A Taste of Sin Read online

  “Emily, I really want to help you, but what are you asking me to do, exactly?”

  “Paul has been spending a lot of time at the office, or so he says. He’s an accountant; has his own small firm downtown. I’d like you to keep tabs on him and see if he’s meeting a woman on the side.”

  “Do you have any proof? Have you found anything in his e-mails or texts?”

  “No, but I haven’t really tried. I’m afraid he’ll catch me.”

  “Are you afraid he’ll hurt you? If you believe he’s a threat, I’d advise you to leave this house, Emily. You could have a restraining order put on him.”

  Her head shook profusely. “No, he’d never hurt me. Not like that. You see, that’s why I’m ashamed just to be talking to you about this. Paul has always been a good husband. I just ...” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “If your intuition is telling you something is wrong, you need to follow it, right?”

  She nodded. “In this case, I hope it’s wrong.”

  “Have you tried talking to Paul? Is he aware of your concerns?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he put medications in your liquids, thinking he was helping, not hurting you.”

  “He knows everything about my condition and what I’m allowed to have.”

  “Do you keep medications in the house for his use?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Paul keeps them on hand for his migraines, which he gets often.”

  “So, would you say he takes a few pills every day?”

  “I’m not sure, but that sounds about right.”

  At least I knew he had easy access to the stuff but counting pills and keeping track of his dosage would not be an accurate method to prove his guilt or innocence. “Hypothetically, how would your husband poison you? I mean, he would have to empty the capsules into your drink or food, right?”

  “I don’t have much appetite these days. For breakfast I usually have toast with tea. For lunch, maybe a container of yogurt, and a few carrot sticks or string cheese for dinner. But Paul always makes me tea before bed. It’s our little ritual.”

  “I see.” An image came to mind of an episode of CSI, where a husband was being poisoned gradually everyday by his wife. She’d put small doses of arsenic in his coffee every morning.

  Emily covered her face with her hands and started to cry. “I’m sorry. This is just too much for me. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. My husband is a good man.”

  I gave her a moment to compose herself as I considered some options. “May I make some suggestions? You could install a device on his cell phone. It’s a relatively simple application and it only takes a minute to download. It has a GPS tracker and it records all calls and texts. I can access the information through a program on my laptop. He’ll never know it’s there. It would be a good way to find out if he’s meeting someone on the side.”

  “I really don’t feel comfortable doing that. I’m horrible when it comes to all of this new technology. What if I don’t install it properly and he finds out?”

  “That’s okay. I could arrange to put a GPS tracker on his car while he’s at his office.”

  She nodded. “Okay. But please make sure he doesn’t see you.”

  “How would you feel about us setting up some hidden cameras in the kitchen? If he’s putting something in your beverages, perhaps we can catch him in the act.”

  “I don’t know. That sounds pretty involved.”

  “I have a partner who specializes in surveillance. He already has the equipment and could set something up in under ten minutes. No one would know it was there but us.”

  Emily stared out the window, blinking slowly. “How soon can you do it?”

  “Max will be back from California tomorrow.”

  She turned back to face me, a sullen expression on her face. “Okay. I’ll arrange to make sure no one is here when you come back.”

  I regarded my notebook with the notes I’d taken so far, which were not many. “For the sake of being thorough, I need to ask some questions about family and friends, okay?”

  “Sure, whatever you think will help.”

  “Who comes to visit you here?”

  “When my health started to decline months ago, it seemed like people were coming out of the woodwork to help. Business colleagues, friends from the country club and neighbors stopped by quite frequently. Over the last month or so, however, they all seem too busy. I guess it’s hard for them to see me like this.”

  “So, who’s been here recently? Say, in the past few weeks.”

  “Well, Linda is really the only one. She stops by about once a week and brings meals, helps with the laundry and does a little cleaning. I know she’s busy with her practice, so I appreciate that she takes time to visit when she can.”

  “Does Linda know anything about your suspicions about Paul?”

  “No. I haven’t said a word.”

  “Has anyone else been here to visit other than Linda?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you met anyone outside of the house?”

  “I go to see my doctor every few weeks but, past that, no. I don’t like to drive because I get dizzy spells.”

  “What is the name of your doctor?”

  She paused as if unsure. “Gosh, I’ve seen so many doctors, I can’t keep track of them all. Dr. Knowles is my hepatologist in Boston, but good luck trying to talk to him. He doesn’t even have time to return my calls.”

  “I don’t see any reason for me to contact him,” I said. “But I’d like to have the information just in case.” Moving right along. “When Paul is at home, does he seem distracted? Does he spend a great deal of time on his phone or computer?”

  “It depends. When I’m feeling up to it, we watch movies together or go for a walk; but I sleep a lot and have no idea what he does during that time.”

  “Tell me about Paul’s family.”

  “His parents had passed before I met him. He has a stepsister named Alice. She was at the wedding, but we haven’t seen her since. She lives in Colorado.”

