“When do you get off work?”
She hesitated. “Not till five, but I've got plans.”
“This will only take a few minutes.”
Chloe grabbed a white rag and started wiping down the bar. “Look, I don't know what it is you want from me, but I didn't know that guy. I'm not denying that he was a customer here, but I don't remember him. I'm sorry, but that's the truth.”
Carter shrugged. “Look, we don't care if you were sleeping with him. We just want to know if Glenn ever mentioned being in trouble. Was he worried that someone might hurt him?”
A group of three women sat down at the bar, talking and laughing amongst themselves.
Chloe whispered to us. “I have to get back to work. I'm not sure why your friend had my name, but I didn't give it to him.”
Carter gave me the eye signal that it was time to leave.
Chapter 10
Carter and I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at my kitchen table, gathering intel on Chloe Goodwin. Thanks to his connections and special computer programs, Carter was able to obtain her real cell phone number and home address, along with other details. She was twenty-one. Two speeding tickets and one DUI. 150 friends on Facebook. Relationship status: single.
“Couldn't find any car registration or driver's license,” Carter said. “So she most likely uses public transportation. She could be a part-time prostitute for all we know.”
“I highly doubt that,” I said. “She's rather chunky.”
“Some guys are into that sort of thing, you know.”
I gave him a look. “Sure, if you say so.”
Carter gathered the case file together and returned it to his bag. “We can go back to Sambuca's tomorrow, but it's pretty clear this Chloe girl has no intention of helping us.”
“By the way,” I said. “I'm ready to take on more responsibility with this case. We can split up and get more done. Unless you don't trust me to do so.”
Carter gave me a contemplative stare. “Tell you what. Next time we go to talk to someone, you be in charge. I'll sit back and observe.”
“It's not about being in charge. I just want to do more. And I can do more.”
“I know,” he said. “And I agree. You should take on more responsibility.”
“Good.” I was relieved to get that off my chest. “Why don't you stay for dinner? Max is away for a few days.”
“Thanks anyway. I have to go home and feed the fish.”
I laughed. “Since when do you have a pet fish?”
“My neighbor's gone away for a few weeks and asked if I'd take care of it.”
“You must know this neighbor pretty well.”
“Apparently well enough that I got asked to feed her fish.”
“How old is she?” I asked, not sure why I cared.
He shrugged. “Don't know. In her thirties, I guess.”
“What's her name?”
“Helen.”
“What does she do for work?”
“Chef.”
“Is she married?”
Carter raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to know her social security number too?”
“Why? You know her social security number?”
Carter rolled his eyes.
I held up my hands. “Sorry. Just curious. I mean, you never talk about friends and stuff. It's nice to know you have one.”
Carter stood up and headed to the door. “Just because I'm taking care of her fish, doesn't mean we're sleeping together.”
“I didn't mean to imply that.”
“Yeah, right.”
After Carter left, I was feeling antsy. I had no food in the apartment, but didn't feel like going out. I could have ordered a pizza, but I didn't need the extra calories.
Just as I was about to fix myself a bowl of cereal, my neighbor Jackie – who lived in the apartment above me – called to see if I wanted to have a glass of wine.
“Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as I'm done with my gourmet meal.”
“What are you having?” she asked in her usual gruff yet excited tone.
“Corn Flakes,” I said.
“Are you serious? You need more nutrition than that.”
“It's fortified with nine essential vitamins and minerals. Extra fiber, too.”
“As your friend and neighbor, I must insist that you walk away from the cereal box and get your butt over here. I'm heating up leftover chili and you're welcome to some.”
“Are you sure you have enough? I can bring the cereal for backup.”
She scoffed at my comment. “I wouldn't eat that bland shit if you paid me.”
I changed into my comfy yoga clothes: black stretch pants, cotton/lycra tunic, and sneakers. I've found it to be helpful to have clothes that expand, especially when visiting Jackie. She's like a drug pusher, except with food.
A few minutes later, Jackie's dog jumped up and proceeded to lick my entire face as I entered her apartment.
“Down, Clifford,” Jackie yelled at the mutt. “Why do you always have to molest every person who comes to visit?”
“I don't mind,” I said, scratching under his ears. “He's my man. He can slobber all over me anytime he wants.”
“I see you're wearing the proper attire,” she said. “I've just prepared you a giant bowl of my award-winning chili. And I have dessert. Chocolate chip, macadamia nut cookies.”
I patted my stomach. “Are you trying to make me fat?”
“You could use a little meat on them skinny bones. By the way, what do you think of my new workout attire? I thought it might inspire me to get back to the gym.
Jackie did a little pirouette to show me the pink jogging suit. Problem was, Jackie never went jogging and it was apparent by the extra thirty pounds she carried around. She was vertically challenged at five feet, but what she lacked in height she made up for in bosoms. She showed them off whenever she had the chance.
“How about a glass of wine?” she asked.
I was about to say yes, but stopped myself. “Actually, I've already suffered one hangover this week. I'm gonna give it a rest.”
