by Nicole Ellis
24
Nobody else called while Elliott was grabbing lunch. When he returned, I left and drove to the BeansTalk on autopilot, my brain spinning like a washing machine on turbo speed. Had Perry skipped town after draining the condo project’s bank accounts? I parked in the side lot of the BeansTalk. Underneath my feet, the cracked pavement still held remnants of the rain storm from the night before. A fog hung over the Sound, blocking the view of Willowby Island. I felt like I was in the middle of a cloud.
The bells jingled as I opened the door of the café. Mandy glanced up from the counter and waved.
“Not much going on today?” I nodded at the open textbook on the counter.
“Nope, it’s been pretty slow. It’s ok to study when we’re slow, right? Desi said it was fine, and I have a math test tomorrow,” Mandy said quickly. “All the dishes are washed and the tables are cleaned off.”
“No worries, it looks great in here. Thanks for taking the extra shift. You can go now—I’m covering until close.” I shivered and pulled my sweater closer. “Why is it so cold in here?” When I’d come to visit Desi before, the BeansTalk had always been a warm, cozy, and inviting place to have a cup of coffee and a piece of cake. I’d assumed the atmosphere was due to the cheerful yellow walls and children’s artwork up on the walls. Now, I wondered if Desi’s energetic presence had created the impression of warmth.
“I didn’t turn the heater on because it was supposed to warm up this afternoon, and I didn’t want it to get too hot with the ovens going,” Mandy said.
With air-conditioning a luxury in our moderate climate, we hoarded the morning chill as a means of keeping our buildings temperate.
“If that fog ever lifts, it should warm up a bit,” I said. I didn’t think the lack of heat was the only reason the atmosphere felt off. The BeansTalk was Desi’s passion, and her enthusiasm for the business was a big reason for the usual steady stream of business.
Mandy took off the apron she wore over her street clothes, picked up a stack of textbooks, and flung a backpack over her arm.
“Thanks, Mrs. A. Let me know if you need me to work any other shifts. After this math final, I’m pretty much clear for the week.” She scurried out the door.
I took a BeansTalk apron from a neatly folded pile and smoothed it over my body, tying it tightly at the waist. My sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floors as I made a pass through the room. Mandy was right, everything looked great. I hoped that didn’t mean business had been slow. I inhaled the cinnamon- and espresso-scented air and settled down on the stool Mandy had previously occupied. My stomach translated the deliciously scented air into hunger pangs, even though I’d eaten recently.
After ten minutes had passed without any customers, I got up to stretch and walked to the back room. Here, too, everything was in order. Although the BeansTalk sold freshly baked goods made in the Boathouse’s full kitchen, Desi had shelves of stable goodies as well. Neat rows of tins on one wall contained biscotti, wrapped chocolates, swizzle sticks, and sugar packets. Airtight glass jars of coffee beans and tea bags lined the other wall.
The brightly painted yellow walls in Desi’s office beckoned. I stood in the doorway, taking in the view beyond the only window in the customer-restricted area of the store. The Ericksville Lighthouse loomed above, the waves of the Sound lapping at the beach behind it. The fog had cleared slightly, and the cliffs of Willowby Island provided the perfect frame for the white lighthouse tower. It would be a shame for her to lose the lease on this building.
Desi’s desktop computer was perched on one corner of the small desk with paperwork stacked neatly along the edges. Beth had been here. Although Desi was an amazing small business owner, organization was not her strong suit. A pill bottle near the corner of the monitor caught my eye. I leaned over and picked it up. Digal? The medicine sounded familiar. I turned the bottle over in my hands to read the patient’s name. My heart dropped into my shoes.
The pills belonged to Beth. I did a quick internet search for the medicine and found it was prescribed for heart problems.
Was Beth sick? I couldn’t imagine anything happening to her, and she always seemed to have so much energy. I suddenly realized that while I never thought of Adam’s parents as aging, they were getting into their late sixties. I felt a pang of guilt thinking about how often I left Mikey and his hyperactive behavior with Beth and Lincoln. Beth claimed to love having her grandson visit, but now I worried that it was too much for her.
