Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (2 page)

Chapter 3

Saturday, November 6

When I woke the next morning, memories of the prior evenings’ events came flooding back. I opened my eyes. The light spilling in through the bedroom window reminded me I was in my bed safe and warm. I heard a soft knock at the door and my son’s voice.  “Mom, can I come in?”

“
Yes, of course, honey,” I said, clearing my throat.

The door opened slowly and Brian walked in and sat next to me on the bed.

“
Dad told me what happened last night. Are you okay?” His eyes were still puffy from sleep, and his hair was sticking up in back. I smiled and reached out to touch his face.  

“
I’m okay. But did Dad tell you about Beth?”  

“
Yeah. That is so messed up! Do you think they’ll find the guy who did it?” He rubbed his eyes.  

“
I sure hope so, honey,” I said, pushing myself up and resting on my elbows.  

“
How’s your head?”  

“
Doesn’t hurt,” I said.  

Brian gave me a strange look, but before he could say anything the door opened again and in came Daniel carrying a tray of coffee and muffins.  

“
How about a little breakfast in bed?” He smiled as he set down the tray and joined us on the bed. He was still wearing his blue, pinstripe pajamas.

“
Now this is what the doctor ordered,” I said, wrapping my hands around a hot mug of coffee. As I breathed in the stimulating aroma, I realized they were both looking at me.

“
We’re worried about you, Hun,” Daniel said, taking a bite of his muffin. “Don’t you think you should get checked out at the hospital or something?”

I shook my head. “This is all I need, the three of us together. It’s been so long since we’ve done this.” I knew as I said it that it sounded corny, but, truth was, my family rarely spent quality time together anymore.

“
You’ve been through a traumatic experience. Maybe you should talk to your shrink, or a support group or something,” Daniel suggested.  

“
Maybe,” I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee and looking out the window at nothing in particular.  

“
So,” Daniel said, clearing his throat. “What are the police doing to find the killer?”  

“
I imagine they’ll question everyone she knew and hope to find someone with a motive.”  

“
Whoever it was must have had strong hands. Can you imagine strangling someone to death? It must have taken a few minutes, at least.”  

Noticing Brian, sitting on the edge of the bed, totally engrossed in what his dad was saying, I tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “True. But more importantly, why?”  

Daniel shrugged. “You know what they always say. It’s usually love or money.”  

“
I’m pretty sure she didn’t have money,” I said. “And she was getting married.”  

“
Maybe an old boyfriend. Someone from her past. An old lover who went bonkers when he found out she was engaged. It happens.”  

“
I suppose. But why do it at the office? Why not wait ‘till she gets in her car, or at home? Why risk being seen in a public place?”

Daniel shrugged and stuffed another muffin in his mouth. I looked over at Brian, and slid the tray of pastries towards him.  

“
Go ahead, I’m not very hungry,” I said. “Maybe I’ll have something later.”  

Daniel shot me a worried look.  

“
All this talk about Beth is upsetting my stomach,” I explained.

“
Why don’t you stay in bed? You don’t need to go anywhere today, do you?”  

“
No. But lying in bed isn’t going to help find Beth’s killer.”  

“
And what, exactly, do you plan to do?”  

The question percolated in my mind. What did I plan to do? I leaned back onto my pillow and sighed.  

“
That’s what I thought,” Daniel said. His condescending tone irritated me, but I decided not to rebut.  

“
Hey, Mom,” Brian asked, pushing off from the bed, “okay if I go to Nick’s today?”

“
I guess so,” I said, trying to remain strong. My insides felt queasy. Maybe it was just the strong coffee.  

“
And I have a little work to do today,” Daniel said. “But I’ll be right down the hall in my office.”  

“
Thanks,” I said, not caring to make the effort to conceal my disappointment. Our relationship had been declining rapidly ever since I found out he’d been having an Internet relationship with someone named Rita68 from California. I happened to be cleaning his office one day and somehow just happened to log onto his computer. My curiosity was rewarded with what I’d suspected all along. Rita68 had sent my husband pictures of herself-probably from her college years-in very provocative clothing. From what I could tell, they had been discussing plans to get together on one of his business trips. When I finally confronted him about it, his reaction was not surprising. Denial, denial, denial.

