He let out a laugh and blood spurted out of his mouth and onto the dashboard. “You've got balls, Sarah.”
A sharp knock on the window and I looked to my left. Two sets of eyes stared back at me. A man and woman with concerned expressions. The woman held up her phone and pointed to it, then mouthed the words, help is coming.
The sirens in the distance grew nearer as more people seemed to gather around the vehicle. A young man opened the passenger side door and spoke to me in a language I didn't understand. German or Swedish, I couldn't tell. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and go to sleep. And so I did.
* * *
The next time I opened my eyes, I was being carried on a stretcher into the ambulance. Two paramedics tended to me, poking and prodding with their instruments. As my head began to clear, I was able to explain, in some coherent capacity, that the other passenger in my car was a confessed killer and potentially dangerous. They didn't seem too concerned. They probably figured a concussion had messed with my brain.
“It's true,” I said. “You have to believe me. He's a dangerous man, already killed three people.”
“He won't be hurting anyone,” the woman paramedic said. “He's on his way to the morgue.”
As soon as I got to the hospital, I was able to call Carter. I could hear the restrained worry in his voice but I assured him I was going to be fine.
“I'm on my way,” he said. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Chapter 17
The next day following the accident, Carter wouldn't let me out of his sight.
I had spent only one night in the hospital after a concussion and a few bruised ribs. As it turned out, I only needed about five stitches in my leg, but it hurt to walk.
Even when Detective James came to the house to take my official statement, Carter made sure he kept the questions to a minimum.
“You've had quite a few days,” the detective said to me. “What in the world were you thinking?”
I explained everything in great detail, starting with Mick offering to turn himself in, which was just a ploy to get me alone.
“I have a feeling that Mick wasn't a bad person to begin with. I think prison turned him into a paranoid, bitter and violent man. He was abandoned by his daughter and screwed out of his hard-earned money by a ruthless scam artist. They say every man has his breaking point. I don't know if Mick would have tried to kill me or not but I wasn't going to take any chances.”
“So you purposely crashed your car into a tree?” the detective asked in awe. “That was a risky move.”
“Mick wasn't wearing his seat belt. I had a better chance of surviving than he did.”
Carter held my hand and squeezed. “Yeah, by the way. Promise me you'll never do that again.”
It hurt to laugh. Even though the airbag saved me, the seatbelt left some bruising on my chest and stomach. A small price to pay for being able to live.
“Well,” Detective James said. “This morning the test results back from Mr. Cline's toxicology tests. Our forensic pathologist was able to confirm that Mr. Cline had ingested a lethal dose of Ethylene Glycol. His death is now considered a homicide. However with your testimony about Mick, it looks like we'll be able to wrap up the investigation soon enough.”
“Thank God,” I said. “Because I need a few days to rest.”
* * *
My body felt like one giant bruise. All I could do was lie down on the couch and watch TV, popping painkillers like candy.
When Carter came into the living room carrying a huge bouquet of flowers, he placed the vase on the side table.
“These were just delivered from Lois and Peter.”
“Wow. These are gorgeous.” I managed to sit up to admire them better. “Is there a note?”
He handed me the small envelope and I opened it.
Dear Sarah, Sending warm thoughts to you. Thanks for everything you've done and hope you feel better soon. Love, Lois and Peter.
“That is so sweet. They didn't have to do that.”
Carter sat next to me, put my legs on his lap, and began rubbing my feet. “I owe you an apology, by the way.”
I melted into the sofa, eyes closed, enjoying his touch. “You do?”
“You were right about Peter. I jumped to conclusions about him. I should've been a little more sensitive about that.”
“You were doing your job.”
He sighed. “That was only part of it.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Okay, maybe I was a bit jealous.”
For Carter to admit such a thing startled me. And pleased me. His expression was sincere and I knew he wasn't just fooling around. “You have nothing to be jealous about.”
He smiled and I could almost see the tension evaporating from his features.
“By the way,” I said. “I'd like to have Lois and Peter over for dinner some night, if that's okay with you.”
“Sure, if it makes you happy.”
“And,” I continued, optimistically. “I think you'll really like Peter once you get to know him. You obviously have some things in common. Like great taste in women, for starters.”
He shook his head and replied. “Don't push it, Sarah.”
The End
The Secrets We Keep
Sarah Woods Mystery 17
by
Jennifer L. Jennings
Copyright 2016
Query Publishing LLC
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Saturday, April 9
7:15 a.m.
“Three things cannot stay long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." – Buddha
As a private investigator for over two years, I have learned one important truth: everyone has secrets.
It doesn't matter how honest you are. It doesn't matter how much money you have. It doesn't even matter how old you are. We all have a secret, and for some people, many.
Some secrets are benign, like the secret crush you had on your best friend's boyfriend in high school.
