Otis jumped on the bed with a light thump. His heavy purrs sounded like an idling car engine. I lay still, hoping he’d curl up at my feet. Instead, the bed vibrated from his paws kneading my legs through the covers, like a soothing massage. That lasted for all of twenty seconds before Iris lunged at him while simultaneously barking in my ear—so much for sleeping in on a Saturday morning.
By the time I’d fed them and walked Iris, it was still only seven forty-five. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and sipped it while plotting my day.
At eight I called Uncle Bob. “Tell me more about Uncle George.”
After Aunt Veronica heard him greet me by name, she yelled out in the background, “Tell Tory to come over for breakfast if she’s not busy. I’m making blueberry muffins.”
Uncle Bob cleared his throat. “You hear that?”
“I’m on my way.”
Low clouds blanketed the sky that my weather app predicted would burn off by late morning, a typical October day in Santa Sofia. There were several runners enjoying the sea breeze along the beach sidewalk as I drove along the Promenade. Soon I’d passed through the Ryder Ranch gate and was pulling up in my aunt and uncle’s driveway—less than a ten-minute trip on a traffic-free Saturday morning.
Aunt Veronica greeted me at the door. She was wearing a beige Williams Sonoma apron over jeans and a black top with three-quarter-length sleeves. I handed her a brown paper bag full of lemons from my backyard tree.
“Aw, thank you, Tory.”
I followed her into the kitchen and adjoining breakfast room. The aroma of coffee, eggs, and toast filled the air, along with the fruity sweetness of her glorious blueberry muffins, cooling on racks on the tile counter.
“Help yourself to coffee and muffins. There are scrambled eggs with mushrooms and spinach on the stove.” She buttered several slices of sour dough toast as she rattled off the menu.
“Thanks.” I picked up a plate and served myself a chunk of eggs from a red copper frying pan. I set my plate down on the table, grabbed a mug of coffee and reached for a muffin. I pulled in my chair and dug in.
Uncle Bob was a few mouthfuls ahead of me across the table. Sam sauntered in barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt. Aunt Veronica pulled up a chair next to me.
I broke a muffin in half to reveal a center bursting with warm blueberries. I popped a chunk in my mouth. The tart sweetness of the berries and the sweet buttery muffin were a perfect blend. “These are divine!”
Aunt Veronica beamed. “Thanks.”
Sam popped half a muffin into his mouth and hugged his mother as he sat down next to her. “She makes the best blueberry muffins in the world.”
Aunt Veronica tittered. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“I totally agree.” I sipped my coffee and turned to Uncle Bob. “Hey, can I talk to you about Uncle George?”
“Sure. What do you want to know about him?”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because he was following Sam and me yesterday at the condo site.”
“Funny. Sam didn’t mention it.”
Sam squirmed in his chair. “Yeah, maybe because I didn’t know. So, Adrian tracked his plates?”
I nodded to Sam. “We were both pretty freaked out since we didn’t know who it was at the time. Adrian ran the plates and the car belongs to Uncle George.”
Uncle Bob clicked his teeth. “I heard he’d moved back to the area. I haven’t had any contact with him for a while, though, two, three years, maybe. I wonder why he was following you.”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Uncle Bob checked his watch. “Uh-oh. I told a potential new client I’d meet them for coffee this morning. Referred to us by the Hotel Santa Sofia folks. Don’t want to create a bad first impression and show up late. I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
“That’s great. Good luck.”
Uncle Bob bustled off, leaving the three of us to finish our breakfast.
Sam headed to his room, grabbing another muffin as he did. “I’m going to get ready. Paloma asked me to help her out today at another fundraiser.”
Aunt Veronica winked at me. “Glad we can talk privately now. I didn’t want to burden Bob, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you. Sam told me the other day he had a meeting with your father the night he died.”
I jolted to attention and gasped, “What? How come he never mentioned this before?”
“I don’t know. I think it slipped out by accident. But since you’re spending time with him now, I thought maybe you can coax more information out of him.”
“I’ll try. But frankly, he was so moody yesterday he made me reconsider whether it was a good idea to have him work on the Hotel Santa Sofia condo project. He was great at first, then he got temperamental.”
“For what it’s worth, he said he’s already learned a lot about landscape design by spending time with you. I think he truly likes working for you.”
“Well, he sure has an odd way of showing it.”
