Peter looked past me toward Carter. “She's sleeping right now, but please come in.”
I introduced Peter and Carter, and they shook hands. I couldn't help but notice that Carter eyed him with restrained curiosity. Peter seemed to be doing the same.
“Did you talk to Detective James this morning?” I asked Peter.
“Yes. He took down my statement. I'm afraid I wasn't much help. To tell you the truth, Claire and I didn't interact very much. She came to work, did her job, and that's about it.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Hey, you want some coffee? I haven't gotten around to making a pot yet. It'll only take a minute.”
“No thanks,” Carter said. “We can't stay very long. Just wanted you and Lois to look over these lawsuits. See if any of these names ring a bell.”
Peter accepted the folder. “Absolutely. Anything else I can do?”
“Nope,” Carter said. “That's all for now.”
If Peter felt uncomfortable around Carter, he did a good job of hiding it. Carter, on the other hand, was not trying very hard to make friends.
Maybe I was the only one feeling uncomfortable. “Well, we should go.” I waved to Peter as I walked out the door with Carter trailing behind me.
When we left the house and got back in the Buick, I turned to Carter and gave him an admonishing stare. “You were a little rude to Peter in there. Why?”
He laughed it off. “I wasn't rude to him, just direct.”
“Well, it came off as rude.”
He evaded my stare. “Sorry, but it wasn't my intention.”
Since Carter wasn't one to downplay my feelings, I had a hunch he wasn't telling me something. “What's going on? Have you been looking into Peter's background?”
His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Who me?”
He was trying to make light of this situation. Which meant that he knew something, but he didn't want to hurt my feelings. “Well?” I said. “What did you find?”
He started the engine and pulled out onto the street, evading my stare. “Nothing, Sarah. Let's drop it, okay?”
When we got home, I went straight to the bedroom, peeled off my clothes and put on my shorts and a windbreaker. I needed to clear my head and go for a run.
“Is that the best decision?” Carter said, watching as I tied my shoelaces. “Don't forget there's a murderer out there and he knows where you live.”
“I'll stay on the main road. I'll be fine.”
Carter didn't try to stop me. He knew that I needed to get out my frustrations by pounding the pavement.
Some people go to shrinks, but running is my therapy, and it's better than dropping a hundred bucks for some advice I could probably come up with myself.
As I rounded the corner onto Cross Street, I had to slow down and catch my breath. The cool air stung my lungs and a cramp began to form in my calf muscle. This is what happens when I take a measly three days off from exercise.
As I lumbered toward a bench to sit down, I heard the engine of a car pull up behind me. I whipped around to find Mick Kendall getting out of a Fiat.
“Nice car,” I said. “How much did that cost you?”
He ignored my sarcastic remark. “Your detective has been sniffing around my apartment. I guess he called my parole officer to get my address.”
“Did you finally talk to him?”
“No. Why the hell would I stick around? I jumped out my back window and got lost.”
“He's going to catch up with you eventually,” I said.
“I know how it works. My daughter is dead and I was the last person she was seen with. Cops like to fabricate motives when it suits them. Lawyers, too.”
“Detective James is not like that. If you just sit down and talk with him, maybe you can help.”
He folded his arms across his chest and stared at me. “You've been busy this morning. What's going on?”
“Jeesh, I really wish you'd stop following me. Do you have any idea how creepy it is?”
“Put yourself in my shoes. You'd do the same thing.”
I sat down on the bench and massaged my calf. “How did you get so good at stealing cars, anyway?”
“My cell mate was a pro. He got sent away for five years after they caught him with a warehouse of stolen exotic cars.”
“Nice to know you got an education while doing time.”
His tone changed. “Look, I just wanna know how the case is going.”
I figured I'd throw him a bone. “We might have a possible lead.”
His eyes lit up. “Who?”
“I shouldn't tell you. It might compromise the investigation.”
“You're just afraid I'll go after the sonofabitch.”
The thought had occurred to me. “Mick, I understand how frustrating it is to wait for answers that may never come. Maybe you should focus on what you do have; your son. Have you even been to visit him lately?”
The light went out of his eyes. “What's the point? Adam won't even recognize me. I'll just confuse him. He's better without me.”
“He's your son,” I reminded him. “How could you just abandon him?”
He pointed a rigid finger at my face. “A lecture from you is not what I need right now. Leave my son out of this, okay?”
“I'm sorry. It's none of my business.”
I continued to massage my leg, waiting for the cramp to dissipate. Mick took a few steps closer to me, hands in pockets of his jean jacket.
“Do you want to know why I killed that guy eight years ago?”
I turned to face him. “Sure. Why not.”
“His name was Zack Miller and he was Claire's boyfriend. She was a senior in high school, and he was twenty-three. A real punk. Turns out, he was a drug dealer who liked to prey on young girls and get them hooked on shit like cocaine and meth. I came home from work early one day and found them in her bedroom. There was a hypodermic needle sticking out of her arm. I freaked out and I hit him over the head with my daughter's soccer trophy. I didn't mean to kill him.”
