A Recipe for Disaster (Sarah Woods Mystery Book 16) (7 page)

“Because I can't afford to buy my own. I haven't been able to find a job since I got out.” He looked away as if embarrassed. “Truth is, I can barely afford to buy myself lunch. The short term apartment they gave me is infested with rodents, too. I'd be better off living on the street taking handouts.”

“If you return the truck, they might not arrest you.”

He seemed to ponder that comment. Eventually, he reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys, then tossed them to me. I caught them in mid-air.

“The truck is parked out front. Maybe you can tell the owner not to the leave his keys in the ignition next time.”

“Wait, you're returning the vehicle?”

“Look, lady, I don't know who you are, but I'm pretty sure you're not a cop. Otherwise, you would have arrested me already. So, exactly how are you involved in my daughter's death?”

I reached into my purse for a business card and handed it to him.

He inspected it with raised eyebrows. “A private detective? I wouldn't have guessed that.”

Why does everyone seem surprised to find out I'm a private eye? “Call me if you can think of anything that might help us solve her murder.”

“You never told me how she was murdered.”

I tried to ignore his puppy dog eyes. “Sorry, I can't give you those details but, as her father, you have the right to go to the morgue to identify her body. Just be prepared to ask some questions when you do.”

At the sound of footsteps on tile, I looked to my left. A woman and a little boy were arguing. The boy began crying at the top of his lungs, clinging to his mother's leg. She grabbed his shirt, yanked him to his feet and scolded him while the boy made a big production of flailing his arms around, thus knocking over dozens of medicine bottles from the shelves.

When I turned back around, Mick had vanished.

Chapter 10

A
fter I explained the situation on the phone, Detective James arrived at the pharmacy ten minutes later.

I handed him the keys to the blue pickup. “Mick Kendall doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would murder his own daughter. He did admit to picking her up at her house yesterday around 4:30, though. After a heated discussion, Claire demanded that he pull over and let her out near the Irving Gas Station on Islington.”

James jotted down that info in his notebook. “Good. Maybe we can find a witness who can attest to seeing her get out of the pickup. Maybe she started to walk back home and someone gave her a lift. I'll head over to the gas station just as soon as I arrange to have this truck brought to the warehouse for an overhaul. DNA, fingerprints, or blood samples might be present. Did Mr. Kendall mention where he was going when he left here?”

“No. I tried to get him to give me his cell number, but he didn't fall for it. I gave him my card, so I expect to hear from him again.”

Detective James got on his phone, about to make a call. “I'll catch up with you later, Sarah. I'll have an officer stop by the house to get Ms. Kendall's laptop and other personal items.”

“Sure, I'm heading back there right now.”

“By the way,” he asked. “Just curious. Do you believe Mick Kendall's story?”

“I don't know. He told me he was trying to make things right with his daughter. Why would he spend the past few months trying to get back into her good graces, only to end her life? Doesn't make sense.”

In Lois's car, I immediately called Carter and explained the situation of how I came to meet Mick Kendall. “Can you meet me back at Lois's place as soon as you can?”

“I'm already here,” he said. “I just met with the ME who examined Norton Cline's body. We know each other so he was willing to indulge me. An autopsy was performed, but the cause of death is still in question. He did take blood and tissue samples to test for drugs or poison, but those results could take another few days like I suspected.”

“I got us some lunch and I'll be back at Lois's in a few minutes. In the meantime, would you mind doing a search on Mick Kendall to find out what happened eight years ago that landed him in prison? He admitted to killing a man, but he didn't say why.”

“Sure, I'm on it.”

* * *

When I got back to the house, Carter had his laptop set up at the kitchen table and Lois was sitting beside him. On the screen was a mug shot of Mick Kendall.

The same black hair streaked with gray and the dark, penetrating eyes.

Carter handed me a sheet of paper he'd printed out. “The local newspaper article I found from 2008 gives very few details about the murder. The victim was a twenty-two year old kid by the name of Nate Thayer.”

“No details whatsoever?”

“Nope. Just explains that Mick struck a deal with the DA and pled guilty to voluntary manslaughter.”

“Is there any way you could find out who Mick's Parole Officer is?”

Carter shrugged. “Sure.”

“Also, Detective James needs to find a witness who can corroborate Mick's story, that he dropped his daughter off yesterday afternoon near the Irving gas station on Islington. She might have been walking home and someone picked her up.”

“Let's not forget our biggest clue to this whole thing,” Carter said. “Claire's murderer felt compelled to dump the body in
your
trunk. So, whoever this animal is, he's got his eye on you, Sarah, and I'm not comfortable with that.”

