Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (76 page)

I had prepared for the inevitable question, so I didn't hesitate to reply. “I'm addicted to slot machines.”

The others nodded with sympathy. Kate patted my hand. “The meetings will help you, but don't expect a quick fix. You'll have weak moments, so it's important not to get discouraged.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I had a friend who attended these meetings several months ago. Do any of you remember Glenn Fleming?”

Kate looked at the others and all eyes turned down. “Yes, we heard about Glenn,” Kate said, her tone sullen. “He was a nice man. Have they found the guy who shot him?”

“No. It's been real hard on his wife Elizabeth. She's desperate for answers, but the police have no leads.”

Everyone stared at me. Rudy was the first to speak. “Did Glenn have a bookie?”

I shrugged. “No one seems to know. Have any of you heard of a Duncan Schwartz?”

Kate nodded. “Sure, I know him. That guy's a weasel. Don't ever get involved with him.”

I felt a surge of excitement. “He used to own Mama Mia’s Pizzeria, but they closed down. Duncan's wife said he skipped town. Any idea where I could find him?”

Kate leaned in closer, admonishing me with her eyes. “Dear, stay away from him. I've heard rumors about his operation. Bad stuff.”

“Yeah, it's true,” Arthur said. “I heard he almost killed someone with a pizza cutter.”

I didn't want to appear over-eager, so I decided to drop the issue and drink my wine. At least now I knew that Duncan Schwartz had a reputation for violence.

I checked my phone. No texts from Carter. I stood up from the table. “I should probably head home. Gotta work early.”

Rudy got to his feet. “Allow me to walk you to your car.”

“You haven't even finished your drink.”

He set his glass on the table. “I've had enough.”

“I'll be fine. Thank you, though.”

“I insist,” he said. “What kind of gentleman would I be to let a woman walk alone in the dark?”

I was too tired to argue. “Okay.”

After saying our good-byes to the others, Rudy followed me out of Carmine's. This time he did not offer me his coat. After a few seconds of walking in silence he grasped my arm, stopping me in my tracks. Startled by his abrupt gesture, I turned to face him while trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “Excuse me, but that hurts.”

“Who are you, lady?” Rudy released his grip but continued to scowl at me. “You are definitely no gambling addict. I've met too many in my day not to know the difference. So who are you? Is Sarah even your real name? What are you, an undercover cop?”

I took a step back. “You're right, I'm not addicted to slot machines. But Sarah is my real name. And no, I don't work for the police. Elizabeth Fleming hired me.”

“So you're looking for information, is that it? You think Duncan Schwartz killed him?”

“I'm sorry I lied, but I figured the group wouldn't talk to me if I were an outsider.”

Rudy licked his lips and looked around nervously. There wasn't a single soul on the sidewalk. “Sarah – if that really is your name – I have information about Duncan, but that information isn't free.”

“I'm listening.”

“Hundred bucks and I'll tell you what I know.”

“That depends on
what
you know.”

He chuckled. “I can tell you for a fact that Duncan didn't personally kill Glenn Fleming, but I'll have to see that hundred bucks before I tell you anymore.”

“You can prove that Duncan didn't kill Glenn Fleming?”

“Duncan used to host a poker night at the pizza joint on Thursday evenings. I remember Thursday, March twenty-eighth, specifically because I lost over two thousand bucks that night. Duncan really raked it during that game. He took home a pot of over eight grand. Problem was, one of the other players accused Duncan of cheating. They got into a fistfight. Duncan got the beating of his life in front of all of us. It was pathetic. He could barely stand up: broken nose, broken hand, and puking blood everywhere. The other guy was huge and he knew how to fight.”

“Who was the other guy?”

“Everyone called him Moe, but I'd never met him before that night. Anyway, Duncan needed to get to an emergency room so I offered to drive him, since everyone else split.”

“What hospital?” I asked.

“Andover Medical Center. Duncan passed out cold in my car on the way there. The nurses had to come out and carry him in on a stretcher. I didn't stick around to find out what kind of shape he was in, but I'll bet he didn't leave that night.”

“Maybe Duncan didn't physically shoot Glenn Fleming, but he could have hired someone else to do it.”

Rudy shook his head. “No way. Duncan had a reputation that was all smoke and mirrors, but once word got out about his double-dealing game nights, his reputation suffered. I heard he skipped town and hasn't been back. I also heard a rumor that his wife killed him with a baseball bat and hired thugs to dump his body in the river.”

