Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  Her confusion was genuine and I hesitated to say anything more on the matter. “My mistake,” I said. “Must be a different charity I heard about.”

  She shrugged it off. “Well, I think you're a dear to be so concerned about Angela, but I assure you she is doing well. Of course, she misses her mother very much. But the volunteer work has given her a new purpose in life.”

  “And her father?” I asked. “How is she dealing with his recent death?”

  “That's a difficult one. As you probably know, she and her dad never saw eye to eye, but I guess it's something she'll just have to make peace with now that he's gone.”

  “Thanks for talking to me, Ms. White. I feel better about things, now. I'm relieved to hear that Angela has found something meaningful to do with her life.”

  Glenda and I walked out of the building together and then to our respective cars. As Glenda drove out of the lot, she waved for the last time and then disappeared down the road.

  When I got in my car, all I wanted to do was sit for a while, to collect my thoughts about Angela. Brook had done a fine job of convincing me that Angela was a selfish, lazy, and paranoid delinquent; capable of blackmail, no less. But I wasn't so sure I believed that anymore. Glenda had provided me with a different perspective. And if Angela did blackmail Brook to give the money to the charity, heck, I was all for it.

  I called Carter and recounted the details of my meeting, which took about ten minutes.

  “I don't think Angela is involved in the blackmail,” I told him. “In fact, I think we're wasting our time looking into her life any further.”

  “I agree,” he said. “But I think I have a pretty good idea who is involved.”

  I waited. “Well, are you gonna tell me?”

  “Where are you now?” Carter asked.

  “I'm heading back to Palm Beach. Where are you?”

  “Sitting in my car, across the street from Vivian's condo.”

  “Vivian? Why?”

  “Her address is ten, Bimini Lane in Riviera Beach. Plug it into your GPS and meet me there as soon as you can.”

  “What's going on?”

  “I'll tell you when I see you.”

  I tucked my cell phone back into my purse then set it on the passenger seat. I was typing the address into my phone's GPS, when I saw someone in my peripheral vision. Before I could react, the person opened the back door and slid into the back seat.

  I didn't understand what was happening. I spun my head around to look behind my seat and gasped.

  It was Angela Foster.

  Her narrowed eyes were focused on me. “Do exactly what I say and maybe I won't slit your throat.”

  I glanced down and noticed the silver blade. A small Swiss Army knife was clutched in her hand.

  My brain just froze. No words came, so I bobbed my head up and down to let her know I understood.

  “Try anything funny,” she said, “and I swear to God I'll stick you.”

  I nodded again, remembering Carter's arm.

  “Your purse,” she said. “Throw it back here. Then keep your hands on the dashboard and face forward.”

  I did what she said.

  With my hands on the dashboard, I could see her through the rear-view mirror searching frantically through my purse.

  “You've been asking questions about me,” she said. “What do you want?”

  I realized that Glenda White must have called Angela after our meeting. Angela must have quickly figured out the scam, and drove back to see if I was still around.

  “I'm working on a case,” I said.

  Angela held up my wallet. “Sarah Woods, huh? Says here you're a private investigator from New Hampshire? Why are you in Florida?”

  I figured the truth would serve me better than lying at this point. I licked my dry lips and tried to remain calm. “My boyfriend has a job here so I came to stay with him for a few days. He works at Ocean Terrace, installing a new surveillance system.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Look, Angela, if you put the knife away, I'll be happy to explain everything.”

  She sat back in the seat but kept the knife in her lap. “I don't trust you,” she said. “This is the second time in two days that I've caught someone spying on me. A grey-haired guy came to my apartment two days ago, pretending to be an exterminator. He was looking for something, too. You'd better tell me what's going on.”

  I sighed. It was time to come clean. “Brook Foster hired us to find proof that you blackmailed her for a hundred thousand bucks.”

  “Blackmail?” Angela brushed her hair out of her face in exasperation. “For what?”

  “An affair.”

  “Brook was having an affair?” She laughed. “Well, isn't that rich. With who?”

  “I'm sorry, I can't tell you that. But someone at your dad's office got a photo and sent her a letter.”

  “And why did Brook think it was me?”

  I hesitated. “Because she thought you were desperate for money.”

  She laughed again, incredulous. “That's what she told you? That I was desperate?”

  “Yeah.”

  I glanced at Angela in the mirror. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she stared out the side window. The abandoned knife lay on the seat, a few inches from her leg.

  “Look,” I said to her, slowly moving my hands from the dashboard to my lap. “I think I understand what's going on now. You kept asking your dad for money, not for yourself, but for the volunteer work you do with Glenda. I respect that. Perhaps your dad didn't understand that.”

  Her lips tightened. “My dad knew full well what I was doing. He didn't care. He was a bastard in every way. He only cared about money, status, sleeping around with women half his age. My dad was screwing Brook in my parents’ bed every night, while my mom died slowly in her own room, attached to an oxygen tank”

  “I know about your mom,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

  She snorted in disgust. “It wasn't the first time my dad cheated, you know. I was only fifteen years old when I found out.”

