Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Read online

  I dragged myself out of bed, spent ten minutes in the shower and then stepped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a fleece sweater.

  Hard to believe it had only been 24 hours since I'd discovered Claire's body.

  “Morning sleepyhead,” Carter handed me a hot mug of coffee as I shuffled into the kitchen. “By the sound of your snoring last night, I take it you got some sleep.”

  “Weird dreams,” I said. “How long have you been up?”

  “Since six-thirty.”

  Carter had a satisfied look on his face, and I figured he had something to tell me. “I've been making calls. Turns out Norton Cline's widow is set to receive a hefty life insurance policy as the sole beneficiary.”

  “How hefty?”

  “Is five million hefty enough for you?”

  “How did you find that out?”

  Carter ignored the question and refilled his coffee mug. “It's just a thought but maybe Cline's death might have nothing to do with his unhappy clients. Not that I'm ruling that out, of course. The problem is, we have to prove that the widow got to Claire to convince her to poison those scones.”

  “I doubt she would have approached Claire herself. Too risky. She would've had sent someone to do that for her.”

  He winked at me. “You're smart. I was thinking the same thing.”

  I loved the way Carter always complimented me by complimenting himself. “So what's the plan? We can't officially question anyone about this, you know that. We've already crossed the line too many times.”

  “As far as Detective James is concerned, he's only investigating Claire's murder. Norton Cline's death hasn't yet been ruled a homicide. Until then, what's the harm in poking the bear to see what happens?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “First, we need to change into something more professional. Do you own a suit?”

  I laughed. “Do I look like a paralegal?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Then a nice pair of slacks and a silk blouse will work just fine.”

  * * *

  Several hours later, Carter and I were driving his old Buick up a private driveway that lead to the Cline's residence. Damn, he looked good in a suit and tie. And his hair was slicked back, revealing more of his handsome face. I rarely got the opportunity to see him dressed up. Usually, his attire consisted of jeans, black t-shirt, and his weathered leather jacket he refused to part with.

  The property was gorgeous: old maple trees and neatly manicured hedges and gardens. The house itself reminded me of an old seaside cottage that grew three times its size. The weathered shingles were probably new and made to look weathered.

  We parked the car and headed up the front porch. Before we had the chance to knock, a young man of about twenty years old appeared behind the screen door.

  “Hello,” Carter said to him. “We're here to see Mrs. Audrey Cline.”

  The kid nodded as if he'd been expecting us. “Sure, I'll go tell Mom you're here. She wanted me to invite you inside.”

  “Thank you.”

  The young man asked us to have a seat in the formal sitting room, and he disappeared.

  “Nice, polite kid,” Carter whispered to me. “A rare find these days.”

  I had to agree.

  I glanced around and admired the beachy décor with tan, linen pillows on a navy blue and white striped sofa. There was even a candle burning inside a hanging brass lantern. It smelled like sea salt and vanilla.

  Moments later we heard footsteps on carpeting and a well-preserved woman in her sixties appeared in the entryway. Her blonde hair looked fresh like she'd just been to the stylist for a blow-out.

  Carter stood up and made introductions.

  “Mrs. Cline,” he said First, we'd like to offer our condolences.”

  She bowed her head and nodded. “Thank you. May I offer you something to drink?”

  We kindly declined, so she sat in a chair opposite us and crossed her legs. “You mentioned on the phone that you worked for the coroner's department and had some questions about my husband's death. What can I help you with?”

  “Oh,” Carter said. “I'm so sorry, you must have misunderstood. We've been hired to conduct an investigation into the bylaws of how the coroner's department works with the public to serve the needs of families in the community better.”

  Carter's philosophy in life has served him well: if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. I braced myself for another award winning performance because I knew his game all too well.

  Mrs. Cline blinked, clearly confused. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

  “First, I need a little background on your case.” He got out his palm sized notebook and clicked his pen. “Could you describe what happened last Wednesday when your husband fell ill?”

  She gnawed her lower lip. “Well, he was gone most of the morning running errands. When he returned around 4:00, I noticed he looked deathly pale. He complained of stomach cramps. I didn't think too much of it, so I suggested he lie down to rest while I made dinner.” She paused to dab at her eyes with a tissue. “Around six, I went up to the bedroom to check on him. He wasn't breathing, so I called the ambulance right away.”

  Carter nodded, his expression tight with sympathy. “I'm sorry you had to go through that, ma'am.”

  She offered him a sad smile. “My husband had suffered many health problems in the past few years, mostly caused by complications from having diabetes. He also had high cholesterol and a history of heart disease. I'm told the results of the autopsy could take another few days.”

  “So you specifically requested the autopsy?” Carter asked.

  “Of course. Even though my husband had health issues, he'd been feeling fine up until Wednesday. I'd like to know what happened so suddenly.”

  “You said your husband was out running errands that day. Where did he go?”

  “Well, let's see... he went to the gym around 10.00. He got his hair cut. Then he had a meeting with his lawyer around two.”

  “Did he get a bite to eat while he was out?”

