Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “Just one.”

  “What kind of gun did he have?” I asked.

  “Small caliber revolver. Don’t recall the specifics, though.”

  “Did they mention where they purchased it?”

  He shrugged. “Nope.”

  “Thanks. I guess that’s all I need to know. You’ve been very helpful.”

  As I drove back to the police station, I tried to imagine why Mari would ever encourage Ethan to take up shooting. Even if it were for self-defense, there certainly were other ways to protect oneself.

  By six o’clock, I was exhausted and flat out cranky due to hunger. I stopped to grab a deli sandwich, scarfed it down with a bottle of Orangina, and continued on to the police station.

  Detective James had concluded the interview with Oliver and sent him home.

  “So?” I asked. “Could he explain how his cat hair got in Mari’s car?”

  “He couldn’t, but he’s agreed to take a polygraph test and submitted his fingerprints and DNA. Not once did he mention a lawyer.”

  “Did he explain his juvy record?” I asked.

  “He told me it was substance related … marijuana.”

  “Do you believe he’s innocent?”

  Detective James shrugged. “Innocent is an interesting word. I’m not so sure I know what it means anymore.”

  Surprised by his philosophical musing, I simply nodded.

  “As far as his wife goes,” he continued, “she complied and answered all my questions efficiently and agreeably. She claims her husband never left the house between Friday night and Saturday afternoon. And since nothing turned up in the search of the property to implicate him, I let him go.”

  “Well, I just came from the Manchester Firing Range. Guess who has been taking lessons?”

  “Mari?”

  “Ethan Parker,” I said. “But Mari went with him. They already had a gun.”

  “How did you get this information?”

  “From Derek, the guy who owns the firing range. According to him, Ethan was taking the lesson for sport.”

  Detective James appeared to mull it over. “Well, that could explain why Mrs. Parker did research on her laptop, but it also brings up a new set of questions. I’m just not so sure it pertains to the disappearance.” Detective James checked his phone. “Sorry, I have to call this newspaper reporter back. They’ve agreed to run an article with Mrs. Parker’s picture. Maybe someone will come forward with new information. Why don’t you head home, get some rest, and I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  * * *

  Max was on my couch when I got home, eager to share some exciting news. He was able to acquire a Henry Rossini horror film, entitled, Revenge of the Space Creature.

  “Is this the kind of movie where I have to cover my eyes every few minutes?” I asked while removing my jacket.

  “Please,” Max said while removing the VCR tape from the box. “They didn’t make movies so graphic back in the day. In fact, you’ll probably laugh at how cheesy the effects are.”

  “Good thing I kept my VCR player,” I said. “Is there any wine left?”

  “I bought another bottle. It’s in the kitchen. Pour me a glass, too?”

  “Sure.”

  When I passed through the living room to the fetch the wine, I noticed the silver urn placed to the left of my brick fireplace. Max must have brought it here from his place. But why? I froze for a second and tried not to dwell on the fact that Beth Stevens’ remains were inside that vessel that reminded me of an exquisite glass vase. I was about to mention it to Max, but seeing the excited look on his face over the movie, I decided to bring it up later.

  Within a few minutes I heard the sound of creepy music — the opening credits of the movie. I quickly poured two glasses of wine and joined him on the sofa. I never got to see the entire movie as I fell asleep, my head in Max’s lap, just a half an hour in.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, The Bridgeport Gazette featured an online story about Mari Parker’s situation, including a recent photo. A toll-free hotline number encouraged the public to reach out with any information regarding her disappearance. A five thousand dollar reward was offered for any reliable information pertinent to the investigation.

  I didn’t envy the detective. Bogus calls were sure to inundate the hotline.

  I puttered around my apartment until lunchtime, waiting for a call. By 1:15 I was tired of drinking coffee and staring at my phone, so I decided to go for a quick run. I was back by 2:00. There was finally a message from Detective James asking for my assistance at the police station.

  I showered, slipped into my usual attire of black jeans, V-neck sweater, and black boots, then tied my wet hair back into a ponytail. By 2:15 I was out the door.

  It was a mild early November day. With all the rain and bitter cold we’d experienced this month, I welcomed the sun and relative warmth as I drove to the police station.

  About twenty calls had come in to the hotline - all Mari sightings - and my task was to listen to each one and discern which were phony and which were valid. I was able to eliminate many of them just by the description the callers gave of Mari. One described her as short and plump. Another described her as a bag lady. After ruling out the bulk of them, one of the calls captured my attention. It had come in from a Massachusetts area code. The male caller – whose voice sounded vaguely familiar – didn’t say much. Only that the police should look into the husband of the missing woman. He didn’t provide an explanation as to why.

  When Detective James returned to his office, I brought the message to his attention. We listened to the recording several times. “Sarah, we know who this caller is, don’t we?”

  “Sounds like Ethan with a slightly lower voice,” I replied.

  The detective nodded.

  “He thinks his father did something to Mari,” I said. “But he’s afraid.”

  Detective James paced his office, pinching his lower lip. “Okay, here’s what I suggest. I need you to talk to the boy.”

