Betrayed (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 2)

by Becky Durfee

  “That would make sense if you think about it.”

  “Yeah, I know it does.” Zack’s voice reflected his frustration. “This would just be so much easier if we had a name to go along with the face.”

  “I agree.” Jenny spread peanut butter on her crackers. “I’ll tell you what. You keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll expand my search nationally.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Speaking of which,” Jenny began, “did you tell your family you quit yet?”

  “No, not yet. I’m putting that off as long as possible. It’s going to be ugly.”

  “You might want to tell them so they can replace you.”

  “Fat chance,” Zack remarked. “I’m irreplaceable.”

  Jenny sat uncomfortably at one end of the loveseat while Greg sat at the other. “How has this week been?” the counselor asked.

  “The same,” Greg replied.

  “Actually,” Jenny began, “it wasn’t the same. This week was quite different. For me, anyway.”

  Greg shot a warning glance at Jenny, silently protesting the confession she was about to make. Jenny ignored him. “I received a contact this week.”

  “A contact?” the counselor asked.

  “Yes,” Jenny replied matter-of-factly as she pulled some papers out of her purse. “I haven’t told you this yet because I realize it makes me sound like a crazy person, but I think you have to know this since it poses a huge problem for our marriage. I’m a psychic, and Greg hates it.”

  Greg lowered his head into his hand, rubbing his forehead.

  Jenny handed the counselor some papers. “Here are our bank statements. As you can see, I’ve been making some sizeable deposits lately. Those come from Elanor Whitby’s estate; Elanor was the founder of Choices magazine, so she was quite wealthy. I recently used my psychic ability to help her solve her boyfriend’s murder from sixty years ago, and in return she left me an inheritance. A large one.”

  The counselor’s eyes widened at the statements, but he didn’t say anything, so Jenny continued. “That’s the best proof I can offer. I hope you believe me, but it’s okay if you don’t. I realize it’s a lot to swallow.” Jenny sat back in the couch with her arms folded, satisfied with herself.

  “Okay,” the counselor began slowly, handing the papers back to Jenny. “So you’re working as a psychic. Greg, is it true that you don’t like it?”

  Greg rubbed his temples slowly, still obviously annoyed that Jenny brought it up. “Now that you mention it, I’m not crazy about it.”

  “What bothers you about it?”

  Greg leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, it made her irresponsible the last time. We’re in the middle of a renovation at the house, so there’s a lot to do. When she was working on her last…case,” he made quotes with his hands. “She didn’t show up for appointments and she would go running out of the house in the middle of a project because she had a contact. I couldn’t count on her for anything, and I don’t want to live like that.”

  “And I contend,” Jenny interrupted before the counselor had a chance to respond, “there are plenty of people in this world with jobs who require them to be on call: doctors, detectives, medical examiners…they all get beeped at inconvenient hours. I’m sure their spouses deal with it.”

  “But I didn’t marry a doctor. I married a teacher,” Greg pled to the counselor. “A teacher who said she wanted to renovate this house with me, and now she says she doesn’t want to. And she quit her teaching job. Now she wants to be a full time psychic, even though she knows I don’t like it.”

  “First of all,” Jenny said to Greg, “I didn’t choose this. It just happened to me. And secondly, do you know how rare this gift is? You want me to pretend this isn’t happening just because you don’t like it? Sorry, Morgan Caldwell, I’m not going to help solve your murder because my husband wants me to help put in hardwood floors.”

  The counselor put his hand up. “Now, let’s remain civil, here.”

  “Sorry,” Jenny said to the counselor, bowing her head in apology. “I take that back. But honestly I think there’s more to it than what he’s saying.”

  Greg looked skeptically at Jenny. “And what exactly do you think is going on?”

  Jenny took a deep breath. “When Greg and I first met, he was an all-star running back for our college football team, and I was an insignificant elementary ed major. He was clearly the star of the show. Now the tables have turned. He’s teaching math and is the assistant football coach at Lexington High—two very admirable jobs, but also two very ordinary jobs—and I have psychic ability. Now I’m the interesting one, and I don’t think he can stand it.”

