Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) (18 page)

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 th
an 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 each 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.

I quickly vacuumed the carpet, dusted the lamps, and wiped down the dresser. Time to move on to the small office room located next to the master bedroom. A closed laptop computer sat on a desk connected to a printer/fax machine and one large filing cabinet under the desk.

I sat down at the desk and opened the laptop. I couldn't access anything without a password. I typed in his daughter's name, K E L L Y. Access denied. I tried his ex-wife's name R E B E C C A. Access denied. I decided not to chance a third wrong guess, so I gently closed the laptop in defeat.

The filing cabinet under the desk was locked, of course. Good thing I brought along my set of lock
picks.

Not yet a master of lock picking, it took me almost ten minutes to get the thing opened. But just as I was about to slide the drawer out, I heard a noise that stopped me in my tracks. I got to my feet and looked around the room, heart beating wildly.

I stood very still, wondering where the sound had come from. Finally, I walked to the door and peered into the hallway. Kelly's bedroom door was ajar, the music off.

Where had she gone?

I rushed over to the window and saw Bob and Kelly in the backyard. They seemed to be having an argument. Kelly stomped her foot while making wild hand gestures. Bob pointed a rigid finger at her face.

I decided to use the opportunity to my advantage. I hurried back to the filing cabinet and thrust open the drawer.

I scanned the files – utilities, mortgage, vehicles, travel, appliances – but way in the back, there was one folder that had no title. I pulled it out.

Inside were official
-looking documents. After taking a few moments to scan them, it became apparent that this was some kind of court settlement between Bob Owens and a woman named Brigit Charmaine. There was no time to sit and read the whole file, so I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and took photos of each page.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:55. Almost an hour had gone by
, and I hadn't even finished cleaning the upstairs. And that's when I heard the footsteps on the carpeting, and I froze for a second. Dammit! I prayed it was only Kelly going back to her room.

I returned the folder to the filing cabinet and made sure to close it up tightly. Then I grabbed the duster and started to swipe the furniture just as Bob entered the room.

“Wow,” he said with a smile. “This house has never smelled so good. How are things going?”

“Great,” I said, a little out of breath. “I'm just about done with the upstairs.”

His eyebrows knit together with concern. “If you need a break, I could get you a glass of water or a soda, or something.”

I shook my head and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was drenched with sweat. “I'm fine
. It's just a little warm, that's all.”

“I can turn the AC on,” he said. “Or we can open some windows.”

“Not necessary. I'm sure it'll be cooler downstairs.” I grabbed the vacuum and the bucket of rags.

“Here, why don't I help you.” He took the vacuum out of my hand
, and I followed him down the carpeted stairs to the TV room.

“Thank you,” I said. “I should only be another half an hour.”

“No rush. I'll be in the backyard if you need me.”

He disappeared
, and I was alone once again. I sat on the sofa and breathed deeply, trying to calm my nerves. I wiped my face with a clean towel and got back to work.

I finished around 12:45. My back ached like crazy from all the bending over. How in the world could anyone do
this
full time? Giving massages was backbreaking work, but nothing compared to cleaning houses.

But I had to admit, the house looked fantastic.

I loaded my car back up with all the supplies, then went to fetch Bob, who was still in the backyard.

He was clearly impressed when he walked into the kitchen. “Sarah, you're an angel,” he said, face beaming. “Feels like a new home.”

“Glad you like it. Sorry it took me longer than expected.”

He reached into his back pocket and handed me a twenty. “Here's a little something extra.”

“But the first cleaning is complimentary.”

“Please take it, I'll be offended if you don't.”

So I took his money. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I turned to leave, but he cleared his throat.

“Um, Sarah?”

I turned around to look at him. His eyes bore into me. For a quick second, I thought something was wrong. “Yes?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but do you have plans for dinner tonight?”

Was he asking me out on a date? “I … I don't think I have plans.”

“Sorry,” he said, blushing. “I figured you weren't married because I didn't see a ring. But you probably have a boyfriend, right?”

I was a little flattered, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

He seemed to notice my hesitation and said, “There's a new place in town called Joseph's. I hear good things. Very relaxed atmosphere. We could meet there around seven. No pressure.”

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. It was another opportunity to get more information about his life. “Okay, sure. That sounds very nice, actually.”

He walked me to the door, seemingly very pleased with himself. “And I'd love to have you come back to clean on a regular basis. Maybe twice a month?”

“That would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Well, I guess I'll see you at seven?”

