“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Why don’t you go back to the room and stay with Kippy. I think your presence will comfort him.”
Ten minutes later, Chad returned. “I got in touch with the Baileys,” he told the doctor. “They’re very concerned and would like to talk with you. They’ll be calling in a few minutes. Sounds like they want to have you keep Kippy here overnight.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll be happy to speak with them when they call. In the meantime, I’m going to get a station set up for our new patient.”
I leaned over and gave Kippy a kiss on the head. “You’re gonna be OK, buddy. Just hang in there.”
Chad took my hand and led me back out to the van. When we got in, his expression was tight.
“What happened when you called them?” I asked, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. “Did you tell them about the muffin?”
“I had to tell them,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. “Sorry for what? What do you mean?”
“Can’t blame them for being upset,” he said, “but they’re overreacting, I’m sure.”
“Overreacting about what?” I answered my own question a second later. “They fired me, didn’t they?”
“I told them it wasn’t your fault.”
I hung my head. “But it is my fault. I never should have left the muffin on the table. I just didn’t think that he’d climb up there and get at it. I should’ve been more careful.”
“Kippy is going to be fine,” Chad said, but his voice cracked when he said it.
Needless to say, there would be no shopping or dining out tonight. “Can you please take me home,” I said. “I just want to go home.”
Chapter 10
Sarah
After Molly left my office, I made a decision to stop delving into her past. She didn’t want to talk about it, and I needed to respect that.
I had my suspicions that she could be in the Witness Protection Program.
I’d always been fascinated by WITSEC, but I’d never met anyone associated with the highly secretive program. The only person I knew of was Carter’s buddy from years ago. He was a United States Marshal, and it was his job to protect witnesses. Of course, he could never talk about it. Kind of like being in the CIA; you can’t tell people that you work for the CIA.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Molly had gotten herself mixed up with. Was she a criminal or an innocent? Where did it happen?
I had to stop.
Time to focus on Sandra Washburn and her allegedly abusive husband.
I got on my computer and checked the surveillance program to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. It was only 3:30, and I had to assume Clark was still at work. I figured he wouldn’t be home till after five, so I had a few hours.
A few minutes later as I ate lunch at my desk, I heard footsteps out in the hallway. Being a Saturday, I knew all the other businesses on my floor were closed. I went to my door, opened it, and peered into the hallway.
A young man who appeared to be in his late twenties, early thirties, was standing at the end of the hall.
“Hello,” I said to him, “you look lost. Can I help you?”
He glanced at me cautiously. His eyes moved to the sign to the right of my door: Sarah Woods. Licensed Private Investigator.
“Are you Sarah Woods?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
He blinked once, shifted his feet, and put his hands into his jeans pockets. “I … uh … don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering, do you give free consultations?”
I took a moment to assess the young man. He was dark skinned, probably Hispanic, over six feet tall, and very thin. His clothes looked a bit tattered. Then again, rips and holes in jeans were still the style.
“I have a few minutes,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“My name? Um … Frank. Frank McDonald.”
The name did not seem to fit. Had he given me a fake name? “Come into my office and have a seat, Mr. McDonald, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
He slowly walked into the room and looked around, his hands fidgeting in his pockets.
“I have a problem,” he finally said, taking a seat across my desk. “It’s kind of complicated.”
He kept clearing his throat so I offered him a bottled water.
He took a few sips, and I waited for him to get the courage to tell me his story. Finally, he looked up at me. “Sorry, I feel like an idiot telling this to a stranger.”
“Take your time.”
He cleared his throat yet again. “Thing is, my girlfriend … well, she’s not really my girlfriend, but we’ve been dating for a few weeks. I really like her, but I think she might be … um … stealing from me.”
“Stealing what?”
“I had this cool watch that my dad gave me and a few weeks ago, it just vanished. Other things have gone missing, too. Sunglasses, stuff like that. Anyway, she always comes to my place to hang out. In fact, I’ve never really been to her place. She lives with her parents, I guess.”
“Have you confronted her about the missing items?”
“Yeah, but she played it like she had no idea what I was talking about.”
“Maybe she didn’t take your things,” I said. “Could it be one of your buddies? Do you have a roommate?”
“No roommates. It’s got to be her.”
“OK,” I said, “so, what kind of advice do you need from me?”
“What should I do about my stuff?”
“Well, first of all, it sounds to me like you don’t trust this girl, so I’d end the relationship regardless if you can prove she’s a thief. If the items are valuable to you, you might consider going to the police, but I doubt they’d give it top priority. Taking this girl to small claims court without any proof would be a waste of time and money. In other words, your options are limited.”
He nodded with a sigh. “I feel like a schmuck ‘cuz she’s probably some kind of scam artist.”
“Or, she’s desperate for some quick cash. You might want to check out the local pawn shops to see if she pawned the items.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. Good idea.”
