Office. As if. I stifled laughter and told her that, yes, she had reached Libby Carter and that, yes, I was a private investigator.
“Oh, good,” she sighed. “I am really embarrassed to be calling you, but I’m so desperate right now, I don’t know what else to do.”
“Tell me what’s going on.” I tried to sound professional, with an air of authority.
“I think my husband is having an affair. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it.” I heard sniffles on the other end, but pressed on.
“What makes you so certain?”
“All of a sudden he’s working late all the time. And he clears his call and text history before he comes home every day, and he does the same thing with his internet browser. He says it’s because he doesn’t like it to get too full, but I don’t know anymore.”
“Do you have any idea who he may be—?”
“Sleeping with? No. Yes. Well, I think maybe his secretary?”
“Ugh, how cliché,” I said without thinking.
“I know, right?” Thankfully, I hadn’t offended her. “What should I do? I’m pretty good with computers and I’ve been doing research online about infidelity. Now I’m more scared than ever that it’s true. Can you help me?”
“Well, I have one other major case I’m working on right now, but I think I can squeeze in some time to help you too.” I didn’t want her to know she was technically my first real client.
Harper let out a sigh of relief on the other end. “Thank you so much. Do I pay you before or after?
I hadn’t thought of this. “After. I’ll prepare a detailed bill at the end. Now, are you sure you want to do this? Because you may be right and I may just be confirming your worst fears.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I need to know for certain. He’s never going to fess up.”
“Okay, then. I need some information from you.” I pulled out a yellow legal pad and a purple gel pen. “I need to know where you live, where he works, what kind of car he drives, etcetera.”
Harper gave me all the information I needed to start working on her case and I told her I’d get back to her as soon as I could. Signing up my first real client had given me a burst of energy and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I at least dug around a little online to see what I could find out about Harper’s philandering husband.
I opened up the laptop again and opened up Facebook. I entered his name, Brad Reynolds, and there were six results in the Lexington, Kentucky area. But the second result was the only one who was “friends” with Harper Reynolds. I made a mental note that he hadn’t listed her as his wife, despite the fact that, according to her, they’d been married for nearly five years. I clicked on his profile and instantly noticed how attractive he was. Tan skin, dark brown hair with matching eyes. In his main profile picture, he had obviously cropped out a buddy because I could see a man’s arm wrapped around his neck, holding a beer in a disembodied right hand.
I clicked through the photos in his album and it was only after scrolling a couple of times that I finally came across a picture of whom I assumed was his wife, Harper. She wasn’t ugly…just not very pretty, either. Her long mousy brown hair was in desperate need of a good coat of color and a flat iron. She had a few too many freckles across her nose and cheeks and squinty eyes which barely showed when she smiled for the camera. I felt instantly sorry for her. With just a little more makeup and the right wardrobe, she might have actually been considered attractive.
Most of Brad’s photos were of himself and his drinking buddies. A few were somewhat decent scenery photos of landmarks in Kentucky. He had over one hundred pictures uploaded onto his page and I’d say maybe five or less featured Harper. Most happily married men would have more photos of their wife than that. But the fact he didn’t post many of her didn’t in and of itself amount to infidelity.
I scrolled through his timeline. There were a lot of posts which showed him playing golf and again, more posts of him and his buddies partying. There were also some work-related posts and according to his profile, he was a banker. But there was nothing scandalous or revealing. Then I stumbled across a post with a picture of Brad at what appeared to be an after-hours office party. The picture itself was rather innocuous, but what caught my attention was the comments section. The very first comment was posted by someone named Shelly Marie Turner. Her little avatar wasn’t a picture of her face. Instead it was a rainbow-colored flag. A lot of people had been changing their avatars exactly like hers following the momentous Obergfell v. Hodges decision which legalized gay marriage throughout the United States in July. Her comment read, “Someone had a few too many!” Brad’s immediate reply was “I’m a pro!” There were a few other comments by other co-workers and friends and then what really caught my eye was the next comment from Shelly. It read, “Not last Friday night,” referring to Brad’s comment about being able to hold his liquor well. After that, Brad posted a simple winking emoticon.
There was a personal feel to their comments to one another. Harper told me she thought it might be his secretary. Was Shelly his secretary?
I opened Shelly’s profile to see if she listed her place of employment. When her profile filled the screen, I was immediately taken back by what I saw. While her avatar was none too revealing, her cover photo bared all. It was a picture of her on the beach in a very well-filled-out red bikini. I still couldn’t see her face very well, though, so I opened up her photo album. The first picture was a close-up, and immediately I felt sorry for Harper. Shelly Marie Turner was one of the most stunning women I had ever seen. Her long golden-blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders. Her cat-like blue eyes were crystal clear and heavily lined with black eyeliner, and she was either wearing falsies or about ten layers of mascara. Her cheeks were well-defined with just the right amount of blush and her lips were almost pornographic, covered with a heavy, wet pink gloss. At the very least, Brad had a very beautiful, movie-star-quality “friend” at work. But I had to determine if this was his secretary. Then it hit me.