“Then why settle for a plea of voluntary manslaughter? A jury might have believed you were just trying to protect your daughter.”
“I didn't stand a chance. Zack Miller's uncle happened to be some rich asshole who hired a whole team of attorneys to threaten and harass me with all kinds of legal bullshit. Eventually I broke down and took the deal. If I knew then what I know now, you're right; I could've skirted jail time. But the thing that sucks the most is not the eight years I spent in prison, it's the fact that Claire never once visited me in prison. Not a single letter in eight years. She could never forgive me for killing that scum she called a boyfriend.”
I didn't know what to say. Offering platitudes wouldn't make him feel any better. “We're gonna find her killer, Mick, but you need to do your part and go see the detective.”
By the dejected look on his face, he was disappointed. “I'll see ya around, Sarah. Enjoy your run.”
An hour later when I got home, I told Carter about my encounter with Mick.
“He just wants you to feel sorry for him,” he said to me. “And he's taking advantage of your kind nature. I hope you told him to knock it off.”
“He needs a friend,” I said, but I knew that explanation wouldn't fly. “He finally told me about the man he killed eight years ago.”
Carter seemed mildly interested. “And?”
“Zack Miller was his daughter's first boyfriend, but he was also bad news. Mick came home one day to find them in her room shooting heroin. He freaked out and hit the kid over the head with his daughter's soccer trophy.”
He winced. “His lawyer should have gotten the charges dropped.”
“That's what I thought. Anyway, he's pissed off that Detective James showed up at his apartment earlier. Mick fled out the back window then stole a red Fiat. He's going back to jail if he doesn't smarten up.”
“A red Fiat? Nothing like drawing attention to yourself.”
I laughed. “No kidding. He's a piece of work.”<
br />
Carter came to me, took my hand, and led me down the hall. There was a devilish grin on his face. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“I made you a bubble bath. I figured you'd like that after your run.”
I kissed his cheek and began peeling the sweaty clothes from my body. “Aren't you thoughtful? As a matter of fact, it's just what I need.”
“Good,” he said. “And when you're done with that, the Thai food should be here for dinner.”
“A bubble bath and Thai food? I see what you're trying to do. You wanna get laid tonight, don't you?”
He just shrugged and headed back to the kitchen with an innocent expression.
Chapter 15
The next morning I woke at 8:15 and Carter wasn't beside me. He usually gets up around 6:00 to do his morning exercise ritual of jumping jacks and pushups.
When I found him at the kitchen table with his laptop, I knew something was wrong.
“What's up?” I asked. “You haven't even made coffee yet?”
“You might want to sit down. You're not going to like this.”
“What? You're scaring me.”
“Please don't be upset with me.”
The pleading look in his eyes caused a squeezing sensation in my chest.
“Just tell me,” I said.
“I've been looking into your friend Peter. Did you know that he lost a small fortune in the stock market eight years ago?”
“Well, Lois said he'd had some financial troubles, but a lot of people did.”
“Peter had to file bankruptcy, lost his house and got divorced all in the same year.”
My heart dropped because I knew where this was going. “Don't tell me that Norton Cline was his financial advisor.”
“Not exactly, but Norton owned the company. Peter's advisor was a man by the name of Vince Woodward. Vince left the company in 2012.”
“Just because Peter lost money with one of his companies, doesn't mean he knew that Norton owned it.”
“Sarah, think about it. What would you do if you lost your life savings? You wouldn't just throw your hands up and say, oh well, that's life. No, you would make it your mission in life to find out who screwed you over and, then, you'd probably fantasize about the many ways of getting back.”
“Fantasizing about revenge is common. Thousands of people lost their savings, but the majority of them never acted on it.”
“That's because they usually don't have the opportunity to get away with it. When Peter saw Norton Cline walk into his bakery, he probably saw it as a sign and acted on it.”
“I might agree with you, except for one important thing. Peter would never kill Claire just to keep her from talking, and he certainly wouldn't have dumped the body in my trunk. What purpose would that serve?”
“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe it was his way of getting your attention.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.” I abruptly stood up from the table and went back to the bedroom to get changed.
Carter followed me. “Sarah, you can be pissed all you want, but we can't ignore the facts. Peter had the motive and the means to kill Norton Cline. When Claire threatened to expose him, he panicked. He probably felt as though he had no other choice.”
“I hear what you're saying, but I still don't believe he'd kill an innocent young woman and, not only that, we don't even know if Norton was poisoned. Those autopsy tests might confirm that he died of natural causes.”
Carter shook his head, exasperated. “Why are you so protective of Peter? You dated the guy over twenty years ago. You hardly know him anymore. You don't know what he's capable of.”
“You're right. I haven't been in touch with him, but I know that he's a good guy. You always tell me I'm a good judge of character. Why can't you trust me on this?”
“You are a good judge of character, but you still tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. If Peter were a stranger, you can't tell me you wouldn't be on board with my theory.”
“If you're so sure about this, tell me; how do we prove it? Because unless you have hard proof that Peter has committed double homicide, I am not on board with you.”
