An Appetite for Revenge
Sarah Woods Mystery (Book 7)
Copyright © 2014
Query Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
The first thing I noticed as I wheeled my carry-on suitcase through the double-glass doors of West Palm Beach Airport was the heat and humidity. My linen pants and gauzy, white blouse seemed to melt into my skin. If it wasn't for the relief of the slight breeze, the exhaust fumes would have made me nauseous.
I searched the cars idling outside of arrivals, but didn't spot Max's car. Before I left chilly Bridgeport, New Hampshire that morning, Max had assured me he'd check my flight status and greet me at baggage claim. But he was nowhere to be found.
Within a few minutes, I could feel the clammy sweat stains forming on my blouse. I shook the fabric loose, trying to air out my skin. I checked my cell phone. No calls or texts. When I tried to reach him on his cell, it went straight to voicemail.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax. There was no hurry. Max was probably stuck in traffic and his cell phone battery was dead. Unless he'd gotten sidetracked with something. Or he simply forgot. But that wasn't possible. After all, it was his idea for me to join him in sunny Florida while he finished up a job contract.
I'd been dating Max Stevens for a year. He was a surveillance expert, out here working on a posh beach condo on Singer Island, updating the security system. He'd been here for four days already, and had at least another five days until the completion of his project.
I checked my watch. 3:09 p.m. Max was officially fifteen minutes late. I was about to go back inside the air-conditioned terminal when I noticed someone waving at me from inside a white BMW parked curbside. I didn't recognize the brunette woman, so at first, I assumed she was trying to get the attention of the person behind me.
Finally, the passenger side window lowered. “Sarah Woods?” she called out. “Is that you?”
Confused, I said, “Yeah, I'm Sarah.”
“Oh, thank God I recognized you.” She got out of the car and approached me, her slender figure enhanced by the tight mini dress and stilettos. “Max sent me to pick you up. I'm Jennifer Healey.”
Her smile was so wide, I could see each and every perfect tooth in her mouth. She extended her hand and I shook it.
“I'm so sorry I'm late,” she continued. “How was your flight? Did they feed you? No, of course not. You must be starving, then.”
I froze for a moment, wondering which of her questions to answer first. But as I stood there, the only thing I could think of was why Max would send this woman to pick me up.
“Is Max okay?” I asked. “Did something happen?”
She giggled nervously. “No, no. He's fine. Here, let me help you with your luggage.” She grabbed the handle to my rolling suitcase before I had a chance to respond. After securing it safely in her trunk with little effort, she dusted off her hands and offered me another toothy grin. “Well, then, shall we head straight to the condo? I'm sure you want to freshen up.”
Jennifer Healey wasn't exactly a stranger because I'd heard her name several times before. It had been she who'd hired Max to fly all the way to Florida to install the state-of-the-art security system for her boss, Dennis Foster – a millionaire real-estate mogul. Jennifer was also Max's ex-girlfriend, a fact that I'd had to make peace with before making the trip.
As she drove us out of the airport and onto the highway, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel. She smiled pleasantly, but I could see that her jaw was slightly clenched. I got the sense she was feeling as awkward as I felt.
“So, what has Max told you about me?” I asked her in a lighthearted tone. “Just so I don't repeat the same boring facts.”
She glanced at me and her cheeks flushed. She was probably trying to decide if I was joking. Apparently, Max hadn't told her about my dry sense of humor.
After a few uncomfortable seconds, her smile finally returned. “Well, he mentioned that you're a private detective. Must be an interesting career. He didn't give me the details on how you got into that line of work, though.”
It was a long story, and one I didn't have the energy to get into, but there was no point in putting it off. “Max must have told you about what happened to his sister Beth.”
She nodded. “Horrible. I still can't believe his sister was murdered.”
I nodded. “Beth was my receptionist back when I owned a massage therapy business. I was the one who ... discovered her body.”
Jennifer put a hand over her mouth. “How awful.”
I nodded. “It was the worst moment of my life.”
“So that's how you met Max?”
“Yeah. We consoled each other during that time, and together we helped the police find her killer. During the investigation, I met Carter, a private detective, and as it turned out, he saw my potential and offered to mentor me.”
“But you had no prior experience?” she asked.
“No, but after a few online classes and working some cases with Carter, I was able to get my private investigator's license.”
“It's a tragedy about Beth,” she said with a sigh. “I'd only met her once, but she was a doll.”
“Yeah.”
Jennifer kept her eyes on the road, her fingers tapping on the wheel, as if she wasn't quite sure what to say next. It was my turn to ask questions.
“So,” I said. “How long have you lived in Florida?”
“Well, I was born in Tampa. I've moved around the country quite a bit, but just relocated back in this state a few years ago.”
“You have family here?” I asked.
She mashed her lips together and shook her head. I got the feeling that the subject of family might be a touchy subject for her. “No. My mom died years ago. My dad … well, he was never in the picture, anyway. The reason I moved to Palm Beach was work related. Plus, I needed to get away from Paul. He's my ex. We got divorced about six months ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It happens.”
