Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 3) (5 page)

Chapter 7

When I got back to the room by quarter to five, the water was running in the bathroom, and Max's clothes were strewn about the floor. I made a beeline for the closet, placed the envelope of cash in the safe, and locked it. Then, I stripped off my clothes and joined Max in the shower.

“Well, I wasn't expecting this,” he said, his hair coated with shampoo. “But I'm not complaining.”

I kissed him for a long time as the water fell over our heads and bodies. It was the first chance we'd had to connect, and I needed to feel that we were still okay.

After the shower – and a delicious twenty-minute roll in the hay – we finally got dressed. Max actually seemed more chipper.

“We need to do something fun tonight,” he said, watching me in the mirror as I applied make-up. “Why don't I take you out to dinner? Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere cozy and quiet.”

“There's a marina down the street,” he said. “Only a ten-minute walk. I was thinking we could have dinner, and on the way back here we could stop at Jennifer's place to check on her.”

My stomach clenched. “Check on Jennifer? You know where she lives?”

Max was buttoning up his shirt and didn't make eye contact. “Yeah, she showed me her place when I first got to Florida.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You're still worried about her, aren't you? She's a big girl, you know. She seemed fine when she left here this afternoon.”

“I know, but I feel bad. She's … well, she's not a strong person like you, Sarah. She had a tough childhood.”

“Who hasn't?” I replied. “We all have issues.”

“I know, but Jenn is … more fragile than most.”

“Fragile?” I breathed in and out my nose, and bit my tongue. I had to remind myself that Max was a compassionate person. It was one of the reasons I fell for him. “So why is Jenn so
fragile
?”

Max came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck. “You're not jealous are you?”

“Nah,” I said, struggling to sound lighthearted. “I'm not the jealous type.”

He spun me around and cupped my face in his warm hands. “You have nothing to worry about. Now, let's go get something to eat.

* * *

We dined at an outdoor table at the marina, overlooking the mega yachts in the harbor. We witnessed a stunning sunset that turned the sky various shades of pink, purple and crimson while we stuffed our faces with gilled grouper and wild rice with vegetables.

Everything was perfect, except for the fact that Max kept checking his cell phone during dinner. And even into dessert, he seemed distracted.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. “Are you expecting a call or something?” I asked over my plate of key lime pie.

Max looked up with an apologetic expression. “Sorry. I sent Jenn a text about two hours ago and she hasn't responded.”

“Maybe she's sleeping.”

“She always gets right back to me.”

“Always? You mean when you dated her years ago?”

Max shrugged and placed the phone on the table. “How's the dessert?”

My cheeks burned with frustration at Max's deft attempt to avoid my question, but it wasn't worth an argument. “Pretty good, you should have some of yours.”

Max stood up from the table. “In a minute. Excuse me, need to take a leak.”

“By all means,” I replied.

After he left, I tried to convince myself that Max's concern for Jenn was nothing more than a desire to feel needed. Jennifer supposedly needed him right now. But I needed him, too.

Perhaps if I were to sprain an ankle, I'd get a dose of his undivided attention. But then again, we'd just made love in the shower. He was very attentive. So what did I have to complain about?

The table started to vibrate and I noticed a text was coming in on Max's phone. Instinctively, I reached over to grab it, to stop the vibrating sound that had caused a few diners to look over with annoyed expressions. I had no intention of reading the text, but there it was and I couldn't stop myself. A message from Jennifer:

Thanks for the talk today. I feel much better getting things off my chest.

I'm so glad I can trust you. Please don't worry about me.

I'm going to be fine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Max heading back to our table. I quickly placed his phone back, in the same spot he'd left it. I held my breath as he took his seat.

“I think someone just text you,” I said, nonchalantly, continuing to eat my pie.

He glanced at his phone and smiled. “Oh, good.”

“Who was it?” I asked, all innocent.

“Jenn,” he said with a sigh of relief. “She's fine.”

“Great. Maybe now you can relax and enjoy your dessert.”

It was dark when Max and I walked back to the condo, hand in hand. There was no talk of going to Jenn's house and I was thankful for small miracles, but he wasn't being himself. I wanted to ask him what he and Jenn had talked about alone in the room while I'd been at Brook's. What had Jennifer shared with him? Why did she need to get off her chest?

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “You mentioned earlier that Jenn is fragile. What does that mean, exactly?”