  “Why me?”

  “If I ask him to come in, he’ll probably clam up and deny he made the call. I’d like you to approach him in private and try to convince him to provide you with proof of guilt.”

  “What if he refuses?” I asked. “And how do I get him alone? His dad will get suspicious if I show up at the house asking for Ethan.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Parker to come to the station. He’s been hounding me all morning for updates. That’ll give you a window.”

  “Think that will work?” I asked.

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  * * *

  By the time I got to the Parkers’ residence, it was almost 3:30. I pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and noticed one of the garage doors was open. Ethan appeared to be waxing his Mustang.

  “Hi, Ethan,” I said with a friendly wave.

  He acknowledged me briefly. “Hey.”

  “Nice ride. Looks like you take good care of it.”

  Ethan continued buffing in circles on the surface of the hood. “Thanks.”

  “Is your dad around?”

  “No, he just left.”

  “Good. You got a minute to talk?”

  He kept on working. “About what?”

  “We got a call on the hotline today. An anonymous male caller implicated your dad in Mari’s disappearance. Do you know anything about that?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “Why would I?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t blame you for being careful. Tell you what; I’m heading over to the Starbucks on Route One for some coffee. I’ll be there for an hour.”

  “So?”

  “So if you feel like talking about anything, I’ll be there. If you don’t, that’s okay, too. I just want you to do whatever you think is right.”

  Ethan didn’t respond. He kept on working as if he hadn’t heard me. I got back in my car and left.

  I realized after nursing a v
anilla latte for almost an hour, that Ethan probably wouldn’t show. I stood up and gathered my things to leave when I saw the Mustang parked out front. Ethan was sitting inside, making no attempt to get out of his car.

  I walked over to the driver’s side window. He cracked it an inch and peered at me with sullen eyes.

  “Ethan, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to go inside. Can we talk here?”

  “You mean in your car?” I said.

  He nodded.

  I walked around and climbed in the passenger seat. I tried not to appear eager, but there was something in the kid’s eyes that told me this was a limited time offer. “What’s going on, Ethan?”

  He stared straight ahead. “I can’t prove it,” he said.

  “Prove what?”

  “That my dad killed Mari.”

  “Tell me what you know. There must be something else he said or did to make you think he hurt her, right?”

  “Sunday, the day I came home, we went to dinner after racquetball. I finally got the nerve to ask my dad why private detectives were looking for Mari? You know what he said to me?”

  “What?”

  “He said I’d better get used to the idea that Mari won’t be coming home. When I asked him why, he said ‘because women are ungrateful.’”

  “Ungrateful? Do you know what he meant by that?”

  “Not really. At the time I figured Mari was upset with Dad and needed time away to think. But when they found her car …”

  “Let’s say your instincts are correct,” I said. “What would he have done with her?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe he hired someone.”

  “Does your dad have any weapons in the house?”

  “No, but I do. Or, at least I did. I kept it hidden in my closet, but it was gone when I came home on Sunday.”

  “You think your dad took it?”

  “He didn’t know I had a gun, so I’m not sure how he found out. Mari was the only one who knew about it. She promised not to tell.”

  “Why did you have a gun in the first place?” I asked.

  “For protection.”

  “From your dad?”

  He nodded. “I never told Mari the real reason I wanted a gun. I told her I thought it would be fun to do target practice. She wasn’t too psyched about it, but offered to go to the shooting range with me to make sure I was taking the proper safety courses. But if my dad found out about the gun in the closet, maybe he used it on her …” He turned to face me, his eyes filled with tears. “Maybe this is all my fault.”

  I gently touched his arm. “Just because you had a gun, it doesn’t make you responsible. If your dad really wanted to hurt someone he would have found a way. Plus, you are assuming the worst. Maybe your dad is innocent and Mari is still alive.”

  He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “I’ve looked everywhere for the gun. The house, the garage, the basement, his car …”

  “The question is why,” I said. “Why would he want to kill her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you be willing to come to the police station and give a statement to this?”

  Ethan shook his head. “No way. If my dad ever found out, he’d kill me, too.”

  “He doesn’t need to find out.”

  “Only reason I’m telling you this is because you need to know about the gun. I don’t want to be involved.”

  “Ethan, please …”

  “No,” he yelled. “Please get out of my car.”

  “Okay. Can I give you my number in case …”

  “No,” he said. “I’m done talking to you or anyone else. Throw me in jail if you want. I’m not saying another word.”

  I got out of his car and watched him peel out of the Starbucks parking lot.

  Chapter 15

  Detective James listened intently as I told of him my conversation with Ethan about his dad and the missing gun.

  “Ethan seems tormented,” I said. “He wants to do the right thing but he’s terrified of any repercussions.”

  Detective James appeared to think it over. “Without a body, weapon, or motive, I can’t arrest Mr. Parker. We have to keep digging, Sarah. I’ll try to get access to his phone records and see if anything pops up there. In the meantime, I have another idea. I’d like to keep tabs on Mr. Parker’s comings and goings, but I doubt the chief will sign off on round the clock surveillance or phone monitoring. Would you and Carter be willing to keep tabs on him?”