She had thrown out hints that she wanted to take things easier and decrease her responsibilities at the Boathouse. Desi was being groomed to take over marketing at the Boathouse, but with her recent hospital incarceration, that was put on hold indefinitely. Now, Beth had her daughter’s health, the police investigation, and running the BeansTalk added to her plate. She lived for her family and would do anything for them, but maybe it was too much. I needed to have Adam talk with his mother. If he was ever home long enough to do so, that was.
The doorbell jingled, alerting me to the presence of a customer. I sprinted to the front of the shop and greeted them with a huge smile. The harried mother of a sullen elementary school-aged boy and a cherubic toddler asked for a quadruple espresso and three brownies. She grabbed for the drink as soon as I pulled the shots and took a long swig before smiling gratefully at me.
The boy plopped down at a table and pulled out a Nintendo DS, defiantly shoving headphones over his ears. The little girl went from cherubic to devilish in a flash and raced to the back of the café, screaming at the top of her lungs as she pushed chairs aside. Now I understood the quadruple shot drink. The mom took off after her offspring and managed to downgrade the tornado to a Category 2 storm.
A mom’s work was never done. An image of Beth came to mind. I returned to Desi’s office and picked up the orange bottle of pills.
I’d been so wrapped up in disbelief that my seemingly healthy mother-in-law took heart medicine that it took me awhile to remember where I’d heard the name of the medicine before.
Beth Andrews had a prescription for the same drug that had poisoned Samuel Westen. I set the bottle down on the desk and pushed it away as though it had suddenly become radioactive.
The door bells jingled again and I went out to greet the incoming customer, but my mind wasn’t on business. When had Beth left the prescription bottle here? Before Mr. Westen’s murder? Did Desi have access to it? Tomàs had said the brownies showed no trace of the drug, which made sense since the brownies were intended for Adam and not Mr. Westen. But Desi freely admitted she had made a visit to Mr. Westen after the town council meeting, and she could have drugged him at that time. She claimed she’d only made it as far as his front porch, but anyone who’d seen her there might think differently. As far as I knew, the wrath of Desi’s temper only extended to pen throwing, but had Mr. Westen pushed her over the edge?
“Excuse me?” A man tapped his fingers on the counter. “I’d like to order.”
I smiled and apologized for ignoring him. I handed him his triple shot, soy vanilla latte and watched as he left the café.
It hadn’t occurred to me before, but Beth had a motive in Samuel Westen’s murder. Her daughter was about to be hurt by Westen and, as a mother myself, I knew protecting her children was a top priority. But would she go as far as murder to save her daughter’s business?
I was spinning rapidly down a rabbit hole that didn’t have a pleasant end. The acid from the coffee I had drunk earlier burned a hole in my stomach. Now that I knew about Beth’s prescription, I wasn’t sure I could forget about it. Samuel Westen’s murderer needed to be found, and fast.
At five o’clock, I locked up the BeansTalk and got into my car. The warm day the weatherman had promised had never materialized, and my car felt chilly. I’d planned to have dinner with Beth and Lincoln, but I wasn’t due there until later, and they had picked up Mikey and Anthony already. On impulse, I drove to the southern part of town.
I pulled up in front of an office c
omplex buried in the trees. A discreet sign in front of the furthest office from the parking lot entrance said “Derek Kim, CPA.” Two cars were parked directly in front of the door. As I watched the door, a gust of wind blew a yellow McDonald’s hamburger wrapper across the parking lot. I’d had enough of spring. In my opinion, summer couldn’t come fast enough.
Inside the CPA’s office, a woman stood with her back to the glass door, her hand on the door handle as she spoke with someone I couldn’t see. When she pushed the door open and reached down for her sunglasses, I realized it was Anna Westen. I shouldn’t have been surprised since she’d mentioned visiting her father’s accountant, but I hadn’t realized Samuel Westen had used the same accountant as the Elkins Development Group. I got out of the car and walked toward her.
