A Taste of Sin (2 page)

Chapter 4

O’Donnell’s was a cozy, high-end Irish pub located in Bridgeport’s historic district. I managed to arrive on time wearing brand new jeans, a silk blouse and a pair of tall leather boots.

Linda and I had been friendly competitors in everything back in high school, but she’d always won the boy’s affections. I ended up being her awkward sidekick, with frizzy hair and clothing from K-Mart. Not that it had ever really bothered me. I knew my place in the world, and it didn’t involve dating the popular boys. Linda never rubbed it in my face. Instead, she’d tried to help by introducing me to the padded bra. That was like discovering a pot of gold.

I walked into the dimly lit bar and saw her sitting there. The male bartender was chatting her up, no doubt captured by her charms. The ambient lighting reflected off her auburn hair, giving it a golden glow. The smooth curls spiraled down her back, the sides pulled up into a crystal barrette. Her stylish suit looked like it was straight out of Vogue Magazine.

I leaned over the empty stool beside her and nudged her arm. “Hey baby, is this seat taken?”

She spun around in surprise and laughed with that familiar husky tone. She leaned in and air-kissed my cheek then turned to the bartender. “Dennis, let me introduce you to my dearest friend, Sarah Woods.”

We shook hands and I ordered a glass of wine. When he disappeared to fetch a bottle of red, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look at you,” I said, climbing on to the stool, being careful not to bump my foot. “Still breaking hearts wherever you go.”

She waved the comment away. “Must be my friendly face.”

“I’m sure your gigantic boobs have nothing to do with it.”

Linda laughed again, but didn’t disagree. “So, are you in pain or something? I saw that frown on your face as you sat down.”

“My foot. It’s just a flesh wound,” I uttered with my best
Monty Python
impression, our favorite flick back in the day.

Linda chortled. “Oh my goodness, we only watched that movie a hundred times. My mom wanted to burn that VCR tape.”

“I’m sure she wanted to burn all of our movies. Remember Crocodile Dundee? I thought I was going to grow up and marry Mike Hogan.”

“And I was going to marry Ralph Macchio. Can you believe The Karate Kid is over fifty, now? How did that happen?”

“I can’t believe I have a kid in college. He doesn’t even know who Ralph Macchio is.”

Linda wrapped an arm around my neck. “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry for not keeping in better touch over the years. I feel like we missed out on so much.”

“Well, we can make up for it now.”

The bartender set my wine in front of me as Linda ordered another dirty martini.

“So what’s your secret, Linda? How do you stay so trim and gorgeous?”

“Spin classes. I go religiously four times a week.”

“Religious—as in praying to God to end the torture?”

“Seriously, have you ever taken a class?”

My idea of exercise was running five miles then eating a donut. “No. I don’t really like gyms that much. I prefer to run outside and let the wind blow through my hair.”

“That’s right. I remember you did track, but only for a little while. Why did you ever quit?”

I laughed at the memory. It was one I had tried desperately to forget. “I didn’t quit. I was kicked off the team.”

“I can’t remember why.”

“I skipped one of the track meets to go on a date with Jimmy Bernetti. Remember him?”

She squinted, as if the name rang a bell. “Was he the kid with blue rubber bands in his braces? And he only wore AC/DC t-shirts, right?”

“That’s him.”

She shook her head in amazement. “Wow. I wonder what ever happened to him.”

“I’m friends with him on Facebook. He’s bald and fat, but at least he has straight teeth.”

“Speaking of boyfriends.” Linda fondled the stem of her glass in a seductive manner. “That guy who accompanied you to the reunion. What’s his name again?”

“Max.”

“Ah, yes. Max. I like that name; masculine and sexy. How long have you two been dating?”

“Almost a year.” Had it really been that long? “Pretty much since my divorce.”

“Daniel was your husband’s name, right? What happened with him?”

I shrugged. “We grew apart. I hear he’s doing that online dating thing.”

She lifted her martini glass for a toast. “Well, good for you. Too many people settle and I’m of the mind that it isn’t worth it.”

