The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  For a second, their faces remained blank until Jessica burst out laughing. “This is a joke, right?”

  “Not a joke. Jeffrey Kendrick’s wife hired me to find her husband’s lover. At first, I assumed it was Samantha, but now, I’m not so sure there was an affair to begin with.”

  They both remained silent, staring at me like I was an aberration. I couldn’t tell if they were pissed or intrigued, so I continued, “Do either of you know how Jeffrey made five grand? His wife found the stash hidden inside one of his shoes.”

  “Five grand inside of a shoe?” Ben said. “I have no idea.”

  Jessica didn’t say a thing as she stared at her hands folded on the table.

  “Jessica?” I said. “You know where Jeffrey got that money, don’t you?”

  She raised her head slightly, her eyes finally meeting mine. “I don’t know about the money, but maybe you were right about an affair.”

  “With Samantha?” I said.

  “No. With Vicki.”

  “Wait. You think Jeffrey and Vicki were sleeping together?”

  Jessica shrugged. “It’s not like I ever saw them kissing. But, I did overhear a conversation they had outside after our meeting, when they thought nobody was listening.”

  “What was the conversation about?”

  “Vicki asked Jeffrey to come to her house on Friday when her husband wouldn’t be there. I couldn’t believe it, because Jeffrey always seemed like a faithful husband. The way he talked about his wife—he adored her.”

  I could see how Jessica would have misconstrued. “Did you know that Jeffrey had been seeing Vicki for his depression? She has a home office, and that’s where she sees her clients.”

  “Oh.” Jessica’s expression was a mix of embarrassment and relief. “I didn’t know. They’d never mentioned it.”

  Ben said, “I knew there had to be an explanation. I didn’t realize that Vicki had clients come to her house.”

  “While we’re on the topic,” I said, “did Vicki ever explain to you guys how she got the burns on her face?”

  Ben nodded. “The very first day we met her, she told us what had happened. There was a fire at her farm and one of her horses died. I thought it was brave of her to talk about because she seemed so emotional about it. I think she wanted to get it out in the open, in case we were wondering.”

  “Yeah,” Jessica said, “it must be so hard looking in the mirror every morning. A constant reminder of living through that tragedy. At least she has her husband, right? Can you imagine being single with those scars on your face? It would be awful.”

  I decided not to mention that Vicki had left her husband.

  “Look guys, I’m really sorry I misled you before by pretending to be a writer. I appreciate your understanding about all this. In fact, can I buy you breakfast?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it,” Ben said. “I gotta say, this has been kind of fun. Feels like I’m in a real mystery novel.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s how I feel almost every day of my life. By the way, there’s one more thing I’d like to ask, if you don’t mind. Has Samantha ever approached you guys with an offer to work at her publishing company?”

  “No.” Jessica tilted her head in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just curious—would you be willing to write books and not get any credit for writing them?”

  “You mean like a ghostwriter?” Ben asked. “Sure, I’d do that if the pay was good enough.”

  “But wouldn’t it be better to self-publish the books on your own? I mean, what if the book became a bestseller?”

  “It’s a slim chance to become a bestselling author when you self-publish,” Jessica said. “Sure it happens to a lucky few, but most of us are barely able to cover the cost of a good editor let alone make a profit. And once you spend all that money for editors and cover designers, there’s no guarantee you’ll get good reviews. In the past month, I’ve gotten a bunch of bad reviews and my sales have gone down the toilet.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Ben said.

  “Why do you think that happened” I asked.

  Ben shrugged. “Well, I did a promotion and gave away thousands of free ebooks, in the hopes of generating some sales of my other book. Then, a month or so later, the negative reviews started coming in. I guess that’s the thanks I get for giving people free books. At any rate, it’s nearly impossible to have negative reviews removed from Amazon, so I’m stuck with them. But man, it’s a bummer. My sales have really dropped off.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said. “The internet is filled with trolls who love nothing more than to shoot people down just because they can.”

  “No kidding,” Jessica said, “but I’m not going to give up. Just a minor setback, that’s all. I’ll have to write better books.”

  “I admire that kind of attitude.” I stood up to leave, not wanting to waste any more of their time. “I wish you both the best of luck with your writing careers. In fact, I’m going to go online and buy your books to read.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a chuckle, “but if you don’t like them, please don’t leave a bad review.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Ben stood up and pulled out my chair like a gentleman. “By the way, are you really a private detective?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes, I still can’t believe it myself.”

  His eyes lit up. “Mind if we exchange numbers? I’d like to pick your brain sometime. I bet you have some good fodder for stories.”

  “Sure, why not.” We exchanged phone numbers and I left.

  Back inside my car, I sat for a few minutes and found myself wondering about Vicki’s comment to Jeffrey: Come over on Friday when my husband won’t be there.

  Why would Vicki be concerned about her husband being around during Jeffrey’s session? She had an office inside of her home, where clients came in and out all day, so why change Jeffrey’s schedule around?

  I decided to call Vicki and ask her about that, but I was sent straight to voicemail. I left a brief message, asking her to call me back right away.

