by Al Boudreau
“Janet, this is going to sound harsh, but what about Professor Reynolds’s life?” Sarah asked. “Not that I think he’s a model of male perfection by any stretch, but he hardly deserved what he got.”
“I know … and I went around and around in my head about it before setting this whole mess in motion. Not to try and make up excuses, but … Vittoria had me convinced this man was a much different person than he really is.”
“In what way?” I asked.
Broe reached for the Scotch. “Do you mind? If we’re going there, I’ll need way more of this.”
I waved and nodded.
Broe wasted no time filling her glass to the rim then putting it away in one shot. “Another talent I learned in school,” she said as she raised her empty glass, a hint of a smile showing on her face. She sat back, ran her fingers through her hair, and let go a sigh. “OK. I figured I could sleep with Benj one time, and it would be enough to get me in the door of the Prescott Heights property. I’d do the deed, get the bank records, and bail. Only, it didn’t go that way. Benj insisted that we go to the crazy spa hotel, instead.”
“So, you didn’t plan that?” Sarah asked. “You know, the whole facial recognition thing?”
Broe shook her head. “Happy accident. I saw an opportunity to further my testing and jumped on it.”
“The software program?” I said.
She nodded. “It’s much more than just a software program, but in layman’s terms, yes. Close enough.”
“So, in terms of the professor---”
“Sorry. To answer your question, I never thought much of the man after hearing Vittoria complain about him for years, though I never met him. In my mind, sleeping with him would serve them both a nasty surprise. He’d find out she cheated on him over two decades ago, and he on her two weeks ago.” She paused for a beat. “My plan backfired when I realized he wasn’t some sinister, womanizing scumbag. Just the opposite. He was sweet, to the point of being a touch pathetic. Don’t read into what I’m telling you, because I didn’t fall for the guy, or any craziness like that.”
“More like a sympathy screw?” Sarah asked, her words making Broe chuckle while I was left in awe that Sarah would come right out and say what we were all probably thinking.
“That’s one way to put it,” Broe said, her smile fading away to a frown. “I’d go back if I could. That poor man. I broke him. I’m truly a terrible person.”
“Nope. You can’t come to that conclusion,” Sarah insisted. “I won’t let you.” Sarah shook her head as soon as the words left her lips. “Janet, I’m so sorry. Now, I’m sounding just like Vittoria. That’s the last thing you need.”
“No. No, you’re not. Trust me. I took what you said in the spirit you meant it. Talking to both of you is helping. More than you could ever know.”
“Where are you staying?” I asked as Sarah reached across the table to hold Janet’s hand.
“I have a modest, Cape-style house in Connecticut, but there’s no way I’m driving all the way down there tonight. I’ll probably stay in a hotel.”
“Stay here for the night,” Sarah said. “We have plenty of room. We’ll even feed you dinner, and breakfast before you leave in the morning.” Sarah got up and walked around to the other side of the table. “Looks like we’re about the same size. I could even set you up with some fresh clothes to wear after you take a nice long shower.”
“That’s so kind. Are you sure?”
“We’re sure,” I said as I grabbed her glass and poured another one. “It’ll save me from having to drive you back to Prescott Heights when you’re done with this shot.”
* * *
“Hope you don’t mind that I asked her to stay without consulting you first,” Sarah said. “I just want to put this case to bed on a positive note.”
“Nope. She’s had a tough stretch. Seems to me it’s about time someone cut her some slack.”
“Life is funny,” Sarah said. “The person we’ve been pursuing for over a week is upstairs right now, luxuriating in our shower. Lousy con artist she turned out to be.”
I let go a laugh. “Yep. We don’t always get the big picture right in the beginning, but we usually figure it out. No blood was shed, no one went to jail, and we made enough money to keep the lights on for a while.”
“You’re a good man, Carter Peterson. The women in this house are lucky to have you.”
I poured myself one more shot and raised my glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
T he End
Thank you for reading
Art of the Con
We now invite you to read a sample chapter from
Book 7, entitled
A City Of Dread
Chapter 1, as well as a link to order the full novella,
are included on the next few pages.
Synopsis – A City of Dread
Private investigator Carter Peterson and his partner Sarah Woods are surprised when they receive a certified letter from Bridgeport’s mayor, asking for their help. Deep budget cuts have forced staff reductions across the city, creating dangerous gaps in the Bridgeport Police Department’s duty roster. Now, a recent string of murders threatens to push the department’s remaining detectives past their limits, losing ground with each passing hour. With violent crime on the rise and public officials in panic mode, City Hall must take extraordinary measures. Will bringing this pair of sleuths on board help put these criminals behind bars, or will the killing continue, transforming Bridgeport into A City Of Dread?
Chapter 1
It’s never a painless experience to work a crime scene. However, when the crime turns out to be murder and the scene falls within the outskirts of the city you call home, it’s downright jarring.
