Maple Ridge...Unsolved - Episode 9

Brittany Brinegar
Jan 21
10 min read

Updated: 2 days ago

You Don't Even Know Who I Am

Murder, Mystery & Mom Season 3

The library didn’t just smell like old books; it smelled like power—a thick, warm mahogany kind that seeped into your pores and silently judged your net worth. Shelves stretched so high they needed a rolling ladder that groaned like it carried secrets of its own. The fireplace blazed hot enough to roast chestnuts or incinerate evidence, depending on the day's mood.

A massive oak table glowed in the firelight, surrounded by antique high-back chairs. I shuffled in, Goldilocks trotting at my side with a level of confidence I didn't feel, her tail thumping against the mahogany like she was checking for hollow panels. By the time we slunk in, nearly every seat was filled.

Crashing Ebenezer’s will-reading felt wrong on so many levels. But catching his grandson’s killer would hopefully make up for the transgression.

Faith sat at the head of the table with the terrifying, motionless grace of a hawk. She was flanked by her son Zer and a man I hadn’t met. He was all sharp edges and Armani, looking like he wandered over from Wall Street and got lost in the snow. He struck me as the kind of man who bought companies just to see them bleed. A corporate reaper in a very nice suit.

The lawyer, perhaps? Or just the man sent to tally up the Tappington remains.

I took a seat two down from the end, Goldilocks perched beside me in a velvet armchair that looked criminally comfortable. She crossed her paws with regal indifference, every inch the Queen of England, if the Queen occasionally drooled when she smelled tea and finger sandwiches.

Mattie drifted quietly through the room in her maid disguise, tray balanced effortlessly in her hands. The disguise was flawless—simple black dress, lace apron, crisp posture, and a voice that could slice through marble when required.

Faith leaned toward the Armani suit, her voice a low, frigid rasp that carried easily in the vaulted room. “I trust your associates are ready to move once the ink is dry? I don’t want this tied up in probate longer than a weekend.”

“The capital is queued, and the contracts are drafted, Mrs. Tappington,” the suit said, tapping a slender silver briefcase. “I’m just here to ensure the valuation matches the payout.”

“The Tappingtons are Maple Ridge. It will meet your every expectation,” Faith said.

“My clients aren’t interested in sentiment; they’re interested in the land.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t confuse sentimentality with legacy—”

Zer grunted. “Legacy doesn't pay for a villa in Cabo, Ma. Let’s get the reading over with so he can wire the first installment.”

The realization hit me like a splash of ice water. Mr. Armani wasn't the lawyer. He was the buyer. The Tappingtons weren’t mourning Ebenezer; they were already holding the garage sale for his empire.

Greed didn’t make them Cisco’s killer, but it could point to a motive.

I looked at Mattie, who pretended to polish a silver teapot near Faith’s elbow. Her eyes narrowed, telling me she also overheard every word. The family was ready to sell, but they needed the will to give them the keys first.

The oak doors groaned open, and my stomach performed a swan dive into my shoes. It wasn’t a lawyer who walked in. It was Sheriff Nelson.

He looked exactly like he had the day Mama and I had cornered him at his favorite haunt—genial, slightly rumpled, and smelling faintly of peppermint and coffee. Back then, we played the role of concerned podcasters, prodding him about Cisco’s accident. He’d been firmly in Camp Natural Causes, dismissing our suspicions with the kind of breezy confidence usually reserved for weather forecasts. Now, he was here, carrying a leather portfolio like it held the secrets of the universe.

My pulse hammered. Pretending to be a cousin was hard enough. Now I had to explain why I was grilling the sheriff two days ago under a totally different identity. Even a Florida Tappington from Florida wouldn't spend her vacation asking about toxicology reports and carrying a podcast mic in her purse.

Sheriff Nelson cleared his throat and adjusted his reading glasses. His eyes scanned the room until they locked onto mine. A flicker of recognition sparked behind his lenses.

“Now, before we begin,” he said, his voice rolling through the room like warm syrup, “I recognize you. Weren’t you at the station asking about—”

Mattie popped up like an avenging snack angel. “Gherkin, Sheriff?” she asked, sliding the tray under his nose. “They were Ebenezer’s favorite. Very crunchy.”

Distraction through a man’s appetite—the oldest trick in the espionage handbook. Sheriff Nelson blinked, half-lowered his glasses, and accepted a thin-sliced pickle hidden between two pieces of white bread. “Well, don’t mind if I do…”

Crisis averted. I silently thanked the power of snacks and my mother’s undeserved confidence in them.

Once he’d chewed contentedly, the Sheriff wiped his fingers and drew a folded letter from his breast pocket. The pale parchment crackled in the hush.

