Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Page 21

  “Hey, it pays the bills,” he said with a shrug. “Before we meet him, I’d like to do a background check.”

  “If he has a house in Glendale Heights, he’s got to be loaded. I guess these days money can’t even buy you a faithful wife. What’s this world coming to?”

  “Must be inflation. You don’t get what you pay for anymore.”

  I try not to make a habit out of mocking people’s misery, but I find it hard to feel much sympathy for men like Mr. Kinlaw. Carter and I had worked a number of cases like this one, and they all turn out the same. If you think your spouse is cheating, you are probably right. Still, I had to remind myself to be objective.

  Twenty minutes later, Carter and I were at our favorite burger joint, Big Kahuna Burger. The ambiance is a bit cliché with the tacky Hawaiian décor, but the food is tasty. I ordered the cheeseburger with a side salad, hoping the inclusion of green would magically transform the meal into a healthy one.

  Carter was not one to worry about calories or nutrition. He ordered a double cheeseburger with fried onions and mushrooms, not to mention the greasy fries. It always amazes me how he maintains his rock hard abs. I run three times a week without fail, and it’s still a challenge to maintain my 125 pounds.

  “Time to get down to business,” he said, after clearing the last few crumbs from his plate. “Let’s find out more about this Albert Kinlaw.”

  There are dozens of online programs available to private investigators that supply in-depth information on a person, provided you have a full name and current address. It also helps if you have a social security number and birthdate. In this case, we were able to find an Albert James Kinlaw at the address he’d given us, fifty-five, Sherwood Ave, Glendale Heights.

  “I found a copy of his driver’s license,” I said, holding up my tablet to show Carter. “Meet Sir Albert.”

  Carter nearly choked on his soda when he saw the photo. “Are you sure he’s not related to Elton John?”

  With the bowl haircut and dark-rimmed glasses, I could see his point. “He’s 45 years old. Just a year older than me.”

  Carter tapped a finger on his tablet. “Well, I know how he made his money. He’s an investment banker. Worked for several large firms since he moved to the US in 2006 from Manchester, England. And according to the marriage certificate from 2015, his current wife’s name is Madeline Banger. She’s 34 years old, born in Georgia. Neither one of them appears to have a criminal record.”

  “So they’ve been married less than a year? Can you look her up and find out what she does for work?”

  Carter came up empty after a quick search with her name. “Last employment was with a women’s boutique called Serendipity. That was back in 2012. There’s no record of her working anywhere since then.”

  “Maybe she’s been honing her skills as a gold-digger,” I said. “Got a picture?”

  “Her driver’s license.”

  He showed it to me and my eyes widened. “She’s gorgeous and blonde, of course.”

  Carter checked his watch then tossed a twenty on the table. “Hey, it’s almost two-thirty. We should head over to the house now.”

  Chapter 2

  The average home in Glendale Heights goes for over two million bucks. The annual landscaping bill alone had to exceed a hundred grand. Situated a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean, yet sheltered within a cove, Glendale Heights is the equivalent of Palm Beach in Florida.

  Carter parked the Buick in the circular drive in front of the grand entrance. Then we made our way up the stone pathway toward the front door, admiring the grandeur of Mr. Kinlaw’s three-story, palatial home.

  We rang the doorbell. A moment later, a middle-aged, well-dressed woman appeared. “You must be Carter and Sarah. My name is Betty Quinn. I’m Mr. Kinlaw’s personal assistant. Thanks for being on time.”

  We all exchanged handshakes, and she invited us inside. The foyer was two stories high and reminded me of a museum with the gold framed artwork adorning the walls.

  “Before I show you to Mr. Kinlaw’s study, may I offer you some coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Carter said, speaking for both of us. “I think we’re fine.”

  “Very well then.” She extended an arm toward the hallway. “Please follow me.”

  At the end of the hallway, Ms. Quinn lightly rapped on a large wooden door, then proceeded to open it without waiting for a reply. “Go on inside and make yourselves comfortable. If you decide you’d like some refreshments, Mr. Kinlaw can ring me.”

  The man perched behind the desk looked much older than his driver’s license photo. Pale and alarmingly thin, the wool sweater seemed two sizes too big. His eye sockets were hollow behind the dark rimmed glasses. “Please excuse my appearance. I’ve been feeling poorly.” He grasped the top of the desk for support as he rose to his feet.

  “Sorry to hear that.” I took a step toward him and offered a hand. “I’m Sarah Woods. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Carter followed suit. “Carter Peterson. Thanks for inviting us to your home.”

  Mr. Kinlaw nodded and motioned for us to have a seat in the leather chairs facing his desk. “I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, so I’ll get right to the heart of the matter. My wife and I haven’t had sex since we married.” He paused as if we might need some time to let that sink in. “I’ve had some health problems, and I’m unable to perform.”

  “Oh,” I said, after an awkward few seconds. How is one supposed to respond to a confession like that? “I’m sorry.”

  He forced a smile. “I won’t go into a lengthy explanation of what ails me, but it’s important that you understand my predicament. You see, Madeline is a beautiful woman with an insatiable appetite for sex. I don’t expect her to become celibate on my account.”