Lois excused herself. “Sorry to be rude. I need to lay down until these Tylenol kick in.”

“Maybe you should have some food,” I said.

“Thanks, but I'm afraid I'll throw up anything I put in my stomach. I'll be fine. You guys are welcome to stay as long as you want. And Sarah, please take my car if you need it. I won't be going anywhere.”

After Lois disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, Carter and I shared a wilted lettuce and turkey sandwich I bought at the pharmacy. Note to self; never buy a turkey sandwich at a pharmacy.

“Give me your honest opinion,” I said to him. “You don't really think Claire's killer wants to do the same to me as he did to her, do you?”

“I don't know but, if I have any control, I won't let anything happen to you. Problem is, you won't let me follow you around like a bodyguard.”

“That's why I carry pepper spray.”

He gave me that look. “Pepper spray won't always get you out of a tight spot.”

I leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the lips, letting him know that I appreciated his concern about my well-being.

“It's getting late,” he said. “Why don't we head home? Lois probably wants a little privacy anyway and you look exhausted.”

“You're right, I am.”

“I'll give you a little neck massage before bed.”

I liked the sound of that. “Why don't you head back now? I want to say goodbye to Lois and make sure Peter is still coming over to spend the night.”

“Okay. I'll see you at home very soon.”

Chapter 11

F
ive minutes after Carter left, Peter showed up with a bag of groceries. He set them down and offered me a hug. I could feel the nervous tension in his body.

“I'm still in shock about Claire. And I can't imagine what
you
must be going through after you found her this morning.”

“I'm fine,” I said. “I'm worried about your sister though; she's not been feeling well.”

He looked around the room. “Where is she, in bed?”

“Yeah. I didn't want to leave until you showed up.”

He removed his jacket and said, “By the way, there's this guy sitting in his car, parked across the street. Looks like he's watching the house. Is he an undercover cop, or something?”

A chill ran up my spine. I rushed over to the window, pushed back the curtain, and peered outside. I let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “That's my partner, Carter.”

“The guy you just moved in with, right?”

I chuckled. “Yep, that's him. Lois told you about him?”

Peter ignored the question. “I guess that means you can't stay to talk.”

“I have a few minutes.”

Peter gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen, where he helped himself to a beer in the fridge. “Want one?”

“No thanks.”

He pulled out a chair for me to sit, then he moved his chair close to mine and sat down.

I noticed the lines on his face; the stress in his life had taken its toll. I wanted to know more about his ex-wife, but this wasn't the right time.

“Have you spoken with anyone from the police department, yet?” I asked.

After taking a few sips he let out a long sigh. “I'm supposed to go into the station tomorrow and talk to the detective in charge of the investigation. I hope one of our customers at the bakery isn't a suspect.”

“I can't confirm or deny that, but there is one customer we're looking into.” I still had  the newspaper article about Norton Cline, so I showed it to him. “Lois has seen him in the bakery before. Does he look familiar to you?”

Peter blinked in surprise. “Yeah, he's the guy who orders the sugar-free scones. Every Wednesday.” As he continued to read the article, his jaw dropped. “Holy shit, he died on Wednesday evening?”

My stomach contracted with a mix of excitement and dread. “Tell me about these sugar-free scones he orders.”

“Well, Claire has to make a special batch every Wednesday morning. She uses some kind of sugar substitute because he's diabetic. We do special orders from time to time, for people with dietary restrictions.”

“Were you there Wednesday when he purchased the scones?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I'm the one who sold them to him.”

“And you're sure it was Wednesday morning?”

“I'm sure.”

Peter seemed completely oblivious. Did he not understand what I was insinuating?

I decided to stop with this line of questioning. 

“Sarah?” he said, confusion in his eyes. “What is going on?”

I decided to play dumb. “I'm just as baffled as you are.”

Peter guzzled the rest of the beer and went to get another. “Thanks for being here for my sister. You're a good friend to her. Despite everything that's going on, I'm glad you're back in our lives.”

It was strange being in the same room with Peter, after all these years. We were different people now, but in some ways, he seemed exactly the same. Sweet, attentive, loyal and still trying to protect his sister. I'd always loved that about him.

“I should get going,” I said. “I'll be back tomorrow.”

He took a step toward me and put his hand on my cheek. For a second I thought he might lean over and kiss me. Luckily, he didn't.

He returned his hand to his side. “Just be careful. Okay?”

I gathered my things to go. “Sure, I will. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow.”

As I walked to my car, I waved to Carter who was still sitting in his Buick across the street. In the dark, I could see the white of his teeth as he grinned.