I opened up a new Google page and typed in the name of Brad’s bank. I clicked on the link for the only branch in Lexington and up came the bank’s company profile page. Across the top were links labeled: About, Services, Hours & Locations, and Staff Profiles. I clicked on Staff Profiles and opened the page. Brad’s profile was the third from the top. It listed his position as VP Marketing, and showed his contact information. I kept scrolling almost all the way to the bottom until I finally found Shelly Turner’s picture. She looked a lot more professional in this photo, wearing a black suit jacket with a pink camisole peeking out, struggling to cover her ample breasts. Her hair was brushed back behind her shoulders revealing a black diamond statement necklace. The title under her picture was Administrative Assistant and her contact information was listed as well. I jotted down her work phone number as well as her email address on my legal pad…just in case.
One last thing to do before calling it a night. I opened up another blank search page and entered in “Shelly Marie Turner, Lexington, Kentucky.” The first result was, of course, her Facebook page, which I’d already seen. Next was her Instagram account. On it were tons of pictures of her black lab, Trixie, as well as pictures of her and her friends at various social events. The third result was a WhitePages.com profile. Not many people have landlines these days, which makes locating people using the white pages a lot more difficult. But good old Shelly must have had a landline, because I found a match for her address. She lived on Whispering Oaks Boulevard in Lexington. I wrote down her address with my other notes.
So far, I’d found nothing to confirm Brad was sleeping with Shelly, or anyone for that matter, but it was glaringly obvious he was, at the very least, on very friendly terms and socializing with his extremely attractive secretary. I would have to do a lot more digging, and probably some gumshoe, to find the evidence Harper was seeking, but it was a start.
***
The next day, after having coffee with Mom at the kitchen count
er, I shoved my laptop and legal pad into my black leather briefcase leftover from my paralegal days, and headed out the door. When I got into my car, thankful I had chosen to drive to Kentucky this time so I had my Kia Sorento instead of having to drive Mom’s minivan around, I picked up my cell phone and called Harper. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi Harper, it’s Libby Carter.”
“Hey, Libby. Thanks for calling. Have you found anything yet?”
“No, not really. I just did some initial research last night. In fact, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh, no…”
“No, no. Nothing bad so far. I just thought I’d do a little leg work today. Is Brad home this morning?”
“No,” Harper sighed into the receiver. “It’s Saturday. He always plays golf on Saturday.”
“Do you know where?”
“Highpoint in Nicholasville. It’s almost always Highpoint. We live in Nicholasville, so he goes there because it’s close to home. Plus, it’s cheaper than some of the others. You don’t have to have a membership. We don’t have the money for membership at any of those fancy clubs.”
“I live in Nicholasville too,” I told her without thinking. The truth was that I used to live there. At the moment, I was living with Mom in Richmond until I found another place to rent in Nicholasville, but I was trying to keep things as professional as possible, so I didn’t feel the need to go into the gory details of my personal life. “Is he there now?”
“Should be. Why? What are you going to do?”
“Well, if it’s okay with you, I think the best way for me to find out what’s really going on is to follow him. But that’s only if you’re okay with it.”
“I don’t see why not.” She let out a long, deep sigh.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. No. It’s just…I know I’m doing the right thing. And I do want you to find out what’s going on…but I don’t know what I’m going to do if it turns out I’m right.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Let me see what I can find out and I’ll call you back.”
***
I arrived in Nicholasville right around ten a.m. It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized what a silly plan it had been. Highpoint had eighteen holes and was spread over several acres of prime Jessamine County real estate, so how did I think I was going to casually catch a glimpse of Brad? I didn’t have the first clue how to play golf, so I couldn’t walk the course without sticking out like a bastard at a family reunion. But just when I was about to leave and come up with a better plan of action, I caught a glimpse of a man and woman walking out of the large white Colonial-style building which must have been the clubhouse. It didn’t take long to recognize Brad and Shelly, thanks to my internet sleuthing the night before. Brad was wearing short khakis with a light blue polo-style shirt and Shelly was wearing very short white shorts and a tiny black tank top. They weren’t holding hands or canoodling, but there was no one else with them. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a couple quick pictures, glad I had recently upgraded to an iPhone 6.
Brad must have said something funny because Shelly threw her pretty head back and laughed so loud I could hear her from where I was parked two rows back. She slapped him playfully on his chest. I could just imagine her saying, “Oh, stop, Brad. You’re too funny!”
He bumped her with his hip and she nearly stumbled. Brad shot his hand out instinctively and caught her around the waist. I snapped a picture. So far, nothing concrete, but I certainly wouldn’t have felt comfortable if it were my husband teasing affectionately with a woman who looked like Shelly. Then I remembered the pain I had felt when I found out Ryan had been cheating on me before he died. I instantly felt horrible for Harper, but I truly believed, after what I had been through, that it’s better to know what’s really going on than to walk around like a naïve doormat.
