Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “I'm sitting in my car, across the street from Dick Mackenzie's house. He was home, so I had the pleasure of meeting him. Unfortunately, he's not interested in having me clean his house.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He likes to clean his own house and even referred to himself as a neat freak. However, he gave me his realtor card when I told him I was looking to buy a house.”

  “Good. At least you have an excuse to see him again.”

  “I met his neighbors, Henry and Martha, a very sweet elderly couple. Henry had some interesting things to say about Dick, although none of it is probably true. I think he might be schizophrenic.”

  “What'd he say?”

  “Something about a prostitute. He claims to see a woman in the window late at night, dancing around in skimpy clothing. He seemed pretty convinced of it. Anyway, I'm going back to their house tomorrow to help out with some old boxes they need hauled out of the basement. I think Henry might have more to say about Dick if I prod him a little.”

  “Good. Now, what about Bob Owens? Have you been to his house, yet?”

  “Yeah. I left the flyer in his door. He lives across the street from a bakery, and the girl working there is friends with Bob's daughter. She told me that Bob used to coach the girls’ soccer team.”

  “Are you on your way to Travis Miller's house?”

  “Yep. I'm heading there now.”

  Chapter 5

  The town of Kennebunk is mostly rural, with lots of woods and farmland. It is unlike its sister to the east, Kennebunkport, the touristy coastal town with restaurants, boutiques and picturesque inns on the water.

  I had been to Kennebunkport many times to enjoy the best lobster bisque in Maine, but had never spent time in Kennebunk. No wonder. Not much to see here, folks.

  The GPS led me to a dirt road with no sign or mailbox to identify the address or who lived there. I could barely see the house, at least five hundred yards down a dirt road littered with potholes. Hesitant to drive my Toyota through the muddy trail, I eventually decided to take it slowly.

  The rain had made a mess. Brown, muddy water splashed up onto my windshield. Tree limbs scraped the side of my car.

  I moved along at two miles per hour, my stomach getting queasy from all the jostling about. I had made it halfway when I heard a loud crunch and then a pop. My body stiffened. What was that?

  I jammed the gear into park and got out of the car. When I noticed the flat rear tire, my heart dropped. “Damn!” I kicked the tire out of sheer frustration and cursed loudly a few choice words that I reserve for certain occasions.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I had no idea what I had run over. Probably a rock. I got back in my car and turned on my cell phone, only to find there was no reception.

  I knew I had a spare in my trunk, but I had never changed a tire before. Nor did I have a jack, or any tools.

  Basically, I was screwed.

  Further down the dirt road was the house, presumably Travis's, but no cars were parked there.

  I exited the car with phone in hand, trying to find a signal. It was no use.

  Only thing I could do was wait for another car to drive by and flag it down. Or wait until Travis came home.

  I walked to the entrance of the road and waited for five minutes, then waited some more. Another ten minutes went by, then twenty. No cars. It was 5:37 and getting quite chilly. I zipped my jacket up to my chin and tried to think.

  I went back to my car and consulted the GPS. Over three miles to the nearest gas station. Should I walk it? Or keep wandering around with cell phone in hand, searching for a signal? At some point, Travis would come home. But when? And how would he react? He certainly wouldn't believe I was just there to offer him a free house cleaning. His house was too remote. I would have to come up with another story unless I could get my car out of here before he returned home. Fat chance of that happening.

  A thought occurred to me, and I started trudging up to the house. The closer I got, the more I realized the house was in rough shape. Many tiles had blown off the roof and the cedar shakes seemed to be rotting. Dead tree branches littered the yard, although there wasn't much of a yard to speak of. The place gave me the creeps, probably because the trees were so dense, no sunlight could get through. It seemed so dark and cold and secluded. I could never live like this, so isolated from society. But it made perfect sense for Travis and his hobbies that I remembered reading from his profile – hunting, fishing, outdoor activities, one with nature. Not for me.

  I peered into a window and got a glimpse inside. I noticed a rifle lying on the kitchen table and my heart skipped a beat. Was he the kind of guy who drank his morning coffee while cleaning his gun, just for fun? I personally hated guns, which is why my weapon of choice – a canister of pepper spray – was always in my purse.

  I tried twisting the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. I wasn't surprised that it was locked, but I was really hoping to use a landline telephone to call Triple A.

  I checked my cell again and realized I could make an emergency call to 911, but was this really considered an emergency? Probably not.

  As I walked back to my car, a peculiar pungent smell permeated the air. Could it be the decaying wood on the house, or some dead animal in the woods? It made my stomach queasy.

  I heard a vehicle in the distance. I looked up and saw a green truck slowing down and eventually pulling into the dirt road where my car was blocking the way.

  The truck came to a halt. A tall man emerged from the it, wearing a plaid jacket. I recognized him immediately from his profile picture.

  I froze for a moment, trying to figure out what I would say. I decided to play dumb because, after all, it wasn't too far from the truth.

  “Oh, thank God someone showed up,” I said, trying to sound sincerely grateful. “There’s absolutely no cell phone reception out here. I've got a flat and need to call Triple A.”