  Mrs. Cline gave it some thought. “I suppose he probably did. There's this bakery he liked to go to. They made him special diabetic friendly scones, which is hard to find.”

  “Which bakery?” Carter asked.

  She shook her head. “I can't remember the name of the place. Why is that important?”

  “Did he ever bring home bakery items to share with you or your son?”

  She hesitated, probably wondering why it mattered. “No. I try and stay away from fattening foods.”

  Carter made a few notations in his notebook. “Well, I think those are all the questions I have for you.” He made like he was going to get up but then said, “By the way, it's come to my attention that your husband had a bunch of lawsuits from unhappy clients.”

  She squirmed. “Who told you that?”

  “Had your husband ever received threatening calls or letters from these people?”

  She mashed her lips together, clearly perplexed on how to answer. Finally, she nodded. “Yes. As a matter of fact, he had. But that was years ago. Nothing recent.

  “Could you provide us with the names of those individuals? Or show us the letters they sent?”

  “I'm sorry, I can't. Norton destroyed them all. Besides, his lawyers took care of all that stuff.”

  “Has there ever been an attempt on your husband's life?”

  She straightened in her chair, and I could see the confusion in her eyes. “I beg your pardon, but I don't understand why I need to answer these questions. They seem rather invasive.”

  Carter offered an apologetic smile. “Just one more question if you please. Who is your husband's lawyer?”

  “Mr. Lyle Coombs.”

  “And do you know what their meeting on Wednesday was about?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “Norton told me it was nothing serious.”

  “Do you think your husband was having more problems with ex-cli
ents? Maybe another lawsuit?”

  Mrs. Cline recrossed her legs and glanced at her expensive looking watch. “He assured me it was nothing to worry about.”

  Carter must have known that our time was running out. Pretty soon this grieving widow would catch on to our scheme. He closed his notebook and got to his feet. “I think I have everything I need for the time being.”

  Mrs. Cline stood up and accepted Carter outstretched hand. “It's no problem. But I really should get back to finalizing the arrangements. Please let me know as soon as the autopsy results come back.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Thank you again for taking the time to speak with us.”

  * * *

  As soon as we left the Cline residence, we got back in the car and headed home.

  “There are so many other, less complicated ways to kill someone,” Carter said as we drove back to our house. “Audrey Cline is not that bright. She wouldn't have conspired with a baker to kill her husband. Unless we can prove that Audrey and Claire knew each other to begin with, we have nothing.”

  I couldn't agree more. “Besides, if she had her husband poisoned, I doubt she'd order a full autopsy. She would have had his body cremated as soon as possible to destroy the evidence.”

  “Good point,” Carter said. “Now I feel like a jerk for manipulating her.”

  “Don't feel too bad, remember she has five million bucks coming to her.”

  “Lucky gal.”

  “Whoever is behind this, has to be close to Claire,” I said. “Someone she'd be in contact with on a regular basis. Someone who felt it would be easy to control her. Otherwise it would be too risky. Claire could have gone to the police at any time but she didn't.”

  “Other than the people she works with, who else besides the neighbor does she spend time around?”

  There was only one person I could think of. “Her ex-boyfriend, Andy Pinkerton. But they broke up months ago.”

  Carter gave me a sideward glance. “Or did they?”

  Just as we were pulling into our driveway, I heard my cell phone ringing inside my purse. The caller ID said, private number.

  I assumed it was Detective James, so I answered the call.

  “Hey Sarah, remember me?”

  It took a second to place the husky voice as Mick Kendall's. “Sure, I remember you.”

  “Do you have a suspect in custody yet?”

  “Not yet, Mick.”

  “Look, I just want to know what's happening with the case.”

  “You know I can't share details of the case with you.”

  “Why not? Because I'm a convicted criminal?”

  “No, because how do I know you're not involved?”

  “You really think I killed my daughter? Jesus, why would I do that?”

  “Look, Mick, it's only been a day. This investigation could drag on for months. You're gonna have to be patient, okay?”

  His tone turned serious. “I don't have a lot of time.”

  “Why? Do you expect to go back to prison anytime soon?”

  “No. I'm talking about my life. I don't have much time.”

  I hesitated. “Are you sick?”

  “I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind.”

  Maybe he had terminal cancer. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “What are you sorry about? You don't even know me.”

  I was beginning to grow tired of his pity party. “What do you want from me, Mick?”

  “I want you to do your job and find my daughter's killer.”

  Before I had a chance to reply, he ended the call without so much as a good-bye.

  Chapter 13

  When we stopped into the police department, Detective James gave us an update on the investigation.

  “Forensics couldn't find one shred of evidence that Claire had been killed inside the blue truck,” he said. “Her hair and clothing fibers were found in the front seat but as Mr. Kendall had admitted to Claire being inside his car on the day she died that was to be expected.”

  “What about witnesses who work at the Irving Gas station?” I asked.

  “I spoke with a few of the employees and showed them her photos. Nobody could help me.”

  “Does that make Mick Kendall a suspect in her murder?” Carter said.

