by Carly Winter
"Come on, my furry friends," I said, heading up the stairs. "It's time for bed."
Just as I settled into my pillows with Tinker on my left and Belle in between my legs, my phone rang.
I reached over a grabbed it off the nightstand, careful not to disturb my bedmates, then leaned back against my pillows.
"Hey, Carla," I said with a yawn. Perhaps I should have gone to bed earlier.
"Tilly, it's not Carla. It's Mac."
"Mac!" I said, quickly sitting up. Dread washed through me. Mac never called. "What a surprise! What's going on?"
"They arrested Carla tonight."
"Oh, no," I whispered as I cradled my forehead between my thumb and forefinger. "How? What happened? Tell me everything."
"She'd just gotten home from the restaurant. The sheriff rolled up with two deputies and they barged into the house with a warrant. We had to wait outside."
"Oh, Mac. I'm so sorry. That's what they did to me. It's a sickening feeling, isn't it? How long were they there?"
"About a half-hour. We waited just outside the front door. It was so darn windy. I don't think we've ever been so cold. Then, they came out, and Sheriff Connor had a smug smile on his face. He arrested Carla and said we had cyanide in our garage."
"Did you?"
"We had a mouse problem a few years back," Mac said with a sigh. "I'd actually forgotten all about it. It was tucked away behind some other stuff on a shelf. The sheriff said Carla had motive, opportunity, and now he's found the weapon. She could go away for a long time if she's found guilty."
My worst nightmare had come true. That stupid sheriff had been so predictable. Now he'd be able to brag that he'd solved the murder and he'd be the hero in town. With that status, he'd get reelected. "Did you call a lawyer?"
"I did. He's meeting me down at the station in a bit, but I wanted to let you know what happened before I left the house."
"Okay, Mac. Keep me posted."
"There's one other thing, Tilly," he said, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. "Carla came home today with a bunch of money. When the police arrived, we'd just finished stuffing it in between the insulation in the attic. She said I shouldn't tell anyone about it, but she wouldn't give me any details. She said it was rightly due to her."
I pursed my lips together and closed my eyes, not sure if I should laugh or cry. "Yeah, don't say anything, Mac. It could only get her in more trouble."
We said our goodbyes, and after setting my phone down on the nightstand, I stared at the ceiling. The wind continued to whip and swirl around outside, the ominous feeling growing and morphing all around me.
Carla had stolen from the restaurant. I didn't blame her, but it wasn't right. However, that didn't mean she should be in jail for murder.
Tears welled in my eyes as helplessness spread through me. Who had killed Jake Martinez? I didn't think it was Carla. At least, I hoped not. More doubt crept into my mind with the knowledge she had the poison that killed Jake Martinez at her house, but I tried to push it aside. I knew my friend. She had a good heart. She may be able to steal money, but she didn't have the fortitude to kill someone.
It had to be someone in Jake's family, or any of the other people he'd screwed over. He'd been a horrible human being and he'd ruined a lot of lives.
Tinker whimpered and snuggled in closer to me, resting her head on my stomach. She didn't like the wind, either.
As I stroked her brow and listened to the gusts rattling the house, sudden anger swelled within me and I clenched my fists.
Carla was innocent, and somehow, someway, I would figure out how to prove it.
20
I wouldn't have time to come home before the funeral in the afternoon, so I wore black pants with a black sweater. The wind had also brought a couple inches of snow, so I also pulled on some black boots.
In the rural part of Oak Peak, our streets were always the last to be plowed. I left a bit early so I could take it slow. The icy air nipped at my cheeks, and I was thankful I'd also brought along my parka. I hoped the afternoon would offer some sunshine or the funeral was going to be an even more miserable experience.
As my day passed in the office, the ball of dread in my chest seemed to grow. I not only worried about Carla, but about Derek driving in the bad weather. I kept glancing out the window behind me, hoping I'd see his SUV. Would he make it back in time to join me at the funeral? With any luck, the highways down south hadn't been hit too hard and the plows could get through if necessary.
Around two-thirty, I accepted that I would be going alone. With a heavy heart, I looked over my shoulder once again and found Derek pulling up to the curb. I squealed in delight as I ran around my desk, crashing my hip into an edge. The contact took my breath away and I limped outside with tears stinging my eyes.
"Hey!" Derek said as he exited the car. His grin warming my soul, he walked over but quickly sobered when he saw me hobbling. "What happened?"
I wrapped my arms around his waist and reveled in his embrace. "Hit my hip on the desk."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," I said with a sigh, then I tilted my head up for a quick kiss. "I'm great now that you're home."
"I just made it," he said. "Traffic was horrible. Are you ready to go?"
"Let me grab my coat and bag."
Derek waited outside while I hurried back into the office, collected my stuff, and whispered goodbye to Harold, who was on the phone. He waved and motioned me to call him later.
We held hands as we drove to the cemetery and for a few brief moments, it felt as if all was right in the world. Yet, I couldn't enjoy it. The wind and my worries had kept me awake a good portion of the night, so I was exhausted.
"Anything new since I talked to you last?" Derek asked. "I can tell you're preoccupied with something."
