“We need to apply pressure,” I said.
“My heart is pumping too fast right now. Once it slows down, the bleeding will slow down, too. Just give me a minute. Keep an eye out for the cruiser on the street, would ya?”
“What happened at Angela's?” I finally said after giving him a moment. My voice sounded shaky and I realized my whole body was trembling. But I felt more at ease as I peered into the street below; no sign of the police cruiser. When I looked back at Carter, he was still on the ground, holding his arm. “Start from the beginning,” I said. “What happened when Angela answered the door?”
Carter closed his eyes and made a grunting noise. “Angela believed my story about the landlord hiring me to inspect the units. She let me in, no problem.” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow then shook his head in frustration. “Damn it, I got sloppy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Angela was in the kitchen having coffee, and she told me I could have a look around. I went into her bedroom, searched the closet, all her drawers, under the bed. No bag of cash. I went into her office, checked every drawer in her desk. I found a folder with a bunch of receipts, so I started taking pictures with my cell phone. But then ... well, she walked into the room and saw me.”
I gasped. “She caught you going through her desk?”
Carter nodded, clearly remorseful. “She freaked out, started screaming. She grabbed her phone, called the police. I tried to get the hell out of there but she wanted to teach me a lesson.”
“By stabbing you in the arm?”
“Apparently.”
“Did you do something to provoke her?”
He grimaced. “Sarah, you know me better than that. Angela probably thought I was trying to steal her identity. She didn't want me to get away unscathed.”
I cleaned the rest of the blood on Carter's arm with the wet wipes, dried him off, then applied five band-aids in a criss-cross pattern. “You didn't mention Brook Foster, did you?”
“Of course not. I'd never mention a client's name.”
Carter inspected my handiwork while I discarded the used wipes and bandage wrappers in a nearby trash bin. “I don't look forward to telling Brook what just happened,” I said. “She has enough to worry about right now. She's going to think we're a bunch of hacks.”
“Then don't tell her.”
“I have to tell her, just in case this little incident ends up on the evening news.”
Carter slowly got to his feet, found a clean t-shirt from one of his bags, and threw the bloody one in the trash. “We need to find a taxi.”
“The cops are probably back at Angela's apartment,” I said. “They'll be collecting blood samples for your DNA. Once they know who you are, they'll probably put an APB out for you. You need to lay low for a while.”
“Fine,” he said. “I won't argue with that, but we still need a taxi to get back to Ocean Terrace. Looks like you'll have to rent a car, too.”
* * *
An hour later, I was sitting with Brook at her kitchen table as we watched the surveillance video from the airport on my laptop.
“Could this be Angela wearing a wig?” I asked, pointing to the brown-haired woman.
Brook stared, not blinking for what seemed like a full minute before she let out a breath. “I don't know if that's her. It could be, but it's hard to tell. Maybe she dyed her hair brown, or it's a wig.”
We watched the video several times. “There's a thirteen-minute window between the time you left and the time the janitor entered the restroom. The brown-haired woman is the only one who fits Angela's age. Unless Angela got a friend to pick the money up for her, but as you can see, the only other people who went in and out of the restroom during that thirteen-minute window were either younger than twenty, or older than fifty.”
Brook nodded, in a daze, clearly not sure what to think. “Have you gone to Angela's apartment, yet?”
I cringed. “Yeah, that didn't go so well.”
Brook looked at me quizzically. “Something happened?”
“Well, Carter had a plan to get into her place. He posed as a pest inspector, and she fell for it. He was able to look through her things, but she caught him taking pictures.”
Brook's eyes widened in terror. “What? Wh … what did she do?”
“She called the police on him, but he was able to get away.” I decided to leave out the part about the stabbing. “At any rate, we'll look over Carter photos and see if he got anything to help us. I was hoping you'd be okay with me talking to Andrew about his sister.”
“I don't think he's been in contact with Angela. Besides, I don't want him involved in my business.”
“Why not? Why would he care at this point if you had an affair?”
“He might try and cut me out of the will.”
“I don't think he could. A will is a legally binding document.”
Brook stared at the floor, lips set into a straight, rigid line. Finally she looked up and gave a quick nod. “Fine, you can talk to Andrew, but you can't tell him about the blackmail or the affair. Maybe you can make up a story, tell him I hired you to find Angela.”
“Sure,” I said. “I've become pretty good at making up stories.”
Chapter 12
I took the elevators to the second floor and turned to my right. Vivian sat behind a reception desk, head bent forward, a serious expression on her face. She looked up as I approached and regarded me with a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Ma'am. Welcome to Foster Realty. May I help you?”
“Hi, Vivian. I'm Sarah, we met the other night at the Foster's dinner party?”
She narrowed her eyes at me for a second, then something must have clicked. “Oh, yes. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. Forgive me.”
“No problem. Hey, I don't want to disturb you from your work, I was just hoping that in the off chance that Andrew was around today, I'd like to see him.”
She nodded. “Yes, he's here, but I'm not sure for how long. He's in his office, just down the hall.” She pointed to my right.
