Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (45 page)

“
So, who’s been here recently?”

“
Well, Linda is really the only one. She stops by about once a week and brings meals, helps with the laundry, and does a little cleaning. I know she’s busy with her practice, so I appreciate that she takes time to visit when she can.”

“
Does Linda know anything about your suspicions about Paul?”

“
No. I haven’t said a word.”

“
Has anyone else been here to visit other than Linda?”

She shook her head.

“
Have you met anyone outside of the house?”

“
I go to see my doctor every few weeks, but past that, no. I don’t like to drive because I get dizzy spells.”

“
When Paul is at home, does he seem distracted? Does he spend a great deal of time on his phone or computer?”

“
It depends. When I’m feeling up to it, we watch movies together or go for a walk. But I sleep a lot, and have no idea what he does during that time.”

“
Tell me about Paul’s family.”

“
His parents had passed before I met him. He has a stepsister named Alice. She was at the wedding, but we haven’t seen her since. She lives in Colorado.”

“
Would you say she and Paul are close?”

“
They keep in touch mostly through Christmas cards. She’s very religious. Donates a lot of her time to some church group.”

“
How well do you know Paul’s business associates?”

“
They’re a reserved bunch, but they seem like decent people.”

“
Could he be having an affair with someone he works with?”

“
The only woman he works with is Rachel. She’s a CPA too, but she’s older and married. I don’t think he’s involved with her.”

“
What about a secretary?”

“
He doesn’t have a secretary. There are only four CPAs, and as far as I know, they all work as a team and share the duties.”

“
Does your husband have a violent temper?”

“
No, he’s very passive.”

There was something in her expression I couldn’t read. “Emily, is there something you’re not telling me?”

She paused. “Paul is not quite himself lately. He seems ... I don’t know, agitated? Distracted? I realize he’s under a lot of stress. Having a sick wife can’t be easy.”

“
Does he drink?”

“
No. He doesn’t drink or smoke.”

“
Is there anything else that seems out of the ordinary?”

“
Well, there have been four atm cash withdrawals from our bank account in the past few weeks. Two hundred dollars each time.”

“
Did you ask him about it?”

“
He denied taking the money out. He thinks the bank made a mistake. He said he’d call them to straighten it out, but when I checked online today, the money was still gone. I even called the bank myself before you got here. I got the runaround, of course.”

“
Does Paul go to the race track? Does he have poker night with friends?”

“
He’s a CPA. He’s too practical to gamble away our life savings, especially since it’s almost gone.”

“
With your permission, I could have Carter look into the bank account situation.”

“
Who is Carter?”

“
He’s my mentor.”

“
The missing money is not really my biggest concern. I’d just like to know if Paul has a problem.”

“
Has Paul been married before? Any kids from previous relationships?”

“
He was married briefly at twenty, but it was over in less than a year. They never had kids. Paul’ had a few girlfriends after that, but nothing serious till he met me.”

“
Is there a friend of Paul’s you could call? Someone he confides in? Maybe someone he works with?”

“
Paul doesn’t care for his work partners. There’s always Linda. She probably knows Paul better than anyone.”

“
Why do you say that?”

“
Didn’t she tell you? Linda used to be Paul’s therapist and they remained close friends after the fact. She and I hit it off right away and have been friends ever since.”

“
Linda never actually told me how you three met, but now it makes sense.”

“
Anyway, it’s probably not a good idea to get her involved. I don’t want her to know the real reason you’re helping me. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re looking for my brother, okay?”

I leaned back in the chair and considered it. She was asking me to lie to my friend. “If you think it’s best.”

“
Yes. It’s best. I don’t want anyone to worry. Not until I know what Paul is up to.”

“
I understand, but I have to be honest; if Paul is indeed sabotaging your health, this is a very serious matter. It might help to talk to Linda to gain insight on Paul’s psychological state.”

“
Please, I’d really prefer to keep my suspicions quiet until I have more information.”

“
It’s your decision, of course, and I’ll respect your wishes.”

“
Thank you.”

Over the next ten minutes, I continued to jot down all the details of Paul’s life. Birthdate, work related information, make and model of his car, hobbies, schedule, and even his gym routine. Finally, Emily reached over to the coffee table and lifted the cover of one of the books. She pulled a single folded sheet of paper out and handed it to me.

“
Is this a recent photo of Paul?”

She nodded.

The picture showed a fair-skinned man with brown hair, and gentle eyes.

Dark rimmed reading glasses were perched upon a nose that seemed too big for his thin face.

I stood up, tucked the notebook in my purse, and smiled. “If I need any more information, I’ll give you a call.”

