Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) (6 page)

Chapter 8

L
ois came running out of the house when we arrived, cell phone in hand. “I was just about to call you, Sarah. A blue pickup with a dent on the side just drove past here heading toward downtown. You just missed him by thirty seconds.” She held out her hand and offered the detective a scrap of paper. “I got his license plate number.”

He was on his phone in an instant. “I'll call in an APB.” He took the number and jogged back to his car.

“Did you get a good look at him?” I asked Lois.

“Black hair and a goatee. Scruffy looking. I'm guessing mid-fifties. If he's the one who killed Claire, why would he be driving by our house?”

I held Lois's trembling hands and tried to calm her down. “I don't know why but you did great.”

“Do you think he's planning to come after me? Maybe he thinks I know something.”

I could tell she was frightened, and I didn't blame her. “Maybe you should go inside and make us some tea. I'll be in soon.”

Lois blinked at me a few times and eventually nodded. “Okay. Promise me you won't leave?”

“I promise.”

Detective James was already behind the steering wheel by the time I got to his car. “You heading out?” I asked.

“Yes. I'd like you to stay here and keep a lookout in case he circles back through the neighborhood. We'll be in touch.”

When I found Lois in the kitchen, she had spilled an entire canister of tea bags on the tile floor and was trying to pick them up.

“Here, let me do that,” I said, gently guiding her to a chair. “Just relax.”

“How can I possibly relax? Claire is dead, and her killer is circling this house like a shark in bloody waters.” She leaned over in her chair, elbows in her lap. “What have I done?”

Once I got the floor cleaned up, I searched her cupboards and found a different box of chamomile tea. My only mission at this point was to help Lois realize this wasn't her fault. As I prepared the water and mugs, I said, “Someone burned down the camper. All that's left is a pile of ashes.”

“So, what does that mean?”

I sat down next to her and spoke in a calm voice. “I don't know. It's possible someone was manufacturing something illegal in there and burning it down was the only way to get rid of the evidence.”

“Like a meth lab?”

“Probably not that elaborate. In any case, the Sanford Fire Department will let us know if anything can be salvaged.”

Lois sipped her tea, and I could see the muscles in her shoulders tense up. “I should go tell Tom next door what happened. He has no idea yet.”

I grabbed my purse. “Let me go talk to him. You'll be okay here by yourself for a few minutes, right?”

“Sure. I won't move a muscle till you get back.”

When Tom Parker's face poked out of the door, he didn't seem to recognize me at first.   “Can I help you?” His tone was anything but polite.

I put on a serious face, letting him know I meant business. “May I come in Mr. Parker? This is about Claire. I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

He just blinked at me, as if I were speaking another language.

I tried again. “Mr. Parker? May I come in?”

His nostrils flared, and his eyes began to water as he shook his head back and forth. “You're gonna tell me she's dead, aren't you?”

“I'm so sorry, but I really need your help.”

I fully expected him to slam the door in my face, but he left it slightly ajar as he turned around and began to walk away. I figured he left the door open for a reason, so I stepped inside.

Tom shuffled across the room toward a recliner chair, then practically dropped into it as if his legs had just given out. “How did she die?”

I pulled up a chair and sat down, facing him straight on. “I can't give out that information. What I need is for you to tell me everything Claire told you about the money. Please.”

“You're not with the police.”

“No, I'm working with the police.” I figured he didn't need to know the particulars.

He turned away from me like a petulant child. “And why should I trust you?”

“You can talk to me now or wait for the detective, but every minute counts. If you don't want to help us get Claire's killer, then I guess she didn't mean that much to you.”

He spun his head around to face me, and I knew my words had cut to the bone. It was a cheap shot, but I knew it would work.

“I don't know who the guy is. She never told me.”

“What was the money for?” I asked.

“She was forced to hurt someone. A bad person.”

“Hurt someone? Who did she hurt?”

He kept shaking his head. “I don't know. But she had no choice.” He turned away from me and wiped his nose. “Who's gonna take Pooch to the vet, now? How will I get my food?”

“Mr. Parker, I know this is hard but try and stay focused for me. Claire must've mentioned a name.”

“You're not listening to me,” he barked. “I told you, she never gave me details.”

I apologized and decided to try a different topic. I didn't want him to shut me out. “Did Claire ever mention a camper in Sanford?”

He squinted his eyes, and I could tell he was giving it some thought. “No. Never said a thing about a camper.”

“I followed her to a camper in Sanford yesterday, right before she came here to give you groceries. When the detective and I went back this morning, that same camper had been burned to the ground. No idea who lived there?”

