“Nah, I’ll take the bus. Thanks, anyway.”
“All right, but aren’t you forgetting something?” I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope which contained three hundred dollars in cash, the final payment for her work on the website. She stopped long enough to take the envelope and stuff it into her backpack.
“Thanks,” she said, avoiding eye contact. As she began to descend the stairs, I wanted to offer my help, but I knew she’d just reject it. I was beginning to see how stubborn she could be when she didn’t get her way.
Chapter 2
The next morning I sat on the edge of our bed and watched as Carter got dressed. It wasn’t often I got the pleasure of seeing him dressed up. The navy blue suit and button-down shirt, which accentuated his blue eyes and gray hair, transformed his look instantly. Without the tattered leather jacket and faded jeans, he could’ve passed for a lawyer, or a CEO of a corporation.
I chose to wear a simple black dress because that was the only dress in my closet that still fit. I’d been living the good life, eating too much pasta, drinking too much wine, and avoiding strenuous exercise for a few months. I had a valid excuse, of course. I’d been recovering from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Now that physical therapy was winding down, I couldn’t use that excuse much longer.
When we arrived at Mary’s house a little after ten o’clock for the memorial service, I spotted Mary in the living room, engrossed in conversation with a young couple. She looked much the same as the last time I’d seen her, although, understandably, it appeared she’d lost some weight—ten to fifteen pounds, at least. She’d always been on the heavy side, and her five-foot nothing frame didn’t help her in that department, but she always dressed in clothing that flattered her figure. Today, she looked polished in a black, form-fitting dress with two-inch heels. Her dark brown hair was styled into a straight, shoulder length bob, and her choice of jewelry was simple and elegant: one gold bracelet with her birthstone set in the middle. It had been a gift from her late husband on their twentieth wedding anniversary. I remember when she’d showed it to me, so proud.
I didn’t want to interrupt her conversation, so I steered Carter over to a table that was set up near the bay window. Several framed photographs of Jeffrey were displayed, and a few people had gathered around to view them. I heard one woman remark quietly to her friend that Jeffrey was her second cousin, and that they hadn’t seen each other in almost ten years. The woman had a twangy accent, so I figured she lived down south somewhere.
As I gazed at the photos, a memory came to me. The last time I had seen Jeffrey was at my massage studio. I had just told him that I was selling my business, and that I would have to refer him to a different therapist. I remembered the look of disappointment on his face as he said, “But Sarah, nobody will ever be able to replace you.” And then he gave me a long hug and wished me luck with my new career. I always figured I’d see Jeffrey and Mary around town, since we only lived a few miles away from each other, but I never did. I regretted that now.
Carter held my hand and squeezed gently. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, even though my throat was tight. “It’s just . . . so sad.”
Carter and I moved to the side of the room to let others view the photos. Moments later, I caught Mary’s eye from across the room. She headed toward me, and we embraced for a long time. I expected her to start crying, but she remained dry-eyed and strong. “Thank you for coming, Sarah. It means a lot to me.”
I introduced her to Carter and they shook hands. “So, you must be the gentleman who convinced Sarah to leave her massage practice. I’m not sure I can ever forgive you.”
Her tone was lighthearted, but Carter seemed a little unsure of how to respond. “I might have had something to do with it. Sorry.”
“I understand,” Mary said with a warm smile, patting his hand. “I know Sarah was ready for a change, but Jeffrey and I never did find another massage therapist half as good.”
An awkward silence followed as the three of us stood there for the next few moments. Finally, I said, “I like the pictures you displayed of Jeffrey. He looks happy in them.”
“It was a happier time in our lives. That’s how I’d like to remember him.” She glanced at her watch. “Can you still stay after everyone has left?”
“We were planning on it.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. Now I hate to be rude, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to say hello to a few guests before the hour is up.”
“No problem, Mary. We’re not going anywhere.”
She placed her hand on my arm and fixed me with her eyes for a brief second before turning away to greet another guest.
Carter and I mingled with a few people for the next thirty minutes, but nobody wanted to talk about how or why Jeffrey had committed suicide. I found myself growing impatient for more details.
Finally, noon rolled around and the crowd began to depart.
When Mary found us, she apologized for taking so long, and invited us to join her on the screened porch toward the back of the house.
“We’ll have more privacy back here,” she said. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Once the three of us were settled, Mary’s eyes were downcast as she cleared her throat. “I haven’t told many people about the details of Jeffrey’s suicide, but I’d like to tell you what happened. It may be hard for me to get through this.”
“Take your time,” I said. “We are in no hurry.”
She nodded slowly and took a deep breath. “It happened last Saturday morning. Jeffrey got up and made us coffee and toast, just like every morning. Nothing seemed unusual. He went online to read the news and check his e-book sales. Then a little after eight thirty, he took our dog Shelby out for a walk.”
When Mary paused to take a breath, I wanted to ask about Jeffrey’s book. However, I figured she’d bring it up again if it was important.
