by Nicole Ellis
“I’ll try to get in to see her. I can’t imagine my sister stuck in a hospital bed. It must be killing her.” He shoveled rice into his mouth and consulted his phone calendar. “Shoot. I’m out of town for the next week. I’ll call her from the airport. She always likes to hear about all the odd people I meet there. I wish I could see her in person though.”
“Adam, this isn’t working,” I said, pacing back and forth from the granite kitchen island to the gas stove. “You’re never home.”
When he’d arrived home fifteen minutes earlier, he had turned on the lamp in the living room, flung his suit jacket over the sofa back, and collapsed his six-foot frame into an armchair. I barely talked him into eating the dinner I’d saved for him. In the past month, he’d probably lost five or six pounds off his already lean frame because he didn’t make time to eat.
“You’re working yourself ragged, the kids never see you, and we haven’t even had a chance to talk in the last few weeks.” I reached up and pulled a mug off a shelf and filled it with water. “Is it really worth it?” I dunked a tea bag in the cup and set it in the microwave to heat. Without Adam asking for it, I poured him a glass of Merlot from a bottle under the sink. He took it with a grateful smile.
“Yes. It’s only for a few more weeks and then my promotion should come through.” Adam sipped his wine.
“That’s what you said two weeks ago.” The microwave binged, and I removed my tea. Steam rose from the top, and I wrapped my hands around the comforting warmth of the mug.
“I know. Things came up at work and the promotion got moved out a bit. Don’t worry, the long hours won’t last forever.” He ran his fingers through his sandy-brown hair and sighed. “I miss seeing the kids too, honey, but if I want to make partner, I’ve got to play the game.”
“Mikey asked me yesterday if you were going to be home to read him a bedtime story. I hated not knowing the answer. And he’s making up stories at school about you being a superhero, away fighting crime,” I said. Adam tried to stifle a grin and failed.
“It’s not funny, Adam.” I wiped the beginnings of tears out of my eyes before Adam could see them. I was turning into an emotional wreck from lack of sleep. Ella needed to start sleeping through the night. Adam’s frequent work trips had turned me into a single parent, and I didn’t like it. With taking over some of Desi’s responsibilities at the Boathouse and now assisting with the café in her absence, I didn’t know how I would make it through the next few months.
“I’ll make it up to him. Maybe we can go to the park this weekend as a family.” He thought about this and amended his statement. “We’ll see. I’ve got work to get done over this weekend first.” Adam polished off the rest of the jambalaya and carried the turquoise Ikea plate to the sink to run water over it. “How are things going otherwise?”
“You mean other than the police thinking Desi killed Mr. Westen? How did they get that idea anyways?” I wound my hair into a messy bun before I pulled cups and plates out of the dishwasher.
Clank! The coffee mug knocked against another glass cup in the cupboard as I slammed it on the shelf.
“Ease up, honey. The cups didn’t do anything wrong,” Adam said.
I glared at him and paused before sliding another mug onto the shelf between its mates.
“At least we don’t have to worry about Sam Westen objecting to our fence anymore,” Adam said. I shot him another icy death glare. He held up his hands in mock defense.
In all the commotion over Desi, I’d forgotten to tell him I had discovered Mr. Westen’s body on the beach.
“Adam, I found his body. Well, Goldie found it. He was just lying there like a crumpled rag at the foot of the cliff below his property.” The horror of the discovery swept over me, and I leaned against the counter.
“Honey, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Adam looked contrite. He came around the kitchen bar and pulled me close, nuzzling the top of my head. I melted into him, grateful for his support. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” I sighed, pulling away to see his face. “But I don’t know if the beach will ever seem peaceful and relaxing to me in the future.” He hugged me again and motioned for me to sit on one of the stools.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t really want to think about it.” I put my hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “We really need to take a vacation somewhere, just you and me without the kids. It’s been awhile since it’s been just the two of us.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I’m not enjoying these long hours either, but I’m trying to do what’s best for our family.”
“But they owe you vacation time, right?”
“Yes.” He stood and put his arms around my waist, tipping his head against mine. “I’ll see if I can schedule a week or so of vacation in June, ok? Maybe we can go to Jamaica like we’ve always talked about. I’m sure Mom would be happy to watch the kids. I know me being gone so much has been hard on you, and now you’ve taken on some of Desi’s responsibilities too. I don’t know what this family would do without you.”
Tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. It was nice to hear that he appreciated everything that I did because sometimes it seemed like every day was a repeat of the day before.
“Desi’s my family, and I don’t want anything to happen to her or the baby.”
“I know. And your commitment to your friends and family is one of the many reasons that I love you.” Smiling, he wiped away a tear that had slipped down my face and held his hand out to me. “It’s getting late—let’s get to bed, ok?”
I nodded and allowed him to lead me upstairs to our bedroom.
12
After dropping Mikey and Anthony off at preschool the next morning, I stopped at the BeansTalk Café to check in on Desi’s employee, Mandy. I’d called Mandy, a sophomore at the local community college, the night before and she had jumped at the chance to work more hours for the coming week because she was finishing up her finals and then would be on spring break.