  Just as I set my phone on the passenger seat, another call came in. It was Molly, so I answered.

  “Sarah, are you busy right now?” Molly sounded out of breath, but with a surge of excitement in her tone.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Don’t be mad, OK?”

  “Don’t be mad about what?”

  “You need to come to the park right now. I’m here, talking to a woman who says she saw Jeffrey on the morning he died.”

  For a second, I thought she was joking. “You’re at Manning Park right now?”

  “Yes, I came straight here after I left your house. I didn’t want to tell you ‘cause I knew you’d try and talk me out of it. But, please, you have to come now. The woman, her name is Lindy, says she can hang out for another twenty minutes to talk to you.”

  “Molly, I can’t believe . . .” There was no point in chastising her now. If indeed she had found another witness, I couldn’t pass up on this opportunity. Even if it turned out to be bogus. “I’m on my way. In the meantime, get the woman’s full name and phone number in case she has to go before I get there. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, but please hurry.”

  Eight minutes later when I pulled into the park, I noticed Molly was sitting with a woman at the picnic table near the jungle gym.

  Molly introduced me to Lindy Nadeau. She was in her late twenties and very trim, wearing skin-tight black runner’s shorts and a jogging bra, midriff exposed.

  “I showed Lindy a picture of your client, Jeffrey Kendrick,” Molly said. “I got his picture from the obituary.” She held up her cell phone to show me. “I got here around nine-fifteen. Every person who has come through here I’ve stopped to show the photo of Jeffrey.”

  I gave Molly an admonishing glare, but it was soon replaced by a look of awe. “You are something else, you know that?”

  Mo
lly turned to Lindy and said, “Tell Sarah what you told me.”

  As Lindy cleared her throat, I got out my phone and engaged the voice recording app to tape the conversation.

  “I run through here almost every morning around the same time,” Lindy said. “I’m training for a marathon this fall. I sprained my ankle last month and was out for a few weeks. So now I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

  I nodded, waiting patiently for her to get on with it.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I remember jogging over the bridge that day, and I didn’t see any man jump off the bridge, but I heard a dog barking. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, so I sort of looked down by the rocks. There were two guys with a dog, almost underneath the bridge, in fact.”

  “You saw two men and a dog?” I said, almost dropping my phone. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. One of the guys looked like the man in the obituary. The other man was wearing a Red Sox cap, but I didn’t see his face.”

  “Do you remember what time that was, exactly?”

  “Yes, it was nine-fifty-five. I remember because I was thrilled that I had beat my time for running a mile by 18 seconds.”

  “Could you hear what they were talking about?”

  “No, but they were arguing about something and that poor dog was really stressed out. I didn’t stick around, because I was getting a cramp in my leg and I just wanted to get home and take a shower. It wasn’t till the next day that I heard about the man who committed suicide off the bridge. But I swear, I didn’t know it was one of the guys I saw down by the rocks until now.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about the man in the Red Sox cap? What was he wearing? Did he have tattoos?”

  “He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, I think.”

  “How old?”

  “I already told you I could barely see his face.”

  “Was he big? Muscular? Skinny? Short? Anything you can remember would help a lot.”

  “I guess he was just . . . average build. Sorry, but that’s all I can tell you. I really need to get back home. I have to get ready for work.” She got to her feet and started stretching her calves. “I gave Molly my information if you need to get in touch for any reason.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thank you, Lindy. I appreciate you staying to talk to us.”

  After she ran off, Molly blinked her puppy dog eyes at me. “Please don’t be pissed. I just wanted to help.”

  “I know you did, but I still don’t appreciate you doing this behind my back.”

  “But, now we know that Jeffrey talked to someone right before he killed himself. This might help solve your case, right?”

  So many ideas were jostling about in my brain, I couldn’t think straight. I needed to call Carter. “C’mon, Molly. I’m driving you home.”

  Chapter 15

  A few hours later, Carter and I arrived at the police station. When we got to James’s office, he was sitting behind his desk with a blank expression on his face.

  “Have you read the police report and the autopsy?” Carter asked him.

  James nodded and gestured for us to have a seat. “I’m afraid the report isn’t as thorough as I’d hoped.”

  Carter took the report and began reading. I had never read an autopsy report before, so I trusted that Carter knew what he was looking for.

  After a few minutes of flipping through the pages, he looked up at James with a bewildered expression. “All it says here is that Jeffrey died from drowning. There are no pictures or diagrams indicating any specific injuries other than one on his head.”

  “The coroner does mention scrapes on the front of the legs,” James said. “Could’ve been caused by the river’s current dragging him over the rocks once he fell in.”

  “Do you know the coroner who performed the autopsy?” Carter asked. “Says here his name is Dr. Abbott. Is he new?”

  “Got transferred here a few months ago. Took over when Dr. Madden retired.”

  “Why didn’t he perform a more detailed exam? All it shows here is a circle marked on the back of the victim’s head as point of impact.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” James said. “Jeffrey Kendrick jumped off a bridge and when his head made contact with a rock, he probably passed out, then drowned. Are you disputing that?”

