I glanced at Carter, to see if he had more to add. He seemed satisfied.
“We should go and let you get some rest,” I said to Raul. “We really appreciate you talking to us. Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 12
Carter tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly agitated at the stop and go traffic on Route 95 North.
“What the heck is going on up there?” he muttered, trying to see past the long line of cars. “At this rate, we won’t get back to Bridgeport until midnight.”
Carter is usually a patient guy, except when it comes to driving. For him, being stuck in traffic is akin to Chinese water torture.
“You seem unusually agitated,” I said calmly. “What set you off?”
He made a vague hand gesture and sighed. “Raul’s story of what happened to Jasmine, it makes my blood boil.”
“That she was raped by a priest?”
He nodded. “How can these so-called men of God justify raping little kids?”
It was a rhetorical question, because there was no real answer. Evil comes in many shapes and forms: from serial killers, to priests, and everywhere in between.
“Did I ever tell you that I went to a private Catholic school?” Carter said, keeping his eyes on the road.
I blinked at him. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen. After I almost failed the eighth grade, my mom did the only thing she thought might straighten me out. She enrolled me in St. Mary’s.”
“How was that?”
He laughed. “What do you think? Those nuns were the most miserable people I ever met.”
Carter and I had never discussed religion before. It’s one of those touchy topics I prefer to stay away from. But knowing that he’d had a negative experience with religion in his past, put some things into perspective. Couple that with the fact that his teenaged daughter committed suicide by drug overdose, one doesn’t have to look too far to see why Carter was a cynic.
My experience with religion was certainly less turbulent. I have only pleasant memories of making new friends at Sunday school. Feeling secure and loved, the way it’s supposed to be.
Sure, I’ve heard all the horror stories on the news of priests molesting children. How corrupt and political it can be. But I choose to believe there are far more priests doing good things rather than bad.
Maybe I was just naïve.
* * *
We finally made it to Shelly’s house by 5:00 and parked in the vacant driveway. Candice’s red Nissan wasn’t there.
“You think anyone is home?” Carter asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe Shelly’s car is inside the garage?”
We walked up to the front door, and that’s when I noticed Shelly sitting on the front porch reading a book.
She looked up, set her book aside, and greeted us with a warm smile. “Sarah Woods, what a pleasure to see you again. You brought a friend this time.”
I introduced her to Carter and they shook hands. “Sorry to stop by like this,” I said. “I hope it’s not a bad time.”
“Not a bad time at all,” she said, ushering us into the house. “Please have a seat. I can make coffee.”
“Not necessary,” I replied. “But thanks anyway. We won’t take much of your time.”
Once we were all seated in the cozy living room, I noticed Carter staring at the enormous cross. I half expected him to make a comment about it, but he remained quiet.
“Well, now,” Shelly began, placing her hands in her lap. “How’s the investigation going?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. I needed to tread very lightly. “We visited Jasmine at the prison today.”
Shelly tilted her head slightly with raised eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes,” I said. “And then we met her husband, Raul.”
Shelly nodded thoughtfully and waited for me to continue.
I cleared my throat and decided to just come out with it. “Jasmine mentioned that you went to her house a few weeks before Melanie died. She said you threatened her. Is that true?”
Shelly sat very still and blinked at me. “I gave her a warning. If she continued to sell illegal drugs to my sister, I’d report her to the police. I felt it was my duty to protect my younger sister.”
I felt a sense of relief. At least she didn’t try to deny it. “But you never reported Jasmine to the police. Why not?”
“Melanie convinced me to leave Jasmine alone. She basically told me to mind my own business. That’s the thanks I get for trying to be a good sister.” She took a deep breath and let it out forcefully. “Now I will live with regret for the rest of my life.”
“Regret?” I asked.
She gave me a hard look. “If I had reported Jasmine to the police like I said I would, my sister might still be alive today.”
I couldn’t really argue that point. “I assume you’re the one who mailed the bible to Jasmine.”
Shelly nodded. “Her husband was very ill when I saw him. I thought the Bible might bring them peace if they could bother to read some of the passages. I was just trying to help.”
There’s a fine line between helping someone and manipulating them, I thought. “So you never spoke to Jasmine or her husband again after that visit?”
“That’s right.”
Carter spoke up, rather abruptly, with irritation in his voice. “Ms. Barr, where were you on the night Melanie died?”
Shelly lifted her chin ever so slightly. “I was at a church function from 5:00 until 9:00pm. Church of the Nazarene right here in town. It was a going away party for the pastor. I helped organize the event. You’re welcome to call and confirm it.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your occupation?” he asked.
Shelly said, “I work part-time as a caretaker for an elderly couple.”
“How long have you been a caretaker?”
“A few years. I retired from nursing because the twelve hour shifts nearly killed my back. Besides, I prefer helping people in their own homes.”
Carter made note of it, then asked, “How did you feel about Melanie’s work?”
