The Devil You Know (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 15)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  Lucita stopped what she was doing and came to me. “Ms. Hayes, I know losing a loved one is hard thing to accept. Takes time to heal. I will pray for you.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, deciding to let the matter drop for the time being. If she had any suspicions of her own about Josephine’s death, she clearly had no intention of sharing them with the woman’s daughter. She’d only just met me, after all.

  “How is the coffee?” she asked, as if eager to change the subject.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Now that I had planted a seed in her mind, I wondered if she’d say something to George about our conversation. I expected she might, since she had no loyalty to me.

  “What is your impression of George’s family?” I asked casually. “Are they decent people?” I didn’t expect her to bad-mouth her employer’s family, but her expression would tell me what I needed to know.

  She plastered a fake smile on her face and said, “They are lovely people. I'm looking forward to see them again.”

  Her reply was so chipper that it could only be phony. But I didn’t blame her. Job security was probably her first concern and rightly so. I felt like crap having to put her in this position.

  Part of my job as a private detective is to manipulate people into giving me information but it’s always important to know when to back down. I could tell that I needed to give Lucita some space. Let her think about what I’ve said. So, when I finished my coffee, I got up from the stool and headed out, “I think I’ll go back to my room for a while. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Lucita turned around and offered a quick smile. “My pleasure, Ms. Hayes. You need anything else, please let me know.”

  Chapter 6

  Back in the privacy of my bedroom, I had the urge to talk to Carter out loud. I liked knowing he was listening through the audio devices hidden somewhere in the room, most likely on the backside of the night stand, or attached to the underside of the lamp.

  We had already decided not to take the chance to contact each other except for texting and the occasional conversation if need be. If I was going to be Tina Hayes for the weekend, I had to commit to being a single lady, 38 years old, whose mother had tragically died in this very house. It was my sole purpose to find out if her accident was really an accident and, if not, who was responsible.

  Motive is always a good place to start. In this case, all of George’s family had one. A multi-million dollar inheritance. I guess a lot of people might throw a person down the stairs for that kind of money but, that was assuming that George would have left everything to Josephine. Heck, they weren’t even married yet. There were too many what ifs associated with this scenario. Maybe Josephine’s death had nothing to do with the inheritance.

  Around 4:15, I heard voices coming from downstairs. Must be George’s sister Margaret and her nurse Jeremy.

  I got up from the bed and headed to the door, catching a reflection of myself in the mirror. I stopped cold. Who the heck was that red-headed woman with the glasses? I chuckled to myself as I straightened the glasses on the bridge of my nose. They were a little wide for my small face. I’d have to remember not to make any sudden movements or they’d go flying off.

  “Okay, Tina,” I whispered to myself. “Let’s go do this.”

  As I slowly descended the stairs, I saw a heavy set woman in her late sixties, wearing a long wool coat and wielding a cane. I assumed it was Margaret. Beside her was a young man. Tall and wiry, he was holding two suitcases. Must be Jeremy.

  When George saw me coming toward them, he held a hand out to me, as if presenting an important celebrity guest.

  “Margaret, I’d like to introduce you to Tina Hayes, Josephine’s daughter. I invited her to join us for the weekend.”

  By the blank expression on Margaret’s face, I gathered my presence had not been anticipated. “Oh,” she said, deadpan. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tina. Please accept my condolences for your mother.” The words came out flat, with little emotion behind them.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We shook hands, but Margaret quickly retreated as if I had a contagious disease. She possessed none of the warmth and grace that her older brother had. I tried to reserve my judgment, but this woman was not making a good first impression.

  “This is Jeremy, my nurse,” she said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder at the young man. His hair was a pale blonde, long in the front and swept to the side. His skin was almost white like an albino. His clear blue eyes shifted nervously.

  I held up my hand for a quick wave. “Jeremy, it’s a pleasure.”

  He only nodded, made no effort to set the suitcases down to shake my hand. Maybe he had the same germ phobia as Margaret.

  The awkward silence was broken when George clapped his hands together. “Well, Margaret, how was your flight?”

  She rolled her eyes and made a snorting sound. “Dreadful, as always. I swear those security guards are always trying to feel me up.”

  I stifled a chuckle. As if anyone would actually want to feel her up. Like those guards at the airport were dirty old men trying to get their kicks from an overweight, unattractive woman in her sixties.

  “It’s a necessary evil, I’m afraid,” George said lightheartedly. “So it looks like you're getting around well with the new prosthetic.”

  Margaret tapped the cane on her left shoe and it made a sharp thud. “Made from Titanium and I guess it's better than the alternative. I refuse to succumb to a wheelchair.”

  George patted her shoulder affectionately. “Anyway, you and Jeremy will be staying in the same suite as last year. Shall we go up?”

  Margaret sighed. “I hope it will be warm enough. That bedroom was freezing, even when I turned the damned thermostat up to eighty degrees. I still had to wear socks and a sweater to bed.”

  He patted her shoulder with no trace of annoyance, like he was used to his sister’s complaints. “I’ll see to it that you are comfortable, dear.”