“Thank you.”
Andrew's office door was ajar, but I knocked anyway. He seemed surprised to see me when he looked up. “Sarah Woods,” he said. “Max's girlfriend, right?”
“Yes. I'm sorry to drop by like this, but I'm wondering if you have a moment.”
He ushered me into his private office and offered me a chair. He wore a polo shirt and khaki slacks with loafers. And a gold Rolex. “So, what's this about?”
“First, I'd like to offer my condolences. Your dad seemed like a great guy and I'm glad I had the chance to meet him.”
Andrew nodded curtly and I thought I saw his eyes mist over. “Thanks,” he said.
“Anyway, I'm here more or less as a favor to Brook. It's about your sister, Angela.”
“What about her?”
“Have you contacted her since your father's death?”
“Yes. I called her yesterday. She didn't answer, so I left a message.”
I paused to make sure I understood. “You left her a message that your father was dead?”
“Yeah. Not that she cares one way or the other.”
“Do you have any idea where Angela works?”
He laughed. “Angela? Work? I don't think so. Last time we spoke, she called me a fucking prick, just because I wouldn't give her money.”
I offered a sympathetic nod. “Would you happen to know if she's been getting money elsewhere?”
He blinked at me. “Who told you that?”
“Doesn't matter,” I said. “Brook just wanted to make sure someone contacted Angela about her father since she didn't have a current phone number to reach her. But it looks like you've been in contact with her, so ...”
“Why didn't Brook just ask me directly, instead of some private eye from New Hampshire?”
I took his comment to be an insult, but I brushed it off. “I'm sure she didn't want to bother you. Now that you're taking over the business, she knew you'd be swamped.”<
br />
He lowered his head, shaking it slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't intend to make fun of your profession. Just because my life is a big pile of dog shit, doesn't mean I should take it out on you.”
“No offense taken.” I turned to leave. “Why don't I let you get back to ... whatever you were doing.”
He looked up. I noticed the tears in his eyes.
“It's hard to believe both of my parents are gone now. I didn't think I would feel so alone.”
I got the sense he needed to talk to someone, but why me? A handsome, smart, rich guy like him? He must have had scores of friends he could commiserate with.
“I understand what you mean,” I said gently. “Both my parents are gone, too.”
He wandered over to the window and titled his face up to the sun. His blonde hair glistened in the sunlight. “My dad got off easy, you know.”
I took a step toward him, not sure I heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“It was my mom who got the shitty deal,” he said. “Can you imagine having an oxygen tank strapped to your side for months? Most days she couldn't get out of bed. People say that cancer is the worst way to die, but those people never saw my mom at the end of her life.”
“Brook mentioned she had emphysema?”
“Yeah. And she never smoked a day in her life, go figure.”
“But your dad smoked,” I said.
Andrew left his sunny spot by the window and walked back to his desk. “He sure did. It's one of the reasons Angela hates our dad. She blames him for causing my mom's illness.”
An image of Dennis with a cigarette in his mouth came to mind. “Do you blame your dad for causing your mom's illness?”
He breathed in through his nose in a controlled manner. When he exhaled, his lips quivered slightly. “Yeah, I guess I do. When Mom got sick, he wouldn't stop smoking. He didn't even try. That pissed me off, but we all knew my dad wouldn't change.”
“This is none of my business,” I said with hesitation. “But how'd you feel when your dad married Brook so soon after your mother's death?”
He snorted. “Not surprised. I knew my dad couldn't be alone for very long. And let's be honest. She didn't want to work as a maid for the rest of her life.”
“Do you think they had an affair while your mom was still alive?”
“I'm sure they did.”
“Do you think your mom knew about it?”
He shrugged. “She must have known. Women have a sense for that sort of thing, don't they?”
I nodded. “I think so. Although some women would rather live in denial. It's a safe place to be.”
“I suppose.” Andrew sat down on the edge of his desk and fidgeted with a stack of papers. He seemed to be stalling, as if he wanted to ask a question, but didn't know how to begin. Finally, he looked up and said, “So I understand that your boyfriend used to date Jennifer Healy. Does it bother you?”
I hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn, so I fumbled. “Um, well, no. It doesn't really bother me too much.”
He smiled at the obvious lie. “Who could blame you if it did? They certainly seem to get along well. One might even think they appear close.”
I laughed nervously. “Max is free to be friends with whomever he wants. I've found that if you try to control someone, they usually end up doing the exact thing you don't want them to do.” I paused to gauge his reaction. “But their friendship does seem to bother you.”
He gave me a fake look of surprise. “Who, me?”
“You have a thing for Jennifer,” I said matter-of-factly. “So I get it.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “You couldn't take your eyes off her the other night.”
“Shit. So much for subtlety, huh.”
“What is it about Jenn that is so appealing?” I asked, just to get a guy's perspective, and to figure out what Max had been attracted to.
“Jenn is not like other girls, but it's hard to explain. She's aloof. And there's something very sad and mysterious about her. I mean, I know I've only known her a short time, but I've never had a hard time getting a girl to go out with me. I'd have to say, she's the first.”