  “That’s not it at all,” Greg protested angrily.

  “Then why do you hate it so much?” Jenny demanded.

  “I already told you why.”

  Jenny silently shook her head, leaning further away from Greg on the couch.

  “Okay,” the counselor said, “I see this is obviously a huge source of contention. You’ll have to see if you can come up with an arrangement that works for both of you.”

  “I think I should warn you,” Jenny began, directing her words at the counselor, “I’m not willing to stop being a psychic. I’m not even willing to slow down.”

  “Marriage is about compromise,” Greg said in a preachy tone. “You need to be willing to give a little.”

  “Look,” Jenny began, “it’s not like I want to spend all my time arranging flower baskets. Lives are at stake. My most recent contact has been from Morgan Caldwell, whose killer is still out there. How can I ignore that? He may strike again. I can’t pretend it’s not happening just because you can’t handle it.”

  “I told you before, I can handle it. I just don’t like having a wife who treats me like the last priority.” Greg shook his head, returning to the same catch phrase as before. “I don’t know how this marriage is going to work if you aren’t willing to compromise.”

  “I’m not sure I want this marriage to work,” Jenny replied before her brain was able to prevent her from saying it.

  An awkward silence fell over the room, so Jenny elaborated, addressing the counselor because it was easier. “I feel like I’m a different person than I was when I met him. I was willing to be a silent sidekick back then, and that’s not good enough for me anymore. I want to be my own person, and I feel like Greg is fighting me every step of the way.” Jenny shrugged sadly. “I’m not sure I can reach my full potential if I stay married to him. I feel like at this point I have a choice to make: do what’s best for him, or do what’s best for me. I’ve spent the past seven years doing what’s best for him, but now I need to look out for myself. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

  “Is there any way you can do what’s best for yourself and still operate within a boundary that Greg will find acceptable?”

  Jenny shook her head solemnly. “I don’t think so.”

  The counselor turned toward Greg. “Are you willing to be more accepting of your wife’s new profession?”

  “Not if it means she’s only going to honor half of her promises to me.”

  The counselor leaned back in his chair. “I think right now you two are heated. After you get home and calm down, I’d like you to think about what you can do that will appease the other person. I’m sure you will be able to come up with some things that will require minimal effort on your part but will mean a lot to your partner.”

  Jenny folded her arms skeptically.

  “Do you guys promise me you will do that?” the counselor asked.

  “I promise,” Greg said pompously. “Good luck getting her to do the same.”

  Jenny wanted to scream. Typical Greg—making himself look like a hero while simultaneously throwing her under the bus. The most disgusting part was that she was sure he would put in no such effort. Taking the opposite approach, Jenny decided to be honest in her response. “Oh, I’ll do it,” she replied. “If I’m not too busy
with Morgan Caldwell’s case.”

  Chapter 5

  Jenny sighed with frustration as she sat back in her chair. Locally she could find no unsolved cases similar to Morgan Caldwell’s; nationally she found too many. She rubbed her eyes which ached from all those hours of staring at the computer. A yawn followed soon after. The clock read seven, which meant she’d been at this for five hours straight. While the work lacked physical exertion, she certainly found it exhausting.

  Suddenly she mechanically stood up and headed for her purse. Guided by the pull that was becoming increasingly familiar, she slipped on shoes and walked out the door without so much as a good-bye to Greg. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she needed to maintain her concentration if she was going to get there. A confrontation with Greg stood to jeopardize that.

  The car seemed to drive itself the same direction it had when she and Zack attended the vigil. Once inside the town of Braddock, however, she began to take turns that led her to unfamiliar territory. She finally ended up at a small watering hole called Billy’s. She knew this was her destination, although she wasn’t sure why.

