Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “Sorry. Anyway, I came to get a new yoga outfit. I just joined that Bickram yoga place, where it's hot and you sweat like crazy. All the girls wear those cute, little Lycra shorts, and I thought I should get a pair.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She looked at me, clearly confused. “Why?”

  “I hope you recently got a bikini wax, if you know what I mean.” I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth – that she had no business wearing skimpy shorts with her plump figure.

  She sighed. “Ugh. I hate bikini waxes. I don't even like to shave down there. I suppose I'll have to stick with the regular knee-length spandex.”

  “Do you shop here often?” I asked.

  “Sure. This is where I get all my workout gear.”

  Over the past year, Jackie had tried every single mode of exercise imaginable. Spinning, belly-dancing, Zumba, Pilates, kickboxing, water aerobics, hula hoop classes, pole dancing, and now hot yoga. And in all her efforts, she hadn't managed to lose five pounds. Personally, I think she did the classes to meet new guys.

  “Have you ever met the manager here?” I asked, my voice still at a low decibel.

  “You mean that hunky guy with the blonde hair? Well, yeah! He's one of the reasons I shop here. He's a sweetheart.”

  I should have known that even Jackie's shopping would revolve around men. She was a consummate flirt and, despite her ill proportions, she never seemed to have a lack of boyfriends.

  “You haven't gone on a date with him, have you?” I asked.

  “Nope. As a rule, I don't date men who are too gorgeous.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because,” she said with a straight face, “I always feel bad when I end up breaking their poor little hearts.”

  I couldn't help but laugh. Most people didn't get Jackie's sense of humor, but I adored it. “Hey, Jackie, will you be home later on?”

  “Sure. Wanna come up for a glass of wine.”

  “Sounds great. How about eight?”

  “I'll be waiting with bells on.”

  Jackie went back to her shopping. I slipped out of the store and into the parking lot to find Bob Owens’s car – there it was, his Volvo station wagon parked out back in the employee lot. I placed the flyer under his windshield wiper, another one on the car next to his – just so it wouldn't be too obvious – and casually walked back to my car.

  Chapter 10

  It was almost six-thirty by the time I got back to my apartment – a two-bedroom flat on the second floor of an old Victorian home. It had taken a few months to get used to living in such a small space after the two-thousand square foot home I shared with Daniel for nearly twenty years. But that life was behind me, and I didn't mind. I loved my cozy apartment with the furniture I'd picked out all on my own. I'd spent many a night curled up on the sofa in front of the stone fireplace, sipping coffee in the morning, wine in the evening. I'd decorated the place with all the vibrant colors that Daniel despised – red, orange and mocha. I'd purchased a brand new – and ridiculously expensive – set of French cookware that I rarely used. I wasn't much of a cook and, when I did venture into the culinary arena, it was usually a disaster.

  Max was a fantastic cook, and he'd proved it many times by surprising me with exotic dishes ranging from Moroccan to Thai. There's something so sexy about a man who knows his way around the kitchen – especially a man with wavy brown hair, dimples, and a body to die for.

  As I walked through my kitchen, I was reminded of the fact that I hadn't talked to him in several days, which was becoming more of the norm. I tried not to think about it as I pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge.

  I needed to keep my mind focused on work, so I sat down and made a small list of the things I knew about Dick Mackenzie:

  Lives in a nice house, drives a BMW.

  Neat freak.

  Assists his elderly neighbors with lawn work.

  Successful career as a realtor.

  Not close with family.

  Doesn't have many friends.

  Hobbies include: cross-dressing, sex toys.

  After typing the list, I sat there staring at my screen with growing unease. I felt a little ashamed that I had tried to reduce a human being into a list of vague observations, as if those few traits explained the heart and soul of a person. I had no clue who Dick Mackenzie really was. There were still too many unanswered questions about his life. Did he have a falling out with his family because of the cross-dressing? Did he mow the neighbor's lawn only because he couldn't stand looking at their untidy property? Or was he truly a nice guy with a big heart?

