Brownie Points for Murder

by Nicole Ellis

  My foot caught on a beach log and I toppled sideways, catching myself with my right hand so I wouldn’t land directly on Ella. Goldie’s leash slipped out of my hand. Surprised at the abrupt wake-up, Ella wailed loud enough to scare away every seagull in the vicinity. As the birds scattered, Goldie turned his attention to the seagulls and chased after them.

  “Goldie,” I called. “Get back here!” For once in his life, he listened to me and trotted back with a goofy look on his face, oblivious to the man’s body lying twenty feet away from us. Ella continued to cry, and I made soothing noises as I got to my feet and grabbed the dog’s leash. Had I been mistaken about what I’d seen?

  I re-crossed the railroad tracks and walked over to the base of the eroding cliff side to get a closer look. My earlier impression of the man’s identity was correct. Samuel Westen’s body lay smashed on the rocky terrain. Absurdly, my first thought was relief that he hadn’t seen Goldie off-leash on the beach.

  Had he fallen from the path on his property, high above the beach? On the path, a squirrel scampered along the cliff’s edge, sending pebbles down the steep incline. A fall from that height would easily cause serious harm or death. The blood and dirt covering the body and the awkward angle of his limbs indicated the scenario was likely. I choked back vomit and backed away to the safety of the beach. As much as I disliked the man, I didn’t want him dead.

  I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket to call 911. Goldie tugged on the leash, and the phone slipped out of my grasp and fell to the sand. I managed to retrieve the phone after twisting from side to side while clumsily bent over the baby carrier. Just as the call connected, a train came around the bend. I struggled to hear the 911 operator over the train’s rumblings, Goldie’s barks, and Ella’s wails, but managed to communicate my name and a request to have the police come because I’d found a body.

  After the train passed, I perched on a beach log a few feet from the body and attempted to shield Ella from the sight. I knew she couldn’t understand the situation, but I didn’t want it to be the cause of any psychiatric sessions for her later in life.

  My eyes locked on his body as though magnetized. He wore the same plaid lumberjack shirt he’d been wearing when I brought him brownies the day before. But why had he decided to take a walk along the cliff instead of leaving on his fishing trip? As I pondered this, a cloud of voices floated down the beach ahead of a rather large posse of people.

  When the police arrived, a man wearing a blazer and a necktie better suited for the boardroom than the beach gingerly picked his way through the sand to where I sat.

  “Are you Ms. Affrew?” He peeked at a pocket-sized spiral bound notebook.

  “Andrews,” I said. “Jill Andrews.” I wasn’t shocked the 911 operator had misheard my last name with all the noise in the background during my call. Ella gazed wide-eyed at the man while he scribbled on his notepad, presumably correcting my name in his notes.

  “I’m Detective Orson with the Ericksville Police.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I wasn’t sure of the correct etiquette for this type of situation, as I certainly wasn’t happy he’d come into my life or, rather, wasn’t happy about the circumstances of meeting him. I laughed. It all seemed surreal.

  He looked up sharply.

  “I’m sorry, it’s been such a crazy day. I just saw him yesterday, packing up for a fishing trip. I can’t believe he’s dead.” I cuddled Ella closer to me. Goldie paced restlessly to the end of his leash and back.

  “So you knew the deceased?”

  “Yes. He’s my neighbor, Samuel Westen.” I corrected myself, “He was my neighbor. He lived right up there.” I pointed to the top of the cliff. “My house is the blue one behind it—you can see parts of it through the trees.”

  Detective Orson turned to examine the hillside. Tall evergreen trees lined the cliff’s edge, and bushes clung to the roots poking out of the hillside. Erosion had claimed other vegetation and rocks which had tumbled down to the beach below, not far from where technicians were photographing the body.

  “A treacherous place to take a walk,” he observed.

  “Yes. I’ve only been up there once. There’s a narrow path along the edge of the cliff. Not one that I’d like to walk along.” Just the thought of being so close to the cliff’s edge gave me the jitters. “Another one of our neighbors lost a cat, and a group of us searched the woods on Mr. Westen’s property. He was out of town, or he’d probably have had us arrested for trespassing.”