Jennifer exited the highway and headed east on Blue Heron Boulevard. Within a few minutes, the scenery changed as we went over the bridge to Singer Island. The worn-out strip malls were gone, replaced by high-rise buildings with lush landscaping and the vast, blue sea beyond.
“This is lovely,” I said. “Kind of reminds me of a smaller Fort Lauderdale.”
“Much less crowded,” she replied.
We entered through a security gate. The ornate sign with gold lettering told us we'd arrived at Ocean View Terrace.
“We're here,” she said, pulling the BMW into a designated, covered parking spot. When she cut the engine, she turned to look at me with a sheepish grin. “Sarah, I have a confession to make. Max didn't actually ask me to pick you up at the airport. I offered.”
I let her words sink in, but still felt confused. “Really? Why?”
“I guess I wanted a chance to meet you alone. To let you know … you have nothing to worry about.”
“What would I have to worry about?” I asked with amusement.
“Me and Max working together? You must have had some reservations about it.”
I got the sense she was testing me, so I chose my words carefully. “I trust him,” I said. “And besides, he has a business to run. I'd never interfere with his livelihood.”
She gave me a funny smile, as if she didn't believe me. “That's very big of you. I think most women wouldn't tolerate it. And I think it's very brave of you, dating such a younger man.”
A compliment or an underhanded jab? “He's only seven years younger than me,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “And it doesn't seem to be a problem for him.”
Jennifer's eyes widened as her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. In fact, I think you look great for forty-five.”
Max must have told Jennifer my age, but why? “Well, thanks, I guess.”
Jennifer bit her lip, and I took a moment to study her features. She may not have been beautiful, but there was something attractive about her in a subdued way. In fact, she reminded me of me in my thirties. Similar long brown hair, slim figure, and height: around five seven. The biggest difference I could tell was that she had fuller cheeks. She also had one eye that seemed to be looking in a different spot than the other one. A lazy eye in most people might be off-putting, but for Jennifer, it made her seem more adorable.
She took a deep breath, let it out and said, “So did Max ever mention me?”
I blinked. Her question caught me off guard. Truth was, Max had never mentioned Jennifer until her call the week before. When he told me about the job offer – and that his ex-girlfriend was involved – the only thing he said was that Jennifer had left him to marry a rich guy – presumably Paul. I didn't want to bring that up again, so I deflected. “Max and I don't really talk about our past relationships.”
She seemed vaguely disappointed. “Oh. I see. Well, I suppose that's a good policy. So, Max told me you got a divorce about a year ago and you have a son in college?”
If she was trying to endear herself to me by asking about my son, it was working. I smiled with pride. “Yeah. Do you have any kids?”
Jennifer shook her head, her smile fading into a melancholy expression. “No, but I'd love to start a family soon. I guess I just need to find the right guy first. I'll be thirty-five next month, so it's not like I have all the time in the world.” She waved dismissively. “Enough about that. Why don't we get out of this stuffy car. I'm sure you'd like to see your room and get freshened up.”
“Thanks,” I said, thinking that I'd like to see Max and find out why he hadn't warned me about the change in plans. “I wouldn't mind taking a shower and changing into some dry clothes. I had no idea how humid it would be here.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “I'll take you to your room.”
The imposing, twenty-story building before us resembled an over-sized Italian villa with marble fountains and potted cypress trees.
“My boss Dennis Foster owns this place – among five other high-end resort condo buildings on the island. Ocean View Terrace is his favorite. He and his wife Brook live in the penthouse suite. You'll get to meet them tonight because they're hosting a little dinner party. Max and Dennis have become quite chummy in the past few days.”
We entered the lobby and all I could do was gawk in amazement at the posh surroundings. I marveled at another life-sized fountain with marble sculptures, with a crystal chandelier hanging above it. Everything was white, beige and various shades of pale aqua.
I asked Jennifer, “So, how long have you worked for the Fosters?”
“About two months. I'm Dennis's personal assistant, which basically means I'm an errand girl. I set up all of his personal appointments, fetch his prescriptions, and sometimes deal with contractors, which is why I recommended Max for this job. When it comes to security, it helps to trust the person doing the installations.”
Jennifer led us to an elevator at the end of the lobby. She inserted a card into the slot; the door opened, and we entered with my luggage in tow.
On the fifteenth floor, I followed her to a room at the end of the hall with a placard on the door that read 1523.
She handed me a key card. “Here, Sarah. This is yours. I think you'll enjoy the accommodations.”
Upon entering the suite, my jaw dropped. Across the expansive room, my eyes were drawn to a set of glass doors that led to a balcony overlooking the ocean. “This is amazing.”
Jennifer pointed to an opened door to the right. “You should check out the bedroom and master bath. King size bed, Jacuzzi bathtub, and another private balcony.”
I dropped my carry-on bag on the nearest chair and proceeded to the balcony. There was no way Max could pay for such luxurious lodgings. “Who's paying for this room? Your boss?”