Mary continued, “After Jeffrey left with Shelby, I realized that he’d forgotten to take his pill during breakfast. I figured he just had a lot on his mind. Well, by nine thirty, Jeffrey still hadn’t returned so I called his cell phone. I heard it ringing in the bedroom, and there it was, on the dresser next to his wallet. I thought that was strange, because he always took his cell phone and wallet with him on the walks. Around ten thirty, I became worried and even called some of the neighbors, to see if Jeffrey had stopped by for a chat and lost track of time. Nope. None of the neighbors remembered seeing him at all that morning.
“Then, around ten forty-five, two police officers showed up at my door. They had Shelby, and the worst news that I could have imagined. A woman who was running in Manning Park saw Jeffrey jump off Heritage Bridge into the river. She called nine-one-one to report the suicide and the paramedics were on the scene within minutes.”
“Did the runner go into the water to try and help Jeffrey?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. In any case, the paramedics and police found Jeffrey’s body washed up on the rocks and they pronounced him dead. Shelby was sitting on the embankment barking. They found my address and phone number on the dog collar and that’s how they knew to contact me. Anyway, next thing I know, I’m at the morgue to identify the body.”
“I am so sorry,” I said. “That must have been the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.”
She nodded. “It was the worst moment of my life. And then they questioned me. Wanted to know if Jeffrey had ever talked about suicide, or if he was depressed. I told them he was depressed, but Jeffrey would never abandon Shelby like that. It had to be some kind of accident and I told them so. But, the police were already treating his death as a suicide.”
“I haven’t been to that park in years,” I said, “but I don’t remember it being a very tall bridge. How far is the drop?”
“About twenty-five feet, almost three stories. I went there the day after they found him, and I just couldn’t picture Jeffrey doing it. But I know he’d been suffering.”
“It was part of the route. He loved walking through that park because it’s so peaceful and quiet. Not a lot of people around, either. Being in nature soothed him. He’d sit on those rocks, under the bridge, and write in his journal. It became a daily ritual.”
“Did something happen, Mary? Do you know what triggered Jeffrey to end his life?”
Her face tensed up as she nodded. “Yes, and it’s all my fault.”
The guilt and shame was written all over her face, but I couldn’t imagine why Mary felt responsible for her husband’s death.
I reached out and held on to her trembling hand. “It’s okay, take your time to explain if you want.”
She nodded and swallowed hard. “After Jeffrey lost his job a few years ago, he had a midlife crisis. He didn’t know what to do with himself, but he decided he didn’t want to be a part of the corporate world anymore. He’d always wanted to try his hand at writing, so he finally did. He wrote a book, a spy thriller like Jason Bourne. I thought it was quite good, so I encouraged him to find a professional editor to polish it up, which he did. He hired a cover designer, too. He uploaded it to Amazon, and within a few days, sales began to trickle in, just enough to get him excited.
“The first reviews were positive, and I was so proud of him. He actually made a few hundred dollars the first month. He was so encouraged, he started to write a second book and I really believed that maybe this writing thing was going to get him out of his funk. But then after a few months, sales just dropped off, and he became very discouraged. He lost his motivation to keep writing. His therapist belongs to a local writers group, so she invited him to join. They all bring in a chapter they’re working on and critique each other’s writing. Truth is, I didn’t care if he made any money with the writing. I just wanted him to find something he could be passionate about. I couldn’t stand seeing him mope around the house day after day.”
Mary paused to take a breath and went on. “Then last week, he came home from his writer meeting and he said he wasn’t going back. When I asked him what had happened, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. But I knew he felt guilty about something. That’s when I accused him of having an affair with one of the women in the group.”
“Did he deny it?” I asked.
“Of course he denied it, but I didn’t believe him.” Mary closed her eyes, mouth set into a rigid line. “Not many people know about this, but when we were younger, Jeffrey had an affair with a woman he worked with. He ended up quitting his job after he broke things off with her. I eventually forgave him and we were able to move on, but I told him if he ever cheated again, we were through. So, when he came home last week from the writers group and said he was never going back, it brought back all those insecurities from his affair years ago. Does that make any sense?”
I nodded. “Yes, it does.”
“Well, when Jeffrey wouldn’t give me any details about why he left the writers group, I was so angry with him that I made him sleep on the sofa. And the next morning, he went for a walk and never came home.”
As Mary quietly wept, I searched my brain for the right words to say. Thankfully, Carter beat me to it.
“You are not responsible for your husband’s actions,” he said.
Mary smiled through her tears. “Thank you for saying that, but I should have realized how fragile he was. I should have been more understanding.”
“Do you know which of the women in the writers group he was involved with?” I asked.
“No, which is why I want to hire you to help me. I want to know who my husband was sleeping with.”
By the tight look on her face, I could tell she was serious. I wanted to ask her how she thought knowing the truth would bring her any peace of mind, but I realized it wasn’t peace of mind that she was after. She probably wanted to confront the woman and make sure she took some blame for Jeffrey’s death. “Are you sure this is the best thing to be focusing on right now?” I asked.