  “What happened?” I asked, trying to keep her talking. I wanted her to know she could trust me. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of that sharp blade still lying on the seat next to her leg.

  Angela sighed, shaking her head in contempt. “A strange woman came to our home one day. She stood in the doorway crying and ... I'd never seen her before. She asked to see my dad. I told her he wasn't home. She told me that she had a daughter about the same age as me.”

  I waited for Angela to go on, but she had covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Finally, she cleared her throat and continued. “The woman told me that she needed help. Her daughter needed a surgery and they didn't have money or insurance. That's when she told me that her daughter was my half-sister. I never said a thing to my mom, I didn't want to break her heart, but when my dad got home, I confronted him. He denied ever knowing the woman, of course. But I knew he was lying. I could always tell when he was lying.”

  “Did he ever help the woman?” I asked.

  “I don't think so. But I'll never forget the desperate look on her face that day she came to our house.”

  “If Dennis had fathered her daughter, why didn't she just bring him to court to get some money?” I asked. “He should have been responsible for child support at the very least.”

  “I don't know why. My dad was a master manipulator. Maybe he'd threatened her in some way. She never came around again, but a few years later, I remember seeing her face on the news. It was definitely her, I'm positive.”

  “Why was she on the news?”

  “Because she'd committed suicide by jumping off the Sunshine Skyway Bridge in Tampa. I blamed my dad for her death, and I blame him for killing my mother with his cigarettes. Who knows how many other women he knocked up and had kids with? How many step-siblings do I have out there in the world?”

  “Did you ever tell your brother about the woman?”

 
“Yes. He was away at college at that point, and he didn't seem to care if it was true or not.”

  A minute or so passed, neither of us saying anything. Finally, she looked up, wiped her eyes, and said, “So that guy who came to my apartment and was looking through my things, he's with you?”

  “Yeah. His name's Carter.”

  “So is he your partner or something?”

  I nodded. “I suppose the cops are still looking for him.”

  “I guess. I might have overreacted with the knife. Is he okay?”

  “He'll live.”

  Angela sighed. “So you have no idea who blackmailed Brook, do you?”

  I shrugged. “Not yet, but Carter might have a lead. I should probably go.”

  She grabbed the knife still lying on the seat, latched it closed, and slipped it into her jeans pocket. She opened the door, got out, and walked over to my opened window. “When you're done working for Brook, maybe you'd be interested in another case?”

  “Like what?”

  “I'd like to hire you to find someone for me. My half-sister, the daughter of the woman who killed herself. Would you be interested?”

  “Why?” I asked. “What do you plan to do?”

  “Not sure, exactly. I'm not even sure she's still alive, but I feel like, if she is, maybe I can help her. Maybe she needs money or … whatever. I want to make up for what my dad should have done. With some of the money from his estate, I could do a lot for her.”

  “Sure, I'd be happy to take the case,” I said “I'll contact you once I'm done with Brook's business.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Angela walked off, I said, “By the way, do you happen to remember the woman's name who jumped off the bridge?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I wrote it down when I saw it on the news and I've never forgotten. Her name was Charlotte Healy.”

  Chapter 19

  As I drove North on Route one, my heart was beating so fast that I realized I was going twenty-five miles over the speed limit. I took my foot off the gas and slowed, trying to calm the nervous energy rushing through my body. The same question kept circling around in my head: was it possible that Charlotte Healy was Jennifer's mother?

  All the clues fit perfectly. Max mentioned in confidence that Jennifer's mother had committed suicide, and that her father was never around. Apparently, she never even knew who her father was.

  If Dennis Foster really was Jennifer's father, it would certainly explain why she had become so distraught over his death. And it would certainly explain her rejecting Andrew's romantic advances. He was her half-brother for crying out loud. Gross!

  And yet, even with this profound revelation, I had more questions than answers.

  Like, why would Jennifer get a job as Dennis's personal assistant? Why not just confront him and tell the truth? Was she afraid that he'd reject her? Deny that he ever slept with her mom? Or maybe Jennifer planned to tell him later, after developing his trust.

  I had to force myself to concentrate on the road, afraid a cop might pull me over for erratic driving.

  I took a deep breath, telling myself I'd get to the bottom of this Jennifer Healy ordeal as soon as my job with Brook was done.

  The address where Carter wanted to meet up was an apartment complex called Flamingo Court. The outdated architecture and sparse landscaping reminded me of an old motel from the fifties. There were about twelve units on one level, and no security to speak of.

  I noticed Carter parked across the street so I pulled in behind him.

  I slipped into his passenger seat. He held a pair of binoculars to his face, aimed at one of the units.

  “So why are we here?” I asked impatiently. “What have you found out?”

  Truth was, I didn't even care about Brook's stupid blackmail job anymore. I'd come to despise Brook – and Dennis, for that matter. I didn't even care about the advance. I'd gladly give it all back, to have Brook out of my life. But there was Carter to think about. He had flown all the way to Florida for this job. I would never ask him to drop a case without good reason.

  Carter finally set the binoculars in his lap and smiled at me. “The woman in the photo, from the airport, with the brown hair who we thought might have been Angela wearing a wig.”

