I looked under the bed. A few pairs of sandals.
I went to the closet. A few nice dresses and casual attire hung on padded hangers. Behind the wardrobe was a shelf. Mostly knickknacks. A worn out shoebox caught my attention. In red marker, someone had written, family photos on the side of the box. I grabbed it, went to the bed, and sat down to look inside.
I thumbed through about a dozen polaroids and paused when I came across one of a young girl of about six or seven years old, wearing a ballerina costume. She looked just like Jennifer – same eyes, same smile, only with a few teeth missing. A few of the photos showed the same girl with a woman in her early thirties. They were at the beach in swimsuits.
At the bottom of the box was a newspaper article cutout, dated October 10th, 1991.
Woman jumps off Sunshine Skyway Bridge to her death.
It showed the photo of a woman's face, resembling the same one in the photo with young Jennifer. I scanned the article, but there weren't many details about Charlotte Healy or why she had ended her life. Only that she was the third person to commit suicide that year by jumping off the tallest bridge in Florida. It did not mention that she had a daughter. The rest of the article talked about the statistics of suicide attempts from bridges around the country. I set the photos and newspaper clipping aside and continued searching the rest of the shoebox.
Jennifer's birth certificate. This confirmed that Charlotte was her mother. But, the space provided for the father's name was left blank. I wondered if Jennifer's mother had decided to keep the father's identity a secret from her own daughter. Did Jennifer have to figure it out herself?
A small notebook was at the very bottom of the box. Inside, hand written notes. The first page was dated a week after her mother's death. As I scanned each page, it became clear that Jennifer had kept this diary, a collection of clues to find the identity of her father. Conversations with Charlotte's friends and family, places she worked, hobbies, dates, random musings, and other shorthand that I could not decipher. The last page was dated two months ago. In large capital letters, the name Dennis Foster, underlined multiple times.
Had it really taken over two decades for Jennifer to figure out who her father was?
I returned everything to the box, placed it back in the closet, and continued to search her room. I was hoping to find an airline receipt, itinerary, or some other clue to tell me where she and Max were heading.
By three o'clock, I was ready to give up when I realized I hadn't checked the bathroom medicine cabinet. Inside were the kinds of things one would expect to find: eye drops, Q-tips, hydrogen peroxide, Advil, dental floss, and band-aids. And an empty prescription bottle for Cymbalta, to treat depression. I made note of the doctor's name, but I didn't know if that information would help.
And then a thought occurred to me. Jennifer must have taken the trash out before leaving. Was it still in one of the covered bins outside? Just the thought of going through her trash brought on feelings of nausea, but it was the last place to look.
I exited the house through the back door, making sure I had killed all the lights. The trash bins were located on the side of the house, facing the kind, old neighbor. I worked as quietly as possible, praying she wouldn't notice me going through the trash.
Lifting the lid, the smell hit me like a brick wall. There was no way in hell I was going to rummage through that rancid pile of slop that smelled like a dead body … not that I'd actually ever smelled a dead body, but I could only imagine.
I quietly replaced the lid of the trash bin and went back to my car. As I sat there, it finally dawned on me. This business with Jennifer and Max was none of my business. Just because my work with Brook ultimately led me to information about Jennifer's past, it didn't mean I had any right to dig into it. Sure, I was hurt and ashamed that Max had chosen her over me, but it was time to let it go. My time in Florida was up. And, apparently, my time with Max was up, too.
Chapter 22
I spent the next hour packing. My flight wasn't for another six hours, but what else was I going to do? Walking on the beach or lounging by the pool would only make me feel more depressed and confused.
By four-thirty, my carry-on bag was ready to go and waiting by the door. Ten thousand dollars in cash, hidden inside the secret pocket of my purse. I checked the bathroom for things I might have missed. Max's shaving kit, shampoo, and soap were still there, a stark reminder of the hole in my heart caused by his absence.
The knock on the door caused me to jump. Had to be Carter. I was supposed to call him after I got back from Jennifer's house, but I had completely forgotten.
“Well?” he said, standing in the hallway, staring at me with a puzzled expression. “What happened?”
I invited him into the room. “I went to her house and the neighbor said that Jenn and Max left with suitcases. But Max hasn't been back to the room, all his stuff is still here.”
“Doesn't make sense. Max wouldn't just leave town without telling you.”
I nodded. “I got into her house, but couldn't find anything other than proof of what I knew all along. Charlotte was Jennifer's mother; I saw the birth certificate.”
“So you can prove Dennis was the father?”
“I don't know, that part was left blank. But she had a notebook, and it appears she's been looking for her dad ever since her mom died over twenty years ago. Looks like she was able to figure it out.”
The sound of my phone's ring tone caused me to jump. I frantically searched my purse for the phone and almost fainted when I saw the incoming number was Max’s.
I answered the call with a breathy, “Hello?”
“Sarah?” It was Max's voice, but he sounded distant, as if he were inside a tunnel. “Can you hear me?”