"They arrested Carla last night," I replied.
He squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, Tilly. How did you find out?" His voice dripped with concern.
"Mac called me. They did a search of their house and found some cyanide, so the sheriff says that Carla has motive and now he's got the weapon."
"So things are looking bad for her."
"Yes, they are."
"We'll get it figured out, Tilly."
I turned to him and studied his profile as he drove. "I'm going to watch everyone at this funeral today. I think whoever could have done it will be there except Darryl Hill and Tucker Browner."
"The restaurant owner the Martinez's put out of business and that racist guy, right?"
"Yes."
"I agree. I can't imagine they'd show up to pay their respects."
The cemetery lay just outside of town on the way to Cedarville, and when we pulled up into the dirt parking area, Sophia and José were already standing by the casket.
We stared at them a moment, then Derek turned off the truck. "Well, let's do this."
"Do we have to?"
He glanced over at me and smiled. "You invited me, remember?"
"Yes, I did, and thanks for coming. I hate funerals."
"I don't think there's anyone who likes them."
As I stared at Jake's casket, I was taken back to the time my own father died when we lived in Kansas. He'd been working on a tractor out in the pasture and had a heart attack. We hadn't realized he'd been missing as he always spent hours out in the fields. When we found him, there hadn't been any hope of saving him.
We'd also had a funeral, and at ten years old, it had been a horrible and scary event for me. I remembered standing by my mother, holding her hand while they lowered the casket into the ground. She stood stoically throughout the funeral and the reception afterward held at our house, and I had tried so hard to mimic her, but failed. I ended up locking myself in my closet and bawling for hours. It wasn't until late that night that I saw my mother's grief. I heard her crying in the kitchen and snuck down the stairs. She sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and drinking wine, surrounded by casseroles.
When our gazes met, she motioned me
over as she stubbed out her cigarette. I crawled on her lap and we stared at all the food for a long while.
"What are we going to do with these stupid casseroles?" she whispered into my hair. "I don't want to eat any of them. Do you?"
I shook my head.
"We'll donate them to the church for the Sunday potluck. From this day forward, you and I are going to start over, Tilly. We're going to make a new life for ourselves, and it's going to be better. We aren't going to be eating the food that reminds us of your daddy's death."
Mama then sold the land we owned and moved us to Louisiana where she met my stepfather, Hank. He was so different from my dad. While my dad had been wiry, serious, and always worried about something, Hank was a larger man who loved to laugh and tell jokes. My father never had time for me—there was always something that needed to be done on the farm, something far more important than me telling him about my caterpillar that had turned into a butterfly or my day at school.
On the other hand, Hank always smiled, could find humor in just about anything, and he was always interested in hearing about my day. I loved him dearly, and sometimes the joy he emanated was what I imagined living with Santa Claus would be like. The difference between the two men was like night and day.
Mama had been right—our lives had changed, and definitely for the better. Both of us became happier being with Hank, which also brought along years of guilt for me. How could I appreciate someone more than my father? Sometimes, it still bothered me.
I hoped in a year or two, Sophia could say her life had become more positive with her father's death. She was young and there was still time to change her wicked ways. I found it difficult to believe that she could destroy someone's livelihood without a second thought, but she didn't have a good role model, either. Perhaps she'd turn her life around and find a path that didn't include intentionally hurting others.
Derek and I walked hand-in-hand to the gravesite. The snow had melted, but left the grass mushy, and I was glad I'd worn my boots.
"Hey, Sophia," I said when we were a few feet away.
"Tilly. Thanks for coming."
"Of course."
José and Derek shook hands and for a moment, the four of us stood around awkwardly. It was hard making small talk with two potential murderers.
"I feel weird having you here since your friend has been convicted of killing my dad," Sophia finally said. "I hope you can keep your feelings out of it and write a decent article about him."
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, but I tried to remain polite and turned my lips into a small smile. "Well, first, Carla hasn't been convicted of murdering your father. She's a suspect. Second, I'm perfectly capable of remaining impartial in any situation."
"Did you know the sheriff was looking at her?" Sophia asked, narrowing her gaze. "Were you covering for her?"
"No," I lied, my voice strong. "I had no idea."
Derek squeezed my hand, letting me know I was about to cross an unseen line.
"If she didn't kill him, then who did?" Sophia asked, her glare firmly in place. "You're just saying that because she’s your friend."
"No, I'm not. I say that because there are too many other people who either wanted your father dead or threatened his life."
"Like who?"
"Let's sit down," Derek said, pulling me toward the chairs lined up around the grave.
He led me to two seats in the back row and my fury grew with each step.
Once seated, I turned to him. "How dare she—"
"Shh," Derek whispered. "We're here to observe, not to fight with her. You can do that later."
Clamping my bottom lip between my teeth, I vowed to remain silent. Derek was right. I didn't want to be kicked out of the funeral before it even began.
A few people I didn't know arrived, and I assumed they were family from out of town. Tony hurried up from the driveway carrying two brown grocery bags. He smiled and hugged Sophia and a couple of other people, then handed one of the bags to José, and another to someone else I didn't know.
The priest cleared his throat and everyone took a seat and quieted down.