Some secrets are sinister, like the time you stalked your best friend's boyfriend in high school.
And then there are some secrets that, once revealed, will change your life in a way you never could have imagined.
* * *
When I opened the envelope and read the letter addressed to me, I thought there must be some kind of mistake.
Dear Sarah,
My name is Andrew McCarthy and I'm currently serving a life sentence at the Connecticut Department of Corrections for a crime I did not commit.
I'm sure my name does not sound familiar to you. We have never met. However, I've known you most of my life.
I know that you have a twenty year old son named Brian who attends a music college in Boston. You were married for eighteen years to Daniel, but got divorced two years ago. I also know that you used to be a massage therapist, but the murder of your receptionist prompted you to become a private detective. And now, you live with your partner, Carter Peterson, who used to be a cop in Boston but is also a private detective. You work together solving cases in the town of Bridgeport, New Hampshire.
I know all of these things, because I have been keeping tabs on you since I was fourteen years old, around the time my parents told me I was adopted.
I would like nothing more than to give you the details of how we are related, but it is not my place to do so. All I can say is that I desperately need your help right now. If you are willing to come and visit me, I promise I will explain everything as best I can.
Yours truly,
Andrew McCarthy
P.S. When you tell Sammy that you've received my letter, he'll give you the details of how I ended up in prison.
I must have reread the letter a dozen times. Each time, it still didn't make sense. This Andrew McCarthy must be a distant relative I'd never heard of before.
“Who is the letter from?” Carter asked while we were having our mor
ning coffee on the front porch, listening to the birds chirping in the nearby maple tree. Who cares if it was only fifty-eight degrees? Spring had finally rescued us from a long, dreary winter.
I handed the sheet of paper to Carter as I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. “You're welcome to read it.”
As he scanned the letter, I observed his tight features. A ruggedly handsome man in his mid-fifties, Carter rarely let his emotions show on his face, but I could tell this letter baffled him.
When he finished reading, he turned to look at me. “You don't have any idea who this guy is, do you?”
I shook my head. “Never heard of any McCarthy's in my family. Maybe they’re on my dad’s side.”
He folded the paper and handed it back. “Well, he certainly seems to know a lot about you.”
“That doesn’t make sense, either, though; he knows Sammy, so they must be related on my mother's side.”
Sammy is my surrogate uncle and was my mother's best friend. They had gone to high school together, dated briefly, and had remained close until her death five years ago. I'm an only child, and since I haven't kept in touch with my distant relatives, Sammy has been the closest thing to family I've had. A pang of guilt pricked at my heart as I tried to recall the last time we spoke. Two months at least. Usually, we don't go a full month without communicating.
I immediately got out my cell phone and dialed his number, hoping he'd be up at this early hour.
“Sarah, darling. It's been a long time. How are you?” The sound of his voice comforted me like a warm blanket.
“Sammy, I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. Life has been crazy.”
“I know it has. How did the move go? You and Carter getting along fine?”
Sammy had no children of his own. He'd always treated me like a daughter and therefore overprotective when it came to my romantic relationships. Carter was the first man in my life that got the full seal of approval.
“Everything is great,” I said. “How about you? Still running the bowling league?”
He chuckled. “Nah, I had to slow down because of the arthritis. Besides that, I'm doing quite swell, thanks for asking.” His tone became inquisitive. “But I have a feeling you didn't call to ask about the bowling league.”
“I received a letter today from someone named Andrew McCarthy who is doing time at the Connecticut Department of Corrections. I've never heard of him before, but he says we're related. What do you know about him?”
A long pause ensued. “Sweetheart, we need to discuss this face to face.”
“Is he a second cousin or something?”
“Tell you what, I just put on a pot of coffee. Why don't you come over?” I could tell he was trying to act nonchalant, but the slight quiver in his voice concerned me.
“Why can't you just tell me on the phone?”
“Because it's complicated, my dear.”
“Why does this guy know so much about me?” I persisted. “It’s a little creepy.”
“Please, Sarah,” he said, calmly. “I know you must have a lot of questions, but I'll explain everything once you get here. Okay?”
Knowing how stubborn Sammy can be, there was no point in wasting time trying to change his mind. “Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
Chapter 2
Sammy lived in a retirement home on the West side of Bridgeport called Fairview Estates. There was one male to every six females so, needless to say, he got a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex.
Sammy looked exactly the same as the last time I saw him. Tall and thin, he always wore his favorite knitted vest and khaki trousers. His neatly trimmed goatee tickled my cheek as he leaned in to kiss it.
“Shall we sit outside on the veranda?” He already had the carafe plus two coffee mugs placed on a silver tray. He reminded me of a butler as he carried the tray with the palm of one hand.
