by Carly Winter
"Do you help out at the restaurant a lot?"
"No," Tony said, shaking his head. "My main job is the farm. I'm actually part-owner now."
The pride in his voice was evident and when I glanced at him, I saw it in his eyes and smile. He seemed so different from what I'd heard his brother had been like.
"That's wonderful!" I said, and meant it. Going from prison to becoming a business owner was a big step. "What do you grow?"
"Mainly apples, but we have some cherry trees as well. If you get an apple at the grocery stores in the Tri-Town area, it most likely came from us."
With a grin, I took more notes and hoped all my questions about his personal life seemed appropriate. Perhaps if things went well enough, I could dive into his journey to prison.
"What does this have to do with Jake?" Tony asked. "We're talking about me and you said you wanted to know about him."
Busted.
"W-well... the family dynamic in running a business has always been interesting to me. I'm sorry I ran off course there. But now I'm thinking it would make an interesting article, maybe even a series on local family businesses and how they operate."
"That would be really cool," Sophia said. "Have people focus on us and the restaurant instead of my dad's death."
"Exactly," I replied with a nod, surprising myself with my quick thinking. Honestly, it wasn't a bad idea and it gave me the excuse to pry a little bit more.
"It does sound interesting," Tony said, standing. "But right now, I've got to run. Besides, I may be family, but I'm not involved in the business." He pointed at José and Sophia. "Those are the two you want to interview. They're holding the restaurant together now."
"And Carla," I blurted. My friend wouldn't even return my phone calls because she was so involved with the restaurant, while the true owner, Sophia, was busy making puppy-dog eyes at José.
"Yes, we couldn't keep things running without Carla," Sophia said, also getting to her feet. "She's amazing."
My cue to leave. My shiny new idea of highlighting businesses run and staffed solely by family bounced around in my brain like a squirrel on crack cocaine. It would make a great series of articles for the paper once the murder was solved and we went back to publishing stories about the knitting club and the high school fundraisers.
I followed Tony out the door and waved at Sophia and José over my shoulder. Although I smiled, I still thought they were guilty. I just didn't know how I'd go about proving it.
As I headed toward home, my phone rang. Even though it was illegal to talk while driving unless one used hands-free calling, I picked it up.
"Tilly, it's Carla," she whispered into the phone.
I immediately pulled over into a parking lot. "Why are you whispering?"
"Because I found something I don't think I should have, and I'm afraid someone's going to come in and find me."
"Where are you?" I asked.
"The restaurant. Sophia and José should be here any moment and I don't know what to do."
"I'm about three minutes away," I said, pulling out of the driveway. My heart thundered as I tried to remain within the speed limit. "I was just with José and Sophia. They live too far out and can't get there before me. What did you find?"
"I... just come. I can't believe this."
Carla hung up and I took some deep breaths. It's not like she could have found another body, right?
Thankfully, the Martinez's Mexican Fiesta parking lot stood empty except for Carla's car. I slammed my truck into park, grabbed my keys, and ran to the door. When I found it locked, I banged my fist against it, and Carla answered moments later.
"José should be here by now to prep for lunch," she said as she locked the door. "Are you sure he's not on his way?"
"He's moving in with Sophia. I just left her house and they seemed pretty cozy. I have a feeling José is going to be late."
She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the empty restaurant to the booth where we'd found Jake. A stack of ledgers lay on the table. The seat cushion had been removed and lay flat on the floor.
I gasped when I saw what was inside. "Oh, my word, Carla! What the heck?"
When I turned to my friend, tears gleamed in her eyes. "It's the missing money," she said. "Remember how I told you I could never get a raise and Jake always said that we didn't make any money?"
"Yes," I said, staring at the piles of cash.
"These are the ledgers." She placed her hand on top of the stacks. "He had two sets of books. The real ones, these, and the counterfeit ones, which he paid his taxes on."
I bent over and peered into the base of the booth.
"I think anytime we were paid in cash, he grabbed it. In fact, he used to encourage people to pay in cash by offering a five percent discount. I never understood why, but now I do."
"How much is in there?" I asked.
"I haven't counted it. A lot."
Yes, that would be a good description of what I saw. A heck of a lot.
"So he skimmed the cash and put it in here? And kept secret books on it?"
Carla pursed her lips and nodded as I straightened and met her gaze. "That's what it looks like to me. Since he's been gone, we've actually been doing really well, Tilly, except for that week we were shut down. I didn't understand how until now."
"How did you find it?"
"I sat down at this table to do the books for last night, except I sat over here." She pointed at the opposing chair. "I put my feet up and I guess I pushed on the cushion, and it moved. At first I thought it would be another expense because it should be fixed even though we never seat anyone here, but then I saw the money."
I plopped down in a booth across the aisle. "What are you going to do?"
Carla picked up the ledgers, threw them on top of the cash, then slid the cushion back into place.
"I don't know, but I do wonder if Sophia and José know about this. My guess is that there's easily a couple hundred thousand dollars in there."
Our gazes locked, and I could see for the first time since Jake's death, we were both on the same wavelength.