We both laughed and resumed our munching.
• • •
On my way home, I decided to revisit the pier because the only time I’d been back since my father’s death was when I dined with Jake at Sadie’s Seafood Restaurant, and I’d found it difficult to be in true sleuth mode while his mesmerizing gaze held me under its spell.
I parked in one of the diagonal slots that ran along the Promenade near the pier.
The beach steeply sloped down from the road for about fifty feet and then flattened. It was low tide, so the beach was visible for two hundred and fifty feet or so. The pier spanned the beach before it extended over the ocean for about another thousand feet. No one was on the beach around the pier, but a few surfers were in the water. A smattering of people were strolling or riding their bikes on the pier. I ventured about a quarter of the way out on the decking, where my father had supposedly fallen into the water. I peered over the railing, first at the sand, then the water. The distance was about twenty feet down from the pier to the water.
Next, I headed underneath the pier. Because the tide was out, I could walk between the pylons. I took off my sandals and padded around barefoot, the damp sand massaging my toes as I left footprints. The cool sand had a soothing effect on my psyche as I considered the dozens of tides that had risen and receded here since my father’s death. I wasn’t expecting to find anything of significance. I just wanted to see if I could imagine how it all transpired. Barnacles clung to the seaweed-wrapped pylons. A few beer bottles buried deep in the sand peeped out like tombstones. Plastic bags, the bane of local environmentalists, wove in plaits with the seaweed.
I climbed the boulders piled high up against the sandy slope, almost touching the underside of the pier’s decking. A rat scurried between the rocks a few yards away.
I flinched. “Yikes!” A few choice words followed while I debated whether my quest was really worth the risk of getting bitten by a rabid rodent. I shuddered and slipped my sandals back on. Any protection was better than none.
I pressed on and found more plastic bags and an athletic shoe. At the top of the pile, a plank was wedged between two rocks that someone had clearly used as a shelf. On it were the remains of a joint, cigarette butts, and a few burnt wooden matches. It was above the barnacle line, high enough to be protected from high tide. Next to the rock pile, something black, half-buried in the silt, stuck out. I bent down and dug it out. Was it a phone? My second of hope was dashed as I dug away the sand, only to find a cell phone cover, the exact same kind my father had had on his phone, except a bit worse for wear. I looked at the planks above me and thought the phone could have easily slipped between the cracks and separated from its cover when it hit the rocks. I furiously searched every nook and cranny around the rocks, rats be damned. After twenty minutes and an aching back, I came up empty—no phone. I had to assume either it’d been washed out to sea or someone had beaten me to it. Was it Sam? He seemed a likely suspect. If it was true he met with my father, as Aunt Veronica had told me, what happened before and after? Dejected, I made my way back to the car, my only prize my father’s cell phone cover.
• • •
I spent Sunday catching up on various household chores I’d neglected, went grocery shopping, and did several loads of laundry. As my reward, I spent an hour at the gym, mainly jogging on the treadmill and listening to music. I picked up Tender Greens again and spent the evening paying bills then retired early, hoping to get a good night’s sleep. But Otis barfed on my bed around one and Iris went on a barking jag an hour later that put me on edge for the rest of the night.
• • •
On Monday afternoon Sam came to my office after he was done with school. He tapped lightly at my door and asked politely if there was anything I needed him for today.
“Actually, I do. Come on in and have a seat.”
He smiled and settled his lanky frame in a side chair. He looked around my office. He fixed his gaze on a People magazine peeking out from a pile of folders on my desk and his amber eyes twinkled with mirth as he slid it out and flipped through it briefly before setting it down again. His playful demeanor suggested he was back to being the cousin I knew and loved.
We sat facing each other across my desk.
I got up and shut the door. “I have some questions for you.”
The smile left his face and he became wary. “Okay.”
“But they’re not related to the condo project. They’re related to my father’s death.”
Startled, he sat up straighter and his eyes grew wide.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you met with him the night of his death?”
Sam hung his head and mumbled his response. “Because I didn’t want to get in trouble.”
“Why did you think you’d get in trouble?”
He raised his head. His face was flushed. “Because I was there when it happened.”
“When what happened?”
“When he was killed.”
I took a deep breath as the pinpricks of light in my eyes signaled lightheadedness, as it seemed all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I reached for a bottle of water and took a few long gulps. “You saw who murdered my father and you haven’t said anything? Who was it?”