I opened my laptop. “If you tell me her name, I can find out if she has a record.”
“Nah, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I guess I’ll check out those pawn shops, like you said. Thanks for the advice, though.”
“No problem.”
He stood up and lumbered to the door. After he left my office, I got this weird feeling that I had just been fed a bunch of bull. I figured Frank had come here with a more serious problem to confess, then chickened out. Whatever the reason, I was relieved he hadn’t hired me. Between helping Carter in Hawaii and my surveillance of the Washburns, I was in no position to take on more jobs.
* * *
Back at home, I spent an hour doing laundry, emptying the dish washer, and catching up on emails while keeping an eye on the surveillance program. Around 5:30, Clark came home from work. He and Sandra exchanged a few words, mostly Clark complaining about his day at the car dealership. Sandra told him she was making his favorite for dinner: meatloaf. Their brief conversations seemed lighthearted for the most part, and I didn’t sense any tension at all. At 6:25, Clark sat at the kitchen table while Sandra prepared dinner, and they chit-chatted about an article that Clark had read online about a local politician. Again, their interaction seemed easygoing and natural. Just a husband and wife enjoying each other’s company.
Until later that evening while they were eating dinner. Clark was sitting across a dining room table, talking more about his work day. A plate of food was set in front of him. Sandra’s meek voice apologized that the meatloaf was crispy on the outside. Clark took a bite, chewed, and then spit the chunks onto his plate.
“How do you expect me to eat this crap?” he said, pushing his plate away with disgust. Ah, the real Clark begins t
o emerge.
Sandra took the plate and his fork and cut off the burnt pieces. “Here you go. It should be fine now.”
“I don’t want it,” he said, taking the fork and flinging it. The fork must have hit Sandra in the face or the chest, because she let out a quick yelp and then I heard the sound of the fork clattering to the floor.
With no apology, Clark screeched his chair back and promptly left the table.
Part of me wished that Sandra would pick up the damned fork and go after the son of a bitch, but she didn’t do that. She simply picked up the fork and plate, and took them to the sink.
I got out my cell phone and called Karen. When she answered, I said, “You were right. Clark is an ass of the highest degree.”
“Oh God, what did he do to her?”
“He threw a fork at her because the meatloaf was burnt.”
“Are you serious? Is she hurt?”
“I don’t think so. After it happened, she got up and did the dishes and there’s no sign of blood. It’s hard to tell in the video if the fork actually got her, but she cried out. If not out of pain, then maybe out of fear or shock. Still, I got a glimpse of Clark’s temper and it wasn’t pretty.”
“What do we do now? We have to get my mom away from him. Can’t we just take the video to the cops and have him arrested?”
“The video may not be enough to arrest Clark, especially if your mom won’t testify against him. Plus, I’m afraid that if Clark finds out about the video, he might take his anger out on your mom even more. Your best bet is to explain to your mom in private how you got the video. Once she sees it, she won’t be able to dispute that her husband is mistreating her. Then if she cooperates, you could have her pack a bag and stay with you while she gets a restraining order.”
“I wish I could go over to their house right now with a baseball bat. See how he likes being terrorized.”
“Believe me,” I said, “I get that, but you have to remember that it’s your mother’s choice to stay with him or leave.”
After a long silence, she said, “Tomorrow I’m calling in sick to work. As soon as Clark leaves for work in the morning, I’m going to the house to talk to Mom. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make her leave with me.”
“I’m sending you a copy of the video which you can download onto your laptop or phone. Just promise me you will not confront Clark on your own.”
“I promise,” she said, “but what if he does something else to my mom again tonight?”
“I’ll keep an eye on the surveillance. If something more serious happens, I’ll call 911.”
The next time Sandra and Clark spoke was around 9:15. She apologized to Clark about the meatloaf, and said she promised to never burn it again. Clark was already in bed, his back to her, and he muttered a reply, something that I couldn’t quite understand, but then the lights shut off. Those were the last words exchanged when I finally went to bed around 11:00.
Chapter 11
Sarah
The next morning while I had coffee, I continued to watch the surveillance at the Washburn residence. Around 8:00, the video feed showed Clark in their bedroom, holding up two ties, asking Sandra which one she liked better. Sandra told him she liked them both, but the red one looked better with the gray shirt he was wearing. He thanked her, called her sweetheart, and even offered to take her out for dinner that evening. To make up for being a jerk about the meatloaf, probably.
It was like nothing had happened the night before. Like he had never flung a fork at her face. She didn’t seem bitter, or resentful, or pissed off in the least.
This was probably how their life went. He’d have his temper tantrums, and the next hour or the next day he’d be all apologetic and shower her with nice dinners or whatnot.
But did that really make it okay to fling a fork at someone, or shove them, or hurt them in any way? Not in my book.