I slid my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly got up, Brian and Daniel watching with some trepidation. Halfway across the room, I paused and looked over at them. “See,” I said, “I’m all good,” and proceeded to the bathroom.  

After a shower, I began to feel normal again, whatever normal meant. I dressed and pulled my hair into a loose ponytail. The mirror was not kind to me, the bags beneath my eyes were veritable suitcases.  

Walking, still at a snail’s, albeit a sprightly snail’s, pace back into the bedroom, I glanced out the window at what was unmistakably another cold, rainy, New England day. Determined not to let the weather further dampen my spirits, I slipped into jeans and my most comfortable cashmere sweater and pulled on my knee-high, black leather boots. Then I rummaged through my make-up case and carefully applied under-eye cream, concealer, mascara, and a touch of blush.

Although it would have been easy to languish in bed all day and feel sorry for myself, something inside me was pushing me to act. But what did it want me to do?

I couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed that my family, once it was evident that I was fine physically, had scattered like leaves in the wind. Being a teenage boy, it was Brian’s job to be self-absorbed. But Daniel was a different story. Was it too much to expect my husband to indulge me for one day? Especially under the circumstances.

I walked to his office, stuck my head in, and said, “I’m going out for a bit. Be back later.”

“
Where are you going?” he asked, peering at me over the rim of his glasses.  

“
Out,” I said.  

I walked to the kitchen and grabbed my purse and a bottle of water. When I got to my car, I sat in it for a few minutes-a passive aggressive move-to see if Daniel might come to his senses and come out to stop me.  

I waited two minutes, then started the engine and drove off. He was probably on his computer swapping old photos with Rita68.

Chapter 4

Bridgeport, New Hampshire in November was deserted. The tourists had departed in October, along with the mild temperatures. Ahead lay the long winter and the dreaded notion of shoveling snow and the high cost of heating oil.

Noticing my hands shaking on the steering wheel, I pulled over and dug my cell phone out of my purse. A single number sufficed: my psychiatrist was on speed dial.

“
Doctor Webb’s office.” The female voice was mellifluous.  

“
Hi. My name is Sarah Woods.” I tried not to sound too desperate. “I’m a patient of Dr. Webb, and I’d like to make an appointment to see him as soon as possible.”  

“
Sure, Sarah. Let me check. Let’s see…he has a cancellation at one o’clock today. Is that too ...”  

“
I’ll take it!” I said, saving her the trouble of completing the sentence.  

I looked at the display on the closed cell phone. It was almost noon. I had an hour to kill, enough time to stop to inquire if Detective Flynn had any leads on Beth’s killer. I made a u-turn and headed for the police station.  

A small, New England town of fewer than twenty thousand souls, Bridgeport did not see a lot of crime. In fact, I knew people who never locked their cars. A murder in a town like this couldn’t help but take center stage. It was only minutes before I was pulling into a parking space directly in front of the police station.  It had begun to drizzle as I made my way through the glass double doors into the building. Detective Flynn must have seen me walking towards his desk; as I approached, he cleared his throat and tugged on the sleeve of his shirt.  

“
Hello, detective. I was wondering how the investigation is going.”

He squinted briefly, as if he didn’t recognize me, then his eyebrows rose and he nodded, smiled, and motioned me to a chair.  

“
We’ve taken statements from a few of Beth’s friends and family members,” he began, eschewing amenities. “The investigators have been to her house and searched her room. And we’re still processing the crime scene at the lab.” He made little eye contact as he spoke.

“
What about the calls made on Beth’s cell phone?”

“
Well, it turns out Beth must have had a pre-paid cell phone, so we weren’t able to access any phone records.” He cleared his throat. “We also have to accept the fact that this may have been a random act of violence, and that Beth didn’t know her killer.” His tone was neutral. “We’re still going through the evidence from the crime scene. There’s lots of different fingerprints to process. It could take some time.”  