Shelly paused for a long moment while fidgeting with the collar of her shirt. “I guess I understood it to some degree. Melanie was obsessed with sex at an early age, so it’s only natural that she’d gravitate to the career she chose. But I don’t understand why she had to write those graphic sex books. It’s just not necessary.”
“Speaking of books,” Carter said. “Do you have any idea what happened to Melanie’s files she was working on for the autobiography?”
“I have no idea,” she said, turning to look at me. “I assume they’re on her computer that Candice gave you.”
“Nope,” I said. “Either Melanie deleted the files herself, or someone did it after she died.”
Shelly frowned. “Well, Candice is the only one who’s had the computer.”
“We have a theory that someone went to Melanie’s office after Jasmine left,” I said. “They could have switched the joint for a poisoned one and deleted files from her computer after she died.”
“For what reason?”
I shrugged. “To make sure that Melanie wouldn’t live long enough to publish the book. And the only person I can think of that it might pertain to is Gregory.”
I reached into my bag and showed her the picture of Charles Cox and Ryan Frazier.
She took the photo in her hand, and I saw a flicker of recognition flash in her eyes. She pointed to the photo of Charlie Cox. “This is Gregory’s friend Charlie. I met him at the wedding, and also about five years ago at Gregory’s surprise fortieth birthday party. The other is Gregory’s brother, but I can’t remember his name.”
“His name is Ryan,” I said. “Did Melanie get along well with both of them?”
“I believe so.” Shelly paused. “Although, there was that one incident that happened at Greg’s fortieth, but I can’t imagine it has anything to do w
ith my sister’s death.”
“Please, if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear about it.”
Shelly continued, “Well, my sister was never one to host big parties, but Gregory wanted a huge celebration. Melanie planned everything, soup to nuts. She hired the fanciest caterer and, well, you get the picture. Ryan and his wife didn’t show up until the very end. I’m not sure what their excuse was, but Gregory was clearly upset with his brother. There was a big argument between them that resulted in a physical exchange. Ryan punched Gregory in the face and almost broke his nose. Melanie called the cops and had them take Ryan into custody. He spent one night in jail. The next day, Gregory went to bail him out.”
“Did Gregory and Ryan make a truce?” I asked.
“I assumed they did. But it was shortly after that when Ryan and his wife moved down south. I think they still live there.”
“Actually, they moved back to Boston about six months ago. Melanie never mentioned that to you?”
“No. But still, I don’t see the relevance.”
“Is it possible that Ryan held a grudge against Melanie for having him arrested?” I asked.
Shelly seemed amused. “If you’re asking me if I think he killed her because of that, well, it’s highly unlikely. It was years ago.”
“It’s amazing what some people hold onto,” I said. “Resentment can fester inside for a long time.”
Shelly shook her head. “I don’t know how anyone can live like that. I believe forgiveness is the key to happiness.”
I glanced at Carter, to see if he had anything more to add. He said nothing, so I thanked Shelly for her time. “Do you mind if I call you, if I have more questions?” I asked.
“Please do,” she said. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
Chapter 13
It was past six by the time Carter and I left Shelly’s home.
“Are you hungry?” Carter asked when we got into the car.
“Starving.”
We found a deli style burger joint a mile down the road and we ordered grilled chicken sandwiches.
“I have a hard time believing Shelly is involved in her sister’s death,” I finally said, once the waitress left the table. “What do you think?”
Carter took a sip of his beer. “I think there’s more to Shelly than meets the eye.”
“How so?”
“Can’t explain it,” he said. “I get a weird vibe from her.”
I sort of understood what he meant. I’d known a few so-called Christians who used religion as a virtuous façade and I couldn’t help but wonder if Shelly was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“Do you want to go to the church to confirm her alibi for the night of April third?”
“What’s the point?” He leaned back and grinned. “You think she’d bother to give us her alibi if it wasn’t going to check out?”
“Good point,” I said.
Our food arrived and the topic of Shelly ceased. Thank God. I needed a break, just for an hour. I think Carter sensed that as well. Sometimes it’s necessary to give your brain a palate cleanser.
Halfway through dinner, Carter asked casually, “So how are things going with Max? Haven’t seen him in months.”
I sipped my ginger ale and considered telling him the new developments. I have to admit, I was a little reluctant. I was fairly sure Carter would talk me out of moving away but, after a few moments of deliberation, I decided to go ahead and tell him.
“Max got a job in California. He wants me to move there with him.”
Carter blinked a few times and finally said, “When?”
“September. But I need to give him an answer soon, so he can start looking for apartments.”
Carter kept his eyes on me, but there was no expression on his face. “So, are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He lowered his gaze to his plate, where he returned the sandwich as if he’d lost his appetite.
“Well?” I said. “What do you think? Is it a bad idea?”
What I really wanted him to say is that he didn’t want me to go. I wanted him to say that it was a mistake. But that’s not what he said.
