I quickly vacuumed the carpet, dusted the lamps, and wiped down the dresser. Time to move on to the small office room located next to the master bedroom. A closed laptop computer sat on a desk connected to a printer/fax machine and one large filing cabinet under the desk.
I sat down at the desk and opened the laptop. I couldn't access anything without a password. I typed in his daughter's name, K E L L Y. Access denied. I tried his ex-wife's name R E B E C C A. Access denied. I decided not to chance a third wrong guess, so I gently closed the laptop in defeat.
The filing cabinet under the desk was locked, of course. Good thing I brought along my set of lock picks.
Not yet a master of lock picking, it took me almost ten minutes to get the thing opened. But just as I was about to slide the drawer out, I heard a noise that stopped me in my tracks. I got to my feet and looked around the room, heart beating wildly.
I stood very still, wondering where the sound had come from. Finally, I walked to the door and peered into the hallway. Kelly's bedroom door was ajar, the music off.
Where had she gone?
I rushed over to the window and saw Bob and Kelly in the backyard. They seemed to be having an argument. Kelly stomped her foot while making wild hand gestures. Bob pointed a rigid finger at her face.
I decided to use the opportunity to my advantage. I hurried back to the filing cabinet and thrust open the drawer.
I scanned the files – utilities, mortgage, vehicles, travel, appliances – but way in the back, there was one folder that had no title. I pulled it out.
Inside were official-looking documents. After taking a few moments to scan them, it became apparent that this was some kind of court settlement between Bob Owens and a woman named Brigit Charmaine. There was no time to sit and read the whole file, so I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and took photos of each page.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:55. Almost an hour had gone by, and I hadn't even finished cleaning the upstairs. And that's when I heard the footsteps on the carpeting, and I froze for a second. Dammit! I prayed it was only Kelly going back to her room.
I returned the folder to the filing cabinet and made sure to close it up tightly. Then I grabbed the duster and started to swipe the furniture just as Bob entered the room.
“Wow,” he said with a smile. “This house has never smelled so good. How are things going?”
“Great,” I said, a little out of breath. “I'm just about done with the upstairs.”
His eyebrows knit together with concern. “If you need a break, I could get you a glass of water or a soda, or something.”
I shook my head and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was drenched with sweat. “I'm fine. It's just a little warm, that's all.”
“I can turn the AC on,” he said. “Or we can open some windows.”
“Not necessary. I'm sure it'll be cooler downstairs.” I grabbed the vacuum and the bucket of rags.
“Here, why don't I help you.” He took the vacuum out of my hand, and I followed him down the carpeted stairs to the TV room.
“Thank you,” I said. “I should only be another half an hour.”
“No rush. I'll be in the backyard if you need me.”
He disappeared, and I was alone once again. I sat on the sofa and breathed deeply, trying to calm my nerves. I wiped my face with a clean towel and got back to work.
I finished around 12:45. My back ached like crazy from all the bending over. How in the world could anyone do this full time? Giving massages was backbreaking work, but nothing compared to cleaning houses.
But I had to admit, the house looked fantastic.
I loaded my car back up with all the supplies, then went to fetch Bob, who was still in the backyard.
He was clearly impressed when he walked into the kitchen. “Sarah, you're an angel,” he said, face beaming. “Feels like a new home.”
“Glad you like it. Sorry it took me longer than expected.”
He reached into his back pocket and handed me a twenty. “Here's a little something extra.”
“But the first cleaning is complimentary.”
“Please take it, I'll be offended if you don't.”
So I took his money. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I turned to leave, but he cleared his throat.
“Um, Sarah?”
I turned around to look at him. His eyes bore into me. For a quick second, I thought something was wrong. “Yes?”
“I know this is going to sound crazy, but do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
Was he asking me out on a date? “I … I don't think I have plans.”
“Sorry,” he said, blushing. “I figured you weren't married because I didn't see a ring. But you probably have a boyfriend, right?”
I was a little flattered, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea.
He seemed to notice my hesitation and said, “There's a new place in town called Joseph's. I hear good things. Very relaxed atmosphere. We could meet there around seven. No pressure.”
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. It was another opportunity to get more information about his life. “Okay, sure. That sounds very nice, actually.”
He walked me to the door, seemingly very pleased with himself. “And I'd love to have you come back to clean on a regular basis. Maybe twice a month?”
“That would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Well, I guess I'll see you at seven?”
I nodded. “Yep. See you at seven.”
When I got back to my car, I called Carter, but he didn't answer his phone. I figured maybe he was still busy spying on Travis.
Chapter 12
It was 5:15 when I got home. I swallowed two Advil and hopped into the shower. It took me ten minutes to decide what to wear, not that it mattered.
My date with Bob Owens was strictly work related, but I couldn't help the feelings of guilt. I decided to send Max a text, letting him know the situation, just in case someone we knew saw me with another man and got the wrong idea.