“Whatever,” Jackie said, clearly disapproving. “But I hope you don't mind if I have some.”
“Not at all.”
After dinner, we sat on her couch and kicked back, and I had the distinct pleasure of hearing all about Jackie's 'sexcapades'. Being the hormone-crazed, Greek-Italian woman that she was, Jackie left very little to the imagination. She explained in detail how her new pastime, 'erotic texting', was almost as good as the real thing.
“Sarah,” she said, cradling a glass of red wine, her legs propped up on the ottoman. “Even better than phone sex.”
“Who are these guys?” I asked. “Do you hook up over the internet?”
“Yep, it's a blast. Everyone posts phony pictures of themselves. You should see the picture of me. I'm six feet tall with blonde hair. The guy I'm currently “cyber-dating” looks like Brad Pitt in his twenties. In reality, he's old, fat, and bald with an incurable skin disorder.” Jackie refilled her wine glass. “It's pretty amazing when you think about it. The Internet is a wonderful thing.”
“Sure,” I said. “But when you consider the fact that it also teaches criminals how to make bombs, it can be pretty scary.”
“So tell me, how are things with Max? You guys still having hot, monkey sex?”
“I prefer to keep the monkeys in the cage,” I teased.
“Come on. I share all my secrets with you. Why don't you ever like talking about your personal stuff?”
“Max and I are good.” That was all I offered.
She rolled her eyes. “Boring.”
I laughed. “Okay. Things are … slowing down in the sex department. But that's normal, right? We've been dating for over a year.”
“Sure. It's normal. But that only means you have to work a little harder to spice things up. He's away on business, right? You should call him tonight and try it.”
“Sexting? I don't think
I'd be good at that.”
“Come on. I can give you some pointers.”
“I don't know. Besides, anyone could be listening in on the conversation. I really don't care to have some government official knowing my private sex life.”
“Don't be so paranoid. Anyway, the key to a successful love life is always keeping your man on his toes. It's the thrill of the chase.”
“That's not the problem here. Max is sweet. He's thoughtful. He throws me parties. But ...”
“Uh oh.”
“He knows I don't want any more kids. I just don't want to start all over. Besides, I'm almost forty-five. Menopause is right around the corner and I already have a son in college.”
“Wow. I had no idea he wanted a family.”
“But here's the thing. I don't know if he even wants to have kids with me. Maybe he's putting it out there like a subtle hint that we're not right for each other. That I'm too old for him.”
“Come on, I see the way he looks at you. He adores you. Besides, I read in some magazine that Hugh Jackman, that sexy Australian actor, is married to a woman twelve years older than him. So seven years is nothing.”
I shrugged. “I guess it all depends.”
Jackie slurped down more wine. “So tell me, what is it you love about Max?”
“Who said I loved him?”
“Okay, forget about love. What do you like about him?”
“His sense of adventure. His sense of humor. I can be myself around him. He's smart, motivated, fun, not to mention sexy as hell.”
“Okay, all good reasons. So it sounds like you have to make a decision.”
“I can't have another baby,” I said. “I'm done with that part of my life.”
“Well, then,” Jackie said, leaning back on the sofa. “You should come right out and have that discussion with him. If it's a deal breaker, then ... c’est la vie”
I moaned. “Easier said than done. Maybe he's not serious about having a family. Maybe I'm reading it all wrong.”
“I think you need to have that glass of wine now,” she said, holding the bottle up. “Shall I pour you a glass?”
I eyed the bottle and sighed. “Sure.”
Chapter 11
Saturday, April 27
Carter called at 7:15 a.m. the next morning, waking me from a sound sleep.
“Sarah, I need a favor.”
I cleared my throat. “What's up, Carter?”
“Something's come up. I need to leave town for a few days. Can you take over the Fleming case until I get back?”
“Is everything okay?”
A pause. “Uh, yeah … it will be. Look, I'm sorry to dump it on you. I'll explain later. I gotta go.”
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if this was all a dream. “Wait. What do I do about Chloe Goodwin?”
“Maybe she'll be more receptive if you approach her on your own. Go back to the bar and do what you do. She's probably a dead end, but it's worth a try.”
“Okay, but ...”
“I just stopped by your place,” Carter said. “I left the case file in a brown envelope just inside your screen door. Maybe you can give Detective James a call to see if he's back in town. Thanks for agreeing to do this for me.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the line went dead.
I jumped in the shower and contemplated what Carter could be up to. A family emergency? Carter said he had no family. Maybe a friend was in trouble. Maybe it had something to do with Helen, his neighbor with the fish.
While sipping on coffee, I opened the package Carter had dropped off. I took my time reading over the file; most of Carter's handwritten notes were barely legible.
I scanned through the list of clients and customers that Elizabeth had provided us with. Fifteen artists and over 150 clients on his e-mail list. I figured some of those clients were only one-time buyers, while others – like Victor Rowley – were steady customers. I'd get on the phone and contact each and every one of them if I had to.
