Till Death Do Us Tart

by Ellie Alexander

  I wished that Mom was here. As if on cue my phone buzzed with a text from her, letting me know that they had landed and were on their way to the hotel. A picture came through of her and the Professor posing in front of a Greek statue at the airport. I smiled and tucked my phone in my pocket. At least they were happy and none the wiser about any of the drama that had unfolded since they left.

  My mind tried to make sense of what had transpired thus far. Was Adam a past client of Megan’s? Or maybe an old boyfriend who couldn’t let her go? Both of those possibilities seemed plausible. What didn’t make sense was why Megan went to Jarvis for the restraining order. She was investigating him—well, technically, maybe not him but the Brown Family Group. Wouldn’t it have been a conflict of interest? Maybe that’s how desperate she’d been for help. I sighed again. The only comforting thought was that it had to be much less likely that the poison had been intended for me.

  Before long Carlos and Ramiro appeared. They had showered and looked fresh and ready to tackle a day of sightseeing. I tried to push thoughts of Megan’s death from my head as we loaded into Mom’s van. Showing Ramiro my favorite childhood getaway, Lake of the Woods Resort, a remote alpine lake tucked into the mountains, helped quiet my concerns. Carlos and I had spent an impromptu weekend at the high alpine lake. He had arranged a surprise visit in an attempt to explain why he had kept quiet about Ramiro for so many years. A blizzard had struck, stranding us without power at the remote lodge. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that weekend had been a turning point in our relationship. The fact that Carlos had traveled thousands of miles and crossed oceans to find me in Oregon’s faraway Cascade Mountains was symbolic of the distance he was willing to go to save our marriage. Being back on the same road reminded me of how far we had come. I caught his eye and smiled. He reached over and gently caressed my hand.

  The winding route along dozens of twists and turns up Dead Indian Road gave me a chance to chat with Ramiro. He told us about his school in Spain, his friends, his soccer club, and how much he loved to surf. He even opened up about his mother and the extended family of uncles, aunts, and cousins that he had grown up with. “It is like your family at Torte. We laugh. We fight. We eat. It is always lively. Never boring, right, Papa?”

  Carlos tossed him a grin. “Sí, sí.”

  “You must come visit. They would love to meet you,” he said, mimicking Carlos’s speech pattern. Their inflection and tone were so similar, I had a feeling that if I was speaking to them on the phone I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them.

  “That would be fun,” I said with a smile, cranking the wheel hard to the left as we rounded a corner past the high grasslands dotted with grazing cattle.

  “No, no, you must.” He tapped Carlos on the shoulder. “Sí, Papa, don’t you think she must come see Spain?”

  Carlos was less enthused. “She has seen Spain many times on our travels.”

  “But not our Spain,” Ramiro insisted.

  Carlos nodded. “Sí, this is true.”

  He didn’t chime in as he usually might. I had a feeling this was due to his tentative relationship with Ramiro’s mother’s family. She had kept Carlos from knowing his son. When she learned that she was pregnant, she left and never told Carlos. It wasn’t until years later that she reached out to him to inform him that he had a son. She claimed that it was because her family wouldn’t approve. Carlos forgave her because he wanted a relationship with Ramiro. I was proud of him for that, but knew that there was a piece of him who was still uncomfortable around her family. Bringing me into the mix would only complicate things.

  I let it go and enjoyed an afternoon at the lake. Ramiro swam out to a dock about a quarter mile from the rocky shore and proceeded to show off his diving abilities. He would wave at Carlos and me to get our attention and then belly flop into the frigid lake or do a perfect backflip off the side. He quickly found a group of boys about his age and ended up in the middle of a raucous water fight.

  Carlos and I sat in bright red Adirondack chairs in the shade of a towering evergreen tree. I kicked off my sandals and dug my toes into the warm, pebbly beach. I unpacked a picnic blanket, a bottle of lemonade with candied lemon slices, and generous helpings of my berry coffee cake.

  He clinked his plastic glass to mine. “Cheers, Julieta, to a successful wedding. Last night was magnificent.”

