Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Read online

  “I'm going to put a tracking device on her car before she leaves work,” I said, “so I'd better get a move on.”

  “Be careful, Sarah.”

  “I always am.”

  Chapter 2

  Driving through downtown Bridgeport, I was encouraged to find that the snowbanks from the last winter storm were finally beginning to melt. Spring had moved in, it seemed, and I was more than ready. I'm sure the cafes and boutiques lining the quaint cobblestone streets were eager for some foot traffic and tourists who were willing to open their wallets.

  It would be another few months until the official tourist season began and when it came, I'd be lucky to get a parking spot anywhere near downtown. Today, there was a spot open just across the street from The Decadent Delights Bakery.

  Through the window, I could see Lois behind the counter, talking to a customer. After a few minutes, I caught her eye. Her gaze didn't linger, but a quick nod of her head confirmed she saw me.

  I only had ten minutes to do the deed.

  I grabbed my purse, exited the car, and crossed the street. The alley that lead to the back of the bakery smelled like a combination of yeast, sugar, and coffee, which made my mouth water.

  Trying to focus on the task at hand, I entered the parking lot, only big enough for two compact cars. Sure enough, I spied the Volvo.

  I casually paced the lot, pretending to talk on my cell phone, just to make sure I was alone but, even when you think you're alone, someone is probably watching. With this fact in mind, I dropped my purse near the rear of the car, the contents spilling out on the pavement. Feigning exasperation, I quickly gathered my items together while affixing the GPS tracker to the underside of the bumper. This basic maneuver was something I'd learned the first day I started working as a private detective. It wasn't rocket science but the trick was not to hesitate. Hesitation usually leads to disaster.

  Once I had cleaned up my mess, I lingered for another minute, pretending to be on my cell phone. Finally, I headed back to the front of the building, went inside the bakery and stood in line.

  When I approached the counter, I wasn't sure how Lois might react. Would she become flustered or anxious with me there? I was pleasantly surprised when she offered me an easy going smile.

  Good girl. Play it cool.

  “Hey, Sarah,” she said. “Coffee is on the house. What'll you have?”

  “That's generous of you,” I said with a wink, to let her know everything was in place. “I'll take your strongest blend.”

  She nodded to her right. “I told Peter you might be stopping by. He's looking forward to seeing you. If you leave before saying hello, I'll never hear the end of it.” Lois handed me a cup of coffee and a small paper bag. “You have to try the chocolate scone. Also on the house.”

  “Thanks. I suppose I could hang for another minute to say hi to Peter.”

  I was nervous. Would he look the same? Or, would I barely recognize him?

  When a man with dark hair appeared behind the counter, I let out an involuntary sigh of relief. He was just as handsome as the last time I'd seen him over twenty years ago. Peter was graying around the temples but it only seemed to add to his classic good looks.

  I wondered how he felt about taking over the family business with his sister.

  Lois and her brother had always been close, especially growing up. He was the protective older brother and wouldn't tolerate anyone teasing his sister about her weight. He'd even got arrested once for punching a guy who'd publicly humiliated her in a store.

  “Sarah?” Peter rushed over and put his arms around me, which was awkward considering I had a scalding cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Still, I leaned forward and allowed him to hug me.

  “It's been a long time, hasn't it?” I said.

  “Yeah! You look gorgeous, by the way,” he ran his fingers through a thick strand of my hair. “I'm glad you didn't cut it all off. Why do women always seem to do that after they turn forty?”

  I chuckled. “I don't know but thanks. You look great yourself.”

  He waved the comment away, but I could tell he was flattered. “Awe, it's tough getting old, but I try.”

  Peter was a few years older than me which put him at around forty-six or forty-seven. No sign of that middle-aged paunch.

  “Lois tells me you have kids?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a proud smile. “Their mom and I have joint custody. How is your son?”

  Lois must've told him that I had a son. “Yep. Brian is going to college in Boston.”

  “I know. I have to admit, I've checked out your Facebook site more than once. Not that I'm stalking you online, or anything. Kudos for getting your private detective certification, by the way. I always knew you had it in you to be kick ass.”

  I laughed at that one. “Why haven't you sent me a friend request? I'd love to see photos of your kids.”

  He shrugged and seemed embarrassed. “You were married. I didn't want to... you know, make things awkward for you.”

  I held up my hand to show him that the wedding band was gone. “Divorced two years, but I just moved in with my boyfriend.”

  He seemed a little disappointed, but maybe it was my imagination. “Ah, well, sounds like you've been busy.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lois pointing to her watch. I said to Peter, “Look, I have to run. I'd love to catch up later, though.”

  “Sure. You know where to find me.” He waved a hand around. “I basically live here now.”

  “I think it's awesome that you and Lois get to spend so much time together. You must have missed her while she was gone.”

  “True but now I'm beating the guys away with a stick. Can you believe it?”

  I figured he was making reference to Lois's new figure. “I'm proud of her. Losing a hundred pounds can't be easy.”

  “When she puts her mind to something, it usually happens.”

  As an only child, I am often envious of my friends who have siblings. I would've loved to have had an older brother, to protect me from the bullies of my youth. Yet, I also know, not all siblings get along as well as Lois and Peter seem to.

