“His sister Beth used to be my receptionist at my massage studio.”
“And she fixed you up with her brother?”
“Not exactly.”
Linda gave me a funny look so I gave her the short version. “Beth was murdered at my office. I met Max during the investigation and we sort of hit it off.”
“Murdered?”
I nodded. “It’s really hard to talk about.”
“Well, I can imagine it would be.”
“Anyway,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Make yourself comfortable. What kind of drink are you in the mood for?”
She handed me the vodka. “Just this over ice, please.”
“Don’t you want some juice to mix with it?”
She laughed.
We finally got settled on the couch, drinks in hand, and I had to make a decision. I couldn’t tell Linda the truth, but I wanted to know more about Paul.
I had yet to master the art of ‘diplomatic manipulation’, a fancy term Carter had come up with to describe the act of using friends and family to gain information. My high school chum would now be the recipient of this untested psychological experiment.
“So,” I said, trying to act casual. “Paul seems like a nice guy. I was a little surprised to see him at the gym tonight.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, it’s not my place to judge, but if my spouse’s health was deteriorating, I wouldn’t be spending precious time at a spin class.”
Linda set down her glass and looked at me like she was about to give a lecture. “You know, Sarah, the emotional, physical, and psychological stresses on someone in his position are enormous. Paul needs to first take care of himself in order to properly take care of his wife. You must be able to relate after caring for your mom.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but I guess I’m of the mind that his wife should be a priority right now.”
Linda looked squarely at me, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “What did Emily say to you? Is she upset with Paul for some reason?”
I looked away, hoping my face wouldn’t reveal the lie. “No, no. She didn’t say anything specific.”
Linda seemed to ponder my vague response as she sipped her vodka. “So, no progress on finding her brother?”
“Benjamin is a hard man to track down.”
“Well, what has she told you about him?”
“Just his name. Benjamin Andrew Bradshaw. It’s not going to be easy with so little to go on. Have you ever met him?”
“Only once. He showed up at their wedding in Hawaii, uninvited.” Linda shook her head. “He made a scene. It was bad.”
“What happened?”
“It’s not really clear what his motivation was, but he pissed on their wedding cake.”
I almost spilled my wine. “Did you see him do it?”
“I witnessed the whole thing. He whipped out his flaccid little wonky and signed his name on the vanilla frosting.”
I stifled a laugh. “Was he shit-faced?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well, I can certainly see why Emily isn’t fond of him.”
Linda nodded. “Did you say his last name was Bradshaw?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I thought Emily told me her maiden name was Bradley. Anyway, I probably misheard. Linda’s eyes sparkled suddenly, as if she was having some kind of epiphany. “Say, why don’t you let me help you find him? I could be your investigative assistant, but you won’t have to pay me. And any information I find, you can take all the credit.”
My chest tightened. “I can’t ask you to do that. You already work full-time.”
“So what? I have plenty of time in the evenings. Please, I want to help.”
I couldn’t come up with another excuse to dissuade her. So much for ‘diplomatic manipulation.’ If anyone was being manipulated, it was me. “I suppose you could do some research on the Internet to see if his name pops up anywhere.”
“I can do that. I belong to every social media site known to man. Have you contacted their parents, yet?”
“I’m working on it.” Damn it. I had to take the emphasis off the brother and get it back on Paul. “So, Emily doesn’t mind that you and Paul take spin classes together?” The question came out sounding more like an accusation. “I mean, some wives might get jealous over stuff like that.”
“Emily understands my relationship with Paul. We were friends first.”
“You never did explain how you two met.”
“Paul was a patient of mine.”
“Really? Why did he need a therapist?”
“He used to have anxiety attacks.”
“Why? Does he have anger issues or something?”
Her eyes admonished me. “Sarah, you know I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Right. So he’s no longer a patient?”
“Once he learned how to cope with his anxiety, he didn’t really need our sessions anymore.”
“So, did Paul and Benjamin have any kind of relationship?”
“Paul hadn’t met Benjamin until the wedding, and to my knowledge, they had no contact after that.”
“Stands to reason.”
Linda took a sip from her glass then looked at me. “Something else is going on that you’re not telling me. I get the feeling that you don’t trust Paul for some reason.”
“I have nothing against Paul. I only met him tonight.”
“Just for your information, Paul and I have never had anything romantic between us.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise at her declaration. “The thought never entered my mind.”
She crossed her arms over her chest like she didn’t believe me.
“My suspicions have nothing to do with you, Linda.”
“Suspicions?”
“Wrong word choice. What I meant to say was, maybe Paul has been in contact with Benjamin and didn’t want his wife to know.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Emily think Paul is hiding something from her?”
I could see how Linda’s analytical mind was starting to put things together. I needed to back off. “No, not really.”