“So, what about you? Are you dating?” I asked.

“Didn’t we already have this conversation at the reunion?”

“A lot can change in a few months.”

She gave me a sly smile. “No, not really.”

“Not really?”

She made a pained face. “I have emotional scars, Sarah. I don’t think they’ll ever heal. My ex did a number on me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Linda’s features softened. “Anyway, I finally came to the conclusion that men are only good for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re an adequate replacement when the batteries go dead in my vibrator.”

I nearly choked on my wine. “Then you should stock up on batteries.”

“Anyway, enough about men. At the reunion, you mentioned you sold your massage therapy business, but you never said what you’re doing these days. Did you make enough on the sale to retire early?”

“No, I wish. Actually, I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there to supplement my income.”

“Odd jobs?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I’m doing an internship with a private investigator. Been working with him for over a year now.”

“What type of cases?”

I hesitated. “Mostly cheating spouses. But we get all kinds of requests.”

“Do you carry a gun?”

I laughed. “No, but I carry a loaded cell phone.”

“A cell phone?”

I pulled my phone from my purse and handed it to her. “You’d be amazed what this single device can do.”

She inspected it closely. “Like what?”

“It decodes messages, hacks into computers and, if you push this little button here, it creates a laser beam that cuts through glass.”

Linda looked up, eyes wide. “Are you yanking my chain?”

“Absolutely.”

She slapped my arm, roaring with laughter. “Good one. You had me going for a second.”

“Actually, the only weapon I carry is pepper spray.”

“Have you used it?”

“Not yet.”

Linda’s expression turned serious. “I happen to have a friend who’s looking to hire a private eye. It’s a very sad story, though. Maybe we should talk about it some other time.”

“I don’t mind discussing it now.”

Linda leaned in closer to me. “This friend of mine, well, she’s dying of liver disease. She needs a transplant and if they can’t find a donor soon, she probably won’t last six months.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. What’s her name? Anyone I might know?”

“Emily Hodges. Her husband is Paul.”

I flipped through the Rolodex in my mind. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Anyway, Emily has a brother named Benjamin. They had a falling out years ago, and she lost track of him. She wants to try and reconcile before it’s too late. Plus, there is a chance that he might be able to donate part of his liver. Did you know the liver is the only organ that grows back when you cut a piece off?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat with a swig of wine. “Amazing stuff. What about other family members? Isn’t there someone who might be a donor match? Does she have kids?”

“No kids. Both of Emily’s parents are too old to donate. You have to be younger than fifty-five to have the operation. Her only sibling is Benjamin.”

“Has she tried Facebook, or other online social media sites?”

“She’s tried everything.”

“I’ll be honest, because time is of the essence, she’s probably better off finding someone with more experience.”

“Sure, I understand.”

I got the sense that Linda really needed my help. “However, if she doesn’t have any luck finding someone else, give her my number. It couldn’t hurt to go and talk to her. I could always get some help from Carter.”

Linda smiled. “Is he the private eye you spoke of?”

“Yeah, he’s the one.”

“Emily will be thrilled. Thank you for considering it.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Linda ordered another martini. I thought back to the first time she and I had experimented with alcohol as teenagers. I’d been reluctant to try the “mystery punch” at our senior year party. The punch smelled like Pepto Bismol mixed with Tang, but that didn’t dissuade Linda from guzzling three or four cups of the nasty concoction. I’d never seen anyone puke so much in my life. Now, twenty years later, Linda showed no signs of slowing down on her alcohol consumption.

“Is everything okay, Linda? Or are you just upset about Emily?”

Linda blinked rapidly, her eyes moist. “I wish there was something I could do. I went to visit her last week. She looked so thin. Her skin and eyes were yellowing and it just hit me; my friend is going to die and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Just be a friend. She needs that right now. How is her husband dealing with it?”

“Paul is keeping his chin up, but I think he’s still in denial. He works a lot, probably to keep himself distracted.”

“Really? Why isn’t he taking time off to be with his wife right now?”