Chapter 12

T
he next morning I slept until nine. By the lack of sunlight coming through the bedroom window, I could tell it was dreary out.

I dragged myself out of bed, spent ten minutes in the shower and then stepped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a fleece sweater.

Hard to believe it had only been 24 hours since I'd discovered Claire's body.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Carter handed me a hot mug of coffee as I shuffled into the kitchen. “By the sound of your snoring last night, I take it you got some sleep.”

“Weird dreams,” I said. “How long have you been up?”

“Since six-thirty.”

Carter had a satisfied look on his face, and I figured he had something to tell me. “I've been making calls. Turns out Norton Cline's widow is set to receive a hefty life insurance policy as the sole beneficiary.”

“How hefty?”

“Is five million hefty enough for you?”

“How did you find that out?”

Carter ignored the question and refilled his coffee mug. “It's just a thought, but maybe Cline's death might have nothing to do with his unhappy clients. Not that I'm ruling that out, of course. The problem is, we have to prove that the widow got to Claire to convince her to poison those scones.”

“I doubt she would have approached Claire herself. Too risky. She would've sent someone to do that for her.”

He winked at me. “You're smart. I was thinking the same thing.”

I loved the way Carter always complimented me by complimenting himself. “So what's the plan? We can't officially question anyone about this, you know that. We've already crossed the line too many times.”

“As far as Detective James is concerned, he's only investigating Claire's murder. Norton Cline's death hasn't yet been ruled a homicide. Until then, what's the harm in poking the bear to see what happens?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“First, we need to change. Do you own a suit?”

I laughed. “Do I look like a paralegal?”

“Fine,” he said. “Then a nice pair of slacks and a silk blouse will work just fine.”

* * *

Several hours later, Carter and I were driving his old Buick up a private driveway that lead to the Cline's residence. Damn, he looked good in a suit and tie. And his hair was slicked back, revealing more of his handsome face. I rarely got the opportunity to see him dressed up. Usually, his attire consisted of jeans, black t-shirt, and his weathered leather jacket he refused to part with.

The property was gorgeous: old maple trees and neatly manicured hedges and gardens. The house itself reminded me of an old seaside cottage that grew three times its size. 

We parked the car and headed up the front porch. Before we had the chance to knock, a young man of about twenty years old appeared behind the screen door.

“Hello,” Carter said to him. “We're here to see Mrs. Audrey Cline.”

The kid nodded as if he'd been expecting us. “Sure, I'll go tell Mom you're here. She wanted me to invite you inside.”

“Thank you.”

The young man asked us to have a seat in the formal sitting room, and he disappeared.

“Nice, polite kid,” Carter whispered to me. “A rare find these days.”

I had to agree.

I glanced around and admired the beachy décor with tan, linen pillows on a navy blue and white striped sofa. There was even a candle burning inside a hanging brass lantern. It smelled like sea salt and vanilla.

Moments later we heard footsteps on carpeting and a well-preserved woman in her sixties appeared in the entryway. Her blonde hair looked fresh like she'd just been to the stylist for a blow-out.

Carter stood up and made introductions. 

“Mrs. Cline,” he said. “First, we'd like to offer our condolences.”

She bowed her head and nodded. “Thank you.”

She sat in a chair opposite us and crossed her legs. “You mentioned on the phone that you worked for the coroner's department and had some questions about my husband's death. What can I help you with?”

“Oh,” Carter said. “I'm so sorry, you must have misunderstood. We've been hired to conduct an investigation into the bylaws of how the coroner's department works with the public to serve the needs of families in the community better.”

Carter's philosophy in life had served him well: if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. I braced myself for another award winning performance because I knew his game all too well.

Mrs. Cline blinked, clearly confused. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“First, I need a little background on your case.” He got out his palm sized notebook and clicked his pen. “Could you describe what happened last Wednesday when your husband fell ill?”

She gnawed her lower lip. “Well, he was gone most of the morning running errands. When he returned around 4:00, I noticed he looked deathly pale. He complained of stomach cramps. I didn't think too much of it, so I suggested he lie down to rest while I made dinner.” She paused to dab at her eyes with a tissue. “Around six, I went up to the bedroom to check on him. He wasn't breathing, so I called the ambulance right away.”

Carter nodded, his expression tight with sympathy. “I'm sorry you had to go through that, ma'am.”

She offered him a sad smile. “My husband had suffered many health problems in the past few years, mostly caused by complications from having diabetes. He also had high cholesterol and a history of heart disease. I'm told the results of the autopsy could take another few days.”

“So you specifically requested the autopsy?” Carter asked.