I’d been exposed to hundreds of situations gone wrong while walking the beat as a Boston cop, but that particular chapter of my life had come to an end over a decade ago. The decision to change careers and move to Bridgeport, New Hampshire was a welcome shift, the pace and level of criminal activity up here nothing like the large metropolitan mess I was accustom to.
Sadly, after spending nearly fourteen years living and working in the seacoast area as a private detective, I’d watched Bridgeport gradually take a turn for the worse. Now, as I did my best to negotiate the trash piles scattered across what used to be a bustling parking lot, the point was driven home in spades.
I looked over at my personal and professional partner Sarah Woods, who was riding shotgun. “Were you aware the south side had turned into such a nasty wasteland?” I asked as we pulled up behind an unmarked cruiser belonging to Detective James, a Bridgeport cop we knew and worked with.
“Not to this degree, and it breaks my heart,” she said as she stepped out into the sweltering, litter-filled wind. “This strip mall was thriving less than five years ago. I just can’t believe every single one of these places is out of business. I used to come down here with my friends and hang out at this café.”
I looked over at the dilapidated storefront she’d pointed out. A fragment of the defunct shop’s original sign was hanging from a single fastener, banging and creaking against the building’s rotting wood siding. Empty beer cans, faded cardboard shipping cartons, and busted-up remnants of discarded furniture filled the covered patio where people used to sit and enjoy their coffee. “What a mess. We’ll be lucky to make it out of this place without getting a flat.”
“Thought I heard you two pull up,” Detective James shouted as he rounded the far corner of the long, single-story structure. “Come on back. The victim’s buried under a pile of old wooden pallets out behind this miserable dump.”
“You here alone?” Sarah inquired.
“Unfortunately,” he replied as we trudged through the scattered debris. “Number one reason the chief and I kept hounding City Hall. Our department just can’t handle the workload with the skeleton staff we have left. Can I tell you how happy I am about the mayor’s decision to bring you two on board?”
“You just did,” I said wi
th a smile. “Glad we were available.”
“Whew,” Sarah said as we turned the corner and got closer to the victim’s body. “I’ll never get used to the smell of death.”
“This July heat wave isn’t helping matters,” James replied. “I’m just thankful we’re working on the north side of the building, out of the sun.”
“Who called it in?” I asked.
“Local homeless guy, wandering around downtown. He approached one of my patrol officers and told him something wasn’t right over here. The officer decided to follow-up and discovered the body, but had to bail shortly after I got here. Bad accident up on the highway.”
“Yep. We drove by it on the way in,” I said. “Tourist season’s in full swing. Brings all the crazy drivers back to our area.”
“Bridgeport needs the money,” Sarah said. “The out-of-staters make it tough to get around, but their money helps pay Bridgeport’s bills.”
“If it means having both of you available to me, I say bring the tourists in by the busload. Anyway … in regard to this scene, I haven’t moved a thing. I wanted to wait for you two to show before trying to get to this guy.”
I pulled an oversized bandana out of my back pocket, draped it across my nose and mouth, and tied it in a knot behind my head. I held off on the rubber gloves, as the busted, nail-laden pallets would end up shredding them within seconds. “Did the medical examiner’s office give you any idea when they might show?”
“They don’t even bother giving estimates, anymore,” James said. “They’re so understaffed, we’ll be lucky to see them before nightfall.”
“Seriously?” Sarah blurted out. “It’s only 9 am. That’s out of control.”
“Sarah’s right,” I said to James. “You’re obviously not going to stand around until they get here.”
James threw his hands in the air after dragging a pallet out of the way. “The department’s been vetting and hiring part-time, private security guards to watch over our crime scenes until the ME’s office can get to them and sign off. Frees us up to go to the next call. You know, so we can get even further behind.”
“I had no idea Bridgeport was in such rough shape, fiscally,” I said.
“That’s what happens when residents keep voting down bonds, tax increases, and budgets,” James replied. “The money has to come from somewhere. They want all the services, but don’t want to pay---”
“What’s that?” Sarah blurted out as I stepped away from the pile so James could take some photographs.
I turned and stooped down so I could see what she was seeing. “Looks like some sort of brass handle.”
“What? Where?” James asked, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his balance.
I moved aside and pointed toward the shiny, decorative object protruding out from beneath the deceased. “See it? Left hand side, right above the beltline.”
“I see it. Not good,” James said as he moved in closer, took several photographs from different angles, then stood up and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Same exact style and finish as the last two. Can’t make an official ruling until the ME shows, but if that handle matches the two from last week’s crime scenes, we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”
… to be continued
Like the first chapter?
Order Book 7 of
The Carter Peterson Mystery Series,
entitled
A City Of Dread
by clicking on the link.
Want more stories like The Carter Peterson Mystery Series?
Visit Jennifer L. Jennings author page,
to find the original series from which Carter Peterson’s
character came to life,
by clicking the link below.
Sarah Woods Mystery Series