  I closed my laptop and went up to Jackie's apartment. I could really use that glass of wine.

  “You look exhausted, Sarah.”

  She handed me a glass of red as I lounged on her sofa, with her dog Clifford's head in my lap. I stroked the soft fur behind his ears with one hand as the other held the wine glass.

  “Thanks for this,” I said, and took a sip of the robust cabernet. I let out a satisfied sigh.

  “There's a lot more where that came from.” Jackie occupied the plush recliner with her own wine in hand. “Did you eat? I have some beef stew I could heat up.”

  “I made myself a toasted cheese sandwich earlier,” I replied. “But thanks.”

  “So, tell me, what's up with Max? I never see him around anymore. You guys all right?” Jackie positioned herself in the chair so she was facing me straight on. Usually, she was the one blabbering on about her men, and all the gory details. Jackie wasn't shy, and because she was open about her sex life, she assumed everyone else should be just as forthcoming.

  “We're fine,” I said. “He's been traveling a lot.”

  “Why can't he find more jobs around here?”

  I shrugged. “He takes the jobs wherever he can get them.”

  Jackie tilted her head and regarded me with a pouty expression. “Poor Sarah. I hope you keep the batteries charged in your vibrator.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. My neck and shoulders need a good massage after a hard day's work.”

  She laughed. “You know that's not what I mean.”

  Not in the mood to talk about my personal love life, I decided to change the subject. “Can I ask you a question, Jackie?”

  She perked up, her big brown eyes wide with expectation. Even her curly hair seemed to stand at attention. “Of course, what'dya want to know?”

  “If you were dating a guy, and you found out that he was a cross-dresser, would that be a deal-breaker?”

  She squinted up at the ceiling in thoughtful consideration. “Hmm. That's an interesting question.” She slowly turned to look at me. “Why? Do you think Max is ….”

  “No, no,” I said, with my palm up. “This has nothing to do with Max. I'm just curious. It has to do with the case I'm working on.”

  She eyed me wearily and wrinkled her nose. “Cross-dressing?”

  I nodded. “Would you dump him if you found out after you'd already fallen in love?”

  “It all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Well, if we were the same dress size, it might work out,” she said, straight-faced. “We could share each other's clothes.”

  “Ha Ha,” I said. “Seriously, come on.”

  “I don't know,” she said with exasperation. “I guess it would really freak me out. I can't say how I'd react, especially if I loved the guy. I mean, I'd try to get him help – therapy, or something.”

  “Forget about that,” I said. “Let me ask you another question. Let's say you went on a date with a guy, and he seemed great. Granted, you know he's probably on his best behavior and wants to make a good first impression, but he seems polite and relatively normal. If someone told you that, perhaps, this seemingly great guy had a few major flaws, would you want to know what they were before you decided to go on another date?”

  Jackie didn't need time to think. “Hell yes, I'd want to know.”

  I laughed. “Okay, the
n. Here's the second half of that question … would you be willing to pay someone a lot of money for that information?”

  “If I could be absolutely sure that the information was correct, I suppose I'd be willing to cough up a few hundred bucks.”

  Not even a fraction of what Kathy Woodward would end up paying me, I thought. “Thanks, Jackie. I guess you answered my question.”

  She smiled at me, and I knew I had just opened a Pandora's box.

  “If someone told you that Max had a secret, wouldn't you want to know what it was?” she asked.

  “Maybe if he killed someone but, past that, people have a right to keep certain things private.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, here's a scenario – I got caught for shoplifting when I was fifteen years old. I stole a t-shirt from Filene's because I couldn't afford to buy my boyfriend a birthday present. It was a stupid mistake, and one I've regretted my whole life. But if you were to tell someone that information, and they didn't know me, they might make an assumption that I was a distrustful, low-life thief. But that's not who I am.”

