An Act of Deceit: Book 2 of the Sarah Woods Mysteries (3 page)

     “What?”

     “He was hit by a van sometime after we left him yesterday.”

     “Run over?”

     “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

     Carter seemed to hesitate before responding. “Bad feeling about what?”

     “Do you think Janet,” I began, but wasn’t able to finish the thought.

     “Do I think Janet killed him? Is that what you’re asking me?”

     “Well, she was furious with him yesterday. We have no way of knowing what went down once we left.”

     “Sarah”—Carter sighed audibly—“you’re jumping to conclusions. People get hit by cars all the time. It was probably an accident.”

     “Yes, and sometimes angry, jealous wives are the ones who run them over.”

     There was a long pause and I began to feel doubtful. “Don’t worry about this,” he finally said. “I’ll find out what I can and call you back.”

     That was that, then. I walked back to the reception area. Sammy was typing on his laptop.

     He sensed my presence and turned around. “There you are. Just booked you another appointment for tomorrow. Business is starting to pick up.”

     “Thanks, Sammy.”

     “You don’t need to thank me. It’s my job.”

* * *

     By the time my last client left, I was feeling drained. It was hard to focus on work when I was so distracted. My hands were on autopilot while my brain tried to comprehend the whole ‘Marty’ situation. I felt guilty for not having devoted my total attention to my clients as I worked, but they didn’t seem to notice.

     As I was driving home around five, I remembered that I’d be eating alone again. I would have called Sammy and asked him to join me, but it was his bowling night. He belonged to a league and took it very seriously. I was glad one of us felt passionate about something.

     I pulled into the parking lot of a small deli. As I shut off the engine, I heard the phone ringing in my purse. I could tell by the ring it was the one Carter had given me. “Carter?”

     “Sarah, are you in the middle of something?”

     “No, why? Did you find out what happened to Marty?”

     “Not on the phone. Can you meet me?”

     “Yeah. I just stopped to grab a bite to eat, but it can wait.”

     “I’m just walking into the Main Street Diner. Meet me here.”

* * *

     Carter was seated in a booth at the far end of the diner, coffee in hand. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and his thick, grey hair looked like it could use a trim.

     “Special today is beef stew. Sound good to you?” he asked.

     “Sure, anything is fine. I’m starving.” I removed my jacket and settled onto the lumpy seat cushion. “So?”

     Carter took another sip of coffee and leaned back. “This has never happened before.”

     “You mean the spouse of a client winding up dead?”

     He nodded, shifted his position, and set the coffee cup down. “But there’s something else. It concerns Janet.”

     “Did she do it?”

     Carter chuckled, his attention focused somewhere over my shoulder. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

     “What?” I said, leaning in toward him.

     Carter stood. I turned just as Marty’s widow approached the booth and extended her hand to Carter.

     “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. I can’t stay long,” she said, scooting in beside Carter. Her skin was pale, face void of make-up, and her dark, curly hair hung limply around her bony face. “First, thank you for helping me yesterday. I know this may seem strange to you, but I loved my husband very much. I’ve known about his trysts for quite some time, but truly wanted to save our marriage. I had hoped a scene like the one yesterday would shock him into changing his ways.”

     I noticed her hands were shaking.

     “We’re very sorry about Marty,” Carter said, resting his hand on her arm. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

     “Marty and I made love yesterday afternoon after we talked. It was . . . well, it was the best sex we’ve had in a long time.” She looked away and wiped her eyes. “When we were done, Marty got dressed and said he was going out to get some dinner to bring back to the room. I was in the shower when he left. The next time I saw him was in the morgue.” She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head as tears fell.

     “What did the police say?” Carter asked.

     “The driver of the van never saw him walk out into the street. They said the man was driving at the speed limit, thirty-five miles an hour. They said Marty was killed instantly.” Her trembling hand brushed a stray hair away from her face.

     “Did the driver stop?”