She brought her hand to her cheek. “You’re not suggesting he’s having an affair?”
“No, but since you brought it up, has he ever been unfaithful to Emily?”
Linda chuckled. “That man wouldn’t cheat on his taxes, let alone his wife.”
“You seem fairly certain.”
“Paul isn’t the type.”
“What type is he?”
“Believe me, I’ve seen women flirt with him at parties. He won’t even look at them. And I’m talking cute girls. Paul isn’t a pig like most men. He actually has integrity.”
“If Paul wasn’t married, would you be interested in him?”
Linda’s eyes widened in surprise. “You are wicked, you know that? What a thing to ask.”
“It’s just you and me, here. You can be honest and I won’t think less of you.”
Linda shook her head. “I won’t go down that path. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”
She thrust her empty glass in my face. “I can see it in my heart to forgive you, as long as my glass get’s a refill.”
“Under one condition; you have to spend the night. I don’t want you driving.”
“It’s a deal.”
Chapter 10
“Linda. It’s almost eight in the morning.”
She stirred, lifted her head up from the couch, and then opened her eyes in panic. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight. Do you have appointments this morning?”
She licked her dry lips and blinked a few times. “Shit. I need to go.” She sat up, straightened her clothes, and looked around as if she didn’t remember where she was.
“You passed out after your third vodka,” I reminded her.
“Y
ou must think I’m a boozehound.”
“Well, you’re definitely a fan of Russian vodka, but I guess I can understand why you’re a bit depressed these days.”
Linda searched the surrounding floor. “Have you seen my shoes?”
I pointed to the mat next to the door. “Coffee is already made,” I said. “I could fix you a cup to go.”
“No thanks. I don’t have time. I need to run home and change before I go to the office.” She stood up, looked around again, and grabbed her purse.
“You could always call your first patient to reschedule.”
“I don’t like to do that. Where are my keys?”
I plucked them from the coffee table and handed them over. “Here you go.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah?”
“About last night. Whatever I might have said about Paul, disregard it, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“I had no right to divulge his anxiety problems to anyone. Please don’t mention anything to Emily.”
“Don’t worry.”
She gave me a quick hug before leaving.
* * *
I had a few hours to kill before Max’s flight got in.
It was time to call Emily and give her an update, though there was very little to report.
She answered my call on the third ring.
“Hi, Emily, it’s Sarah. Is this a good time to talk?”
“I’m glad you called. I was … wondering how things were going.” Her voice sounded weaker than a few days ago.
“I’ve been tracking Paul’s whereabouts, but so far he’s sticking to his schedule. I had Carter do a background check. I was wondering if you knew about his arrest four years ago.”
A long pause. “He was arrested? What for?”
“DWI. He never mentioned it?”
“No. Never. Are you sure?”
“The birthdate was a match.”
“I don’t know what to say. He was probably too embarrassed to tell me.”
“Well, he held out on you. He could be hiding other things, too.”
“But you haven’t seen him with another woman?”
“No. I followed Paul to the gym last night. Did he tell you Linda introduced us?”
Another pause. “No, I was asleep when he got in last night. What excuse did you give Linda for being at the gym?”
“Linda thought I was there to take a spin class.”
“Paul has been trying to get me to go with them for years. Sounds like you survived it, though.”
“I did, barely.”
“So, what do you think of him?”
“What do I think of Paul?”
“Yes.”
“He seems very polite and sincere. You were right. He’s a gentle soul.”
“I’m so glad you met him,” she said. “Now you can see why I’m so conflicted.”
“That’s the other reason I was calling. Max is coming home today. He’ll be available to install the surveillance this afternoon. Does that work for you?”
When no reply came, I said, “Emily, if you want to back out of this, I’ll understand.”
“Are you sure Paul won’t see the cameras?”
“He won’t unless you tell him.”
“I can’t believe I’m going through with this. I keep asking myself; what does it matter? Since there isn’t much hope of finding a liver donor, I’m going to die anyway.”
“You can’t think like that.”
“If Paul is doing this … if he’s trying to get rid of me … I don’t want to live anyway.”
“Just hang in there, Emily. We’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”
“Okay.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen counter to go through a stack of bills. In the divorce, Daniel and I had split everything, but the credit cards were still in both of our names. We sold our house, and what few investments we’d had. And since Brian was leaving for college around that time, there were no nasty custody disputes. I couldn’t wait to get the joint credit cards paid off.
But with my shopping addiction, that didn’t seem likely.
Carter’s ring tone—the theme song from Mission Impossible—startled me. I set my mug down and grabbed the phone.
“Hey, Carter. What’s up?”
“Did you have breakfast yet?”
“Just coffee. Why?”
“Can you meet me in twenty minutes?”