  As she got out of her car, she realized she didn’t exactly look like a woman who had been planning to go out. Her hair was piled on her head in a sloppy bun, and her clothes were even less fancy than her hair. She pulled out the elastic holding her hair in place, letting her long brown locks fall in loose unruly curls around her shoulders. Using the car window as a mirror she made herself as presentable as possible, which was a far cry from beautiful. Self-conscious but undeterred, she ventured into Billy’s, curious about what she would find.

  A small crowd of people inhabited the restaurant, but Jenny’s eyes immediately focused on the lone, sandy-haired man eating dinner at the bar. There he was, Morgan Caldwell’s killer, enjoying a meal like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  With a quick invigorating breath and a glance toward the sky in a silent homage to Morgan, Jenny sat down a few bar stools down from the killer. She tried desperately to act naturally, although she wasn’t sure how successful she could be with her insides doing cartwheels. “Hi,” she said to the bartender, louder than she needed to, “May I have a menu please?” She hoped to attract the killer’s attention, perhaps inspiring a conversation. A subtle glance in his direction revealed he hadn’t even looked up from his plate.

  Realizing she didn’t exactly look stunning, Jenny accepted the fact that she might need to be the one to initiate a dialog. She had never been any good at flirting, but she couldn’t let that stop her. She remembered her old college roommate’s tactic whenever she wanted to strike up a conversation with an attractive stranger. Well, she thought to herself, here goes nothing.

  “Excuse me,” Jenny said to the killer. He glanced in her direction, and she felt sheer terror as she looked into his piercing eyes again. She wanted to run, but with Morgan as her inspiration she continued. “Is your name Neal by any chance?”

  He shook his head and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “No, ma’am. Afraid not.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You just look so much like someone from my hometown. I should have known you weren’t him, though. I’m not from around here.”

  “No, it’s no problem,” he replied, returning to his meal.

  Crap, Jenny thought, not the conversation starter I was hoping for. She racked her brain for some other topic of conversation. Desperate, she eyed the menu for a moment before she said, “I’ve never eaten here before. Is there anything you’d recommend?”

  The killer seemed to recognize that her previous remark wasn’t a simple case of mistaken identity but rather an attempt at conversation. While she didn’t look her best, she was a good ten years younger than this man, which in and of itself was probably flattering to him. His face lit up slightly as he turned his body toward Jenny, making her so nervous she wanted to vomit.

  “I’ve always been a fan of their burgers,” he replied.

  “Burgers, huh?” she said. “That sounds good. I’ll get a burger.” With a quick glance at her own finger she realized she was wearing her wedding rings, something she figured she’d better address. “Although, I may be too upset to eat.” She slumped her shoulders. “I just had a pretty big fight with my husband.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Jenny was becoming increasingly aware of the personality traits of the woman she was portraying: dumb, flirtatious and talkative, which couldn’t be more unlike the real Jenny. However, pretending this was an acting job made the task easier to swallow. “Yeah. I swear I don’t know why I married that man.” She made a dismissive gesture. “But enough about me. Why is a handsome man like yourself eating dinner alone at a bar?”

  Dear God Jenny thought, did I really just say that?

  “I’m too tired to cook,” he said. “This is my first night off in a week.”

  “Wow. What do you do that takes up so much of your time?” The bartender approached at that point, and Jenny ordered a burger and a soda.

  “I’m a police officer,” he replied. “And we’ve all been putting in crazy hours lately.”

  “Is it because of that girl?” Jenny felt Morgan’s spirit screaming inside her.

  “Sure is. It’s the first murder this town has seen in decades. We’re not really staffed to handle stuff like this. Everybody has been putting in eighteen hour days.”

  Jenny’s soda arrived. After a quick acknowledgement to the bartender, she said, “You must be exhausted.”

  “Yeah, I’m going home and going straight to bed after this.”

  I’m dumb, I’m forward, and I’m attracted to him, Jenny reminded herself. “Your wife must hate all those hours you put in.” She spoke in a tone that, hopefully, made it obvious she was fishing.