  Margaret didn’t reply to that, only made another grunting sound. I was beginning to get the picture that this woman was the kind of person who liked to cause a fuss over trivialities. There are some people in the world you just can’t please, no matter what.

  George slipped his hand under his sister’s arm. “Let me help you up the stairs to your suite, Margaret. Then you can rest until dinner.”

  She didn’t object. I could see that she liked being fussed over by her older brother and let him guide her up the stairs, with Jeremy following behind his mistress like a puppy dog.

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Tina,” George said from the landing.

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

  As they disappeared out of sight, it was hard to believe that those two were brother and sister. They couldn’t be more opposite in looks and demeanor. Margaret seemed like a bitter old woman with a chip on her shoulder. Yet George, having suffered a devastating loss, made every effort to be kind and accommodating to everyone.

  I could hear the crackling of a fire and followed the sound into a room opposite the kitchen. Sure enough, a beautiful stone fireplace let off the most magnificent heat and light I’d ever seen aside from a bonfire. Real logs, too. Not the fake electric or propane kind. I walked toward it with my hands out reveling in the warmth.

  Looking around at the wall-to-wall bookshelves, I surmised this was the library. I could picture George sitting in one of the leather chairs, reading a hard-bound volume of one of the classics like To Kill a Mockingbird, or Moby Dick. There was even a wet bar in the corner, two shelves lined with liquor. I felt like I was in the middle of a James Bond movie. All I needed was a martini in my hand, shaken not stirred.

  Only, I was no Bond girl. I was the expendable red-head with glasses. Most likely the kind of character that died a horrible death in the first scene of a movie.

  “Would you care for a cocktail, Tina?” George’s voice caused me to jump slightly. When I turned around, he was stan
ding in the doorway. Hands in his trouser pockets, he regarded me with amusement.

  “I’d better not but thanks anyway. I need to keep my wits about me.”

  He slowly strode over to the wet bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon. I noticed his hand trembling as he took a healthy sip of the amber liquid.

  “Are you nervous about this weekend?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “How could you tell?” The question was rhetorical.

  “It’s not too late to rethink this plan.”

  He took another sip, apparently thinking it over. Finally, he set his empty glass down and said, “No, I want to go through with it. This might be my only chance to find out what really happened to Josephine.”

  “Your sister Margaret doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

  “She’s more upset with me because I didn’t warn her that you’d be here. Or rather, that Tina would be here.”

  “Jeremy is an interesting guy. He doesn’t have much to say though, does he?”

  “He’s good to my sister, and that’s all I really care about.”

  “Did Margaret ask why you invited me to stay here?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure she will. Right now, she’s giving me the silent treatment. She’ll get over it. I’m sure Jeremy is getting an earful right now, poor guy. I love my sister, but I could never live with her. I don’t know how he works for her.”

  “She must pay him well,” I said.

  George eyed the bourbon bottle but must have thought better of it because he began rinsing out the glass.

  I waved my hand around the room. “Quite a collection of books you have in here. I guess you like to read.”

  “I used to but now I only listen to audiobooks. My cataracts make it impossible for me to enjoy a good book anymore. The laser eye surgery didn’t do much to help the situation, either. But I like being surrounded by these old books. I’ve been collecting them for years.” He pointed to the far side of the bookcase. Eight weathered volumes were separated from the rest by fancy bookends. “I picked those up at an auction about a year ago. A third edition printing of The Works of Edgar Allen Poe dated 1884.”

  I wondered what he had paid for the lot. Had to be worth a small fortune. “That reminds me,” I said. “I had to memorize the entire poem of The Raven for tenth grade English class.”

  He seemed intrigued. “Can you still recite it?”

  I cleared my throat, closed my eyes, and began,

  “Once upon a midnight dreary

  While I pondered weak and weary

  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

  While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

  As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…”

  George smiled. “Bravo. You have a good memory.”

  “That poem gave me nightmares for a month. I kept envisioning a black bird might fly into my bedroom at night and repeat the word ‘nevermore’. I should have picked a less creepy and depressing poet, like Robert Frost.”

  “But you didn’t,” George said. “You picked Edgar Allen Poe because he must have appealed to your love of mystery and intrigue.”

  “Sure, I guess that makes sense.”

  George lifted back his sleeve to check his watch. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to let Lucita know that Margaret has special requirements regarding the dinner menu. Feel free to look through those Poe volumes, if you like.”

  “Are you sure? I’m afraid I’ll damage them just by breathing on them.”

  “Books are meant to be read and enjoyed. I didn’t buy them just for decoration.”

  “Okay, well, thank you.”

  After George left, I couldn’t help myself. Who would turn down an offer to read a rare copy of an Edgar Allen Poe classic? Not me. I carefully plucked one of the books from the shelf and slowly opened the cover. Not sure why, but the smell of old books always makes me giddy. I fully expected to sneeze but surprisingly there was no dust. Obviously, this collection had been well taken care of. Probably had been stored in a temperature and humidity controlled environment.

