Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set Page 14

  “Where do you plan to put the device?”

  “Under his van.”

  I waited for the waitress to refill our mugs before I continued. “So what’s the point?” I asked. “How will tracking his vehicle help us after the fact?”

  “He might get spooked and try to contact someone after we question him.”

  “Someone who might have hired him,” I ventured, shaking some sugar into my coffee. “According to the information you’ve gathered, he’s practically broke, right? I thought hit men made a good living.”

  “Maybe this was a one-time deal. Or maybe he stashes his cash somewhere. That’s why we need to find a connection or a motive.” Carter rifled through the documents. “I also made another interesting discovery. Last Wednesday, Harding went out of his way to drive past the Chestnut Inn during deliveries. Other routes would have been shorter. Why did he choose that route on that particular day?”

  “It was raining pretty hard that day. Maybe there was an accident or a construction delay along his normal route.”

  “I checked. No accidents or construction last Wednesday.”

  “So you’re beginning to think Janet’s instincts are valid?”

  Carter chewed his lower lip, ignoring my question. “His computer is going to be difficult to hack. I’m leaving that as a last resort. It can be done, but it’s not legal.”

  “Has that ever stopped you before?”

  Carter smiled. “Nope.”

  Chapter 10

  During the ten-minute drive to Sunrise Dry Cleaning, I couldn’t help but notice the calm expression on Carter’s face. I would’ve guessed he’d be a little on edge with the prospect of questioning a potential murderer. I certainly was. But there was something about Carter that made me feel secure. Whatever it was--stature, air of confidence, laid back attitude, or years of experience--it almost didn’t matter. I was learning how this business worked, and I was fascinated.

  Sunrise Dry Cleaning came into view. We parked directly behind a van being loaded with what appeared to be plastic-wrapped bundles of linens. I followed Carter’s lead, getting out of the car just as the man in the grey uniform closed the rear doors of the van.

  “Lance Harding?” Carter inquired as we approached the van.

  “Yeah?” Harding’s husky, egg-shaped body turned to face us. The man’s considerable facial hair matched that of the photo. Harding was about my height--five foot seven--but appeared to weigh well over two hundred pounds.

  Carter made a friendly gesture with his right hand. “My name’s Carter. This is Sarah. Can we talk with you for a minute or two?”

  “About what?”

  “Just a couple of quick questions concerning the accident you were involved in the other day.” Carter paused then added, “We were friends with Marty, the guy you hit.”

  Harding’s eyes widened. He shook his head and put up his hand. “Look, I already gave the police my statement. I never saw that guy walk into the street.” Harding looked down at his feet. “I called 911 immediately.”

  “Did you know Marty?” Carter asked.

  Harding scratched his chin and shook his head. “No, I didn’t know who he was until the police told me later.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet again. Despite the freezing temperature, his sweaty forehead glistened in the faint sunlight. “I swear I wasn’t speeding,” he added. “I’ve learned my lesson. I can’t afford to lose my job over another ticket. My boss is already angry enough. The company just bought a brand new fleet of vans and I managed to screw mine up the second day I had it.”

  “I understand. Where were you headed when the accident occurred?”

  “I had just dropped off a couple bundles of linens at the Yellow Daisy Motel. I was on my way to Hometown Inn.”

  “Really?” Carter rocked heel to toe, hands clasped behind his back. “Odd you’d take that route. Wouldn’t Main Street have been more direct?”

  Harding looked away and scratched his neck. “There was a lot of traffic that day. I was running late and decided to take a side street with no traffic lights.”

  “And you never saw Marty walk out into the road?”

  “No, I did not. Look, it was raining like crazy that day. I had no idea what I’d hit until I got out of the van.” Harding suddenly appeared bewildered, his facial features contorted. “Wait a minute. Who are you guys? Are you from the insurance company?”

  “Relax,” Carter said. “You’re not in trouble. You just might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  I noticed a trickle of sweat fall from Harding’s nose as he glanced back toward his van. I could certainly understand why Janet might be leery of him. He was an odd character, for sure. He scratched himself so often I was beginning to think he had hives.

  “Look, I don’t know what else to tell you guys,” Harding said. “Should I be hiring a lawyer or something? Not that I can afford one.”

  Carter smiled. “Don’t get all worked up. You don’t need a lawyer. We’re just trying to figure out how Marty wound up dead, that’s all.”

  Harding wiped his forehead and slowly backed away. “Look, I’ve really got to get going. I’ve got a ton of deliveries to make. I’m really sorry about your friend. I really am.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with us.” As Harding trailed off toward his van, Carter said, “Oh, one other thing.”

  Harding turned back around.

  “Did you happen to notice anyone else on the sidewalk? Was anyone standing near Marty before he walked out into the street? Maybe--”

  “No. I didn’t see anyone.” Harding’s mouth twitched as he thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the van. “Look, I’ve really got to go. Like I said, I’m sorry about your friend.” He turned and lumbered toward the van. Just as Harding climbed inside and slammed the door shut, Carter squatted and attached the tracking device to the underside of the van’s back bumper.