  Jackie nodded. “I see your point.”

  “All I'm trying to say is that maybe it's better to get to know someone before passing judgment.”

  “Sounds like you have some kind of internal conflict going on about this job of yours. Why does it bother you so much? You know there's no such thing as privacy anymore.” She got up from the recliner and headed to the kitchen. “I need more wine. You?”

  “No thanks. I need to head home and get a good night's sleep. Carter is coming by in the morning so we can discuss work.”

  When Jackie returned with wine glass replenished, she had a funny look on her face that I couldn't read.

  “So … speaking of Carter,” she said in her coy manner.

  “Oh no, don't go there,” I said, my palm facing her. “I know what you're gonna say.”

  She feigned an innocent expression. “No you don't. I was going to say that I saw him the other day.”

  I paused, figuring she'd make a comment about how cute his ass looked, or some similar nonsense. “You saw Carter? Where?”

  “At the mall. He was with some woman, having dinner at that Mexican place.”

  “A woman? Really?”

  “Yeah. Carter has a new girlfriend, huh?”

  “Why do you think it was his girlfriend?” I asked.

  “I don't know,” Jackie exclaimed rather sarcastically. “Probably because they were holding hands.”

  I was so stunned, I couldn't even respond.

  When Jackie saw the expression on my face, she burst out laughing – a loud, ear-splitting sound. “Ha! That was way too easy! You are so gullible.”

  “You bitch.”

  Jackie loved it when I called her a bitch – probably because I so seldom swore. “I knew you had a thing for Carter,” she teased. “Why don't you just come out and admit it already.”

  “Oh, come off it, Jackie. We've been through this too many times.” I made a show of looking at my watch then set my empty wine glass on the coffee table. “Time to go. Thanks for the wine. I'll bring a bottle next time.”

  “Be sure to tell Carter I said hello.”

  Clifford was snoring away, his head still on my lap. I noticed a drool stain on my pants as I gently slid out from under him. How he'd managed to stay asleep through Jackie's cackling, I'll never know.

  Chapter 11

  I woke up at eight o'clock to the sound of my phone ringing. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my cell when I realized it was actually the burner phone.

  The caller ID showed a Bridgeport number, so I answered, “Hello?”

  “Um, good morning. Is this Sarah?” It was a deep male voice.

  “Yes, who's calling?”

  “My name is Bob Owens,” he said hesitantly. “You left a flyer on my car yesterday.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Oh. Yes, of course. You're calling about the free house cleaning.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “As a matter of fact, I'm glad you called. I've got some openings today. Anytime after eleven.”

  A pause. “Um, sure. That works for me. Let's do eleven o'clock.”

  “Great, Bob. I'll see you then.”

  I was about to hang up when he said, “Don't you need my address?”

  I gave myself a mental slap on the head. “Oh, right. Sorry, I don't operate so well in the morning until I've had my coffee.”

  He chuckled. “I know what you mean. I'm sorry I called so early, by the way.”

  “Not a problem. Go ahead and give me your address.”

  As he recited the address I already knew, I made a list of cleaning supplies I needed to buy. Then I called Carter to tell him the news.

  “Guess what?” I said to Carter when he answered the phone. “Bob Owens just called. I'm going over to clean his house today.”

  “Nice. What time?”

  “Eleven,” I said. “Hopefully, he won't be hanging around and watching my every move.”

  “Did he ask for references?”

  “No,” I said. “It never came up.”

  “That's a good sign.”

  I could tell from the background noises that Carter must be driving. “Where are you?” I asked.

  “I'm heading over to Travis Miller's house to keep an eye on him. If he leaves, I'll have a look around his property.”

  “You mean, you'll have a look inside his property?”

  “Something like that. I'll call you later. Good luck at Bob's, and don't forget, you need to try and find out more about that lawsuit.”

  “I will. But don't you get caught breaking into houses,” I replied.

