Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  “Where?”

  “In the Caribbean, tending to their second home in St Martin.”

  “He could have hired someone to poison his wife while he was gone,” Carter replied.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Are we gonna take the case?” he asked.

  “You should take the lead on this,” I said. “You have much more experience than I do with this stuff.”

  Carter finished his beer, got up from the table, and deposited his bottle in the recycling bin. He grabbed the file and headed to the door. “Let’s do it. I have a lot of reading before we get started tomorrow. Thanks for the beer.”

  “Hold on a second,” I said, following him to the door. “What’s up with you? Are you not feeling well?”

  He replied in his usual sarcastic manner. “Are you saying I look like shit?”

  “No, but you’ve lost weight and you seem distracted. I don’t mean to be nosy, but I’m just concerned, that’s all.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Sarah. But I’m fine.”

  After a year of working with Carter, I knew he was lying but he wasn’t one to complain or seek pity. His leg could be falling off and he’d still say he was fine.

  “Okay, tough guy,” I teased. “I’ll call you later.”

  After Carter left, my mind was filled with possible scenarios to explain his odd behavior. Maybe he just had the stomach flu. Or was it something more serious? He’d had a colonoscopy recently and maybe they found cancer. Oh God, hopefully not that serious.

  Whatever the reason, Carter refused to share, which bothered me no end. I’m his partner and friend. He should be able to trust me. Why did he always have to be so damned secretive?

  * * *

  I spent the next hour doing some research on Candice’s mother, Melanie Barr Frazier.

  The first thing that popped up in the search was her book on Amazon.com.

  The author biography stated that Melanie Barr Frazier lived in Boston, Massachusetts with her husband and daughter. She went to Duke University where she earned a degree in psychiatry: spent thirteen years as a sex therapist in a private practice before becoming a bestselling author. Her photo revealed an attractive woman in her mid forties, with hazel eyes and dark hair cut in a stylish bob. I could see the resemblance; both mother and daughter had the same petite features and those passionate, intelligent eyes.

  By 6:00, I’d made my decision. I called Candice and told her I’d take the job.

  “Thank you, Sarah,” she said with a sigh of relief. “When can you start?”

  “I’ll draw up the contract tonight. Do you want to get together tomorrow morning?”

  “Can you come to Aunt Shelly’s house? She’d like to meet you.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. “What’s her address?”

  “Two-fifteen, Beech Drive, Haverhill. Shelly Barr.”

  “She’s not married?”

  “No. Never married.”

  “I can be there around ten if that works for both of you.”

  “That’s perfect,” Candice said. “See you in the morning and thanks again for helping me.”

  Chapter 4

  Monday, June 23

  The next morning I got up early and went for a run. The ground was damp after the rain, but the fresh air felt exhilarating. I attempted a three mile loop through a nature preserve, but my leg muscles started to burn. I cursed myself for being out of shape and made a promise to run more often.

  I got back around 7:00, made a pot of coffee, and hopped in the shower. I got dressed: jeans, buttoned-down blouse, suede ankle boots. I even took the time to dry my hair and style it straight. I spent the next hour drinking coffee and re-reading the contract to make sure I’d covered all my bases.

  Since Haverhill was close to Boston, I called my son to see if he’d be available for lunch. I knew the chances were slim to none, but it didn’t hurt to ask. I got his voicemail and left a message, not really expecting a call back. I knew he was busy with classes and a part-time job.

  I was on the road by 8:00, giving myself plenty of time to find Aunt Shelly’s house. My GPS informed me the trip would take 49 minutes with no traffic.

  * * *

  Shelly Barr lived in a simple, two story, Cape Cod style home on a dead end street.

  When I walked up to the front door, Candice was there to greet me. She wore a baggy blouse, with khaki pants rolled up at the ankles and no shoes. Her short pixie hair cut was styled differently today, spiked up with hair gel. It made her seem perkier, like the twenty-two year old girl that she was.

  “Thank you so much for driving all the way out here. Did you find the place okay?”

  “No problem,” I said. “Sorry I’m a little early. I wanted to give myself plenty of time in case I got lost.”

  Candice led me through the small foyer and into a cozy, sunny sitting area. The windows were open, letting in the fresh air. I noticed the pillows on the sofa were embroidered with bible verses. A large wooden cross with a Jesus statue adorned the wall in front of me.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, gesturing to the sofa closest to the window. “…Just made a fresh pot.”

  I didn’t need more caffeine since I’d already consumed several cups before the long drive, but I felt obligated to accept the kind offering. “Sure, that would be nice. Black is fine, thank you.”

  While I waited for Candice to return, I took the contract out of my bag and placed it on my lap. We hadn’t yet discussed payment, so I assumed she was not concerned with my rates. Usually, it’s the first thing clients ask, how much will it cost?

  When Candice returned with a tray of coffee mugs and what looked like miniature muffins, she set them on the antique coffee table and joined me on the couch.

