The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7)

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The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7) Page 23

by Jennifer L. Jennings


  Max and I were never formally in love. Meaning, we never told each other those words, specifically. Max had been a rebound after my divorce, and I’d been particularly careful not to let my heart run amuck with him. He had also just lost his sister, so we were both in a fragile place in our lives. When he left, I told myself that it was for the best. Besides, Carter and I were a much better fit. Partners in every sense of the word.

  There was no point in wasting time thinking about Max and what his ulterior motive might be for wanting to have dinner. I had to get my butt in gear and head to the office for an appointment with a woman by the name of Sue-Ellen Pratt. From what I had gathered during our phone conversation, her only son had died in a car accident. A toxicology report confirmed that alcohol was involved. Mrs. Pratt insisted that her son was a reformed alcoholic. She could not come to terms with the fact that he’d been drinking the night he crashed his car.

  I’d worked a few cases like this one, where the family member of the deceased hires me to look into the death of a loved one, especially when the local police had decided not to open an investigation.

  Sometimes, I’m successful in finding answers, and sometimes there are no answers to be found. My job is to keep an open mind and stay objective.

  * * *

  My downtown Bridgeport office was a cheap, one room suite that I had decorated with vintage movie posters. All the furniture came from Good Will, but I splurged on the brand new coffee maker.

  When Sue-Ellen arrived on time, I offered her some fresh brewed java, which she accepted black.

  I guessed Sue-Ellen was in her early fifties. She had salt and pepper short hair which looked more like a man’s haircut. Her face, however, was virtually wrinkle free, and she wore no makeup. No jewelry either; just dark-rimmed prescription glasses. She was dressed casually in jeans and a cotton tunic.

  “Thanks for meeting me on short notice,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa, cupping her coffee mug in her hands. “When I came across your website, and found that you were a female private detective, I knew you were the right person for me.”

  I didn’t exactly know what she meant by that. Did she not trust men?

  I sat on the opposite side of the couch facing her, legs crossed. “So, first of all, please accept my condolences about your son.”

  “Blake was my only child.” She stared off into space, a blank expression on her face. “I would have liked to give him a brother or sister, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  She was clearly suffering, so I needed to broach the subject gently. “You mentioned that he was intoxicated when he crashed his car. Are you disputing the toxicology reports?”

  Her gaze shifted back to meet mine. “No. I hired a separate company to confirm the results were indeed correct. He had consumed alcohol, but his blood alcohol level was only a .03, which is equivalent to one drink. The reason I want to hire to you is to find out why he drank. He’d been clean and sober for almost a year, so why would he throw it all away? Something happened that night, and I want to know what it was.”

  I held up my cell phone to indicate that I would be recording our conversation. “Let’s start at the beginning. What was Blake doing before the accident?”

  “On October 8th, he attended a catered event at the Bridgeport Convention Center with his girlfriend, Gail Haas. Actually, they had arrived in separate cars because Gail had to be at the event earlier to help organize and set up. According to her, my son left the event after ten completely sober. The police spoke with the bartender, and he confirmed that my son never ordered an alcoholic drink from him, however, he did mention that a bottle of Scotch was missing when he took inventory after the party.”

  “Did the police find a bottle of Scotch in your son’s car?”

  “No. They found no alcoholic drinks. Only a few empty bottles of the energy drink he likes.”

  “What time did the accident take place?”

  “At 10:45, a 911 call came in to report an accident. When the first responders showed up on the scene around 11:00, he was already dead.”

  “Had you talked to your son earlier in the day?”

  “No. I should probably level with you, Ms. Woods. My son and I hadn’t spoken to each other in almost a year.”

  “Why not?”

  “A little over a year ago, when he was drinking heavily, he got fired from his job and eventually got evicted from his apartment. I invited him to come live with me on one condition; he would have to get sober and attend AA meetings at least twice a week. The first week he did great, but it didn’t last. He began drinking again, lying to me, and even stole money out of my purse to buy booze. I was so furious that I kicked him out of the house. We lost touch until a few months later when I got a letter from him. In the letter, he explained that he understood why I kicked him out, that he was sorry, and he was trying to get sober. Said that he had met a nice girl at an AA meeting, and she was helping him get back on his feet. He planned to come see me after he received his one year sobriety chip.”

  “So, Gail was the woman he met at AA?”

  “Yes.” Sue-Ellen handed me a business card. “She gave this to me at the funeral with her personal cell phone number, in case I ever wanted to get in touch. I thought it was a nice gesture.”

  I glanced at the expensive heavy card stock and engraved script. “What’s your impression of Gail?”

  “She was not at all what I expected.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, she’s almost ten years older than my son. He was 24, and she’s in her mid-thirties.” Sue-Ellen paused, eyes downcast. “I hate to say this, but she’s not very attractive. I know how shallow that sounds, but my son was very handsome when he got cleaned up. In fact, right out of high school, he was approached by a modeling agency in Boston. He got a few modeling jobs, but that ended when his drinking became worse. Gail told me he was trying to get back into the modeling scene.”