  The police had cordoned off this section of the beach, but a crowd had formed on the other side of the yellow police tape. I looked longingly past them toward the lighthouse. If only I’d stayed on the public beach. If I could rewrite the day, I wouldn’t have come to this part of the beach and, as a result, never would have discovered my neighbor’s body.

  “Mrs. Andrews,” the detective said. He scrutinized my face. “Are you ok?”

  “Yes, sorry. This is all so awful.” Despite the three doses of coffee I’d consumed, all the energy had drained from my body.

  Ella fidgeted and whimpered. I rocked back and forth, but she’d had enough. Wah! Wah!

  “Is there anything else? Would it be ok if I left now?” I nodded to Ella. “I’ve got to get home to feed her.”

  “Let me get your address and then you are free to go. We may be by later today with more questions.”

  I gave him the pertinent information and turned to leave. An eager-looking woman whom I’d seen talking with some of the uniformed cops broke away from the group and trudged up to me.

  “Are you the woman who found the body?” she asked, out of breath from her trek across the loose sand. She straightened the blouse that hung like a flour sack on a body that could stand to ingest fewer brownies and shook sand out of her sandal.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m Niely MacDonald from the Ericksville Times. I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. MacDonald. I’d love to help you, but I’ve really got to get my baby home, and this dog is about to tear my arm off.” I allowed Goldie to drag me a few feet down the beach. “I already told the police everything—I’m sure you can get what you need from them.” I walked away at a brisk pace, leaving the reporter sputtering behind me.

  I huffed and puffed my way up the hill to my house, the whole time vowing to cut out the brownies myself. The police had already arrived at Mr. Westen’s house. Police cars blocked the sidewalk, and Ella and I had to navigate around them. If he were alive, he’d be furious at the careless treatment of his yard. A few tulips that had once marched proudly in a straight line along the sidewalk now lay on their sides, fallen in the line of duty.

  The open garage door revealed his Jeep Wagoneer parked inside. Had he changed his mind about going on the fishing trip? It must have been him I’d seen last night when I’d been up with Ella. Goldie spotted a squirrel in his yard and took off after it, with me attached. Ella screeched, and all the police personnel turned to look at us.

  I waved my hand toward the dog, mouthed “Sorry,” and pulled Goldie firmly toward me and the sidewalk. As we passed by the open garage, I noticed the vehicle was still loaded with the fishing paraphernalia I’d seen Mr. Westen pack the day before.

  While I fed Ella her bottle, I glanced out the window. People were scurrying around in my neighbor’s house. It seemed like overkill for an accidental death, but maybe his death received special treatment due to his status as an esteemed town councilman. Ericksville’s small police force must have had their hands full between his accident and the fire and arson-related death at the condo project.

  9

  After Ella finished eating and I’d done a few loads of laundry, her chin drooped and she rubbed at her eyes, so I put her in the fully reclined stroller seat and set off for the BeansTalk Café. Ella fell asleep before we rolled past Mr. Westen’s house. The grounds no longer resembled a raging house party but instead appeared forlorn and empty.
The police had shut the garage door and turned off all the lights in his house. The house reminded me of the sight of his broken body lying on the beach, crumpled behind a beach log. I shuddered. Falling off a cliff was a horrible way to die. He had been a grumpy old man, but I never would have wished his fate upon him.

  I pushed the stroller faster, as though once past his house, I could push away the unwanted memories. The wheels strummed sweetly along the ground, and a breeze carried the scent of salt water up the hill. The day was shaping up to be quite warm. Down by the ferry dock, I entered the BeansTalk Café, causing bells above the door to tinkle, signaling my arrival. I eased the stroller through the door without waking Ella up and situated her stroller against a wall behind the front counter. The room was empty. I half wondered if Desi was out celebrating Mr. Westen’s death and then pushed the thought out of my mind. I didn’t want to think about what I’d seen anymore.

  “Desi? Where are you?”