  “I apologize for getting right to business,” I said, “But here’s the contract for the job.” I handed her the two page document, fastened together by a paperclip. “Please take your time reading it over and feel free to ask questions.”

  She read the entire contract, beginning to end, without comment. When she reached the last page, she asked, “Do you have a pen?”

  “Don’t you want your aunt to look over the contract before you sign it?” I asked.

  “I’m twenty-two years old and I can make my own decisions,” she said, without a hint of indignation.

  I retrieved a pen from my pocketbook and handed it to her. “So, do you understand the terms of the contract?”

  “Yes. Two thousand dollars up front. A hundred dollars an hour plus expenses.”

  “What is your limit?” I asked. “Just so I know.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “There is no limit. Take as much time as you need.”

  “What if I find out that the killer is already behind bars?”

  Candice signed her name and returned the contract to me. “Then I will sleep better at night, knowing I did everything I could.”

  Just then, I sensed a presence and looked up to find a woman standing in the doorway. I assumed it was Aunt Shelly. She looked just like her sister with the dark hair and hazel eyes, but she wasn’t as pretty. Her hair was cut short and she wore no make-up. The black slacks, cotton blouse, and a short strand of pearls around her neck gave me the impression she was a practical woman. No frills.

  She moved toward me, smiling. “You must be Sarah Woods. My niece has been talking about you, nonstop.”

  I stood up to shake her hand. “Ms. Barr, nice to meet you.”

  “No need to be so formal. Please call me Shelly.”

  She sat in the chair across from me. “So, I understand you’ll be working for my niece. When Candice first told me about her suspicions, that someone else might be responsible for my sister’s murder, I wasn’t convinced. I told her she should put all this nasty business to bed, and try to move on with her life. Melanie is with the Lord, now. We need to accept that. However, I also believe she should follow her instincts and, if they’re telling her that some
thing isn’t right, then she’s doing the right thing.”

  “Yes, I agree,” I said, turning my attention back to Candice. “Do you think there’s a chance that your step-dad is at his house today?”

  Candice nodded. “I left a message on his voicemail and told him that I hired a private investigator to look into mom’s death. I gave him your name, and that you’d probably be in touch with him soon. That’s basically all I said. I’ll write down his address and phone number.” She got to her feet as if she’d just remembered something. “Let me go upstairs. I have some things I’d like to give you of my mother’s. I’ll be just a few minutes, okay?”

  “Take your time,” I said.

  After Candice left the room, Shelly smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders as if this whole thing was a bit amusing to her. “My niece is a very determined young woman, isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” I replied. I decided to ask her a few questions and use my time wisely. “Shelly, what are your feelings about your brother in law? Do you think he might have anything to do with Melanie’s death?”

  She chuckled. “He may not win the father of the year award but, gosh, I don’t believe he’s a murderer. I know he and my sister had their problems, but all married couples do.”

  “Did she ever express any concerns about him to you? Was he ever violent towards her? Did he ever threaten her?”

  “Violent? No, she never mentioned anything like that.”

  “Do you think he was having an affair?”

  Shelly shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “How about Melanie? Do you think she was having an affair?”

  “If she was, she probably wouldn’t have told me. She knew how I felt about adultery.”

  I was beginning to understand why Melanie had never confided in her sister. Shelly seemed a bit judgmental.

  “Do you mind sharing a little more about your sister?” I asked. “What was Melanie like? Were you two close growing up?”

  “Melanie was three years younger than me, the smart and quiet type. She was the baby and the favorite of our parents. I guess I was a bit jealous of her. She had the beauty and the brains.”

  “How did Melanie become a sex therapist?”

  She pursed her lips and toyed with her pearl necklace. “Oh, I don’t really know.”

  I sensed that Shelly did know the reason, but didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.

  “Does it have to do with something that happened in her past?” I prodded. “Usually there’s a defining moment in a person’s life that steers them to make a career choice like that.”

  She paused and cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose Melanie was fascinated with sex at a very early age. She was about eight or nine years old when I found the magazine in her bedroom.”

  “A dirty magazine?”

  She blushed. “Yes.”

  “It’s natural to be curious about sex at that age,” I said.

  “Well, her curiosity turned into an obsession. You see, Melanie went through puberty before most girls. She developed before the rest of us, and the boys noticed her. She became promiscuous.” Shelly shook her head and made a sour face. “I’m sorry, but talking about my sister like this seems wrong, like I’m betraying her trust.”

  “The more I know about Melanie, the more I can help. As her sister, you probably understand Melanie better than anyone. Please continue.”

  Shelly turned her head and glanced into the hallway, probably to make sure her niece was still upstairs. When she turned back to me, her expression was tense and her tone subdued. “Melanie got pregnant when she was fourteen. She had no idea who the father was. I paid for the abortion with my baby-sitting money, just so our parents wouldn’t find out. They’d have sent her away to a girl’s boarding school if they knew. Honestly, I figured the abortion would snap her out of this obsession with sex and maybe it slowed her down for awhile, but she got pregnant again about two years later. I told her she’d have to pay for the abortion herself. I don’t know where she got the money.” Shelly shifted in her chair, pulling at the collar of her blouse like she was having a hot flash. “Please don’t mention this to Candice. I don’t think she knows about all this.”

