Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set (73 page)

Chapter 4

Mama Mia’s Pizzeria, as it turned out, was no longer in business. There was a realtor's sign on the door indicating the space was for lease. When we looked inside, the place was dark and empty.

“
Great,” I said to Carter. “How are we supposed to find this bookie now? We don't even have his real name. And what kind of a nickname is Dunk anyway?”

“
I'll make some calls,” Carter said, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. “I might be able to get his name from Town Hall.”

I surveyed the neighborhood: banks, a coffee shop, a drug store, and a Chiropractor’s office. It seemed odd that such a benign area of Bridgeport could harbor an elusive bookie. My take on them, according to what I'd seen on T.V., was that they were a violent lot, chopping off fingers of the poor saps who couldn't pay. And they always seemed to have bodyguards, the kind with thick necks, bulging arms, and tattoos. I supposed they existed in the bigger cities, but certainly not in Bridgeport, New Hampshire.

Carter returned his phone to his pocket. “I should get a call back soon. Meanwhile, let's hit the streets and ask around.” He gestured for me to follow him as he continued up the sidewalk.

Next door to the defunct Mama Mia's was a bank. Carter went in while I waited outside.

A few minutes later he returned. “Apparently Mama Mia's was in business one day and gone the next. Happened about a month ago, but the teller wasn't sure of the exact date. And she didn't know anyone named Dunk.”

“
A month ago? That was about the same time Glenn was killed.”

“
Yep.”

“
Okay,” I said, gesturing to the surrounding establishments. “Then we keep on asking. Someone around here is bound to have some idea who the guy is. Maybe the pizzeria relocated.”

“
I'll work on the north end of the street,” Carter said. “Why don't you go in the opposite direction and we'll meet back here in half an hour.”

It was an efficient plan. For the next thirty minutes I visited every single business, asking for information about a bookie named Dunk. Most people looked at me like I had a speech impediment. Dunk?

Of the dozens of people I encountered, only one provided any usable information. The owner of the dry cleaning joint had placed bets with a bookie named Dunk, but had no idea what his real name was. It was still a mystery as to why the pizzeria closed overnight, but rumor had it that health violations were the cause.

Luckily, Carter was able to acquire an address – a possible relocation several towns away.

“
The pizza joint is setting up shop in Sanford,” he said. “I tried calling, but there's no answer.”

“
Maybe the rent here was too high so they had to move.”

“
Maybe. Let's head back to the car and take a drive,” he said.

“
You think Dunk is going to be there?”

“
We'll find out.”

* * *

After a thirty-minute drive to Sanford, we arrived at the new Mama Mia's Pizzeria but the doors were locked.

“
Maybe they're still renovating,” I said.

Carter glanced around. A few cars were parked on the street, with no pedestrians close by. “Wait here. I'm going around back.”

“
Why? What are you going to do?”

He gave me the look that implied,
don't ask
.

I rolled my eyes. “You're not planning to break in, are you?”

“
I don't plan on breaking anything.”

“
You know what I mean.”

He smiled and walked off.

I leaned against the brick building and tried to appear nonchalant, fully expecting to hear an alarm. But when I peered through the window, I could see that Carter was already inside.

I turned back around and focused on the street, paying close attention to each car that drove by. There was a man walking his dog. A woman with a baby carriage plodded along about a hundred feet away. Neither even so much as glanced in my direction.

What seemed like an hour later - but in reality was only ten minutes - Carter materialized. “Waste of time,” he muttered. “Place is empty. Not even a bag of trash I could look through. Let's head back.”

* * *

With nothing to show for our efforts, Carter and I returned to Bridgeport, getting back at around 5:45 p.m. “You hungry?” Carter asked. “We could stop for a quick bite before I drop you off.”

“
Max has dinner plans for us, remember? But thanks anyway,” I said. “In fact, he’s probably waiting for me at my apartment.”

“
So I guess the two of you are getting pretty serious, huh? Have you talked about moving in together?”

I shrugged. “I'm not so sure we should rush into that.”

“
Why not? You two have been together almost a year, right?”

“
After my divorce I'd be insane to jump back into a serious relationship. Max and I have fun together and that's about all I can handle right now.”

“
Fair enough.”

“
What about you?” I asked.

His eyes remained on the road ahead. “What about me?”

“
You never told me what happened with Linda.”

“
I'm too old for her.”

“
That's a bunch of crap,” I said. “Ten years is nothing. Max is seven years younger than me.”

He shot me a cool look. “Why do you care if I have a girlfriend?”

“
Forget I mentioned it,” I said, shaking my head. Even after a year of working together, I still knew very little about Carter's past, other than the fact that he was divorced and had a daughter who died from an overdose.