“Of course. Even though my husband had health issues, he'd been feeling fine up until Wednesday. I'd like to know what happened so suddenly.”

“You said your husband was out running errands that day. Where did he go?”

“Well, let's see... he went to the gym around 10.00. He got his hair cut. Then he had a meeting with his lawyer around 2:00.”

“Did he get a bite to eat while he was out?”

Mrs. Cline gave it some thought. “I suppose he probably did. There's this bakery he liked to go to. They made him special diabetic friendly scones, which is hard to find.”

“Which bakery?” Carter asked.

She shook her head. “I can't remember the name of the place. Why is that important?”

“Did he ever bring home bakery items to share with you or your son?”

She hesitated, probably wondering why it mattered. “No. I try and stay away from fattening foods.”

Carter made a few notations in his notebook. “Well, I think those are all the questions I have for you.” He made like he was going to get up but then said, “By the way, it's come to my attention that your husband had a bunch of lawsuits from unhappy clients.”

She squirmed. “Who told you that?”

“Had your husband ever received threatening calls or letters from these people?”

She mashed her lips together, clearly perplexed on how to answer. Finally, she nodded. “Yes. As a matter of fact, he had. But that was years ago. Nothing recent.”

“Could you provide us with the names of those individuals? Or show us the letters?”

“I'm sorry, I can't. Norton destroyed them all. Besides, his lawyers took care of all that stuff.”

“Has there ever been an attempt on your husband's life?”

She straightened in her chair, and I could see the confusion in her eyes. “I beg your pardon, but I don't understand why I need to answer these questions. They seem rather invasive.”

Carter offered an apologetic smile. “Just one more question if you please. Who is your husband's lawyer?”

“Mr. Lyle Coombs.”

“And do you know what their meeting on Wednesday was about?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “Norton told me it was nothing serious.”

“Do you think your husband was having more problems with ex-clients? Maybe another lawsuit?”

Mrs. Cline recrossed her legs and glanced at her expensive looking watch. “He assured me it was nothing to worry about.”

Carter must have known that our time was running out. Pretty soon this grieving widow would catch on to our scheme. He closed his notebook and got to his feet. “I think I have everything I need for the time being.”

Mrs. Cline stood up and accepted Carter outstretched hand. “It's no problem. But I really should get back to finalizing the arrangements. Please let me know as soon as the autopsy results come back.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Thank you again for taking the time to speak with us.”

* * *

As soon as we left the Cline residence, we got back in the car and headed home.

“There are so many other, less complicated ways to kill someone,” Carter said as we drove back to our house. “Audrey Cline is not that bright. Would she really have conspired with a baker to kill her husband? Unless we can prove that Audrey and Claire knew each other to begin with, we have nothing.”

I couldn't have agreed more. “Besides, if she had her husband poisoned, I doubt she'd order a full autopsy. She would have had his body cremated as soon as possible to destroy the evidence.”

“Exactly,” Carter said. “Now I feel like a jerk for manipulating her.”

“Don't feel too bad, remember she has five million bucks coming to her.”

“Whoever is behind this, has to be close to Claire,” I said. “Someone she'd be in contact with on a regular basis. Someone who felt it would be easy to control her. Otherwise, it would be too risky. Claire could have gone to the police at any time, but she didn't.”

“Other than the people she works with, who else besides the neighbor does she spend time around?”

There was only one person I could think of. “Her ex-boyfriend, Andy Pinkerton. But they broke up months ago according to Lois.”

Carter gave me a sideward glance. “Or did they?”

Just as we were pulling into our driveway, I heard my cell phone ringing inside my purse. The caller ID said,
private number.

I answered the call.

“Hey Sarah, remember me?”

It took a second to place the husky voice as Mick Kendall's. “Sure, I remember you. What’s up?”

“Do you have a suspect in custody yet?”

“Not yet, Mick.”

“What's happening with the case?”

“You know I can't share details with you.”

“Why not? Because I'm a convicted criminal?”

“No, because how do I know
you're
not involved?”

“You really think I killed my daughter? Jesus, why would I do that?”

“Look, Mick, it has only been a day. This investigation could drag on for months. You're gonna have to be patient, okay?”

His tone turned serious. “I don't have a lot of time.”

“Why? Do you expect to go back to prison anytime soon?”

“No. I'm talking about my life. I don't have much time.”

I hesitated. “Are you sick?”

“I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind.”

Maybe he had terminal cancer. “What do you want from me, Mick?”

“I want
you
to do your job and find my daughter's killer.”

Before I had a chance to reply, he ended the call without so much as a good-bye.