I nodded. “Yep. See you at seven.”

When I got back to my car, I called Carter, but he didn't answer his phone. I figured maybe he was still busy spying on Travis.

Chapter 12

It was 5:15 when I got home. I swallowed two Advil and hopped into the shower. It took me ten minutes to decide what to wear, not that it mattered.

My date with Bob Owens was strictly work related, but I couldn't help the feelings of guilt. I decided to send Max a text, letting him know the situation, just in case someone we knew saw me with another man and got the wrong idea.

I did my hair, put on a little make-up, and got dressed in a pair of black jeans with a casual silk top. No jewelry and no perfume. I didn't want to appear too eager.

I decided to download the pictures I took from Bob's file. There were seven in all
, and I printed out each one. I poured myself a glass of wine and got comfy on the sofa to read.

Bridget Charmaine vs. Bob Owens

Bob Owens was being sued by a woman named Bridget Charmaine, who was 18 years old at the time. She wanted ten thousand dollars for pain and suffering. She claimed Bob Owens had molested her, and she had a witness by the name of Dana Clark who was willing to testify. It never went to trial, however, because they settled out of court. The agreement was that Bob Owens would pay her ten grand if she promised to keep quiet about the whole thing. There were no details about the alleged rape, other than the date it happened – September 18, 2012.

I did a search on Bridget Charmaine with a special program – available only to licensed private investigators – and found that Bridget was currently living in Saco, Maine. Her phone number, address, and employment history were listed as well.

I wondered if Bob's wife had left him because of the allegations. And did Bob's daughter know about the lawsuit? If he were innocent, why would he settle out of court instead of going to trial to prove his innocence?

I remembered what the girl at the bakery said to me, that Mr. Owens used to coach girls’ soccer, so maybe Bridget Charmaine had been involved with the soccer team. She would have been a senior in high school in 2012. So, how many girls’ teams had he coached? Was Bridget the only girl he
had molested?

This also
brought to my mind his employees at the store and how young and cute they all were. A pattern was starting to form, and maybe Bob Owens had a thing for young girls.

I gathered the seven pages together, secured them with a paperclip, and placed them inside my desk for safekeeping. Carter would want to see them.

I noticed the time – 6:13. If I didn't get a move on, I'd be late for my date with Bob.

* * *

It was a cold and bitter evening, so typical for early May in New England. Good thing I wore my heavier rain jacket. It was a long walk from the parking garage to the restaurant.

Bob Owens was waiting for me just outside of Joseph's, dressed in dark jeans and a button-down shirt with a tan windbreaker.

“You could have waited for me inside,” I said.

“I like the fresh air.” He opened the door for me with a smile. “You look very nice.”

“Thanks. You look nice as well.”

The place was small and cozy, with candles at each table. A hostess seated us by a window overlooking the Piscataqua River.

Bob pulled my seat out for me, like a seasoned gentleman. I smiled, but found it difficult to look him in the eye before sitting down. “Thank you
,” I managed to say.

He must have sensed my unease as he took his own seat across from me. “You don't date a lot, do you?” he asked. “You seem nervous.”

I smiled bashfully. “It's true, I don't date much since my divorce.”

He nodded. “I understand. After my wife left, it took me almost two years to ask a woman out.”

That's because you like girls, not women, I thought.

“I joined one of those dating services,” I said, hoping he'd take the bait. “But I haven't spent much time on it yet.”

“Really?” He perked up with interest. “Which dating service?”

“Together4ever,” I said, making up a false name. “Or something like that.”

He scratched his head. “I've never heard of that one before. I'll have to check it out. Anyway, I've been trying the online dating thing, too. I've met a few nice people, but dating can be hard.”

The waitress suddenly appeared to take our drink order. Bob asked for a gin and tonic. I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir.

He proceeded to ask me questions about my life and work. I told him very little, just enough to keep him from getting suspicious. Truth is, I found it so difficult to relax around him. As much as I tried to sound interested in the conversation, all I wanted to do was go home. What did I expect, anyway? He certainly wouldn't come right out and confess to raping an eighteen-year-old girl. 

“Is everything okay, Sarah?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking at him. “My mind wanders sometimes.”

The waitress served our drinks
, then took our food order. When she left, Bob sipped his drink and gazed at me over the rim of his glass. He seemed to be waiting for me to talk.

“I know it's a bit uncouth to ask this question,” I said, staring into my wine. “But what happened with you and your ex?”

He raised his shoulders and let them drop. “Rebecca is a complicated woman.”