     “Yes. He was the one who called 911. According to the police, the man was very upset. He said in his statement that he didn’t see my husband due to the heavy rain and the presence of several delivery trucks that were parked out front.”

     “Was Marty in a crosswalk?”

     “No. The nearest crosswalk was half a block away.

     Carter lifted his coffee mug and seemed to be studying it. “So, why’d you want to meet with us today?”

     “Because I want you to find out why Lance Harding killed my husband.”

     “Who?” Carter asked.

     “The driver of the van … his name is Lance Harding.”

     “Wait a minute. You just said it was an accident.” Carter squinted at her.

     “Did I?”

     “You said the driver felt awful.”

     “That’s what it was made to look like.” Janet’s gaze was fixed on Carter.

     “You think he hit him on purpose?”

     Janet’s voice became a whisper. “I was there when he was being questioned. He was acting all apologetic, but there was something off about him. I could see it in his eyes. He was lying.”

     “Do you know if he has a criminal record?”

     “I really don’t know.”

     “Okay,” Carter said, “I don’t get it.”

     “I swear to you, this guy is not right.” Janet shook her head. “I don’t trust him.”

     “Listen, Janet”—Carter rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder—“I think what you’re feeling right now is common. You want Marty’s death to make sense. Your brain is refusing to believe that a simple mistake could lead to such a tragic end for Marty. And I understand that. But he probably became distracted as he walked out into the street. It happens.”

     “It’s more than that,” she persisted. “Call it intuition, call it whatever you want, but I know in my heart that Marty’s death was not accidental.”

     Carter leaned back and looked at me. I decided to keep my mouth shut.

     “Let’s say you’re right.” Carter sipped his coffee and massaged the bridge of his nose. “How could he have known Marty would be crossing the road at that exact moment?”

     “You have to understand something about my husband,” Janet said. “He had his life timed right down to the minute. Everything he did, everywhere he went, was on a schedule. Even sex. I used to lovingly refer to him as my five-minute man.”

     Carter cocked an eyebrow. “Five-minute man?”

     “Yes. Unfortunately, even intercourse seemed to be timed with him. I’m telling you this to prove a point. Marty lived by a schedule. Every Wednesday afternoon he went to the Chestnut Inn. He’d arrive at three o’clock sharp, leave at four-thirty on the dot, and was always home by five to walk our dog, Frankie. The man couldn’t take a shit until it was exactly five forty-five, and I mean on the nose. I thought it was sort of cute when we first met.”

     “So that’s how you knew to set up the sting
for three o’clock at the inn.”

     “Sure. But even though Marty was predictable in that way, he was also very good at deceiving me. I’d been suspicious for years, but didn’t want to believe he was having relations with other women. It was my own fault.”

     “So what you’re saying is that Lance Harding could have known exactly when Marty would leave the inn. You think he intentionally ran him down and made it look like an accident?”

     “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. And that’s why I want to hire you to find out the truth. Maybe you could follow him and find out why he wanted to kill my husband, or find the person who hired him to do it.”

     “Why not go to the police if you suspect foul play?”

     “They won’t take me seriously,” she said, managing a weak smile. “At least I’ll be paying you to take me seriously.”

     “Look,” Carter said. “I can refer you to a buddy of mine. This really isn’t my thing. I deal with cheating spouses, not murder investigations.”

     “Please reconsider. I trust you, and money is no object. In fact, I have three thousand dollars to give you right now. Please, just give me a week of your time.” She grasped Carter’s hands.

     Carter was silent for a moment. “Fine, I’ll look into it for a week. But I’ve got to be honest, you’d be better off--”

     “Thank you so much,” Janet interrupted, handing Carter an envelope and a small briefcase. “Marty’s cell phone and laptop computer are inside. You should be able to access his contacts and call history on his phone. The laptop is another story. I have no idea how to get in there. I assume you have ways to do that.”

     Carter nodded. “What about witnesses?” he asked. “Someone must have seen something. Do you know if the police questioned anyone else?”

     “Not that I know of,” Janet replied.