  “Except for the poisoning,” I said, suddenly realizing that Carlos didn’t know about Megan. I filled him in on Lance’s and my excursion to Medford, and explained that Thomas and Detective Kerry were on the hunt for Adam at the moment.

  “This is no good, Julieta. You should not have been in the middle of this. It is dangerous.” Carlos frowned. He ran a slice of lemon along the rim of his glass. “I do not understand why this always happens. It is not right. You must leave this to the police.”

  Maybe it was the stress of the wedding, or missing Mom. It could have been a compilation of the remodel and expansion, the reality that I had just discovered a dead body, and having Carlos and Ramiro here in the new life that I had carved out for myself. Whatever the reason, I broke down. A lump formed in the back of my throat. I tried to hold my emotions inside. I could feel my cheeks begin to burn. I couldn’t keep it in. Tears flowed like the wine at the reception last night. I sobbed openly.

  Carlos’s face clouded. He scooted his chair next to mine. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he stared at me with concern. “Mi querida, I am sorry. I did not mean to scold you. I worry about you, that is all.”

  “It’s not that. It’s everything.” I had a hard time catching my breath between my sobs.

  He massaged my arm. “I see. It is good. You must cry. You said good-bye to your mother last night and now you found a body. I understand.”

  His words made me cry harder. What was wrong with me? This was two meltdowns in the span of a couple days. I knew that weddings made people cry, but I didn’t expect to be a basket case.

  Carlos folded the napkin that had come with his lemonade. He dabbed my cheek. “Julieta, it is good. You let this emotion flow like the waters in front of us.”

  His ability to embrace his emotions had been one of the reasons that I’d fallen in love with him. And it was one of the reasons I was also finding it impossible to let him go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The afternoon at the lake was exactly what I needed to restore my spirits. One of my favorite quotes was by the Danish writer Isak Dinesen. After my dad died, Thomas brought me a basket of bath salts and a card with a quote by Dinesen that read: “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.” That had been true for me. The sea had been a place of healing. Lake of the Woods wasn’t salt water, but the act of sitting by its shores and allowing the cool water to lap against my feet made my nerves settle.

  I enjoyed watching Ramiro swim. His smile lit up his entire face as he raced down the dock and splashed into the cold alpine water with the boys. When he finally took a break, and plopped on the rocky shore next to me and Carlos, I noticed the sun’s angle had shifted.

  “You must be famished,” I said. “It’s after six. We should get you some dinner.”

  Ramiro shook water from his hair. “She is just like Mama,” he said to Carlos. “Why do mothers always want us to eat?” He winked.

  I thought of Mom. She was constantly reminding me to eat, maybe it was genetic. “Should we pack up?”

  “Sí.” Carlos stood and offered me his hand.

  “We could go out for dinner, or if you want there are tons of leftovers from the wedding back at my place.” Secretly, I hoped that they would say leftovers. The thought of going to dinner and facing the entire town was overwhelming.

  Carlos tugged on his shirt. “Let’s stay in tonight.”

  Thank goodness. To be honest, I was exhausted after last night’s festivities. The thought of a cozy night with just Carlos and Ramiro sounded like a dream.

  Ramiro jumped in the shower when we arrived at my
apartment. Carlos helped me set out the spread from the wedding and opened a bottle of wine. As I unpacked box after box of leftovers I knew we had made the right choice to stay in. There were grilled chicken kebabs with lovely blackened tomatoes and red peppers, smashed garlic potatoes, pasta salad, flank steaks, and enough cheese, veggies, and dips to feed a small army.

  The three of us laughed and ate and laughed some more. They fed off each other with stories of their adventures in the Spanish countryside. Like the time they rented a Jeep to drive up into the hills for a two-day hike. They left before dawn in order to beat the heat.

  “Papa drove so fast I thought I might fall out,” Ramiro said, clutching his chair and tipping it side to side. “He was like a maniac.”

