The Stares of Strangers

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “Attempted suicide?”

  “Possibly.”

  Carter looked away and sighed. I could only imagine he was thinking of his only daughter, who had died of an overdose when she was a teenager. It's something he's never been able to forgive himself for, even though he has no reason to accept the blame.

  “You called 911?” he said.

  “Yeah, and guess who showed up?”

  “Who?”

  “Officer Bouchard.”

  Carter squinted as if trying to remember. “Is he the short guy with the crew cut?”

  “That's him. Anyway, he let me do a quick search of the apartment but I found nothing.”

  Carter nodded solemnly, then took a deep breath. He loaded more food onto his plate. “Well, I got a promising lead on a job today. Might be a fun challenge.”

  I perked up. Finally, a job that might actually pay good money. It'd been a while since we'd had a nice, meaty case to sink our teeth into. “Great. Who’s the client?”

  “Her name is Gina Carr. We spoke on the phone and she sounds like a nice elderly lady. She wants to hire us for surveillance work.”

  “Let me guess: she thinks her husband is cheating?”

  “Not exactly.” Carter paused for effect while he munched on a spring roll. “She’s absolutely convinced that aliens are having sex with her every night while she's asleep in bed.”

  I threw a napkin at him. “Stop it. You can’t be serious.”

  With a straight face, he said, “Sarah, I couldn’t make this stuff up.”

  “Well, what does she want us to do about it? Stop the aliens from raping her?”

  “Oh, no,” Carter shook his head, a serious expression on his face. “She just wants to know what planet they’re from.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I quickly covered my mouth and felt horrible. “That is so sad. She must be senile.”

  “I don't know, but when I told her we didn’t specialize in extra-terrestrial espionage, she called me a liar and hung up on me.”

  “You should've taken the job,” I teased. “You could tell her the aliens are from Mars. How could she disprove it?”

  He smiled. “Believe me, the thought had crossed my mind.”

  “If we don’t get another decent job pretty soon, I might have to dust off my massage table and put an ad in the paper.”

  Carter made a face. “Why? Are your finances tight?”

  “Not yet. But this dry spell has me a little worried.”

  He took a sip of wine and said, “You know, I’ve been thinking, why don’t you get rid of this apartment and move in with me? My house is too big for one person anyway.”

  His kind offer rendered me speechless for a few seconds. “That's sweet of you, really, but I'm fine.”

  “Come on. You can have the spare bedroom, do whatever you want with it. We spend most nights together, anyway.”

  Carter and I had worked together for two years but our budding romance was a relatively new thing. We were still in the process of figuring it all out. “My lease is up in March, so let’s see what happens, okay? I really appreciate the offer, though.”

  He put up a hand. “No worries, Sarah. You don’t have to make a decision right now. If you decide it's not a good idea, no problem.”

  I analyzed his tone, to see if I could detect any bitterness. I didn’t. Maybe he knew I wouldn’t take him up on the offer, so he wasn’t surprised by my reaction.

  I adored Carter, had the utmost respect for him, and trusted him with my life, but I didn’t want to ruin things by moving too fast. I’d seen my friends make that mistake. Sometimes it works out, usually it doesn't.

  “Are you ready for dessert and a movie?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “Why don't you go pick out a movie on Netflix while I do the dishes?”

  Carter ignored me and began stacking the dirty dishes himself. “Tell you what, why don’t you go relax on the sofa and I'll do the dishes. Your day was more hectic than mine.”

  “If you insist,” I said.

  As I meandered into the living room, my cell phone chirped. It's my new rule to take no calls after seven-thirty at night, unless I'm working a case, but I recognized the number. It was Officer Bouchard.

  “Good evening, Officer,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sarah, I hope I'm not disturbing.”

  “Not at all. What's up?”

  A short pause while he cleared his throat. “Trent Olson passed away this evening around seven o’clock.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in. “They couldn't save him?”

  “I've spoken with his family and friends and they all admit he was deeply depressed. We're ruling this a suicide.”

  “Well, thanks for calling,” I said. “I'm really sorry it turned out this way.”

  “Me, too.”

  When Carter finished with the dishes, he came to sit next to me on the couch. “Who was that on the phone? You seem upset.”

  “Officer Bouchard called to tell me that Trent died this evening.”

  He held my hand and squeezed it gently. “I'm sorry, but you know you did everything you could, right?”

  I closed my eyes. “It's such a shame. Maybe if I had gone into the apartment sooner, he'd still be alive.”

  “I know this sucks, Sarah, but there's no point in trying to rewrite the past or second guess your decisions.”

  I smiled weakly. “You're right. There's no point.”

  Carter rubbed the back of my neck. “Do you still feel like watching a movie? Might be a good distraction to take your mind off of this for a while.”

  “Sure, as long as it's an upbeat comedy to make me laugh. I could use a little levity right now.”

  Carter grabbed the remote. “Let's see what we can find.”

  Chapter 5

  Monday, December 8

  6:45am

  The next morning I got up early and made a pot of coffee. Carter was still in bed, snoozing away. I figured he’d wake up once the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted into the bedroom.