  “Would you say she and Paul are close?”

  “They keep in touch, mostly through Christmas cards. She’s very religious. Donates a lot of her time to some church group.”

  “How well do you know Paul’s business associates?”

  “They seem like decent people.”

  “Could he be having an affair with a work colleague?”

  “The only woman he works with is Rachel. She’s a CPA too, but she’s older and married. I don’t think he’s involved with her.”

  “What about a secretary?”

  “He doesn’t have a secretary. There are only four CPAs and, as far as I know, they all work as a team and share the duties.”

  “Does your husband have a violent temper?”

  “No, he’s very passive.”

  There was something in her expression I couldn’t read. “Emily, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  She paused. “Paul is not quite himself lately. He seems ... I don’t know, agitated? Distracted? I realize he’s under a lot of stress. Having a sick wife can’t be easy.”

  “Does he drink?”

  “No. He doesn’t drink or smoke.”

  “Is there anything else that seems out of the ordinary?”

  “Well, there have been four atm cash withdrawals from our bank account in the past few weeks. Two hundred dollars each time.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “He denied taking the money out. He thinks the bank made a mistake. He said he’d call them to straighten it out but, when I checked online today, the money was still gone. I even called the bank myself before you got here. I got the runaround, of course.”

  “Does Paul go to the race track? Does he have poker night with friends?”

  “He’s a CPA. He’s too practical to gamble away our life savings, especially since it’s almost gone.”

&nbs
p; “With your permission, I could have Carter look into the bank account situation.”

  “Who is Carter?”

  “He’s my mentor. He also has a lot of connections.”

  “The missing money is not really my biggest concern,” she said. “I’d just like to know if Paul has a problem.”

  “Has Paul been married before? Any kids from previous relationships?”

  “He was married briefly at twenty but it was over in less than a year. They never had kids. Paul had a few girlfriends after that, but nothing serious till he met me.”

  “Is there a friend of Paul’s you could call? Someone he confides in? Maybe someone he works with?”

  “Paul doesn’t care for his work partners. There’s always Linda. She probably knows Paul better than anyone.” “Linda?” I asked. “Why do you say that?”

  “Didn’t she tell you? Linda used to be Paul’s therapist and they remained close friends after the fact. She and I hit it off right away and have been friends ever since.”

  “Linda never actually told me how you three met but now it makes sense. I guess she adheres to a strict client confidentiality. Which is good.”

  “Anyway, it’s probably not a good idea to get her involved. I don’t want her to know the real reason you’re helping me. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re looking for my brother, okay?”

  I leaned back in the chair and considered it. She was asking me to lie to my friend. “If you think it’s best, then I won’t mention it.”

  “Yes. It’s best. I don’t want anyone to worry. Not until I know what Paul is up to.”

  “I understand, but I have to be honest; if Paul is indeed sabotaging your health, this is a very serious matter. It might help to talk to Linda to gain insight on Paul’s psychological state.”

  “Please, I’d really prefer to keep my suspicions quiet until I have more information.”

  “It’s your decision and, of course, I’ll respect your wishes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Over the next ten minutes, I continued to jot down all the details of Paul’s life. Birthdate, work related information, make and model of his car, hobbies, schedule, and even his gym routine. Finally, Emily reached over to the coffee table and lifted the cover of one of the books. She pulled a single folded sheet of paper out and handed it to me.

  The picture showed a fair-skinned man with brown hair, and gentle eyes. Dark rimmed reading glasses were perched upon a nose that seemed too big for his thin face. “Is this a recent photo of Paul?”

  She nodded. “That was taken about a month ago.”

  “Well, I think I have enough to get started.” I stood up, tucking the photo into my notebook. “If I need any more information, I’ll give you a call.”

  She walked me to the door. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

  “I understand. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Chapter 6

  I called Carter and offered to buy him dinner in exchange for some professional advice. We met around five o’clock at our usual place--- Carter’s unofficial headquarters was the Hometown Diner and, by default, the spot where we conducted most of our meetings. It was cheaper than renting office space.

  Carter removed his tattered leather jacket and slid into the booth, still favoring his injured leg. “I’m usually the one buying you dinner,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve taken a case. It’s more or less a favor for a friend. I need to pick your brain.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Well, my friend Linda asked if I would do her a favor.” I lowered my voice and glanced around the diner to make sure no one was listening. “Her friend thinks her husband is poisoning her.”

  Carter put a hand up to stop me. “First of all, never do a job for free. Not for friends, family, or anyone.”

  “But this woman is dying and she has no money.”

  “Sounds messy to me. Are you sure you want to get involved?”

  “I feel badly for this woman. You should see her.”

  Carter’s features softened a bit and I saw the concern in his eyes. He’s not as stone-hearted as he’d like people to think. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me more.”

  “Have you ever worked a case like this before?”