  Chapter 11

  Ten minutes later Carter and I were sitting at the Main Street Diner stuffing our faces with cheeseburgers. The lunch crowd was in full swing. The scent of coffee and fried food permeated the air. There had been little conversation between us since leaving Harding’s workplace.

  “What’s on your mind?” I finally asked Carter, knowing he’d been chewing on more than beef and a sesame seed bun.

  “Did you pick up on what Harding said about not seeing anyone standing near Marty before he hit him?”

  I looked at Carter and shrugged.

  “Well, if he didn’t see Marty, how could he be sure no one was standing next to him?”

  “Good point. So he’s lying?”

  Carter wiped his mouth with a napkin then took a swig of his soda. “He seems to be lying about something. At any rate, if he strays from his schedule today, I’ll know it.”

  I looked at my watch. “Shit, I need to get back to the office. I’ve got a client at noon.” I stuffed the last bite of burger into my mouth.

  “Okay. Did you call those people? Uh, Jason, and that Ted guy from Marty’s contact list?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting Ted later this afternoon. He’s over at that assisted living community, Andover Estates. The other guy, Jason, is a bankruptcy attorney. He hasn’t called me back yet. I would assume he’s pretty busy these days.”

  “Let me know what you find out. By the way, I had my friend give Marty’s computer a look, after all. He didn’t find much. No e-mails from crazy girlfriends or threats from angry customers. There was nothing but a few subscriptions to porn sites.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “I’ll need you for a while tomorrow morning,” Carter said. “I set up an appointment with Marty’s restaurant manager, Abigail.”

  “Okay, but it seems like a lot of hassle. I’m beginning to feel like we’re on a wild goose chase, or something.”

  Carter looked at me sideways. “That’s your first mistake, Sarah. Never assume anything.”

&nbs
p; Chapter 12

  My last client made his way out of the office after the usual pleasantries. I put the day’s dirty laundry in the wash and tidied up. As I made my way toward the restroom to wash my hands, I overheard Sammy talking to someone in the reception area. I headed out after a quick scrub. As I rounded the corner and looked over toward the desk, I felt my chest tighten.

  “Hello, Sarah.” The green eyes I’d thought about often now sparkled as Max smiled at me.

  “Hi, Max,” I said, feeling paralyzed.

  “Well, I’m leaving early today,” Sammy announced as he walked to the closet and grabbed his belongings. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Max. See you tomorrow, Sarah.” He snatched his computer bag from the desk and disappeared.

  Max stepped toward me. “How have you been, Sarah?” His demeanor suggested he was unsure of himself. Perhaps my silence made him wonder if he’d made a mistake in coming to see me.

  I finally got my mouth in gear. “Doing good ... uh ... fine. I’m fine. I thought you were traveling.”

  “I was.” He stopped and tucked his hands inside the pockets of his tight jeans. “I just got back last week.”

  “So, uh … what brings you back so soon?”

  “Soon?” His expression was sullen. “I’ve been gone several months,” he said, looking up at me. “I came to the realization that I was running away from my life and from the pain of losing my sister. I thought leaving home would clear my mind and help me make sense of it all.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I spent a lot of time thinking about the people I’ve lost, and not enough time thinking about those who are still around.”

  My legs began to move without me willing them to. I was closing the distance between us and couldn’t stop myself. Now inches from Max, I lifted my hands to his cheeks. He leaned forward and took me in his arms. I buried my face in his neck and he squeezed me tight.

  “I wanted to call so many times,” he said as he stroked my hair, “but I sensed you needed space.”

  I tilted my head back and looked up into his eyes. “I wanted to call you, too. To see how you were. To hear your voice. But I realized something, too.” I grabbed his hands and took a step back. “We helped each other through a difficult time. When two people share that kind of bond, feelings can be … misinterpreted.”

  Max looked confused. “So what are you trying to say, Sarah?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’m having a hard time understanding why you have feelings for me. I’m seven years older than you, Max. I don’t get it.”

  He smiled and nodded his head. “That’s why. It’s because you don’t even know how wonderful you really are.”

  I let go of his hands to cover my eyes. I didn’t want him to see my tears. “This is crazy, Max. You know I’m married. This isn’t … I can’t let this happen.”

  Max backed away. “I know. That’s why I almost didn’t come back.”

  “Then why did you?” I slapped away the spill of emotion from my cheeks, frustrated. The words betrayed my heart.

  Max shrugged and zipped his jacket. “I guess I needed to know for sure.”

  “Know what for sure?”

  “That my feelings for you were valid.”

  “And are they?”

  Max turned and headed for the door. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He pulled the door closed behind him and I was alone.

  I stood there for quite some time, sobbing, and unable to move. The tightness in my chest was palpable; if my heart kept hammering against it, I was certain it would shatter. I wiped my tears with my sleeve, cursing my vulnerability. The empowerment I’d felt the past few days now crumbled in the face of heartbreak and regret. “Shit,” I said aloud. Then louder. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  I grabbed my coat and purse then headed for my car. As I started the engine, I swore I wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about Max or what could have been.