“
Did you talk to her fiancé? He’s not a suspect, is he?”  

“
Jacob has an alibi and it’s been confirmed. So, for the time being, he’s not a person of interest.”  

“
Does he have any idea who could have done this?”  

“
No. But something might occur to him after the shock wears off. Best thing for you at this point is to hang tight and let us do our job. If something comes to light, you’ll be the first to know.” With that, he inclined his head slightly, a nod I took to mean
understand?
, and escorted me politely out of his office.  

Getting back into my car, I realized I had just enough time to make my appointment. I drove with my head in a fog, trying to remember the last time I had seen “the good doctor,” as I was inclined to refer to Dr. Webb. It had been a few months at least. Not that I was keeping track. I parked behind, and made my way inside, the two-story brick building.

“
Sarah, great to see you.” The good doctor was always well dressed and groomed to perfection. He put a hand on my shoulder, led me into his private therapy room, and closed the heavy, oak door. “It’s been what, a few months, since I’ve seen you?”  

I nodded, taking my usual position on the overstuffed couch. Settling into the chair behind his desk, he studied me intently, as if intuiting that something was very wrong. It was only then that I remembered why I had made the appointment.  

“
I need some meds,” I blurted out.  

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
I need medication. I’ve been having a lot of anxiety, and I need something to take the edge off.” I looked off to my right at a ghastly abstract painting that was not the least bit calming. I considered telling him that he should hire a new interior decorator, but thought better of it.  

“
This is quite unusual, Sarah. You’ve never asked for medication before. Something must really be bothering you. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.” His carefully paced delivery was trying my patience.  

I fidgeted with a pillow. “My receptionist was murdered last night.”

“
Murdered?”  

“
I was getting ready to work on a client and Beth was …” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I just need some meds. Something to take the edge off. Please.”

He smiled, shook his head, and got up from his chair. He walked towards me, sat on the couch and placed his hand in my lap. I looked down at it.  

“
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah,” he said softly, and paused. He was so close to me I could smell his aftershave.  “I have to admit, your coming to see me today is very courageous. I didn’t think I would ever see you again after last time.”

“
I didn’t come here to talk about old times. I just need some pills. Please!” I pleaded, trying to inch away from him. He was invading my personal space, and it wasn’t the first time.

I knew it was a mistake to see him again. I thought I’d put the past behind me. He’d been a great shrink, until he’d tried to seduce me. It had been three months since I’d sat in this same spot pissing and moaning for the umpteenth time about the trivial disappointments in life. Unappreciative husband. Money issues. Typical, stupid stuff. I’d been comfortable with the good doctor. He’d been my therapist for years, so I trusted him completely. But a boundary had been crossed that day. In the midst of my ranting, he’d come to me and kissed me so passionately. At first, I was a little flattered. It had been so long since my own husband had kissed me that way. But after a few seconds I had to
push the doctor away. He took the rejection poorly and didn’t make eye contact until I opened the door to leave. He’d said, “I know I don’t have to remind you, but my reputation is everything in this business. Please be discreet, I beg you.” He’d slicked his hair back with one hand as he saw me out the door. The memory slipped away as I was jolted back to reality.  

I inched away from him on the couch.

“
Okay, Sarah. I can see you’re distressed. Why don’t we talk about your receptionist.” He rose from the couch, walked back to his desk, and sat down, posture perfectly straight, interlaced fingers resting on the desktop. He studied me, his head tilted slightly to one side.  

“
I’d rather not talk at all. At least, not right now. I need more time to process everything.”

He paused only for a moment before smiling and withdrawing something from a drawer in the desk. He scribbled quickly, and gently tore off the top sheet.  “A prescription for Ativan, 3 mg before bed for three nights,” he said, extending his hand across the desk.  

“
Thank you.” Off the couch and in front of his desk in an instant, I leaned over, snatched the piece of paper from his hand, and calmly left the room.