“Everyone deals with pain differently, Sarah. I’ve counseled many patients to assist with their grieving.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Almost three years. I attended their wedding in Hawaii; most beautiful ceremony I’d ever been to. Well, that is until Emily’s brother showed up.”

“So when was the last time she talked to him? And what about their parents? They must know how to contact him.”

“According to Emily, Benjamin is
persona non grata.
I don’t know too much about it.”

“Does Emily still work?”

Linda shook her head with a sigh. “Sadly, no. She used to be some bigwig executive for a paper company. She had to resign a few months ago.”

“Where do they live?”

“They have this humongous house in Green Haven. The place is gorgeous, just a block away from the country club. They used to golf quite a bit. Not anymore.”

“What does Paul do?”

“He’s an accountant. Doesn’t make half of what she makes, or used to make, but he’s very intelligent.”

The bartender asked if we’d like to order dinner. Linda chose a few appetizers for us to share, and another round of drinks.

A few hours later, I offered to drive Linda home. I’d lost track of how many martinis she’d consumed, but I could tell she was in no condition to drive.

“I’ll just call a cab,” she said. “My house is out of your way.”

“Really, I insist.” I grabbed Linda’s arm and we headed out to my car.

Linda must have noticed the pained expression on my face when I depressed the brake pedal as we were backing out. “Sarah, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just my ankle. I think one of the wounds opened up. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You never did explain how that happened.”

“Well, I was trying to escape from a rapist’s house with stolen goods. I jumped the fence, but not before his killer dog took a chunk out of my foot.”

She slapped my arm and burst out laughing. “I’m not falling for another one of your tall tales.”

Chapter 5

I woke up Sunday morning to find a message on my cell phone from Emily Hodges. Apparently, Linda hadn’t wasted any time in giving her my number. I made myself a strong pot of coffee and considered what I might say to a dying woman.

I returned her call and we set up an appointment to meet in person at her house. She seemed grateful, thanking me many times for agreeing to get together. I still had my doubts I could help find her brother.

Emily and her husband Paul lived in Green Haven, New Hampshire, just a twenty minute drive on route 202 west. Normally I would have enjoyed the scenic highway that wound through lush hills and farmland, but I was feeling uneasy. My mother had passed away from cancer many years ago but, the image of her frail body and sunken eyes was forever burned into my brain. I feared that I would see the same desperate look in Emily’s eyes; it made my chest tight with emotion.

Emily and Paul lived in one of those cul-de-sac neighborhoods where all the houses looked the same: Colonial style McMansions with few discerning characteristics.

I noticed a rusty red pickup truck parked on the street in front of their house. Emily had company. Or maybe the vehicle belonged to hired help.

I pulled into the driveway and sat there for a few minutes to gather my thoughts. This was the first time I had ever met with a prospective client on my own. Carter usually handled the initial consultations. I reminded myself to take things slowly and remain objective.

I grabbed my purse as I exited my car and followed the stone walkway to the front door. I pressed the doorbell, waited, and heard the sound of clippers. I scanned the expansive yard and noticed the young man—wearing a grey t-shirt and carpenter jeans—working on a rose bush. His coffee colored skin glistened with sweat even though the temperature outside was a crisp sixty degrees. He seemed absorbed in his work and didn’t notice me as he walked toward his vehicle.

A few moments later, the door opened and a petite woman with short blonde hair stood before me, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and black slacks. She smiled and opened the storm door.

“You must be Sarah. Please come in. I’m Emily Hodges.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Once inside, Emily motioned for me to follow her through the foyer and into a formal sitting room. Two beige couches faced each other, divided by a coffee table. A pitcher of water and two glasses sat on a tray.

“Can I pour you some water?” she asked.

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

Emily was just as Linda had described. Her yellowing eyes and skin were unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was hard to tell her age, but I guessed she was in her early forties.

“Linda had so many nice things to say about you and your husband,” I said. “I’m so sorry to hear about your condition.”

She smiled and nodded, although it seemed as if the gesture was forced. Was she in pain?

I reached into my purse for my notebook. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be jotting some information down as we talk.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Any details you can think of would be great, but let’s start with the basics,” I said, clicking the end of my pen. “What’s your brother’s full name?”

