wood floor, but some of it splattered onto the white Flokati rug.

  “Crap,” Ebby said out loud. Grabbing his phone, he did an internet search for “how do you clean coffee out of a flokati rug?” The instructions were very straightforward. After mixing a solution of warm water, white vinegar, and liquid dish soap, Ebby grabbed a towel and went to work. The potion worked like a charm and soon Ebby had the rug spotless. After moving the couch, he pulled the rug over to the large window, positioning it so the wet spot was in the direct sunlight. He’d leave it there for an hour or two. With any luck, by the time Felicity got home the rug would be dry and she’d be none the wiser.

  Just as he was pushing himself to his feet, Ebby felt one of floorboards underneath his knee wiggle. Curious, he crouched down and ran his fingers over it, surprised when it easily lifted away to reveal a small cubbyhole. A legal envelope had been folded in half and crammed into the small space. Without thinking of the consequences – Felicity, who kept her secrets close, would be furious if she knew Ebby was going through her personal papers – Ebby lifted the envelope out of its hiding place, unclasped it, and carefully drew out a folder. Inside the folder was an envelope with the words LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ELLIOT MARCUS ENGSTROM in bold calligraphy, with a plain letter-sized envelope.

  Why would Felicity have a copy of his father’s will? When Elliot had died, Ebby had been too young to be involved in the probate of his father’s estate. Upon his mother’s death, Elodie had become his guardian. She had seen to his financial wellbeing, so there had never been any reason for him to see a copy of his father’s will. Figuring that his father had left a sum of money to Allegra for her years of service, Ebby opened the envelope, unfolded the thick legal document, and st
arted to read. His father’s bequests were rather straightforward. The bulk of his assets were to be transferred to Cynthia in the form of a life estate, meaning she had access to his money and property until she passed, at which time, said assets would be held in trust for his children, namely “Mark, Edward (AKA Ebby), and Felicity Matthews”. Felicity Matthews? Ebby reread the sentence, once, twice, three times.

  He crumpled onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of Allegra, the kindhearted housekeeper who Ebby loved like family, and his father, not only having a child, but acknowledging the child. What had his mother thought when she discovered Elliot had provided for Felicity in his will? Had his mother known about the affair? Did this mean that Felicity was his half-sister? Ebby thought back to his family dynamic when he was young. He recalled his mother not being overly fond of Allegra. Try as he might, Ebby didn’t have many memories of his mother and father demonstrably showing their love for each other.

  Over the years, as Ebby processed the grief he felt at his father’ death, he realized that Elliot and Cynthia were very different people. In fact, Ebby had often wondered what they had seen in each other. Elliot was unassuming and outdoorsy, while Cynthia was ambitious and socially conscious. As much as he hated to admit it, he could see his father falling for Allegra. Cynthia Engstrom had been a strong-willed woman, who liked to have unfettered control over her family. Ebby believed Mark inherited this characteristic from her. His father, on the other hand, had been a quiet gentle soul. He had heard his mother and his aunts say on more than one occasion that Ebby took after his father. But somehow – at least according to Ebby’s recollections – his father had always managed to maintain his quiet authority.

  Could Allegra have murdered Cynthia? Could the two women have quarreled over the love of a man? Over money? Over Felicity’s inheritance? If only he could remember what he had witnessed the night of his mother’s murder, but the more he tried, the harder his subconscious mind clamped down on the memory.