“Just barely,” I said. “Where are you?”
“I'm at the hospital.”
“What happened?” I said, my heart thumping in my chest. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine. It's … Jennifer.”
I swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“There's so much I need to tell you. I don't even know where to begin.”
“Which hospital?” I asked him. “I'm coming to you.”
“St. Mary's. Same place Dennis was taken.”
“I'm on my way,” I said.
“Look, I'm sorry about last night.” Max spoke so quietly, I could barely hear his words. “I can explain everything ... if you'll just give me the chance.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling all the anger inside me slip away. “I'm just glad you're okay. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
I ended the call as Carter grabbed the keys to my rental. “I'm driving you there,” he said, matter-of-factly.
* * *
Max was sitting in a chair in the ICU's waiting room, bent over, head in hands, staring at the floor. He looked up and gave a half-smile when he saw me. “Have a seat. I'll explain what happened.”
The waiting room was empty, but Max leaned close to me, as if afraid anyone might try to listen in. He clasped my hands in his. “First, I want to apologize for last night. I wanted to tell you the truth about what Jenn's been going through. Since Dennis's death, she's been talking about hurting herself. I didn't want to leave her alone. The past few days, I've been trying like hell to get her to voluntarily admit herself to the hospital for clinical depression, and finally, this morning, I'd convinced her to go. I even called her doctor myself to arrange it. We packed a few small bags, though we weren’t sure how long she'd have to stay, then I took her keys and offered to drive her there, to make sure she didn't change her mind at the last minute. Halfway there, Jennifer started having a seizure. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she wouldn't speak … I didn't know what was going on. I pulled over and called 911. And now, the only thing the doctors can tell me is that she had a drug overdose and she's in a coma.”
I remembered the empty prescription bottle in her medicine cabinet. “She was taking Cymbalta. She must have swallowed the rest of the
pills before you left her house.”
Max gaped at me. “Wait, how did you … did you go to her house today looking for me?”
I hesitated. “I broke in. I'm sorry, but I had no idea what happened to you. And you never called.”
“I'm the one who should be sorry.” He squeezed my hands.
“Doesn't matter,” I said. “I get it, now. You had to stay focused on Jenn. You did the right thing.”
“There's more to the story,” Max said. “Much more.”
“Does it have to do with Dennis Foster being her dad?” I asked.
Max froze, his eyes wide. “How did you know?”
“Long story. But I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please, go on.”
Max paused to take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “As you know, Jenn had some health problems as a child. She and her mom struggled financially and it took an emotional toll. She never told Jenn who her father was, for her own reasons, I guess. After her mom committed suicide, Jenn's been on a mission to find her father, but not for the reason you might think. She had no desire to form a relationship with him. She's made it her mission in life to find him, for one reason only. To confront him. To tell him he was the scum of the earth for abandoning her and her mom.” Max cleared his throat, then continued. “Once she found him and saw his lavish lifestyle, his expensive cars, the penthouse, the trophy wife, and all the wealth, she had a change of heart. She found out he was looking for a personal assistant so she applied for the position and got the job. She decided not to confront him. Why bother telling him that she was his daughter, when he would probably deny it anyway? Besides, she didn't have any concrete proof that he was her father. But a few days after working for him, she was able to collect samples of his DNA and had it tested. Came back positive.”
“Okay, well, if she had proof, then why didn't she present it to him?”
“Because at that point,” Max said, keeping his voice low. “She'd already come up with a different plan.”
An eerie sensation crept up my spine as I leaned closer to Max. “Are you telling me that she somehow caused Dennis's death as revenge?”
“No, Sarah.” He gave me a discreet wink. “Dennis had a bad heart. Everyone knew that.”
And then I knew the truth, without him having to admit a thing. Of course, Jennifer had access to Dennis's heart medication. She could have easily switched his pills with something more deadly, something that would speed up his metabolism, causing his high blood pressure to soar. Even if Jennifer confessed this to Max, I knew he would never betray her. He would never breathe a word of it to anyone, even me. He would do it to protect Jennifer, even if she couldn't protect herself.
I nodded silently, letting him know that I understood, and that he wouldn't have to worry. My lips were sealed.
“If Jenn makes it through this,” he said, “I imagine she'll be transferred to the psychiatric hospital. She might be there for weeks or even longer. I'd feel like a shit if I went back to New Hampshire now when she needs someone the most.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I need to call Angela Foster.”
“Why?”
I explained to Max that Angela was the one who ultimately led me to discover the truth about Jennifer and her mother. “Angela has known for years that she has a half-sister out there somewhere. She's been wanting to find her. I think Angela will take care of Jennifer.”
Max seemed confused. “Why would she do that?”
“Because I think Angela feels guilty, ashamed that her dad tossed them aside without remorse. She wants to make up for that ... in some way.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Sounds promising, but I don't want to leave Florida until I know for sure.”
“I understand. I'm going to make that call to Angela right now. Either way, we can change our flight reservations and stay here a while longer. There's no rush to get back.”