  “Right here,” she said, walking out of the door to the back room. “I was unpacking boxes and placing orders on my computer in the office.”

  “You really should be more careful,” I chided. “Someone could come in here and rob you blind.”

  “That’s why I have the chimes,” Desi said breezily. “I can hear anyone coming.”

  “Yeah, well, chimes aren’t going to stop a thief.”

  “And you think I’m somehow going to do that if I’m in the main room?” she asked. “Thieves could take the whole till before I waddled over to them to ask if they needed help.” She ruefully regarded her belly.

  She scanned the café with bright eyes, proudly assessing her work. “I’ll hate to lose this place. We’ve been here for almost three years, and now Westen wants to sell the property? That bastard’s only concern is money—he doesn’t care how his actions affect other people.” Her face flamed and she gesticulated wildly at the café walls before taking a rag to wipe at a non-existent crumb on the counter.

  Wait, she didn’t know about Samuel Westen’s death? It wasn’t often that something big happened in Ericksville and Desi Torres wasn’t one of the first to know.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what? I’ve been in the shop all day.” She looked up at me, puzzled. “C’mon, spill. What’s the latest gossip?”

  “Mr. Westen died,” I said. Desi stopped wiping the countertop.

  “What? How? Did he choke on a wad of money while counting his stash? Or maybe one of the million other people who hated him got to him?” She saw my horrified expression and sighed. “Ok, ok, I’m horrible. So what really happened?”

  “It looked to me like he fell off the path that runs along the cliff on the edge of his property. Goldie and I discovered his body on the beach this morning.”

  “Oh, sheesh. Now I feel bad. I didn’t like the man, but I didn’t wish this on him.” Desi bent down to restock the supply of brown paper bags she used for the pastries customers took to go. She straightened to a standing position and rubbed the small of her back.

  “It’s getting hard to bend over like that.” Her face brightened. “Hey, I wonder who will inherit Westen’s properties? Maybe there’s hope for the BeansTalk now.”

  “Desi!”

  “Well, seriously though. Maybe the new owner will be more interested in preserving the commerce and walkability of downtown Ericksville.” She poured herself a cup of decaf coffee.

  “Or the new owners could be just as motivated by money as him. Did he have any family?”

  “Just a daughter. Her name is Anna, I think. She and her son live in Everton. I don’t think they got along with him very well.” She screwed up her forehead while trying to remember. “That’s right, his daughter is maybe ten years older than we are, so I didn’t know her in school, but she worked at the Boathouse for a few years while I was in college. She and my mom still volunteer together at the Ericksville Historical Society.”

  “Well, if she’s Mr. Westen’s heir, an interest in the Historical Society is a good indication she’ll want to preserve the BeansTalk building. How do you know so much about everyone in town anyway?”

  “It’s a small town, and my mom hears a lot of gossip from the staff at the Boathouse.”

  “His poor daughter,” I said. “This must be such a shock for her.” Again, I flashed on the memory of his broken body. It was a memory I would be happy to forget but would be ingrained in my mind forever. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Oh, Jill, I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I forgot you’ve been through quite a shock today.” She shoved a mug of hot coffee into my hands and led me to a counter stool.

  The comforting warmth radiated from the coffee cup. I perched on the edge of the stool, and a wave of tiredness overcame me. Between taking care of Ella and performing some household chores, I hadn’t had time to decompress after coming home from the beach. Still, dwelling on the day’s events wasn’t helping.

  “Actually, speaking of the Boathouse,” Desi began. “If the BeansTalk building isn’t in danger of being sold, maybe I can go ahead with my plan to quit my job at the Boathouse and devote more time to the café. I’ve got so many plans. I could hold an art show here, or classes in the evening, even teach people how to bake.” She lit up as she described the future possibilities for the space. Then worry clouded her face.

  “But I don’t know how my dad will react. He and Mom have worked so hard over the years to make the Boathouse a success. I know he dreamed that at least one of us kids would want to take over for him when he retires. And I do love it, but this place is my dream.”