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed. Carlos had a need for speed. Whenever we were in port I would say a little prayer before getting into the car with him. He was a good driver, but tended to view speed limits as suggestions not requirements. “I still have scars on my hands from clutching the door handle super tight when driving with your dad.” I held out my hand. Indeed there was one scar that ran the length of my palm.

  Ramiro stared at my hand and then looked to his father. “That is a terrible cut.”

  I laughed. “No, I’m teasing. That isn’t from driving with this speed demon, here.” I didn’t elaborate on how I’d come to have gotten the scar. It happened not long after I returned to Ashland and came face-to-face with a crazed, knife-wielding killer. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it was a reminder of how close I’d come to danger in the past.

  “This is not fair. I cannot defend myself against the two of you.” Carlos mocked us with a look of despair.

  “No, no, let me finish my story,” Ramiro insisted, popping a piece of cheese in his mouth. “We are flying up the one-lane highway, so fast that I think I cannot even breathe and then we stopped suddenly.” He lurched his body forward to demonstrate. “If I had not been holding on I would have fallen out of the Jeep for sure.”

  “You were wearing a seat belt,” Carlos said in his best dad tone.

  Ramiro waved off his dad. “We stopped so quickly that the Jeep it rocks back and forth and I scream at Papa asking what is wrong. He points to the ground in front of us and there is a turtle in the road.”

  “A turtle?” I looked to Carlos.

  Carlos shrugged.

  “Sí, a turtle.” Ramiro’s voice cracked. “A turtle was crossing the road. Papa raced from the car, picked it up, and set it on the other side. We nearly flipped the Jeep to rescue a turtle.”

  “Is that true? You have a soft spot for turtles?” I teased Carlos. “Good thing we didn’t decide to put turtle soup on the wedding menu.”

  “You make fun, but if you had seen the poor thing you would have done the same. I could not leave it in the middle of the road. Or run it over.” Carlos cupped his hands together. “It was only like this size. It must have been a baby.”

  “Sí, and he almost killed his only son to save a baby turtle.” Ramiro laughed.

  Carlos tossed a carrot at him.

  The story of the turtle didn’t surprise me. Carlos had a soft spot for animals. On the ship, we would sometimes sneak away for evening walks together on the pool deck. He used to call to the birds. There was one banana bird with a bright yellow underbelly that would land on the railing and let Carlos feed him scraps of bread from his hand. Once at port on a small island off the Italian coast we met a stray dog while meandering through an outdoor market. Carlos seriously considered whether there was any possible way he could sneak the mangy dog onto the ship. Of course there wasn’t, so he paid a local villager handsomely to look after the dog. He was a lover of all creatures. Animals were naturally attracted to him.

  I sat back and listened as they tried to outdo one another with stories. We had quickly fallen into an easy rhythm. I could almost picture the three of us around the dinner table every evening, with Ramiro giving us updates from school and Carlos and I sharing our tales from a busy day at Torte. Could this be my new life? I hadn’t been able to fathom the idea of Carlos settling into Ashland so much so that I had never allowed myself to even consider it. I found myself reconsidering. Could the three of us be happy together?

  The sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs shook me from the moment. Next a hand pounded on the front door. Carlos went to see who was here.

  It was Thomas. His face was flushed. “Sorry to barge in, but I have an update.”

  “Come in, come in.” Carlos extended his arm and wrapped Thomas in what Andy calls a “bro hug.” “We have food, my friend. Would you like to eat? You must join us.”

  There had been tension between the two of them in the past, but tonight I sensed a shift. Thomas stared longingly at the boxes of food on the small table. Without another word, Carlos pushed him to his vacated seat and went to get a plate in the kitchen. He piled it high with leftovers, set it in front of Thomas, and then patted his shoulder. “Eat, eat.”

  Thomas gave me a sheepish smile as he popped a meatball in his mouth. “You know me and food. I can’t ever say no.”

  “Sí, this is a good man,” Carlos said, pulling up an extra chair that had been tucked in the corner.

  “But I didn’t come for food. I have some important information on the case.” Thomas wiped his hands on a cloth napkin.