He swallowed. “That’s not what I said. I heard it. I was under the pier. I couldn’t see anything.”
“What were you doing under the pier?”
“Swear you won’t tell my dad?”
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than withholding evidence in a murder investigation. “I won’t tell him—promise.”
“Uncle John had told me he wanted to talk to me in private, on the pier. I was supposed to meet him but lost track of time because I was under the pier with a friend, smoking weed. I remembered the time when I heard steps on the pier. My friend took off, and I was getting ready to go up on the pier to meet your dad when I heard another set of footsteps. Then there was a scuffle and the phone dropped.”
His story matched the joint remnants I’d found under the pier.
“Did the phone drop on the sand or in the water?”
“It hit the rocks. I picked it up.”
“What did you do with it?”
He hung his head lower. “I threw it away.”
“Why did you throw it away?”
He shrugged.
“Where did you throw it away?”
“Into the water.”
“Did anyone see you pick up the phone?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then someone threw Uncle John’s body into the ocean.”
“You’re sure he was dead before he was tossed over?”
“I’m positive. I heard his body fall on the pier after the scuffle. It fell hard, and he never got up.”
I felt like screaming “Why didn’t you do something?” But he was getting more and more agitated. I backed off, fearing a meltdown like the other day. I needed to keep our communication channel open since he’d just revealed he witnessed my father’s murder.
“And you’re sure you didn’t recognize who the other person was?”
He started to sob. “Tory, it all happened so quickly. I didn’t really know what was happening till after the fact. Someone approached Uncle John, they argued, his body hit the boardwalk, the phone dropped down, and then the splash of your father’s body.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I called nine-one-one.”
I took a couple of deep breaths. No use wondering whether or not my father might have still been alive when he hit the water and whether anything could have been done to save him. I was sure this was the exact thought that was torturing Sam, if he was telling the truth. Right now, that was a big “if.”
“Okay, you’ve got to tell the police.”
His eyes flashed in anger. “My parents can’t find out.”
“Look, Sam. Your parents are the least of your worries right now. What if the person who killed my father thinks you saw him?”
He looked toward the floor and mumbled, “No one saw me.”
“How can you be sure?”
His eyes smoldered as he jutted out his chin and pursed his lips in defiance. He’d officially clammed up.
“Okay, how about we call it a day. We’re both upset. Let’s cool down. Come back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have an assignment related to the condo project ready for you to start.”
He slunk out of my office.
My head was swimming with questions. Why didn’t he speak up right away? Smoking weed paled in comparison to witnessing a murder. His parents would have understood. And why would he throw my father’s phone away, unless something on the phone incriminated Sam? And why had my father wanted to meet with Sam in a private location? That sounded so melodramatic. And then it hit me why so much of what Sam had told me didn’t make sense. Sam must be lying. And why would he be lying? The one logical explanation that answered all my questions—Sam lied to protect himself. Either he knew who killed my father or Sam himself must be murderer.
I called Jake and Ashley and told them I needed to talk to them about something important and private. “Because it’s important, let’s meet at my house.”
Jake sensed the urgency in my voice. “I can bring dinner if pizza is okay.”
“Sounds great, thanks. See you soon.”
Jake and Ashley arrived at the same time. Jake carried two medium-sized pizza boxes from Santini’s on the Avenue, the pizza joint in Santa Sofia, raising my estimation of him several notches. When he lifted the first lid, my senses swooned at a mouthwatering array of Italian sausage, pepperoni, and mushrooms. He opened the second box to reveal a margherita pizza, with the fragrant aroma of basil intermixed with tomato and cheese.
Pizza was exactly what I needed. “Thank you so much. And salads too!”
Santini’s chopped salads were packed with chunks of mozzarella and provolone cheese, salami, and garbanzo beans. I beamed at Jake approvingly as I arranged bottles of Pellegrino sparkling water on the kitchen counter. Ashley and Jake dug in while I explained to them what Sam had told me.
Ashley quickly swallowed her mouthful of salad. “We’ve got to tell Adrian. We can’t wait around hoping Sam will tell him.”
Jake wiped his hands with a napkin. “Totally agree. Whether or not he’s being totally truthful, it looks like he was witness to a murder.”
I took a swig of water for courage. “Do you think he could actually be the murderer?”
