Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) (20 page)

Chapter 15

It was almost 11:00 when I got to the waffle house where Bridget worked. I had called ahead and found out she got off her shift at noon.

Starving, I decided to go inside and sit at a booth. The table was sticky, probably from spilled maple syrup that didn’t get fully washed down after the last customer.

“Do you know what you'd like to order, ma'am?”

I looked up from the menu and eyed the waitress who looked like a Pilgrim in her drab brown uniform with white, frilly apron.
I glanced at the name embroidered on her sleeve – Bridget.

There was a dumpy quality to her, as if she'd given up trying to be attractive. No make-up or jewelry
, and her hair had that greasy sheen, as if she'd neglected to wash it for days. Her bluish-grey eyes seemed glazed over.

I set the menu aside and smiled at her. “I'd like two poached eggs on rye toast, please.”

She didn't bother writing it down. “Bacon or sausage?”

“No thanks,” I said. “But I'd love some black coffee.”

She gave a curt nod but didn't look me in the eye. “Yeah,” she said. “I'll be right back with a fresh pot.”

As she sauntered away toward the kitchen, I got the impression that Bridget didn't like her job, or simply wasn't a people person. Maybe she’d been cute in high school, but the past three years had not been kind to her.

When she returned with my food, I tried to engage her in idle chitchat, but she only responded with one word answers. Clearly, she was not concerned about a good tip.

While I ate, I observed Bridget interact with the other customers. She treated everyone with the same, indifferent manner
, like she was on autopilot, or just extremely tired.

The eggs were a bit runny for my taste, but I devoured the whole plate and the rest of my coffee without complaint. The bill only came to $7.25
, but I left a twenty on the table and got up to leave. She didn't deserve the generous tip, but I hoped it would soften her up for later.

I waited outside in my car for the next twenty minutes until her shift ended.  Sure enough, at eleven sharp, Bridget came waltzing out of the restaurant, still dressed in her waitress attire. She was counting a wad of dollar bills as she waited by the curb.

I got out of my car and approached her.

“Bridget?” I called out.

She stopped and turned to face me with an irritated expression. “Yeah?”

“Hey, do you have a few minutes?”

She looked me up and down as a hint of recognition flashed in her eyes. “If you have a complaint about the food, go talk to George. He's the manager.”

“My breakfast was fine. I wanted to talk to you about a different matter concerning Bob Owens.”

At the mention of his name, her eyes got wide and she almost dropped the money in her hands. “What about him?”

“Look, can we go somewhere private and talk?”

She scanned the surrounding area with unease. “I can't. My boyfriend is on his way to pick me up.”

“This will just take a minute. I really need your help, Bridget
.”

Her expression softened a bit
, and she motioned for me to follow her to a picnic table near the back of the lot where dozens of cigarette butts littered the ground. It must have been the smoking spot for employees.

Bridget perched on the edge of the table and reached into her purse for a cigarette and lighter. “Who are you?”

“My name is Sarah Woods and …” I paused to consider telling her the truth, but decided it wasn't a good idea. A version of the truth would have to be enough. “You see, I have a friend. She's been dating Bob Owens, and she recently found out about the lawsuit.”

Bridget lit her cigarette and took a few puffs, her hand shaking slightly. “I'm not supposed to talk about that.”

“I've read the documents, and I know that you got paid to keep quiet. But I'd like to hear your side of the story if you want to tell me.”

She looked away. “I can't.”

“I know it must be difficult to talk about it, and I certainly don't want to cause you any more pain, but has Bob contacted you recently?”

Bridget flicked the ash from her cigarette. “Nope.”

“Do you know if there were other girls he molested?”

She paused and regarded me with a blank expression. “How should I know?”

“Did you and Bob have something going on?” I asked delicately. “Were you two involved intimately? Students fall in love with teachers. It probably happens more than you know.”

She shook her head. “He forced himself on me. I didn’t want that.”

“Did you go to the police?” I asked. “Did they perform a rape kit?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, this time more forcefully. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

My heart clenched at her tormented expression. What right did I have to drudge up a past that she desperately wanted to forget? I wondered if the ten thousand dollars she'd received would ever come close to rectifying the constant nightmares she must endure. Too bad she hadn't taken that money to further her education, and instead, working for peanuts at a waffle house.

“I'm really sorry,” I said. “I shouldn't have bothered you with this. Perhaps your friend, Dana Clark
, would be willing to speak to me. She was listed as a witness in the lawsuit.”

She stood up from the picnic table and peered down at me one last time. “Why does it matter anymore? Nobody cared back then. Why should anyone care now?”

“I care,” I said. “You can tell me what happened. You can trust me.”

She paced back in forth, cigarette between her bony fingers. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“I understand,” I said. “Just one more question, if I may. Were you upset with Bob when he kicked you off the soccer team?”

She glared at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm. “What does
that
have to do with anything?”

At that moment, I heard the sound of a loud muffler chugging up the street
, and a rusty-looking motorcycle pulled up to the curb. The driver wasn't wearing a helmet. He was young, probably early twenties like Bridget. He had a long, crooked nose and beady eyes. His dark hair was cut short like a marine. He wore a tight, grease-stained t-shirt.

“Jesus, Bridge, let's go,” the guy yelled out with an exaggerated hand gesture. “I
told
you to be ready when I got here.”

Bridget grabbed her purse, rushed over to the bike, and hopped on.