The veranda was basically a glorified ledge with a railing and two lawn chairs that overlooked a shuffleboard court. “Won't it be too cold for you?” I asked. “We can stay inside if you like.”
“Nah. I love the fresh air. Been cooped up all winter.”
We had a seat and, as he took his time pouring our coffee mugs, I sensed he was stalling.
“Sammy, what's going on? Why are you acting so nervous?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he batted his eyes at me. “What are you talking about? I'm not nervous.”
He handed me a mug and I took a sip of the coffee. I realized that, whatever Sammy had to tell me, he needed to do it his own way: in his own time. I forced myself to be patient.
“Do you remember when you were about five years old, you came to live with me and Elaine for about six months?”
“Yes, of course. Mom had to go to that nurse’s training school in Washington D.C.”
Sammy pursed his lips, eyes focused on his coffee mug. “That's what she told you but that wasn't what she was doing.” When he lifted his head to look at me, there was something in his eyes that frightened me. Sadness, regret, longing...I couldn't tell. Maybe a combination of all three. “Your mother went away because she was four month’s pregnant.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
“The baby wasn't your father's. Your mother never told him that she had a brief affair and got pregnant with another man's baby. So she made up the whole nursing school thing and left town. The baby was born two months premature.”
It felt as though I was having an out of body experience. I couldn't speak let alone breathe. Finally, I got my mouth to work. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Sarah, your mother had a boy and gave him up for adoption. She never even got to see his face but that's the way she wanted it. She didn't want to fall in love with her baby, because she knew she'd never be able to give him up.”
I kept waiting for Sammy to burst out laughing. He was known for his practical jokes - but I could tell this was no joke by the pained expression on his face.
He reached out to touch my hand. “Your mother made me promise to never tell a soul, especially you. I'm sorry, I know this must come as a shock.”
Shocked? Well, that was the understatement of the century and then, like a bolt of lightning, I realized exactly what he was trying to tell me. “Andrew McCarthy is my half-brother?”
He nodded. “Your mother never wanted you to find out she'd cheated on your father but, since she was against abortion, giving your brother up for adoption was the only decision she could live with.”
My hands were trembling and I almost spilled coffee all over myself. Sammy gently took the mug out of my shaky grasp and set it on the side table. “Andrew went to live with a nice couple from Atlanta. Around the time he turned fourteen, his adoptive parents told him the truth but, as per your mother's request, they never told him about his biological mother. Not her name, where she lived, anything. But Andrew is a persistent little bugger. He did his own research and found your mother anyway.”
I tried to push aside my own hurt and put myself in my mother’s shoes. “She must’ve been shocked to hear from him after fourteen years.”
“Yes, however, she never answered any of his letters.”
“You mean, she just ignored him? How could she do that?”
“I think because she felt ashamed. You know how your mother was. She was always extremely hard on herself. So, she gave the letters to me and asked if I would respond. I told her I would; I guess because I understood how the kid must have felt. He wanted to know about his real mother and my heart went out to him.”
“Who is the father?” I asked. My mother was the last person I ever expected to have an affair.
Sammy shook his head and looked away. “She never told me his name but she said he meant nothing to her. A one-night stand. Plus, she didn’t want to disgrace your father.”
“My dad was barely around. I can't believe she'd abandon her own kid to save her marriage. It seemed hardly wort
h saving.”
My dad was in the Navy, always away at some exotic port halfway around the world. I barely remember him. He died when I was sixteen and all I have left of him are a stack of postcards he'd sent from his travels.
“Your mother had her reasons. Frankly, I think a lot of it had to do with you, Sarah.”
“Me? Are you kidding? I've always wanted a sibling; you know that. I wouldn't have cared what the reason was. I'd have been thrilled to find out I had a brother.”
Sammy just shook his head, glumly. “I'm sorry. I hope you understand why I never said anything. Your mother didn’t want you to know about Andrew.”
Part of me wanted to scream in frustration. After my mom passed, how could Sammy keep this from me? I decided to take a deep breath and let him finish. “So you’ve been in touch with Andrew all these years? He seems to know a lot about me. I suppose you’ve been feeding him that information.”
“Yes,” he said. “He was so enthralled to know he had a sister. He wanted to know everything about you. I sent him a few pictures. A wedding photo of you and Daniel. Baby pictures of Brian.” Sammy reached into his chest pocket and handed me a photo. “I have a picture of Andrew if you want to see it. It was taken about a year ago, I think.”
“Sure, I'd like to see what he looks like.”
Wearing a spiffy polo shirt, his arms were folded across his chest as he leaned against a wall like he was posing. Andrew had the same brown hair color as me, with the same blue eyes. He had a space between his two front teeth, just like my mother.
I had so many questions but the first one that came out of my mouth was, “Why is he in prison?”
Sammy closed his eyes and shook his head. “For killing his girlfriend.”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Page 10