  Carter cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Do you know who she’s having an affair with?”

  He swallowed and shook his head. “Let me be frank. Madeline has my blessing to sleep with whomever she pleases. I allow her to attend swing parties. I assume you know what I’m referring to?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s basically wife-swapping, correct?”

  “Yes. Since I don’t attend, Madeline has a friend who is more than happy to accompany her. His name is Zeb Nichols.”

  Carter scratched his head, confused. “Okay, so what exactly is the problem?”

  “Usually when Madeline returns from one of these parties, she’s walking on clouds. Euphoric is a better word. Sometimes, I ask her about the men she has relations with, and she gladly gives me the details. I don’t necessarily derive joy from hearing about these men, but I’d rather know who she’s been with.”

  When neither Carter nor I offered a comment, he continued. “The last party she attended was a week ago, Saturday, June 5th. When she got home around midnight, she was not herself. Clearly, something had happened at the party. She gave me some excuse that she wasn’t feeling well and just needed to get some sleep. I didn’t push the issue. The next morning, I noticed there were bruises on her arms. Of course, I expressed my concern. She assured me that everything went fine the night before. Unconvinced, I even called Mr. Nichols. He said nothing unusual had happened at the party.”

  I spoke up. “You think someone got rough with her, against her will?”

  “Yes. In fact, I do.”

  “Well, sometimes a little rough play can be a turn on for some people. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve heard,” I added, to clarify that I had no such real experience with that.

  Mr. Kinlaw appeared unfazed. “I don’t think so. She’s always been very open about her fantasies. Rough play is not one of them.”

  I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation with a total stranger about his wife. And he didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed, either. Carter, on the other hand, sat stiffly in his chair, apparently content to let me do all the talking.

  “Is she planning to go to the next party?” I asked.
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  “Yes. This Saturday. I’d like to hire you and Carter to attend as a couple and keep an eye on her. I just want to make sure that she is being treated well.”

  Carter coughed nervously into his fist. “Let me get this straight. You want us to pose as a swing couple and spy on your wife having sex with other men?”

  Hands folded in his lap, Mr. Kinlaw blinked slowly. “I know this request is highly irregular, but I’m willing to pay you double your normal fee.”

  I noticed that he hadn’t even asked us what our normal fee was. “You don’t expect us to … participate, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” he said. “From what Madeline tells me, some couples show up and prefer only to watch.”

  I consider myself to be pretty adventuresome and open-minded, but this was flat out crazy. Since Carter wasn’t necessarily giving it a thumbs down, I had to assume he was seriously considering taking the job.

  “If Madeline hadn’t enjoyed herself last time, why would she go back?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you could just ask her not to go back.”

  “I don’t want to control her,” he said. “I just want to ensure her safety, that’s all.”

  “So, in other words, you want Carter and me to babysit her. While she has sex with other men. Do you realize how that sounds?”

  With no emotion on his face, he acted as if this was a simple business transaction. “What can I offer you to make it worth your trouble?”

  Without thinking, I blurted out a ridiculous figure. “Ten grand.”

  He didn’t bat an eyelash while he reached for his checkbook. “To whom shall I make it out?”

  Speechless, I turned to Carter, hoping he’d say something. Was he really on board with this idea? My thoughts were confirmed when he told Mr. Kinlaw to make the check out to him.

  After living with Carter in a committed relationship for six months, there was still so much I didn’t know about him and his past relationships. For all I knew, he’d been to many swing parties in his life. Although, I just couldn’t picture it.

  Once the check exchanged hands, I let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I guess this is really happening.”

  “One more thing, I almost forgot.” Mr. Kinlaw opened a drawer inside his desk and withdrew a business card. “You’ll need this to get into the party.”

  I reached for the card and examined it. Just a basic white card stock with an address printed in black ink, 69 Borthwick Lane, Glendale Heights. On the back was a hand scribbled four-digit code, 5678

  “This is where the party will be Saturday night?” I asked.

  “Yes. Just five blocks from here. You must arrive between 8:00 and 8:30 and it usually goes until midnight. The four digit code is to get through the front gate. You follow the driveway and park under the Porte-Cochère.”

  I slipped the card into my wallet. “Have you met the hosts?”

  Mr. Kinlaw nodded. “Drs. Bob and June Porter. He’s a pediatrician, and she’s an orthopedic surgeon. Nice couple.”

  It amused me to know that some élite members of our society were so wicked behind closed doors. “Are they going to ask us how we got this card?”

  “I don’t think so. There shouldn’t be a problem. If the question comes up, you can give her my name.”

  “So, what’s the proper etiquette for going to a swing party? Do we bring a gift for the hosts? Do we bring food?”

  “Just treat it the same way as if you’d been invited to a dinner party. A host gift would be proper. Perhaps a nice bottle of wine.”

  “And you’re certain that Carter and I won’t have to participate. We can simply relax and observe.”

  “Yes, that’s correct. In fact, according to Madeline, many of the couples who attend these parties find it arousing to have strangers watching them engage in intimate relations.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “Because a thought just occurred to me. Maybe you want to hire us to watch your wife as some kind of twisted fantasy of your own.”