I paused to consider what I'd just heard and figured Rudy was telling the truth. How could he make up a detailed story like that so quickly? I reached into my purse for the money. “Here you go. And thanks for the information.”

He pocketed the money and smiled dismally. “I suppose you won't be attending any more meetings. Too bad. We don't get much eye-candy.”

I'd never been referred to as eye-candy before. “What about that girl, Mindy? She's attractive.”

“You met Mindy, did you? Well, she's a whole other ballgame. I pity the fool who falls for her shtick.”

“What do you mean – her shtick?”

Rudy chuckled. “Never mind.”

“Oh, by the way, here's my card. I'd appreciate a call if you hear anything related to Glenn Fleming.”

“Sure.”

I got back to my car and noticed it was after nine-thirty and the Buick was still parked in the lot, along with a few other vehicles. There didn't seem to be anyone around so I texted Carter:
where r u?

Inside my car, I started the engine to get things warmed up. My hands were practically frozen from standing outside talking to Rudy. I rubbed them together to speed my circulation.

I waited a few minutes. When I didn't get a response from Carter I sent another text.

I'm heading to the diner. I'll wait for you there.

Chapter 8

Sipping on a soothing blend of chamomile and hibiscus tea, I sat in a booth facing the entrance from inside the Hometown Diner. I checked my phone again. No calls. No texts. No Carter.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Surely there was nothing to worry about.

Carter finally strolled into the diner around ten o'clock, his hair tousled and his clothing slightly wrinkled.

He slid into the booth across from me. “Hey.”

I laughed, more from nervous energy than anything. “Hey yourself. What the hell happened to you tonight?”

He rubbed his chin, looked away, and shook his head. “It's not important. You texted me that you managed to dig up some new information? Let's hear it.”

I hesitated. “Are you okay? Did something happen with Mindy? I saw you guys talking after the meeting.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing happened. I'm fine. C'mon, what did you find out?”

“I joined some people for drinks at Carmine's.”

“People from the meeting?”

“Yeah. A guy named Rudy invited me.”

“Is he the one with the ridiculous outfit?”

“Yep. He used to play poker with Duncan every Thursday night at the pizzeria. Long story short, there was a fistfight and Duncan wound up in the hospital with a broken nose, broken hand, and broken ribs, so he most likely couldn't have shot Glenn the following night. Rudy thinks the reason Dunk left town was because word got out that he was a double-dealer. Another rumor has it that his wife killed him.”

“Did you confirm with the hospital that Duncan Schwartz was ever admitted?” Carter asked.

“No, I haven't. They wouldn't willingly give me that information. I figured I'd wait to see if you had any connections.”

“Okay. Good job.”

“So, what about Mindy?” I asked. “Did she say anything about Glenn?”

“No. She was no help at all.” He looked around the diner with mild frustration. “Where's the waitress? I need some coffee.”

“Did Mindy steal your wallet or something? You're acting very strange. Is she a con artist? A prostitute? What?”

“She's not a woman, I can tell you that.”

I gasped. “Mindy is a man?”

Carter closed his eyes and shook his head. “We will never speak of this again, okay?”

I covered my mouth but couldn't help the laughter that escaped. “Sorry. But how did you discover this?”

He grumbled under his breath. “I thought I could get her to talk about Glenn. We went to sit in her car, but I soon realized she had other things in mind.”

“She propositioned you?”

“Neal was right when he said something was strange about her, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't till she grabbed my hand and shoved it into her crotch that I realized my mistake.”

I tried to suppress a giggle. “What did you do?”

“What
could
I do? I made some excuse and got the hell out of there.” Carter gave me one of his looks and I knew it was the end of the tranny discussion.

“I saw you talking to several people at the meeting tonight,” I said. “Did any of them have anything to say about Glenn?”

“Nothing helpful.” The waitress appeared with Carter's coffee. After gulping down half the mug, he seemed more relaxed. “At this point, there's no proof that Glenn had any bad business with Duncan Schwartz. Regardless, I have a hunch that Glenn knew the thief.”

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

“I'm going to look through Glenn's computer searches tonight, see what turns up. Hopefully, Elizabeth has been going through her husband's things. She might come across something that will help point us in the right direction. I'll pick you up in the morning around ten.” Carter set a five-dollar bill on the table. “Good work tonight, by the way.”

I couldn't help but bask in the warmth of his praise. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Chapter 9

Friday, April 26

The birds woke me up at five.