I did my hair, put on a little make-up, and got dressed in a pair of black jeans with a casual silk top. No jewelry and no perfume. I didn't want to appear too eager.
I decided to download the pictures I took from Bob's file. There were seven in all, and I printed out each one. I poured myself a glass of wine and got comfy on the sofa to read.
Bridget Charmaine vs. Bob Owens
Bob Owens was being sued by a woman named Bridget Charmaine, who was 18 years old at the time. She wanted ten thousand dollars for pain and suffering. She claimed Bob Owens had molested her, and she had a witness by the name of Dana Clark who was willing to testify. It never went to trial, however, because they settled out of court. The agreement was that Bob Owens would pay her ten grand if she promised to keep quiet about the whole thing. There were no details about the alleged rape, other than the date it happened – September 18, 2012.
I did a search on Bridget Charmaine with a special program – available only to licensed private investigators – and found that Bridget was currently living in Saco, Maine. Her phone number, address, and employment history were listed as well.
I wondered if Bob's wife had left him because of the allegations. And did Bob's daughter know about the lawsuit? If he were innocent, why would he settle out of court instead of going to trial to prove his innocence?
I remembered what the girl at the bakery said to me, that Mr. Owens used to coach girls’ soccer, so maybe Bridget Charmaine had been involved with the soccer team. She would have been a senior in high school in 2012. So, how many girls’ teams had he coached? Was Bridget the only girl he had molested?
This also brought to my mind his employees at the store and how young and cute they all were. A pattern was starting to form, and maybe Bob Owens had a thing for young girls.
I gathered the seven pages together, secured them with a paperclip, and placed them inside my desk for safekeeping. Carter would want to see them.
I noticed the time – 6:13. If I didn't get a move on, I'd be late for my date with Bob.
* * *
It was a cold and bitter evening, so typical for early May in New England. Good thing I wore my heavier rain jacket. It was a long walk from the parking garage to the restaurant.
Bob Owens was waiting for me just outside of Joseph's, dressed in dark jeans and a button-down shirt with a tan windbreaker.
“You could have waited for me inside,” I said.
“I like the fresh air.” He opened the door for me with a smile. “You look very nice.”
“Thanks. You look nice as well.”
The place was small and cozy, with candles at each table. A hostess seated us by a window overlooking the Piscataqua River.
Bob pulled my seat out for me, like a seasoned gentleman. I smiled, but found it difficult to look him in the eye before sitting down. “Thank you,” I managed to say.
He must have sensed my unease as he took his own seat across from me. “You don't date a lot, do you?” he asked. “You seem nervous.”
I smiled bashfully. “It's true, I don't date much since my divorce.”
He nodded. “I understand. After my wife left, it took me almost two years to ask a woman out.”
That's because you like girls, not women, I thought.
“I joined one of those dating services,” I said, hoping he'd take the bait. “But I haven't spent much time on it yet.”
“Really?” He perked up with interest. “Which dating service?”
“Together4ever,” I said, making up a false name. “Or something like that.”
He scratched his head. “I've never heard of that one before. I'll have to check it out. Anyway, I've been trying the online dating thing, too. I've met a few nice people, but dating can be hard.”
The waitress suddenly appeared to take our drink order. Bob asked for a gin and tonic. I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir.
He proceeded to ask me questions about my life and work. I told him very little, just enough to keep him from getting suspicious. Truth is, I found it so difficult to relax around him. As much as I tried to sound interested in the conversation, all I wanted to do was go home. What did I expect, anyway? He certainly wouldn't come right out and confess to raping an eighteen-year-old girl.
“Is everything okay, Sarah?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking at him. “My mind wanders sometimes.”
The waitress served our drinks, then took our food order. When she left, Bob sipped his drink and gazed at me over the rim of his glass. He seemed to be waiting for me to talk.
“I know it's a bit uncouth to ask this question,” I said, staring into my wine. “But what happened with you and your ex?”
He raised his shoulders and let them drop. “Rebecca is a complicated woman.”
I laughed and replied,. “All women are complicated, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”
He cracked a smile, but sadness lingered in his eyes. “She got remarried soon after the divorce to a meathead named Kyle. He used to be the gym teacher at my daughter’s high school and also had a boxing club that he operated off of school grounds. My ex-wife always hated boxing, saying it was too violent, so I have no idea why she fell for him.”
“Is he still the gym teacher at the high school?” I asked.
Bob rolled his eyes. “Nah. They moved down to Newburyport after they got married. Now, he’s some kind of personal trainer at a fancy club.”
“Why did things go badly between you and Rebecca?” I asked.
“It’s a long story. She never really wanted to have kids. I sort of talked her into it. I always wanted to be a dad. Eventually, she gave in and we had Kelly, but …” Bob sighed. “We were always fighting. I think she resented me. I figured, as Kelly got older, things would get better. And maybe they would have if we had stuck it out. Anyway, some other stuff happened that I’d rather not get into.”
“Did you cheat on her?” The question just slipped out, and I regretted it.
