An Act of Deceit: Book 2 of the Sarah Woods Mysteries Page 9

  I walked to the counter and carefully set the pot down. “I assume you take credit cards.” I suddenly realized I hadn’t bothered to inquire about the cost.

  “Of course,” Andy reassured me as he darted behind the counter. “We take them all. That’s going to be sixty-five dollars.”

  I swallowed hard, the price a lot more than I had expected to pay. I reached into my purse for my wallet, but withdrew the photo of Harding instead. I looked at it and contemplated my story.

  “Is something wrong?” Andy inquired.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to ask, but I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

  “Yes, of course. What is it?”

  “My friend has a secret admirer who sends her lovely gifts purchased from your shop, but never includes a card. She’s dying to find out who he is. Is there any way you could tell me if this individual is one of your customers? His name is Lance Harding. I think he comes in and pays cash for the flowers.” I slid the photo across the counter. He studied it for a moment and slowly shook his head.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t recognize him. What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Stephanie Miller. She lives at 125 Wilson Road.” Andy typed something into the computer, studied the screen, and smiled. I felt my pulse quicken.

  “I thought the name sounded familiar.” Andy chuckled, looking as if he were about to let me in on an inside joke. “Stephanie’s admirer is her father, Ted Wilcox. He’s the gentleman who has been sending the flowers. He comes in several times a month. Nice old man.”

  “Ted Wilcox?” The name sounded eerily familiar. Then I made the connection. “He’s very sick, right?”

  Andy beamed. “Yes, that’s him.”

  My confusion must have shown on my face. “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he send a card with the flowers?”

  Andy cleared his throat. “Evidently, they had a falling-out many years ago when Ted’s wife died. I don’t know the particulars, but Ted seems to think sending flowers might help him to get back in her good graces. He told me he doesn’t have much time and wants to reconcile with her.”

  “Wow. How do you know all this?” I reached a hand around to massage my neck.

  “Ted is a lonely guy, and likes to come in and chat. We don’t get that many customers, so I have plenty of time to indulge him.” He hesitated. “Maybe you could encourage your friend to call her dad and patch things up. You know, before it’s too late.”

  “Uh huh,” I said, still kneading my cramped neck. “Anyways, thank you. I really appreciate your help.” I absently handed him my credit card, signed the receipt, and gathered up my very expensive bribe.

  I slid behind the wheel a moment later.

  Carter eyed the strange looking package in my lap. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a very expensive orchid. But more importantly, Harding isn’t the stalker. It’s Tiffany’s father.”

  “What?”

  “And guess who her father is?” I played the drum roll in my head. “Her dad is Marty’s friend, Ted Wilcox.

  I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t getting it.

  You know, the old guy I talked to over at Andover Estates?”

  “Marty was sleeping with Ted’s daughter”— the words were more statement than question—“who just happens to be Tiffany, aka Stephanie Miller. Did she change her last name?”

  I was still trying to put the puzzle together in my own head. “Maybe Tiffany reverted to her mother’s maiden name when she and her father had the falling-out. I don’t know what caused their estrangement, but evidently they haven’t been in contact since. Ted started sending the flowers when he found out he was dying, as an attempt to make amends.”

  “She might have a very good reason for shutting her dad out, but that’s not what concerns me. The bigger question is this: did Ted know Marty was screwing his daughter?”

  “That depends on if Ted Wilcox knew his daughter was using the name, Tiffany? According to what we have so far, Marty always called her by her stage name.”

  Carter’s brow furrowed. “Wilcox knew.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  He turned and gazed out the side window, his jaw visibly tensed. After a curious pause, Carter said “Fathers know those kinds of things.”

  I remained silent, not quite sure what to make of it.

  Carter stared blankly at the dashboard. “Well, we know Ted may have had motive for wanting Marty dead. Now we just need to find out if he hired Harding to do his dirty work. I need to get into Harding’s house and take a look around.”

  I bit my lower lip. “What about Harding’s mother? You’ll give her a heart attack if she’s there when you break in.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “How can I help?”

  Carter’s demeanor changed. He was suddenly all business. “It’s no longer safe for you to be involved. I’ve asked too much of you already.”

  “I could keep watch while you’re inside Harding’s house.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t bargain for this, Sarah. When I included you in this job, I thought it was going to be an open and shut case. I never really believed Marty had been murdered.”

  “You took Janet’s money.”

  “Damn right I did. What? You think that’s the reason I took the job? You were there. You heard me tell her what I thought. I even told her to hire someone else, but she persisted.”

  “What about the objectivity you preached to me before? Was that just for show?”

  “I’ve treated this case the same as all the others.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I said, staring into my lap.

  Carter’s silence was disconcerting. When I looked up, his lips were pursed. I’d gone too far, and wasn’t quite sure how to fix it.

  “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

  Carter took a deep breath and exhaled. “I should have realized it before.”

  “Realized what?”

  “You want this too much.” Carter got out of my car, closed the door, and walked off without looking back.

  I sat with my hands in my lap wondering what he’d meant. He was right, of course. I did want it too much. The stimulation and renewed sense of purpose I felt was everything to me. But reality always seemed to rear its ugly head just when I thought life was improving.

