A Recipe for Disaster (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 16) (2 page)

“Do you have any idea if the bag of money is still in her room?”

“I haven't seen her leave the house with it, but I haven't been watching her that closely, either.” Lois reached into her purse and took out a cell phone. “I have a picture of Claire that I shot yesterday when she wasn't looking. It's only a profile, but at least you'll know what she looks like.”

Lois passed the phone to me and I inspected the image of a woman in her late twenties. Dark stringy hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a hair net covering the top of her head. She was hunched over a large mixing bowl, her expression tight with concentration. Wearing a black tank top, I could see how thin and bony her arms were. I also noted the tattoo on her arm of a broken arrow. “What does the broken arrow signify?” I asked.

“I pressed her about it one day, but she didn't give me a real answer. Something about betrayal and losing her way in life.”

I gave the phone back to Lois. “Could you text me that photo?”

“Sure, I'll do it right now.”

They say a picture paints a thousand words. Some people might look at Claire's photo and see an anorexic, troubled young woman. Some people might see a strong, independent person who walks to the beat of her own drum. In my experience, a picture leaves out the most important aspect of a person; his or her motivation in life. Once you discover that, you have insight into their soul.

“Just so we're clear, you want me to keep an eye on her for the next few days and see what she's up to?”

Lois nodded. “Yes. That's all.”

I still had my doubts that hiring a private eye was the right decision. “You could always just ask her about the money,” I said. “Make up some excuse as to why you went into her room.”

“Believe me, I've thought of that, but I don't think it's a good idea.”

I threw up my hands. “Hey, it's your dime. Either way, I'm happy to help.”

Lois checked her watch with a nervous expression. She got to her feet and grabbed her purse. “I have to get back to the bakery. I told my brother I had a dentist appointment.”

“So, Peter has no idea about any of this?”

“No, and I'd rather you not mention it to him. At least for the time being. Is that okay?”

I nodded. “When does Claire get out of work today?”

“In an hour.”

“That doesn't give me much time, but I'll get over there and tail her when she leaves.”

She gave me a hug. “Thanks so much for doing this.”

“I'll do my best.”

As soon as Lois left my office, I called Carter to tell him about the new job. I explained how Lois was an old friend from massage school and that she wanted me to look into one of her employers.

“You know the bakery down on Lafayette Street in town called Decadent Delights? Well, her parents own it. They want to retire, so Lois and her brother are taking over. The woman we'll be investigating is their baker, Claire Kendall.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to investigate?” he asked.

I continued to explain the situation, how Lois came to find the duffel bag of money. “I'm heading over to the bakery right now before she leaves work. I was hoping you could do a background check on her ex-boyfriend, Andy Pinkerton. Also, maybe you could find out if there have been any store or bank robberies in the past few weeks or so.”

“Come on,” Carter said. “You really think she robbed a bank?”

“No, but she might be holding the money for someone who did. Most likely, though, it's drug related.”

“Sure,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Check to see if Claire has any family in the area. Maybe she's got a drug dealing brother who's asked her to hide his money for a while.”

“Got it.”

The strain in his voice told me that his pulled muscle was still bothering him. Poor guy was bored out of his skull, lounging around the house all day. “How's the back?”

“Much better. I'll be good as new by tomorrow.” It was a lie and he knew that I knew it. Carter wasn't one to complain about physical ailments. A limb could be falling off and he'd say it felt fine.

It's a funny game we play. He pretends to be some kind of Hercules and I pretend to believe it.

“I'm going to put a tracking device on her car before she leaves work,” I said, “So, I'd better get a move on.”

“Be careful, Sarah.”

“I always am.”

Chapter 2

D
riving through downtown Bridgeport, I was encouraged to find that the snowbanks from the last winter storm were finally beginning to melt. Spring had moved in, it seemed, and I was more than ready. I'm sure the cafes and boutiques lining the quaint cobblestone streets were eager for some foot traffic and tourists who were willing to open their wallets.

It would be another few months until the official tourist season began, and when it came, I'd be lucky to get a parking spot anywhere near downtown. Today, there was a spot open just across the street from The Decadent Delights Bakery.

Through the window, I could see Lois behind the counter, talking to a customer. After a few minutes, I caught her eye. Her gaze didn't linger, but a quick nod of her head confirmed she saw me.

I only had ten minutes to do the deed.

I grabbed my purse, exited the car, and crossed the street. The alley that lead to the back of the bakery smelled like a combination of yeast, sugar, and coffee, which made my mouth water.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, I entered the parking lot, only big enough for two compact cars. Her old 1989 Volvo was practically a classic. Aside from the few rust spots, it looked like a solid car and since Volvo's are known for their longevity, it probably had at least two hundred thousand miles on it. Was Claire a sentimental person? Or did she simply not want to spend money on a new car?