  Carter leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, I have. But it was the other way around. The husband hired me to find out if his wife was poisoning him.”

  “Was she?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you get proof?”

  “I tapped her phone. Recorded a conversation she had with her lover. The rest was up to the police and the DA. It’s usually about the money so that’s what I’d look into first.”

  “Well, Emily’s husband certainly has motive: a hefty life insurance policy. Plus, she thinks he’s having an affair. Maybe even involved with drugs or gambling.” I showed him the photo of Paul Hodges.

  Carter examined it. “He’s got that sweet innocent look about him, doesn’t he?”

  “According to Emily, Paul is a gentle soul.”

  “So, what’s your first move?”

  “I’ll keep tabs on the husband. Find out where he goes and who he sees. As far as the poisoning, I think I’ve convinced her to let me set up hidden cameras in the kitchen.”

  Carter raised an eyebrow. “Max?”

  “I just called him in California. He’s coming home tomorrow and said he’d help as soon as he gets back.”

  “Good. Sounds like you’re right on track. What do you need from me?”

  “Well,” I said, then took a sip of coffee. “Can you spare Martha for a few days?”

  “Sure, I have her in my trunk right now. If you give me some information, I’ll see that she gets properly installed.” Martha was a state of the art tracking device system named in homage to Carter’s late mother, Martha —a formidable woman whose keen sense of awareness haunted Carter’s adolescent years.

  “Thanks,” I said. “If you don’t mind, that would be a huge help---but what about your knee?”

  “I can deal with the pain in my knee. Besides, it’s the least I can do after your help with the Gavin Cole job. You remember how to access the signal feed using the Internet program?”

  “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

  Carter didn’t respond to the flattery. “What else do you need? A background check on Paul?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Ex-wives? Kids?”

  “There’s a previous marriage from years ago but no kids.”

  He scribbled a few notes into his palm sized spiral notebook he keeps in the back pocket of his jeans. “I should have some info by tomorrow morning. Just promise me you’ll tread lightly until then.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  He diverted his attention to the menu. “I’m starved. Let’s order some food.”

  After placing our order, I turned to Carter and said, “You know, I should fix you up with my friend, Linda.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s reluctant when it comes to romantic relationships, too.”

  He paused and gave me a smirk. “Who said I was reluctant?”

  “Carter … in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never once mentioned a woman.”

  He diverted his eyes to the laminated dessert menu. “I don’t tell you everything.”

  I was about to give up on this topic when Carter casually said, “So, who is this Linda?”

  “We were close back in high school. She’s a psychologist, has a great sense of humor, and is very easy on the eyes.”

  “So, she’s mid-forties like you?”

  “Two months older than me, as a matter of fact.”

  “She might be too young for a crippled senior citizen.”

  “Come on, you’re a well preserved older man. When I tell her you look like Richard Gere she won’t be able to resist.”

  Carter ignored th
e comment. “Hey, look. They have meatloaf on special.”

  “We could go on a double date,” I added, trying to sweeten the deal. “Me, Max, you and Linda.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of setting up my own dates, thank you.”

  “So, you’ll consider it?”

  He shrugged, but his grin said it all. “Maybe.”

  Chapter 7

  It felt good to lie on the couch and do nothing for a change. I was fond of my apartment, situated on a quiet residential street, and I felt safe for the most part. In fact, I barely felt the need to lock my doors. I adored my neighbors, most of whom were single like me.

  Jackie Huffman—a thirty-two year old, heavy-footed insomniac—lived in the apartment above me with her pooch Chester. She worked crazy hours at the hospital as a nurse’s assistant. Her sleep schedule—and mine—suffered because of it. When I first moved in, she’d invited me to one of her book club meetings, but only one other person apart from me had attended. She’d been embarrassed at the light turnout, but it gave us a chance to bond. I enjoyed her dirty jokes and self-deprecating humor, not to mention her love of red wine. We became fast friends.

  It was almost nine p.m. and I knew she was getting ready to leave for work. If Max’s Jeep wasn’t parked out front, she usually stopped in to see me for a few minutes on her way out.

  As expected, she knocked on my door a few minutes later. “Hey Sarah, put your dildo away, I’m coming in,” she yelled, opening the screen door.

  “Don’t you remember you borrowed my dildo last week? I want it back,” I replied.

  She cackled at my quick comeback—we were always trying to outdo each other with outrageous and offensive remarks.

  Jackie wore the obligatory blue scrubs and white plastic clogs. Vertically challenged and plump, she resembled a human version of a “Smurf.”

  “Where’s Max tonight?” she asked.

  “California at a trade show.”

  “Too bad I have to work every night this week. Honey, we need to go out.” She glanced at her watch—a gaudy accessory too big for her wrist—and shook her head. “Wish I could hang with you, but I’m running late. I just wanted to see if you could let Chester out for a walk tomorrow morning when you get up. I’m working a double shift and won’t be back till ten.”