Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set Page 18

  “Yes it is. And who am I speaking with?”

  “Uh ... my name is Sarah. A friend gave me your number.” I giggled nervously. “Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed. She didn’t really tell me who you are.”

  “Oh, I see,” he replied.

  “Maybe this was a mistake,” I said after an uncomfortable silence. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you.” I was about to hang up when he spoke.

  “Who gave you my number?”

  “Tiffany. You know her, right?”

  “Yes, of course. I apologize. Please … let me explain my services.”

  “Uh, what do you mean by services?” I asked, assuming the worst.

  “The kind of services you get when you hire a male escort.”

  “That’s what I … uh, I mean, of course.” I felt my cheeks flush.

  I heard him laugh on the other end. “I provide companionship to discriminating women for an evening, a day, and sometimes even an entire weekend.”

  “So you’re a male prostitute?” I blurted out.

  “That’s not the term we use.” He sounded a bit pissed-off. “Accepting money for sex is prostitution, which is illegal. A male escort is paid for his time and companionship. I offer women a no-strings-attached boyfriend experience, if you will.”

  His sexy, masculine voice, coupled with his little spiel, had images of a shirtless Adonis sporting a five o’clock shadow dancing through my mind.

  “That’s ... very interesting.” I tried to sound respectful. “How much do you charge for your services?”

  “Three hundred an hour, an overnight stay is one thousand, and a weekend, three thousand,” he said matter-of-factly.

  My eyes practically popped out of my head. “Oh my, I suppose your clients are all very successful women. Unfortunately, I’m not. Uh, do you give discounts?” As soon as I said it, I realized how offensive it must have sounded.

  “My, my, aren’t you charming?” he replied. He began to laugh again.

  “Listen, I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Even if I had the money, it’s … well, it’s just not my thing.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said quickly. “I’m wondering why Tiffany would have given you my number if you weren’t in the market, so to speak.”

  “Oh, she knew I was having boyfriend problems. I guess she thought you would take care of me, or something.” I touched my hand to my cheek. I was burning up.

  “I could, you know?”

  “You could what?” I asked.

  “Take care of you.”

  My mouth felt dry and I was at a loss for words. “Well, umm … that’s very nice, but like I said, it’s not really my thing.”

  “What if I gave you the first night for free?”

  I hesitated, not because I was considering it, but because I was completely taken off guard. “Look, I’m sure you’re a sweet guy, but I could never spend the night with a complete stranger.” No sooner had the words escaped my mouth when it occurred to me that perhaps I should set up a date with Armand. Maybe I could get him to tell me more about Tiffany. “Although,” I quickly added, “maybe we could meet for coffee to see if there’s a spark and take it from there?” This brought yet another wave of laughter to my ear.

  “Okay, that sounds reasonable,” he said. “I could meet you this afternoon. There’s a quiet little bakery on the corner of Whipple and Main. I’ll meet you at four and we’ll see about this so-called spark.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there. Wait. How will I know it’s you?”

  “I’ll be wearing a navy corduroy jacket.”

  As he hung up, I realized I was breathing heavily. I sat back and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what it would be like to have sex with a total stranger. After a moment, I decided this was not the time or the place for a sexual fantasy. There was work to be done. I decided to call Carter. He’d no doubt find it amusing that my mystery man was a male escort.

  “Hey there,” I said when Carter picked up. “Get this … Armand is a male escort.”

  “Sweet,” Carter said with a chuckle. “Did you book a date with him?”

  “Of course I did. By the way, can I borrow a thousand bucks?”

  When he managed to stop laughing, he asked, “Is that all? Wow, he’s cheap.”

  “I know. What a bargain, huh? I’m meeting with him this afternoon.”

  When Carter didn’t respond immediately, I could only imagine what he was thinking. I finally heard him clear his throat. “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “Yes, but not to worry. This one’s a freebie.”

  “What ... uh ... okay. Look, I’m next in line at the barber shop. Can I call you back?”

  “I’d rather you continue to call me Sarah. Bye.”

  Chapter 22

  With time to kill, I stopped at an organic grocery store and got a bowl of leek soup. It was delicious. I washed it down with a bottle of Perrier and glanced at my watch. I was craving something more; something sweet. I decided to swing by the bakery where I was to meet Armand later on.

  Lena’s Italian Bakery was easy to find. I pulled up and could smell the baked goods from clear across the street. It wasn’t lost on me as to what an interesting place it was to meet a stranger and discuss a casual weekend of pure, unadulterated sex. I suspect Armand had chosen it by design.

  I think I gained ten pounds just walking through the door. Sugar, chocolate, butter, and vanilla permeated the air. I formed a list in my mind of all the goodies I’d be leaving with. Lavishly decorated cupcakes, cookies, and other titillating treats filled the glass display cases. I couldn’t imagine spending a thousand dollars a night to have sex with a stranger, but I could certainly spend all of that on the decadent treats before me.