"And that's a reason for murder," I said as we both nodded.
17
Ideas began coming to me like rockets through the night. Before I got a chance to express any of them, Sophia's voice wafted through from the restaurant’s kitchen.
"They've arrived," Carla whispered. "Go out the front door. We'll talk about it later."
"They've already seen my truck in the parking lot," I said. "They know I'm here."
I glanced at what had become known as Jake's table. Receipts littered the top, and I figured they were in some particular order, knowing Carla. I grabbed her arm and pulled her a couple of seats down and motioned for her to sit. I slid into the booth across from her. "I didn't want to mess up your bookkeeping," I said. "We're just two friends talking."
"About stolen money."
"Shh!"
"Carla?" Sophia yelled. "Are you here?"
"Over on table ten!" Carla called.
Sophia rounded the corner and smiled, then tossed her wall of black hair over her shoulder. "I thought that was your truck out there, Tilly."
"Yeah, I haven't seen Carla in a while, so I decided to stop by since I was in the neighborhood." I glanced over at my friend who had paled and looked like she was about to be sick. "I'll be leaving in just a few minutes."
Sophia nodded and turned to my friend. "Did everything add up okay from last night?"
"Yes. The receipts matched the register down to the penny."
"Great! I'll go back and help José with the prep work. We're running a little late."
As she disappeared around the corner, I shot Carla a glare. "You have to pretend that everything is okay and you didn't find that money. You look like you're about to lose your breakfast."
"I feel like I am," she replied, placing her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "I don't think I can act natural."
"Walk me outside," I said,
standing.
The fall air blasted me in the face as I turned to her. "I suppose we should tell Sophia about the money. I mean, it's her restaurant."
Carla pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "I suppose you're right, but I'm angry, Tilly. I worked my butt off for that man and he told me he didn't make enough money to give me a raise. And the last time I saw him and we argued about it, he was literally sitting on stacks of cash. He died on top of that money."
"Jake was a jerk, and so is José. Sophia isn't nice, either. This place is like a hornet's nest. If you mess with it, they're going to attack. You need to get out of here, Carla. Find a new job. They're all crazy."
"What do you mean?"
I told her the abbreviated story version of the drowned rat in Darryl Hill's restaurant, and her mouth literally hung open.
"You're kidding me. I knew nothing about that."
"It's the truth. I've verified it with Mr. Hill and Sophia."
"She admitted to it?"
"Yes."
Carla shook her head and let out a long whistle.
"I'm going to leave," I said, taking her hand in mine. "Please, get out of here. Start looking for a job today."
"I will," she replied, but I heard the hesitancy in her voice.
"Are you going to take some of the money?" I asked.
Her gaze met mine and I noted so much conflict in her expression. My friend sat square in the middle of a moral dilemma: should she steal the money, or leave it?
"I don't know. It would help Mac and me a lot. And it's due to me. Some of that is mine. I've busted my butt for too many years without being compensated for it."
Laying my hand on her arm, I nodded. "I get it, Carla. But if Sophia does know about it and finds some of it missing, you could be in a lot of trouble."
"I think she'd have taken it by now if Jake had told her about it."
"Maybe, maybe not," I said with a shrug. "It's in a safe place. You only discovered it by accident."
"True," she said with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Keep me posted."
I walked to my truck and slid inside. Glancing at the clock, I couldn't believe it wasn't even noon yet. A sigh escaped me as I put the gear into drive and headed out of the parking lot.
Of course, I wanted what was best for Carla, and to me that meant getting the money that was due to her. She'd mentioned time and time again how she'd helped the business by cutting costs, running the advertising efforts, and hiring the right people. For Jake to claim poverty as a reason for not giving Carla a raise was fine if it was true, but the fact that he'd been skimming money from his own establishment for years really upset me. I white-knuckled the steering wheel as I considered Carla's options. Would she be stealing if she took money that was rightfully hers?
Yes. It may be due to her, but it didn't belong to her.
Driving the thirty miles back to Oak Peak, my mind reeled. Martinez's Mexican Fiesta seemed to be the epicenter of immoral behavior, and the whole family was definitely bad news. The only one who seemed normal was Tony.
Which reminded me I had to look into why he’d gone to prison.
When I arrived back at the office, I was relieved to find it empty. After the morning I'd had, I really just needed some time to myself and to figure out what my next move would be to find Jake's killer.
I made a cup of coffee and sat down at my desk, the hum of the foot traffic and cars outside providing me with a lulling background noise as I fired up my computer and dived into the public records on Tony Martinez.
It didn't take long to find what I was searching for: he'd done a year in the state prison for extortion.
Interesting.
The case seemed pretty cut and dry. Tony had caught a farm owner, Brent Graves, having an affair and told him if he didn’t pay up, he'd expose the relationship to the wife. Tony also hadn't been very smart and used his own phone to blackmail the man.
Mr. Graves hadn't liked that and he'd gone to the police and revealed the plan. Sheriff Connor had borrowed some equipment from state police and put a wire on the victim. When Tony showed up for the payoff, the police got what they needed and arrested him the next day.