  * * *

  At eleven o'clock sharp, I waltzed up to Bob Owens’s front door and knocked. When the door opened, a teenage girl stared back at me. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and her shoulder-length blonde hair was streaked with pink.

  “Hello,” I said. “Is Mr. Owens home?”

  “Dad!” she yelled behind her back. “Someone's here to see you!”

  She walked off, and two seconds later, Bob appeared. Up close, he didn't resemble Robert Redford as much as he did in his photo, but there was still a boyish quality in his sparkling blue eyes. He wore faded jeans and a t-shirt.

  “You must be Sarah,” he said, extending a hand. “Please come on in.”

  “Thank you.”

  At first glance, I could see the house was laid out like a traditional colonial. From the foyer, I glimpsed the kitchen straight ahead with a dining room on the left and a TV room on the right. The bedrooms were probably all on the second floor. The place wasn't fancy, but had a nice, lived-in feel to it.

  “All my cleaning supplies are in the trunk,” I said, indicating my car parked out front on the street. “But maybe you could give me a quick tour of the house first.”

  “Sure. I'd be happy to show you around.”

  “Was that your daughter?” I asked as I followed him into the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Kelly has been studying for finals all morning.”

  “What grade is she?” I asked.

  “Senior in high school. Coming down to the wire. Too bad she's more concerned about prom than her GPA.”

  “She's beautiful. I have a son going to college in Boston. His name's Brian.”

  Bob stopped to look at me. “Teenagers are a trip, aren't they? I can only speak from my experience, but seventeen-year-old girls are a handful.”

  I laughed. “Especially girls. I'm sure she keeps you on your toes.”

  He rolled his eyes dramatically. “You have no idea.”

  “She must have a boyfriend,” I said. “Or perhaps several.”

  “Oh, yes she does. Which is why I keep a loaded gun in my closet,” he said in a mock serious tone.

  “I don't blame you. How does her mother feel about her dating?”

  Bob diverted his eyes. “Well, her mother moved out a few years ago. Rebecca and Kelly don't speak to e
ach other very often.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  Bob shrugged. “Anyway, Kelly wants to be an esthetician. There's a school in Connecticut she's been accepted to. I'm not too crazy about her moving away, but it's her decision.”

  “I know what you mean. It was a shock when Brian moved out. I was depressed for about two weeks, but then I got over it. What choice do we have but to let them go?” I said, remembering Martha’s words of wisdom.

  Bob smiled sadly. “Right you are.”

  He continued to show me the rest of the house and apologized on many occasions for the clutter, blaming his daughter for most of it. But when we came to her room, he said I could skip it. She would not want anyone touching her things. I told him I understood all too well.

  When the tour was over, he asked, “How much time will you need?”

  I paused to think. “Oh, probably a few hours at the most.”

  “There's no rush,” he said. “I'll be in the backyard. My project for the day is fixing the lawnmower. Just holler if you need me, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I unloaded my trunk, slapped on some latex gloves, and went to work. I was determined to make it appear as though I knew exactly what I was doing, so I started with the upstairs bathroom. I scrubbed the shower, the sink, and the toilet. I cleaned the mirrors and polished the fixtures. I mopped the floor and wiped down the walls. When I was done, I stood back and admired my work. Everything shined and sparkled and smelled of lemon.

  Next, I moved on to Bob's bedroom. This is where I planned to spend the bulk of my time.

  I glanced out the window toward the backyard. I could see Bob tinkering with his lawn mower. I poked my head out into the hallway. Kelly was still in her room, or at least so I assumed. Her door was closed, and I could hear muted music coming from inside. She was probably texting on her cell phone with one of her boyfriends rather than studying for tests.

  I started with Bob's dresser drawers, searching through each one carefully. I wasn't sure what I expected to find, but all I discovered was that Bob liked to wear Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Next, I moved on to his closet. Nothing of interest in there. I got on my hands and knees and checked under the bed, only to find a few pairs of shoes.