An Act of Deceit: Book 2 of the Sarah Woods Mysteries (12 page)

     I started the car and was about to back out when my phone began to buzz. I fished it out of my purse.

     “Uh . . . hello, is this Sarah?” the caller asked, her voice tentative and unfamiliar.

     I hesitated. “Yes. Who’s calling?”

     “I’m sorry to bother you, Sarah, but I wasn’t sure who else to call. It’s about Mr. Wilcox. He suffered a stroke this morning and was taken to Andover Medical Center. I work the desk, part-time, at Andover Estates. You left your name and number in my guest book a few days ago when you visited.”

     “Yes, I remember. I’m very sorry to hear about Mister Wilcox, but I’m not quite sure why you chose to call me about his situation?”

     “Well, you’re the only person who has visited Ted in quite some time.”

     I wondered if I should give her Ted’s daughter’s information. But what if Carter was right? What if she had good reason for wanting nothing to do with her father?

      “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could help.”

     “Oh dear,” the woman said softly, “that’s a shame. Well, thank you any--”

     “Hold on,” I interrupted. “Maybe I could pay him a visit. Where is he again?”

     “He was taken to Andover Medical Center. He’s in room 205.”

     “What’s his condition?”

     “I’m afraid the doctors don’t expect him to live much longer. You’d better go soon, if at all possible.”

     “Okay. Thank you for calling and letting me know.”

     I drove directly to the hospital, my instincts guiding me. With Ted Wilcox facing imminent death, perhaps I could find out the reason behind his estrangement from his daughter. If I could gain his trust, there might be hope for reconciliation, and if it helped in solving Carter’s case, all the better.

     Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing outside Ted’s door wondering what the hell I was doing. How was it I had thought this was a good idea? My heart pounded as I turned to walk into the room. I took a step forward when I almost ran headlong into a nurse who was on her way out.

     “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you here to see Mr. Wilcox?”

     “Yes, if he’s feeling well enough.”

     “He’s awake at the moment, but he keeps going in and out of consciousness. He might not be able to speak, but he can understand.”

     “Thank you.” I walked into the room and looked over at the hospital bed. Ted was lying with his head propped up on a pile of pillows, the white sheets that covered him rising and falling with each slow, laborious breath. The skin on his wrinkled face appeared iridescent, and I wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed. I walked slowly to the bed and leaned over. “Ted,” I said softly, “it’s Sarah Woods. I came to see you a few days ago. Do you remember?”

     Ted’s eyes traveled very slowly. When they finally landed on me, I sensed some sort of acknowledgment. “I came here to see you . . . I’ve come because . . .” I stopped, unsure if I could follow through with this. What right did I have to bother this poor departing soul? Yet something deep inside was guiding me forward.

     “Ted,” I began again, “I know about your daughter, Stephanie.” At the mention of her name, something in his eyes changed. “I know you were trying to make things right with her,” I continued. He blinked a few times then I saw, in the corners of his eyes, a glistening that resolved into a pair of tears. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I can understand why you were trying to protect your baby girl. Nobody can blame you for that.” Something inside of me was expecting more tears, but the look in his eyes changed to something entirely unexpected: confusion.

     I placed my hand gently over his. I believed his passing would be made easier by acknowledging whatever had come between them.

     Without warning, Ted’s eyes began blinking wildly and ear-piercing medical alarms filled the air. One of the machines he was plugged into was flashing bright red. A nurse rushed into the room.

     I stepped aside, then backed into the corner as she examined her patient and made adjustments to the machine. “Ma’am,” she said without looking up, “would you mind coming back in a few hours. Mr. Wilcox needs to rest now.”

     “Is he going to be okay?” I asked, my voice quivering.

     “He just needs to rest for a while. You can talk with the doctor when you come back.”

     “Sure,” I said, slipping out the door and into the corridor. I found a waiting area and tried to sit, but couldn’t relax.

     What had happened? Was I going to be responsible for him dying sooner than later? I lowered my face into my hands, adjusted my breathing, and said a little prayer.

     “Sarah?” I heard a voice call out. A woman carrying a fancy walking stick and an umbrella approached. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her.