At around 10:00 a.m. I called the Bridgeport Police Department and briefly spoke with Detective James. We had worked together on a case before so I felt he might be receptive to sharing some information.
“Sarah,” he said in his usual authoritative tone. “It's nice to hear from you. What's up?”
“This is about Glenn Fleming,” I replied. “He was shot during the robbery at his gallery last month.”
“Yeah, I know who he is. Why are you calling me about this?”
“Elizabeth Fleming hired me to look into things. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
A pause. “This is an open investigation, Sarah. You know I can't discuss details with you.”
“Yes, I understand. I'm just curious if you ever considered the possibility that Glenn's death was a targeted hit?”
“No. This was an art heist,” he said. “Three galleries were robbed that night. All evidence so far supports the theory that Glenn tried to stop the thief and was shot for interfering. The only eyewitness to the crime thinks he saw someone exit the Fleming gallery around the time a gunshot was heard, but he couldn't describe the person or the car he was driving. Our best bet is to wait for one of the stolen paintings to surface so we can trace it back to a suspect. Either that, or a gun shows up that matches the bullet found in Mr. Fleming's body.”
“How about the medical examiner's report? Could I have a copy of that?”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “You know how this works.” After a long pause, Detective James cleared his throat. “Do you have a lead, Sarah?”
“No. Nothing solid. I've been focused on Glenn's gambling, thinking he got messed up in some kind of bad deals, but there's no proof to support that.”
“I see. Well if you do come across anything, you need to call me, all right?”
“Of course. I know the rules.”
After my phone conversation with the detective, I got dressed in my usual black jeans, cotton sweater, and sneakers, slapped on some make-up, brushed my hair, and assessed my grey roots. Something had to be done. I made a mental note to pick up some hair dye at the drug store as I grabbed a baseball cap. The outside temperature was mild so I opted for a light nylon jacket instead of my suede coat. I gathered the file together, stuffed it into my bag, and left my apartment by eleven-thirty.
* * *
When I walked into Sambuca's at noon, an older woman of about sixty stood behind the counter, serving a customer. Most of the stools were already occupied with a bevy of interesting-looking characters.
I walked to the end of the bar and got the woman's attention. “Excuse me. Is Chloe working today?”
The woman shook her head with exasperation. “That little witch quit this morning.”
“She quit?”
The woman chuckled. “Yep. On a Saturday of all days. I could wring her neck.”
“Did she say why?”
“Nope. But if you talk to her, let her know she's not welcome back.”
I could tell the woman had her hands full, so I thanked her and left.
I decided to stop by the Fleming gallery to see if Elizabeth was around. The door was open and I could see her in there, seemingly trying to get her husband's business affairs in order. Several paintings were lying on the floor, others propped against the walls. Her auburn hair seemed even brighter as the sunlight glistened off her red curls.
I knocked softly on the doorframe so as not to startle her. “Hello?”
At the sound of my voice, she looked up and removed her eyeglasses. “Oh, hello Sarah. Come on in.”
“So you've decided to sell the gallery?” I asked.
“It's been a difficult decision but I'm going to move in with my daughter in California. I have so much work to do here before I can leave. I'm in the process of calling each of the artists with works on consignment to let them know. I've decided to auction off the rest.” She took a breath and looked around. “So where is Carter today?”
“He got called away on so
me personal business. He should be back in a day or two.”
“Do you have any new information?”
“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Let's go outside and sit on the patio.” She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. “I need a break from all this. A little fresh air would do me good.”
Outside the gallery was a small picnic table, a few potted plants, and a metal sculpture of a horse. The sun was shining, its warmth a reminder that summer was on the way.
Once we got settled, Elizabeth placed her hands in her lap, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. Her eyes focused intently on me. “Okay. Tell me what you found out.”
“Carter and I went over to Sambuca's yesterday. Chloe was there. She's a bartender. When we asked her about Glenn, she got real weird. She claims she never met him.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No. I stopped by Sambuca's again just before I got here. Chloe had just quit her job.”
“Can't you find her address and go visit her at home?”
“Yes,” I said. “If that's what you want me to do.”
“Do you think Glenn was sleeping with her?”
“My gut says no, but she definitely knows something. I'm just not sure if it has to do with Glenn's death. We must have spooked her when Carter and I approached her. Why else would she have quit her job?”
“What if you find her and she still won't talk?”
I paused. “I could offer her some cash in exchange for information. I've done that kind of thing before.”
“Like how much money?”
“Maybe a hundred bucks,” I said. “Depends on what you're willing to spend. I mean, it doesn't always work, but people are usually motivated by cash.”
“If you think it might work, I'll agree to it.”
“Okay. I'll try to get the information the old-fashioned way first.”
“Which is how?” she asked.
“Threats, lies … you know, basic intimidation methods.”
She offered a weak smile when she realized I was joking.
“How are you holding up?” I asked her.
“Some days are better than others. It helps to stay busy.”
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