I couldn't go back to sleep so I rolled out of bed and wiped my eyes. I debated whether I should go for a run or start the day off leisurely with a pot of coffee.

Guilt won over. I pulled on my running gear, grabbed my iPod, and headed out into the chilly, spring morning air.

The residential neighborhood was deserted. I had the road to myself and it felt good to fill my lungs with the dewy air, feet pounding the pavement. I planned to go five miles, and maybe further if my energy held up.

My usual route was a loop that took me through downtown Bridgeport past the scenic river and through the park, eventually leading back to my street. I was feeling a little more adventurous so I decided to take the bike path through the marshy forest, which ended up on the west side of Sea Point beach – lovingly referred to by locals as
the refuge.
It had earned its reputation and namesake because of the isolated location. Only hikers, bikers, and kayakers could enjoy the area's remote splendor, but I usually avoided the place because of the mosquitos.

It was too early in the season to worry about mosquitos.

After a few minutes of stretching, I started off going north on Gibson Road, took a right on Wilson Avenue, then hung a left entering onto the path. There was no sign or markings; you just had to know it was there. For a split second, I hesitated. It seemed rather dark, and there would be no lights guiding the path once inside. I could almost see the light creeping up from the eastern sky. Within a few minutes, dawn would break, so I went ahead.

I entered the path, picked up speed, and blasted into a full-blown sprint for ten seconds, then slowed down to a jog. My heartbeat thumped in my chest and my leg muscles ached deliciously. Who said women over forty had to slow down? That was a farce. In fact, I'd prided myself on the fact that, at the age of forty-four, I had never felt stronger or more alive.

I continued down the path at an easy pace, admiring the buds of green on the trees as I passed. The scent of woods, moss, and saltwater filled my senses. I could hear waves crashing on the beach. Finally, the view opened up and the vast sea stretched out ahead of me. I slowed to a walking pace and came to rest on an old tree stump to catch my breath. As I looked around, I noticed there was a person already on the beach, wrapped in a blanket. It appeared as if they'd spent the night. A damned chilly night. Must have gotten down into the fifties. Maybe it was a backpacker, or perhaps one of the homeless people I'd seen hanging around the park. Glancing at my watch, I noticed it was almost six. Time to head back home to take a shower.

* * *

Carter was always on time, and when I looked out my window at 10:00 sharp, the Buick was parked out front. I quickly got dressed in jeans, a light sweater, and my suede jacket. I grabbed my pocketbook and locked the place up.

“
Well?” I asked, once inside the car. “Did you get the skinny on Duncan's supposed hospital stay?”

“
Yeah. Your friend was telling the truth. Duncan was released from the hospital on Saturday morning with his arm in a cast. No way he could have pulled off three robberies and a shooting. Unless he hired someone else to do it, which is certainly possible.”

“
I don't know. From what Rudy said, Duncan was all bark and no bite. He wanted people to believe he was violent to build his reputation as a serious bookie.”

“
I agree, but the timing of his vanishing act still doesn't sit right with me. Another thing I found this morning has me baffled, too. I spent some time going through Glenn's laptop. He, or someone else, must have wiped out his search history. I couldn't pinpoint a single website he'd visited. Why would someone wipe out his own search history unless they had something to hide?”

“
Maybe he was afraid his wife was snooping around,” I said. “Couldn't we go back to your hacker friend? The information must still be on the hard drive, right?”

“
Maybe. In any case, I'll mention it to Elizabeth once we get there.”

* * *

Elizabeth didn't seem surprised when Carter told her about Glenn's deleted search history on his laptop. “Glenn was that way,” she said. “Very secretive about certain things. He also had issues with privacy. He didn't like to use the Internet to do banking or book flights. Maybe he was just being careful about covering his tracks in terms of online transactions.”

“
Makes sense,” Carter replied.

Elizabeth put Glenn's laptop on the desk and just stood there, head bowed.

Carter took note. “Elizabeth, are you okay?”

She looked up as if from a dream. “Actually, I'm not so sure.”

“
Is there something you want to tell us?”

Elizabeth reached into her pocket and handed Carter a beverage coaster. “I found this in Glenn's glove box last night. I finally decided to get the paperwork together to sell his car and was looking for the registration. I don't know what to make of it.”

He inspected it. “From a bar called Sambuca's.”

Carter showed it to me. The name 'Chloe' was written in cursive with a phone number.

“
Do you recognize this woman's name?” he asked Elizabeth.