She paused for a second as if she had changed her mind. Finally, she licked her lips and uttered, “Benjamin Andrew Bradshaw.”

“When was the last time you spoke with him?”

Emily took a sip of water, her hands trembling. “We haven’t spoken in over three years. Last time was in Hawaii, at my wedding.”

“Okay. I’ll need his birthdate.”

“December seventh, nineteen seventy-four.”

“Would you happen to know his social security number or have a copy of his birth certificate?”

She slowly shook her head. “I can’t help you there.”

“What about your parents? Haven’t they been in contact with him?”

She shook her head again, but said nothing.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and rested my hands in my lap. “Perhaps you could give them a call, or I’ll do it for you. They should have that information.”

Emily shook her head again, this time averting her eyes. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Sarah.” She stared into her glass of water. “I’ve been a bit dishonest with you. I don’t give a damn about my brother and I’d rather die than ever see him again.”

I stared at her, confused. “I don’t understand. I thought that was the reason you called.”

She set her glass on the coffee table and adjusted herself on the couch. There was something in her eyes that worried me. Anger? Sadness? Embarrassment? A second later, the polite smile returned to her face. “I’m sorry. Will you please let me explain?”

“Please do.”

She took a few deeps breaths and, judging by her tense jaw muscles, was working up the courage to confess. “First of all, maybe I should give you a little medical lesson, just in case you’re not familiar with my condition. Hepatitis C is a viral disease. No one knows for sure how or where I contracted it. Could have been from contaminated medical supplies or a sexual partner but, in any case, the virus has destroyed my liver over the years. Medications haven’t helped much. My only hope at this point is a transplant, but I’m at the wrong end of a very long waiting list.”

“I’m very sorry,” I said, then waited for her to continue.

“In my condition, certain things must be avoided. I haven’t had a drink in years  and certain pain medications are strictly prohibited as they only contribute to liver damage.”

“That makes sense.”

“Over the past few weeks my symptoms have worsened. My doctors were confused as to why I was experiencing a sudden decline, so they ordered some blood tests. Imagine my surprise when the results came back: small traces of acetaminophen were detected in my blood.”

I paused to consider what this meant. “How could that be? You said you avoided medications like that.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, there could be a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe one of your other drugs was contaminated. Do you want me to investigate the pharmacy? See if there’s some kind of negligence going on?”

“I’m not taking any medications. They weren’t working so I stopped a few months ago.”

“Well,” I said, “Are you taking vitamins?”

“No,” she said.

I waited a few seconds for her to continue but she seemed distressed. “So, Emily, what exactly would you like me to do?”

She licked her lips nervously. “I want you to find out if my husband has been poisoning me.”

For a brief moment, I thought she must be kidding. “You think your husband is behind it? Why?”

“That’s what I want you to find out.”

“Linda gave me the impression you two were very close.”

A contemptuous chortle. “Yeah, so was I.”

“There must be some reason you suspect him of doing this on purpose.”

Emily closed her eyes.

I held the pitcher of water up to refill her empty glass. “Here, take a sip,” I said.

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

I didn’t know what to say. What kind of encouragement could I possibly offer? “I can relate with what you’re going through. I took care of my mom many years ago before cancer took her life but I think it’s important not to give up hope.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy; waiting for someone to die,” she said, nonchalantly. “But, I’m sorry. Getting back to your question … why do I think Paul might want me gone sooner rather than later? I suspect it could be several reasons. Money is the most likely. Or he’s got another impatient woman waiting in the wings. I wouldn’t blame him if he does. We haven’t been physical in months. In fact, he seems repulsed by me. I can’t blame him for that, either.”

“Life insurance?” I asked.

Emily chuckled. “Yes, well, it’s a rather large amount. I got the policy right after we were married because my income was significantly more than his. He’ll be a wealthy man when I’m gone.”

“How much?”

“Two million.”

I made note of that important tidbit. “Forgive me for asking, but how is your current financial situation?”