  I didn’t want to go home to face my husband. He probably didn’t want to see me at the moment, either. I could go to my office and prepare for tomorrow’s clients, but the thought of that depressed me even more.

  Then there was always that emergency, go-to response in times of dire need: shopping. The sixty-five dollar orchid sitting on the console next to me mocked my impulse to go spend money.

  “To hell with you,” I said to the hapless plant, and headed straight for the mall.

  I parked and made my way to the food court via Nordstrom’s premium-priced clothing and cosmetics section. I purchased a curried chicken salad plate and a cappuccino at an agreeable-looking deli then located an empty table.

  As I sat alone picking at my food, I wondered if the shoppers who strolled in and out of the seemingly endless line of shops felt as lost as I did.

  I took a few bites of salad then a long sip of cappuccino when a familiar figure caused me to choke. Max, clad in khaki slacks and white button down shirt, stood no more than a dozen feet away from my table.

  He looked stunning. Unfortunately, so did the blond whose exquisitely manicured nails gently scratched at the back of his neck.

  The blood drained from my head as I watched, filling me with a dreadful, gut-wrenching grief. Max had wasted no time moving on. As much as I wanted to be happy for him, I wasn’t, because deep down inside I wanted him. I wanted him to be happy with me, not the bombshell with the impossibly slender waistline.

  I covered my eyes with my hands and chastised myself. I’d turned Max away; now I was furious that he’d had the audacity to respect my wishes.
Unable to take another moment of the pain, I gathered my belongings and bolted from the table, intending to leave the salad and cappuccino on the table.

  It wasn’t to be.

  The strap of my purse inadvertently caught my abandoned lunch. Cappuccino splashed all over me while platter, utensils, and tray all clattered to the floor.

  You could have heard a pin drop, save my sudden intake of air. My mind made a valiant, yet futile attempt at a personal disappearing act. I looked down at the muddy liquid dripping from my sweater and down my jeans. I prayed Max wouldn’t recognize me, but when I looked up, it was directly into his wide eyes. His look of confusion turned to concern, and he slowly approached. Too embarrassed to face him, I swallowed my pride and ran.

  Back inside my car, I fought the urge to scream. Instead, I broke down and cried. A torrent of tears flowed while an accompaniment of freezing rain pounded on the windshield. My tears subsided after a few moments of self-pity. Exhausted, I wiped my eyes and resolved to return home to face my family, even if they didn’t appreciate me.

  I started the car and was about to back out when my phone began to buzz. I fished it out of my purse.

  “Uh . . . hello, is this Sarah?” the caller asked, her voice tentative and unfamiliar.

  I hesitated. “Yes. Who’s calling?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Sarah, but I wasn’t sure who else to call. It’s about Mr. Wilcox. He suffered a stroke this morning and was taken to Andover Medical Center. I work the desk, part-time, at Andover Estates. You left your name and number in my guest book a few days ago when you visited.”

  “Yes, I remember. I’m very sorry to hear about Mister Wilcox, but I’m not quite sure why you chose to call me about his situation?”

  “Well, you’re the only person who has visited Ted in quite some time.”

  I wondered if I should give her Ted’s daughter’s information. But what if Carter was right? What if she had good reason for wanting nothing to do with her father?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could help.”

  “Oh dear,” the woman said softly, “that’s a shame. Well, thank you any--”

  “Hold on,” I interrupted. “Maybe I could pay him a visit. Where is he again?”

  “He was taken to Andover Medical Center. He’s in room 205.”

  “What’s his condition?”

  “I’m afraid the doctors don’t expect him to live much longer. You’d better go soon, if at all possible.”

  “Okay. Thank you for calling and letting me know.”

  I drove directly to the hospital, my instincts guiding me. With Ted Wilcox facing imminent death, perhaps I could find out the reason behind his estrangement from his daughter. If I could gain his trust, there might be hope for reconciliation, and if it helped in solving Carter’s case, all the better.

  Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing outside Ted’s door wondering what the hell I was doing. How was it I had thought this was a good idea? My heart pounded as I turned to walk into the room. I took a step forward when I almost ran headlong into a nurse who was on her way out.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you here to see Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Yes, if he’s feeling well enough.”

  “He’s awake at the moment, but he keeps going in and out of consciousness. He might not be able to speak, but he can understand.”

  “Thank you.” I walked into the room and looked over at the hospital bed. Ted was lying with his head propped up on a pile of pillows, the white sheets that covered him rising and falling with each slow, laborious breath. The skin on his wrinkled face appeared iridescent, and I wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed. I walked slowly to the bed and leaned over. “Ted,” I said softly, “it’s Sarah Woods. I came to see you a few days ago. Do you remember?”

  Ted’s eyes traveled very slowly. When they finally landed on me, I sensed some sort of acknowledgment. “I came here to see you . . . I’ve come because . . .” I stopped, unsure if I could follow through with this. What right did I have to bother this poor departing soul? Yet something deep inside was guiding me forward.