The hurt look in Carter's eyes cut deep into my heart.
“Fine,” he said. “That's my job. To gather the evidence and remain objective. Which is something you're not able to do right now.”
He left me alone in the room, and moments later, I heard his footsteps going down to the basement, better known as the man cave. It's also where he keeps his punching bag.
Maybe Carter was right. I couldn't stay objective on this one, but that didn't mean I was wrong, either. I knew in my heart that Peter was not a murderer.
I got dressed and called Lois right away.
When she answered the phone, the first words out of my mouth were, “Is Peter still there?”
“Um, no. He left a few minutes ago to pick up his kids from the ex's. He might come back later. Why?”
“I'd like to come over if that's okay.”
“Sure. I'm not working. We closed down the bakery for a week, so yeah, I'll be here.”
I scribbled a note and left in on the kitchen table: I'll be at Lois's house if you need me.
* * *
When I walked into Lois's house, I noticed that the furniture had been rearranged in the living room. And the place smelled fresh, like lemon and pine needles.
“Looks like you're feeling better,” I said. “Did you have a burst of energy and decide to clean?”
Lois was wearing sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a bandana to keep her thick mane of dark hair out of her face. “I couldn't fall asleep last night, so I had to do something. I'm so restless.”
“So have you decided to take over Claire's lease and stay here?”
She wiped her face with a paper towel and invited me to join her on the couch. “I think so. I'm supposed to meet with the landlord tomorrow. Also, I've been trying to figure out what to do with Claire's things. Do you think her father might want some of her stuff?”
“I have no idea. Next time I see him, I'll ask. Although, he's probably right down the street sitting in a stolen car, watching the house as we speak.”
She shook her head. “Doesn't it bother you? I'd be a basket case knowing someone was following me.”
“I guess I understand it, to some degree. He has nothing better to do than obsess about finding his daughter's killer. I'd be the same way.”
Lois leaned over to pick up what appeared to be a photo album. “On a different note, I was going through some of my boxes and found this. You're gonna laugh.” She dropped it into my lap.
I opened the cover. “What is this?”
“Photos from our massage school days. I was going through some of my old boxes and found it.”
“Look at my hair,” I said, pointing to the ridiculous perm I had back in the late eighties.”
I burst out laughing when I saw another photo of me and Lois with some of our other classmates.
“I can't believe how heavy I used to be,” she said. “Every time I see those old pictures I want to burn them.”
“I won't let you burn these. They're precious.” One of the photos was of me and Peter. Lois must have noticed me staring at it.
“I'm not sure if you ever knew this,” she said. “But you were the first girl who ever broke up with Peter. Bruised his ego, big time and then you got married a year later.”
I had no idea why she felt compelled to mention this. “Well, Peter met his wife shortly after that, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “She was a rebound. I don't think he ever loved her.”
“Peter never shared his feelings with me. I had no clue he liked me that much, to be honest.”
“Well, it's water under the bridge at this point. Peter has his kids, and he loves them more than anything in the world. So all is not lost.” Lois got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen. “Hey, you want coffee?”
“That would be great, thanks. Black is fine.
You mind if I look through the rest of your photos?”
“Go ahead but you'll notice I've removed some of the pictures of me. I can't stand to be reminded of what I used to look like.”
I flipped through the pages of the photo album and saw faces of fellow classmates that I hadn't seen in over twenty years. What surprised me the most was that Lois had kept a dozen or more photos of me and Peter. I wondered if she ever hoped that I'd someday be her sister-in-law. Nah, Peter and I had never even discussed being exclusive, let alone marriage. He was—and still is—a handsome guy. All the girls adored him. So why would he be upset over losing me? I reasoned that it probably had nothing to do with me. Guys just hate to be dumped by anyone. Not that girls were okay with it. It sucks for everyone.
As I got further into the book, I was treated to wedding pictures of Peter with his new wife; a cute blonde with a big smile and tanned skin. Then came the baby pictures followed by toddlers and so on. Cute kids.
When I came across one photo in particular, though, I had to stop and hold my breath. Apparently, Peter and his family had gone camping when the kids were about kindergarten age.
Lois waltzed back into the room and set my mug on the coffee table. “Now you know what Peter's wife looks like. She's not so cute anymore.”
Pointing to one of the pictures, I asked, “Did Peter rent this white camper, or did he own it?”
If Lois detected the quiver in my voice, she didn't let on. “He bought that camper a long time ago. They used it for about two or three summers. Peter had to sell it when he filed bankruptcy”
I should've felt relieved, but part of me wondered ….maybe he hadn't sold it.
I closed the photo album and returned it to the coffee table. As I took a sip of coffee, I began to reason with myself: there are probably hundreds of identical white campers out there within a fifty mile radius.
I couldn't be sure this was the same camper that had been burned down in Sanford, but the coincidence sent my mind into a tailspin. Everything Carter had warned me about Peter now seemed possible.
“Sarah?” Lois narrowed her eyes as she scanned my face with concern. “Does the coffee taste bad?”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Page 8