  “He's a person of interest. I'd still like to get him in here for a chat.” Detective James looked at me. “He seems to trust you. Why can't you talk some sense into him?”

  “I am trying, but he's afraid to go back to jail.”

  The detective shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his keys. “What's with the dressy attire? Are you two going to a funeral?”

  My body stiffened at the thought of lying to him. Luckily, I didn't have to.

  “We had some business to attend to,” Carter replied, then deftly changed the subject.

  The detective seemed to buy it. “Well, I'm heading to the Wentworth Home where Adam Kendall lives.”

  “Claire's brother,” I said. “He still doesn't know about his sister?”

  “I've informed the administrator and she told me that Adam doesn't do well with strangers. I'll need his staff of nurses to help me break the news to him. I have no idea what his mental state is or how he might react. This is a very delicate situation.”

  “I understand. Is there anything Carter and I can do?”

  He looked at the both of us for a long moment. “I guess not. I'll be in touch.”

  * * *

  Carter had finally convinced me there was no harm in talking to Norton Cline's lawyer. All we needed was a list of names of people who'd filed those lawsuits and find out if there were any new ones in the works.

  And since we were already dressed to impress, why not take the opportunity to use it to our advantage.

  Located on the first floor of a prominent commercial building in downtown Bridgeport, we arrived at the office of Mr. Lyle Coombs, a short, odd fellow with a round head and thick eyeglasses. Soft silvery wisps of hair were combed over his head and sealed with a shiny sheen, probably hairspray.

  Carter told him we were private consultants, hired by the Bridgeport Police Department, to inquire about Mr. Cline's business. Mr. Coombs seemed intrigued, so he invited us to have a seat behind his mammoth wooden desk.

  The office was large but smelled like mildew. When I spotted the collection of encyclopedias on a bookshelf, I realized this guy was old school. Probably hated computers and cell phones. Either that, or he was just too lazy to have the books removed.

  Carter cleared his throat; time to get down to business. “You must be wondering why Sarah and I are here. Truth is, we have reason to believe that Mr. Cline's death might be connected to another case we're working on.”

  Mr. Coombs tilted his head with interest. “Is that so?”

  “Since this is an open investigation, I won't be able to share the details with you but, as far as Mr. Cline goes, you may be able to help us.”

  “Sure. What's the problem?”

  “Did Mr. Cline have any enemies, past or present, who have posed a threat to him recently? We spoke with Audrey this morning and she didn't have access to those names. She suggested that we come see you.”

  Mr. Coombs blinked a few times. “Pardon, did you say you spoke with Audrey?”

  “Yes. Apparently Mr. Cline had a bunch of angry clients who believe he cheated them out of their life savings. It's possible one of them wanted revenge.”

  Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, I see. I assumed Mr. Cline died from natural causes. You're telling me that isn't the case?”

  “We are awaiting the autopsy results,” Carter said, “But yes, there is a chance that foul play was involved.”

  Mr. Coombs remained silent.

  “Can you tell me,” Carter continued. “how long has Mr. Cline been a client of yours?”

  He wiped his forehead and swallowed. “Since... 1991 I believe.”

  “That's almost twenty-five years. Would you say that you were good friends?�
�

  “Of course,” Mr. Coombs said. “He was a good man. I respected him.”

  Carter gave me a discreet glance, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Norton needed a lawyer to fight his battles and he'd probably made Mr. Coombs a wealthy man. Even in death, his lawyer would remain loyal.

  Carter persisted. “So we need that list of names. And any other persons who might have expressed dissatisfaction. Apparently, he'd received some hate letters. Would you have access to those?”

  He shook his head. “No, I'm sorry. Mr. Cline never showed them to me. He didn't seem concerned about them.”

  Mr. Coombs slowly got up from his desk and said. “I'll get my secretary to print out a list of names of those who filed the lawsuits. It should take less than five minutes.”

  When he left us alone in his office, I looked at Carter. “Are we gonna get in trouble for this?”

  He couldn't contain his smile of satisfaction. “It's not like we threatened the guy. He seemed willing to help, don't you think?”

  I prayed that Detective James would give us a pass on this one.

  Chapter 14

  We spent the next hour at the Hometown Diner eating lunch and looking over the eleven different lawsuits filed against Norton Cline in the past ten years.

  “I don't recognize any of these names,” I said. “And I'm getting a headache from reading all this legal jargon.”

  Carter seemed frustrated, too. “This is going to be a lot of work; contacting each and every one of these poor bastards who lost everything they owned. How in the world did Norton get away with screwing so many people?”

  “I'm surprised it took this long for someone to exact his or her revenge. Not that I agree with it but I can understand it. If I had any money to invest, I sure as heck wouldn't put all my eggs in one basket.”

  We finished eating, and Carter gathered all the files together. “Let's head over to see Lois. Maybe one of these names will sound familiar to her. Gotta start somewhere.”

  When we knocked on Lois's door twenty minutes later, Peter answered.

  “Oh good,” I said. “You're still here. How is Lois?”