He didn't look at me, just stared straight ahead with a contemplative expression. “Well, it's mostly to do with her mom, I guess.”

“Why? What happened with her mom?” I asked gently.

“She committed suicide about twenty years ago. Jenn was only sixteen.”

I cringed. “Well, no wonder you're so worried about her. That's awful. Did she tell you why her mother took her own life?”

He hesitated. “Several reasons. One being that Jenn had a lot of health problems when she was younger. She was seriously allergic to peanuts, almost died once after she accidentally had a granola bar with small traces of peanut. She had to have emergency surgery. Her mom could barely afford health insurance, let alone pay the regular bills. The stress was overwhelming, being a single parent.”

“Jeez. How could someone kill themselves, especially with a child? Did Jenn go to a foster family until she turned eighteen?”

“Yeah. That was not a good situation, either. I'd rather not get into it, if you don't mind.”

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his hand affectionately.

We were back in the room by nine o'clock. I slipped into my nightshirt and proceeded to the bathroom for my nightly rituals: face washing, tooth brushing, and moisturizing. When I emerged from the steamy bathroom ten minutes later, Max was already in bed fast asleep.

I lounged on the balcony alone in the dark, watching the lights of ships out on the horizon. At 10:05, I got the text from Carter. He had arrived at Ocean Terrace, and was in his room. We made plans to meet in the restaurant located in the back lobby the next morning at nine.

Chapter 8

I woke up around seven o'clock, but Max was gone. In the kitchen, there was a note waiting for me on the table.

Morning,

Andrew called early this morning. I guess I still have a job. Anyway, I didn't want to wake you so early, you looked like you were sleeping soundly. I'm sorry I was so weird last night. I think I'm still in shock over Dennis. Let's try our romantic dinner again tonight. I promise I'll be present this time.

Love,

Max

It felt like a weight had been lifted. I kissed the letter, then placed it back on the table.

After a quick shower, I put on my usual work attire: jeans, basic cotton button-down shirt, and sneakers. No time to blow dry my hair, so I combed it up in a ponytail. A little lipstick and mascara were all I had time to apply to my pale face.

Carter had already set up shop at a table in the restaurant; an opened laptop sat in front of him as he intently clicked away on the keyboard.

His thick, grey hair was slicked back, still wet, probably from a shower. His eyebrows – darker than his hair shade – made him look younger than his fifty-four years.

I was surprised to see him wearing the same black, leather jacket and jeans he always wore, better suited to the colder New England weather. His toned physique was the envy of most middle-aged guys, but Carter was not the type to go to a gym. I had no idea how he stayed in tip-top shape, but it most likely involved push-ups and sit-ups on a daily basis. I couldn't picture him in shorts and running shoes.

“Hey, it's Florida,” I called out as I approached his table. “Why don't you ditch the leather?”

He smiled when he looked up. “You're late.”

“Thanks for noticing. I figured you'd want to sleep in after your long flight last night.”

“Couldn't sleep, so I've been here drinking coffee since this place opened at six. Coffee's not half bad.”

Once I took my seat, I leaned over to glance at his laptop screen. “Find anything interesting about Angela Foster, yet?”

Carter gestured to the screen. “Not really. She's never been arrested, but I think I was able to find her current address.”

“That's a good start,” I said. “But I'm still not sure Angela is the blackmailer. I was thinking we should go to the airport where the money drop took place. There must be security cameras covering that area, don't you think?”

He nodded while closing his laptop. “Makes sense. Want some coffee or breakfast before we head out?”

“Sure, coffee is definitely in order.”

He signaled to the waitress and she promptly brought over a mug.

“When do I get to meet the client?” Carter asked.

“Sometime today. But I can tell you right now, you're not going to like Brook.”

He looked up, confused. “Why not?”

I chuckled. “She's beautiful, and she uses it to her advantage. She basically came out and admitted that she married Dennis for his money. Here, listen to this.” I retrieved my cell phone and the recording of my conversation with Brook.

Carter listened intently, casting glances my way every now and then. “I'm not happy about the fact that she won't tell us who she was having an affair with. That could be the biggest clue as to who set her up.”

“I know,” I replied. “But as you can hear from the conversation, she's adamant about keeping it a secret.”

Carter closed his laptop and slid it back into his leather satchel. “So, how's Max?”

