Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “You think he knows something about mom’s death?”

  “Were you at Gregory’s fortieth birthday party about five years ago?”

  “I was there,” she said. “Are you referring to the fight?”

  “Yes. Apparently, your mom called the cops on Ryan and had him arrested.”

  “Ryan was out of control. Mom was afraid he’d really hurt Gregory. She didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Do you think Ryan resented her for doing that?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, Gregory bailed him out the next day. I figured all was forgiven.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “But I still want to talk to Ryan, and find out if he has an alibi.”

  “By the way,” Candice said. “Aunt Shelly told me you stopped by yesterday. She said that you asked her all kinds of questions. What was that about?”

  “Just routine stuff,” I said. “Was she upset?”

  “No. She understood but I’m just curious. You don’t think she is involved, do you?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say so I decided to play the ambiguity game. “I’m trying to remain objective until I have all the facts.”

  Candice said nothing for a few seconds. “Okay. I guess I understand. Will you call me later today if you find anything else?”

  “Sure, Candice. I’ll do that.”

  I spent the next hour scribbling down some notes and by 10:00, I was heading southbound on the turnpike to Somerville. With any luck, Ryan Frazier or his wife would be home.

  Chapter 15

  Somerville, a suburb of Boston, reminded me of a mini Cambridge with its squares and tree-lined streets. Ryan and his wife lived on the second floor of a condo on the north side of town.

  It was almost 11:00 when I parked my car on the street reserved for residents only. I figured my car wouldn’t be towed within the hour, so I took a chance. As I approached the condo, I noticed a blonde woman standing on the sidewalk just outside the building. Those form fitting jeans and halter top revealed just how skinny she was. Bones stuck out everywhere in her back, and she reminded me of an emaciated supermodel. She had several tattoos of Chinese symbols on her back. One of her arms was covered in multi-colored tattoos.

  I casually walked around to get a look at her face, and that’s when I recognized her.

  I lingered for a few minutes, pretending to text, as I tried to listen to her conversation.

  When she ended the conversation she started heading toward the condo.

  This was my chance.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you Heather Frazier?”

  She stopped and turned to look at me intently. Her face wasn’t as pretty in real life. “Yes?”

  I told her my name and who I was. “Your niece Candice hired me to look into her mother’s death. Have you seen Candice lately?”

  Heather cocked her head as if she didn’t understand the question. Finally, she said, “I saw Candice at the funeral. That was probably the last time. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with her …”

  Her voice trailed off and I got the impression she was embarrassed.

  “Where is your husband?” I asked. “I’d like to speak with him it’s that’s okay.”

  She glanced at her watch. “He’s probably still sleeping. He didn’t get home until one this morning.”

  I waited a beat to see if she’d explain why, but she didn’t.

  I asked, “Does he still work at a night club called the Cinderella?”

  She hesitated. “Yeah, why?”

  I figured I’d just come right out and ask her. “Do you remember if he was working on the night of April third?”

  “What night of the week was that?”

  “A Friday.”

  “Then yes, he was working,” she said with confidence. “He works every Friday night.”

  “Sorry I have to ask this, but where were you the night Melanie died?”

  If the question made her feel uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. “I was in Florida from Thursday to Sunday. I had to clean out a storage unit.”

  “By the way, why did you and Ryan move back here from Florida?”

  “Ryan didn’t like his job,” she said. “And he missed the seasons, I guess.”

  I had a feeling there was more to that story, but decided I’d let it go for the time being. “Does your husband keep in touch with Gregory?”

  Heather shifted her purse from one shoulder to the next as if she was starting to get antsy. Maybe she had someplace to be, and I was preventing her from getting there.

  “They talk once in a while,” she said. “But they’re not close, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  She appeared to think it over. “Probably Melanie’s funeral.”

  I decided to change the focus of the conversation back to Melanie. “Did you know that Melanie smoked pot?” I asked.

  She cleared her throat nervously. “I had no idea until after she died.”

  “Did you and Melanie like each other?”

  She tilted her head and tossed her long blonde hair out of her face. “We got along fine. I mean, she was always decent to me, but we didn’t hang out. I wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.”

  I wondered if Melanie had considered Heather to be low class with the tattoos and skimpy attire. I had to admit, from what I knew of Melanie, the two women were diametrically opposed. “Did you ever suspect that Melanie was having an affair?”

  This question got her full attention. “An affair? Who told you that?”

  “Gregory has no proof of it, but he seems pretty convinced.”

  Heather shrugged innocently. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Like I said, Melanie and I weren’t that close so I doubt she would have confided in me anyway.”

  I waved a hand at the condo. “Mind if we go see your husband? It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  She nodded. “Okay. If he’s not up, I’ll wake him up.”