“All right, then. The formal will has already been filed with the Rutland County probate court,” he said. “I can confirm everything’s on the level. Ebenezer drafted it himself—fella did have a law degree—and I was present for the signing. He wanted witnesses who couldn’t be…well, bought.”

“Subtle,” Barbara Rey muttered, her gin-and-tonic already half gone.

Nelson ignored her and began reading: “Last New Year’s Eve, my grandson Cisco was murdered by one of the jealous, ungrateful people in this room.”

A tense gasp rolled around the table. Barbara Rey made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a bark. “Murdered? You have got to be kidding. We all knew Daddy would make a spectacle of his death, but this is a little too Knives Out, isn’t it?” She swished her glass, jingling the ice.

Mattie appeared like a perfectly timed jump-scare, silently refilling it.

Ebenezer just called everyone a murderer before the second paragraph.This wasn’t a will reading—it was a group indictment. I tightened my grip on my notebook. Goldie sighed in moral exhaustion.

“And while the Sheriff here doesn’t agree with my theory,” Nelson continued, “I had a private investigator conduct tests to prove my theory. It is my belief that dear Cisco was murdered for his stake in the company.”

Silence filled the room as if the family waited for the ha-ha, just kidding part. The only sound was the clink of ice in Barbara Rey’s glass.

“After the so-called ‘accident,’ my children urged me to change my will—to make sure the company didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Thirty percent to each of my children and forty to my wife.” The sheriff hesitated, stumbling slightly on the next line. “This is not the change I made.”

Faith drummed on the table. Zer rolled his shoulders like a boxer stretching before a round. Even Daphne’s smirk faltered.

“And before any of you jump up shouting how dare I, look around the room. Is there someone you don’t recognize? Someone with thousand-dollar shoes and a suspiciously eager spirit to wire money offshore?”

Every head swiveled. The finance bro, sleek as a seal in his navy suit, adjusted his cufflinks and checked his fingernails as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Zer growled. “That’s just business, Pops. We were looking out for the future.”

Sheriff Nelson squinted down at the paper. “Ah—he anticipated that. Says right here: Tell Junior to shut his trap.”

Barbara Rey snorted gin through her nose. “He really wrote that?”

Nelson nodded. “In the margins. Penmanship’s excellent.” He mumbled to himself as he tried to find his place. “…thousand-dollar shoes…suspiciously eager to wire money… here we are.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I knew about my family’s plan to sell the company before my coffin lid was even shut. Well, that isn’t happening. I, being of sound mind, leave Tappington Maple and its subsidiaries in the capable hands of the only family who truly grieved with me over Cisco.”

The fire crackled loud enough to count as commentary.

“To my children, Ebenezer Jr.—Zer—and Barbara Rey, I leave a trust. You’ll be comfortable if you spend wisely.”

Zer shot to his feet. “What about the company?”

Barbara Rey leaned back, eyes narrow. “Is he cutting us out?” She snapped her fingers toward Mattie. “Maid—another drink.”

Mattie poured it without taking her sharp gaze off her employers. Her hand was so steady it scared me.

“To my wife, Faith Tappington, I leave the house.”

Faith’s composure cracked just enough to let the ice show. “This is not at all what Ebenezer discussed with us—”

“Please let me finish,” the Sheriff said. “It’s only going to get more awkward. Especially for me.” He mopped his brow with the back of his hand. “To the Florida cousins, I have set up an educational fund.”

All eyes landed on me. I lifted my chin, pretending to be both humble and literate. “Score,” I muttered.

Nelson shifted, holding the letter toward the light. “To my sweet granddaughter Daphne, ten percent of the company. I’d love to entrust her with a bigger stake, but I have visions of her turning the place into a hipster brewery where people wear flannel ironically.”

Daphne snorted. “That’s fair. And honestly? Accurate.” She smirked like she’d just won the lottery without even buying a ticket.

“And lastly, I leave ninety percent of Tappington Maple in the capable hands of Cisco’s loving widow, Evangelina Franchetti Tappington.”

The room exploded like a car backfiring.

Barbara Rey slammed her glass down so hard it skidded across the table. “She was married to Cisco for one week. That’s a couple million a day! Mother, say something!”

Faith stood, her voice colder than the mountain. “This is absurd. Sheriff, this is a farce.”

Nelson attempted order by banging a thick leather-bound volume on the table like a makeshift gavel. “Let’s all stay seated. We’re almost to the end.” His eyes darted over the letter. “Evangelina, thank you for being a friend to me this last year…you’ve listened, you’ve learned, and you care about the soul of this business. I know Tappington Maple will be in good hands with you.”

Barbara Rey pointed straight at Evangelina. “You’re a gold digger. You married Cisco for his trust fund, and when that didn’t play out, you turned your con on Daddy. Well, congrats, honey, it paid off.”