I laughed
and replied,. “All women are complicated, at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

H
e cracked a smile, but sadness lingered in his eyes. “She got remarried soon after the divorce to a meathead named Kyle. He used to be the gym teacher at my daughter’s high school and also had a boxing club that he operated off of school grounds. My ex-wife always hated boxing, saying it was too violent, so I have no idea why she fell for him.”

“Is he still the gym teacher at the high school
?” I asked.

Bob rolled his eyes. “Nah. They moved down to Newburyport after they got married. Now, he’s some kind of personal trainer at a fancy club.”

“Why did things go badly between you and Rebecca?” I asked.

“It’s a long story. She never really wanted to have kids. I sort of talked her into it. I always wanted to be a dad. Eventually, she gave in and we had Kelly, but …” Bob sighed. “We were always fighting. I think she resented me. I figured, as Kelly got older, things would get better. And maybe they would have if we
had stuck it out. Anyway, some other stuff happened that I’d rather not get into.”

“Did you cheat on her?” The question just slipped out
, and I regretted it.

He remained silent, head bent forward so I couldn't see his eyes. “Like I said, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I cheated on my husband,” I said, hoping my confession would inspire him to keep talking. “But my marriage was basically over many years before it happened,” I continued. “I'm not justifying my actions, but I'm only human. And so are you, Bob.”

He looked up with moist eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. You’re right. I'm sorry I brought it up.”

Our entrees were served a few minutes later
, and the conversation became strained as we picked at our meals.

I mentally slapped myself for jumping the gun on the ex-wife topic. I should have eased into it more casually. Now it seemed as if a barricade had come up between us. How could I break it down?

I asked him about his work, but he only replied with one word answers. When I inquired about his family, he said his mother was in a nursing home and his dad was deceased. His only sibling, an older brother, was living in Michigan and they barely spoke.

After the meal, the waitress asked if we'd like to see a dessert menu, but I declined. Bob asked for the check. I offered to leave a tip
, and he didn't object.

When we exited the restaurant, Bob didn't even offer to walk me to my car, so I just thanked him for dinner. It was an odd moment as we stood there in the dark like two awkward teenagers before their first kiss.

As I buttoned the top of my jacket for a long walk back to my car, it occurred to me that this was probably my last chance to confront him with the alleged rape. I wanted to give him the opportunity to give his side of the story.

“Bob,” I said, turning to face him straight on. “I have a confession to make. Before I came here tonight, I looked you up on the
Internet.”

He blinked at me, apparently lost for words.

“And,” I continued, “I found some troubling information concerning an eighteen-year-old girl. Allegations were that you molested her. Is this true, Bob, or just rumors?”

He swallowed hard as he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “Where did you find that information?”

“I … don't really remember.”

The muscles in his neck became tense as he took a step toward me. His nostrils flared. All of a sudden, his boyish charm and good looks vanished.

“You need to tell me where you got that information, right now,” he said, grabbing my arm.

I shook him away but stood my ground. “That's not important. The important thing is that I'm giving you a chance to explain what happened.”

He shook his head as his lips curled under his teeth. “You're lying. You didn't find anything on the Internet because there is nothing to find. So the only other explanation is that you broke into my filing cabinet at the house. Is that what you did?”

“Look, Bob,” I said in a calm, soothing tone. “I just want to hear your side. Were you in a relationship with that young girl? Maybe it was all a misunderstanding?”

His face turned beet red. “Why should I tell you anything? I barely know you, and I certainly don't trust you now.”

A couple walked out of the restaurant and passed us on the sidewalk. Once they were out of earshot, I turned to Bob and said, “I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I can tell you one thing
– I'm an objective person. And I know everyone makes mistakes. I deal with people's dirty laundry every day, so I see it all – the good, the bad, and the ugly. So, you don't have to go on the defensive. You can talk to me. Get stuff off your chest.”

His fists clenched
, and I wondered for a fleeting moment if he'd entertained the idea of hitting me. I was pretty sure he wouldn't try in a public place, but I kept my purse close to my side, just in case.

“If you talk to anyone about this,” he said in a low voice as he stared me down. “I'll press charges against you. So, I suggest you stay away from me and my daughter.”

“Okay,” I replied. “But just so you know, I'm not your enemy.”

“I have no idea who you are,” he said, pointing a rigid finger at my face.

“Good-night, Bob.” I pivoted on my heel and headed toward the parking garage. I kept a watchful eye to see if he’d follow me, but he didn’t.