Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3)

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  Raul’s face turned ghostly white. I expected him to deny the implications, but maybe he knew in his heart that I spoke the truth.

  Something caught Carter’s attention and he went to the window. “Derek’s home.”

  Raul stood frozen in place. “What are you guys going to do? You can’t take my brother away from me.”

  “We’re just gonna talk to him,” I said. “And give him a chance to explain.”

  The door opened, and Derek walked in with a brown paper bag in his hand. When he saw me and Carter standing in his living room, his face went slack. He looked at his brother and he must have known something was up.

  I didn’t have a chance to say one word to him because he dropped the paper bag and made a run for it.

  Raul called out to his brother, begging him to stop, but it was no use.

  Carter grabbed my hand and yanked me out the door. “Let’s go. We can’t lose him.”

  Chapter 27

  High speed car chases are always an exciting element in a blockbuster movie starring Matt Damon or Bruce Willis but, in real life, there is nothing more terrifying than being inside a car going at a breakneck speed while weaving in and out of traffic as the mini malls and gas stations whiz by in a blur.

  Derek’s blue Impala was two cars ahead of us. He must have been going ninety miles an hour.

  Thank God Carter knew what he was doing. At least I hoped so - if he didn’t, he was putting on a good show.

  “Where is he planning on going?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Hold on.” Carter hooked a sharp right turn as horns blared at us from every direction.

  I grabbed the door handle for dear life and watched the contents of my purse spill out onto the floor. “Damn it, would you slow down? It’s not worth getting into a car accident.”

  “We’ve come this far, Sarah. We can’t lose him now. He’s got a guilty conscience or he wouldn’t have fled.” Carter rammed his foot down on the accelerator. He grasped the steering wheel and leaned in, as if that would make the car go faster.

  “Looks like he’s headed to the turnpike,” I said. “Maybe I should call the cops. We do not want to be responsible for a two lane pile-up.”

  We entered the southbound ramp of the turnpike, while trying to keep an eye on Derek’s car. Carter took his foot off the pedal. “Shit, you’re right. Need to back off. He’s gonna kill someone if he doesn’t slow down.

  Carter kept following, but we kept on him at a safe distance.

  “He’s a lunatic,” I said. “He’s obviously not thinking straight.”

  And then, Carter pointed to the road ahead. When I looked up, I drew in a quick breath as the scene played out in front of us. The blue Impala was heading straight for a concrete barrier wall. I expected the screeching of tires on asphalt, but Derek did not appear to make any attempt to slow down.

  As if in slow motion, the Impala collided with the wall and folded like an accordion. Shards of glass exploded.

  Carter slammed on the brakes and pulled over into the breakdown lane.

  We got out and rushed over to the Impala as other cars slowed down and pulled over. A few people got out to see if they could help. Carter yelled to a woman to call 911.

  “Dear God,” I said out of breath once I approached the car. “There is no way he survived this.”

  Carter tried to open the driver’s side door, but it was jammed. The car was mangled to the point of ridiculous and Derek was trapped inside. His body was destroyed, flesh and bone crushed beyond recognition. I turned away and almost threw up.

  The sound of sirens in the distance gave me no comfort at all. It was too late for Derek.

  Chapter 28

  There was nothing more Carter and I could do after the onslaught of police cars, ambulances and fire trucks took over the scene.

  I couldn’t watch as they pried Derek’s lifeless body from the wreckage.

  It shouldn’t have ended this way.

  Why didn’t Derek just talk to us?

  A police officer questioned Carter and me about our involvement in the accident. Carter explained the situation, leaving out as many details as possible and, after forty minutes of that, we were allowed to leave.

  Carter looked at me with sorrow in his eyes. “I overreacted,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gone after him like that. It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “You slowed down,” I reminded him. “Derek didn’t have to run off like that. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Carter shook his head, his expression sullen. “We may never find out the truth about why he poisoned Melanie.”

  “We have to find out,” I said, “because it’s obvious someone else is involved. That is exactly why we can’t give up now, or all this would be for nothing.”

  “Only thing we can do now is talk to Raul’s doctor,” he said. “Maybe he can help.”

  * * *

  Dr. Fishburn was a tall, wiry man in his late forties with kind eyes and an affable smile. I imagined he was well liked by colleagues and patients alike.

  Carter and I sat with him at a round table in the cafeteria drinking coffee. He’d informed us that he only had a few minutes to talk, but seemed eager to help us.

  “We know you’re not allowed to discuss patient information,” Carter said to him. “But we have reason to believe that an anonymous donor might be an important link to a case we’re working on.”

  Dr. Fishburn listened intently as Carter and I explained the situation with Raul Thompson.

  “I’m very sorry,” he finally said after listening to our spiel. “I can’t tell you who the anonymous donor is, because I have no idea. That’s why it’s anonymous. However, there is an intermediary company you could contact. Then again, they are paid to protect their client’s interests, so I doubt they’ll help you.”

  “What’s the name of the company?” Carter asked.

  “Fidelity Charitable Trust.”