  “You found her?”

  “No, Sarah. She has nothing to do with the money drop.”

  I scratched my head, thoroughly confused. “Okay. So who've you been spying on?”

  He handed me the binoculars. “Look into the window of number thirteen. Does she look familiar to you?”

  Peering through the lenses, I could see a dark-skinned woman with curly black hair wearing a pink mumu. Yes, she looked familiar, but where and when had I seen her before? I lowered the binoculars. “Who is she?”

  He paused for effect. “The janitor at the airport who cleaned the restroom. Her name is Maria Tanner. I've spent the past twenty minutes looking into her life. Even called her employer. She works at the airport as a part-time janitor, usually the night shift from midnight to five in the morning, but on the day of the money drop, she'd traded hours with another coworker. And the fact that she lives in the same apartment complex as Vivian and Roy can't be a coincidence.”

  I took a moment to wrap my brain around the possibility. “So you think Roy is the blackmailer?”

  Carter chuckled. “Why not? He could have had a spare key to the office. Maybe he suspected that his wife had something going on and went to see for himself.”

  “But Vivian told us that he'd become outraged if he ever found out she was sleeping around. Vivian would have sensed something was up.”

  “Maybe he had a better plan.”

  I placed the binoculars in Carter's lap and ran through a scenario. “So he takes some pictures with his cell phone, but instead of confronting his wife, he comes up with this blackmail scheme?”

  Carter shrugged. “Maybe he's friends with his neighbor Maria, and one night over a few beers, he convinces her to help out for a little easy cash.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But wouldn't Vivian know if her husband had money all of a sudden?”

  “My guess is, Roy's been hiding the money. Think about it, if he told Vivian what he'd done, she might go and tell Brook. And Brook would put two and two together. And then he'd be looking at jail time. No, I think he's playing it smart, until he decides what to do. Maybe he's planning to file for divorce.”

  “Even if this is true, how are we going to prove it? If we're wrong and Roy is not involved, then we might get Vivian in trouble.”

  Carter pointed a finger toward the pink condo unit. “We need to find a way to get Maria to talk to us. Maybe we can trick her into admitting something.”

  “You have an idea in mind?”

  He reached over to grab his cell phone from the dashboard. “I could give her an anonymous call. Tell her I know about the money and see how she reacts. My feeling is that she'll panic and contact Roy, hopefully in person since Vivian is at work. I think that will be proof enough to satisfy Brook.”

  “So you know that Roy is home?”

  Carter gestured to the Honda motorcycle parked in the lot adjacent to the Flamingo Court. “That's his bike. He should be here.”

  I leaned back into the car seat and closed my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them, Carter was staring at me with a mildly concerned expression.

  “Max still hasn't called, has he?” he asked.

  “No, but there's something else. I'd rather not discuss it right now. I need time to think about it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Does it have to do with Jenn and Max?”

  “Sort of.” I sighed heavily as I focused my attention on the pink condo across the street. “Which is why we need to get this case solved for Brook, so I can move on to more important things.”

  Carter smiled as he held up his phone. “So you like my idea?”

  I nodded. “Go ahead, make the call.”

  He put the phone on speaker and dialed Maria's number.


  She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  Carter cleared his throat. “Is this Maria Tanner?”

  She paused. “Why, yes it is. Who's this calling?”

  “My name in not important, Ma'am,” Carter said with a faint southern drawl to imitate the woman's own inflection. “But I suggest you listen very carefully. Are you listening?”

  Another pause and she stammered. “Is … is this some kind of prank call?”

  “No, Ma'am,” Carter said. “This is not a prank call. What this is, Maria, is a chance to redeem yourself. I know about the money. I know you did it. And you better get ready to contact a lawyer because you're in deep shit.”

  The woman gasped, then cleared her throat nervously. “Uh, what the hell you talk'n bout?”

  “You know what I'm talking about,” Carter said slowly, confidently. “We have you on security camera to prove what you did. We know someone put you up to it. Tell us who it is, and we'll leave you alone. If you refuse to cooperate, you can expect a visit from the police very soon.”

  She remained silent on the other end. Through the binoculars, I could see her anxious face in the window, searching the neighborhood. I prayed she wouldn't spot us.

  “Are you there, Maria?” Carter asked, keeping all emotion out of his voice. “Time is running out.”

  Another long pause, until finally she said with a quiver in her voice, “Whoever you are, go to hell. I ain't done noth'n wrong.” She ended the call.

  Carter smiled at me. “Now we wait to see what she does. Keep your eyes on her.”

  “She's calling someone,” I said, peering through the binoculars again. “And she's agitated. Whoever she's talking to is getting an earful. Damn it, I wish I could read lips.”

  “At least we know she's involved.”

  “She's off the phone now and it looks like she's getting ready to leave. Just grabbed her keys and a handbag.”

  Maria emerged from her apartment still wearing the pink mumu. She marched over to a Ford Fiesta and squeezed her large body inside.

  Carter started the engine and shifted the gear to drive. He pulled onto the street behind her, following at a safe distance.