Jennifer nodded. “Part of the contract. Plus, there is complimentary maid service every other day.”
“So, is this place like a time-share? Or just residences?”
“Privately owned,” she said. “I'd love to live here, but it's way out of my budget. There are usually several empty units available at all times, and since each is fully furnished, Dennis offers them to friends or colleagues – and in this case, contractors – for temporary use.”
I peeked into the master bedroom and noticed Max's opened duffel bag on the floor. After three days, I figured he would have unpacked. “So where is he?” I asked.
She checked her watch. “It's almost five so I expect he'll be finishing up for the day. I'm sure he'll be back soon to see you. He seemed very excited to have you here.”
Her comment eased my mind a bit, but I still felt a pang of jealousy that she talked about him with such ease and seemed to know his schedule better than I did. “Well, maybe I should take a quick shower beforehand.”
She appeared to take the hint as she made her way to the door. “Of course. I have a few things to do before the dinner party. So, I guess I'll see you at seven?”
I froze. “Dinner party?”
“Didn't I mention that? You both have been invited up to the penthouse for dinner. The Fosters would like to meet you.”
“Your boss wants to meet me?” I asked. “Why?”
“I guess Max talks about you fondly. Besides, Dennis and his wife love to host dinner parties.”
I closed my eyes and let out a breath. I'd been looking forward to spending some alone time with Max, but apparently that wasn't going to happen this evening.
Jennifer must have sensed my disappointment. “Don't worry,” she said. “You and Max will have plenty of time to catch up the rest of the week.”
I smiled faintly. “I suppose.”
She checked her watch again. “Well, I need to get going. Is there anything else you need right now?”
I made a point to look around me, but it was just for show. “I'm good, thanks.”
“Fabulous, well I guess I'll see you tonight.” She traipsed to the door, but before she left, she said, “And Sarah, I'm glad we got the opportunity to chat.”
“Me too,” I said, although I still couldn't be sure if her intentions were sincere.
* * *
Ten minutes later, I was showered and changed and thankful for the air conditioning. I chose an ivory, cotton sundress with embroidery details on the hemline. It was casual and comfortable, and hopefully appropriate for a dinner party.
As I was applying the last of my make-up, I heard the door open. Max waltzed into the suite, his grey t-shirt and jeans stained with sweat and what appeared to be grease, or some kind of viscous fluid. His dark blonde wavy hair was slicked back and his face was flushed pink. He rushed over and scooped me into his arms. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “I've been stuck in the basement of this place all day wiring. My cell phone didn't work.”
He kissed me as he pulled me closer. He smelled like a combination of dirt, chemicals, and his pine soap. His stubble scraped my face. “Ouch. You got some razor blades on your face there, Mister. Is my cheek bleeding?”
“Sorry,” he said, smoothing my cheek with his hand. “I forgot to shave this morning. I wanted to get an early start.”
“It's good to see you, even if your five-o’clock shadow almost scarred me for life.”
He gave me a slightly embarrassed smile. “Hey, sorry about the change in plans. Jennifer was very insistent on picking you up at the airport. And since I was already busy into work, I figured ... Anyway, I hope you're not angry with me.”
“Maybe a little.”
His smile widened, revealing those gorgeous dimples. “I promise to make it up to you.”
“Good. Then I suppose I c
ould forgive you.”
He paused for a moment, then said, “So what do you think of Jennifer?”
I decided to give him the short version. “She seems nice, but it was kind of awkward.”
“Why? Because she's my ex-girlfriend?”
“No. It's just that I think she was trying too hard to be friendly and to make sure that I understood the nature of her relationship with you.”
He backed away a few inches and regarded me with an odd smirk. “Jenn and I are friends, Sarah. I wouldn't have invited you down here if something was going on.”
“I know. I'm just not sure what her intentions are.”
Max seemed distracted as he looked down at me. “Oh shit,” he said. “Your dress ...”
I followed his gaze and let out an involuntary yelp when I noticed the greasy stain. “Oh no. This is the only nice dress I brought with me.”
He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and rushed back to dab at the stain. “I'll have it dry cleaned.”
“Won't be ready for the dinner party tonight,” I said. “And speaking of this dinner party, why didn't you mention that to me before? I don’t know if I’m really prepared to mingle with high society.”
He laughed. “Dennis Foster isn't your typical nose-in-the-air variety. He wouldn't care if you showed up wearing cut-off jeans and flip-flops. In fact, if you met the guy on the street, you'd never know he was loaded.”
“Do we really have to make an appearance?”
“Just a few hours. I promise we'll have the rest of our nights open for just the two of us.”
I let Max fuss over the stupid stain, knowing for a fact that a little soap and water would not dissolve the grease. “So, what's this Dennis Foster guy like?”
Max appeared to think it over. “He's in his mid-sixties. He smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish, but he's very entertaining. His much younger wife Brook is just the opposite. She's a strict vegan, but she's pretty cool.”
“So she's a trophy wife?” I asked.
He smiled and nodded. “Exactly.”
“What would I have in common with someone like that?”
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