  As it turned out, Ryan was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, cup of coffee in his hands, a day’s worth of stubble on his face. He looked up at me with interest when I entered the room with his wife. The fact that he was wearing only boxer shorts didn’t seem to faze him in the least. So I acted as if it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Hey babe,” he said to Heather. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing back a friend.”

  Heather smiled wearily. “She’s a private detective. Wants to ask questions about Melanie. Candice hired her.”

  I held out my hand to him. “I’m Sarah Woods. Sorry to interrupt your morning.”

  He gestured for me to have a seat and asked if I’d like some coffee. It smelled good, but I declined.

  Ryan rubbed his eyes and yawned. “So, what can I do for you, Ms. Woods?”

  “Well, I’m contacting all of Melanie’s friends and relatives and trying to secure alibi’s. It’s just routine stuff, really. Heather told me you were working on the night of Friday, April third.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You can call my boss and ask him yourself.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  I noticed that Heather was lingering close by, probably wondering how this conversation might materialize.

  I kept my attention on Ryan. “I’m curious about your relationship with your brother.”

  He seemed surprised. “Why?”

  “Well, to be honest, I’m referring to the fist fight at his fortieth birthday party.”

  Ryan paused for a second then started laughing. “Oh, that was years ago. Besides, Gregory and I fight all the time. Ever since we were kids, really. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  I’ve never understood the love/hate relationship that siblings often have with one another. The fact that I don’t have a sibling is probably why. But I know that siblings are often competitive, which must sometimes cause hard feelings and resentment.

  “Melanie had you arrested that night,” I said. “That must have pissed you
off.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t pissed at her. I deserved to spend the night in jail because I was way out of line. I regret embarrassing him in front of all his friends but he got over it. And so did I.”

  I didn’t sense any animosity and presumed Ryan was speaking the truth. But I was still confused about what started the fight in the first place. “So, what prompted you to punch Gregory in the nose?”

  Ryan chuckled. “He was pissed at me for showing up at his party late. I guess I must have insulted him, but I don’t remember what I said— I had a few too many beers in me. Anyway, he took the first swing at me and missed. I swung at him out of reflex and my fist just happened to find his face. It was just a stupid misunderstanding.”

  “So, you think Melanie overreacted when she called the police on you?”

  Ryan looked at me with a puzzled expression, as if I’d asked him a trick question. “Melanie was probably embarrassed. I don’t blame her for doing what she did. Besides, Gregory came to bail me out the next morning.”

  “I guess that makes sense to me,” I said.

  “So, does Candice think someone other than the drug dealer poisoned her mom?” Ryan asked. “Is that why you’re investigating?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “That is a theory, but one I haven’t yet been able to prove.”

  “God,” he said, suddenly distressed. “You don’t think Gregory had anything to do with it, do you?”

  “He was out of the country at the time of Melanie’s death. Unless he hired someone to do it …” I purposely left that thought hanging in the air.

  “Jesus,” he said. “You really think that’s a possibility?”

  “Do you?”

  Ryan shook his head. “No way. I know my brother. He’s a royal pain in the ass, but he’s no murderer.”

  “Well,” I said. “Your opinion is duly noted.”

  I was about to get up from the table when I decided to revisit the topic of Florida. I just couldn’t buy the lame excuse Heather had given me about the job. “So, just out of curiosity, what was the reason you moved back here from Florida?”

  I noticed how Ryan stole a glance at his wife. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat nervously and said, “It was job related.”

  “Job related? Meaning you didn’t have one?”

  He scratched his chin. “Why does that matter? It has nothing to do with Gregory or his wife.”

  I shrugged as if to say, maybe it does.

  Ryan laughed it off. “Look, I just decided I didn’t like Florida. I didn’t like the place I worked. It’s as simple as that.”

  I waited a few beats to see if he’d anything more, but it became clear that he was done talking. I wanted to believe him, but there was something fishy about it all.

  I stood up from the table and offered them both an appreciative nod. “I’ve taken up enough of your time already. I should head out.”

  Heather kindly escorted me to the door. I could tell she wanted to ask me something. Finally, she said, “So, are there any other suspects you’re looking into? Besides Gregory, I mean.”

  I didn’t see the point in sharing information with her, when she obviously wasn’t telling me the entire truth about their move back to Boston. “Not at the moment,” I replied. “But it’s only been a few days. Something might turn up.”

  Heather nodded. “Yes, well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  When I got back to my car, I called Carter and told him about the meeting in great detail.

  “What’s your impression of the couple?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Ryan doesn’t seem to hold any resentment toward his brother or Melanie for having him arrested. But the timing of their move back to Boston is still nagging at me. Can you do a little more digging on that?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Where are you heading now?”

  “I might as well go to the police station and talk to Detective Donahue while I’m here. With any luck, he’ll be there.”

  “Good. Call me when you’re done.”

  Chapter 16

  By 11:15, I was sitting at a Formica table in a small windowless office at the Cambridge Police Department. Sitting across from me was Detective Donahue; a balding, rotund man in his fifties, who reminded me of a Weeble.