  “I understand.” I made some notes in my book and then looked up. “Did Melanie do drugs when she was younger?”

  “I don’t think so. I remember she smoked cigarettes for a while but she never got addicted. She didn’t drink alcohol, either. Sex was her drug of choice.”

  “When did you find out she was doing marijuana?”

  “Candice was the one who told me, probably back in February. Naturally, I was very concerned. There are much better ways to relieve stress. I tried to get her to go to church with me, talk to the pastor about it, but she always refused. After a while, I stopped trying.”

  I could hear Candice coming down the stairs so I ceased my line of questioning, mostly because I could tell Shelly was so nervous. She probably regretted sharing so much about her sister’s dubious past.

  Candice entered the sitting room and set the laptop bag at my feet.

  “Sorry that took me so long, Sarah,” she said, a little out of breath. “This is my mom’s laptop. I had to search for the power cord. I thought it was in the bag, but turns out I had stuffed it in one of my drawers.”

  “You want me to look through your mother’s laptop?” I asked.

  “Yes, I figured there might be some clues in there. I’ve written down all the password information you’ll need to access her files but, please, don’t let it out of your site.”

  “I’ll guard it with my life,” I said.

  Candice looked over at her aunt and must have noticed the strained expression on her face. “Auntie, are you okay?”

  “Yes, dear,” she said, straightening her blouse. “Sarah and I were talking about your mom and I just got a little emotional, that’s all.”

  I turned to Candice and said, “Your aunt has been gracious enough to fill me in. Just trying to get a better sense of who your mom was.”

  Candice glanced at her aunt again with a loving smile, then regarded me sadly. “I wish you could have met her. She was a very special person. I feel lost without her.”

  “I can tell she raised you well,” I said. “You are a bright young woman.”

  Candice offered me a half-smile as a way to say thanks. She handed me a check made out for two thousand dollars. “Here is the down payment, Sarah. When will you start?”

  “I’ll head over to Gregory’s house right now,” I said. “If I get a chance to talk to him, I’ll call you afterwards.”

  Chapter 5

  I noticed the dark blue Mercedes convertible in the driveway of the massive Gambrel house where Gregory Frazier lived. The grounds were meticulously maintained.

  I pulled up to the curb and parked. I grabbed my purse, locked my car, and strolled up to the front door. I had no idea what to expect of Candice’s step-dad, but I told myself to keep an open mind.

  A man answered the door. He was in his mid forties, had a broad face, receding hairline, and a bit of grey at the temples. He wore a crisp polo shirt with khaki shorts. He was probably very handsome in his thirties, but things were starting to go the other way.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, “Are you Gregory Frazier?”

  He studied me for a second, hands on hips, before finally raising his eyebrows. “Ah, yes,” he said, pleasantly. “You must be the private detective Candice told me about.”

  “Sarah Woods. I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.”

  “Not at all. Come on in.”

  He held the door open graciously. His overly affable demeanor immediately put me on edge. I got the sense he was overcompensating for something.

  He led me through the foyer and into a kitchen with fancy marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked. “I have soda, water, coffee, beer, or wine.”

  “Nothing for me,” I said. “I’m f
ine.”

  He invited me to sit at the counter. “So, I assume you want to talk about Melanie. Candice probably told you I was out of town when she died.”

  “Yes. I’m very sorry about your wife, by the way.”

  He nodded and made a gloomy face. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But I’m not really sure why Candice felt the need to hire you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re great at your job, but the person responsible is already in jail.”

  “Candice seems to think there might be someone else responsible for your wife’s death.”

  Gregory opened the fridge and pulled out a Miller Lite. “Yep, that’s what she told me, but I think she’s wasting her time.” When he returned to the counter, he sat down and flicked the cap off with his hand. “Believe me, I get it. Candice adored her mother.”

  “Do you mind if I record our conversation,” I said, indicating the cell phone in my hand.

  “Sure, be my guest.” He took a slug of the beer and waited for me to speak again.

  “When was the last time you saw your wife?”

  “Thursday, April second. Mel dropped me off at Logan airport around six that morning. She couldn’t come with me to Saint Martin because she was under a lot of pressure to work on the new book. The deadline was only weeks away and she hadn’t even completed the first draft.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought her books were mostly graphic sex manuals for couples.”

  “Her publisher wanted something different this time; an autobiography. It required a lot more writing and Mel almost declined. She didn’t really want to write about her personal life, but the deal was too good to pass up.”

  That perked my interest. “Was she planning to share intimate details of your relationship in the book?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. She never discussed what she planned to write about.”