  With this news Carlos’s face hardened.

  “We caught Adam.” Thomas looked at me. “Thanks to you. He didn’t get far. Detective Kerry caught up to him. I don’t know how she can run that fast in heels. I was gasping for air just trying to keep pace with her.”

  “Sí, I think she is a strong woman,” Carlos interjected. He gave me a knowing look.

  What did he mean by that? I waited for Thomas to continue.

  “Adam confessed that he and Megan used to date, but he claimed the restraining order was just a ruse.”

  “A ruse?” Carlos asked.

  Thomas nodded. “He said that the two of them broke up about a year ago, but that they were still friends.”

  “Why would she get a restraining order?” I interrupted.

  “I’m getting to that.” Thomas shook his head.

  Carlos gave him a matching look. “She is so impatient sometimes, no?”

  “Yeah.” Thomas reached for a hunk of bread and dipped it in velvety hummus. “Adam says that after he and Megan broke up she hired him to work for her.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. He says that when they dated he would tag along on stakeouts and stuff and he learned the ropes. She sometimes needed an extra set of hands so they teamed up.”

  “Do you believe him?” I asked.

  Thomas sighed. “I’m not sure. This is when I really wish the Professor was here. Detective Kerry doesn’t believe him, but there’s something about the guy that seems sincere. I don’t know if it’s a gut reaction, which Kerry tells me should never be used in police work.”

  “This is not true,” Carlos interjected. “We must always trust our instincts in the kitchen—in everything, yes?”

  “Thanks, man,” Thomas said. “We’re checking his story. If Megan was really working with him you would think there would be a paper trail, notes, payroll, that sort of thing. Although he says that she paid him under the table so I don’t know if we’ll be able to find anything to corroborate his story.”

  I took a sip of wine. “What did he say he was doing for her?”

  “That’s the thing. He says that she was pretending that he was stalking her. In fact, they staged a couple of public fights. He called her cell phone constantly to have a record of the calls. She wanted it to look like he was after her and dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she needed an excuse to go to Jarvis. She was investigating Jarvis, but she knew that he was smart. She figured he would realize right away that Lance had hired her, so she created an elaborate plan. She came clean to Jarvis almost immediately about Lance and his investigation into his family’s fortune, th
en she came up with a sob story about being harassed by her ex. She begged Jarvis for his help. That way they would stay in contact and she could continue digging into the Brown Family Group without Jarvis being any the wiser.”

  “That’s brilliant,” I said.

  “Sí.” Carlos nodded. Ramiro who had been quiet the entire time even chimed in. “It’s like a movie I saw. A con is doing the conning.”

  “Right.” Thomas spread butter on a slice of bread. “If it’s true, of course.”

  “And you think it might be?” I twisted my ponytail. My skin felt grimy from sunscreen.

  He wavered. “I don’t know. Like I said, if the Professor were here…”

  Carlos held up a finger. “But remember, like I said, you must trust your instincts. Do not worry what the Professor would say. You have learned from him for many years now, no?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Sí, so in here.” He tapped his chest. “You know. You must trust this.”

  I appreciated that Carlos was encouraging Thomas.

  “Yeah, my gut says he’s telling the truth. He says that Megan was close to uncovering some serious information about Jarvis.” Thomas dabbed the corner of his mouth with the napkin.

  “Like the fact that he was disbarred in Nevada,” I added.

  “Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe something else.” Thomas frowned and stared at me. “Adam told us something else. Something much more disturbing, which is another reason I wanted to come over here right away.”

  “What?” I scooted my chair away from the table and crossed my legs.

  “He said that he was there right before Megan drank the poison. And that he saw who spiked the drink.”

  “Who was it?” I didn’t like the way his eyes had narrowed.

  “He claims that he saw Clarissa slip something into the glass of wine.”

  “Clarissa? Why would she want to poison Megan?” I asked.

  He scowled. “According to Adam she wasn’t trying to poison Megan. She was trying to poison you.”

  Chapter Twenty