The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  It hadn’t been hard to fall in love with Marco. He was funny, charming, and not an entitled prick like the other guys my friends dated. He worked hard in the construction business. In fact, he was grateful for any work that came his way. From fixing broken doors to roofing on ninety-degree days in the summer.

  Of course, he wasn’t perfect. He never wanted to talk about his past, old girlfriends, or childhood friends. I figured he was embarrassed or insecure because he grew up poor. I didn’t know it at the time, but his family was in all kinds of trouble. His own brother was a member of the Vice Kings. One of his cousins was in jail for dealing heroin. He had another cousin who robbed a convenience store with a gun. He wouldn’t introduce me to his family—his parents didn’t approve of their son marrying a woman who wasn’t Cuban.

  I was willing to deal with all of that because I knew it wasn’t Marco’s fault. He was just caught up in a bad situation. I truly believed we would be able to overcome those obstacles.

  Until it all fell to shit.

  I had to stop obsessing over Marco. For all I knew, he could be dead. But I felt deep down that he wasn’t. In fact, sometimes I got the sense that he was around. Close by. I’d walk past a store and smell him. Or I would see a guy on the street, and I would think it was him. If that wasn’t bad enough, his face would haunt my dreams every night. It was insane.

  I wanted the strength to let him go and move on with my life.

  Why did I have to be so weak?

  I watched happy families strolling along the river front with baby carriages. Couples walking hand in hand with recyclable produce bags dangling from their arms. Teenaged girls walking in clumps of fours and fives, wearing short shorts and strappy sandals, drinking their chai tea and lattes.

  Those girls were probably five or so years younger than me and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. They were living their lives, going on dates with cute boys, dyeing their hair only if they wanted to. Not because they had to change identities. I wish I could be them, even if only for a day.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  The woman’s voice startled me. I looked up and saw a girl my age, with long brown dreadlocks and a butterfly tattoo on her lower neck. She had a handsome German shepherd on a leash, and he was standing dutifully by her side. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said with a giggle in her voice, “but I’m wondering if you could help me.”

  “Sure,” I said, “I’ll try.”

  “I just moved to town last week, and I’m wondering if they allow dogs down at the farmer’s market?”

  “No, they don’t. They have a pretty strict policy about pets. I learned the hard way.”

  The girl smiled and crouched down next to me. “What an adorable cocker spaniel. What’s his name?”

  “Kippy. He’s friendly if you wanna pet him.”

  “This is Jake,” she said, referring to the German shepherd. “Just got him yesterday from the kennel. They told me he’s great with other dogs. Cats, not so much. By the way, I’m Erica.”

  “Molly,” I said, “nice to meet you.”

  Erica had a southern accent, not too pronounced, but definitely there. I was about to ask her where she was from, but she beat me to it.

  “My husband and I moved here from Virginia last week. He’s at home with our two month old. He’s going to be very disappointed that I didn’t get his fresh eggs.” Her tone was lighthearted as she stroked Jake’s head lovingly.

  “If you want,” I said, “you can leave Jake here with me, while you go down and get your eggs. I don’t mind.”

  I couldn’t believe I had offered to watch a stranger’s dog, but the German shepherd seemed real mellow.

  “Serious? You wouldn’t mind doing that? I promise, I’ll only take a few minutes. And I’d be happy to get something for you. Do you need some eggs?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Erica handed me Jake’s leash. “Be right back.”

  As I watched Erica enter the farmer’s market, Jake lay down next to me and didn’t move. I thought it was interesting that Erica would adopt this German shepherd with a two-month-old baby at home. But, he was obviously old and not very excitable. He just lay down next to Kippy and eventually closed his eyes.

  Five or six minutes later, Erica came back and didn’t look happy. “Can you believe it? Sold out of eggs, and it’s not even ten in the morning.”

  “That sucks,” I said. “Did you find something else to take home for breakfast?”

  “I sure did. This one vendor had some amazing blueberry muffins, so I got half a dozen, which is way more than my husband and I will ever eat. So ...” She removed a small paper bag from her straw basket and handed it to me. “I want you to have one. A thank you for watching Jake. I hope you like blueberry muffins.”

  Uh, yeah, they were my favorite muffins in the world, but I didn’t want to seem eager. Like I had expected a gift. “That’s nice of you, but ...”

  “Please,” she insisted, “they’re still warm.”

  “Well, OK. Thank you.”

  She took Jake’s leash back. “You know, I really love Bridgeport, but I find people here aren’t as friendly as back home. You’re an exception, of course. Being a stay-at-home mom makes it difficult finding new friends.”

  “Give it time,” I said, not that I was one to give advice on such matters. “I’m sure you’ll make a ton of new friends.”

  “Do you have kids, Molly? Or is Kippy your only child?”

  “Actually, Kippy isn’t even mine. I just babysit him while his owners are traveling.”

  “Oh,” she said, “well, that’s very generous of you.”

  “I’m a pet sitter, so I get paid. But I love animals, so it doesn’t feel like work.”