Anna brushed past me as though she didn’t see me.
“Anna!” I called out. “Hi.”
She turned and lowered her sunglasses. In doing so, she lost her grip on a handful of paperwork. A breeze caught the papers and scattered them around the parking lot. She bent to pick up the nearest papers, and I ran toward one that had flown to the other side of my car. Before handing it back to her, I glanced at the document, which bore the name Ericksville Properties. Hmm. Must have been one of her father’s companies.
“Thank you for catching those. It’s nice to see you.” She smiled and then looked confused. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Small towns are full of surprises.”
I had my excuse at the ready. “My sister-in-law is looking for a new accountant for the BeansTalk, so I’m interviewing CPAs for her. How do you like Derek Kim?”
“I don’t really know him. My father transferred his business to Derek right before he died.” Anna checked her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m late to pick up my son from practice. I really appreciate your help with my father’s house.” She waved goodbye to me and then scurried to her car. I turned to look at the CPA office.
Empty flowerbeds bordered the utilitarian concrete walkway. I pulled on the handle to open the door. Inside, a rubber welcome mat covered fraying Berber carpet. Any profits from the business weren’t going back into the décor. It was in sharp contrast to the high class décor of Elkins Development Group, even after the recent fire. A receptionist desk was pressed against a wall, surrounded by filing cabinets, but I didn’t see anyone in the building. Anna had been talking with someone, so they must have been in another room.
“Hello?” I called.
“Just a minute.” A man’s voice drifted down from a stairway near the door I hadn’t noticed before. “I’ll be right with you.”
After a few minutes, a middle-aged Asian man walked down the stairs.
“Hi, I’m Derek Kim. And you are?”
“Jill Andrews.” I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand limply.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked.
“I’m helping my sister-in-law search for a new accountant for her café, and I hoped to ask you a few questions today. I’m sorry to drop in so late. Is this time ok?”
Derek checked an expensive-looking watch that coordinated perfectly with his well-made gray suit. Now I knew where he spent his money.
“Now is fine. I’m not usually in this late, but I had a client meeting.”
“Actually, I saw your client leave. Anna Westen’s father was a neighbor of mine. Was he your client? I know it’s been difficult for her to get his finances in order. “
Derek’s oily grin slipped for a moment but was quickly recovered. “I’m sorry, I can’t comment on my clients. Confidentiality and all. I’m sure you understand.” His smile was still pleasant, but his eyes had turned to steel. “Let’s go in my office where we’ll be more comfortable.”
He guided me into a sparsely furnished office. No fancy decanters or water pitchers for him. His desk held little more than a computer. A round cut glass container of potpourri surprised me.
“What a beautiful bowl.”
Derek’s smile softened into something more real as he gazed at the bowl. “My niece thought I needed something nice in here. I have to admit it does smell pretty good.” He looked up at me. “What can I tell you about my practice here? I specialize in financial statements, bookkeeping, and taxes for small businesses.”
“My sister-in-law is looking for someone to take over the bookkeeping for her business. She’s not much on numbers. Her mother is currently doing the bookkeeping, but she’s overwhelmed with a business of her own. They’ve been doing everything on paper but might be interested in setting up a computer accounting system.”
“Sure. I’d be happy to help. Let me tell you about my fees.” He withdrew a piece of paper from a desk drawer and explained to me the intricacies of his fee schedule. I leaned in to listen more intently before I remembered why I was really there. How was I going to get into the CPA’s file cabinets to see the Elkins Development Group books? Was their business really going bankrupt?
Achoo! A sneeze caught me unaware, and I sat back abruptly.
“Are you alright?” Derek asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I sneezed again. Some scents really bothered me, and I must have been mildly allergic to the potpourri. Inspiration struck and I threw myself into a coughing fit.
“Ms. Andrews—are you ok?”
“It’s the potpourri. I must have inhaled it or something.”
“Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you something to drink?” He whisked the cut-glass bowl away, and I saw visions of a potential lawsuit flood his mind.
“A cup of tea would be wonderful.” I coughed more for emphasis. “It would really help my throat. It feels a bit inflamed.”