“You have another job for us?”
“Not exactly,” he said.
“Could you be a little more ambiguous?”
“Probably.”
“Fine, see you soon.”
I glanced out the kitchen window. A murky sky threatened rain, so I grabbed an umbrella and headed out.
Chapter 11
When I arrived, Carter was sitting at our usual booth. He looked up from his newspaper and quickly removed his reading glasses. Old school, he still liked the feel of paper in his hands instead of reading on a tablet or phone. I teased him about it whenever I got the chance.
“You know, if you started reading the newspaper on the Kindle, you could increase the font size and you wouldn’t have to wear those grandpa bifocals.”
He took a sip from his coffee mug. “I think we might have a small problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
Carter leaned in. “I think I’m being followed by a guy in a black Cadillac. Don’t look now, but he’s parked across the street.”
“Any idea who he is?”
“I noticed the car for the first time yesterday. He tailed me all over town but I lost him before I got back to my house. When I saw him again this morning, I called a friend and had him run the plates. Car is registered to a Muriel Durgess who’s eighty-six years old.”
“Did you get a look at the driver?”
“He wears a baseball cap. Keeps it low on his face. It’s hard to say, but I’m guessing mid-thirties.”
“So it’s definitely not Muriel.”
“I figure the Cadillac is either stolen, or he’s borrowing it from his grandmother.”
I sipped some coffee and took a moment to consider everything. “You must have a plan if you wanted to see me.”
Carter leaned back and shrugged. “I don’t want to pry you away from your other obligations.”
“You mean Emily Hodges? There’s not much to do until Max installs the surveillance equipment this afternoon.”
“Good. I have a hunch this guy might try to follow me home. If he does, I’ll lose him again, but I’d like you to tail him to find out where he goes.”
“Can he see us sitting here together?”
“I don’t think so. He’s turned in the opposite direction. When we leave, I’ll go out to my car first.”
“Are you sure this guy is following you. There’s more than one black Cadillac in this town.”
“Trust me, this guy is up to something.”
A few minutes later, Carter signaled the waitress for a check. He left a ten-dollar bill on the table, put on his leather jacket, and slid out of the booth. “Call me as soon as you have information,” he said as he walked away.
“Guess we’re not ordering breakfast,” I mumbled.
I waited for a full minute, then slid out of the booth. Carter was already in his Buick, stalling as he pretended to read something on his cell phone.
I got back into my car and waited. Carter drove off; the Cadillac did not. I waited another two minutes before I made the call.
“He’s just sitting in his car in the same spot,” I told Carter. “He doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry to go anywhere.”
“Can you see him?”
“Just his silhouette from behind. Should I approach him?”
“Don’t bother,” he said.
“How long do you want me to wait here?”
“Go home. Looks like I’ve made a mistake.”
“Roger that.”
Chapter 12
Bosto
n’s Logan Airport—a labyrinth of mass proportions—was packed with cars, buses, and taxis when I pulled into the United Airlines arrivals gate. Max stood out in the crowd of weary travelers. He smiled when he spotted my car. I squeezed the car into a small opening by the curb, put the car in park, and then helped Max with his luggage.
“You look surprisingly cheerful after spending six hours on a plane,” I told him.
He kissed me hard on the lips, then stepped back to gaze at my face. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. Now let’s get out of here before that monster truck mows us over.”
“Want me to drive?” he asked. “I remember the last time you tried to get us out of Boston.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I teased, letting him take the driver’s seat. “So, does that mean you don’t enjoy getting lost for hours in traffic?”
“Not as much as I love getting side-swiped by a lousy driver.”
“Good point.”
Thanks to Max, we made it back to Bridgeport in record time, with an hour to spare. We stopped at his house to grab the necessary equipment for the job, then ate a quick lunch on our way to Emily’s house.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” I said, when we pulled into her driveway.
“I could do this job with my eyes closed.”
Max grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat and we headed to the front door.
“Nice place they have here,” Max said, looking around. “Must keep their landscaper busy.”
He was right. The same red truck was parked out front. And the same young man was raking dead leaves.
Why would the Hodges’ spend so much money on property maintenance? It was fairly obvious they were going to lose the house.
I rang the doorbell and we waited for what seemed like a full minute. “Maybe she’s in the shower,” Max said.
“I told her we were coming.”
I rang the doorbell a second time and knocked again. Finally, the door opened and Emily appeared in the doorway.
“I am so sorry,” she said, out of breath. “I was resting on the couch. I must have fallen asleep.”
“Hello, Emily, I’d like to introduce you to Max Stevens.”
She regarded him with a faint smile. “The surveillance expert, I hear.”
Max—always the one to downplay that moniker—smiled humbly. “Nice to meet you, Emily.”
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