     “Thank goodness it’s you,” she said. “I’m Ruth … the one who called you about Ted.”

     Granny glasses and bright red lipstick; it all came back to me. Yep, she was the woman from Andover Estates, all right. “Yes,” I said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

     “It’s so nice of you to come and visit Teddy.” She smiled and tilted her head to one side. At least this time her lipstick wasn’t smeared all over her front teeth. “Did you see him?”

     “Briefly, but one of the machines went off. His nurse suggested I come back in a few hours.”

     Ruth shook her head. “Poor, Teddy. I made it a point to look after him, you know. I was his only true friend. His family abandoned him. They left him all alone.”

     I looked down at my feet, trying to decide what to say. Then, without hesitation, I blurted out, “So Ted’s daughter, Stephanie, never came to see him?”

     “Excuse me, dear?” she said, her smile quickly fading.

     “I asked you if Ted’s daughter, Stephanie Miller, ever came to visit. I assume Miller was her mother’s maiden name?”

     Ruth blinked a few times. “Oh. So Teddy told you about her?”

     “I know about her, but don’t know what happened between them. Do you?”

     Ruth sighed. “It’s a long story, and a very sad one, I’m afraid.”

     “I have time. Please, can I buy you a cup of coffee in the cafeteria while we wait to see Ted? I’d really like to know more about his life.”

     Ruth glanced at her watch and frowned. “Oh dear, I really need to get home. The cable company is sending their man over to install some newfangled gadget so my computer will work better. I’m supposed to let him in between one and three.” She was quiet for a moment then continued. “Tell you what. Come on over to my house. I have coffee there.”

     “It wouldn’t be an imposition?”

     “Not at all, but do you mind if I ride with you? My son makes me take the bus these days. He worries about me, needlessly of course.”

     We went out to the car under Ruth’s umbrella. She explained the quickest route and we headed to her home.

     “There’s my place on the right,” she said after we had been driving for a short while. “The brick house with blue shutters. Just pull around to the back.”

     We parked and I followed her inside to a small kitchenette.

     “I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, setting her purse on the dining room table. “Please excuse the clutter. I’ll get some coffee percolating.”

     “It’s a charming place,” I said, with nothing messy about it at all. I was reminded of my grandmother’s kitchen with its crocheted oven mitts and lace window valances.

     “Let me hang up that wet jacket,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. I made chocolate chip cookies yesterday. Would you like some?”

     “That would be lovely,” I said, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table.

     Ruth carefully selected several cookies from the plate, as if they had been made just for me, and placed them on my napkin. Then she stood back to watch me take the first bite.

     “Delicious,” I said.

     Ruth’s face lit up.

     “So what happened between Ted and his daughter?” I asked.

     “Well,” she said as she poured our coffee, “this is what he told me. Eleven years ago, Teddy’s wife, Lorraine, died of cancer. He was overcome with grief. You know, my aunt Clara died of cancer when I was twelve. She used to make the most wonderful chocolate chip cookies, but sometimes she’d put nuts in--”

     “Ruth,” I said, patting her arm, “you were saying about Ted and his daughter?”

     “Oh yes.” Ruth brought her hand up to her cheek. “I’m sorry. I sometimes get off track. Anyway, when Ted’s wife died, he was left to deal with a teenage daughter who really needed a mother. Poor thing went wild, unable to come to terms with her mother’s death. She behaved in ways Ted didn’t know how to handle. She became promiscuous, got into the drink, and eventually the dope. The summer after she graduated high school, her troubles really began.”

     “What happened?”

     “She got pregnant. The father was a bum, leaving Stephanie to deal with the baby. I’m not sure how Ted found out, but he went bonkers. He told Stephanie she was a disgrace and told her to get out.”

     I shut my eyes. “What happened then?”

     “She ended up losing the baby, and Ted never heard from her again. He was just sick over the whole episode once he’d calmed down and realized what he had done. But it was too late and he was still mourning the loss of his wife.”

     Ruth held a napkin to her eyes, dabbed at the tears, and cleared her throat.