  The man stood there silently, gaping at me, probably wondering what kind of idiot I was. “You're lost?” he finally said in a deep, throaty voice.

  “Uh, yeah. Must have taken a wrong turn. I was heading to Kennebunkport.”

  He shook his head. “You're at least eight miles off course.”

  I giggled and shrugged. “I've never been good with directions. Do you have a landline phone I could use?”

  He licked his dry, cracked lips and leaned over to inspect my car. “You got a spare? I could change the tire for you.”

  “Yes, I do. But I don't have a jack or any tools. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” I said. “I'll gladly pay you to help me.”

  He ignored that comment, and by the blank expression on his face, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He didn't seem particularly annoyed, but not pleased, either.

  “I've got some tools,” he said. “I'll go get 'em.”

  “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He shook his head. “You should wait in your car ‘till I get back. There are bears in these woods.”

  I froze. “Bears? Are you serious?”

  He smiled then shook his head. His idea of a funny joke, I guessed.

  I laughed and held out my hand. “I'm Sarah, by the way.”

  “Travis,” he said, shaking my hand, a hint of a smile on his bearded face. He turned toward the house and started walking.

  I got back in my car and watched him navigate the potholes as he shuffled to a shed near the house. He must have been over six feet tall, rugged, and much better looking in person than his photo. One might consider him a redneck, but not with those perfect teeth. Did he really call this place home, or was this some kind of hunting lodge?

  When Travis disappeared into the small shed, I glanced at his truck. The green pick-up had rust spots and a dented bumper – so dented that I wondered if he'd hit a deer with it.

  About five minutes later, Travis returned with the tools and jack. I exited the car and stood to the side to give him plenty of
room to work.

  His strong, calloused hands moved with ease as he removed the lug nuts.

  “So,” I asked casually. “You live here?”

  “Yep,” he replied, keeping his eyes on his work.

  “You really seem to know cars, are you a mechanic or something?”

  “Nope. I'm in construction.”

  I waited, hoping he might feel compelled to say more, but I got the feeling the guy wasn't a talker.

  I observed his outfit – plaid flannel shirt, worn jeans and black, muddy work boots. His black, windblown hair looked like it could use a trim. But even though he resembled a blue-collar worker, I sensed a refined confidence and demeanor that just didn't fit with the facade. I was perplexed.

  After a few minutes, Travis finally stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You're good to go, ma'am.”

  I reached into my pocket and handed him a twenty. “Here, I want you to have this.”

  He bent at the waist, grabbed his tools, and shook his head. “Thanks, but you can keep your money.”

  “Really, please take it. I insist.”

  He waved the money away and pointed to the small clearing in front of the house. “Head up the road here and turn around in the driveway. That’ll be much easier than backing out the whole way.”

  “Sure, but there must be some way I can thank you,” I said. “Can I buy you dinner? Or … I can clean your house or something.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Clean my house?”

  “That's what I do,” I said. “I clean houses for a living. As a matter of fact ...” I reached into my purse for the flyer and handed it to him. “I've been passing these around to drum up some business. Your place is a little out of the way, but I'd be happy to come back.”

  He accepted the flyer and glanced at it without saying a word.

  “Anyway,” I said. “You can think about it. My number is on there if you want to call me.”

  He gave a curt nod, loaded the tools into the bed of his truck and then climbed behind the wheel.

  I got into my car, and slowly made my way up the long road, with him in his truck behind me.

  I turned around in the small driveway, then made my way back down the bumpy road as Travis parked his truck and went inside the ramshackle house without so much as a wave good-bye.

  Chapter 6

  I got to Carter's house around 7:00 pm with a large pepperoni pizza. We washed it down with a few beers while I told Carter about my flat tire and getting stuck in Travis Miller's driveway.

  “What's your impression of Travis?” Carter asked.

  “He didn't have much to say, and I doubt he'll be calling me to clean his house. He's kind of an odd duck, but seemed nice enough. He reminds me of a great white hunter.”

  Carter sipped his beer and leaned back in the chair. “What would a divorce attorney have in common with a guy like Travis?”

  I'd asked myself the same question. “Well, he's handsome in a rugged sort of way, I guess. But you're right. I don't see why she would be interested in him. Kathy Woodward seems so, I don't know, borderline pompous and high maintenance.”

  Carter shrugged. “Doesn't matter. It's not our job to play matchmaker.”

  “No, that's true,” I said. “We're just the dirt collectors.”

  “We'll have to think of something else,” he said. “But for right now, why don't you focus on Bob Owens and Dick Mackenzie. Let me worry about Travis.”

  “I wonder if Bob got home and found my flyer in his door. Maybe his daughter came home first and found it. I hope she didn't throw it in the trash.”

  “Don't worry about it,” he said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “If he doesn't call, I could always do what I do.”

  “You mean, break into his house?”

  “I don't plan on breaking anything.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don't you ever worry about getting caught?”

  “That's the difference between you and me, Sarah. I don't worry about stuff until it happens.”

  I blinked at him. “You think I'm a worry wart?”