  “I think your father would want you to follow your passion and work hard to make the BeansTalk a success, the same way they did with the Boathouse.” The truth was, I wasn’t sure how my father-in-law would react. His devotion to the family business knew no bounds, but I needed to say something to cheer her up.

  “I know. But I’m the only kid who expressed an interest in the Boathouse, and I know he wants me to run it. But I don’t want to shoulder that much responsibility or to commit the time needed to operate an events center. Dad knew early on Adam wanted to go into law, and both Will and Sarah live out of state, so it all falls on me.” She rubbed a hand against the deep creases that had appeared on her forehead while we talked.

  I set the coffee mug down on the birch-wood counter and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “You don’t need to decide everything about your future right now. How about we take it one day at a time? If you find out you can renew your lease on the BeansTalk building, you can think about it some more, ok?”

  She gave me a faint smile and wiped the beginnings of tears out of her eyes.

  “So, where should we start? Can you show me how to work this fancy computer register?” I turned her toward the cash register and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I haven’t worked retail since college, and I’d imagine cash registers have changed in the last ten years.” I’d promised Desi I would help her run the café during her maternity leave, but I had a lot to learn.

  “Yep, it’s all computerized now. When I first took over the space, it was a women’s clothing store and the register was ancient. I had to calculate change in my head to check it against the register because I didn’t trust the register’s calculations. I’ve tried to modernize things over the years.”

  She proceeded to show me the finer points of modern shop keeping. Several customers came in for an afternoon coffee break, and I practiced my customer service and barista skills on them. Ella slept in her stroller until it was time to pick up Mikey at school. Today hadn’t exactly been a run-of-the-mill day for her either. We made plans to continue the training the next day.

  “Hey,” Desi said, “if Adam won’t be home tonight, do you and Mikey want to come over for dinner? We’re having spaghetti and meatballs—I know how much my nephew loves spaghetti. And Anthony would love to have his cousin over to play. I haven’t been able to get on the floor to play with
him as much as I used to and I know he misses it. Maybe Mikey will wear him out so I can get him to bed at a reasonable hour tonight. I never expected night-owl tendencies to show up as early as age four. I swear they must feed him sugar all day at preschool.”

  “Sugar? At the Busy Bees Preschool? The horror! Nancy Davenport would have any offender shot on sight. Well, unless it was organic candy, then it might pass muster.” I smiled for the first time since finding Mr. Westen’s body. “Sure, dinner sounds great. I’m not sure when Adam will be home, but he can pop a TV dinner into the microwave if he gets home early tonight. Do you want me to pick up the boys and meet you at your house? I’ll stop by the market and grab some salad mix and garlic bread.”

  “If you could get Anthony, I’ll close up the shop and head home to make dinner. Tomàs should be home by six, and we can eat then.” She walked over to the Open sign and flipped it to Closed.

  When the three kids and I arrived at Desi and Tomàs’s house, the smell of Italian food greeted us at the door. The boys disappeared to play as soon as they entered the house. I handed Desi the garlic bread, and she stuffed the foil-wrapped loaf in the oven and tossed the salad in a large bowl.

  “Anthony! Get back here and wash your hands for dinner,” Desi bellowed down the stairs. She turned and addressed me in a much quieter tone. “I swear, that kid is always on the move. I’m surprised we don’t have holes in our carpet.”

  The two boys ran up the stairs and pushed past each other on their way to the bathroom, their laughter floating down the hallway.

  “Mikey is the same way. It must be a boy thing. I don’t remember ever having that much energy.” I sipped from the frosty glass of iced sun tea she had poured for me. She picked up the large blue-striped pitcher and filled a glass for Tomàs as well, condensation dripping off the edge of the pitcher onto the table.

  “Or a four-year-old thing. I don’t remember ever being that energetic either,” Tomàs said, having overheard our conversation as he entered the room. When the kids were out of earshot, we discussed the surprising events of the day. The timer dinged, and he pulled the steaming mound of garlic bread out of the oven and placed it on a trivet in the middle of the dining room table. I inhaled the aromatic scent, my mouth watering.