  I heard a ring tone coming from Erica’s basket. “Excuse me, I think that’s my husband texting me, probably wondering where I am with the eggs. I should head home.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” I said.

  “Same, here, Molly. I hope we run into each other again.”

  After she left, I peeked inside the brown paper bag at the blueberry muffin and took a big whiff. Man, it smelled good. I broke off a small piece and popped it into my mouth. Kippy inched closer and set his snout on my lap, droopy eyes looking up at me. I knew he wanted a piece, too.

  “Sorry,” I said, “your mom gave me strict orders, and that means no sugar for you.”

  I didn’t have the heart to eat the muffin in front of Kippy; that would be cruel. I got to my feet. “Let’s go home, and I’ll give you your own special treat.”

  Back at the house, Kippy must have known that he was going to get his biscuit. He ran in circles, tail wagging, his paws making click-clack noises on the tiled kitchen floor. I set the paper bag on the table and was about to grab his treat when my phone rang from inside my back pocket.

  It was Sarah. “Hello?”

  “Hey Molly,” she said, “is this a good time to talk?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” I walked into the other room and sat on the couch, cupping my other ear so I could hear her voice better. “Did you talk to Karen?”

  “Yes, I did. I just wanted you to know that her situation is being taken care of.”

  “Did you find out who she wanted to … you know.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and it’s under control. You don’t need to be concerned about it anymore.”

  I waited to see if she’d give me any details, and when she didn’t, I asked, “So, who’s the guy? Was it her boyfriend? Someone at work?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to get involved,” she said.

  “I don’t.”

  “Look,” Sarah said, “I can fill you in on what’s going on, but not on the phone. I’ll be here at my office most of the day if you want to drop by for a chat. I’m right downtown.”

  “OK, maybe I will. Thanks.”

  When I turned back toward the kitchen, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Kippy standing on the kitchen table eating the blueber
ry muffin that he had somehow gotten out of the bag.

  “Down, Kippy! Bad dog!”

  I rushed over and scooped him off the table as he let out a yelp. I placed him gently on the floor, then he toddled off to the living room with tail between his legs. Thankfully, he hadn’t eaten the entire muffin, but he had made a mess. Crumbs everywhere.

  I swept the remnants into my hand and threw them in the trash. How much sugar does a blueberry muffin actually have? I mean, it wasn’t like Kippy ate a whole candy bar. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

  I went into the living room and found Kippy lying on the couch in his usual place. He wouldn’t look at me, probably because he thought he was about to get scolded again. I didn’t have the heart to berate him a second time. I could tell he felt bad enough.

  “I hope you enjoyed that, you little stinker. If you get a belly ache, don’t come crying to me.”

  I waited around for a while, just in case he vomited. After an hour, he fell asleep and seemed perfectly fine.

  At 11:30, I decided to head downtown to Sarah’s office and see what she had to say about Karen Pavlis.

  Chapter 9

  Molly

  It was a good thirty-minute hike to downtown Bridgeport, and I was sweating like a pig when I climbed the stairs to Sarah’s office.

  She took one look at me and offered an ice-cold bottle of water, then asked me to have a seat on her lime green couch, which I did.

  “You don’t have a car?”

  I downed most of the water in one gulp. “Nope. I can’t really afford one right now. I don’t mind walking.”

  “What about the winter? You take public transportation?”

  “Yep.” I glanced around the office and took in the cool vintage posters on the walls. The place had plenty of natural light from the huge windows that were opened up, letting in the breeze. “You have a good eye for design,” I told Sarah. “If you ever decide you’re tired of being a private eye, you could decorate offices and homes.”

  “Really?” she said, soaking up the compliment. “Thanks. It takes one to know one, though. Are you into design?”

  “Used to be,” I said. “I was taking online courses for website design, but I never finished the course because ...” I stopped myself just in time. “Never mind.”

  “OK, well,” Sarah went on, looking confused,“here’s the deal. Karen’s step-dad is most likely abusing her mother, and Karen hired me to get proof, which might help get her mom to leave the guy.”

  “That’s why she wanted to kill him?”

  “Thing is, her step-dad is a smooth operator. He’s never been arrested, and he’s well-respected in the business community.”

  “How will you get proof that he’s abusive?” I asked. “You gonna try to get pictures or something?”

  “We have surveillance in place right now. We just have to wait.”

  “Wait for him to beat her up, you mean?”

  Sarah sighed. “I wish there was a better way, but the mother seems to be in denial about the abuse. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  She stared at me, head tilted slightly, like she wanted to ask me a question. It caused a nervous twitch in my gut.

  “I hope you won’t be upset with me,” she began with a remorseful tone to her voice, “but I did an Internet search on you.”

  I tried not to react, but my face must have given me away. Instead of answering her question, I went on the defensive. “Why did you do that?”

  “I always do background checks on clients,” she said. “I’ve been burned in the past by clients who’ve lied to me, and now I’m extra cautious. I like to know who I’m working for.”