Her cheeks blushed as she diverted her eyes. “A few days after Jeffrey died, I showed up at the writers group. I stormed right up to their table and demanded to know who Jeffrey’s lover was. The three women just sat there and didn’t say a thing. The only man in the group actually stood up and offered to buy me a coffee, invited me to sit down so we could all discuss the situation. I was so embarrassed that I just left.”
“Have you looked through his laptop or phone for messages?”
“I’ve done all that, but I found nothing.”
“Well, if you want, Carter and I know people who are good with computers. We might be able to retrieve deleted messages.”
“You can try, but remember Jeffrey was a tech genius himself. He would’ve known how to permanently delete messages. I have a better idea, but it will require your help.”
“OK,” I said. “We’re all ears.”
Mary’s face was set in deep concentration. “Samantha Black is the administrator of the writing group, and on her Facebook page, there’s a post that she’s looking for new members to join their Monday morning meetings. I was thinking, maybe you could pretend you’re a writer. You could join the group with the sole purpose of finding out who Jeffrey was romantically involved with. Have you ever done anything like this before?”
“I’ve never posed as a writer, but yes, I’ve gone undercover to retrieve information. But Mary, I have to be honest. I don’t feel right taking your money. Mainly because I’m not sure this is a path you should go down. Even if we could prove that Jeffrey had an affair, and who the woman is, how will that bring you closure to his death?”
“I don’t know how to answer that, Sarah. But I can tell you this: whoever this woman is, I want to look her in the face and tell her that she needs to take some blame for what Jeffrey did, because I refuse to take all of it. I won’t be left with all the guilt.”
I knew Mary well enough to know that if Carter and I didn’t take this job, she’d probably find someone else who would be more than happy to take her money. “I’ll agree to do this on one condition,” I said. “If we can prove that Jeffrey had an affair, you must promise me that no harm will come to the person he was involved with. Do I have your word?”
Mary paused briefly. “Yes. You have my word. I will not do anything stupid.”
I turned to Carter to see if he had anything to add. He’d been quiet the whole time, letting me do the talking. “What do you think about all this?” I asked him.
“I think Mary has a right to know the truth, and I’m willing to help.”
“Thank you,” she said, nodding her head toward him. “Now, if you’ll give me just a few minutes, I’ll gather up Jeffrey’s things for you to take with you. Just let me know what you need for a deposit, and I’ll write a check. I don’t care how long it takes. I can give you more money when you need it.”
“A deposit of five hundred will be fine,” I said. “If we can determine who the woman is by deleted messages or emails, there will be no need for me to join the writers group under false pretenses.”
After Mary left the porch, Carter got on his phone. Within a minute, he showed me the screen. “Here’s Jeffrey’s book on Amazon.”
I viewed the image of Jeffrey’s book titled The City of Darkness, a spy thriller. “Mysterious title. Sounds like something you’d enjoy reading.”
“Yeah,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m anxious to read it.”
Since John LeCarre was among his favorite authors, I knew he’d probably devour the book in one night. “I wonder how far along Jeffrey got with the second book. Maybe the manuscript is still on his computer.”
When Mary rejoined us, she had a laptop bag which she set down on the coffee table, along with a check. “I wrote down the passwords to access his laptop and cell phone. Also, I wrote down the names of the people in the writers group, along with Samantha Black’s number so you can call about th
e meetings.”
“OK,” I said. “We will get started on this right away.”
“Thank you both for hearing me out. It means a lot to know that you will take this matter seriously.”
I stood up and gave her a long hug. “I really hope we can help bring you closure, Mary, no matter how it turns out.”
Chapter 3
After we left Mary’s house, Carter made a call to one of his tech guys, Cooper, letting him know that we were going to drop off some items.
As we drove across town to his house, I was growing more anxious about the part I needed to play in our new case.
“If I get accepted into this writers group,” I said, “what am I going to do? Heck, I can barely write decent emails, let alone a chapter of a book.”
“So what? Just copy a few pages from one of those old Harlequin romance novels you refuse to give away.”
I gave him an admonishing look. “That would be plagiarism.”
“You’re not going to publish it, so what’s the harm?”
“For starters, someone might recognize the story, and then what?”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll write something for you. All you need is a chapter, right?”
“I guess.”
“Easy.”
“If you say so.”
Mary’s conviction to find her dead husband’s lover left me confused and saddened. She was wasting her money on something that would only bring more heartache. More questions. Because Jeffrey was no longer able to explain or defend himself.
When Carter pulled up to the house, he grabbed Jeffrey’s briefcase with the computer and cell phone, and I followed him around the back to a door that looked like it led to a basement.
“Maybe you should wait here while I go in,” he said.
“Why? I’d like to meet this guy,” I said, taking in the backyard with the dilapidated picnic table and a few rusty looking bikes. “How’d you meet him?”
“I’ve used him a few times before.”
The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7) Page 12