     “Forgive me for having to ask, but what about the other women in his life? You think one of them could have put Harding up to it for some reason?”

     Janet looked down and her jaw muscles tensed. “I suppose anything’s possible,” she replied after an uncomfortable pause.

     Carter took a deep breath. “Did they do an autopsy or toxicology screens?”

     Janet appeared slightly offended. “It’s pretty obvious how he died. Why would that be necessary?”

     Carter shrugged. “Just wondering. I guess we have what we need to get started.”

     “Thank you. If you need more money, you know how to get in touch with me. One last thing.” Janet leaned in close to Carter, tilting her head in a way to suggest someone might be watching us. “I really don’t want anyone to know I hired you to look into this. Please be discreet.” She placed her hand atop Carter’s as she got up, and without making further eye contact, slowly walked away.

     I leaned in toward Carter. “Is it me, or does she sound bat shit crazy?”

     Carter studied Marty’s phone for a minute, then looked up. “I’ll admit, Janet’s a bit peculiar. But it’s work, and what’s a week?”

     “You want me to help you with this job?”

     Carter shrugged. “Your call.” He gestured with the envelope before slipping it inside of his jacket. “There’s enough here to cover your time.”

     “I’m in. When do we start?”

     “Right now,” he said. “We’ll start with Marty’s phone contacts.”

     “Do you actually believe Janet’s theory?”

     “Doesn’t matter what I believe,” Carter said. “We’re getting paid to do a job, and we need to be objective.”

* * *

     By the time we’d finished eating, Carter had compiled a list of people and places to visit.

     “I’ll go back to the scene of the accident. Maybe someone saw something. Then we’ll talk to Harding. I’d like to get the story straight from him. Meanwhile, maybe you can try to get hold of a few of Marty’s frequent contacts. Also, we need to find out who Marty was sleeping with. Take this,” he said, handing me the list. “Call these two guys. Try to meet with them as soon as possible.”

     “Who do I say I am? I’m not supposed to let on that Janet hired us, right?”

     “Tell them you’re a writer for Gourmet Magazine. You’re doing an article about Marty’s life, and you’re interviewing friends and colleagues. But keep it casual. Don’t make it seem like it’s an interrogation.” Carter drummed his fingers on the table. “Your biggest asset is your personality. People feel comfortable around you. We need to use that to our advantage.”

     “So how do you get information from people? Do you have friends in law enforcement?”

     Carter seemed to find this mildly amusing. “Hardly. The Internet is my best friend these days. You’d be amazed what you can find out with just a name and address. Privacy is a thing of the past, Sarah.”

    “That’s pretty scary. Have you ever used it to get info about women you’ve dated?” Carter remained silent. A smirk was evidently all I was going to get.

   “Another thing,” he said. “If these people agree to talk to you, meet them in a public place. Never go to anyone’s house. And always let me know where you’ll be.”

     “Got it.”

     “Don’t ever get into anyone’s car.”

     “Okay.”

     “And always keep your cell phone on.”

     “Why?”

     “I’ve enabled a tracking app, just in case something happens.”

     “What could possibly happen? It’s just an innocent interview.”

     “Always be prepared for worst case scenario, Sarah.” Carter paid the bill, donned his tattered, brown leather jacket, and slid out of the booth. “If you can, let’s meet tomorrow morning for coffee. Hopefully, I’ll have more information by then.”

Friday, March 9

I was used to waking up alone; even preferred it. But once in a while the isolation got to me.

     This was one of those mornings.

     I let my mind wander to forbidden places, like the taste of Max’s lips and the sound of his laugh. He’d become more fantasy than memory to me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It wouldn’t do me any good to go back down that path, even if only in my mind.

     I dragged my ass out of bed, remembering that Carter wanted to meet for coffee. After a quick shower, I slipped into some comfortable jeans and pulled a turtleneck sweater over my head. I noticed a few grey hairs as I checked my look in the mirror. I plucked them out and made a mental note to get some hair dye.