I casually paced the lot, pretending to talk on my cell phone, just to make sure I was alone. Even when you think you're alone, someone is probably watching. With this fact in mind, I dropped my purse near the rear of the car, the contents spilling out on the pavement. Feigning exasperation, I quickly gathered my items together while affixing the GPS tracker to the underside of the bumper. This basic maneuver was something I'd learned the first day I started working as a private detective. It wasn't rocket science, but the trick was not to hesitate. Hesitation usually leads to disaster.

Once I had cleaned up my mess, I lingered for another minute, pretending to be on my cell phone. Finally, I headed back to the front of the building, went inside the bakery, and stood in line.

When I approached the counter, I wasn't sure how Lois might react. Would she become flustered or anxious with me there? I was pleasantly surprised when she offered me an easy going smile.

Good girl. Play it cool.

“Hey, Sarah,” she said. “Coffee is on the house. What'll you have?”

“That's generous of you,” I said with a wink, to let her know everything was in place. “I'll take your strongest blend.”

She nodded to her right. “I told Peter you might be stopping by. He's looking forward to seeing you. If you leave before saying hello, I'll never hear the end of it.” Lois handed me a cup of coffee and a small paper bag. “You have to try the chocolate scone. Also on the house.”

“Thanks. I suppose I could hang for another minute to say hi to Peter.”

I was nervous. Would he look the same? Or, would I barely recognize him?

When a man with dark hair appeared behind the counter, I let out an involuntary sigh of relief. He was just as handsome as the last time I'd seen him over twenty years ago. Peter was graying around the temples but it only seemed to add to his classic good looks.

I wondered how he felt about taking over the family business with his sister. 

Lois and her brother had always been close, especially growing up. He was the protective older brother and wouldn't tolerate anyone teasing his sister about her weight. He'd even got arrested once for punching a guy who'd publicly humiliated her in a store.

“Sarah?” Peter rushed over and put his arms around me, which was awkward considering I had a scalding cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Still, I leaned forward and allowed him to hug me.

“It's been a long time, hasn't it?” I said.

“Yeah! You look gorgeous, by the way.” He ran his fingers through a thick strand of my hair. “I'm glad you didn't cut it all off. Why do women always seem to do that after they turn forty?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just chuckled. “You look great yourself.”

He waved the comment away, but I could tell he was flattered. “Awe, it's tough getting old, but I try.”

Peter was a few years older than me which put him at around forty-six or forty-seven. No sign of that middle-aged paunch.

“Lois tells me you have kids?”

“Yeah,” he said with a proud smile. “Their mom and I have joint custody.  How is your son?”

Lois must've told him that I had a son. “He’s great. Brian is going to college in Boston.” 

“I know. I have to admit, I've checked out your Facebook site more than once. Not that I'm stalking you online, or anything. Kudos for getting your private detective certification, by the way. I always knew you had it in you to be kick ass.”

I laughed at that one. “Why haven't you sent me a friend request? I'd love to see photos of your kids.”

He shrugged and seemed embarrassed. “You were married. I didn't want to... you know, make things awkward for you.”

I held up my hand to show him that the wedding band was gone. “Divorced two years, but I just moved in with my boyfriend.”

He seemed a little disappointed, but maybe it was my imagination. “Ah, well, sounds like you've been busy.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lois pointing to her watch. I said to Peter, “Look, I have to run. I'd love to catch up later, though.”

“Sure. You know where to find me.” He waved a hand around. “I basically live here now.”

“I think it's awesome that you and Lois get to spend so much time together. You must have missed her while she was gone.”

“Yeah. Can you believe how she looks? I’m so proud of her.”

I figured he was making reference to Lois's new figure. “I'm proud of her, too. Losing a hundred pounds can't be easy.”

“When she puts her mind to something, it usually happens.”

As an only child, I am often envious of my friends who have siblings. I would've loved to have had an older brother, to protect me from the bullies of my youth. Yet, I also know, not all siblings get along as well as Lois and Peter seem to.

“I can't wait to try the chocolate scone,” I said, holding up the bag while licking my lips.

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “See ya around, Sarah.”

As I exited the bakery, my phone beeped, letting me know that the GPS tracker on Claire's car had been activated. No wonder Lois had signaled to her watch. Claire must have left out the back door that lead to the alley.

There was no need to panic. With the GPS in place, I'd be able to follow Claire at a leisurely and safe distance. Perhaps she was just heading home, anyway.

As it turned out, Claire stopped at a grocery store. I parked close to her Volvo and watched as she made her way across the parking lot and through the sliding double doors.  She looked ultra-thin in her baggy black jeans with an unflattering sweatshirt. She wore no make-up, and her hair was tied back in a sloppy bun.

I got the impression that Claire was not the kind of woman who worried about her looks. If anything, I would have guessed that it was her goal to be invisible.