He remained silent, head bent forward so I couldn't see his eyes. “Like I said, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I cheated on my husband,” I said, hoping my confession would inspire him to keep talking. “But my marriage was basically over many years before it happened,” I continued. “I'm not justifying my actions, but I'm only human. And so are you, Bob.”
He looked up with moist eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. You’re right. I'm sorry I brought it up.”
Our entrees were served a few minutes later, and the conversation became strained as we picked at our meals.
I mentally slapped myself for jumping the gun on the ex-wife topic. I should have eased into it more casually. Now it seemed as if a barricade had come up between us. How could I break it down?
I asked him about his work, but he only replied with one word answers. When I inquired about his family, he said his mother was in a nursing home and his dad was deceased. His only sibling, an older brother, was living in Michigan and they barely spoke.
After the meal, the waitress asked if we'd like to see a dessert menu, but I declined. Bob asked for the check. I offered to leave a tip, and he didn't object.
When we exited the restaurant, Bob didn't even offer to walk me to my car, so I just thanked him for dinner. It was an odd moment as we stood there in the dark like two awkward teenagers before their first kiss.
As I buttoned the top of my jacket for a long walk back to my car, it occurred to me that this was probably my last chance to confront him with the alleged rape. I wanted to give him the opportunity to give his side of the story.
“Bob,” I said, turning to face him straight on. “I have a confession to make. Before I came here tonight, I looked you up on the Internet.”
He blinked at me, apparently lost for words.
“And,” I continued, “I found some troubling information concerning an eighteen-year-old girl. Allegations were that you molested her. Is this true, Bob, or just rumors?”
He swallowed hard as he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “Where did you find that information?”
“I … don't really remember.”
The muscles in his neck became tense as he took a step toward me. His nostrils flared. All of a sudden, his boyish charm and good looks vanished.
“You need to tell me where you got that information, right now,” he said, grabbing my arm.
I shook him away but stood my ground. “That's not important. The important thing is that I'm giving you a chance to explain what happened.”
He shook his head as his lips curled under his teeth. “You're lying. You didn't find anything on the Internet because there is nothing to find. So the only other explanation is that you broke into my filing cabinet at the house. Is that what you did?”
“Look, Bob,” I said in a calm, soothing tone. “I just want to hear your side. Were you in a relationship with that young girl? Maybe it was all a misunderstanding?”
His face turned beet red. “Why should I tell you anything? I barely know you, and I certainly don't trust you now.”
A couple walked out of the restaurant and passed us on the sidewalk. Once they were out of earshot, I turned to Bob and said, “I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I can tell you one thing – I'm an objective person. And I know everyone makes mistakes. I deal with people's dirty laundry every day, so I see it all – the good, the bad, and the ugly. So, you don't have to go on the defensive. You can talk to me. Get stuff off your chest.”
His fists clenched, and I wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd entertained the idea of hitting me. I was pretty sure he wouldn't try in a public place, but I kept my purse close to my side, just in case.
“If you talk to anyone about this,” he said in a low voice as he stared me down. “I'll press charges against you. So, I suggest you stay away from me and my daughter.”
“Okay,” I replied. “
But just so you know, I'm not your enemy.”
“I have no idea who you are,” he said, pointing a rigid finger at my face.
“Good-night, Bob.” I pivoted on my heel and headed toward the parking garage. I kept a watchful eye to see if he’d follow me, but he didn’t.
Chapter 13
Carter gave me one of his cock-eyed looks. “An eighteen-year-old girl claims Bob Owens raped her?”
“Yes,” I said, handing him the copies I made of Bob's lawsuit. “Doesn't give any details about the rape itself but, then again, it never went to trial. They settled out of court. Bob didn't have to admit guilt, but he agreed to pay her ten thousand dollars. I tried to get Bob to talk about it after dinner, but he got all defensive.”
“I wonder why he was never prosecuted in criminal court,” Carter said.
“Maybe there wasn't enough physical evidence against him.”
Carter held up the file and tapped the sheet. “Says here, the plaintiff Bridget Charmaine had a witness willing to testify on her behalf. Her name was Dana Clark. Did you look her up?”
“Not yet. I’m focusing on Bridget first. She waits tables at a waffle house in Saco, Maine. I'll go over there tomorrow.”
“You think she'll talk to you?”
I shrugged. “As per the settlement, she's not supposed to talk to anyone about the alleged rape. Although, it's been a few years, maybe she'll let her guard down.”
“What else do you know about her?” Carter asked while sipping his beer.
“She graduated high school three years ago and never went to college. She's worked at a dozen different places, mostly waitressing gigs. She seems to move around a lot. Her Facebook page has been shut down recently, not sure why.”
“Does she have a record?”
“She was arrested last year for possession, but got a slap on the wrist. Other than that, nothing.”
Carter rubbed his chin and looked over my notes. “If Bob's wife left him around the time this lawsuit came about, chances are she thought he was guilty.”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) Page 17