  “My ex-wife,” he said with a laugh. “And, yes, she did. That’s why she’s my ex-wife.”

  Jenny flashed him a flirty smile that made her feel horribly dirty. She got up from her seat and moved closer to him, extending her hand. “Jenny O’dell,” she said. There was no way she was giving him her real name.

  “Tom Orlowski,” he replied as he shook her hand. Her hand burned where he touched it, but she ignored the pain.

  “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Tom Orlowski.” She sat down on the stool next to him. “So you’re a cop, huh? That’s very exciting.”

  “It’s not always as exciting as it seems. Lots of paperwork.”

  “Have you been doing it long?”

  “About ten years total. I’ve been here for about a year, and I worked in Connecticut before that.”

  “Where abouts in Connecticut? I have an aunt that lives in New Haven.” That was a complete lie, and she hoped he didn’t start asking her questions about geography.

  “A town called Ivory Heights. It’s pretty small; you’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “You’re right,” Jenny giggled. “I haven’t.” She leaned her elbow onto the bar. “So are you all getting any closer to figuring out who killed this girl?”

  “Well, I can’t talk about that. It’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “I understand,” Jenny replied, still playing dumb. “Although that isn’t very fun.” She showed renewed interest. “So what was the biggest case you had in Ivory Heights?”

  “Cats in trees,” he laughed. “Not much exciting happened up there. Like I said, it was a small town.”

  “You’re starting to ruin my fantasy about police officers,” she said playfully.

  “It’s hit or miss,” he replied with a shrug. He popped a french fry into his mouth. “So why are you here by yourself?”

  “Like I said, I had a fight with my husband. He pissed me off, and I needed to get out of the house. The thing is, though, we’re new here, so I don’t know anybody. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I drove around until I found this place.” She looked around, trying to divert attention from herself. “It looks like a cute place. Do you come here a lot?”

  “I guess I’m kind of a re
gular,” he said. “I’m friends with the owner.”

  “Would that be Billy?”

  He laughed. “Good guess.”

  Despite her efforts at diversion, Tom asked a few more questions about her personal life. She managed to come up with a story that was an elusive but believable blend of fact and fiction. After several minutes of listening to Jenny’s tale, Tom finished up his meal. “Well,” he said as he pulled out his wallet. “It’s been nice talking to you. I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask for your phone number.”

  Nerves surged through Jenny, but she managed a flirty smile anyway. “I am married…technically. Although I’m not sure for how much longer. I still don’t think that would be appropriate, though.” She briefly stuck out her lip in a pout but then quickly turned it into a smile. “But if I just happen to run into you here again sometime, that would be okay, wouldn’t it?”

  “I like how you think,” he said.

  “You said you’re kind of a regular here?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, I just may have to come back myself.” She once again flashed a smile.

  Tom paid his bill and got off the stool. He bid her goodbye and placed his hand on her back as he walked past her, bringing on that burning sensation again. Once he left the bar and was safely out of sight, she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Aware that the bartender was probably friends with Tom as well, she tried to appear casual, as if she was just texting a friend about nothing of importance. However, her text was directed at Zack, and it read: The killer’s name is Tom Orlowski and he’s from Ivory Heights Connecticut. Look it up.

  After a moment her phone chirped. For real?

  Jenny rolled her eyes. Yes, for real.

  Her phone vibrated, indicating a call. As she suspected the caller was Zack, but she let it ring. Once the phone stopped buzzing, she texted him with can’t talk. Only text.

  Why? Where are you? You okay?

  She smiled at his concern. I’m fine. JUST LOOK IT UP.

  Jenny finished most of her food even though she was too nervous to have an appetite. She needed to look as inconspicuous as possible to the staff, and she appeared to be successful based on the underwhelming reaction of the employees. After what seemed like an eternity her phone chirped again, and she eagerly read the message.