Emily lowered her head. “Not good. I received a meager severance when I had to take sick leave. That money is gone, and Paul’s income alone doesn’t even cover the mortgage on this house. In fact, it’s likely the bank will start foreclosure proceedings soon.”

“Emily, I really want to help you, but what are you asking me to do, exactly?”

“Paul has been spending a lot of time at the office, or so he says. He’s an accountant; has his own small firm downtown. I’d like you to keep tabs on him and see if he’s meeting a woman on the side.”

“Do you have any proof? Have you found anything in his e-mails or texts?”

“No, but I haven’t really tried. I’m afraid he’ll catch me.”

“Are you afraid he’ll hurt you? If you believe he’s a threat, I’d advise you to leave this house, Emily. You could have a restraining order put on him.”

Her head shook profusely. “No, he’d never hurt me. Not like that. You see, that’s why I’m ashamed just to be talking to you about this. Paul has always been a good husband. I just ...” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “I don’t know what to think.”

“If your intuition is telling you something is wrong, you need to follow it, right?”

She nodded. “In this case, I hope it’s wrong.”

“Have you tried talking to Paul? Is he aware of your concerns?”

“No.”

“Maybe he put medications in your liquids, thinking he was helping, not hurting you.”

“He knows everything about my condition and what I’m allowed to have.”

“Do you keep medications in the house for his use?”

“Yes,” she said. “Paul keeps them on hand for his migraines, which he gets often.”

“So, would you say he takes a few pills every day?”

“I’m not sure, but that sounds about right.”

At least I knew he had easy access to the stuff but counting pills and keeping track of his dosage would not be an accurate method to prove his guilt or innocence. “Hypothetically, how would your husband poison you? I mean, he would have to empty the capsules into your drink or food, right?”

“I don’t have much appetite these days. For breakfast I usually have toast with tea. For lunch, maybe a container of yogurt, and a few carrot sticks or string cheese for dinner. But Paul always makes me tea before bed. It’s our little ritual.”

“I see.” An image came to mind of an episode of CSI, where a husband was being poisoned gradually everyday by his wife. She’d put small doses of arsenic in his coffee every morning.

Emily covered her face with her hands and started to cry. “I’m sorry. This is just too much for me. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. My husband is a good man.”

I gave her a moment to compose herself as I considered some options. “May I make some suggestions? You could install a device on his cell phone. It’s a relatively simple application and it only takes a minute to download. It has a GPS tracker and it records all calls and texts. I can access the information through a program on my laptop. He’ll never know it’s there. It would be a good way to find out if he’s meeting someone on the side.”

“I really don’t feel comfortable doing that. I’m horrible when it comes to all of this new technology. What if I don’t install it properly and he finds out?”

“That’s okay. I could arrange to put a GPS tracker on his car while he’s at his office.”

She nodded. “Okay. But please make sure he doesn’t see you.”

“How would you feel about us setting up some hidden cameras in the kitchen? If he’s putting something in your beverages, perhaps we can catch him in the act.”

“I don’t know. That sounds pretty involved.”

“I have a partner who specializes in surveillance. He already has the equipment and could set something up in under ten minutes. No one would know it was there but us.”

Emily stared out the window, blinking slowly. “How soon can you do it?”

“Max will be back from California tomorrow.”

She turned back to face me, a sullen expression on her face. “Okay. I’ll arrange to make sure no one is here when you come back.”

I regarded my notebook with the notes I’d taken so far, which were not many. “For the sake of being thorough, I need to ask some questions about family and friends, okay?”

“Sure, whatever you think will help.”

“Who comes to visit you here?”

“When my health started to decline months ago, it seemed like people were coming out of the woodwork to help. Business colleagues, friends from the country club and neighbors stopped by quite frequently. Over the last month or so, however, they all seem too busy. I guess it’s hard for them to see me like this.”

“So, who’s been here recently? Say, in the past few weeks.”

“Well, Linda is really the only one. She stops by about once a week and brings meals, helps with the laundry and does a little cleaning. I know she’s busy with her practice, so I appreciate that she takes time to visit when she can.”