I digested the information and had to agree. There was something mysterious about Jenn. “Maybe now that she no longer works for your dad, she'll be more open to having a date with you.”
He brightened. “You think that's why she wouldn't go out with me?”
I immediately regretted saying it. “I don't know. It was just a thought.” I looked at my watch and feigned a shocked expression. “Damn, it's almost noon. You probably have a busy day so I don't want to take up anymore of your time.”
“It's no bother,” he said. “Do you have plans for lunch? The restaurant downstairs makes a decent club sandwich. My treat.”
An invitation to lunch? Most likely so he could continue bending my ear about Jennifer. No thanks. I wasn't in the mood. I thought about Jennifer more than I wanted to as it was. “Thanks anyway,” I said, “I'm supposed to meet up with someone.”
“Okay. Well, maybe you could put a good word in for me, next time you see Jennifer?”
“Sure, why not.”
As I walked down the hall toward the exit, Vivian was still at her desk. She raised her head slightly to acknowledge me as I left. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Woods.”
* * *
When I got to Carter's room, I relayed the details of my meeting with Andrew. “He says he hasn't talked to his sister in months. He has no idea what her financial situation is, or if she's come into money recently. Basically, he wasn't much help. Did you find anything with the photos you took from Angela's apartment?”
Carter gave me a satisfied grin. “I think I found proof that Angela is not our blackmailer.”
“What? How?”
“Take a look at this.” He handed me his iPhone. “It's a receipt for Joe's Cafe, in Orlando. Look at the date and time. March fifteenth at eleven-thirty-five a.m. There's no way she could have left West Palm Beach Airport at ten-thirty and be in Orlando by eleven-thirty. It's at least a two-hour drive with no traffic.”
I plopped down on the bed and let out a sigh. “Well, this only proves that she didn't physically pick up the money. Maybe Angela had a partner or a friend to go to the airport for her.”
“It's possible, but does Angela seem like the kind of person to trust someone with that kind of money? She nearly killed me when she saw me going through her stuff.”
I shrugged. “You have a point.”
“Besides,” Carter said. “After looking through all her receipts, I didn't find any large ticket items. I would have expected her to at least go out for an expensive dinner, or buy a nice pair of shoes. Some kind of small indulgence, but there was nothing in those receipts. Unless she's being extremely careful.”
“So what do we do now? Give up on Angela and start looking for new suspects?”
“Well, there's another idea I had.” Carter leafed through some papers on his desk then handed one to me. “I was able to get a few shots of her daytimer that was on her desk. Angela keeps a pretty regular schedule. Every Tuesday at seven, Thursday's at six and Saturdays at ten a.m she has a standing appointment at the Delray Beach Community Center. When I checked out their website, those times coincide with a grief support group. Angela must still be having a rough time dealing with her mother's death, even after a year.
“I'll admit. Three support group meetings a week is overkill.”
“Exactly,” Carter said. “So I did more digging and found out that Angela is actually involved in a volunteer group run by a woman named Glenda White. She's a nurse, and also does work with hospice.
“Wow,” I said, giving Carter a well-deserved look of respect. “You think we should call this Glenda person? She if she'll talk to us about Angela?”
“It sure looks like Angela spends a great deal of time with her. I'll see if I can get an app
ointment with her. But my hunch is that Angela is not the person we should be focusing on. I think it's time to get Brook to tell us the truth about who her lover is.”
“I agree with you, but she won't budge on that. She's afraid of getting him in trouble.”
“Well.” Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “Then she never should've gotten you involved. If she wants our help, she needs to fess up. If you don't want to confront her on this, then I'll be happy to.”
“You're right,” I said. “I'll call and see if she can see us as soon as possible. I'll tell her about Angela's receipts and the fact that she's probably not the blackmailer.”
When I called Brook, she agreed to meet with us at five.
“I hope Max won't mind having dinner a little later,” I said, remembering his note this morning.
Carter waved a dismissive hand. “Hey, if you and Max have plans, I can meet with Brook alone.”
I thought about it. “No. Max will understand.” I glanced at my watch. 4:43. “He should be getting out of work soon. Maybe I'll head up to our room and explain in person before we go see Brook.”
“Whatever,” he said.
I pushed myself up from the bed and headed to the door. “I'll meet you up at the penthouse just before five, okay?”
“No problem.”
Chapter 13
Max was in the bathroom when I got back to our room. I could hear him whistling over the sound of running water. The smell of soap and shaving cream filled the air.
I sensed that Max was in a good mood, getting ready for our night out. There was an opened bottle of red wine on the table, and two glasses set out.
He waltzed into the kitchen where I was standing, wearing only a towel around his waist. The smile on his face was contagious. “Hey gorgeous,” he said to me brightly. “I have great news. Thought we could celebrate.”
“Really?”
He scooped me up into his arms and kissed my lips. “The job is done. I worked my ass off today, working straight through lunch.”
An Appetite for Revenge Page 6