  “I can't wait to try the chocolate scone,” I said, holding up the bag while licking my lips.

  He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “See ya around, Sarah.”

  As I exited the bakery, my phone beeped, letting me know that the GPS tracker on Claire's car had been activated. No wonder Lois had signaled to her watch. Claire must have left out the back door that leads to the alley.

  There was no need to panic. With the GPS in place, I'd be able to follow Claire at a leisurely and safe distance. Perhaps she was just heading home, anyway.

  You can tell a lot about a person by the car they drive. This old 1989 Volvo was practically a classic. Aside from the few rust spots, it looked like a solid car and since Volvo's are known for their longevity, it probably had at least two hundred thousand miles on it. Was Claire a sentimental person? Or did she simply not want to spend money on a new car?

  As it turned out, Claire stopped at a grocery store. I parked close to her Volvo and watched as she made her way across the parking lot and through the sliding double doors. She looked ultra-thin in her baggy black jeans with an unflattering sweatshirt and a pilly wool scarf that looked like it came from a homeless person. She wore no make-up, and her hair was tied back in a sloppy bun.

  I got the impression that Claire was not the kind of woman who worried about her looks. If anything, I would have guessed that it was her goal to be invisible.

  I could have lingered inside my car to wait for her while she shopped, but I decided to go into the store.

  With basket in hand, I casually followed her through the isles, pretending to read the nutritional data on boxes of cereal. In the produce section I stopped to squeeze a mango, and then inspected a bag of grapes. I did my best to blend in with the other shoppers and not once did she glance my way.

  Finally, with a doz
en items in her basket, Claire headed toward the cashiers and got into the express line.

  To remain nonchalant, I meandered to the checkout line with only three items in my basket and stood behind her.

  Inspecting Claire's grocery selection, I was surprised to see prune juice, Bran Flakes cereal, yogurt and a container of Metamucil. The only conclusion I could come up with; Claire had major constipation.

  As she handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill, Claire glanced down at a stack of newspapers, the local Bridgeport Gazette they give out for free. The front page article seemed to interest her. She grabbed a copy, stuffed it into her shopping bag, and briskly walked out of the store.

  After paying for my purchases, I also took a copy of the newspaper and headed to my car.

  In the parking lot, Claire was sitting in her Volvo, looking down. As I passed by on my way to mine, I glanced into the window and saw her reading the front page article. Were those tears she was wiping from her face?

  Whatever the article was about, it had obviously hit a nerve.

  Anxious to read the article, I got into my car and set the newspaper in my lap.

  The article was about the recent death of a local businessman. Norton Cline was a financial advisor, had owned several companies and had also donated money to erect a playground in the low-income section of Bridgeport. There were no details about how he died, only that he'd been battling numerous health issues. He was survived by his wife and son. The picture of Norton looked like a professional portrait. He looked like your average guy in his late fifties with a receding hairline and a double chin, carrying at least an extra fifty pounds.

  Judging by Claire's reaction to the article, I assumed she had known this man personally.

  Moments later, I looked up to find the Volvo pulling out of the parking lot, heading east toward her house.

  I followed her at a safe distance as she sped through town. When we arrived on her residential street, she jerked the car into a driveway and bolted out of the car. Fumbling with the keys, she managed to unlock the door of the house.

  I pulled over to the side of the road and waited. Since she'd left her driver's side door ajar, I assumed she didn't plan on being inside for very long.

  I was right. Thirty seconds later, Claire came out of the house carrying a duffel bag. Back in her car, her side bumper collided with a garbage can as she backed out of the driveway, then drove off, heading west.

  I wouldn't be able to keep up with her without drawing attention, so I followed the red dot on the screen as I navigated my way through downtown Bridgeport. Eventually we merged onto the ramp for 95 North.

  I could see her in the distance, weaving in and out of the lanes, picking up speed. Something she'd read in that article spooked her. Where the heck was she going?

  Maintaining the 70 miles per hour speed limit, I called Carter using my hands-free Blue-tooth speaker.

  “Sarah, where are you?” he asked.

  “I'm heading north on the 95 turnpike. I think Claire is on the run.”

  “Why would she be running?”

  “She rushed home, grabbed the duffel bag and is speeding north like a maniac.”

  “The duffel bag with the cash?”

  “I think so. I need a favor. There's a front-page article in today's Bridgeport Gazette about the death of Norton Cline. Claire seemed pretty upset after reading that article.

  “I'll check the web. If I can't find the article, I'll go down to the convenience store and grab a copy. You sure she was reading the front page?”

  “Positive. Can you find out more about the guy who died and how she might know him?”

  “I'll do my best.”

  “I have no idea where Claire is headed, but I'll call you as soon as she gets there.”

  “Drive safely,” he said. “You have the GPS in place, so there's no need to speed.”

  This coming from the most impatient driver I know who puts Mario Andretti to shame! “Of course, my dear.”

  Ending the call, I noticed that Claire had taken the ramp to exit 7 toward Sanford, a small, quiet town known mostly for woods and farmland.