  Carter handed me another beer. A smile danced in his eyes. “Let me ask you a question. Do you have any regrets?”

  “About what?”

  “About selling your massage business? About working with me?”

  I held the cold beer bottle in my hands and thought about his question. “Why? You think I made a mistake?”

  “Not at all. But do you?”

  I stared at my hands and shrugged. “I was ready to leave that industry even before Beth was killed. I guess her death was, in a way, a sign for me to get out and start over. I just didn't know how. And then I met you and everything changed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you saw something in me I never knew existed.” I leaned back and looked at Carter. “I was living life, but there was always a safety net to catch me if I fell. Now, there is no safety net. I'm divorced, my son is away at college, and I don't even get a steady paycheck. But you know what? It's exhilarating, not knowing what life holds. I have an interesting job. It's always a new adventure. And it's given me a new lease on life. So, to answer your question, no, I don't have any regrets.”

  Carter smiled. “I'm glad to hear that. But you're wrong about one thing, Sarah.”

  “What's that?”

  “You do have a safety net. It’s me.”

  In the dim light of Carter's kitchen, I felt goose bumps on my arms as he stared at me, his eyes gazing into mine. I'd never truly allowed myself to think of Carter as anything more than a mentor, a partner, a friend. But he was someone I'd grown to care deeply for.

  Truth was, I spent more time with Carter than anyone else. We were connected, always with a common goal: to solve the case, whatever it might be. Late nights, early mornings, weekends, it didn't matter. We understood each other and backed each other up, even if we didn't always agree. It was unlike any other relationship I'd ever had. I would never do anything to screw that up.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked me quietly.

  “I was just thinking I should head home. It's been a long day. I'm going back to Martha and Henry's tomorrow to help with the boxes in their basement and, hopefully, get more information about Dick Mackenzie.”

  “I'll probably hit the hay soon myself. Let's touch base in the morning, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I got up from the table and offered him a quick salute before I left.

  Chapter 7

  Even after a year, it had still felt strange to wake up in bed alone. Married for twenty years, you get used to having a warm body beside you. Not that Daniel was all that warm. In fact, I’d often felt like I was sleeping with a stranger.

  But then Max had come along and reintroduced me to the way sex should feel. He said all the right things, touched me in all the right places, and gave me hope that good men still existed in the world.

  Max had started traveling so often that I was beginning to feel single again. We had our own apartments, although he usually stayed with me in my two-bedroom apartment when he was in town. We talked on the phone every other day. He'd send me cute emails or texts or a photo of something along his travels that he thought I might enjoy. He was thoughtful and intelligent, yet still very much a kid at heart. It was one of the things I adored about him. The seven-year age gap didn't seem to be a problem; however he'd thrown out hints about starting a family, something I had already expressed would not be an option for me. Mostly because I was enjoying my freedom. I had spent the last eighteen years of my life doing the wife and mother thing. This was my time to pursue my personal goals.

  By ten o'clock, I was showered and dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers. I called Carter to let him know I was heading over to Henry and Martha Graves’ home with no idea how long I'd be there.

  Carter was going to spend a few hours making calls and we decided to touch base around lunchtime.

  When I arrived at the Graves's front door, the smell
of bacon and maple syrup reminded me I hadn't yet had breakfast. Martha ushered me inside with a big smile on her face. “You're just in time for breakfast, dear. How do you like your eggs?”

  “I didn't realize the job would include a homemade breakfast,” I said. By the expectant look on Martha's face, I knew she'd be crushed if I declined, so I patted my stomach. “I'm not picky. I like eggs any way I can have them.”

  She gestured to a spot at the dining room table and fetched the coffee pot. “Henry isn't feeling so well today. I'm afraid he won't be joining us for breakfast.”

  “That's a shame,” I said. “Will he be okay?”

  “Oh, sure. He has his days, you know.”

  I was hesitant to ask, but figured, why not. “Martha, is Henry not well?”

  She finished filling our mugs with coffee and then slowly lowered herself into the chair beside me. Her features were strained. “No, actually, he's not okay. His doctor recently diagnosed him with brain cancer. That's why he says things that don't make sense.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Oh Martha, I'm so sorry.”

  “Most days, he's just cranky old Henry, but then, once in awhile, for just a few hours at a time, he's off in his own little world. He looks at me like he has no idea who I am. And then, as quick as a blink, he'll tell me that his coffee is cold, and why in the world would I give him cold coffee?”

  I didn't know what to say, but Martha seemed to take it all in stride.

  “Anyway, I didn't want to bring it up,” she said, “I want you to enjoy the meal I've prepared. Cooking is one of the last pleasures I have left, so thanks for indulging me.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, no. You sit and enjoy your coffee.”

  I looked around the kitchen for the dog with the hopes of lightening the mood. “So, how's little Mr. Whipsy doing? He must be tired from his attempted escape yesterday.”

  Martha laughed quietly. “Oh, he's just fine and dandy. He likes to nap on Henry's lap. Isn't it amazing how animals can sense when a person is unwell? Do you have any pets, Sarah?”