  “Thank you,” Carter said. “Just one more question. Is it common for people to donate anonymously to patients like Raul, who can’t afford certain medical treatments?”

  Dr. Fishburn took a sip from his paper cup and said, “Common? No, I wouldn’t say that. Usually, the big donors to the hospital prefer recognition for their contributions, not to mention the tax breaks.”

  Carter scratched his head. “So, don’t you think it’s odd that Raul was chosen specifically? Why not some other patient who needs a heart transplant? I mean, there are probably hundreds of other patients with life threatening diseases who could benefit from charity.”

  “Yes, that certainly is true,” he said. “But unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you.”

  The doctor stood up from the table and offered us a nod. “Well, good luck with your investigation. I should get going. I have patients to see.”

  “We really appreciate your help, Doctor,” Carter said. “Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule.”

  I turned to Carter. “Great. Just another roadblock. What do we do now?”

  “I have an idea but it’s going to cost us. There’s a guy I know, he’s done some work for me in the past. He’s good with computers.”

  “So, he’s basically a hacker?”

  “Call it whatever you like, he gets the job done.”

  “Okay,” I said, “Let’s pay him a visit.”

  Chapter 29

  Carter’s “hacker” friend, Danny, lived in the basement of his mother’s house in Salem. He was nineteen years old, morbidly obese, and his skin was so pale, I wondered if he was allergic to the sun.

  “Dude, how’s it going?” Danny said to Carter. “Been a long time.”

  “Yes it has.”

  “So,” Danny waved his hands in a circular motion. “What do you think of my new set up? Pretty sweet, huh?”

  Carter made a show of looking around the basement. “Nice digs.”

  Danny laughed. “You’re a lying sack of shit but, heck, it’s good to see you anyway, man. Who’s your
chick?”

  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone ever called me a chick but sure enough, Danny was pointing right at me.

  “Oh,” Carter said, nodding in my direction. “This is Sarah. We work together.”

  Danny held out his sweaty hand to me. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

  I rolled my eyes. Was this kid for real? I didn’t want to shake his sweaty hand so I offered my fist instead.

  Danny boy laughed as he bumped fists with me. When he turned back to Carter he said, “You know how to pick your partners. She’s a bona fide hottie.”

  “Hey,” I said to him with an admonishing tone. “Have a little respect, would ya? I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  Danny boy gave Carter a wink. “I like my women feisty, too.”

  I shook my head in disgust. The only way he’d get a woman is if he paid for her. And even then … yikes, the visual was just too disturbing.

  Carter ignored Danny’s remark and got down to business. “I need you to find the identity of an anonymous donor.”

  “Like a sperm donor?” Danny replied.

  “No. This person paid for cancer treatments for a patient named Raul Thompson.”

  “Sure. What other information do you have?”

  Carter said, “The intermediary is Fidelity Charitable Trust. The doctor who treated Raul is Dr. Carl Fishburn at the Burlington Medical Facility. The payment was made in the last few months.”

  Danny boy got to work on his computer, his fingers clicking on the keyboard. It sounded like Morse code, but a hundred times faster.

  Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to scan my surroundings. I had no idea how long we’d be here. There was nowhere to sit, except for the lumpy bed on the far side of the room. No thanks, I’ll pass.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for Danny boy to get the information we needed. “Here we go. Looks like a payment to the Burlington Medical Facility in the amount of $52,400.32 came from a Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Dunaway.”

  Carter turned to me. “Does the name ring a bell?”

  I wracked my brain for a connection. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Carter asked Danny. “You got an address?”

  “Sure. Hillcrest Road, Bedford, New Hampshire.”

  Carter handed Danny boy a wad of bills. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.”

  Danny boy pocketed the money with a smirk. “My pleasure, bro. Thank you for providing me a little eye candy. Can’t remember the last time I saw a beautiful woman up close.”

  Chapter 30

  On our way to Bedford, Carter said, “I’m sorry about Danny boy. I should have given you a heads up. He might be socially inept, but he’s a genius with computers.”

  “Socially inept?” I said. “I think rude and disgusting is a more accurate description of that kid.”

  Carter chuckled. “Sorry he offended you. Try to take it as a compliment.”

  “Oh sure. I’m so incredibly flattered that a four-hundred pound albino thinks I’m hot.”

  “Do me a favor,” Carter said, eager to change the subject. “Could you do some research on Alfred Dunaway. I wanna know who this guy is.”

  I did a Google search and found an article. “Alfred Dunaway is a self-made millionaire, entrepreneur, who made a fortune in real-estate in the nineties. He and his wife Kathleen, known for their magnanimous contributions to charities worldwide, dedicate their lives to helping those less fortunate.”

  I found a photo of Alfred Dunaway and it showed an elderly man in his late eighties, with whisper thin grey hair and liver spotted skin. “This photo was taken last year,” I said. “

  Carter glanced at it. “These people are the real deal, huh.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “And I was so sure this would somehow lead us back to Gregory. But once again, it’s just a dead end and a big waste of our time.”