As the service began, I found it hard to concentrate and counted about forty people in attendance. I studied them all and wondered who had killed Jake. José? Sophia? Tony? Had it been a family affair?
A shiver tore down my spine in the cold weather and Derek slipped his hand in mine. Somehow, some way, I had to find the killer and prove Carla's innocence.
In the distance, I noticed two men leaning against a tree, both of them staring at our group. One of them seemed familiar to me, and I squinted to try to make out his features. I gasped when I recognized Darryl Hill.
Why had he come to Jake's funeral? It certainly hadn't been to pay any last respects. And who was the other man? My guess was Tucker Browner, but I didn't know for sure as I'd never met the man.
They turned to each other and high-fived, then walked out of view down the hill.
Had that been a sign they were pleased with the murder they’d pulled off?
Why attend the funeral of a man who had ruined one of them?
I glanced over at Sophia. Her eyes remained dry, but her brow had furrowed and she pursed her lips together as if she fought the tears. Our gazes met for a brief moment, and I saw the sadness there, but then she grabbed José's hand. She had everything she wanted now: no one to step in her way of being with the man she loved, the restaurant to make her own, and a home. If she played her cards right, she'd have a pretty good life.
When the service ended, Sophia came over to us. "We're having a little get together at the house if you two would like to come."
I glanced up at Derek, who nodded. "We'll be there," I said. "Thank you for the invitation."
Honestly, I didn't want to go, but I couldn't help but feel as though I were missing something. One of these people was a murderer; I felt it in my bones. There had to be a clue as to who that was. I just didn't see it yet.
I hoped, in the time I spent with them, the evidence would reveal itself.
21
I estimated about twenty people at the after-funeral reception. Derek and I sat on the couch and made small talk with those around us, which we found consisted of distant family from Los Angeles, as I had suspected.
"You're right," Derek whispered when we were finally left alone. "Those are some expensive appliances. I looked at replacing some in my house and I couldn't believe the prices on that stuff."
"I know. There's a ton of money sitting in there."
The bag Tony had handed to José sat on the kitchen table next to the assorted pastries and cakes wrapped up in Debbie's Deliciousness boxes. My stomach howled and I stood then meandered over, wondering if Sophia had purchased any of the sugar-free line.
As I tipped the lids and read the stickers, I noted the bag contained a bunch of apples. I didn't find any sugar free goodies and as I returned to my chair, my heart suddenly froze and I became paralyzed in place.
Apples.
Apple seeds contain cyanide.
I slowly turned and found Tony against the far wall. Our gazes locked. It all fell into place. Owning an apple orchard, he had access to as many apple seeds as he wanted. All he would have to do was dry them out, pulverize them, and he'd have ingestible cyanide that would be so small, it may look like some type of seasoning.
His gaze shifted away, then back at me. I turned to look at the bag of apples again, then at him. Tony's eyes flashed with fear, then settled into resolve.
He had the motive. His brother had sent him to prison.
He had the means—access to the restaurant and Jake's home.
He had the weapon. A damn orchard of them.
"You did it," I whispered.
Tony continued to glare at me.
I raised my hand and pointed at him while my heart thundered. I knew in my bones I was correct. "You did it," I said loudly. "You killed your brother."
Silence quickly fell and a few people
gasped in surprise, their stares bouncing between me and Tony like they were observing a tennis match.
"You killed Jake," I said, slowly approaching him. You poisoned him."
Tony glanced around the house and shook his head. "No, I didn't. You're mistaken."
Yet, I could see it in his eyes.
"Jake died of cyanide poisoning," I said. "Apple seeds contain the poison, and you're part owner of a farm that has a whole orchard of them. You hated that your brother sent you to prison for a crime he committed. Killing him was your revenge."
"Tilly, what are you talking about?" Sophia said from the kitchen. "They arrested Carla. She did it."
"No, she didn't. Tony did."
"What do you mean they arrested Carla?" Tony asked, his eyes wide as he pushed off the wall.
"The sheriff arrested her last night," I said. "You killed Jake because you went to prison for him, and now, you've caused the same situation. Carla didn't kill your brother, and she's going to take the fall for it."
The heavy silence blanketed us. Tony's features went from shock to sadness in a heartbeat.
"Are you going to let an innocent woman go to prison for a crime you committed?" I asked softly.
"Uncle Tony!" Sophia wailed. "What's she talking about?"
Tony stared at me a beat, then his shoulders sagged as he moved his gaze to the floor. A man defeated.
"You're right," Tony said. "I did kill Jake."
Derek came up beside me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I'd been holding my breath and felt like my knees would buckle. I'd done it. I'd found the killer. Carla would be free.
"Why?" Sophia asked as she moved into the living room. "Why would you do that?"
Tony glanced around at his family and straightened his shoulders. "Because he was a horrible human being. I went to prison for a crime he committed. He didn't even think about admitting the extortion. He set me up. It was premeditated."
"I can't believe you killed my dad!" Sophia yelled, her hands fisted at her sides.
"Oh, come on, Sophia," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "Your father was horrible to you. Don't try to pretend otherwise. Don't be the victim."