  “Ted,” I began again, “I know about your daughter, Stephanie.” At the mention of her name, something in his eyes changed. “I know you were trying to make things right with her,” I continued. He blinked a few times then I saw, in the corners of his eyes, a glistening that resolved into a pair of tears. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I can understand why you were trying to protect your baby girl. Nobody can blame you for that.” Something inside of me was expecting more tears, but the look in his eyes changed to something entirely unexpected: confusion.

  I placed my hand gently over his. I believed his passing would be made easier by acknowledging whatever had come between them.

  Without warning, Ted’s eyes began blinking wildly and ear-piercing medical alarms filled the air. One of the machines he was plugged into was flashing bright red. A nurse rushed into the room.

  I stepped aside, then backed into the corner as she examined her patient and made adjustments to the machine. “Ma’am,” she said without looking up, “would you mind coming back in a few hours. Mr. Wilcox needs to rest now.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked, my voice quivering.

  “He just needs to rest for a while. You can talk with the doctor when you come back.”

  “Sure,” I said, slipping out the door and into the corridor. I found a waiting area and tried to sit, but couldn’t relax.

  What had happened? Was I going to be responsible for him dying sooner than later? I lowered my face into my hands, adjusted my breathing, and said a little prayer.

  “Sarah?” I heard a voice call out. A woman carrying a fancy walking stick and an umbrella approached. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her.

  “Thank goodness it’s you,” she said. “I’m Ruth … the one who called you about Ted.”

  Granny glasses and bright red lipstick; it all came back to me. Yep, she was the woman from Andover Estates, all right. “Yes,” I said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “It’s so nice of you to come and visit Teddy.” She smiled and tilted her head to one side. At least this time her lipstick wasn’t smeared all over her front teeth. “Did you see him?”

  “Briefly, but one of the machines went off. His nurse suggested I come back in a few hours.”

  Ruth shook her head. “Poor, Teddy. I made it a point to look after him, you know. I was his only true friend. His family abandoned him. They left him all alone.”

  I looked down at my feet, trying to decide what to say. Then, without hesitation, I blurted out, “So Ted’s daughter, Stephanie, never came to see him?”

  “Excuse me, dear?” she said, her smile quickly fading.

  “I asked you if Ted’s daughter, Stephanie Miller, ever came to visit. I assume Miller was her mother’s maiden name?”

  Ruth blinked a few times. “Oh. So Teddy told you about her?”

  “I know about her, but don’t know what happened between them. Do you?”

  Ruth sighed. “It’s a long story, and a very sad one, I’m afraid.”

  “I have time. Please, can I buy you a cup of coffee in the cafeteria while we wait to see Ted? I’d really like to know more about his life.”

  Ruth glanced at her watch and frowned. “Oh dear, I really need to get home. The cable company is sending their man over to install some newfangled gadget so my computer will work better. I’m supposed to let him in between one and three.” She was quiet for a moment then continued. “Tell you what. Come on over to my house. I have coffee there.”

  “It wouldn’t be an imposition?”

  “Not at all, but do you mind if I ride with you? My son makes me take the bus these days. He worries about me, needlessly of course.”

  We went out to the car under Ruth’s umbrella. She explained the quickest route and we headed to her home.

  “There’s my place on the
right,” she said after we had been driving for a short while. “The brick house with blue shutters. Just pull around to the back.”

  We parked and I followed her inside to a small kitchenette.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, setting her purse on the dining room table. “Please excuse the clutter. I’ll get some coffee percolating.”

  “It’s a charming place,” I said, with nothing messy about it at all. I was reminded of my grandmother’s kitchen with its crocheted oven mitts and lace window valances.

  “Let me hang up that wet jacket,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. I made chocolate chip cookies yesterday. Would you like some?”

  “That would be lovely,” I said, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table.

  Ruth carefully selected several cookies from the plate, as if they had been made just for me, and placed them on my napkin. Then she stood back to watch me take the first bite.

  “Delicious,” I said.

  Ruth’s face lit up.

  “So what happened between Ted and his daughter?” I asked.

  “Well,” she said as she poured our coffee, “this is what he told me. Eleven years ago, Teddy’s wife, Lorraine, died of cancer. He was overcome with grief. You know, my aunt Clara died of cancer when I was twelve. She used to make the most wonderful chocolate chip cookies, but sometimes she’d put nuts in--”

  “Ruth,” I said, patting her arm, “you were saying about Ted and his daughter?”

  “Oh yes.” Ruth brought her hand up to her cheek. “I’m sorry. I sometimes get off track. Anyway, when Ted’s wife died, he was left to deal with a teenage daughter who really needed a mother. Poor thing went wild, unable to come to terms with her mother’s death. She behaved in ways Ted didn’t know how to handle. She became promiscuous, got into the drink, and eventually the dope. The summer after she graduated high school, her troubles really began.”

  “What happened?”

  “She got pregnant. The father was a bum, leaving Stephanie to deal with the baby. I’m not sure how Ted found out, but he went bonkers. He told Stephanie she was a disgrace and told her to get out.”

  I shut my eyes. “What happened then?”

  “She ended up losing the baby, and Ted never heard from her again. He was just sick over the whole episode once he’d calmed down and realized what he had done. But it was too late and he was still mourning the loss of his wife.”