“Excuse me,” I said to the guy when I approached his bike. “Please don't be upset with Bridget. I asked her if she'd give me a few minutes.”

He gave me a slightly annoyed glance. “Sure, whatever.” He revved the engine, just to show me how inconvenienced he was. The engine made a loud sputtering noise and backfired.

I handed Bridget one of my cards with my name and number on it. “Please call me if you ever want to talk. I'm a good listener.”

She slipped the card into her purse and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Look, I appreciate your kindness,” she said in a hollow voice, “
but I already told you everything I can. You don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”

“No, of course not,” I said.

“Then just pretend you never talked to me, okay? Please, just leave me alone.”

I backed away from the bike and stood there at the side of the road. “Okay, Bridget. But you have my number in case you change your mind.”

She didn’t respond to my parting words, and as they sped away from the curb, I figured I’d probably never hear from her.

Chapter 16

After my visit with Bridget, I went home and spent the next hour typing the report for Kathy Woodward.

As for Dick McKenzie, I simply stated in the report that he appeared to have some fetishes with sex toys and women’s clothing. Kathy could make up her own mind as to whether those compulsions were a deal breaker or not.

Travis Miller was easy. His money issues seemed pretty serious, but nothing that couldn’t be rectified by getting a decent job in the near future.

But Bob Owens was a tough one. What would I say about him? Should I mention the rape allegations? Wasn’t I obligated to?

Maybe, if
I had just one more day, I could go back and attempt another chat with Bob’s ex-wife.

Was there anyone else I could find who’d be willing to talk to me? An employee from the sporting goods store? Another coach from the high school?

In the end, I decided to stick only with the facts as I knew them. Bob was accused of molesting an eighteen-year-old girl but was never arrested or found guilty by a jury. In a civil suit, he settled out of court by paying the girl ten thousand dollars to keep quiet. Maybe Carter was right. If Bob paid the girl, he’s probably guilty of something.

When I finished the report
, I printed out the three pages and stuffed them into an envelope. I only wished I could have felt a little more satisfaction at the end of this job. But at least it was done.

* * *

Later that afternoon when I walked into Kathy Woodward's office, she was sitting at her desk, barking orders at someone on her phone. I waited patiently, pretending to admire her wall of fame
– dozens of degrees and accolades. Most lawyers were egomaniacs, but they were good to have around when you needed them.

When Kathy hung up the phone, she beckoned me to take a seat. “Sarah, thanks for coming by. Can I have Rita get you something to drink? Have a seat.”

“No thanks, I'm fine.” I didn’t take the chair. I didn’t want to get comfortable. Maybe it was just nerves, but I felt like standing.

“So?” She eyed the file in my hand. “Is that your report?”

“Yes. All my notes and observations on the three men, plus an itemized bill for the hours Carter and I worked. Have a look.”

Kathy smiled and tossed the envelope on her desk. “How much do I owe you,
Sarah?”

“Don't you want to read the report first?”

“Not particularly. I've got too much work right now. Maybe you could give me a brief synopsis.” She glanced up at me and raised her eyebrows. “Have you found good reasons for me not to see any of these men again?”

“Well,” I said, “
that's for
you
to judge. Each of them has his strengths and weaknesses … ”

She put a hand up to stop me. “Never mind, I get it.
What you're basically telling me is that these guys are a waste of my time.”

I shook my head. “Not exactly. When you read my report, you'll have to decide for yourself.”

She tapped the manila envelope with her pen. “It's not that I don't appreciate your efforts. In fact, I'm happy to pay you for all your hard work, but I'm getting the feeling that you really don't approve of any of these guys. Am I right?”

“My approval shouldn't matter. I'm not the one who
’s dating them.”

Kathy chuckled at that. “Well, it looks like I won’t be dating any of them either. I just found out this morning that my firm
might be re-locating to Virginia. It’s not a done deal yet, but if it happens, the move will take place next month, and there’s too much work to be done until then. There’s no point in starting a relationship if I’m moving, right?”

I was too stunned to say anything.

“What do I owe you, Ms. Woods? I'll have my secretary write you a check.”

“You don't owe me anything,” I said after an uncomfortable pause. “The two grand you paid up front covers everything.”

“Well, then.” Kathy stood up with a pleasant smile and held out her hand. “Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

* * *

When I got back to my car, I called Carter.

“You'll never believe it,” I told him. “The client isn't going to bother reading the report. She just found out that her firm is moving out of state. All the work we did was for nothing.”

“Who cares,” Carter replied. “We got paid.”

He had a good point. “I'm relieved, actually. I thought she was going to be disappointed.”

“Well, it's over now,” he said
. “On to better things, right?”

I paused. “It's not over for me, Carter.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This business with Bob Owens. If Bridget was raped, there are probably other girls who are too afraid to speak out. Maybe Bob isn't coaching girls
’ soccer anymore, but he has young girls working for him at the store. He could still be doing it.”

“It's none of our business anymore,” Carter said resolutely.

“But don't you think we have a responsibility? We have nothing else going on at the moment.”

Carter sighed. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“I want to get in touch with Dana Clark, the witness listed in the lawsuit. And maybe talk to one of Bob’s employees at the store.”

“Listen, Sarah,” Carter said in a slow, calm voice. “Don’t go back to the store. If Bob sees you, the gig is up. Let me go and see what I can find out, okay?”

“Fine. But promise me we'll get together tomorrow and figure out a plan.”