“
No. Glenn never mentioned her. And he never mentioned going to a bar called Sambuca's, either. He didn't drink.”

“
Have you tried calling this number?” Carter asked.

“
I was hoping you could do that,” she said. “Maybe Glenn was … involved with her. I was afraid to take the next step on my own.”

Carter nodded. “You mentioned before that you didn't think Glenn had slept around.”

“
When Glenn wasn't at the gallery he was home with me. If he was having an affair, I'm not sure when he had the time.” Elizabeth sighed. “Quite frankly, he was never very forthcoming with his feelings. And in the past few years, Glenn lost interest in me physically. He was very cold to me in bed. I didn't mention it before because I didn't think it was important.”

Carter studied the number on the coaster. “I can tell by the numbers it's a burner phone.” He retrieved his cell from his back pocket and punched in the numbers. After a bit, he ended the call. “I figured as much. Computerized outgoing message with no indication who the number belongs to.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I already checked the phone records. He never called that number. Unless he had another phone. But if he had one, I haven't found it yet.”

Carter held up the coaster. “The bar probably opens around lunchtime. We can go there and ask around about a customer named Chloe. In the meantime, I'll check his client list again to see if this name turns up.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I just want to gain some closure so I can move on with my life.”

* * *

Sambuca's was a darkly lit, cave-like tavern that catered to the blue-collar crowd. Some construction workers seated at the bar were drinking draft beer, watching a baseball game in progress on the flatscreen. A petite girl with spiky blonde hair set a few coasters in front of us. “What can I get you folks to drink?”

Carter smiled at her. “Good afternoon. I'm hoping you can help us. We're looking for a customer named Chloe?”

The girl had a round, friendly face with sparkling blue eyes. “A customer, huh? Do you know her last name?”

“
No, but how many Chloe's can there be, right?”

“
The only Chloe I know actually works here. She just punched in. Want me to get her for you?”

“
That would be great. What's her last name?”

“
Goodwin.”

The girl disappeared and Carter smiled at me. “I love it when people are helpful without realizing it. Didn't think it would be that easy.”

“
Maybe it's not the same Chloe,” I said.

“
I'll know by her expression when I show her the coaster.”

A pudgy girl who barely looked to be of drinking age appeared behind the bar. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Large silver hoops dangled from her earlobes. A shiny dot of a gold stud was embedded in the flesh of her nose. Her jeans were way too tight for her figure. She eyed us skeptically. “Who wanted to talk to me?”

Carter offered her the same disarming grin. “Chloe Goodwin?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. What's this about?”

“
I'm Carter and this is Sarah. We're just trying to find out about a customer of yours by the name of Glenn Fleming?” He showed her the newspaper article with Glenn's picture.

A flash of concern crossed her face.

Carter set the newspaper on the bar, reached into his pocket, and showed her the coaster. “This is you, right?”

She took a moment to glance at it then diverted her eyes. “That's not my number.”

Carter showed her the newspaper article again. “So this guy's face doesn't even look familiar?”

She shook her head. “What happened to him?”

“
He was shot last month during a burglary at his art gallery.”

She swallowed. “That's awful. I'm sorry to hear that.”

“
I'm just wondering. How else would Glenn have gotten one of your coasters?”

Chloe looked around and eyed the construction workers at the end of the bar. They appeared to be engrossed in their own conversation so she turned her attention back to us. “Um, who are you guys? Cops?”

“
We're private investigators, hired by Glenn's wife. We're contacting everyone Glenn knew. We understand that you may have had a ... relationship?”

Chloe bit her lip. “I told you I don't know the guy.”

“
Oh, but I think you do.”

The vein in her neck pulsed. She lowered her head and whispered, “I can't talk about this here. My boss is out back. Please just leave me alone.”

“
When do you get off work?”

She hesitated. “Not till five, but I've got plans.”

“
This will only take a few minutes.”

Chloe grabbed a white rag and started wiping down the bar. “Look, I don't know what it is you want from me, but I didn't know that guy. I'm not denying that he was a customer here, but I don't remember him. I'm sorry, but that's the truth.”

Carter shrugged. “Look, we don't care if you were sleeping with him. We just want to know if Glenn ever mentioned being in trouble. Was he worried that someone might hurt him?”

A group of three women sat down at the bar, talking and laughing amongst themselves.

Chloe whispered to us. “I have to get back to work. I'm not sure why your friend had my name, but I didn't give it to him.”

Carter gave me the eye signal that it was time to leave.