  Chapter 13

  Andover Estates was a bland statement in brick, the circa 1970s edifice reminding me more of my old high school than a retirement community. I encountered an elderly woman behind an imposing brown desk as I entered. The black, horn-rimmed, cat’s eye spectacles perched on her narrow nose seemed too big for her face. The nametag pinned to her flower print blouse told me her name was Ruth.

  “May I help you, my dear?” she asked. Ruth’s wide smile revealed red lipstick smeared over ill-fitting dentures.

  “Yes. I’m here to see Ted Wilcox. I was told to meet him in the common area.”

  “Oh, how nice. He’ll be so happy to have a visitor. How do you know Ted?”

  I patted my bag as if to suggest that the contents were of significance. “I’m writing an article and Mr. Wilcox has agreed to an interview.”

  “An interview?” Her eyes lit up as if I were Barbara Walters. “How exciting. What’s it about?”

  “I love your necklace,” I said, skirting the question. “Are they freshwater pearls?”

  “Why yes … how sweet of you to notice. My son gave them to me.” Her bony fingers caressed the decorative string. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my jewelry. What’s your name, dear? I’ll ring Ted’s room and let him know you’re here.”

  “My name is Sarah … Sarah Woods.”

  “Sarah? What a pretty name. I had a friend named Sarah. She loved cats so much, she had fifteen at one time. Her house smelled like a big litter box.”

  “I’m allergic to cats,” I said, hoping to end the conversation.

  “That’s too bad. You know, my son used to be allergic to milk when he was young. His ears would turn bright red. I took him to a specialist, but it didn’t help. Then, when he turned twelve, it simply went away.”

  “Really,” I said, trying to conceal my growing impatience.

  “Well”-she lifted the handset-“I’m sure you’re anxious to see Ted.”

  I looked around at the tacky artwork hanging on the mauve walls as I waited.

  “Mr. Wilcox asked if you’d mind meeting him in his room. He’s feeling too weak to walk down to the common area. Please sign your name and jot down your phone number here in our guest book, if you would.”

  I took her pen and scratched my name and cell number in the book.

  “Thank you,” she said as she popped up out of her chair. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

  Before I could object, she’d grabbed her fancy walking stick and was heading down the hall. “My goodness,” I said, trying to keep up with her, “you must do a lot of walking to get around so well. Why do you need a walking stick?”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said with a wink. “I only carry this stick as a prop. It works wonders for getting all the good-looking, younger men to take my arm and walk with me. However, someone stole my last one, so I don’t let this one out of my sight.”

  I broke into laughter; my view of her changed in that instant. We arrived at the elevator.

  “Once you get upstairs, just follow the signs down the hall to room three thirteen,” she said.

  “Okay, thanks.” I waved and stepped inside the elevator, still smiling about her spunk. I followed her instructions to the room. As I knocked on the door, I remembered Carter’s advice about not meeting people in a private setting. Yet, I figured if this guy couldn’t make it downstairs, he was probably safe enough. The door slowly opened and there stood a short, portly man who looked to be about seventy. His wispy white hair reminded me of a dandelion gone to seed.

  “Hi,” I said, raising my hand in a neighborly wave. “Mister Wilcox? I’m Sarah Woods.” He nodded, opened the door a bit wider, and motioned me inside. “I’m grateful to you for taking the time to meet with me. If you’re not feeling well, I can come back another time.”

  “I’m not sure”-he spoke slowly, pausing between words as if perpetually out of breath-“what this is about. You said you wanted to ... to talk about Marty?” From his milky yellow eyes and the rancid stench of his breath, I surmised
Ted was quite ill. He closed the door and we stood for a moment facing each other in the small apartment. He looked at me quizzically then gestured toward a chair.

  “I’m writing an article about Marty for Gourmet Magazine,” I began, as I settled into the chair. “I was hoping you could tell me a little about your friend.”

  Ted raised his palm to stop me. “Please forgive me. This is all ... so shocking. Marty and I were ... friends for many years. I always figured I’d ... be the first to go.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, starting to get up from the chair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’ll be fine. I want to ... help you if I can.”

  I settled back into the chair and withdrew a notebook from my purse. When he nodded in response to a tentative “Okay?” I asked, “How would you describe Marty?”

  Ted lowered himself slowly into a dark, mustard colored recliner and ran a shaking hand through the thin strands of hair. “Marty was one of those guys ... always had a joke, always laughing. He was ... a good time Charlie ... a fun drinking buddy. I don’t think he had ... an enemy in the world.” Ted began to cough and his face turned red and blotchy. He pointed to a glass of water on a nearby table. I quickly got up and handed it to him. He took a few short sips and looked at me apologetically. “Sorry about that. It happens more and more. I wish it would ... just end.”

  “No need to apologize.” I gave him a moment to recover, then asked, “How did you and Marty meet?”

  I followed Ted’s gaze to a framed photograph on a shelf. A young woman sat with a small girl in her lap. His expression changed.

  “My wife, Lorraine ... passed away over twenty years ago ... from breast cancer. I was devastated ... as you can imagine.” Ted coughed into his handkerchief and cleared his throat. “I started frequenting Marty’s restaurant. Spent many a night at the bar ... having a scotch or two. Marty would join me on occasion.” He began to cough again.