  Early morning is my favorite time of day. It’s quiet and, once the caffeine has worked its magic, I feel energized and positive. On this morning, however, there was a lot on my mind, mainly Carter’s generous offer to move in with him.

  After my divorce, I’d made a vow to never be dependent on a man again. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever fall in love again but keeping the two separate is key. I know first-hand how easy it is to fall into the trap. Not that I expected Carter to break my heart but, I didn’t want to give him the chance. I like the way things are. We are together, yet autonomous.

  I downed my first cup of coffee and wandered into the guest bedroom, which used to be my son Brian’s room before he went off to college. Since I rarely have overnight guests, it’s used mostly for storage. Carter was the only overnight guest I’d had in months, and he slept in my bed.

  If I eventually moved in with Carter, I would have to get rid of half my stuff. Most of the junk I own could easily be given away to Goodwill and I’d probably never miss it. But there are at least three large plastic bins filled with mementos from my past. One in particular—containing my mother’s prized treasures—is especially precious. Losing my dad when I was twenty, and then my mother just after I turned forty, left me feeling like an orphan. Sure, I have aunts and uncles, but those relationships have been relegated to Christmas card status. I know they are still alive but that’s about it. I have one cousin, but she and I never got along that well. She’s married to a doctor and looks down upon anyone living near poverty level.

  When my mom died of cancer, I knew I had lost not only a mother, but the best friend I had ever known. She might have been stubborn, a little moody and definitely set in her ways, but I always knew she loved me unconditionally.

  I opened the bin and breathed in the faint scent of Mom’s perfume, Chanel Number 5, which I had given her on every birthday. It was something she’d often complain about, saying
she didn’t deserve such indulgences—but I knew she loved it, and looked forward to receiving a new bottle every year. Now, whenever I open this treasure chest, I spray the scent into the room as my way of keeping her memory alive.

  When I have the time, I’ll sit on the floor and look through some of the old photographs. My mom fancied herself a photographer and always had a camera nearby. Most of her photos were of me, in all stages of awkward adolescence. Braces and frizzy hair when I was twelve. The punk rock spiked hair when I was fourteen. The big curly afro hair I wore for high school graduation.

  Apparently, my mom thought I was the most exotic creature that ever walked the earth. She’d even enrolled me in Barbizon modeling school when I was thirteen, as if I ever had a chance. I felt like a fool amongst the “pretty” girls with perfect teeth and clothes that weren’t from K-Mart.

  I can easily get lost for hours in my mother’s treasure box, reading old birthday cards and sifting through the knick-knacks that were precious to her. An antique pocket mirror given to her by her father; or the soft pink blanket that I clung to as a baby, now tattered and frayed.

  As always, I came across the zip-lock bag, with three undeveloped 35mm films. I had no idea how old these were, at least five to seven years and before she bought that digital camera. For whatever reason, I have never sent them out to be developed. Do one-hour photo places still exist in this digital age?

  I looked up toward the door when I heard footsteps. Carter stood there, looking down at me with a cup of coffee in his hands. “What’re you doing?”

  “I guess I was feeling a bit nostalgic this morning. These were my mom’s things.”

  His eyes lit up. “Are there pictures of you when you were little?”

  “Yes, but I’m not showing them to you.”

  He laughed. “Why not?”

  “Because you won’t be able to get the horrible images out of your mind. Suffice to say, I was a late bloomer.”

  He pointed to the zip-lock bag in my hand. “I haven’t seen old 35mm film in a while. She never got them developed?”

  “No. I was thinking I’d try and find a place that still does it but if these are from my modeling school days, I will burn them.”

  Carter chuckled. “You went to modeling school?”

  “Yeah. When I was thirteen, my mom thought it might help me with my self-confidence.”

  “Did it?”

  “No. Just the opposite, it got worse.”

  Back in the kitchen, Carter made us some toast with peanut butter and just as we were about to sit down to eat, my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and saw that it was Penny Graham’s number.

  My first instinct was to let her call go to voicemail, but I was curious. I decided to find out what she wanted.

  “Hello?” I said.

  I could hear her sniffling. “Sarah, I'm sorry to call so early, but can you talk for a minute?”

  “Sure, I can talk. Is this about Trent?”

  “Did you hear the news?” Her voice sounded like a little girl who had lost her favorite doll.

  “Yes, Officer Bouchard called me last night. I am so sorry.”

  More sniffling. “I just can't believe it. I mean, do you think he killed himself because of me?”

  It seemed obvious to me that she felt some kind of guilt associated with Trent's death, but why did she care what I thought? “Penny, I don't have an opinion. I had never met Trent before. I know this is hard, but you can't blame yourself.”

  “I should have returned his calls. I shouldn't have ignored him like that. I knew he was depressed, so why didn't I just let him down easy?”

  I felt bad for this girl. I didn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. “Trent was on a lot of medication. It's possible he simply took too many by mistake. It happens more often than you realize. The fact that he didn’t leave a note, you know, maybe he didn’t want to die.”

  After a long silence, I sensed that Penny was trying to make peace with that. She cleared her throat and said, “Anyway, the real reason I called is because I need your help again.”