Around 8:30, Clark said goodbye and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. At 8:55, I saw Karen standing in the doorway. She had a concerned look on her face.
“Mom, can I come in? We really need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Sandra said.
“It’s about Clark. I have to show you something, and you’re not going to like it.”
I watched as Karen sat her mother down on the living room sofa and explained why she had given her the locket. Sandra didn’t speak the whole time, probably in shock or embarrassment, but I could detect some sniffing, so perhaps she was getting emotional. Karen got out her phone and showed her mom the video of Clark flinging the fork.
At this point I shut down the live feed on my computer, to allow them their privacy. Whatever was said or done from here on out was none of my business. Not that I didn’t care, but I was certain Karen would call later to let me know how it all turned out.
And when I did get that call about an hour later, Karen sounded out of breath, but there was a controlled excitement in her voice. “I got my mom to leave him! She’s packing a bag right now.”
“I saw that you showed her the video, but I stopped watching after that. How did she respond?”
“Not so good at first. I think watching the video made something click inside her. I saw anger in her eyes, toward Clark. I asked her how she would feel if Clark threw a fork at me, and she really had to think about that. Clark has been volatile since they got married. You were right, Sarah. She was in denial, and I think she’s finally ready to leave him and see a therapist.”
I wanted to congratulate her, but I felt the need to temper her enthusiasm with a dose of reality. “You know, when Clark gets home and realizes that his wife has left him, he’s not going to just accept it. Don’t be surprised if he comes looking for her.”
“I already thought of that. I told Benjamin that Mom is ready to leave Clark, and he invited us to stay at his place for a few days. Clark will never find us there.”
“That’s fine as a temporary fix, I guess. Will you show the video to the police when she files the restraining order?”
“Yes, Mom already agreed to that. I want to get it on record, even if the police do nothing about it.”
“Just watch your back, OK? If there’s anything else I can do to help, call me.”
“You’ve already helped so much, Sarah. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll bring the necklace back to you as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about that. Once your mom is settled, we can get together.”
“Sounds good. Gotta go for now.”
After the call ended, I was left with a mixture of emotions. While the outcome of my efforts seemed to be victorious, I felt anxious for Karen and her mom. Mostly, I feared Clark’s reaction when he finds out his wife is gone. Not that I expected he’d try to hunt her down and kill her. I was more afraid that he’d play the apologetic, grieving husband card, a manipulation tactic designed to win back her affections. If so, would she eventually go back to him? So many abused wives go back to abusive relationships out of pressure or guilt.
I dearly hoped that Sandra wouldn’t be one of those women.
* * *
Later that morning I got a call, and I was surprised to see that it was Molly’s number. My first instinct was to let the call go to voice mail, but I was curious. After she had stormed out of my office the day before, I figured she’d never want to speak to me again.
“Good morning.”
“Sarah?” Her voice sounded distant.
“Is everything OK, Molly?”
“No, everything is not OK. Kippy is at the vet. He might die.”
It took a second for me to register what she’d said. “Kippy is the dog?”
“Yeah. He ate something he shouldn’t have and now he’s sick.”
“I’m sorry about that.” I wanted to ask her why she thought I might be able to help, but I just waited for her to say more.
“Look,” she said, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was a jerk to you, and you didn’t deserve that. You were just trying to help me.”
/> “Apology accepted.”
After a slight pause, she said, “The Baileys fired me and now my boss is going to have to fire me, too. He said he won’t do that, but I don’t think he has a choice. I mean, once word gets out that I almost killed Kippy, nobody will want me to watch their pets.”
“I’m so sorry, Molly. What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. I just want to go home. I want to leave Bridgeport and never come back.”
“Hey,” I said, searching my brain for the right words of encouragement, “I’m sure the situation with Kippy seems bad right now. Once he recovers, his owners will realize they overreacted.”
“I don’t think so. Mrs. Bailey actually called the vet and told him that I’m not allowed to visit Kippy. It’s almost as if they think I did it on purpose. I’ve tried calling them to apologize, but they won’t take my calls. I mean, it was a friggin’ accident.”
What Molly needed was a healthy distraction, so I brainstormed and got an idea. “Look, I know there’s nothing I can say to make you feel better, but I might have a temporary solution for you. You can make a little money and it will get your mind off Kippy for a while. You interested?”
“I guess.”
“I’ll be at my office in half an hour. Meet me there, and then I’ll explain what I have in mind.”
* * *
When Molly showed up around 11:30, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying for hours. My first instinct was to give her a hug, but I sensed she wasn’t receptive to being touched right now.
“You mentioned yesterday that you had been taking classes for website design,” I said. “Well, it got me thinking. I’ve been wanting to create a website for my business, so why not do it now?”
Molly looked at me curiously. “You want a website? For your private investigation business?”
The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7) Page 6