His eyes came up to meet mine. “You should do what you think is right.”
“Jeesh,” I said. “I’m just asking your opinion, as a friend and as a partner. What should I do?”
“Do you love Max?”
I didn’t know how to answer. “I’m afraid I don’t trust myself when it comes to love. I’m a little too gun shy to jump to that conclusion.”
“Sounds like you’re scared.”
I laughed. “Okay, sure, maybe. But there are other things to consider. Like you, for instance.”
He said, “What about me?”
“Our work is important to me.”
“Don’t let fear hold you back, Sarah. If you think you love Max, you should move with him.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Did he just tell me I should go? “You wouldn’t be upset if I moved away?”
He gave a half shrug. “This isn’t about me, Sarah. Do what you have to do.”
What the heck did that mean? Was he upset? Was he angry? Did he care? Was he happy to get rid of me?
“Whatever,” I said, trying to sound unaffected by his nonchalance. “I’ll figure it out.”
Carter opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then he must have changed his mind.
* * *
It was almost 8:00 when Carter dropped me off at my apartment.
“So what’s on the docket for tomorrow?” he asked.
“I think we should concentrate on Ryan Frazier. I’ll go visit his brother and see if I can confirm his alibi. While I’m in the area, I was thinking I’d stop by the police station in Cambridge and talk to Detective Donahue. Maybe he’ll share his personal opinion about Melanie’s case.”
“I know that guy. He’s a good detective, but he’s a condescending prick. Don’t take any shit from him.”
“Duly noted,” I said. “Meanwhile, maybe you could find out when Charlie Cox will be back in the area for business.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
I grabbed my things, opened the door, and waited a few seconds, just to see if he’d say anything more about my undecided move to California. He didn’t.
“Well,” I said. “I guess I will talk to you tomorrow.”
As I walked up the front steps, Carter didn’t drive away. As usual, he waited to make sure I got inside my apartment safe and sound. But this time, I didn’t turn around and wave to him before I entered my dark and lonely pad.
I immediately washed my face, brushed my teeth and crawled into bed.
The rational part of my brain told me not to read anything into Carter’s seemingly indifferent attitude. Not that I expected him to get down on bended knee and beg me not to leave, but he didn’t seem to care one way or the other. I had to admit, I was a little crushed. Okay, maybe more than a little crushed.
Perhaps this was a sign. ; the writing on the wall; the answer I’d been waiting for.
I’m not usually an impetuous person, but I picked up the phone and called Max. I told him I’d made my decision to move to San Francisco with him.
Chapter 14
Wednesday, June 25
As I lay in bed the next morning, it finally hit me. I’d actually told Max I was moving to California.
Oh shit.
Did I do the right thing?
I kept telling myself that it wasn’t a big deal. If things didn’t work out in California, I could always move back. Max was worth the risk, wasn’t he?
Bottom line, I’d make the best of it. I’d been to San Francisco a few times and loved it; the Golden Gate Bridge, Napa Wine Country, mild winters. Yes, that would be a welcome change.
How hard would it be to start over in a new town, where nobody knew me? Would I just put an ad in the paper—private detective for hire— and hope for the best? Or, maybe, I’d try to get a job with an investigation firm. A s
teady paycheck wouldn’t be a bad thing for a change.
Brian was an adult and living his own life. He probably wouldn’t miss his mother that much. That reminded me that Brian still hadn’t called to cancel our dinner plans. Had he forgotten, or was he actually going to show up this time?
I sent him a quick text to confirm we were still on for that evening. Within a few minutes, his reply came: yes, we were still on for dinner. He’d drive up to Bridgeport and we’d go out for pizza.
My heart felt a little lighter as I shuffled to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I was looking forward to catching up with my son and that thought cast a warm glow over my heart.
By 8:00 I was showered, dressed and ready to make some phone calls. Greta Stone, Melanie’s agent, was the first on my list.
Greta’s secretary answered and, yet again, informed me that her boss was too busy to speak with anyone at the moment. Could she take a message?
I gave her my name and number and told her I was a private investigator. I didn’t give the reason for my call, hoping Greta’s curiosity would get the better of her. If I heard nothing from her by the end of the day, I could always go to her office and wait around. I could also show up at her house, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate that. I needed her help, and making an enemy of her would not support my cause.
Next on my list was Libby Lenore, the massage therapist. She had a studio in Cambridge just a few blocks from Melanie’s office. When I called the number listed on her website, a cheerful sounding woman’s voice invited me to leave a message, which I did.
My next call was to Candice.
“Hey Sarah, I was just going to call you,” she said. “How are things going?”
I wondered if her aunt had told her that Carter and I had stopped by the house yesterday. “Things are going well. We have a few ideas we’re exploring.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’m heading down to see your uncle Ryan this morning. Carter found out his wife Heather and he moved back to Cambridge about six months ago.”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) Page 28