I watched as Brad opened the trunk of his Altima, threw in his golf clubs, and shut it back. He held up his finger at Shelly and then put his phone to his ear. I couldn’t hear anything other than mumbling from inside my car but I knew it was Harper he was calling when he put his finger to his lips so Shelly wouldn’t say anything and blow their cover. Shelly’s hand flew to her pouty lips and covered them. When he hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket, he brushed Shelly’s hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. I snapped a couple more pictures.
Brad walked around and opened the passenger-side door. Shelly followed him and slithered onto the passenger seat. From my angle, I could still see her, even once she was completely inside the car. Then Brad leaned in with his arm propped up on the door frame and kissed Shelly full on the mouth. It was a quick peck on the lips, but it was all I needed. I took a picture just in time. Brad closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He leaned over and kissed Shelly again, this time lingering a bit longer, and I snapped again. The Altima backed out of the parking spot and started to leave the lot.
I waited until his car was turning left out onto the long driveway before I began to follow. This was my first real investigation and I wasn’t about to blow it by following too closely. When I felt the coast was clear, I pulled my Sorento out onto the driveway and followed at a safe distance.
Brad took a left out of the golf course, which told me he was not headed to Lexington, where I knew Shelly lived. I wondered where they could be going. I tried to keep no more than one or two cars between us as I followed them down Union Mill Road and then right onto Main Street. We passed the police-fire station, which brought back too many unpleasant memories from earlier this year. I had been interrogated a number of times about the summer’s events, including Ryan’s murder, his girlfriend’s murder, and my killing of Merle Jackson. I prayed to God I’d never have to set foot in that building again.
Brad’s car turned left off of Main Street and into a hotel. One of only three in Nicholasville. Of the three, it was the nicest, a Howard Johnson built sometime in the last ten years or so. When Brad pulled the Altima up into the breezeway and parked, I parked my car in a spot which would give me the best view without being noticed. I snapped a couple more pictures as Brad got out and walked into the lobby.
I watched as Shelly pulled down the visor and applied another layer of what I knew would be shiny pink lip gloss. What a whore, I thought. Didn’t she know Brad was married? Of course she did, because they worked together. I felt protective of Harper, even though I had only talked to her twice on the phone. Perhaps it was because of what I had been through with Ryan’s affair—some sort of twisted sorority for wives with good-for-nothing cheating husbands. In this sorority, we all know that the other woman is nothing but a husband-stealing whore. Nothing else about them mattered. Maybe once upon a time they were nice, respectable women, but the moment they decided to spread their legs for a married man, they were reduced to the worst kind of cheap slut with no remorse or consideration for the woman whose heart she was breaking. The least I could do for Harper was to reveal Brad for the scoundrel he was, so hopefully she could get on with her life.
Brad returned to the car with a hotel keycard in his hand, which he handed to Sherry as soon as he sat back behind the wheel. He pulled his car out of the breezeway and I watched as he drove around the side of the building. Slowly, I crept forward in my own car until I spotted his pulling into a spot in the back of the building. The cheaters got out of Brad’s car and walked hand-in-hand into the back door after swiping the keycard. I took three final pictures before the door shut behind them and they disappeared from my view.
Relieved I had completed my first stealth mission without being detected, I leaned my head back against the headrest and breathed a sigh of relief. After I got my heart rate back down to a normal rhythm again, I flipped through the pictures I had taken just to make sure they came out clearly. There was no mistaking the story the pictures told. Harper had been right. It was very cliché. Her husband was cheating on her with his secretary. Now came the
hard part.
I phoned Harper and she answered again on the first ring.
“Did you find him?”
I was more nervous than I thought I’d be. Sure, I didn’t know Harper from Adam, but we were sorority sisters now and I knew I was about to break her heart.
“Yes,” I said finally. “Can you meet me somewhere and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Sure. But just tell me first. Was I right?”
I hesitated. As if somehow I could delay the inevitable heartbreak for her, even if it was just for a few more seconds. But then I remembered what my mom had always told me. Like a Band-Aid. Just rip it right off.
“Yes, unfortunately, you were.”
There was silence on the other line. I guess I expected her to lose her shit right then and there but she didn’t. She just sighed and said, “Copper River. Give me fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 4
Copper River was one of only a handful of places to eat in the small town of Nicholasville. The chain restaurant nestled on the bypass had opened when they built a new shopping center about three years back. Finally, residents of Nicholasville had somewhere nice to sit and eat. Everyone was burned out on Applebee’s.
I arrived before Harper, since I had been only a few minutes away at the Howard Johnson, so I went ahead and had the hostess take me to a booth in the back. I remembered my note to check Shelly Turner’s Instagram account on my phone. I searched her name on the app and found her account, but it was marked private, so I couldn’t see any of her posts without sending her a request, which I obviously didn’t want to do. Then I checked my personal Facebook page and saw that I had three new friend requests, none of whom I knew. I declined them all. I didn’t Facebook very much and preferred to limit the number of “friends” I maintained.
Harper arrived about ten minutes after me. She threw her large knock-off red Chanel bag into the seat and scooted onto the booth directly across from me.
Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2) Page 3