  I explained the reason for my visit and showed him my credentials.

  “A private detective from New Hampshire?” He eyed me with a fair amount of distrust. Either that, or he was just trying to be intimidating. “The case of Melanie Barr Frazier is closed.”

  “I know it is,” I said. “The daughter hired me because she thinks Jasmine Thompson is innocent.”

  He smirked. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Look, I don’t expect you to reopen the case, I’m just wondering if there were any other suspects, before you arrested Jasmine?”

  He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his ample belly. “Sure, we always check into the husband. But he was out of the country at the time of death. We found no evidence to suggest that he was involved in the poisoning. There were only four sets of prints found at the crime scene.” He counted on each finger. “The deceased, the deceased’s daughter, the woman who leases the office next door and the drug dealer, Ms. Thompson.”

  “Did you question other people in Melanie’s office building? Around the neighborhood? Maybe there was another person who went to Melanie’s office after Jasmine left.”

  “Look, Ms. Woods,” he leaned forward, resting his burly arms on the desk. “You’ve obviously read the police report, so why’d you really come to see me?”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Jasmine was set up?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then, what was her motive?”

  He put a hand up to stop me. “Ms. Woods, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but there’s nothing more to do. The case is closed. Heck, Ms. Thompson pled guilty to the crime.”

  “That’s only because her attorney made a deal with the DA. He’d convinced her that a trial was too risky. She felt she had no choice. Now she’s in prison for five years while her husband is dying of cancer.”

  “Well,” he said, unaffected. “I guess Ms. Thompson should have thought about that before she became a drug dealer.”

  I sighed. This conversation was going nowhere. I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Thanks for your time, detective. I won’t waste another minute of it.”

  Chapter 17

  As I walked out of the Cambridge Police Department, my cell phone vibrated. I checked the caller ID and answered the call.

  “Hey Carter, what’s up?”

  “I have some information,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “I just spoke with Detective Donahue. You were right, he’s an ass.”

  “Well, get this,” he said. “I talked to Ryan Frazier’s old boss in Pensacola. I think I figured out why they moved back here.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently Ryan got involved with a woman he worked with. Presumably a one-night stand but who knows. Anyway, this woman became obsessed with Ryan. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Ryan was afraid Heather would find out, so he packed up the apartment and told his wife they were moving back to Boston.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “I wonder if Heather eventually found out.”

  “Who cares,” Carter said. “Doesn’t have anything to do with Melanie’s death. But I did find something else.”

  “What?”

  “Charlie Cox is going to be back in Boston for a few days starting tomorrow. His flight gets into Logan around 3:00pm. I’ll email you his itinerary.”

  “How’d you get his itinerary?” I asked.

  “I had a nice little chat with Charlie’s secretary. She was very helpful. Her name is Kelli with an ‘I’.”

  “Great.” I rolled my eyes, knowing full well how the women responded to Carter’s charm. “Do you know which hotel he’s staying at?”

  “The Channing Ho
tel in Cambridge. Apparently, that’s where he stays whenever he’s in town.”

  My body stiffened. “Hold on a second, Carter, let me check something really quickly.”

  I flipped through the pages of my notebook and found the spot where I had written Melanie’s schedule. I tapped my finger on the page and felt a twinge of excitement.

  “Melanie met with someone at 9:00 with the initials C.H. But maybe it’s not a person after all,” I said. “Is it possible that she met Charlie at his hotel? Think about it. CH could stand for Charlie or also for Channing Hotel.”

  “It’s worth looking into,” he said. “Go check out the hotel and show Melanie’s picture to an employee. See if someone can ID her.”

  “What are the chances that Melanie and Gregory’s best friend were having an affair?”

  “Pretty good,” he said. “and if they were, I’m wondering if Gregory knew about it.”

  * * *

  The Channing Hotel was a ten story boutique hotel located a block from Harvard Square. There was valet parking, but I opted for a parking garage a few blocks away. As I approached the hotel, I noticed a bellhop leaning against the outer building smoking a cigarette. Not much going on, apparently. I imagined there was a lull in the action from 11:00 (checkout time) and 3:00 (check in time). Since it was almost noon, I figured my timing was perfect.

  I casually walked into the hotel lobby and looked around. Small but elegant. No guests in sight. The reception counter was to the left. To the right were elevators and a small waiting area with a few couches. On the far end of the lobby was the bar. No bartender in sight, either.

  The concierge behind the counter was probably in his fifties with thinning, grey hair. He had a phone to his ear, a serious, tight-lipped expression on his face, like he was listening to a whiny customer.

  I decided to go back outside and approached the bellboy, who appeared to be eighteen or nineteen years old. “Hello,” I said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your break but may I ask you a question?”

  He stubbed out his cigarette, straightened his posture, and smiled at me. “Sure, how can I help you?”