She walked me to the door. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate your discretion in this matter, at least until we can prove Paul’s motives.”

“
I understand. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Chapter 6

I called Carter and offered to buy him dinner in exchange for some professional advice. We met around five o’clock at our usual place--- Carter’s unofficial headquarters was the Hometown Diner, and by default, the spot where we conducted most of our meetings. It was cheaper than renting office space.

Carter removed his tattered leather jacket and slid into the booth, still favoring his injured leg. “I’m usually the one buying you dinner,” he said. “What’s up?”

“
I’ve taken a case. It’s more or less a favor for a friend. I need to pick your brain.”

“
Never do a job for free. Not for friends, family, or anyone.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because I can’t picture you living in a trailer with no heat.”

“
Anyway, this is pretty serious. A woman is dying of liver disease and she thinks her husband is poisoning her to make it happen more quickly.”

Carter shook his head. “Sounds messy to me. Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“
I feel bad for this woman. You should see her.”

“
What have you got so far?”

“
Not much. That’s why I need some guidance. Have you ever worked a case like this?”

Carter leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, I have. But it was the other way around. The husband hired me to find out if his wife was poisoning him.”

“
Was she?”

“
Of course.”

“
How did you get proof?”

“
I tapped her phone. Recorded a conversation she had with her lover. The rest was up to the police and the DA.”

“
Well, Emily’s husband certainly has motive: a hefty life insurance policy. Plus, she thinks he’s having an affair. Maybe even involved with drugs or gambling.”

“
Is this guy dangerous?”

“
According to Emily, Paul is a sweet, gentle soul.”

“
Probably clever at hiding his violent tendencies.”

“
Or there’s a perfectly logical explanation that doesn’t involve deadly intent.”

Carter rolled his eyes. “So, what’s your next move?”

“
I’ll keep tabs on the husband. Find out where he goes and whom he sees. As far as the poisoning, I think I’ve convinced her to let me set up hidden cameras in the kitchen.”

“
Max?”

“
I just called him in California. He’s coming home tomorrow and said he’d help as soon as he gets back.”

“
Good. Sounds like you’re right on track. What do you need from me?”

“
Well,” I said, then took a sip of coffee. “Can you spare Martha for a few days?”

“
Sure, I have her in my trunk right now. If you give me some information, I’ll see that she gets properly installed.” Martha was a state of the art tracking device system named in homage to Carter’s late mother, Martha Peterson—a formidable woman whose keen sense of awareness haunted Carter’s adolescent years.

“
If you don’t mind, that would be a huge help. But what about your knee?”

“
I can deal with the pain in my knee. Besides, it’s the least I can do after your help with the Gavin Cole job. You remember how to access the signal feed using the Internet program?”

“
I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Carter didn’t respond to the flattery. “What else do you need? A background check?”

“
Couldn’t hurt.”

“
Ex-wives?”

“
Only one a long time ago. No kids.”

“
I should have some info by tomorrow morning. Just promise me you’ll tread lightly until then.”

“
Thanks, I will.”

He diverted his attention to the menu. “I’m starved. Let’s order some food.”

After placing our order, I turned to Carter and said, “You know, I should fix you up with my friend, Linda.”

“
Why?”

“
Because she’s reluctant when it comes to romantic relationships, too.”

“
Who said I was reluctant?”

“
Carter … in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never once mentioned a woman.”

Carter looked at the laminated dessert menu. “I don’t tell you everything,” he said.

“
If you can’t talk to me, then whom can you talk to?”

“
I have other friends. I choose not to speak to them that often. So, who is this Linda?”

“
We were close back in high school. She’s a psychologist. She has a great sense of humor, and is very easy on the eyes.”

“
So, she’s mid forties?”

“
Two months older than me, as a matter of fact.”

“
She might be too young for a crippled senior citizen.”

“
Come on, you’re a well preserved older man. When I tell her you look like Richard Gere she won’t be able to resist.”

Carter ignored the comment.

“
We could go on a double date,” I added, trying to sweeten the deal. “Me, Max, you and Linda.”

“
I’m perfectly capable of setting up my own dates, thank you.”

“
So, you’ll consider it?”

He shrugged, but his grin said it all. “Maybe.”

Chapter 7

It felt good to lie on the couch and do nothing for a change.

I didn’t mind being alone in the evenings. I lived on a quiet residential street, and I felt safe for the most part. In fact, I barely felt the need to lock my doors.

Jackie Huffman—a thirty-two year old, heavy-footed insomniac—lived in the apartment above me. She worked crazy hours at the hospital as a nurse’s assistant. Her sleep schedule—and mine—suffered because of it. When I first moved in, she’d invited me to one of her book club meetings, but only myself and one other person had attended. She’d been embarrassed at the light turnout, but it gave us a chance to bond. I enjoyed her dirty jokes and self-deprecating humor, not to mention her love of red wine. We became fast friends.