Mandy was handling everything, but she provided me with a list of things that needed to be done at the BeansTalk, including the baking and taking inventory. I made a note to ask Beth if she’d replenish the baked goods. I’d ask Tomàs if he thought Desi was up to ordering supplies via her computer from her hospital room. I wasn’t sure how successful I’d be at managing the BeansTalk for the next few weeks, but I was taking it one day at a time. Beth had begged to babysit Ella, so I was kid-free for the day after I brought the baby over to her.
On the drive home from my in-laws, I paused in front of Mr. Westen’s house. There were lights on in his living room. Outside, an unfamiliar Ford compact car was parked crookedly in the driveway. The once neat rows of flowers lining the walkway hadn’t perked up after being trampled by the Ericksville Police Department. Crime scene tape fluttered uselessly from the front door.
I continued driving up the hill to my house. After I pulled the minivan into the garage, I set off on foot to find out who was at Mr. Westen’s house. Had the police come back? Was I going to be living near a perpetual crime scene?
Based on the Ericksville Historical Society bumper sticker on the car in the driveway, my guess was Mr. Westen’s daughter had arrived. I hoped she’d be able to shed some light on his enemies. I knocked on the door, flashing back to my experience a few days before when I’d brought the peace offering of brownies to my truly unpleasant neighbor.
I was midway through a knocking rendition of “This Old Man” and vowing to start listening to more adult music, when a middle-aged woman came to the door.
“Hi, I’m Jill. I live next door, well, right up the hill.” I turned to point to my house. “I saw the lights on and came to find out if you needed any help.”
“Nice to meet you,” the woman said. She brushed back a stray lock of graying brown hair that had escaped her loose bun. Her candy cane–striped blouse was heavily starched but starting to rumple where it pulled away from
her trousers. “I’m Anna Westen. This was my father’s house.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed to be a very… uh”—I searched for something nice to say about my neighbor—“dedicated member of this community.” I shifted my weight awkwardly from one foot to another.
“Yes, well, that was the only thing he was dedicated to.” Anna’s face darkened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. It really was nice of you to stop by.” She paused and scrutinized me, as though assessing my physical fitness. I must have passed because she asked, “Hey, do you think you could help me with something?”
“Of course, what do you need?”
“There’s a large couch in my father’s den, and the police left it blocking the bottom drawer of his metal filing cabinet. I need to get into the filing cabinet to access some paperwork, but I can’t move the couch by myself. Normally I’d have my son help, but he’s at school and I don’t want to wait for him to get home. Would you mind?”
“Sure, no problem.” I nodded my head, and Anna ushered me in to the dimly lit entrance hallway. We’d been neighbors of Samuel Westen for four years, and this was the first time I’d been inside his house. The low ceilings and green wallpaper made the large house feel small inside. When my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw antique clocks lining the living-room walls, mixed in with dark oil paintings of ships. A watercolor of the Ericksville Lighthouse hung over the fireplace and provided a surprising splash of color. Other than the mess the police had left behind, the place was immaculate.
“What a beautiful painting of the lighthouse,” I said, nodding my chin in its direction.
Anna glanced over at it, did a double take and then walked over to the painting. “I painted this, back in college. I gave it to my father for Christmas one year, but I assumed he’d put it into the attic. I don’t remember seeing it on the wall before.” She put her hand on the frame and gazed at it with a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, and I’ve been focused on my father’s office.”
Anna moved over to the stairs. With one hand on the railing, she said, “His office is up here.”
I followed her up the stairs, which were covered in shag carpet, to a room off a short hallway. A black leather couch adorned with brass tacks sat squarely in front of the old gunmetal-gray file cabinets. The thick green shag carpeting continued up the stairs and into the room, burying the couch legs and making it difficult to slide. Together, we were able to lift the heavy piece of furniture and place it against a wall in the office.
“There, that ought to work,” I said, brushing my sweaty hands off on my jeans. “Do you have enough room now to open it?”
She bent over to pull on the drawer, and my attention was drawn to the wall diagonal from the couch. An armchair sat sideways under the window. Curious about which way the window faced, I lifted a curtain and peeked outside. Through the window, I could see most of my backyard. Now I understood how Mr. Westen had spotted Goldie outside. It would have made more sense to have an armchair under the window on the opposite side of the room, which offered a stunning view of the small Ericksville marina and Puget Sound. Apparently spying on us had been a more enticing prospect.
Which reminded me—last summer Mr. Westen had been building something on the side of the house that wasn’t visible from the street, but he’d quickly erected a six-foot-tall border of trees to block our view. I peered out the window and saw a beautiful English garden, complete with box hedges, a short gravel path, and a white concrete bridge over a small pond. Even from above, it evoked a sense of peace and order. That man had been full of surprises.