Carter parked in front of the Victorian apartment building, where I was renting the whole second floor. He killed the engine and turned to look at me. “I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. I should have a name for our bookie by then. And I wouldn't mind going to check out the Gambler's Anonymous meeting tomorrow night.”

“
Sure,” I said as I grabbed my purse. “If you want, I can take the names of Glenn's other friends and start making calls later on.”

Carter gave a dismissive wave. “Forget it. You have plans with Max. Go have fun.”

“
I can put in a few hours after dinner.”

He gave me a stern look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sarah. You’re running late.”

As I walked up the front steps, I noticed Carter didn’t drive off. Was he waiting to make sure I got inside the house safely, or was he just texting?

I trudged up the flight of stairs to my apartment, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. As soon as I flicked the light switch on, a resounding chorus of voices shouted
congratulations!

I nearly fell back onto the floor I was so surprised. Max, along with half a dozen other familiar faces, were smiling back at me and clapping. “You guys!” I said.

Laughter and applause filled my small apartment as Max came over and planted a wet one on my lips. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”

“
What’s this all about? It’s not my birthday.”

Max smiled at me. “We have to celebrate your Private Eye's license. It’s a big deal and we’re all proud of you.”

I glanced around at everyone and felt a warm glow in my heart. There was my bartender friend Kerri, my upstairs neighbor Jackie, Uncle Sammy, my best friend from high school, Linda, and even my son Brian, who had come home from college. Then I heard Carter’s voice behind me. “Hey, who brought the beer?”

I spun around and punched his arm. “You knew all about this, didn’t you?”

He smiled and feigned innocence. “Wasn’t my idea. You have Max to blame for that one. And just so you know, I didn't get you a gift, but I have something else in mind.”

“
I don't need a gift.”

Carter shrugged. “Well, you're getting one whether you want it or not.”

After giving everyone hugs, I glanced across the small living room to the kitchen and noticed a cake sitting on the table. I rushed over to get a better look: in the frosting was a hand-drawn depiction of a woman pointing a gun, and the words “…'
go ahead, make my day.
’”

* * *

By ten o’clock, all my guests had departed. Max started cleaning up in the kitchen as I sat at the table working on my third margarita.

“
Did you have fun?” he asked.

I got up, joined him at the sink, and gave him a squeeze. “It was the best thing ever.”

“
I'm glad. I wasn't sure how you felt about surprises.”

“
I love
good
surprises.” I grabbed a dishtowel. “I can help you clean up.”

“
No worries. I've got it,” he said. “I’ll finish washing the dishes if you want to get ready for bed.”

“
Max … about tonight …this party. Thank you so much.”

He smiled down at me. His dirty blonde, wavy hair was so soft and touchable I could spend hours running my fingers through it. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“
How did you get Brian to show up tonight? Did you offer to pay for a semester of college for him or something?”

“
I just told him if he missed his mother's party he’d regret it for the rest of his life, and I’d make sure of it.”

“
Threats can be very effective.”

Max slipped his arm around me and escorted me to the bedroom. “Let's get your clothes off and get you into bed.”

“
My clothes off?” I gave him my best sexy smile and tried to act coy. “I like the sound of that. Help me finish my drink first.”

Max pinched my chin playfully. “Carter warned me not to get you too drunk tonight. Apparently you guys are on some important case and he's picking you up early tomorrow morning. Speaking of which, I have to leave tomorrow by eight.”

I lay back on the bed with arms outstretched. “Come on. I'm entitled to get drunk once in a while. I'll take some aspirin and I'll be fine tomorrow. I hope you're staying the night.”

Max joined me on the bed and traced my jawline with his fingertips. The sensation sent tiny goosebumps up my arms. “You want me to stay?”

I pulled him close until his mouth was inches away from mine. “Of course. You're my best little party planner ever,” I said, using the baby voice that always made him crack up.

“
In that case – ” He kissed me, and before I knew it, he was on top of me. Apparently the party was not completely over.

* * *

Half an hour later, Max was asleep on the bed next to me. In the darkness, the moonlight filtered in through the blinds, making his naked body appear ghostly white. I could have watched him sleep for hours, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. Yet, when I tried to doze off, my head kept spinning. And not necessarily because of the margaritas.

Oh, how life changes. Just a year and a half ago I was a massage therapist living in a beautiful house, but struggling to stay sane in a loveless marriage. Now I was a budding private detective with an adoring younger boyfriend, living in an apartment barely big enough to host a party.

My new career choice was proving to be quite a challenge. Having a mentor like Carter was a plus, but I often wondered if I'd made the right choice to leave a lucrative career for one that had no stability. Cases were scarce and our clients were unreliable when it came to payment.