He shook his head again. “Why don't you believe me, lady? She never mentioned anything about what she'd done.”

My frustration building, I decided the best thing to do was lay off on the pressure. Tom, clearly distraught, needed a moment to process this horrible news. I pulled up a chair and leaned toward him, adopting a softer tone. “Maybe you can help with something else. Where are Claire's parents?”

“Her mom is dead. Her dad is in prison.”

“In prison for what?”

“She was too embarrassed to tell me. Said she'd disowned him anyway. Said he was dead to her.”

“What about siblings?”

“She has a disabled brother who lives at a facility. Not sure where.”

I wanted to take his hand, to try to comfort him, but I got the feeling he wanted to be left alone. I spied Pooch in the corner, tail between his legs. He seemed just as sad as his owner. It occurred to me that Claire had made a difference in this man's life and she would be missed. A sad, yet oddly comforting thought.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker. I really appreciate you talking to me about this. The detective in charge might still want to speak with you about Claire, so you should expect a visit from him soon.”

He didn't reply, just kept his hand over his eyes.

I saw myself out.

Heading next door to check on Lois, I noticed Carter's Buick parked across the street.  He got out of the car and trotted over as soon as he saw me.

“Have you heard from Detective James?” he asked.

I checked my cell phone to make sure. “Not yet.”

Carter jabbed a thumb to his left. “Any luck with the neighbor?”

“He's pretty torn up over the news of Claire. Let's go inside and I'll tell you and Lois what I found out.”

We all sat down at the kitchen table, and I began. “Tom says that Claire was forced to hurt someone. He couldn't give me a name of anyone involved.”

“What?” Lois said. “I don't understand what that means.”

“I think someone paid Claire to hurt, or even kill, someone. I know it sounds unbelievable. I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around it, too.”

Lois stared at me, eyes bulging in disbelief. “How the hell could Claire hurt someone?   She's not a violent kind of person.”

Carter said, “Norton Cline died Wednesday evening. Had he been to the bakery that day?”

Lois looked aghast. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Carter's right,” I said. “Why else would Claire be so upset over reading that article yesterday?  It prompted her to take the money to Sanford and leave it. The article didn't mention how Norton died, but never hinted at murder. A poisoning would make sense.”

“That's not possible,” Lois said. “You think Claire put poison in...his food?”

Lois had every right to be protective of her family's business. If this idea got out, it would be devastating for the reputation of the bakery.

Lois stood up and paced the kitchen. “I have to call Peter. Do we need to hire a lawyer?”

“There's no need to panic,” I said. “This is just a theory we're hashing out. It has no merit until we have more proof.”

“I'm sick over what happened to Claire, I really am. I hope I don't sound like a monster but, if she poisoned someone, I could be in deep shit, here. They could close down the bakery and press criminal charges.”

“No,” I said. “If you had no knowledge of any unlawful activity, you shouldn't be held responsible.”

Carter said, “We need to go talk to the Cline family. Maybe they'll give us the names of the people who filed those lawsuits. Maybe one of them got to Claire and threatened her.”

“That's a great place to start,” I said. “But first we need to determine
how
Mr. Cline passed away. Could you talk to the coroner, find out if an autopsy was performed?”

“Can't make any promises but I can certainly try.”

Chapter 9

I
walked with Carter outside to get some air.

“Why is Lois's house so damned hot?” he asked.

“She just moved here from Florida,” I said. “Her blood has thinned out, apparently.”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead.  “I might have to go change my shirt.”

“Will you call me as soon as you talk to the coroner? I'd rather not mention our Norton Cline theory to Detective James until we have confirmation that he was poisoned.”

“Even if the coroner performed an autopsy, he probably won't get the toxicology tests back for another week.”

“I know, but at least he might have some suspicions about his death.”

Carter leaned over and kissed me goodbye. “Do me a favor and stay inside the house with Lois till I get back. Let's not forget there's a killer out there and he's messing with you.”

“I get it. I'll be safe.”

I watched as Carter drove off, and as I was heading back toward the house, Detective James called with an update.

“I just spoke with Bruce Helm,” he said. “He owns the blue Tacoma pickup. Turns out Mr. Helm had reported his truck stolen two days ago.”

“Shit,” I said. “He has no idea who took it?”

“Nope. Happened in the middle of the night. Woke up and his truck was gone. Where are you?”

“I'm still with Lois. I went next door to see if Tom Parker would talk to me about Claire.”

“You already talked to him without me?”