“Come on.” She tugged at the file drawer and yanked hard on the handle, managing to pull the drawer out. Her efforts jarred a model ship in a bottle perched on top of the file cabinet. The glass bottle wobbled and threatened to fall. I leaned over and caught it just in time. Anna, her head buried in the file cabinet, didn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks so much—I thought I’d never get into this thing.” She rifled through the file folders and selected one. “This should be it.” She looked around at the neat stacks of paperwork on almost every surface. “God knows, I’ve been looking for it long enough.”
“What is it?” I wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask, but I couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Westen had hidden in the bottom drawer. I craned my neck around to peek at the documents.
“All of his account and life insurance information. Or at least I assume it is. We didn’t speak much in the last few years. As he got older, he became more secretive and money-grubbing than ever, if that was even possible.”
“Didn’t he ever see his grandson?” Family was a big part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine not having Beth and Lincoln in my kids’ lives. Even my parents, who lived many hours away, tried to see the kids at least twice a year.
“Nope. Not a big loss though. He wasn’t very present as a parent when I was young either. There was always another building to invest in, another dollar to chase. My mother was pretty much a single parent to my brother and me,” Anna said, smiling sadly.
“Well, at least your brother can help you out with settling the estate. Does he live close by?” I hadn’t seen many visitors at Mr. Westen’s house, but then again, I didn’t have an armchair pulled up to a window facing his front door.
“No. Benton died when he was in high school.” She picked up a photo from Mr. Westen’s desk of a smiling teenage boy.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been difficult for your family.”
“It was a bad time. Things fell apart even more than they had before, and then my mother got cancer and passed away a few years after Benton died. She never really got over his death.”
“Was his death sudden? If you don’t mind me asking…”
Anna sighed. “He died in a car crash. The police suspected the driver of drunk driving, but they were never charged with anything. I was only ten, so I don’t know much about it, but from what I could tell from listening to Mother and Father talking at night, Benton had gotten in with a bad crowd. He was a little wild, but he always had time for his little sister.” Tears formed in her eyes, and she grabbed a Kleenex from a box on the desk to blot them away.
“Sorry, I’m a little emotional with my father’s death and everything. I guess I’d always assumed he’d magically soften in old age and want to be a family again. I was naïve to think that life was like a fairy tale.” She snorted and glanced ruefully over at the crystal decanter and highball glasses stacked neatly on an end table. “He loved Scotch more than he loved me, and he wasn’t even a drunk. He never could pass up a glass of Scotch, but he certainly passed up all the chances I gave him over the years.”
“Don’t worry about it, you’ve been through a lot,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, I know we just met, but I live next door. If you need any help with getting the house ready to sell or something, I’d be happy to help.”
Anna’s tears from the memory of her father’s absentee parenting struck a painful chord. I hoped Adam’s long hours would be over soon, and we could spend more time as a family. I didn’t want Mikey to grow up without his father’s presence like Anna had done. I knew Adam wasn’t anything like Mr. Westen, but then again, I didn’t know what Mr. Westen had been like when his kids were young either. No amount of money was worth not seeing your kids grow up.
“That’s really nice of you. I might take you up on your offer. Right now though, I’m not even thinking about selling the house. I’m a paralegal for an estate attorney, and he’s going to help me get everything pulled together to determine the extent of Father’s assets. At present, I need access to my father’s accounts so I can pay the bills for the properties he owns. There are so many business and personal accounts; this is going to take forever to figure out.” She picked up a pile of papers, held it for a moment, and then dropped it back on the desk.
The ferry’s ho
rn blew, signifying it was leaving the dock. The faint sound reminded me to ask about Desi’s café building. “How many properties does he own?” If I was going to be nosy, I might as well go all the way.
“A few buildings down by the water, this house, and a couple others in town,” Anna said.
“In all this time of being neighbors with your father, I hadn’t realized until recently he owned the building my sister-in-law rents down by the ferry for her business, the BeansTalk Café.”
“Oh, really?” Anna said absentmindedly, still shuffling through the paperwork.
“Yes. She’s been worried about him selling the property. He’d told her he planned to sell the building. I know it’s early to ask, but do you know what your thoughts are for the building?”
“I don’t have plans to sell anything. I think I’ve been in that café before—the one right next to the Ericksville Lighthouse, right? It’s such a friendly place. Your sister-in-law should be proud of what she’s accomplished there. Before she moved in, it was a retail store. I think the café is a better fit for the space.”
Anna put the paper down on the desk and stabbed at it with a capped ballpoint pen. “You know, all of this land belonged to my mother’s family originally, and Father just sold it off like it was his own. Why, this house was built by my grandfather, and my mother was born here. It would have killed her to know Father had sold the land where your house now stands. And those buildings down by the ferry should be historic landmarks. Let me guess, he wanted to sell them off to some condo developer, right?”
I nodded.
“Of course he did.” She was quite wound up and waved her hands through the air emphatically. “Would you like to sit down for a minute?” She gestured to the heavy sofa we’d moved.
I slid a stack of papers to one side of the couch and gingerly perched on the edge of the seat. It felt wrong to be sitting nonchalantly in Mr. Westen’s private sanctuary. Anna pulled her sweater wrap close against her body and leaned back in the padded oak swivel desk chair.
