The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  He shrugged. “They’ve been clients for years, but I don’t know much about them personally. Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Not with Kippy. He’s a sweetheart. I’m curious if you’ve ever met the older son, Benjamin.”

  He gave me a knowing smile. “Why? You think he’s hot?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m getting at. Have you met him?”

  “Don’t think so. How old is he?”

  “I think he’s in his late twenties.”

  “Ah.” Chad flashed me a wicked smile. “You want to set me up with him?”

  “No.” I slapped his hand like a naughty boy. “Why does everything have to be about sex with you?”

  “You mean, everything isn’t about sex?”

  “Never mind. If you don’t know him, then just forget I mentioned it.”

  When a blue Volvo entered the parking lot, Chad got up from the table. “Looks like my next client’s here. Thanks for bringing lunch, Mole. Let’s go out for drinks tomorrow night. Can’t wait to find out more about this Benjamin.”

  I always dreaded going back to my apartment. Not because it was a two-room dump on the second floor of a duplex, but because the landlord lived on the first floor, and he creeped me out. But it was the only thing I could afford that had a private entrance.

  I hadn’t bothered to buy much furniture or kitchen essentials because, I guess, part of me still held out hope that I’d be able to go back to my old life. Back to my old job. There was nothing wrong with Bridgeport. It was okay, even though most of the tourists from Massachusetts and New York drove like maniacs. But I missed Florida—my family and friends.

  How long would it be until I could go back? Would I ever be able to?

  I lifted the side of my mattress and pulled out an envelope. I sat on my bed and turned it upside down. Three photographs of my niece and a letter written from my sister.

  I had read the letter dozens of times, but I couldn’t resist reading it again.

  Hey sis,

  I was in shock when I got your letter in the mail. Of course I was in tears.

  For the past year, I have been going crazy not knowing where they’d sent you. I could only imagine how scared you were. How alone you must have felt. Believe me, if I could have gone with you, I would have.

  I know this is a huge risk we’re taking, but I find comfort in knowing where you are and how you are getting on.

  I’m not sure if you’ve been able to get online to read the updates on the case, but Marco is still missing. I call the detective every week for updates, but he stopped returning my calls. Which basically means they don’t have any new information. Marco’s family insist they don’t know where he’s gone, but who knows if they’re telling the truth.

  A tip came in a few months ago that Marco might be staying with his ex-girlfriend, Heather Mason, but nothing ever came of that either.

  The police still have no idea if the Vice Kings are looking for you, or if they’re still here in Miami. Another gang member was found murdered last night, but they don’t know why. I swear, this city is getting so dangerous, I’m seriously considering packing up and leaving this place. I don’t want Nina to be afraid of walking down the street without getting shot. Mom and Dad barely see us anyway, they’re too drunk most of the time to care about anything but themselves. I don’t go to visit anymore because it’s too depressing.

  But you know that will never change.

  Nina is excited about going into first grade, but she misses you like crazy. She doesn’t understand fully why her aunty left, and I’ve been making excuses. Eventually she’ll be old enough to start asking the right questions. What will I say to her? How will I explain what happened to you?

  I think it’s horrible how you are being punished for something you didn’t do. And to make it worse, you’ve had to cope with this tragedy on your own. You should be with family, not three thousand miles away in some town where you don’t know a single person. I’m glad to hear you’ve made at least one friend, but I want you to know that I am thinking of you every hour of every day. Someday, you will come home. I have to believe it.

  As much as I’d love to swap daily letters with you, we can’t let this continue, for your own safety. If anything ever happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.

  Burn this letter along with the photos, and don’t wait too long. Promise me you will, sis. I will continue to do what I can on this end. If the cops don’t find Marco, then I can always hire a private detective. We’ll find a way to make this right.

  Till then, I hope you know that we love you!

  I folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope, along with the photos. How could I ever bring myself to burn them? This was the only thing I had left.

  The day before I was relocated to Bridgeport, the United States Marshal assigned to my case was very serious about the most important rule of being in the Witness Protection Program: no contact with family or friends. No calls, texts, letters, Skype, Facebook … nothing. Basically, life as I knew it for the last twenty-six years was over. I had a nervous breakdown that landed me in the psych ward for three days. I hadn’t slept or eaten anything and, needless to say, I was on suicide watch.

  That’s when they prescribed some heavy-duty sleeping pills. At first, they worked great. Then after a year of taking them every night, their effectiveness had faded to the point where they barely worked at all. I could have asked my therapist for more meds, but I didn’t want to feel like a walking zombie anymore.

  It was time to face reality. And the reality was: Bridgeport was my home now. For how long? Who knew.

  I slipped the envelope under the mattress and wiped my eyes. I took a quick shower and found a semi-clean sweatshirt from my pile of dirty clothes. Just a bunch of baggy jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. The animals I babysat didn’t care what I looked like, so who did I have to dress up for? Besides, drawing attention to myself was not a good idea since my life had become all about maintaining a low profile. Keeping secrets was never my strong suit. Now the irony was my whole life in Bridgeport was a big, fat lie.