Why not that night? Perhaps Sherriff Connor couldn't miss his baseball game or something just as absurd?
I called Sophia and asked for Tony's phone number, telling her I just had a few more questions about his farm and his relationship with Jake. She gave it to me without any hesitation.
When Tony picked up, I heard a loud motor in the background.
"Hang on a second, Tilly," he said after I identified myself. "Let me turn off this equipment." A moment later, his end fell silent. "What's up?"
"Well, I looked up your prison record and I just have a couple of questions."
"Ah, man. C'mon, Tilly. I don't want to dredge that up and have it plastered all over the newspaper."
"I'm not," I replied. "It's just background information. I promise I just have a few questions."
"Fine," he said with a long sigh. "But please don't print anything about it. My family has been put through enough with Jake's death."
"I promise. It's old news that will remain buried. But I do wonder why the sheriff didn't arrest you that night? Why he waited until morning?"
A long pause ensued, and if I didn't hear the wind blowing, I would have sworn he’d hung up.
"I don't know why," Tony said. "But I can tell you, that wasn't me."
"W-what do you mean, it wasn't you?" I asked, furrowing my brow. "I'm confused."
"Jake ran that scam, not me. But he used my phone, which the cops traced back to me."
Jeez, my head was about to explode and I rubbed my forefinger between my eyebrows. "How... what?"
"I guess it doesn't matter now because Jake's dead. He knew the farmer. He saw him kissing someone who wasn't his wife. He contacted the farmer using my phone number, never thinking that Graves would turn him in. Jake went and got the money, but I don't know why they waited to make an arrest. That's something the police would have to answer."
Was Sheriff Connor really so incompetent, he couldn't tell the difference between the brothers' voices?
"Surely the sheriff realized he had the wrong man when he listened to you and the voice on the tape."
"No, he couldn't. Personally, I didn't think he wanted to be proved wrong, but Jake sounded just like me. Even threw in the lisp for good measure."
"What about your lawyer?" I asked, as I stood and began to pace the office. "Didn't he have the recording tested against your voice?"
"I didn't get a lawyer. Jake begged me to take the fall and plead guilty. He said that when I got out, he'd make it right, and he did. I own part of this farm now. Jake bought it for me."
"You went to prison for a crime your brother committed."
"Yes."
The depth of Jake Martinez's destruction of those around him truly astounded me.
"What happened to the money? Did Graves get it back?"
"Nope. The police searched my property for it, but I didn't have it. Jake took it and hid it somewhere."
Probably in the booth of his restaurant.
"Thanks for taking my call," I said, absolutely astounded and unable to bring up any other questions. "I appreciate your trust in telling me the truth."
"Sure, Tilly. Please don't print any of it. Sophia doesn't know and I don't want her to find out. She's been through enough."
"Of course," I whispered, then I disconnected the call and sat down behind my desk again.
Unbelievable.
"What in the heck is wrong with all of you?" I muttered as I stared at my phone. I'd never seen a family so dysfunctional. Jake had sent his brother to prison, and Tony seemed okay with it.
Or was he?
I pursed my lips together and tapped my pen on the desk.
Maybe Tony held a grudge. Had the whole experience infuriated him and he’d waited patiently until he could get his revenge?
>
Even though Jake had bought him a share in a farm, had it been enough repayment for spending a year in prison?
Or had Tony ensured that Jake would make the ultimate sacrifice for what he'd done?
"This list of people who may have murdered Jake gets longer every day," I said to the empty office, defeat weighing me down. "How am I supposed to figure out who is the killer?"
18
The next day, I hadn't heard from Derek, which didn't surprise me. He'd said he probably wouldn't be able to call until after he gave his talk, and I kept glancing at the clock wondering if he'd reach out at some point in the afternoon. I had to admit, I missed him more than I’d anticipated. Going home the previous night after discovering yet another layer of dysfunction in the Martinez clan, I had really wanted someone to talk with about it. Sure, I could have called Debbie, but I’d wished Derek had been there. Instead, I’d told Tinker and Belle about my day, and they’d listened almost as attentively as Derek would have.
My phone rang, and I answered after checking the caller ID.
"Hi, Sophia," I said, a little surprised at her call.
"Hey, Tilly. Tomorrow is my father's funeral. I was wondering if you could come and write something up about him for the paper. Overall, he was a decent guy who did a lot for the community."
I bit my tongue to hold back my true thoughts—Jake Martinez had been a self-serving psychopath—and almost said no.
However, I figured it may be interesting to watch the whole family together, as well as any friends who may attend. In the television shows, the murderer always went to the funeral. Perhaps it would be the case in real life as well.
"Sure, Sophia. Tell me when and where."
I wrote down the address and time, then hung up.
"Top of the morning, Tilly!" Harold said as he rushed through the door and set his computer bag on his desk. "How's my favorite reporter today?"
"Aren't I your only reporter?" I asked with a grin.
"You are, which by default makes you my favorite, especially if you completed the piece about the knitting club and their Booties for Babies program."
My chest clenched as I glanced around my messy desk while trying to recall when he'd given me the assignment.