“What about Carter?” Max asked. “Did you guys finish your business with Brook?”
“Yes, thankfully that's over. I assume Carter will head home today. There's no reason for him to stay. I'll tell him he'll have to go back to New Hampshire without me.”
Max hugged me tight. “Thank you, Sarah. I'm sorry to put you through all this heavy stuff, but it sure would be nice to have you stay with me.”
“I'm here as long as you need me.”
Chapter 23
“How long do you think you'll stay in Florida?” Carter asked me as he hauled his luggage into the trunk of his rental.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Could be a few more days, or a few weeks. I guess it will depend on Jennifer's condition. She's in a coma, so she might not even make it through.”
“Keep me posted, okay?”
“Sure.” I wanted to give Carter a hug, to tell him thanks for helping me through last night and offering his advice, but he seemed to be in a hurry.
He checked his watch. “Running late. I still have to return this rental. Flight leaves in ninety minutes.”
“Okay.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks again for everything.”
“You bet. See ya when you get back.”
When Carter left, I went back to the room and got a change of clothes for Max. He didn't want to leave the hospital in case Jennifer woke up from her coma. I packed a small bag, including his shaving kit, just in case.
I decided to make the call to Angela Foster, to tell her I'd found her half-sister.
“Her name is Jennifer Healy,” I said. “And she just happens to be my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend.”
“You're not serious,” Angela replied, shock rippling through her voice. “Where is she?”
I explained the situation as best I could, opting for the shorter version, but I ended by revealing how Jenn's suicide attempt had landed her in the ICU at St. Mary's.
“I have to go to the hospital,” she said urgently. “I need to be there for her when she wakes up.”
If she wakes up, I thought. “I'm heading back there myself, so I guess I'll see you.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I intend to compensate you for getting me this information.”
“Not necessary.”
“I insist,” she said. “Would two hundred bucks be sufficient?”
“Tell you what,” I said. “Take that two hundred bucks and give it to your organization. It's a great cause, and I'll feel good about that.”
“Are you sure?” she said, emotion cracking her voice.
“I'm positive.”
* * *
When I got back to the hospital, Max looked tired and scruffy, but he had good news. Jennifer had woken from her coma, but she'd have to stay in the ICU until her vitals came back to a normal range.
“She's not out of the woods, yet,” Max said, “But this is a good sign. I hope they'll let us see her soon.”
“I just spoke to Angela Foster and explained everything about Jennifer. She's on her way here right now.”
“It's so weird, isn't it? To find out about a half-sister you've never met.”
“No kidding,” I said. “But I think this is a good thing for both of them. And just wait until Andrew finds out that the woman he's been fantasizing about is his own flesh and blood. He's gonna freak.”
Max laughed softly. “Yeah. It's a little messed up.” He eyed the overnight bag hanging from my shoulder and unloaded it from me. “Thanks for bringing my things. I should go freshen up in the restroom.”
“Sure. I'll be right here when you get out.”
As he kissed my cheek, his whiskers scraped my skin, but I didn't mind at all.
The End
A Date With Death
Sarah Woods Mystery (Book 8)
Jennifer L. Jennings
Copyright © 2014
Query Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
When I walked into her law office, I could tell that Kathy Woodward was a confident woman. The grey tweed business suit enhanced her trim, petite figure, but
she couldn't have been more than five-foot two, even in heels. Her smooth, brown hair was tied back, forming a bun at the nape of her neck. She gave me a firm handshake.
“Please have a seat, Ms. Woods,” she said, indicating the plush fabric chair facing her desk. “I appreciate you being on time for our appointment. I have to be back in court in an hour.”
“Please call me Sarah.” I sat down, placed my purse in my lap and glanced around her office – lots of glass and chrome, with the rich smell of leather and mahogany.
Kathy eased herself into her own enormous leather chair behind her desk, and I wondered if her feet could even touch the floor.
With the tip of her finger, she slid the manila envelope across the desk toward me. “The copies you asked for.”
I lifted the flap and emptied the contents into my hand. Three sheets of paper, each one a profile of a man that Kathy had recently met through an online dating site.
“So,” I said, scanning the profiles. “You mentioned on the phone that you'd like to have me perform background checks?”
“Look, I know how it works. People lie on dating profiles. They often embellish the good stuff to make themselves appear more interesting and viable. Nobody ever admits to being an alcoholic, or a bigot, or a closet pedophile. It could take months or even years to find out who they really are, after you've wasted precious time thinking they might be the one. Well, I don't want to waste years of my life.”
I cleared my throat and tried to smile. “You think one of these guys might be a closet pedophile?”
She laughed quietly and made a dismissive gesture. “No, but everyone has secrets. As a private detective, you must know exactly what I'm talking about.”
I could understand why Kathy – a divorce attorney – would be distrustful of men and dating in general. But what exactly did she expect me to do? “I assume you've already been on dates with these guys?”
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