“Good. He's a little shaken up over Dennis's sudden death, but besides that, he's fine. It's been pretty awkward with his ex-girlfriend back in the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

I stared into my coffee mug and shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I didn't tell you. Max's ex worked for Dennis Foster. She's the one who got him the job here. Anyway, she's a nice person, but a little needy.”

Carter raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting.”

“I'd prefer to not talk about her.”

He chuckled. “Say no more. Shall we head over to the airport?”

I finished my coffee. “Yep. Let's go.”

Chapter 9

Mr. Wayne Byrne, Head of Airport Security at West Palm Beach Airport, invited us into his office, a cramped space with no windows that smelled of tuna fish. He was a pudgy man of about sixty, with an obvious and ill-fitting black toupee. “What can I help you folks with today?” he asked, not bothering to offer us a seat.

Carter cleared his throat as he reached into his back pocket. He flipped open his wallet and showed the man some I.D; Carter's private detective license, which was interesting considering Carter didn't have one.

“
My partner and I would greatly appreciate your assistance in a case we're working on,” Carter said to the man. “We have reason to believe an unreported crime was committed near baggage claim three on March fifteenth, at approximately ten o'clock in the morning. We were hoping you'd allow us to view footage from a security camera you have set up near the ladies restroom in that area.”

Wayne stroked his chin, giving Carter a narrowed look. “What kind of crime are we talking about? And why was it never reported?”

Carter smiled. “Our client claims she is a victim of blackmail. She left a bag of money in the ladies room, and we'd like to see who picked it up. Our client is very connected in this town, and I'm sure if you were to assist us, well, let's just say she's a good person to have on your side.”

Wayne appeared to think it over while tapping his pen on the desk. “Who is she?”

Carter gave me a quick glance before returning his gaze to Wayne. “We can't share that information with you until we see the tape.”

Wayne stared at us for a few moments, probably trying to assess his options. Finally, he stood up from his desk. “Follow me.”

He led us to an adjoining room where another uniformed man sat at a large computer. The two men spoke to one another briefly. Within a minute, Wayne invited us to view the screen. The time stamp on the video showed
9:55 3.15.14.

“
There's no sound on this particular camera,” Wayne said. “Hope that's not a problem.”

Carter and I leaned over to watch the monitor closely. The camera angle was high, but we could make out the entrance of the restroom.

I pointed to the strawberry blonde woman standing nearby who was holding a large leather briefcase in her arms like a baby. “That's Brook,” I whispered to Carter.

We continued to watch the footage as Wayne looked on from behind us. He was probably eager to find out who the “high profile” woman was, but he remained quiet.

At exactly 10:00, we watched Brook enter the ladies room. She was only inside for about a minute. When she came out, the briefcase was still in her hand, but presumably empty. She paused to look around, then quickly left the scene.

After Brook left, a woman and a little girl walked into the restroom with several pieces of luggage. Another woman of about sixty, with a rolling suitcase and a carry-on entered as well. A group of three young teenage girls, all with pink backpacks. Two elderly women, each with shoulder bags. And finally, a dark-haired woman with an oversized rolling suitcase big enough to fit a small human body inside.

“
Right there,” Carter pointed. “Could that be Angela wearing a brown wig?”

I looked closer but it was hard to tell. “Maybe. Can't really see her face.”

A few minutes passed and the brown-haired woman emerged from the bathroom. She didn't seem in a hurry at all. She checked her phone, then meandered off, with the suitcase trailing behind her. She kept her face down, never once giving us the chance to see her face.

The video continued, and after the brown-haired woman left, only a few other people went in and out of the restroom. None of them resembled Angela in any way. Then finally, at 10:14, a janitor dressed in a white uniform wheeled her custodial cart of cleaning supplies into the restroom. She was a large, black woman probably approaching retirement age.

“
The janitor would have emptied the trash,” Carter said. “So our blackmailer must have come and gone before this point.” He turned to Wayne. “Any chance we could get a copy of this footage?”

Wayne hesitated, then eventually gave a shrug. “I suppose there's no harm in it.”

When we got to Carter's rental, I gave Brook a call but she didn't answer. I left a message saying that we'd obtained a copy of the airport surveillance. Could we get together so she could view it?

Carter started the engine. “While we wait for her to get back to us, why don't we check out Angela's apartment? I already have it plugged into the GPS.”

“
Sure,” I said. “Why not.”