It was almost nine p.m. and I knew she was getting ready to leave for work. If Max’s Jeep wasn’t parked out front, she usually stopped in to see me for a few minutes on her way out.

As expected, she knocked on my door a few minutes later. “Hey Sarah, put your dildo away, I’m coming in,” she yelled, opening the screen door.

“
Don’t you remember you borrowed my dildo last week? I want it back,” I replied.

She cackled at my quick comeback—we were always trying to outdo each other with outrageous and offensive remarks.

Jackie wore the obligatory blue scrubs and white plastic clogs. Vertically challenged and plump, she resembled a human version of a “‘Smurf.”

“
Where’s Max tonight?” she asked.

“
California at a trade show.”

“
Too bad I have to work every night this week. Honey, we need to go out.” She glanced at her watch—a gaudy accessory too big for her wrist—and shook her head. “Wish I could hang with you, but I’m running late. I just wanted to see if you could let Chester out tomorrow morning when you get up. I’m working a double shift and won’t be back till ten.”

“
Sure. No problem,” I said. “Chester’s my man.”

“
Thanks.” She waved goodbye. “I owe you one.”

After she left, I got comfortable on the couch with my laptop. I perused the usual news websites, and caught up on local and world events, though I found it all pretty depressing; murders, rape, and natural disasters ’weren’t exactly uplifting.

Working with Carter gave me a chance to contribute to the betterment of society, if only in a small way---whether it was helping a dying woman like Emily Hodges discover the truth about her husband, or exposing a rapist pig like Gavin Cole.

Occasionally, even when a case has been closed and our clients are satisfied, I’m unable to fully let go due to the nature of the individuals involved; a mild obsession sometimes forms and new questions emerge.

Gavin Cole was one such menace, and deep down I knew why: the case had stirred a troubling memory from my early childhood. A girl in my second grade class had confided that her dad’s cousin had repeatedly molested her. I wasn’t sure what ‘molested’ meant at the time; only that it was a bad word. She’d made me swear to never tell a soul, and I never did. A few years later the girl moved to a different town and I never saw her again. When I got older I realized I probably should have informed an adult about her situation. Back in those days the topic was taboo, but it still bothered me to this day. If I’d had the courage to speak up, maybe I could have helped her.

Regret can be a powerful motivator.

I typed ‘Gavin Cole’ into the search engine. One of the first hits was a newspaper article from a few weeks ago. I clicked on the link and his photo flashed on the screen. I’d seen the mug shot before---it wasn’t a flattering one. His cold, grey eyes were small in relation to his face. Sporting a sleazy comb-over with thinning brown hair, he could have been Donald Trump’s illegitimate son. The article offered the same information Carter had given me—Gavin had been arrested for statutory rape, but got off with a slap on the wrist. The article mentioned few details about Gavin’s personal life; only that he owned a bar in downtown Bridgeport. The Rusty Nail didn’t sound like a classy place, but Gavin wasn’t a classy person. He was a disgrace to his gender.

I checked to see if The Rusty Nail had a website. No luck. However, I did a find a YouTube video posted with the tag words ‘Gavin Cole’ and ‘Rusty Nail.’ The title of the video was called ‘Hammered and Screwed.’

I pressed play. The video showed two drunk, middle-aged guys sitting at a bar, trying to perform a rendition of Jimmy Buffet’s tune, “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw.” The quality of the picture was bad, probably recorded from someone’s cell phone. I could barely make out their faces in the dark lighting, but behind them I could see multiple shelves of liquor bottles and above it a sign, The Rusty Nail.

The performance didn’t last more than a few minutes: the drunks couldn’t remember the words to the song, so they eventually gave up. The video jostled around for a minute after the fact as if the cameraman forgot he was recording. He then steadied and panned to the left. A card table was set up with four guys playing cards and drinking beer. The cigarette smoke was so heavy, I could barely make out the faces of those seated at the table. The camera panned more to the left, and a woman came into view. She was fairly young, maybe twenty-five. She walked right up to the camera and kissed it, leaving her pink lipstick residue on the lens. The video stopped.

A mildly entertaining snippet, but not very helpful.

I had hoped to get a glimpse of Gavin, for reasons still unclear to me. Why did I care?

If there was a chance I could convince Danielle to talk to the police about her employer, maybe new charges could be brought against him.

Was she working at the bar this evening? There was one good way to find out. I grabbed my coat and purse and headed out.