  “What do you need?”

  “My housemate Jessica was leaving this morning to go to work and she found an envelope stuck between the door and door frame. My name was written on it. Someone must have put it there between late last night and early this morning.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Yes. There are some pictures inside but no note.”

  “Pictures of what?” I asked.

  “Pictures of me in my underwear. Looks like they were taken from outside my bedroom window. I'm wearing a black thong and my yoga bra, so I'm thinking the pictures were taken last Friday, right after I got home from my yoga class.”

  “And what time did you get home last Friday night from yoga?”

  “Around seven-thirty. I don’t remember seeing anyone snooping around. I can't remember if my curtains were open or not. Since our backyard is fairly private, I don't always pay attention to that.”

  “My advice, Penny, is that you call Officer Bouchard and file a report right away. He might be able to get fingerprints from the photos. I don't suppose your house has any surveillance cameras that might have caught this guy delivering it?”

  “Nah, there’s nothing like that around here.”

  “Well, maybe one of your neighbors saw someone. I'm sure the police will question them. It appears as though someone is having fun taunting you. Most likely the same guy who stole your underwear.”

  “I called my parents this morning. I probably shouldn't have worried them, but now they're very concerned that I have a stalker. My mom is going nuts and she insists that I move back home. I don't want to do that. I have a life here, now.”

  I still wasn't sure why she had called me. What did she expect me to do about this?

  Anyway,” Penny said. “My parents want to hire you to protect me. I know it sounds silly but they are willing to pay you whatever you want. If you don't want the job, they'll find someone else.”

  “Protect you as in a bodyguard? I don't do that kind of work, Penny.”

  “But you have a partner, right? You said his name is Carter and he used to be a cop.”

  “Yes, but he's not a bodyguard.”

  “I know, but maybe you guys can make an exception. My mom just wants you to keep an eye on me until the cops catch this weirdo.”

  I thought about what Marcy had told me the day before. If Penny indeed took pleasure from breaking hearts, maybe one of those guys had decided to get even. “Penny, can you hold on for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  I pressed the mute button on my cell phone and looked across the table. “Penny received an envelope in the door this morning that contained photographs of her in her skivvies. No note. She has no idea who's behind it but I think it's safe to assume it's the same person who stole her underwear. Her parents are rightly concerned about this freak and they want us to protect their daughter.”

  Carter shrugged. “Sounds like a real job for a change.”

  When I got back on the phone, I said, “Penny, are you still there?”

  “Yes. Can you do it?”

  “Carter and I can be at your house within the hour. Does that work for you?”

  A sigh of relief. “Yes. Thanks, Sarah. I'll be waiting.”

  “In the meantime, you need to call the police department and ask for Officer Bouchard. Hopefully, he'll be available but, if not, any police officer will do.”

  Chapter 6

  When Carter and I pulled up to Penny's house, a police cruiser was parked out front.

  “That's good,” I said. “At least she took my advice.”

  We parked the Buick behind the cruiser and got out. As we approached the front door, Officer Bouchard came out and greeted us.

  “So, here's the situation,” he said, gesturing to the plastic evidence bag containing the envelope. “I'm taking these to the lab to check for fingerprints.”

  I was hoping he'd let
me inspect the photos, but he made no effort to retrieve them from the evidence bag. “What kind of printer paper was used?” I asked.

  “Not sure yet, but it looks like regular photo paper that anyone can purchase from an office supply store. The printer used was low on ink because the colors are a bit faded. The handwriting on the envelope is all capital letters. It’s hard to tell if a male or female wrote it. I’ll have an expert provide an opinion on that.” Officer Bouchard scanned the neighborhood with squinty eyes. “Since this is a residential area, I don't suppose there are any traffic cams around, but I'll double check on that. Problem is, we don't really know when he dropped the photos off. Could have been anytime between late last night and six-thirty this morning. Anyway, I have Ms. Graham's statement and I'll file the report. Once I take care of this evidence, I'll come back and question the neighbors.”

  “You've got enough to deal with right now,” Carter said. “Why don't you let Sarah and me question the neighbors?”

  Officer Bouchard nodded. “Sure, that would help. Ms. Graham mentioned that she plans to hire you two for protection. I wasn't aware that you did that sort of work.”

  Carter jabbed a thumb toward Penny's house. “Whatever the client wants the client gets.”

  Bouchard glanced at his pager and frowned. “Look, I need to head back to the station. I don't mind working together on this but, keep me in the loop, okay?”

  Carter saluted him. “You bet. I hope you'll do the same.”

  A few moments later, we were inside Penny's house and I introduced her to Carter.

  As they shook hands, Carter said, “I'm sorry to hear about your predicament.”

  Penny was dressed in sweats and Ugg slipper boots. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. Without a stitch of make-up on her face, she still managed to look glamorous.

  She offered us a seat on the sofa. “It's been a stressful morning. The worst part is, I don't know whether I should be scared of this guy, or if it's just a stupid joke.”

  “In cases like these, it's always better to err on the side of caution,” I said. “So you're doing the right thing by taking action.”