Evangelina spread her arms as if swatting away Barbara Rey’s claims. “None of that’s true. I loved Cisco, and his grandfather saw that. You all started circling like vultures. Ebenezer did what he had to do.”

The finance bro snapped his briefcase closed and slid a shiny card across the table toward Evangelina. “Call me if you decide to sell.”

She didn’t even glance at the card before shredding it down the center. “Stunts like that are exactly why he cut you out.” She dropped the pieces onto her untouched tea saucer.

Zer rubbed his temples. “We’re ignoring the elephant in the room. Pops accused one of us of murder.”

“Clearly, Daddy was senile at the end.” Barbara Rey waved him off. “Cisco died of a heart thing. Mother, back me up.”

Faith drew a slow breath. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Sheriff, but we’ll be contesting the will.”

“I’m not pulling anything,” Nelson said, spreading his hands. “Ebenezer gave me a small stipend to serve as executor, that’s all. Will’s on file with the probate court. It’s on the up-and-up, I swear.”

“He wasn’t of sound mind when he made these changes,” Faith said, jabbing a finger into the table. “Ebenezer told us his plans. He promised to take care of the family.”

“This version won’t stick,” Zer said, offering a dismissive growl. “It’s a classic case of undue influence. Our lawyers will have this tossed and get the post-Cisco will reinstated.”

Nelson adjusted his glasses, looking genuinely confused. “The post-Cisco will? Zer, there is no other document. Aside from the papers I’m holding, the only other valid will on file is the original one from five years ago when Ebenezer first got sick.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Faith’s finger stayed frozen on the table. “What do you mean, the original?”

“The one that listed Cisco as the sole beneficiary,” Nelson said. “If you successfully contest this new will, the law reverts to the previous one. And since Cisco is gone, everything flows to his legal heir.”

All eyes snapped to Evangelina.

Daphne let out a sharp, delighted bark of a laugh. “So, basically, you can have the will where Grandpa gives her the company on purpose, or the will where she gets it by accident. Either way, Evangelina is making out like a bandit.”

“That wasn’t the final will,” Faith snapped.

“Daddy told us his plan,” Barbara Rey said. “The company was supposed to be split.”

Evangelina’s eyes flashed. “So you all could sell your shares to some soulless corporation? Ebenezer didn’t want that. He loved this mountain.”

Faith’s lips thinned. “You manipulated a dying man. The same way you manipulated Cisco.”

Zer leaned forward. “And how exactly did Pops suspect all of us of murder but not you, Chica?” He turned to Nelson. “Hey, Knucklehead, she’s the one you should be investigating.”

“This is not an open or active case. I’m not investigating anyone,” the Sheriff said. “The medical examiner ruled Cisco’s death natural. As tragic as it is, that’s the truth.”

I couldn’t help myself. “What about that evidence Ebenezer mentioned? The medical test that showed traces of poison?”

Eyes zoomed toward me, and I immediately regretted speaking up. My big mouth put me right back in the sheriff’s crosshairs.

“He spent a lot of money chasing theories.” Nelson sipped a glass of water, looking pained. “That doesn’t mean it’s enough to re-open a closed investigation—ah—Mrs…Mrs…Ste—”

Crash!

Mattie stumbled, sending an entire teacup cascading into the Sheriff’s lap.

“YOW! Great jumping huckleberries!” he shouted, leaping to his feet.

“Oh, heavens!” Mattie said in her best faux-maid voice. “I am so clumsy. Let me fetch a towel, Sheriff.”

By the time he stopped yelping, the family was already storming out, trailed by raised voices and echoing indignation.

Daphne walked past me last, smirking. “Your podcast just got a whole lot more interesting.”

The door shut, and silence pooled in the cavernous room—broken only by Goldie happily finishing off abandoned finger sandwiches and pickle slices.

I exhaled. “Well. That wasn’t at all what I expected.”

Mattie sashayed behind the bar with an entirely untouched composure. “Ebenezer tossed dynamite into the middle of the investigation.”

I rubbed my temple. “He also pointed the finger at the three most likely suspects—Zer, Barbara Rey, and Faith. They had a finance bro at the will reading, Mama. Ebenezer isn’t even cold, and they’re already ready to sell the mountain.”

Mattie’s eyes narrowed. “Four.”

“What?” I asked.

“Evangelina is not out of the woods as far as I’m concerned.”

I blinked. “But Uncle Eb trusted her.”

“As did Cisco,” Mattie said, untying her apron. “History’s full of men who trusted their killers. Under that Hallmark Christmas-loving façade, she could be a black widow.”

My head twisted to the side as I considered her point. Just because someone fit into a cozy, snow-globe aesthetic didn’t mean they weren’t cold-blooded.

“Okay, so we have four suspects and one greedy motive.”

Goldilocks licked cookie crumbs from the plate and sneezed, as if seconding the motion.