A Witness in Disguise (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 10)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  As Carter and I walked through the lobby, he nodded to the manicure station to the left. A twenty-something woman with shoulder length blonde hair jabbered to the manicurist as she painted her nails a bright, glossy red. “That’s definitely her. I guess we wait until she’s done.”

  As I glanced around the place, I noticed the middle-aged receptionist at the desk eying us curiously, her elevated chin a clear indicator that she thought we must be lost. The fact that we weren’t wearing Rolex’s and/or Chanel outfits was probably her first clue, among many others.

  My initial thought was to waltz up to her and ask her why she felt the need to act so superior when, in fact, she was just an employee of some overpriced sub-par Spa. Before I could summon the courage, Carter was guiding me back out the door.

  Once outside, I looked around for the nearest coffee shop. “Let’s grab a cup of joe. We might be waiting a while.”

  “Good idea,” Carter replied.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Heather emerged from the spa looking pleased with herself. As she took a left out of the spa and headed toward the parking garage she checked herself out in the window. Carter and I followed at a safe distance. I couldn’t help but notice what great shape Heather was in. She completely rocked the tight jeans and low-cut top but the over-confident swagger was a bit much. Also, she pretended not to notice the guys ogling her as she passed by them. For a split second, I wondered if Carter had been admiring her firm bottom as well.

  Finally, we tailed her into the parking garage, where Heather aimed her key fob to a pristine, white convertible Audi. The unlock alarm sounded and echoed off the concrete walls.

  We closed in on her, just as she was about to open the driver’s side door.

  “Heather Madison?” Carter called out.

  At the sound of his voice, she turned abruptly, stared at us and said nothing.

  Carter introduced us as private detectives and held out his hand.

  She didn’t bother to reciprocate. “What do you want?”

  “A few minutes of your time, is all.”

  She paused to assess us with what I perceived as judgmental eyes. “Sorry, but I’m late for another appointment.”

  Carter stood his ground. “Aren’t you the least bit interested in what this is about?”

  She sighed contemptuously. “No, not really. Like I said, I’m late. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Carter looked at me, as if I might be able to say something to change her mind. So I said the first thing that came to me. “Ms. Madison, did your fiancé Cliff tell you that we talked to him yesterday?”

  She stopped, turned and glowered at me “If this is about that Meagan girl, I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to act nonplussed. “You and Cliff have been dating on and off for years. I could understand you might be a little jealous. Mind if I ask where you were on the night she disappeared?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered with annoyance. “Do you realize I could have you both arrested for harassment?”

  I laughed. “Of course, you don’t have to answer our questions but then it would seem like you’re trying to hide something. Are you trying to hide something?”

  She placed a perfectly manicured hand on her hip and exhaled forcibly. “This is ridiculous. Do you know who you are talking to? Have you any idea who my parents are?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “But their status doesn’t intimidate me. Besides, we’re just asking one simple question. If you answer it honestly, you never have to speak to us again. We’ll be out of your perfectly salon colored hair.”

  Her green eyes flashed anger. “Don’t try to manipulate me. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  I put my hands up in surrender and backed away. “I guess you have no intention of making this easy. We’ll have to find another way.”

  Suddenly, Heather’s shoulders dropped, as if she felt exhausted and defeated. “Look, last April was a bad time for me. Cliff and I had broken up earlier in the month and we weren’t speaking to each other. That night of the 3rd, I went out drinking with my girlfriends and got completely hammered. I don’t remember much of that evening; but if you don’t believe me, I’ll give you their names so you can call to confirm it.”

  Carter retrieved his notebook from his back pocket. “Ready when you are.”

  “Kathy Hanson, Cheryl Black, Tori McFadden and Samantha Quinn.”

  Carter offered her an appreciative smile. “Thank you. We really appreciate this.”

  Heather pursed her lips and stared at the ground. “Please don’t call my parents. They don’t need to be bothered with this, okay?”

  “Not a problem,” he said, returning the notebook to his back pocket.

  “Sorry.” She looked at her cell phone and grunted. “I really have to go now. I wasn’t lying when I said I had another appointment.”

  Carter stood to the side and allowed her to open the car door. “Good luck with the wedding, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She got into her car without another word and drove off.

  “She’s too ditzy to be a Harvard graduate,” I said to Carter. “Wanna bet her mom and dad pulled some strings to make that happen?”

  “I’m sure they did. I just wonder if they pulled some strings to clear their daughter as a suspect in Meagan’s abduction.”

  “I doubt they could. Detective James would have mentioned something.”

  Carter shrugged. “Did you notice how quickly she produced the names of her girlfriends? How hard would it be for her to convince her friends to lie for her?”

  “True. She could have bought them all new Tiffany bracelets. That would be enough incentive. But we should still contact them.”

  “Meanwhile, let’s go visit Meagan’s dad at the hospital and see if he’s well enough to talk about his daughter.”