Jake leaned in. “If you look at your father’s murder in isolation, possibly. But remember, you have gone to a great deal of effort analyzing the clues and, I think Ashley and I agree with you on this, your father’s murder looks like it’s related to Milo’s and Jo’s.”
Ashley looked up from her phone. “I just texted Adrian and he’s on his way over.”
I sighed in relief. “Yeah. I’ll feel better knowing he’s aware of this.”
Jake helped himself to another piece of pizza. “Sam was at your wedding, right? But was he at the fundraiser? I don’t remember seeing him there.”
“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t, since my aunt wanted to go home to tell him about Jo’s death.”
The doorbell announced Adrian’s arrival. He followed me to the kitchen and his eyes lit up. Whether it was because of Ashley or the pizza, I couldn’t be sure.
Adrian grabbed some salad and pizza and sat next to Ashley. “Ashley gave me the short version. Sam says he was under the pier when your father was murdered. He heard a scuffle, saw the body thrown into the ocean, but didn’t actually see who it was. Correct?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll have someone watch him.”
“Good. I’ve wanted to follow him ever since he acted so weirdly on our site visit but haven’t had the chance yet.”
Jake shook his head. Ashley looked at me in disbelief.
Adrian was fuming, indicated by the bulging vein in his reddened forehead, but he struggled to control his temper. “Look, Tory, I know you’re impatient about getting to the bottom of this. It’s your family. I get it. But we’re dealing with a desperate person. My best guess is your father’s death wasn’t necessarily intentional. Guys fight all the time, sometimes with unintended consequences. The fact that he had contusions on his face and jaw and an injury on the back of his head suggest he might have hit his head after someone decked him. Nevertheless, a decent person would have called nine-one-one to get medical care. This person didn’t. I’m thinking maybe Milo figured this out. Maybe Jo did too. And now the perp is in damage control mode. Silences anyone who becomes a threat. That puts a big bull’s-eye on you if the wrong person catches wind of you snooping around on them. Therefore, do not follow any suspects. Understand?”
“I’m always careful.”
Ashley grabbed my forearm. “I know you are. But still, if someone feels cornered, and they already have killed, what’s to stop them now?”
Adrian’s gaze bored into me. “Ashley’s right. Under duress, people do strange things. Case in point—every car pursuit ever televised. These guys get hopped up on drugs, booze, and adrenaline and lead cops on wild-goose chases—everyone knows it’s going to end badly for them except them. The mind-set of someone who kills repeatedly to cover up a crime is similar. Each crime just gives us more to go on. But they think by eliminating witnesses they’ll get away with it.”
“Is Sam in danger?”
“If he is in fact a witness and not the killer, then I’d say yes. And that’s another reason why you should let professional law enforcement officers follow him. We can arrest him if warranted or we can protect him if necessary.”
I bowed my head, partly in shame, partly to hide my fear.
Jake stepped in. “Last thing you want to do, Tory, is interfere with their investigation.”
Ashley agreed. “Definitely. From a legal standpoint, you don’t want to prevent the cops from lining up all their ducks in a row. You could possibly inadvertently weaken their case by interfering, by compromising important evidence. Let them do their job unencumbered so that no evidence is disallowed once it goes to trial.”
“All right. Enough. I got it. Message received.”
Ashley rubbed my back.
“But can I point out Sam was with me when we were followed and when our car was run off the road.”
Jake nodded. “You’re right.”
I gobbled a few bites of pizza to fuel my brain. “Maybe he had an accomplice.”
Adrian pushed back from the table. “Or he was the accomplice to the murderer.”
Along with the remnants of pizza and salad, the four of us chewed on these possibilities in silence.
We all agreed to sleep on it and see if we had any insights in the morning. My three friends left together, with Adrian reassuring me he was keeping the hourly patrol on my property for the time being.
After an eventful day, I was happy to be cozy in bed with my crew: Iris, Otis, and my Netflix account. I randomly clicked through the lineups in various genres, from mysteries and thrillers to romantic comedies, but didn’t have an attention span long enough to watch the shows I typically adored. My mind drifted back to our evening conversation about Sam. The more I thought about it, I was convinced Sam was lying. He must know who murdered my father if he was under the pier when my father was killed. And I bet he figured out that same person killed Milo and Jo. That must be what he was lying about. Otherwise, why would he seem so afraid?