  “We’re only ten minutes away from Bedford. We might as well stop by and see if they’re home.”

  The Dunaway Estate was situated on a pristine plot of land surrounded by acres of nature preserve. There was no pretention about the massive farmhouse, in fact, no security gate or obvious security measures at all. The place, although quite grand, had a relaxed vibe about it. Maybe it was because of the tire swing hanging in the front yard on an ancient willow tree.

  We parked behind an old green Subaru which must have belonged to someone other than the Dunaway’s. A maid or cook, perhaps.

  “Well,” I said, pointing to it. “It looks like someone is home.”

  Carter and I walked up to the entrance and used the antique golden knocker that made a satisfying loud thud on the wooden door. A few moments later, the door opened and a well-preserved older woman smiled at us. She was probably in her late seventies, but could pass for sixty.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  Carter returned the smile and said, “Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you Mrs. Dunaway?”

  The woman nodded, a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Yes.”

  Carter introduced us as private detectives and I showed her my credentials. “We have a few questions about a donation you made a few months ago.”

  Mrs. Dunaway invited us into the house, but I sensed some reluctance as she showed us to a formal sitting area.

  Once we were all settled, she sat up straight, smiled pleasantly and said, “Now what’s this about a donation?”

  “Yes,” Carter said. “It’s been brought to our attention that you and your husband generously donated over fifty thousand dollars to the Burlington Medical Facility to cover the cost of a cancer treatment for Raul Thompson. I assume you have knowledge of this?”

  She placed her perfectly manicured hands in her lap and nodded. “Yes, well, I must admit, I don’t make the decisions when it comes to picking the charities. My husband prefers to take care of that. It’s like a hobby for him now. He’s been ill for a few years, and doesn’t get out of bed very often. Doing the charity work gives him something to do with his mind, you see. It gives him purpose.”

  “Is your husband home right now?” Carter asked.

  “Yes. But like I said, he’s bound to his bedroom. I suppose if it’s a serious matter, I could arrange for you to go up and see him in his room.”

  Carter mashed his lips together, thinking it over. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s not really necessary, ma’am. We don’t want to inconvenience anyone. I just have one more question, if you don’t mind. Do you or your husband know a Derek Thompson or a Gregory Frazier?”

  She took a moment, then said, “No, I’m sorry. Those names don’t sound familiar.”

  “Approximately how much money a year do you donate to charity?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say we give away at least half a million dollars to various organizations every year.”

  “And you always give anonymously?”

  “Not always.” She tilted her head. “Could you tell me what this is all about?”

  “Actually,” Carter said. “We’ve already taken up too much of your time. We really appreciate your help.”

  “My pleasure,” she said.

  As we walked back to the car, my cell phone vibrated. It was Candice.

  “Hey, Sarah,” she said, sounding out of breath. “I just got a call from Greta Stone. She just sent me a file. A chapter outline of the autobiography.”

  I felt a twinge of hope blossom in my chest. “Finally, some good news. Have you had a chance to read it?”

  “No. I just got out of class and I’m heading home right now to Aunt Shelly’s. Can you meet me there?”

  “Yeah. We’re on our way.” I sighed. “There’s a lot of stuff I need to tell you, Candice. It’s been a stressful day.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Raul’s brother Derek is dead. He sped away in his car when we tried to talk to him. He must be involved in the poisoning, but we have no idea why. I’m hoping the file Greta sent you will give us some answers.”
<
br />   Chapter 31

  When Carter and I got to Shelly’s home half an hour later, Candice greeted us at the door, dressed in jeans and a flowery tank top. When I noticed the deadpan expression on her face and the glazed look in her eyes, I knew something was wrong. And I had a feeling I knew why.

  “Candice, did you read the file?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think I figured out what my mom wanted to talk to me about on the night she died. She wanted to tell me the truth about her past because she was planning on writing about it in her book.”

  I paused. “Does this have anything to do with Gregory?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “This happened long before she met Gregory. Long before I was even born.”

  I figured it must be about the abortions that Melanie had when she was just a teenager.

  Candice stared at her hands. They were shaking. “I guess I can understand why my mom never wanted to tell me about Aunt Shelly. But I still can’t believe she was going to write about it in her book.”

  I froze. “What?”

  Candice sighed. “Aunt Shelly got into a lot of trouble when she was younger. She was promiscuous, had two abortions, and she made my mother promise not to tell anyone, not even their parents. Mom has felt guilty about it her whole life.”

  When I glanced at Carter, he returned my gaze with a taut expression. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. When I looked at Candice, she seemed lost in her own troubled world.

  “Candice,” I said, getting her attention. “I should probably tell you something. You’re aunt lied to me. She told me it was your mother who had the abortions.”

  Candice shook her head in disbelief. “So, what does this mean?”

  “Maybe your mom has resented her all these years because she knew that Shelly was a fraud. Maybe she wanted to expose her. Think about it. Shelly is ensconced in the church community. If the truth got out about the abortions, can you imagine the ridicule she’d receive from the parishioners of her church? In some religions, abortion is the equivalent of murder.”