The Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 7)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

“Sure. He still has Jeffrey’s laptop and cell phone. Write down those usernames for me, would you, and I’ll give him a call while you’re in the shower.”

  I grabbed a pen and the notebook on the bedside table. “I sure hope I’m wrong about this and it’s just a fluke.”

  “On the other hand,” he said, “if we can prove Jeffrey posted the reviews, we have a new motive for his murder.”

  “Should we tell James when we see him this morning?”

  “Let’s wait until I hear back from Cooper on the results.”

  Chapter 19

  When we arrived at the station, Clarissa Monroe was already in James’s office. He made introductions all around.

  “This is Sarah and Carter. Two local private detectives that occasionally assist us with cases. Sarah was a personal friend of Jeffrey Kendrick.”

  The fit, middle-aged woman shook our hands and offered condolences. “So sorry for your loss. I wish there was more I could have done for your friend.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “We appreciate you coming in to help clarify a few things about that morning.”

  James invited us all to have a seat and offered Clarissa something to drink. When she declined, we got down to business.

  “Could you tell us exactly what happened when you went running?” James asked.

  “Sure. It was probably around nine-forty-five when I parked my car in the lot, across from the swing set. I was doing some stretches when this man came running from the direction of the bridge, waving his hands. Trying to get my attention.”

  “What did this man look like?” James asked.

  “He was wearing a Red Sox cap. Jeans, too. I didn’t get a good look at his face. He seemed really agitated when he told me that he’d just seen a man jump off the bridge. He wanted me to call nine-one-one because his own phone was dead.”

  “So, you didn’t actually see Jeffrey Kendrick jump off the bridge?” James asked.

  “Well, no. But after the man told me what happened, I ran over to the bridge with my cell phone and looked down into the water.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I saw his body down there. Face down. Caught up on some of the rocks.”

  “So that’s when you called nine-one-one?”

  She opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes. I told the dispatcher that I thought the jumper was dead, but I couldn’t be sure. Anyway, they told me an ambulance was on the way. When I hung up, I noticed there was a dog sitting on the rocks near the body. The poor thing was whining, and I figured it must be the man’s dog.”

  “The dog was already down on the rocks?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to the man with the Red Sox cap?”

  “Actually, I don’t know. I guess he left while I was on the phone.”

  “Don’t suppose you caught his name.”

  “Sorry, he didn’t tell me his name.”

  “Why didn’t you mention him to the police officer?”

  She paused, an expression of regret. “I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think it was important. My mind was frazzled. A man had just died and I was so distraught . . .”

  “It’s OK,” James said. “Let’s focus on identifying the man with the Red Sox cap. Did he leave in a car?”

  “I remember seeing another car in the lot when I first got there, but I don’t remember what it was.”

  “Could it have been a gold antique Chevy pickup?” Carter offered.

  “No, I think I would’ve remembered that.”

  “Is there anything else about this guy that stood out to you?” James asked. “Any small detail you can think of would help.”

  She mashed her lips together, as if in deep concentration. “Actually, I noticed his sneakers were drenched. The bottom of his jeans were soaked, too. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I guess now it seems weird.”

  “Did he say that he’d gone into the river to try and save the man who jumped?”

  “No, he didn’t say that. He said he just saw the man jump.”

  James held up a mug shot of Brent Macomber. “Was this the guy with the Red Sox cap?”

  Clarissa stared at it for a long time but eventually shook her head. “I really can’t be sure.”

  “Was he carrying anything, like a backpack?”

  “Um.” She squeezed her eyes shut again, then they popped open. “He didn’t have a backpack, but he had a notebook. One of those spiral-bound notebooks you get at the office store for a buck. He had it rolled up in his hand.”

  Carter and I exchanged a knowing glance, and I could feel my pulse quicken. “Wanna bet that was Jeffrey’s therapy notebook?”

  “What?” James said. “You didn’t mention any notebook to me.”

  “Mary told us that Jeffrey always brought his notebook on his nature walks. It was part of his therapy, to keep a journal of his day-to-day thoughts, to help deal with his depression. The cops never recovered the notebook and we figured it sunk, or eventually floated out to sea. We didn’t think it held any importance until now.”

  Clarissa seemed baffled, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “All right,” James said, turning back to the woman as he got on his phone. “Before you leave, I’m going to set you up with a sketch artist. Do you have time to stay this morning?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I can stay.”

  “Great. Come with me.” As he escorted Ms. Monroe out of his office, he told us to stay put.

  When he returned a few seconds later, James said, “I think you should get in touch with your client and give her a heads up because I’m reopening the case.”

  “A murder investigation?” I asked.

  “Yes. Gather all your notes together and make copies for me to put in my file. Our focus right now is to find someone who had motive to kill Jeffrey Kendrick.”

  Chapter 20

  It was after noon when Carter and I left the police station. I called Mary and told her we needed to stop by and have a talk. She was just about to go into a meeting with her financial advisor and she’d be free around two o’clock. We made plans to meet at her house a little after that time.