  “Was Gail paying for most of his living expenses?” I asked.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Do you have a picture of your son?”

  “I brought one to give to you.” She reached into her purse. “Here it is.”

  I unfolded the page that looked like it had been torn out of a magazine. The photo showed a young man posing on a beach wearing only his swim trunks. The six-pack abs, toned chest, and perfectly proportioned features of his face reminded me of a Greek God. “May I have this?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I have lots of copies. I have other pictures if you need them.”

  “I think this will suffice.” I folded the sheet and set it aside. “What can you tell me about Blake’s friends?”

  “The only friend I ever met was Trevor Ellis. They went to high school together.”

  “Was he at the funeral?”

  “Yes. There were so many people who attended, I could barely keep track of everyone.”

  “What about Blake’s dad? You haven’t mentioned him.”

  “Oh, right.” Sue-Ellen shifted uncomfortably. “Blake’s dad left when Blake was sixteen. As far as I know, they haven’t been in touch.”

  “Why did he leave, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  She let out a sigh. “To be honest, he moved to Vegas. Said he was going to make a bunch of money playing poker, and once he did, he’d come back. That was nine years ago. I haven’t seen a dollar of that million he promised to bring home.”

  “He didn’t come home for the funeral?”

  “I tried calling him, but the number I have has been disconnected. I called his sister who lives in Houston, but she hadn’t spoken to Cliff in years. He has no other family.”

  “But, you’re sure Blake hadn’t been in touch with him.”

  “I can’t be sure, but Blake told me many times that he wanted nothing to do with his dad after he left us.”

  “Just so I can be thorough, what’s your ex’s name? Maybe I can track him down for you.”

  “Actually, we never got divorced.
His name is Clifford Pratt.” She proceeded to give me his birth date, birth city, and social security number. I was impressed that she had it all memorized. I didn’t even have my own son’s social security number down pat.

  “Thanks. I’ll plug that info into my program and see what pops up. Now, getting back to Blake, what was he drinking at the event that night?”

  “Ginger ale.”

  “At what age did you notice he had a problem with alcohol?”

  “It was shortly after his father left, and it just kept getting worse. I sent him to therapy for depression and the doctor prescribed meds, but he was never consistent in taking them. I should have been more persistent.”

  There was regret in her eyes as she sipped her coffee. I tried to put myself in her shoes, tried to imagine what it would be like to lose my only son. How would I ever be able to live a normal life? How would I even survive one day?

  I took a few moments to consider everything she’d said, and I still wasn’t sure I’d be able to find any answers for her. “My fees are three hundred a day including expenses. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She nodded. “Your fees sound reasonable to me. I can afford a week of your time.”

  “Keep this in mind; I may not find what you’re looking for. In other words, your son may have decided to drink and drive for no other reason than because he was an alcoholic. Would you be willing to accept that?”

  “Yes, I suppose I will have no other choice but to accept that. When can you start?”

  “Today,” I said, checking my watch. “I’d like to speak to Blake’s girlfriend, but it will save me a lot of time if you can give me any information you have about her.”

  “Sure. Her name is Gail Haas and she owns Langdon Insurance Company. Makes a good living, so good that she bought my son a BMW convertible for him to drive around.”

  “How long had they been dating?”

  “Almost a year. Like I said, they met at an AA meeting, but she’s not an alcoholic. She went to a meeting with a friend or family member for support, and that’s where she met Blake.”

  “She sounds like a compassionate woman. So, Gail is in her mid-thirties, and she owns an insurance company?”

  “Yes, she told me that she owns the company with her ex-husband.”

  “No kidding,” I said. “How does that work?”

  “They got divorced a few years ago, but they are still friends and business partners. According to her, it has worked out fine.”

  “What about Blake’s cell phone? Any text messages or calls that might explain why he drank that night?”

  “The police gave me his phone. There were no texts or voice messages.”

  “None at all?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “I find that strange,” I said. “I have, like, fifty text messages on my phone that I haven’t gotten around to deleting. Makes me think that Blake deleted all of his messages on purpose.”

  “Well, according to Gail, Blake hadn’t been in touch with his old friends. Only people he saw were from the AA meetings and the gym he went to. So, maybe he didn’t have any reason to text anyone.”

  “OK, I guess that’s all I need to get started. If I’m able to find your husband’s current location, would you like me to call him with the news of your son? Or would you rather contact him yourself?”

  Her consternation was clear. “Maybe it would be better if you told him.”

  “I don’t mind. One less thing you’ll have to deal with.”

  After Sue-Ellen wrote me a deposit check, I walked her to the door. She shook my hand and made an effort to smile. “Thank you, Ms. Woods. I look forward to hearing from you very soon.”

  “I’ll do my best to get you some answers, I promise.”