  Which reminded me, what was I going to do about Benjamin and Karen? I had to make a decision. Do I tell someone? Or just forget I ever heard their conversation?

  Reading my sister’s letter had given me an idea, though. I had met a private detective named Sarah Woods about a month ago while I was babysitting a dog in Prescott Heights, one of the fanciest neighborhoods in Bridgeport. Sarah had been working undercover at the house next door, something about sex parties and a famous defense attorney who turned out to be a drug addict. When she found out that I had been his dog sitter, she pressed me for information on the guy. I told her everything I knew about him. At any rate, Sarah was thankful for my help and she gave me her card. Said that she owed me one.

  I never actually thought I’d need it till now.

  As I began dialing her number, part of me was hoping she wouldn’t answer. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she wouldn’t want to get involved in some kind of murder conspiracy, if that’s what it even was.

  Damn it, but if someone ended up dead because I ignored my intuition, then I’d have to live with it. I already had enough on my conscience as it was.

  “Hello?”

  I cleared my throat and said, “Hi, is this Sarah Woods?”

  “That’s me.”

  “This is Molly Fisher. Do ... you remember me?”

  After a few beats she said, “Molly the pet sitter, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice to hear from you,” she said, her tone friendly yet curious. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “The last time we saw each other, you said you owed me a favor. Well, I need to cash in that favor.”

  “OK. What’s up?”

  For a second, I wanted to tell her that my real name wasn’t Molly, but I had to bite my tongue and stick to the reason I called. “We should talk in person,” I finally said. “Can you?”

/>   “I can make time this afternoon. Where do you want to meet?”

  “I take Kippy down to the Piscataqua River dog park every afternoon between two and three. You know where that is?”

  “I do,” she said. “I can be there round 2:30 if that works.”

  “Yeah, see you then.”

  I locked up my apartment and headed to the Bailey’s home, which was about a twenty-minute walk.

  Chapter 3

  Molly

  Since Kippy wasn’t a social mutt, he seemed content to sit with me on the park bench and watch the other dogs play fetch with their owners.

  Despite his maladies, Kippy seemed content with his life as it was. And how bad could it really be? Okay, so maybe he was partially deaf and blind and suffered from allergies—basically he had a human slave to dote on him every day.

  The bench I had claimed as my own was located under a maple tree, away from the other park benches. It would be the perfect private spot to talk when Sarah arrived.

  At exactly 2:30, I saw her heading toward me from the parking lot as she crossed the field, stopping once to pet a poodle.

  Sarah was an attractive woman in her mid-forties with long brown hair and a trim figure. She wore slim cut jeans, a navy blue blouse, and an arm sling. Arm sling? What was that all about?

  I moved Kippy off my lap and stood up to shake her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  With her good arm, she shook my hand with a firm grip. “I have to admit,” she said, “I was surprised to hear from you. How have you been, Molly?”

  “Better than you, I guess.” I pointed to her arm sling. “What happened?”

  She glanced down at her bum shoulder and smiled. “Oh, this thing? I just wear it for attention.”

  Yep, she was messing with me. “Seriously.”

  She shrugged. “I was working a case last month and had an altercation with a desperate man. It’s amazing what happens to the body in fight or flight mode. I didn’t even feel the bullet rip through my shoulder.”

  “You got shot?” I said, a little louder than I should have.

  “I’m fine. The doctor says I can ditch the sling tomorrow, so that’s good news.”

  “That sucks. I can’t imagine what it’s like to get shot.”

  “Doesn’t do any good to complain,” she said. “Besides, now I have a story to tell the grandkids. If I ever have grandkids.” She glanced down at Kippy and held her hand a few inches from his snout so he could sniff her. “And what’s your name, handsome?”

  “That’s Kippy,” I said with a chuckle. “And he’s way too old for you.”

  “Well, I’m taken anyway.”

  We sat down on the bench together, and Kippy inched his way back on to my lap, chin resting on my forearm.

  “What’s going on, Molly? Are you in trouble?”

  There were many ways I could have responded to that question, but I needed to focus on Benjamin and Karen. “It’s kind of a weird situation, and you probably won’t believe me when I tell you.”

  She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other and looked at me. “Try me.”

  I looked around the area to make sure nobody was close enough to hear. “Okay, so, I was staying at my client’s house last night with Kippy, and their oldest son, Benjamin, showed up with a friend. Her name was Karen. They had no idea I was there because it was late, the lights were off, and I don’t have a car. Anyway, I overheard their conversation.”

  Sarah nodded, remained quiet, patiently waiting for me to continue.

  “I’m not sure if they are a couple or just friends, but Karen said she was planning to kill someone, and she wants Benjamin to help her. They didn’t mention any details.”

  “What can you tell me about Karen?”

  I shrugged. “Brunette. Mid-twenties. Petite. She was wearing an expensive-looking suit.”