“I’ll be right back. I think I have some upstairs in the kitchenette.” Derek rushed away and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. If I wanted a glimpse of the contents of those file cabinets, this was my chance.
I heard rummaging around upstairs, so I tiptoed out of the room and found the file cabinet marked “E.” Bingo. Elkins Development Group.
The hanging file contained the ledger I’d seen at the EDG office, bank statements, and the partnership agreement. I quickly noted Elliott was listed as the president and Perry was the vice-president. The ledgers and bank statements confirmed my suspicion that EDG was almost bankrupt. They appeared to have made weekly payments of $9,999 each to Ericksville Properties for the last year. Why would EDG pay that much on a weekly basis for so long? I remembered from my job as a bank teller in college that banks must report any transaction over ten thousand dollars. The amount seemed suspicious, and Ericksville Properties sounded familiar. I stuffed the EDG documents back into the hanging file and replaced the folder back in the file cabinet—right in front of the file for Ericksville Properties.
Upstairs, the microwave dinged. Derek would return soon. I thumbed through the Ericksville Properties bank statements and saw the incoming weekly payments that matched the outgoing payments from EDG. What was Ericksville Properties, and why were they receiving large sums of money?
I opened the Ericksville Properties folder and read through the incorporation papers. My eyes widened. Anna Westen was listed as the company owner. I scanned through the other legal documents. Loopy A’s and W’s stood out prominently in girlish handwriting. Anna had signed every document. All along I’d thought Samuel Westen had been Derek Kim’s client. Had I been wrong?
Footsteps sounded on the stairwell. I shoved the folder back into the file cabinet and pushed the drawer shut without a sound. I tiptoed quickly back to the office and had just sat down when Derek Kim rounded the corner of the stairs. I coughed lightly for good measure as I turned to him. As he passed the file cabinets, he bent to pick up a piece of paper from the floor, carefully balancing the hot cup of tea in one hand. Had the paper been there before I’d dug through the files? A chill ran down my spine. Had I dropped it? Derek looked puzzled and then his face turned impassive as he placed the paper on top of the file cabinet. He smiled at me as he entered
the room.
“Here you go, Mrs. Andrews.” He handed me the cup of tea. I dunked the string of the Red Rose tea bag a few times and took a sip.
“Thank you so much. This helps a lot.” I drank more to sell my act. “I’m not usually quite so allergic to potpourri, but I must have inhaled some when I leaned in to view the fee list.” Did he know I’d been in the file cabinet? I peered at him over the edge of my cup, but his face didn’t reveal any suspicion.
“Yes, we were reviewing the fee list, weren’t we?” He smoothly took out the list and pushed it in front of me again. “As you can see, my fees are quite reasonable, and I can help you with any accounting needs from bookkeeping to taxes. I’m a full-service accountant.”
Did full-service include helping his clients hide evidence of blackmail? I was suddenly all too aware of the sliding glass door that overlooked a small pond behind the isolated office building. When I’d arrived, there had been no other cars in the parking lot except mine, Anna’s, and the BMW I assumed belonged to Derek.
I set the mug of tea down on the desk and pointedly glanced at the brass clock behind his desk. “Oh, I’ve got to pick up my kids soon. Thank you so much for telling me about your services. I’ll be sure to let my sister-in-law know.” I rushed out of the office and didn’t look back until I was safely in my car.
Derek ran outside after me.
“Mrs. Andrews!” He appeared at the driver’s side window.
“Yes?” My voice cracked on the word, and I thought my heart would jump out of my chest.
“You forgot your jacket.” He held up the lightweight khaki jacket I’d left on a chair in his office when I made my hasty retreat. I rolled the window down as little as possible to allow room for the jacket. He stuffed it through the opening.
“Thank you. I’ve got to go.” I closed the car window. Derek retreated to the sidewalk and fiddled with the light outside the door, gazing at me with narrowed eyes. I backed out of the spot and hightailed it out of the parking lot faster than a teenager doing donuts.