  If my blunt comment offended him, he did a fine job of hiding it. “I appreciate the candor. However, I can assure you, if I wanted to get my kicks that way, I wouldn’t have to pay good money for it. I’m sure I could find plenty of volunteers.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  A soft beeping sound came from his cell phone on the desk, and he checked it. “Please forgive me. I’m afraid I’ll need to wrap up our meeting. Do you have any further questions about the job?”

  Carter glanced at me. “Sarah? Are you comfortable with this?”

  For ten grand, I could certainly become comfortable with the idea. Besides, I was no prude. I could treat this as a strictly professional endeavor. “I do have one final question,” I said, turning to face Mr. Kinlaw. “What are we supposed to wear to this shindig?”

  He shrugged. “Wear whatever you want. There’s no dress code.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, we sat on the front porch, sipping red wine while listening to the crickets. His house was finally starting to feel like home.

  “What are you thinking about, Sarah?” Carter’s voice was soft, his words slightly slurred by the alcohol. He was on his third glass of wine. He usually stops at two.

  “Are you nervous about Saturday night?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nah, you?”

  “Have you ever been to a swing party?”

  He laughed. “No. I’m a monogamous kind of guy.”

  “I had a friend in college who went to parties like that. She was bi-sexual, I guess. She liked to experiment. Do you think that’s common among swingers?”

  He gave me a stupefied look. “How would I know?”

  “So the hosts are both doctors. I wonder if their colleagues know about their secret life.”

  “Speaking of that...” Carter reached for his tablet on the side table and turned it on. “Let’s do a little meet and greet with Dr. Bob and Dr. June Porter right now.”

  After a minute or so, he showed me a photo. The couple had to be in their mid to late forties. Both attractive and fit. He had dark hair, she was a red head. “See, just normal people with a secret life,” he said.

  “Do they have kids?”

  Carter had an answer within the minute. “Nope. Just two golden retrievers.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Their house was featured in Better Homes and Gardens last year. There’s a photo of Bob and June with their dogs. The article doesn’t mention any human children. No mention of swing parties, either.”

  “If word got out to the general population, imagine the embarrassment. If you found out that your doctor was involved in wife swapping, would you stop being his patient?”

  Carter gave me one of his looks. “No. What he does in private is none of my business.”

  “But don’t you think it does matter to most people? Take our politicians, for instance. We seem to care more about their personal transgressions than what they do in office.”

  “I get your point,” he said. “But doctors usually aren’t in the public eye. They aren’t the brunt of headline gossip.”

  “Still, the Porters are taking a risk of people discovering their dark side. Most people aren’t open minded.”

  “Well, other than their sexual practices, the Porters are squeaky clean according to my information here. Although, June Porter was sued a few years ago by a patient.”

  “A malpractice suit?”

  “Most likely. I’d have to dig a little deeper to get the details, but I don’t see the point in wasting time on that.”

  “Do you think Mr. Kinlaw is being overly cautious about his wife? If Madeline had been abused in any way at the last party, why would she want to go back?”

  “I don’t know. Our client is probably just paranoid. Those bruises could be from anything.”

  Chapter 3

  Around 6:30 p.m. on Saturday evening, I stood in front of my closet eyeing my wardrob
e with unease. None of my dresses seemed appropriate for a swing party, and what kind of look was I going for, really? Sleazy or just sexy sophisticated? I eventually settled on a pair of slender black trousers, an ivory button-down silk blouse, and red open-toed heels. I swept my long brown hair into a French twist and applied a heavy layer of make-up.

  When I waltzed out into the living room half an hour later, Carter was polishing his shoes. He looked up and smiled. “Well, aren’t you a sight?”

  I struck a pose, something similar to Madonna but not as polished. “No pictures, please.”

  He laughed as he slipped on his shoes. “I’ll be beating the guys away with a stick.”

  Actually, I was the one who would be beating the women away from Carter. He was dressed in form-fitting dark indigo jeans and a black V-neck cotton sweater. His gray hair was slicked back with hair gel, which made his blue eyes pop. For a guy in his mid-fifties, he keeps himself in great shape.

  “Why do I feel like we’re doing something naughty tonight?” I said, checking the time. “I have butterflies in my stomach.”

  He stood up and walked toward me, eyes scanning me head to toe. “You always get nervous when we go under cover.”

  “I know, but this job is different.”

  Carter gently clasped my elbow and pulled me close to him. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You’re just afraid you’ll get turned on.”

  I took a step back to protest. “Or maybe I’m just worried that you’ll want to join in the fun.”

  The slight wrinkles around his eyes indicated he was getting a kick out of this. “Like I told you, I’m a one woman kind of man.”

  I wanted to believe him. “I hope you still feel that way after tonight.”

  * * *

  It was dark when we arrived at the Porters’ house at 8:30 p.m. The place was huge with a unique modern design. I could see why it had been featured in a magazine. Carter punched the four-digit code into the keypad then watched as the white iron gate slowly swung open. As instructed, we parked under a Porte-Cochère next to a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Bentley.