  My gaze fell upon the man in front of me who was paying the cashier for his coffee. By the look of his strong, lean frame, my guess was he probably didn’t make a habit of sampling the deserts. When he turned to take a seat at one of the small tables nearby, I saw his face and shaved head.

  I gasped.

  “Hey, it’s you!” I stormed up to the table, pointer finger extended. “You’re the guy from last night.”

  He eyed me curiously, then stood and motioned for me to join him. “Well, well, what a coincidence.” He laughed softly. “You’re Sarah?”

  “What the hell is going on here?” I tried to keep my voice in check, but my anger and confusion induced a modicum of panic. Then I noticed the dark blue corduroy jacket. “Wait a minute. You’re Armand?”

  “At your service, my lady,” he said, winking.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. You ... you’re the guy who took my keys and stole my car last night.” I leaned down and looked squarely into his eyes.

  “Excuse me? What is it you’re accusing me of?”

  “You bought me a drink at the club and then you stole my--”

  “Hold on,” he said, interrupting me with his pointer finger extended high above his head. Yes, I bought you a drink, but I can assure you, I stole nothing from you. Not your keys and certainly not your car.”

  “Well how do you explain the fact that you disappeared right after you bought me that drink?”

  “I left the club because you snubbed me right after I bought you that drink.”

  “Okay, sure. Just tell me where my car is and maybe I won’t press charges.”

  For some reason that made him laugh. “Oh, please. You’re hilarious,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you have a seat, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, and we’ll try to figure out what happened to your car together, okay?”

  I was more confused than ever and unsure how to respond. Maybe he wasn’t the one who took my car after all. I sat and put my head in my hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just ... it’s upsetting to have--”

  “Just take a moment. How do you like your coffee, Sarah?”

  “Black, one sugar, please, and maybe one of those cupcakes with the pink frosting?”

&n
bsp; He smiled, nodded, and returned to the counter. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t help but notice how cute his ass looked in those jeans. I looked away, embarrassed. What the hell was I doing? He turned and smiled as if he’d read my thoughts.

  “Here you go,” he said, joining me back at the table. “Are you sure you don’t want a peanut butter brownie, too?”

  I shook my head, let go a huge sigh, and took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you like that.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve already forgotten it.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

  “So you’re Armand?” I whispered. I shook my head and looked back down at my coffee, trying not to smile. “Does Tiffany give your name out to a lot of women?”

  His laughter filled the small room. “We have an arrangement, and help each other out. Business is tough these days. It pays to be creative.”

  “So you and Tiffany are friends?”

  “More like business partners.”

  “How do you help her?” I asked.

  Armand looked uncertain about how to answer that question. “Well, I look out for her. Kind of like a bodyguard.”

  “Why would Tiffany need protection?”

  Armand tilted his head to the side. “Why are you so concerned about Tiffany?”

  “Well,” I said, trying to sound as if we’d been friends for a while, “she seemed anxious about something last night. I’m worried about her.”

  “Oh. You’ve noticed?”

  “Yeah, well, she mentioned having problems with someone.”

  He nodded. “There’s a guy stalking her, but he keeps his distance.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Not exactly. It’s kind of an odd situation. She’s been getting gifts from some guy. He sends her flowers, chocolates, even a stuffed teddy bear. But the gifts are never accompanied by a card. She’s pretty freaked out by it.”

  “She has no idea who he is, or what he looks like?”

  “Well,” Armand crossed one leg over the other, “it’s likely someone from Lola’s. That’s why I’ve been hanging around there on the nights she works. I hope to help her figure out who this weirdo is.”

  It all made sense now. Armand was the guy Tiffany was talking to outside of her apartment the night before. I hadn’t recognized him with the baseball cap on. They’d been talking about the stalker. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but decided to come clean. I needed more information and he’d indulged me thus far. “Okay, I’m gonna level with you. I work for a private investigator. We need to find out if Tiffany knows a guy named Lance Harding. He may have been involved in the death of someone she knew.”

  “Holy shit,” he whispered, and leaned in toward me. “Are you talking about that Marty guy she was seeing?”

  “Yes,” I said. “If there’s anything you can tell me about their relationship, it may prove instrumental in solving this case.”

  “I don’t really know much. They dated for about a month. She broke it off when she found out he was married.”

  “Was she angry when she found out?”

  “I guess she was a little hurt, but it wasn’t that big a deal.”

  “Did you ever meet Marty?”

  “I saw him a few times. He used to come to the club. That’s how the two of them met.”

  “Okay,” I said, slipping the photo of Harding out of my purse. “Does this guy look familiar? Maybe you’ve seen him at the club, too?”

  Armand studied the picture briefly and shook his head. “He’s an odd looking guy. I would have remembered him.”

  “This is the guy who hit Marty,” I explained.

  “And you think he hit Marty on purpose for some reason?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine.” I stuffed the photo back in my purse. “Now you’ve got me wondering if he could be Tiffany’s stalker. Do you suppose she knows who he is?”