  “Well, I’m starving,” Carter said. “Since we have an hour to kill, wanna stop at the Hometown Diner for lunch?”

  “Sure, I could eat something.”

  As we drove through town toward the diner, I opened the car window and breathed in the fragrant summer air. I couldn’t help but think about Mary and Jeffrey and how their lives had been torn apart. I imagined how Jeffrey must have felt after completing his book. That sense of pride and accomplishment that only comes from hard work and perseverance. After all that effort, why would Jeffrey risk throwing it all away by posting terrible reviews on other authors’ books? Unless someone paid him to do it.

  When we got to the diner, our usual booth was taken so we sat at the counter. The waitress Rita immediately poured us two cups of coffee. She didn’t ask for our order because she had it memorized.

  “Did you hear back from Cooper about the reviews?” I asked.

  “When I called Cooper this morning, I told him to put a rush on it. I should hear back from him soon.”

  “If I’m right about this, Mary is going to be devastated.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “but at least now we’re relatively sure he didn’t commit suicide.”

  When lunch arrived a few minutes later, Carter and I ate in silence until his phone rang.

  Carter checked his phone, then excused himself. He exited the diner, and through the window, I could see him pacing the sidewalk, an intense look on his face.

  About five minutes later, Carter was back.

  I gave him an expectant look. “Well? Was that Cooper?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, but he confirmed that Jeffrey had created those usernames on Amazon and posted those negative reviews.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to temper the instant heartburn in my chest. “I was really hoping I was wrong about that.”

  “There’s more,” Carter said. �
��Jeffrey had managed to create over three hundred different accounts with different usernames. And he used those usernames to post more reviews.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, “he posted more bad reviews? On whose books?”

  “No, Sarah. Those other reviews were not negative. He posted positive reviews.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Jeffrey posted all those positive reviews on one particular author’s books. Samantha Black’s.”

  I almost fell off my stool. “Are you serious?”

  “That’s what Cooper told me. He was impressed that Jeffrey actually pulled it off. Apparently, it’s not easy scamming the system, because Amazon has been implementing ways to stop fake reviews from happening. There are always loopholes, of course, and Jeffrey was able to take advantage of them. It’s complicated and even I don’t understand it, but I trust Cooper knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Assuming Samantha is behind all of these fake reviews, then why have Jeffrey post those bad reviews on her books, too?”

  “Maybe she needed some bad reviews to make it look authentic, in case Jessica or Ben made a connection with their negative reviews.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Samantha might be greedy, but she’s not dumb. She probably paid Jeffrey that five grand to do her dirty work. Though, I just can’t imagine why Jeffrey agreed to do it. Five thousand dollars isn’t a lot of money in the grand scheme of things, not to mention he’d risk his own writing career in the process.”

  “There has to be more to the story. As far as we know, Jeffrey wasn’t spending that cash. Was he hiding it and keeping it safe for a reason?”

  I felt a little sick to my stomach and decided to forego the rest of my meal. “I’d like to ask Samantha how she managed to get Jeffrey to commit fraud. I’m still not convinced he’d do it for money.”

  Carter paid the bill and downed the rest of his coffee. “We know that Samantha didn’t go to the park to kill Jeffrey. We’re looking for a guy, and Ben Beale is the only guy in the writers group. If he found out that Jeffrey left the bad reviews on his books . . .”

  “He might want revenge,” I said, “but then, why take his notebook?”

  “What does Ben do for work?”

  “I can’t remember, but I know he really wants to become a full-time writer so he can quit his job. Jeffrey leaving those bad reviews on his books would be catastrophic to his efforts.”

  “People have killed for lesser reasons,” Carter said. “I’m not sure the motive is strong enough for James to bring him in. Unless we can prove that Ben knew it was Jeffrey who left those reviews.”

  I had an idea and only hoped Carter would agree. “Ben doesn’t know that Jeffrey’s death has turned into a murder investigation. I could call Ben and see if he could meet me for a drink after work today. After he’s had a drink or two, I might be able to get him to open up and tell me if he ever suspected that the negative reviews came from Jeffrey. I don’t expect that he’ll confess to anything, certainly not murder, but he might offer something we can use against him.”

  He appeared to mull it over. “I think it’s worth a shot, but what makes you think he’ll agree to go for a drink?”

  “Well, at the meeting he made a comment about wanting to pick my brain about being a private investigator.”

  “Fine, then make the call and try to set it up for today.”

  * * *

  Back in the car, I called Ben on his cell phone and prayed he’d pick up. When he did, he seemed surprised and pleased to hear from me.

  “Hey, I hope this doesn’t seem awkward,” I said, “but I’m wondering if you’re free after work today. I’ve had a tough morning, and I could really share a drink with a friendly face.”

  “I’m flattered,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I was working up the nerve to call you and ask you to dinner.”

  “Really? Then I guess you and I are on the same wavelength. When do you get off work?”

  “Around four-thirty.”