I wasn't sure I was cut out for the work even though Carter insisted I had the right stuff. What really bothered me was the fact that I still hadn't solved my own case. Carter always seemed to take over. I typically wasn't an insecure person, but I was starting to wonder if I'd always play second fiddle.

I tried to focus on Max and the fact that he had taken time out of his busy schedule to plan a party for me. My husband of seventeen years had never planned a surprise party for me. Daniel, aka dickhead, could never be bothered. I wondered what he'd say if he found out I was dating a man seven years younger than me. Would he be impressed? Did I even care? We hadn't spoken since our divorce and that was fine with me.

According to Brian, his father was dating again, but nothing serious. Which made me wonder …. were Max and I serious?

All of life's unanswered questions would have to wait for another day as the weight of the world finally dissipated into slumber.

Chapter 5

Thursday, April 25

The next morning I awoke to the sound of Max's voice. “Wake up, Sarah.”

I opened my eyes. Max hovered over me, smelling of aftershave and peppermint. “What time is it?” I asked.

“
Almost seven,” he said. “I have to head out. Thought I'd let you sleep in while I got ready.”

I tried to sit up but my head throbbed unmercifully. “Ouch.”

He laughed. “Hungover? You might want to take a cold shower.”

“
Are you kidding? I feel superb.”

He kissed my forehead. “Sure you do. You could use some eye-drops, too.”

“
Too bad you have to leave. You smell good enough to eat.”

“
I'll be back in a few days. I'll call you when I can.”

I threw the covers off, headed straight to the bathroom, and proceeded to take a long, hot shower.

Afterwards, I wrapped myself in a towel and padded off toward the kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee awaited me. Max had drawn a heart on a napkin next to my favorite coffee mug. A heart meant love, right? Did he really love me?

The words hadn't actually been spoken by either of us. I'd been reluctant to say the “L” word for fear that some kind of expectation would follow in its wake. And I didn't need that kind of pressure.

Did I love Max? I knew I loved spending time with him, but that wasn't the same thing, was it?

I gulped down two mugs of coffee and looked at the clock. With no time to dry and style my hair properly, I decided to put it in a loose bun. I found some clean jeans – a miracle since my laundry basket had runneth over – and a cream-colored v-neck sweater.

At two minutes past eight, I heard Carter's failing muffler making a racket down my quiet residential street.

I grabbed my pocketbook, locked up the apartment, and descended the flight of stairs to the street where the Buick sat idling.

“
No time for breakfast,” Carter said as I plopped myself into his passenger seat. “We have a busy day. I was able to set up a few meetings with two of Glenn's friends, but first thing's first. I got a name and an address for our bookie friend. I hope the information is good.”

“
What's Dunk's real name?” I asked.

“
Duncan Schwartz.”

“
Is it kosher for Jewish people to own a pizza joint?”

Carter grinned. “Maybe he isn't a practicing Jew.”

“
How'd you get his address?”

“
My connection in the city records department came through for me.” He handed me a sheet of paper. “Anyway, check this out. It's a copy of his driver's license. His home address is in Dorchester. GPS says it's eighteen miles from here, so that's where we're headed.”

While Carter drove, I studied the face on the license. Duncan Schwartz reminded me of an angry hamster with swollen cheeks, beady eyes, and a tight-lipped mouth. His dark hair was frizzy as if he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. According to the document, he was 5' 4”, weighed 155, and was forty-nine years old. “He's a looker,” I said. “And two inches shorter than me. He couldn't have been the art thief because Gillian and Jason would have noticed how short he was, don't you think?”

“
Good observation. But just because Duncan didn't do it himself, doesn't mean he didn't hire someone else.”

“
Does he have a record?” I asked.

“
Petty stuff. No assault or anything like that.”

“
Has he spent time in prison?” I asked.

“
Surprisingly, no.”

“
Is he married? Kids?”

“
He's married but no kids. His wife’s name is Mary.”

“
Do you think he knows anything about Glenn's death?”

“
Well,” Carter said. “Bookies usually don't resort to murder. Dead men don't pay debts.”

“
True. So why are we wasting our time with this guy if we're relatively sure he wouldn't have killed Glenn?”

“
Because it's a dangerous business. And mistakes happen. According to Neal, Glenn had gone to see Duncan to pay off Neal's debt. But we can't prove that he actually paid him off.” Carter took the on-ramp to I-95 South and picked up speed. “Maybe they came to another arrangement.”

“
You're the boss,” I said.

Carter looked at me. “Do you have a better idea?”

“
Nope.”

Carter continued to focus on the road. “I'd like you to look over the printout of Glenn's calendar I got from his laptop. I spent some time going over it last night after your party.”

The printout was basically a monthly calendar with names and times entered on each day. By the looks of it, Glenn didn't have a busy schedule, but I noticed the initials
BB
were written in two of the time slots, one on Thursday, March 21, the other on March 26, both at 3:00 p.m..