  “But I’m not your client,” I said. “You were just returning a favor, that’s all.”

  “Still, if I’m going to put myself in a potentially dangerous position, I want to have all the facts. Now I’m wondering if, by doing that search on you, I’ve inadvertently put you in a compromising position.”

  “I don’t understand what that means.”

  Sarah leaned toward me, resting elbows on knees, and gave me a serious look. “Are you on the run, Molly? Either way, I’m not going to give you up. Your secret is safe with me. If you want to talk about it, I swear whatever you tell me will not leave this room.”

  Shit! This was not what I had signed up for. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. I mean, I can’t talk about it.”

  Sarah nodded, as if she understood exactly what I meant. “Not supposed to talk about it, huh? That sounds like witness protection.”

  I had no idea what to say or do.

  Sarah got up and came to sit next to me on the couch. “Is anyone helping you?”

  I looked away. I should have grabbed my backpack and got the hell out of there, but something inside me wanted to stay. A part of me wanted to tell her.

  “Are you safe, Molly? Because if you’re not, I can help.”

  I turned back to face her. There was genuine compassion in her eyes, but I still felt trapped and scared. “Look, it’s a long story, and I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it. Not today.”

  “That’s OK,” she said. “I understand.”

  I got to my feet and looked down at Sarah. “I appreciate your help with the Karen Pavlis situation, but you don’t need to give me updates anymore. I have enough to deal with in my own life, obviously. So, whatever, good luck.”

  “If that’s what you want,” she said. “I hope it all works out for you, too. If you need to talk, you can call me.”

  I grabbed my backpack and walked out the door.

  After I left her office, I went straight to my apartment and opened all the windows. On hands and knees, I reached under my mattress and pulled out the envelope. I read the letter from my sister one more time, then lit the match.

  I tossed it into the fireplace and watched it burn.

  I was too numb to cry, so I just sat there, feeling the heat on my skin from the fire, wishing I could just burn to ashes, too.

  And then my phone chirped from inside my backpack.

  It was Chad.

  I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice sound normal. “Hey, Chad. What’s up?”

  “Well, good afternoon to you too, Mole. Did I call at a bad time?”

  He obviously sensed something was wrong. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

  “Got any plans later?”

  Chad knew that I never had social plans. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, I was thinking we could go shopping and have dinner.”

  I wasn’t in the mood, but the eager sound in his voice tugged at my heart. Chad was a sweet guy and maybe he was just feeling sorry for me. I couldn’t blow him off. “What time?”

  “I can pick you up around seven.”

  “Good. That’ll give me enough time to check on Kippy and feed him his dinner.”

  “Why don’t I pick you up at the Bailey’s house, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Sure, OK.”

  Twenty minutes later I was back at the Bailey's house and went straight to the kitchen to make Kippy’s dinner. I expected him to come running when he smelled his food, but tonight he didn’t.

  I went to the living room, and there he was, lying on the couch where I had left him hours before.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.

  He responded by looking up at me with droopy eyes. His tail swished back and forth lazily, but he made no other effort to move.

  Something wasn’t right. I’d never seen him so lethargic.

  “Is it because of the blueberry muffin?” I asked. “Do you have a tummy ache?”

  I gently tried to lift him up and off the couch, hoping he’d find some strength to stand on his own legs. Clearly, he was not interested.

  And that’s when I smelled a foul odor. At the other end of the couch, I noticed a puddle of what appeared to be vomit. Even though a stain on the couch was the least of my worries, I rushed to the kitchen for some cleaning supplies.
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br />   As I wiped up the vomit, I couldn’t believe that just a few bites of a blueberry muffin could cause a dog to throw up. Five or six muffins, sure. But a few bites?

  I tried to get Kippy moving, but he was having none of it. Finally, I realized that this could be serious.

  I called Chad and tried to keep my emotions in check. “I need you,” I said. “I need your help. Can you come over to the Bailey’s right now?”

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “It’s Kippy. I think he needs to go to the vet.”

  “What happened?”

  “This morning, he ate a few bites of my blueberry muffin by accident. When I got back here a little while ago, I noticed he threw up on the couch and he can barely move.”

  “It’s probably just an upset stomach,” he said. “Try not to worry. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  * * *

  With Chad’s help, we got Kippy into his van and arrived at the veterinary clinic five minutes later.

  I explained the situation to the doctor about the muffin, but he didn’t seem convinced that a few tablespoons of sugar would promote such a negative reaction. He examined Kippy head to toe, then took some blood samples.

  “We could keep him here overnight, make sure he’s getting enough fluids. He might just be dehydrated.”

  “He’s not my dog,” I admitted. “I’ll need to call his owners to tell them what’s going on. They’re on a cruise, out of the country, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach them right away.”

  “Well, we can run some more tests while you try and get in touch.”

  On the verge of tears, I went back to the waiting room to make the call on my cell. Chad followed me, put his hand on mine. “Let me call them, Mole. I’ll explain everything.”