  “Sure. I’ll give Carter a call right now.”

  * * *

  We decided to take Carter’s car, the Buick being far less conspicuous than my flashy red Toyota. We parked three houses down from the Parkers’ home.

  I pulled out a bag full of treats: mixed nuts, some apples, popcorn, some leftover Halloween candy, and two bottles of ginger ale.

  “We’re not going to see a drive-in movie, Sarah.”

  “I know,” I said. “But who knows how long we’ll be here. Could be hours. It’s only six o’clock. I need to eat or I’ll get cranky.”

  Carter looked through his binoculars at the house. “Looks like Mr. Dad of the Year is finishing a glass of wine at the kitchen counter.”

  “You can see right through to the kitchen?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? With those big-ass windows he had installed, the place is practically a fishbowl.”

  “Can you see if Ethan is around?”

  “I haven’t spotted him yet. But there’s a light on in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “Kenneth probably isn’t going anywhere tonight if his son is around,” I said.

  “I wish I could get into his garage and put Martha on his car,” he said, referring to the tracking device he’d lovingly named after his mother. “Then we could leave and go get some real food.”

  “Or I could call him and pretend I’m his wife. I can do a pretty decent Spanish accent, you know. I’d love to see the expression on his face.”

  Carter placed the binoculars on his lap and gave me a look. “I hope you’re not serious.”

  “As if.”

  Carter sighed heavily, picked up the binoculars again, and resumed the surveillance. “Kenneth keeps checking his watch.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for Ethan to come down so they can go to dinner.”

  “I don’t know. He seems agitated. If he wanted Ethan, he’d just go upstairs and get him. I think Kenneth is waiting for a phone call or something.”

  I reached into the back seat and grabbed a mini peanut butter cup. “Want one?” I asked.

  Carter ignored my offer. “Kenneth just grabbed something from the counter and he’s holding his car keys.”

  “He’s getting ready to leave?”

  “He’s carrying a briefcase,” he said. “Maybe he’s heading to his office.”

  “After six at night?”

  A few minutes later, the garage door opened, and a black SUV pulled out. “Get down out of sight,” Carter said. “He’s on the move.”

  Carter fired up the car and we followed him through his neighborhood and past the Bridgeport downtown area.

  “He’s taking I-95 north,” Carter said.

  “He’s not going to the office,” I said. “Maybe he’s off to screw one of his lady friends and release some pent-up energy.”

  We followed Kenneth for a few miles, staying a few cars behind.

  “Should I call Detective James?” I asked.

  “Let’s see where he’s going first. If he’s just grabbing some take-out, there’s no sense in alarming anyone.”

  Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot of traffic so Carter was able to stay on him. After another mile, Kenneth’s right blinker flashed.

  “Why is he pulling into the rest stop?” Carter muttered.

  “Needs to take a leak?”

  “We’ve only been on the road five or six minutes,” he said.

  “Maybe he’s looking for a prostitute. I’ve heard they han
g out here. “This place is a crime waiting to happen,” Carter said. “Keep your door locked.”

  Kenneth eventually parked in front of the restrooms, but didn’t get out of the car.

  “Well,” Carter said. “If he has to take a leak, it’s not an emergency.”

  “Maybe he’s lost and checking his phone for directions,” I suggested.

  Another few minutes went by when Kenneth finally exited his car, carrying the briefcase. Instead of going inside the restroom he walked past the building toward a vacant picnic table. He circled the table, inspected the underside, and groped around the bench seats.

  “What the hell is he doing?” I asked. “Checking for hidden microphones or something?”

  “He seems paranoid, that’s for sure.”

  I counted half a dozen cars in the lot, most with out of state license plates.

  “Looks like he’s got company.”

  Sure enough, a petite woman with long auburn hair, wearing jeans and a black trench coat, approached Kenneth. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a white envelope. Words were exchanged, along with the envelope and the briefcase. Kenneth turned heel and stormed back to his car. The woman rushed back to her vehicle and sped off.

  “That’s just great,” I said. “Who are we supposed to follow?”

  Carter started the engine. “The woman gets my vote.”

  I didn’t object.

  We followed the Nissan a mile down the road to a motel. She pulled into the lot, parked in front of room 7, and exited the car.

  Carter parked a safe distance away, cut the engine, and dialed a number on his cell.

  “Who are you calling?” I asked.

  “Thought I’d ask Detective James to run her plates. Unless you want to go into the office and ask the manager.”

  I shook my head. “They wouldn’t give me that information, anyway. Besides, it’s likely the woman gave a false name and paid in cash.”

  Carter smiled at me approvingly. “You’re probably right.”

  While he made the call and explained the situation to the detective, I decided to keep my eyes focused on the auburn haired woman, now trying to get into her room. She kept inserting the key card, but it didn’t seem to be working. Finally, after a few more attempts, the door popped open and she disappeared into the room.