  Armand sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, why don’t you just ask Tiffany yourself?” Then his expression changed and his eyes lit up. “Oh, wow, I get it. I’m a complete idiot. You’re not friends with Tiffany at all. The reason you were at the club last night was to spy on her. You think she was involved in Marty’s death, am I right?”

  I raised both hands in defense. “I’ve never believed she was involved. I’ve just been following orders.”

  By the look on Armand’s face, I could tell the reality of the whole situation was beginning to sink in. Not only had he been duped: there would be no potential escort gig either.

  I bit my lip and shook my head. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

  He smiled weakly and downed the rest of his coffee. “Oh well, it figures. First call in two weeks and this happens.” Lips pursed, he closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. “What about your car? Was that part of your twisted agenda to try and get me to talk?”

  “No, my car really was stolen last night.”

  A cell phone chimed and Armand reached inside his jacket. “Excuse me,” he said, while looking at the tiny screen, “I have to take this.” He turned and mumbled something as I stuffed the remains of the cupcake into my mouth.

  When he’d finished with the call, Armand turned back and leaned on the table, looking at me. “If I can’t be of further service, I guess I’ll be on my way. Enjoy the dessert?”

  “Yes,” I said, licking my fingers, “yummy. Thank you.”

  “Speaking of yummy,” he leaned further across the table and gently wiped a crumb from my lips, letting his finger brush my cheek, “if you ever change your mind about my offer, you know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.” I knew I was blushing, and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “By the way, what’s Tiffany’s real name?”

  He paused. Just when I thought he was going to tell me to get screwed, he said “Stephanie Miller.” He scooted his chair back, stood up, and looked down at me. “She’s a good girl, and she’d never hurt a soul. If I find out this Harding guy is her stalker, I’ll give you a call. You can deal with what’s left of him at that point.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” As he started for the door, I called out, “Hey, wait. Do you mind if I ask what your real name is?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “It’s Armand.”

  I immediately called Carter and gave him a blow-by-blow description of my meeting with Stud Muffin. I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself.

  Chapter 23

  Daniel was waiting outside the United Airlines terminal when I pulled up for the second time this evening, his briefcase in one hand, and suitcase in the other. His overcoat was wrinkled and he looked exhausted.

  “Stupid flight got delayed on the runway and I couldn’t call to let you know. Sorry you had to wait.” Daniel leaned over as he got in the car and kissed me on the cheek. His thinning hair was damp from the rain; his skin slightly tanned. “Still no word about your car?”

  “No, I haven’t heard a thing. It looks like you had time to get some sun between meetings.” As we drove away from the airport I could feel Daniel’s eyes on me.

  “I had time to play golf one afternoon because a meeting got postponed. What’s going on with you? How’s Sammy working out as your new receptionist?”

  For the briefest moment, I wanted to tell him everything: about Carter, about Marty, about Tiffany, even about Armand. But I knew Daniel too well. If he knew what I was involved in, he’d certainly find a way to put an end to it.

  “He’s great.” I glanced quickly over and smiled. “I love having him there.”

  “I’m glad you decided to continue doing massage therapy. You’re too old to start something new. I’m glad you came to your senses.”

  My hands clenched the steering wheel. “What do you mean I’m too old? I’m forty-two. You think that’s old?”

  “You know what I mean,” he said.

  I braced myself for another one of his patronizing speeches.

  “It’s a tough economy out there. You’re lucky to hav
e a thriving business. You think it would be wise to give that up in search of something better? Let me tell you something. There is nothing better. Besides, we can’t afford for you to go back to school. We can barely afford college for Brian when the time comes.”

  I didn’t say a word. He had a point, of course, but I didn’t want to hear it. I’d heard it all before, more frequently than I cared to recall.

  “So are we in agreement on this?” he asked. I could feel his eyes on my cheek.

  “Sure,” I said, maintaining my focus on the road ahead. It was fruitless to argue with Daniel. He was entitled to his opinion, of which he had many. I maintained my silence as the unfortunate reality of our lives crashed down upon me like a crumbling brick wall. What would happen to us when Brian went off to college? Would we somehow rekindle our relationship, or drift further into the void.

  Chapter 24

  Monday, March 12

  I rose early, grabbed a quick workout at the gym, and returned home to find Daniel sitting at the kitchen table. He barely looked up from his coffee and newspaper as I came in. I immediately sensed some tension.

  “So,” he said, clearing his throat, “you were up and out early this morning.”

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” I set my gym bag on the chair.

  “That’s not the point.” He folded the paper and tossed it aside.

  Was I supposed to know what he meant? “Okay, what is the point?”

  He shook his head, wearing an indignant smirk. “I’ve been gone almost two weeks. The first morning I’m back you scuttle off to the gym as if I wasn’t here.”

  “Did we have plans to do something this morning?”

  “No, I just figured we’d spend the morning in bed--”

  “You mean having sex?”

  He hesitated, obviously taken aback by my blunt nature. “Well, okay. Yeah, maybe--”

  “I’m not a mind reader,” I said, cutting him off a second time. “If you want something from me, please let me know verbally instead of telepathically, okay?”