  “And Benjamin?”

  “His last name is Bailey. He’s probably the same age as Karen. He works at a law firm in town, I think. Maybe Karen works with him. I should probably add that he seemed reluctant to help her.”

  Sarah turned her head to watch a dog playing fetch, but I imagined she was thinking things over. Finally, she turned to face me again. “Am I the first person you’ve mentioned this to?”

  “You’re the only one. I figured you might be able to find out who Karen is and why she wants this person dead.”

  “Are you sure Karen didn’t mention a husband or boyfriend?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, when do the Baileys get back from their trip?”

  “Four or five days.” I said. “They’re gonna call me as soon as they know for sure. Sometimes, they end up staying an extra day on their trips; sometimes, they come home early. It’s hard to say.”

  “Well, from what you’ve told me about Benjamin, he seems like a reasonable guy if he tried to talk his friend out of committing a murder. There may be a simple solution here.”

  “Like what?”

  “You call Benjamin and tell him the truth. That you overheard his conversation last night.”

  I was afraid she’d say something like that. “I don’t want to get involved. That’s why I called you.”

  Sarah reached into her pocketbook and took out a palm-sized notebook and pen and began jotting down the names. “If Ben is a lawyer, I doubt he has a criminal record, but I’d like to know who we’re dealing with. His full name is Benjamin Bailey, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  She made a few notes, then put the notebook back in her pocketbook. “I might be able to find Karen through Benjamin’s social media sites. Maybe I’ll talk to her myself.”

  I had no idea what kind of ethical boundaries Sarah might cross in order to solve a case, but I figured it was in her hands now and she could do whatever she wanted. “Well, thanks for doing this.”

  “No problem.”

  “Should I stay at the Bailey’s house tonight, though? What if they come back while I’m there?”

  “You could always take Kippy back to your apartment.”

  “My landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “If you stay at the Bailey’s, leave some lights on in the house.”

  I stroked Kippy’s head, thinking Sarah might get up and leave. But she didn’t.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?

  I’ve lived in New England all my life so I can tell.”

  I was not comfortable with where this conversation was headed. “Oh, ya know, I’ve lived all over the country. I like to move around.”

  “Really? What brought you to Bridgeport?”

  I looked away and pretended I had a bug in my eye. “Just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

  “You have a boyfriend or kids? I mean, you look pretty young to have kids, but you never know.”

  “Nope.”

  I suppose it was Sarah’s nature to be inquisitive, but I needed to nix this conversation pronto before I said too much about myself. Just my luck—Sarah would figure things out and then I’d be in trouble.

  “So,” I said to her, “have you been able to work with your injury?”

  She gave me a weird look, like she knew I was changing the subject. “A little. My partner Carter and my brother Andrew are working a case in Hawaii. I’ve been doing some research for them, but I won’t be able to do much else till the sling is gone.” She crossed her fingers. “One more day.”

  When Kippy began to whimper, I knew he was ready to go home for his nap. “Well, I should get this little guy home.”

  “Yeah, of course. And I have your number in case I have more questions. Would it be OK to call you?”

  “I guess.”

  I watched as Sarah crossed the field again, heading back to her car. I couldn’t help but admire the woman for her tenacity and eagerness to get back to work. But I worried that she was too nosy. I’d have to watch myself around her.

  Chapter 4

  Sarah
/>   My conversation with Molly Fisher had been intriguing on many levels, and I was itching to sink my teeth into a new case. The one Molly had presented to me was a cash-in on a favor, so I wouldn’t be getting paid, but I didn’t care. It felt good to get back into the game.

  When I got home around 4:00 p.m., I realized I’d be eating alone again. Carter, the man I lived with, and who also happened to be my work partner, was in Hawaii working a case. We talked on the phone every day, even if only for a few minutes, but I knew he was distracted. He was caught up in an abduction case, and it required his utmost attention. I wanted to call him now, to discuss the situation that Molly had presented to me, but I decided to wait. I’d get some work done first. See how far it would take me.

  As I prepared myself a plate of snacks, I couldn’t ignore the throbbing pain in my shoulder. I removed the sling and began rotating the joint while I massaged the wounded area. My old massage skills were coming in handy again.

  I decided a glass of wine would help dull the pain.

  The doctor had assured me that, with diligent physical therapy, I’d regain at least 75% mobility. The bullet had shattered the bone in too many places to count, and destroyed the surrounding muscles, tendons, and ligaments.

  I should have felt lucky to have the use of my arm at all. I was certainly lucky to be alive, and I couldn’t forget that. I also couldn’t help but feel resentful. How would this injury ultimately change my life? My career? I knew Carter would be hesitant to involve me in our more serious cases. I’d be relegated to doing research, sitting at a desk, with my ass in the chair.

  That’s not where I wanted to be, at least, not all of the time.

  Hopefully, once I’d completed my twelve weeks of physical therapy, I could prove to Carter, my family, and everyone else, that I was ready.