  Chapter 7

  It was a pleasant and sunny day for a drive through the backcountry roads leading to Holbrook, New Hampshire. According to the website, the facility where George Hart lived was rated in the top ten in the country for brain injury patients requiring full time medical staff twenty-four seven. When we pulled in, the impressive stone and glass structure reminded me more of a five star hotel than an assisted living home. Gorgeous landscaping and an Olympic size swimming pool could be seen as we drove through the property.

  Once we were parked, Carter said, “Why don’t you go in by yourself. I’ll stay out here and call Heather’s friends to confirm her alibi for April 3rd. You okay with that?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed my purse and headed to the building.

  I entered the double glass doors leading into the lobby and approached the reception desk. The woman was friendly and asked me for personal identification when I inquired about visiting George Hart.

  “Are you a family member?” she inquired.

  “No,” I said, thinking on my feet. “But I’m a friend of his daughter, Meagan.”

  I wasn’t sure if the woman believed my lie but she appeared to type my driver’s license information into her computer. After a long minute, she handed back my license and pointed down the hall. “Take the elevators to the third floor and stay to the left. Mr. Hart is room 258.”

  When I got to George’s room, I knocked on the door and waited for several moments with no answer. I glanced up and down the hallway, searching for a nurse or staff member, but not a soul was in sight. Another minute passed until, finally, I noticed a couple slowly making their way up the corridor toward me. The man was in his sixties, dressed in baggy jeans and sweatshirt, shuffling slowly as if one leg was paralyzed. He was holding the arm of the woman who assisted him, probably a nurse or therapist. She was medium height, on the chunky side, with short auburn hair.

  As the couple approached room 258, I realized that the man must be Meagan’s father.

  The woman obviously worked there, she had a nametag that said Sue-Ann.

  “Hello, Ma’am,” she said to me with a look of mild curiosity. “Can I he
lp you with something?”

  “Yes,” I replied, gesturing to the man clinging to her arm. “I’m here to see Mr. George Hart. I’m Sarah Woods.”

  Sue-Ann turned to her left and tenderly caressed George’s hand. “Mr. Hart, it looks like you have a visitor. Do you recognize this woman?” Her southern accent was thick as syrup - probably a transplant from Tennessee or Louisiana. I appreciated the fact that she spoke to George with respect, like he wasn’t handicapped or stupid. I immediately liked this woman.

  When George didn’t respond, I got the sense that he hadn’t understood a word Sue-Ann just said to him. His dreamy gaze was focused on the wall behind her.

  Sue-Ann turned back to me with an apologetic shrug. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes? I’ll get Mr. Hart settled in his room and, once he’s comfortable, I’ll come get you. Okay?”

  “No problem,” I said. “Take your time.”

  When Sue-Ann reappeared in the hallway, she approached me with a disheartened smile. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Forgive me for being so blunt but what is your business with Mr. Hart?”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m assuming you know about his daughter Meagan.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you with the police?”

  “Not exactly.” I produced my P.I. license. “But I’ve been hired to work on the case.”

  Sue-Ann held the license in her hand, staring at it for a long time, until she finally looked up. Her eyes seemed unfocused as she handed back the license. “Perhaps you don’t understand, Mr. Hart won’t be able to help you. He hasn’t spoken a word since his accident last March.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “Could you tell me what Mr. Hart’s condition is exactly?”

  “He suffers from moderate traumatic brain injury with permanent cognitive and physical impairment,” she said, as if I should understand any of that. She must have seen my blank expression. “In other words, he’s unable to communicate.”

  I glanced around the corridor to make sure nobody else was around. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Technically, I’m not an employee. I volunteer four days a week as part of my education. I’m taking nursing courses and I need five hundred hours of hands on experience.”

  “Oh, then maybe there’s another nurse or doctor I can talk to?”

  Sue-Ann seemed slightly hurt. “We’re understaffed here, so getting a doctor or even a nurse to sit down and talk with you will be difficult unless you’re family of the patient.”

  “Right,” I said, deciding to change my tactic. This Sue-Ann seemed like a straight shooter and she certainly seemed to feel comfortable with George. “Look, I need your help. Could you tell me who’s been here to visit Mr. Hart? Friends, family, maybe an old girlfriend?”

  Sue-Ann appeared to think it over as she pushed her reading glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “There have only been two people I’ve seen come to visit him in the past few months since I’ve been here. His neighbor Verna comes once a week and another woman who claims to be a friend. Her name is Maria.”

  “What is Maria’s last name?”

  “I think it is Lopez, but I’m not sure. She comes here about once a week, usually on Wednesdays or Thursdays. She always brings Mr. Hart the most wonderful muffins and pastries. Too bad he doesn’t have any interest in them.” She playfully tapped her upper thigh and it jiggled. “I end up eating most of them.”

  I chuckled at the woman’s candid self-deprecating humor. “You wouldn’t happen to have her number, would you?”