I detected a hint of annoyance, so I trod lightly. “Just helping out. You know I have a vested interest in this case.”

“I really shouldn't let you question witnesses. Technically,
you're
a witness in this investigation.”

“I know, Detective, but you trust me, right?”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Sarah.”

“Look, I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but I think Claire was paid to hurt someone. I'd like to pursue that angle.”

“Are you asking my permission, or telling me?”

“I'm asking, of course.”

A long pause. “Okay, but you need to check in with me. If you find anything that has merit, you need to let me know. You and Carter don't have free reign over this one, hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Good. I'm heading over right now to collect some of Claire's personal items. Will you be there when I arrive?”

“Most likely and, by the way, I found out that Claire's mom is dead, and her father is in prison. ”

“Which prison?”

“I have no idea. But she also has a brother. Not sure where he is at the moment.”

“Okay,” he said. “I'll have someone look into it.”

Inside, Lois was hunched over the kitchen table, flipping through a file. Her eyes were half closed like she might topple over from exhaustion. I couldn't help but wonder, if he had never hired me to spy on Claire, would she still have died?

“What are you looking at?” I asked her.

“I found this inside Claire's bedroom. Maybe I shouldn't have touched anything, but I  wanted to do something to help.” She handed me one of the documents. “It's Claire's brother. He lives at the Wentworth Residential Care Facility here in Bridgeport. It's for the mentally disabled, Sarah. According to the records, he's been there since 2010.”

The name of the patient was Adam Kendall, birthdate 1993. “He's only twenty-two years old. I guess she never told you her brother was mentally disabled?”

“No, never. I don't know why. It's nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Maybe she didn't want pity,” I said. “Which is probably why she never mentioned she had a father in prison.”

Lois looked up at me. “Her father is in prison? For what?”

“I don't know, but that's what Tom told me.”

“What will happen to Adam now if his only living family member is in jail?”

“There must be distant relatives out there. We'll find them. Did you come across an address book in her bedroom?”

“No. Maybe she has all her contacts on her laptop.”

“Poor kid,” I said. “Depending on what his mental capacity is, this news about his sister could be devastating. Is there anything in Claire's room about the father, or where he might be incarcerated?”

“Not that I found.” She closed the file and rested her head in her hands. “Any news about the pick-up truck owner?”

“Yeah, Bruce Helm is the name on the registration. Detective James found out he'd reported the truck missing two days ago.”

“So we have no idea who this guy is. Only that he's driving around in a stolen truck.”

Since it was a rhetorical question, I didn't respond.

Lois got up from the table and lumbered into the living room with a hand on her head. “I need to lie down on the couch for a minute.”

“You feeling okay?” I asked.

“Worst headache I've ever had. Feels like my brain is splitting in two.”

“Where do you keep your Tylenol. I'll get it for you.”

“I took the last two this morning.”

I could tell by her strained voice that she needed some relief. “Why don't I head over to the drug store and pick you up a bottle. Have you eaten anything today?”

“I have no appetite.”

I grabbed my purse and remembered I didn't have a car. I had arrived with Detective James. “Lois, can I borrow your car?”

“Sure. The keys are hanging by the door.”

“Thanks. By the way, the detective will be here any minute. He needs to collect Claire's laptop. Plus, tell him about her father and brother.”

* * *

I hopped in Lois's car and drove five blocks down the street to a CVS Pharmacy. Luckily the place was deserted. I wanted to get in and out as soon as possible because my next big priority was getting food.

As I searched the isles for the medicine, I sensed someone was close by, watching me. When I looked over, I expected to see an employee about to ask if I needed help finding an item. It wasn't an employee, just a fit guy in his fifties with a goatee.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked, slightly irritated by his unrelenting glare.

“I certainly hope so,” he said as if I should know what he was talking about.

A thick mane of black hair brushed back from his face with a shock of gray around his temple. His skin was pale like he hadn't been outside in years. He seemed rugged under the jean jacket and cargo pants.

Finally, like a slap on the face, the realization hit me. This had to be the guy Lois described driving the stolen pickup.

“Who are you?” I asked, keeping a straight, authoritative posture.

His brown eyes penetrated mine as he held out his hand. “Name's Mick Kendall. I'm Claire's father.”

Momentarily stunned, I didn't know how to respond. I said the first thing that came into my mind. “I thought you were in prison.”

“Sounds like you know more about me than I know about you but to answer your question, I got out a few months ago.” He withdrew his hand, letting it rest by his side. “I didn't catch your name.”