  “Great,” I said. “Let’s meet at five o’clock at Paddy’s Grill. I’ll be in the bar.”

  “I look forward to it, Sarah.”

  When I ended the call, Carter was grinning at me from the driver’s seat.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “I’m just thinking about all the broken hearts you’ve collected over the years. Looks like we’ll be adding Ben Beale to that list.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. It’s only a drink.”

  “That’s how love starts, Sarah. Over the first drink. Sometimes, the first sip.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.”

  “Maybe a little.” He checked his watch. “Hey, it’s almost two o’clock. Are we ready to tell Mary the big news?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not going to be easy. I’d rather not shatter her memory of Jeffrey, but I don’t see any other way around it.”

  Chapter 21

  After Carter and I explained to Mary that her husband’s death was most likely not a suicide, and that it was beginning to look like a homicide, she couldn’t speak for a time. Finally, she wiped her eyes and took a sip of water.

  “Can you believe,” she said, trying to contain her emotions, “that I never once suspected it might be murder. Not once. Jeffrey was loved by everyone, so who was the guy in the Red Sox hat?”

  I put my hand on top of her trembling hand. “I know this is shocking information to digest, but I have more bad news, I’m afraid. We believe that Jeffrey was paid to create fake accounts on Amazon in order to post fake reviews on certain books. He most likely conspired with Samantha Black, because she stood to benefit from the hundreds of positive reviews he posted to her books.”

  “Jeffrey would never do that.”

  “The evidence on his laptop does prove it. Jeffrey had the technical ability and know-how to pull it off. And, we think Samantha paid him the five grand as incentive. In any case, Jeffrey also left a number of bad reviews on the other writers’ books, which doesn’t make sense.”

  Mary held her head in her hands as if a migraine had set in. “Why?”

  “He was probably desperate,” Carter said. “The problem is, those negative reviews have impacted the other writers’ careers, to the point that their sales have dropped. Samantha Black wasn’t affected by the negative reviews, because she has ten times as many positive reviews.”

  “But . . .” Mary shook her head, confused. “She didn’t kill my husband?”

  “No,” I said. “We have a feeling that it might have been Ben Beale, the only other guy in the writers group. He might have figured it out by comparing the usernames like I did, and if that’s true, he had motive to kill Jeffrey.”

  “So, what’s the next step?”

  “I’m having a drink with Ben this evening. I’ve led him to believe that I’m interested in him.”

  Mary grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Isn’t that too dangerous? What if he catches on that you’re trying to trick him?”

  “First of all, he has no idea that Jeffrey’s death is now considered a homicide because Detective James hasn’t announced it. Second, I’ll be meeting Ben in a public place.”

  “Since Ben has never seen my face,” Carter added, “I’ll be sitting close by to keep my eye on them.”

  Mary nodded, but she still seemed dubious about the plan. “Let’s say you prove that he killed my husband, what will happen to Samantha Black? She seems to be the one who got my husband involved in this mess. She should be held responsible, right?”

  “That’s a battle for another day,” I said. “But believe me, I have no intention to let her slide.”

  Mary excused herself for a moment, and Carter and I looked at each other helplessly.

  “That went a little better than I expected,” he said. “I can’t imagine her pain.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it sucks. I keep fantasizing about confronting Samantha and telling her that she inadvertently got Jeffrey killed.”

  “People l
ike her are too self-absorbed to care, Sarah. They justify the means to get what they want.”

  When Mary came back into the kitchen, she handed us the bag of cash. “Give this to the detective in charge. I don’t want it. If there’s a way it can be traced back to Samantha Black, it might help the case.”

  “If that’s what you want,” I said, carefully placing it inside my purse. “We’ll bring it to him.”

  “Thank you. Please call me as soon as you learn anything new.”

  Chapter 22

  We left Mary’s house around three-thirty, and I had just enough time to go home and get ready for my date with Ben. I did my hair, put on makeup, and chose a flattering outfit of slim jeans and a silk blouse with leather wedge sandals.

  “We should drive separately,” I suggested to Carter, “in case Ben is in the parking lot when I drive up.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get there five minutes before you and find a seat at the bar. And, keep in mind, you can’t push this guy too much. If he catches on, it could screw up the whole investigation.”

  When I arrived at Paddy’s Grill fashionably late, I spotted Ben sitting at the dimly lit bar, already drinking a beer. Six stools down from him sat Carter with a Corona bottle in front of him.

  As I walked toward Ben, he looked over and smiled. “Hey, there you are. What can I get you to drink?”

  I leaned over, giving him permission to kiss my cheek, which he did. He reeked of too much cologne, and I tried not to gag.

  “I’d love a glass of Pinot noir,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to him. I made sure to lean in toward him, letting my arm caress his.

  He signaled to the bartender and ordered my drink.

  “So, what kind of sales are you in?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing exciting, really. To tell you the truth, I work at Best Buy. Just got promoted to manager, in fact.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s temporary, though, until my books start making more money.”