  Five minutes later we were in the middle of nowhere, and I feared she might notice me, as we were the only two cars on the road.

  I decided to pull into an abandoned gas station and wait, keeping an eye on the GPS signal. Claire had finally stopped about 2 miles down the road from where I sat.

  Had she reached her destination or was she lost?

  There were no houses or buildings of any kind in the vicinity. Maybe she had stopped at a hunting lodge or a campsite.

  I waited another five minutes, and the red dot on my screen didn't budge. I decided it was time to drive over and find out what was going on.

  I spotted her car parked on the shoulder, but I didn't see her head through the back window. She was lying down, or she had exited the vehicle. As I drove by slowly, I peered into the window, holding my breath.

  She was gone.

  I pulled over and parked about a hundred feet in front of her car, grabbed my bag containing a flashlight, camera, binoculars and pepper spray, and got out.

  A narrow dirt road curved into the wooded area, so I could not tell if it led to a house. No buildings were visible from my vantage point.

  The only sound was the wind blowing through the tall pines. A thick forest spread out before me. Thank God it wasn't yet mosquito season or I'd be carried away. The trees blocked any sunlight, so it felt ten degrees cooler.

  I slowly approached Claire's vehicle and peered inside again. Claire had taken the duffel bag with her.

  I meandered over to the dirt road and knelt down. The footprints in the dirt looked fresh, so I assumed they were hers. Where else would she have gone?

  There was nothing to indicate where the dirt road may lead - no mailbox or any marker was visible. I wondered if her ex-boyfriend, Andy Pinkerton lived out here. Maybe they had gotten back together, and she was bringing him the money for some reason.

  I checked my watch. Almost 3:30 pm. I had at least another three hours of daylight, but what should I do? It was not advisable to head out into unknown territory on foot and alone, but my only back-up was at home, recovering from a pulled muscle.

  However, I certainly wasn't going to get any answers by standing around doing nothing.

  With that thought in mind, I reached into my bag to make sure the batteries were still working in the flashlight and the camera was fully charged too.

  Thankfully I had dressed appropriately in black boots, jeans, and a fleece sweatshirt. With the temps hovering in the high fifties, I'd be fine for a few hours.

  Besides, adrenaline has a way of keeping you warm.

  I sent Carter a text, letting him know my location, what my plans were and that I wouldn't be answering my phone for a while. Once I got into the woods, I'd probably lose my cell connection.

  I decided it might be safer to trek adjacent to the dirt road instead of on it. Easier to duck behind a tree in case Claire, or someone else, began heading back. I'd have to beat whomever to the road and get out of there before my car was spotted.

  With binoculars in hand, I managed to negotiate a thick patch of thorny bushes and heavy shrubbery. I almost lost my footing after stepping in a hole. After a few minutes, I'd only gone fifty feet at the most, and my feet were soaked from all the melting snow. At least my efforts had paid off because I finally spied a structure in the far distance.

  A camper?

  I held the binoculars to my face and smiled. A white camper, all by itself, stood in a small clearing. No vehicles around that I could see. Whoever owned this camper wasn't home. So why was Claire here?

  Was it possible that someone lived out here full time?

  I trudged another twenty feet or so and stopped to look through the binoculars again. I had a clear line of sight, but I still couldn't see anyone, nor could I hear any voices.

  I reached into my bag, grabbed the camera with the zoom lens and snapped a
few shots of the trailer. It looked like it'd seen better days. One of the tires had a flat, and the whole thing tilted to the left. It reminded me of the funny houses at the carnival when I was a kid.

  Maybe no one lived here at all. Could be a pickup/drop off for drugs.

  Hopefully, Carter would be able to find out who owned this land by using GPS coordinates.

  How long should I wait?

  With every second that went by, the risk of being discovered increased. My luck would eventually run out.

  Finally, the door of the camper slammed open, and Claire jumped out. She marched toward the dirt road without the duffel bag.

  I returned the camera and the binoculars to my satchel and retraced my steps back to the main road, ignoring my wet, frozen feet. Hopefully, she wouldn't hear the branches breaking under me as I hoofed it back to my car.

  I threw the bag of equipment into the passenger seat, got behind the wheel, and drove off. In my rear-view mirror, I saw her getting into her Volvo.

  That was the last time I ever saw her alive.

  Chapter 3

  Carter's house, a three bedroom ranch located in a quiet residential neighborhood, still didn't feel like home to me.

  It had only been a week, though, so I knew it would take time to get used to the living arrangements. Carter had insisted that I go shopping to pick out some new furniture, just so the place would feel more like “ours.” I appreciated the sentiment, but his furniture was perfectly fine. No point in wasting money.

  The fact that he cared about my feelings was enough.

  After my divorce, I'd found the perfect apartment located in a Victorian house, with a huge stone fireplace and high ceilings. The rent, however, was not in my budget. When Carter had first asked me to move in with him, I knew it was the right decision, yet part of me wondered how it might change our relationship.

  Carter had been a bachelor for the last decade after his marriage ended, right around the same time that his teenaged daughter had overdosed. It took him many years to open up and let someone in, and I felt honored to be the one. However, working side by side with your lover has its drawbacks.