“I didn't give it to you.” I surmised he'd followed me here from Lois and Claire's house. I just didn't know what his intentions were.

I searched up and down the aisle to make sure no one was around. I didn't trust this guy, but I figured he wouldn't pull anything funny in a public place. I kept my distance.

He chuckled. “What? You afraid I'm gonna hurt you? Believe me, I just got out of prison. I'm not looking to go back.”

“What do you want?”

“Claire never got to work this morning. I think she might be in trouble. Who are you and why have you been at my daughter's house all day?”

He was acting like he had no idea that Claire was dead, and it wasn't my place to tell him. “You should speak with Detective James. He'll give you the details.”

A pause. “Is he a homicide detective?”

I nodded.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. It took a moment for him to say, “How did it happen?”

“I'm not allowed to disclose that information. I'm sorry.”

With pursed lips, he finally opened his eyes to meet my gaze. “I'm her father. I have a right to know.”

I glanced around, wondering if we were alone. I had an uneasy feeling about this but what could I do? Walk away? No, that seemed too heartless.

Mick blinked away tears, fighting to keep his composure.  “Look, could you throw me a bone, at least? I can't go to the police.”

“Why? Is it because you've been driving around in a stolen truck?”

He sighed. “Okay, I deserve that.”

“So you admit that you drove by Claire's house earlier?”

“When Claire didn't show up for work I had a feeling something was wrong. I've been circling the neighborhood all morning.”

I failed to mention there was an APB out on the truck. “How do I even know you're Claire's father?”

He reached into his back jeans pocket and produced a wallet. He showed me his license and an old photograph. “That's me and Claire when she was ten.”

He gave me the photo, and I examined it. Father and daughter were holding hands on a beach. Mick looked a lot younger and had no facial hair. Claire was all elbows and knees, with braces and long black hair. They seemed happy, playing in the sun.

“That was taken a year before her mother passed away. Our lives went to hell after that. My son Adam needed a lot of attention, and I couldn't handle it most of the time. Claire stepped in and took care of him as best she could.”

This man might have been riddled with guilt, but that was his problem. My main focus right now was Claire. “Your daughter was last seen getting into a blue pickup truck yesterday afternoon around four. A few hours later, she's dead. I don't mean to sound accusatory but would you care to explain?”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Look, I got out of prison a few month ago and I've been trying to get back into Claire's life. Hasn't been easy, but I figured she'd forgive me eventually.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“I was convicted of voluntary manslaughter eight years ago. If you want the details, go talk to my PO.”

“Tell me what happened after Claire got into your car yesterday. Where did you go?”

He stared at the gray tile floor, hands in pockets. “I've been driving by her house most afternoons after she gets home from work. The first few times she refused to speak to me, but I kept at it. I figured she had to forgive me at some point.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yesterday afternoon, she finally agreed to have dinner with me. I picked her up and headed downtown. On the way there, we got into a fight, and she made me pull over so she could get out of the car.”

“Where did this happen?”

“On Islington Street, near the Irving Gas station. I begged her to get back in the car. She told me to go to hell. I was pissed so I took off.”

“You just left her there?”

“It's not like I dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. There was a gas station just a few hundred feet away.” He shook his head with remorse. “Believe me, for the rest of my life I'll regret letting her get out of the car. I didn't think it would be the last time I'd ever see her.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now I'll never be able to make things up to her.”

“Do you remember the time?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I don't remember the precise time. I'd guess around 4:45.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“Confirm what?”

“Confirm she was seen getting out of your car?”

“I don't know. Maybe other drivers on the road?”

Could I trust this man's story to be true? He was, after all, a convicted killer. However, he seemed truly distraught over the news of his daughter's death but I'd been fooled before. “Where have you been living since your release? You have a job?”

He backed up a step and glanced around apprehensively. “I see what you're trying to do and I'm not falling for it. You'll have the cops track me down and arrest me for stealing cars. Better yet, they'll probably try and pin my daughter's murder on me, too. No thanks, I'd rather die than go back to prison.”

“Did you kill your daughter?” I said, just to see his reaction. Guilty people tend to get all defensive.

“I might be a criminal and a shitty dad,” he said, “but I'm not a monster.”

I decided to take this opportunity and ask a few questions. Cooperation is usually another indication of sincerity. “Did Claire mention anything about the money to you?”

He seemed genuinely confused. “What money?”

“We believe Claire was mixed up in a dangerous situation and it got her killed. Did she ever mention a guy by the name of Norton Cline? He's a financial advisor in town with a reputation of ripping off his clients.”