“Who is
BB
?” I asked.

“
No idea. I crossed referenced the initials with clients and friends of his, but none of them matched.”

“
Maybe a doctor's appointment?”

“
I called Elizabeth this morning. She has no idea who those initials belong to either.”

I traced a finger down the sheet, stopping at each entry. “Looks like Glenn met with a guy named Don Bristol on Monday, and another guy, Victor Rowley, on Thursday, the day before he died. Are those the guys you have meetings set up with today?”

“
Yeah. And I already checked them both out. Don works for some computer outfit downtown. And Victor is a client. He must be well off because he lives at Yorkshire Estates.”

After ten minutes on I-95 South, Carter took the exit for Dorchester. As we descended the off-ramp, the road eventually led to shopping plazas, cheap motels, and chain food restaurants. We continued past the commercial areas and into a residential community – mostly three-story duplexes with small yards and crumbling sidewalks.

Carter pulled over and parked in front of a blue house that had seen better days. The railings on the stairs leading to the entrance were slanted as if the foundation were made of sand. “This is it,” Carter said. “Number fifty-five. Last known address for Duncan Schwartz.”

“
I thought bookies made a decent living,” I said. “This place is hardly a castle.”

We exited the car and stood in front of the house, the scent of coffee and bacon hanging in the air.

“
Someone's making breakfast,” I said.

“
I know you're hungry. We can grab some food after we speak to Duncan.”

“
What are we going to say to him? He'd be stupid to speak willingly to a couple of private detectives.”

“
We're not private detectives. We're interested in making some money,” he said with a wink. “Just let me do the talking.”

“
What else is new?”

Carter strode up to the house. I followed close behind.

He rang the doorbell and within a minute a woman opened the door wearing a chenille robe.

Carter flashed her a toothy grin. “Good morning, ma'am. Are you Mrs. Schwartz?”

She stood very still and narrowed her eyes. That's when I noticed the baseball bat clutched in her hands. “Who wants to know?”

“
I'm Tim Bailey. This is my wife Lauren. We're here to see Duncan.”

The woman didn't move a muscle, aside from her eyelids, which blinked rapidly. “Well he's not here. So if he owes you money, you're out of luck.”

“
Can't you please tell us where to find him? I want to place some bets before the big game this weekend.”

“
The bastard left.” Her tone didn't indicate any desire to be helpful.

“
Where did he go?”

“
To hell, I suppose.” She lowered the bat and was about to close the door, but Carter stepped in.

“
Ma'am, this is important. We really need to speak to him.”

She sputtered a contemptuous laugh. “I don't give a shit.”

Carter reached inside his back pocket for his wallet. “How about a hundred bucks for his new address?”

Her penciled eyebrows turned in, making her look like a she-devil. She held out her hand.

He extracted a crisp bill from the wallet, but didn't hand it over. “First you have to tell me where we can find Duncan.”

“
He left last month. Didn't bother to tell me where he was going. Drained our bank account.”

“
Why?”

“
How the hell am I s'posed to know? I suspect he's staying with his sister in Manhattan. She's a whore.”

“
Where in Manhattan?” he asked.

“
I don't know. Her name is Melissa. I already tried to look her up, but didn't have much luck. She probably lives with one of her pimps.”

“
Melissa Schwartz?”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
Any idea why he skipped out?”

The woman's nostrils flared. “He probably pissed someone off and had to leave.”

“
Other than his sister's place, is there anywhere else Duncan could be hiding out?” Carter asked.

“
No, the rest of his family despises him. I don't think he has any friends left, either.”

Carter handed the money over. She reached out and snatched it.

“
Ma'am, just one more thing. Did your husband ever mention the name Glenn Fleming to you?”

“
No. And we're done with this conversation. Nice doing business with you.”

And with that, she slammed the door in our faces.

When we got back into the Buick, Carter brought up a website on his phone.

“
So what's next?” I asked.

“
Hold on. I'm doing a search for Melissa Schwartz in Manhattan.”

“
You're actually considering going to Manhattan? Will Elizabeth pay for that kind of extra expense?”

“
Probably not,” he said. “Unless we can find more proof. We probably shouldn't trust Duncan's wife, anyway. There's a good chance she knows exactly where her husband is.”

“
You think?”

Carter pointed out the windshield toward the house. “Does she seem like the kind of person who would just let her husband get away with stealing their money?”

“
Good point,” I said. “For all we know she's already killed him and buried him in the backyard.”

He winced. “Maybe it
was
blood I saw on that that baseball bat.”

“
Are you serious?”

He looked at me and laughed. “Don't be so gullible.” Carter checked his watch. “We've got another hour and a half until we meet with Dom Bristol. Let's grab some breakfast.