  As I began to read the front copyright page, I noticed the reprint date as 1902, not 1884 like George had said. Perhaps he’d made an honest mistake. Either way, this was a cool addition to any library. A great conversation piece, at least.

  It occurred to me that maybe I should tell George about this date discrepancy, but I certainly didn’t want to embarrass him. Besides, he had more important things on his mind at the moment. Like dealing with his family and finding out if one of them had killed his fiancé.

  Chapter 7

  A few seconds later, I could hear George greeting his daughter and son-in-law in the front entryway. I made my way to the foyer and stood there watching them, hanging back so as to not to intrude.

  Olivia was tall, blonde and beautiful with the help of some plastic surgery. Her lips were too plump in my opinion but her forehead was smooth as glass. Not a wrinkle on her face, in fact. No cream alone could work such miracles. Believe me, I’ve tried.

  Olivia’s husband Brett was just as good-looking. Tall dark and handsome, he also had a killer physique. The guy must work out constantly.

  George hugged his daughter affectionately. “So good to see you, darling, but I think you’ve gotten too skinny. I hope you’re eating.”

  Brett was quick to respond. “She’s on another diet. You know, the kind where they forbid you to eat food.”

  George didn’t chuckle at the joke. Instead, he gave his daughter a stern look. “I intend to fatten you up this weekend. Lucita has some wonderful meals planned for us.”

  Olivia chortled. “You think I’m skinny? You should see the actresses I work with…” Her eye caught mine and she blinked as if confused. “Oh, hello. Are you one of my father’s employees?”

  I forced a smile, not sure how to respond. “No, I’m Tina Hayes.”

  George cleared his throat and seemed flustered. “Oh, Tina, I’m so sorry. Please come on over so I can introduce you.” George slipped an arm around my shoulder like we were old buddies. “This is Tina Hayes, Josephine’s daughter. I invited her to stay for the weekend.”

  Olivia and Brett both stared at me, wide eyed and mute. Finally, Brett offered his hand. “Well, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry about your mother. She was a nice lady.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It means a lot to hear that.”

  Olivia moved toward me and offered a hug, which I wasn't expecting. At least she had manners, unlike her aunt. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “And so sorry about your mom.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s been a difficult time.”

  She turned back to her father. “Did Aunt Margaret arrive with Jeremy?”

  “Yes.” George pointed up the stairs. “They’re getting settled in the suite.”

  “Let me guess. The security guards at the airport tried to molest her again?”

  George shrugged. “Something like that.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “She creates more drama than any actor I’ve ever worked with.”

  We all had a quiet chuckle over that one but I got the sense it was out of love.

  “Do you need help bringing your things upstairs?” George asked, referring to the three oversized suitcases at Brett’s feet. “What in the world did you pack in there for two and a half days?”

  “Well, I didn’t know what to bring in terms of winter gear,” Olivia said. “I brought extra boots, snow pants, jackets, sweaters, thermal underwear and ice skates, just in case the pond is still frozen. Aren’t you the one who taught me to always be prepared for anything?”

  “I suppose I did.” George smiled as he grabbed the handle of the smallest suitcase. “Let’s get you two settled upstairs. When you’re ready, you must come back down and have a drink with me.”

  After they left, I got the sense that George was trying to keep things light with his family. If I hadn't known better
, I'd say he wasn't depressed at all.

  I wandered into the kitchen to say hi to Lucita. I felt guilty knowing that Carter was all by himself, probably dining on peanut butter sandwiches while I was about to feast on a homemade meal.

  Once in the kitchen, Lucita was nowhere to be found. The faint smell of burning sugar alerted me to the fact that something was in the oven. It smelled like a chocolate cake and I wondered if Lucita had forgotten about it.

  Maybe she was in the bathroom. If she didn’t come back in a few minutes, I’d take the cake out of the oven. It would be a crying shame to let it get ruined.

  Just then I heard a moaning sound come from behind the island counter. I hurried over and found Lucita sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of her, with a hand on her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” I crouched down next to her wondering if she had fallen. “What happened?”

  She looked at me as if she had no clue. “I …I’m fine. I get dizzy spells once in a while. Low blood sugar.”

  “Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

  “No. No, is not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. Her thin hair was matted with sweat. “Why do you get dizzy spells? Are you ill?”

  She placed both hands on the floor in an attempt to get up. When I clasped her elbow to help, I noticed she had some bruising on her arms that had been concealed by her shirt.

  “Maybe I should go tell George what happened,” I said.

  “No, please don't bother him. I am fine, now.” Once she got to her feet, she gasped and ran to the stove. “The cake, it is burning.”

  She grabbed the hot pads and retrieved the cake from the oven. Thankfully, only a small top portion had been charred.

  “Lucita, are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should sit down and have some water or tea. Take a rest.”

  She ignored my suggestion and continued fussing over the cake.

  I could see a quarter sized red bump on the side of her forehead. “Let me get some ice for your head.” I went to the freezer and found a bag of frozen peas. “Please, just take two minutes to sit down.”