  Carter sighed in frustration. “Well, maybe it’s time we considered the possibility that he didn’t kill himself. ”

  “Read the police report if you want,” James said. “There’s a witness who saw him jump.”

  “Maybe they lied.” Carter opened the file and showed me the 8x10 color photos of Jeffrey’s corpse, a nasty gash on the side of his head with blood matting his hair. I tried to maintain an unemotional mind-set, but I felt my throat constricting. This was a man I knew and admired, could even call a friend. It reminded me just how fragile we are as human beings. How our lives can be taken from us in a blink of an eye.

  “I spoke with a witness today,” I said. “Her name is Lindy Nadeau and she was at the park on the morning Jeffrey died. She saw Jeffrey arguing with a man on those rocks.”

  James blinked at me in surprise. “Did she describe him?”

  “He was wearing a Red Sox cap, jeans, and a T-shirt. That’s all she could tell me.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “She didn’t know, but she said that Jeffrey’s dog was barking at the other guy and seemed really stressed out.”

  James pulled a face. “Do dogs get stressed out?”

  “Those are her words, not mine. At any rate, think about the timing. Does the police report note the exact time that the other witness called nine-one-one?”

  James took the report and thumbed through it. “Yep, says here the call came in at nine-fifty-eight.”

  “So, if Jeffrey went up to the bridge, the dog would’ve followed him, right? But, the dog was down by the river when the cops showed up.”

  “So, what do you propose really happened?”

  “What if that man in the Red Sox hat killed Jeffrey? He could’ve hit him over the head with something, and then pushed him into the water.”

  James thumbed through the report, his eyes focused, as if searching for something specific. “I’ll have to contact the witness and get her statement again. Why would she lie about seeing a man jump off the bridge? Unless the officer who took her statement made a mistake.” He handed me a pen and a sheet of paper. “Write down Lindy Nadeau’s phone number. I’ll need her to come in and give an official statement, too.”

  I quickly jotted down the information. “So does this mean you’ll reopen the case as a murder investigation?”

  “I’m open to the idea,” he said, “but I can’t make any promises until I’ve reviewed everything and spoken to the witnesses. I’ll also want to speak to the coroner who examined the body.”

  I looked at Carter with a sudden realization. “I can’t imagine how Mary is going to react when we tell her.”

  “Maybe you should wait to mention all this to your client,” James said. “Just give me a day to get things in order.”

  Chapter 16

  It was almost three o’clock by the time we left the police station and headed home. I was craving a strong cup of coffee and a few Advil for my headache.

  “You didn’t get a chance to tell me about your meeting with Jessica and Ben this morning,” Carter said. “Did they offer anything useful?”

  Carter’s question sparked an idea that I hadn’t considered until now. “It has to do with Vicki’s husband, the guy we met at the farm.”

  “What about him?”

  “Can you do me a favor when we get home and find out more about him.”

  “What’s he have to do with Jeffrey’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing, but Jessica overheard a conversation between Vicki and Jeffrey. She had rescheduled a meeting with him because her husband wouldn’t be home.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I agree that’s a big coincidence.
I’ll look into the guy and see what turns up.”

  “Thanks. I have a call into Vicki, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I’m gonna take a drive over to her sister’s house while you’re digging into the husband.”

  “Any idea what his name is, by the way?”

  “No.”

  “Not a big deal. I’m sure I can find it by checking public records on the farm address.”

  * * *

  When I got to Vicki’s sister’s house around four-thirty, a woman who looked similar to Vicki answered the door wearing a robe and slippers. She wore no makeup and her hair was wet, like she’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “May I help you?” she asked me.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for Vicki. Are you her sister?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, but she’s not here. Are you a client of hers?”

  “No. My name is Sarah Woods, and I’m a private investigator. Vicki and I spoke yesterday, and I’m just following up on our conversation. What’s your name?”

  “Theresa,” she said, arms wrapped around herself like she was cold, even though it was still hovering around eighty degrees and sunny.

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?” I asked.

  “She’s gone camping for a few days. Said she needed some alone time to meditate.”

  I paused for a beat and decided to press on. “I wanted to talk to her about her husband. Or, is it her ex-husband now?”

  A worried look crossed her face, and she seemed unsure of what to say next. Finally, she stood to the side and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in and wait while I get dressed? Then we can talk.”

  “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No problem at all. Have a seat on the couch, and I’ll be right back.”

  After she disappeared down a hallway, I decided to meander around the open-concept living room, dining room, kitchen area. The inside of the house appeared to be well-lived-in, and I wondered if Theresa was married or had any kids. The house was decorated with mostly feminine touches, so I assumed Theresa wasn’t married. I walked to the fridge and saw a few photographs of Theresa and Vicki together, before the fire. The sisters looked similar, but if I had to guess, Theresa was the older of the two by at least five years. There were no other photos or postcards, just a landscaping company magnet and a hand-written grocery list.