I could have lingered inside my car to wait for her while she shopped, but I decided to go into the store.

With basket in hand, I casually followed her through the isles, pretending to read the nutritional data on boxes of cereal. In the produce section I stopped to squeeze a mango, and then inspected a bag of grapes. I did my best to blend in with the other shoppers and not once did she glance my way.

Finally, with a dozen items in her basket, Claire headed toward the check out and got into the express line.

To remain nonchalant, I meandered to the checkout line with only three items in my basket and stood behind her.

Inspecting Claire's grocery selection, I was surprised to see prune juice, Bran Flakes cereal, yogurt, and a container of Metamucil. The only conclusion I could come up with; Claire had major constipation.

As she handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill, Claire glanced down at a stack of newspapers, the local Bridgeport Gazette they give out for free. The front page article seemed to interest her. She grabbed a copy, stuffed it into her shopping bag, and briskly walked out of the store.

After paying for my purchases, I also took a copy of the newspaper and headed to my car.

In the parking lot, I noticed Claire was sitting in her Volvo, looking down toward her lap. As I passed by on my way to mine, I glanced into the window and saw her reading the front page article.

Whatever the article was about, it had obviously hit a nerve. She seemed distraught.

Anxious to read the article, I got into my car and set the newspaper in my lap.

The article was about the recent death of a local businessman. Norton Cline was a financial advisor, had owned several companies and had also donated money to erect a playground in the low-income section of Bridgeport. There were no details about how he died, only that he'd been battling numerous health issues. He was survived by his wife and son. He looked like your average guy in his late fifties with a receding hairline and a double chin, carrying at least an extra fifty pounds.

Judging by Claire's reaction to the article, I assumed she had known this man personally. 

Moments later, I looked up to find the Volvo pulling out of the parking lot, heading east toward her house.

I followed her at a safe distance as she sped through town. When we arrived on her residential street, she jerked the car into a driveway and bolted out of the car. Fumbling with the keys, she managed to unlock the door of the house.

I pulled over to the side of the road and waited. Since she'd left her driver's side door ajar, I assumed she didn't plan on being inside for very long.

I was right. Thirty seconds later, Claire came out of the house carrying a duffel bag. Back in her car, her side bumper collided with a garbage can as she backed out of the driveway, then drove off, heading west.

I wouldn't be able to keep up with her without drawing attention, so I followed the red dot on the screen as I navigated my way through downtown Bridgeport. Eventually we merged onto the ramp for 95 North.

I could see her in the distance, weaving in and out of the lanes, picking up speed. Something she'd read in that article spooked her. Where the heck was she going?

Maintaining the 70 miles per hour speed limit, I called Carter using my hands-free Blue-tooth speaker.

“Sarah, where are you?” he asked.

“I'm heading north on the 95 turnpike. I think Claire is on the run.”

“Why would she be running?”

“She rushed home, grabbed the duffel bag, and is now speeding north like a maniac.”

“The duffel bag with the cash?”

“I think so. Hey, I need a favor. There's a front-page article in today's Bridgeport Gazette about the death of Norton Cline. Claire seemed pretty upset after reading that article.”

“I'll check the web. If I can't find the article, I'll go down to the convenience store and grab a copy. You sure she was reading the front page?”

“Positive. Can you find out more about the guy who died and how she might know him?”

“I'll do my best.”

“I have no idea where Claire is headed, but I'll call you as soon as she gets there.”

“Drive safely,” he said. “You have the GPS in place, so there's no need to speed.”

This coming from the most impatient driver I know who puts Mario Andretti to shame! “Of course, my dear.”

Ending the call, I noticed that Claire had taken the ramp to exit 7 toward Sanford, a small, quiet town known mostly for woods and farmland.

Five minutes later we were in the middle of nowhere, and I feared she might notice me, as we were the only two cars on the road.

I decided to pull into an abandoned gas station and wait, keeping an eye on the GPS signal. Claire had finally stopped about 2 miles down the road from where I sat.

Had she reached her destination? Or was she lost?

There were no houses or buildings of any kind in the vicinity. Maybe she had stopped at a hunting lodge or a campsite.

I waited another five minutes, and the red dot on my screen didn't budge. I decided it was time to drive over and find out what was going on.

I spotted her car parked on the shoulder, but I didn't see her head through the back window. She was lying down, or she had exited the vehicle. As I drove by slowly, I peered into the window, holding my breath.

She was gone.

I pulled over and parked about a hundred feet in front of her car, grabbed my bag containing a flashlight, camera, binoculars and pepper spray, and got out.

A narrow dirt road curved into the wooded area, so I could not tell if it led to a house. No buildings were visible from my vantage point.

The only sound was the wind blowing through the tall pines. A thick forest spread out before me. Thank God it wasn't yet mosquito season or I'd be carried away. The trees blocked any sunlight, so it felt ten degrees cooler.