  “No, but the next time she’s here, I could pass along your number.”

  “Actually, it might be better if you’d call me when she comes back for a visit. I’d like to speak to her in person.”

  Sue-Ann shrugged. “Sure, I guess I could do that.” She adjusted her glasses again and made a tight expression. “Pardon me for asking, but have there been any leads in Mr. Hart’s daughter’s disappearance? I haven’t read anything in the papers recently.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing new to talk about. Meagan’s ex-boyfriend is the one who hired us to beef up the investigation.”

  “Ex-boyfriend? Why?”

  “He says he’s still in love with her, holding out hope that she’s still alive. After three months, however, the chances aren’t very promising in that regard.”

  Sue-Ann nodded with a woeful expression.

  I was thinking I should leave so Sue-Ann could get back to work but then I had a change of heart. “Since I’m here, would you mind if I spoke with Mr. Hart? I’d like to show him a picture of Meagan, just to see if anything registers with him.”

  She seemed a little reluctant at first, but then she nodded. “Okay, but if he becomes agitated, you will have to leave. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Sue-Ann escorted me into room 258 where George was propped against a plush sofa with pillows on either side of him for support. The T.V. was on but he paid no mind to the show. Instead, he seemed to be contemplating the blank wall on the far side of the room.

  Sue-Ann pulled up a chair for me and for herself. Apparently, she had no intention of leaving us alone. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was comforting knowing she’d be there in case George had a negative reaction to my presence. Last thing I wanted to do was upset this poor man.

  I held the photo of Meagan a few feet away from his face. When his eyes wandered and landed on the photo, nothing in his expression changed. His eyes still had that glazed over quality to them.

  In a soft voice I asked, “Mr. Hart, this is your daughter, Meagan.”

  He didn’t respond. Not even rapid blinking to signify he understood me. Not that I’d expected him to, but I felt disheartened nonetheless. Because it was obvious to me that George didn’t recognize this beautiful blue-eyed blonde girl to be his own daughter.

  I looked at Sue-Ann and she offered me a sad smile. What could she say? Nothing, apparently.

  I knew this encounter was a fruitless effort, and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time, so I returned the photo to my purse. “May I speak to you again outside for a moment?” I asked Sue-Anne.

  She nodded and got to her feet but not before tucking in the blanket on George’s lap.

  When Sue-Anne joined me out in the hallway, I handed her my business card. “Next time someone shows up to visit Mr. Hart, please call me, any time of the day. I only live twenty minutes from here.”

  Sue-Ann nodded as she slipped the card into her pocket. “Sure. I’ll do that. ”

  “Thank you,” I told her. “You’ve been a big help.” I was about to walk away when something occurred to me. I reached into my bag and showed her the photo of Graham Taylor. “I know this is a long shot but does this person look familiar to you? His name is Graham Taylor.”

  She looked at it for a long time. “No, who is he?”

  “Not important,” I said. “He was reported missing around the same time as Meagan. The two incidents are probably not related.”

  Chapter 8

  When I returned to the parking lot, I recounted to Carter verbatim my conversation with Sue-Ann. “She has my number and she seems willing to help us.”

  “Nice work,” Carter said. “I’ve been busy calling Heather’s friends and I’ve spoken to three out of the four. All three confirmed that Heather was partying with them on the evening of April 3rd.

  “Okay,” I said. “But they could be lying for her.”

  “I suppose, but I didn’t get the sense that they were. Anyway, still have one more to confirm, so we’ll see what she has to say.”

  At the sound of my grumbling stomach, I suggested that we grab a quick lunch, thrilled that my hangover had fully dissipated.

  We headed back toward Bridgeport and stopped at a deli on route 101 for sandwiches. While we ate them on a picnic table, Carter kept staring at me, a pensive look on his face.

  “Is something on your mind?” I asked.

&n
bsp; “Maybe.”

  I looked straight into his eyes and couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “So, do you want to share?”

  “I was just thinking about the first time I ever laid eyes on you. Do you remember that day?”

  “How could I forget? I accused you of being involved in the murder of Max’s sister, Beth.”

  It was Carter’s turn to laugh. “Yep, I remember thinking how beautiful you were, even angry. Somehow I knew you’d make a great P.I. and you know how I love to prove myself right.”

  “I’ve done a lot of things in the past year that I never imagined I could do. It’s all your fault,” I teased.

  “Well, you may not have decades of experience but that doesn’t make you any less a detective. You have a way with people, Sarah. They trust you. It’s one of the most important assets to have in this business.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said, feeling a little flushed by his praise. “But you still need to teach me how to use a gun. I think it’s time I graduated from using pepper spray, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll be happy to take you to the shooting range,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I have a pistol in my collection that will be a perfect fit for you.”

  I sensed there might be a sexual connotation to his remark but I pretended not to pick up on it. It was probably just my over-active imagination. I deftly changed the subject. “So, where are we off to now?”