     I took her hand. “You’re right. This is a sad story.”

     “Teddy made a profound mistake, but you need to understand that he’s a good man who made a bad decision. And he has paid dearly for it. He realized long ago that he shouldn’t have abandoned his daughter when she needed him most.”

     “Did he tell you about the gifts he’s been sending her?”

     She nodded, still wiping her bloodshot eyes.

     “Why didn’t he send cards so she’d know they were from him?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t accept them.”

     “Well, she thinks a stalker has been sending her flowers. She even has a bodyguard looking after her.”

     Ruth’s eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear, that’s terrible. Teddy had no idea. I guess he just assumed she’d figure it out.”

     “Does Ted know she’s an exotic dancer?”

     She nodded and wiped her tears again. “Yes, he does.”

     “How does he feel about it?”

     “How would you feel?” she said sharply. “He’s just sick over it, and blames himself.”

     I nodded, a little taken aback by her tone. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

     “No, no.” She put up a hand to stop me. “I’m the one who should apologize. It’s just a very sensitive subject for me.”

     I nodded and sipped my coffee then decided to ask the big question.

     “Did Ted ever mention his friend, Marty Quinn?”

     Ruth’s lip quivered. She tried to smile. “How do you know about him?”

     “Does Ted know Stephanie had a relationship with Marty?”

     Ruth looked down at her mug and she began to shake.

     “Ruth, Marty was killed five days ago.” I paused then added, “I’m afraid Ted may have made another huge mistake. Would you know anything about that?”

     The sound of a doorbell startled the hell out of both of us. “That must be the cable man,” she said, regaining her composure. “Excuse me.”

     I watched her disappear through a narrow doorway into what I assumed was her living room. I heard the front door open. A loud voice informed Ruth that the work should only take ten minutes. The guy spoke with a pronounced Boston accent.

     “Sorry for the interruption, dear,” Ruth said, as she came back into the kitchen. She looked down at my empty mug. “Here, let me get you some more coffee.”

     “Ruth, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I asked as she took my empty mug. “I spilled a cappuccino all over me earlier. It’s starting to smell like sour milk.”

     “Yes, of course.” She half turned towards me and pointed to a door on the other side of the room.

     I closed the bathroom door behind me and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my hair flat, and my lips chapped. After doing my best to blot off my spill, I carefully opened the medicine cabinet to look for some petroleum jelly. I found myself overwhelmed by a massive variety of prescription medications. There was Zyprexa, Celexa, and Zoloft, among others I couldn’t pronounce. Also present was a man’s shaving kit and several bottles of cologne. This puzzled me, Ruth having failed to mention being married or having a sugar daddy.

     Before I could investigate further, she called out, “Everything okay in there, dear?”

     I replied in the affirmative, closed the medicine cabinet, and returned to the kitchen, surprised to find Ruth still at the counter with our mugs.

     I settled back into my chair and waited. It seemed as though Ruth was stalling, perhaps in order to avoid my prior line of questioning. It now occurred to me that if Ted had somehow been involved in Marty’s death and Ruth knew about it, she risked being prosecuted for withholding information. I regretted putting her in this situation. She was nothing more than a sweet old woman trying to help a friend; who was I to betray that trust?

     I looked over and saw her head tilted back, a bottle of eye drops in hand. “Can I help with the coffee?” I asked as she squeezed the drops into each of her eyes.    

     “No, no. Sorry dear,” she said
while wiping the excess fluid from her nose with a napkin.    “My eyes get so dry during the winter months.” She finally returned with the coffee and set our mugs on the table.

     Once settled, I leaned in towards her. “Look, Ruth, I know you want to protect Ted, and I realize he means a great deal to you. I respect that, but you must understand the truth will come out, eventually.”

     “The truth?” Ruth shot back, eyes narrowed. “Do you have a daughter, Sarah?”

     “No, but I do have a son.”

     “Well I’m sorry, but you couldn’t possibly understand. When you have a daughter, you must always be there to protect her. And if someone intends to hurt her, you do whatever’s necessary. You must do whatever you need to in order to protect your little girl.”