  Chapter 2

  After Sue-Ellen left my office, I sat at my desk and did an online search for any articles about the accident on October 8th. Only one article had a photo of the black BMW, taken at night, probably soon after the crash. The front end of the car was wrapped around a tree, a mangled mess of metal and glass, while the back end was virtually undamaged, except for the two busted tail lights.

  I printed out the photo and started a new case file. My mission was to find out what prompted Blake to drink and drive the night he died.

  Gail Haas, the girlfriend, seemed like the obvious first person to contact, so I dialed the number that was hand-written on the back of the business card. When nobody answered, I left a brief message, explaining who I was and why I was calling.

  The next on my list was Trevor Ellis, Blake’s high school friend. Through an online database search, I was able to find an address in Dover, a small college community just south of Bridgeport known for its quaint downtown vibe with eclectic coffee shops, bars and music stores. There was no phone number listed, which seemed like the norm these days. Most people just used a cell phone, including myself.

  Since I had the address, I decided to drive to his house. With any luck, he’d be home.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked my Toyota in front of Trevor’s apartment building on New York Street. The three-story houses in the neighborhood were worn down and spaced close together. I had a friend who lived on this street during our college days, and I remember it being a seedy area. But, the rent was cheap.

  Checking to make sure my pepper spray was safely hidden inside the pocket of my purse, I locked up my car and made my way to the front door of #11. Before I had a chance to knock, a young man in his early twenties appeared behind the screen door. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his hair looked matted on one side like he’d just gotten out of bed.

  He grumbled something I couldn’t understand as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

  “Hi there,” I said to him with a wave. “I’m looking for Trevor. He lives here, right?”

  The guy wiped his eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.”

  “Then Trevor is at work.” The guy looked me up and down, a look of confusion. “Are you his mom?”

  I wanted to ask him if he really thought I looked old enough to be his mother, but I held my tongue. “Nah, I just need to ask him a few questions about Blake Pratt. Blake’s mom hired me to find out why her son was drinking the night he crashed his car.”

  “Oh, man. I knew that dude.” He opened the screen door and stood next to me outside. “What a bummer about the accident.”

  I had to distance myself from this guy because he reeked of stale alcohol. “You were friends with Blake?”

  “Well, sure, we used to party together, but that was before he gave up booze.” He wiped his palm on his grungy jeans and then held it out to me. “My name’s Josh, by the way.”

  “I’m Sarah.” His hand was sticky, and I shuddered to think why. “So, what can you tell me about Blake regarding his getting sober?”

  “Awe, he had a tough time, you know. That dude liked to party. He lived here for a few weeks until he met that rich chick.”

  “So, he never drank with you guys after he got sober?”

  “Not a drop. He was real disciplined about it. No drugs, either. Cleaned himself up. I moved in here with Trevor right after Blake left. Just a temporary thing. He’s letting me sleep on the sofa till I find my own place.”

  “That’s cool.” I took another step back, letting him know I couldn’t stay and chat. “Can you tell me where Trevor works?”

  “Sure, he’s down at the car wash. You know, that place with the fake Cadillac on the roof, next to Best Buy.”

  “Right, I know the place. Thanks, Josh.”

  “Hey, anytime. Maybe you could tell him we’re out of vodka. He should grab a bottle on the way the home from work.”

  I let out a chuckle, as if he must be kidding, but the determined look on his face told me he was dead serious.

  * * *

  The Cadillac Car Wash had a long line of cars, and the two guys working there seemed too busy to stop for a break. I parked
near the vacuums and waited for the rush to die down.

  By one o’clock, the place was almost deserted, and I noticed the younger of the two employees had gone around the back of the building, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

  As I approached him, I called out in a friendly voice, “Hi there, are you Trevor?”

  He glanced at me briefly while lighting his cigarette. He took a long puff, blew it out and said, “Yeah, who are you?”

  “My name is Sarah. Mind if I ask you a few questions about your friend who died recently?”

  His eyes turned down as he shuffled his feet. “Blake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about him?”

  I gave him a brief explanation of why Sue-Ellen had hired me. “Do you have any idea why he got drunk the night he died?”

  Trevor took another long puff then flicked his ash on the ground. “No, I don’t. Getting sober was real important to him.”

  I studied his face while he continued to smoke. He had shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail, with a diamond stud in one ear. I imagined there was a handsome face underneath all that facial hair, but grooming didn’t seem to be of much importance to him. He was wearing a t-shirt, and his beefy arms were a clear indication that he liked to work out with weights.

  “What can you tell me about his girlfriend?”

  “I can’t remember her name, but they met at one of his AA meetings.”

  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “Nah, he wasn’t supposed to be hanging around with us. Too much temptation.” I detected sarcasm in his tone.

  “Were you upset that Blake got sober and ditched you to spend more time with his new lady?”

  He made a derisive sound like he was offended. “I didn’t care that he got sober. I knew he needed help. But after he met that chick, man, she had him wrapped around her pinky. He couldn’t do anything without checking in with her. Pretty lame.”

 

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