An Act of Deceit: Book 2 of the Sarah Woods Mysteries (4 page)

     When I got to my office, Sammy was already at the desk clicking away on his computer.

     “Hey, doll face,” he said, his customary greeting to me. “Don’t forget you have appointments at noon, and one o’clock.”

     “Thanks, Sammy. I just stopped in for a second. I have a bunch of errands to run this morning.”

     “Okay. By the way, did you call that friend of yours?”

      I rubbed the back of my neck. I was beginning to think it had been a mistake to tell Sammy about Max. “No, and I don’t plan to. If he really wanted to talk he would have called me.”

     “Maybe, or perhaps he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

     “Sammy,” I said, sounding more irritated than I really felt. “I don’t have time for games. He either wants to see me or he doesn’t. I’m not going to chase him. Frankly, I hope he doesn’t call me.”

     “Yes, ma’am.” He put his hands up defensively. “Got it.”

     “Sorry,” I walked over to him, leaned down, and kissed his cheek. “It’s a sensitive subject. I didn’t mean to get all huffy.”

     “Actually, I kind of like the new you. You seem more assertive. More in control of your life.”

     I smiled and waved as I opened the door to leave. “You’re right. I’m changing my ways, Sammy. From now on, I’m not tolerating bullshit from anyone.”

* * *

     Carter was waiting with mug in hand when I arrived at the diner.

     “I spent a good part of yesterday trying to find a witness,” he said, skipping any sort of greeting. He sipped his coffee and leaned back against the bench.

     “Find anyone?”

     Carter shook his head. “But I have Harding’s profile. He’s thirty-six, has no kids, never been married, and lives with his mother. He’s a delivery driver for Sunrise Dry Cleaning; been there for six-plus years. His annual income is roughly thirty grand. There’s currently six hundred and change in his checking account. Credit cards are maxed out. Apparently, this guy has an online gambling addiction. He has one recent speeding ticket, which he paid.”

     Carter slid me a copy of Harding’s driver’s license photo. The guy looked like Joe Average: early thirties, scraggly facial hair, dismal grey eyes, and bushy eyebrows. “Wow. You got all of this information together in less than a day? That’s mind-boggling.”

     “What boggles my mind,” Carter replied, “is that this guy lives an utterly boring life. I mean, really … online gambling?” He shook his head.

     “Well, he might sound pathetic, but he must be a decent guy, taking care of his mother, and all.”

     “Yeah, either taking care of her or mooching off from her. Might explain why he can still afford online gambling. Anyway, there’s something else I thought was interesting.” Carter handed me a sheet of paper. “Found this article on the Internet. It’s about his sister, Kelly Harding.”

     “He has a sister?”

     “He had a sister.” Carter pointed to the page I was holding. “She was killed when she was sixteen. Lance was eighteen at the time.”

     “What happened?”

     “According to the article she was raped and murdered by her boyfriend. He was eight years older than Kelly and had a history of violence with prior girlfriends. They convicted him. He was serving a twenty year sentence until about five years ago.”

     “He got out early?”

     “No.” Carter chuckled. “He hung himself in his cell.”

     “Yikes. I guess he couldn’t handle prison life.”

     “He got off easy.” Carter turned serious. “If it had been my sister, he’d have died a more painful death.”

     “Do you think Lance Harding’s sister’s death is connected to Marty in some way?”

     “I wondered about that, too, but couldn’t find any connection. I went through all of his recent bank statements, credit card statements, and phone records. So far I can’t find a single thing that connects Lance Harding to Marty Quinn. I did find out that Harding was driving his employer’s brand new van when he hit Marty. I thought we’d head over there before he starts his deliveries this morning and have a little chat with this guy.”

     I cupped my hands around the coffee mug and let the warmth seep into my fingers. “Okay. And what do you think we’ll find out?”

     “Well, I don’t expect a confession, but there are other ways to get to the truth.”

     “Such as?”

     Carter reached inside his jacket and withdrew a rectangular metal object. “This is a tracking device. It’s state-of-the-art, and cost me a pretty penny. I also scored a copy of his daily delivery schedule.”

     “Where do you plan to put the device?”

     “Under his van.”

     I waited for the waitress to refill our mugs before I continued. “So what’s the point?” I asked. “How will tracking his vehicle help us after the fact?”

     “He might get spooked and try to contact someone after we question him.”

     “Someone who might have hired him,” I ventured, shaking some sugar into my coffee. ”According to the information you’ve gathered, he’s practically broke, right? I thought hit men made a good living.”

     “Maybe this was a one-time deal. Or maybe he stashes his cash somewhere. That’s why we need to find a connection or a motive.” Carter rifled through the documents. “I also made another interesting discovery. Last Wednesday, Harding went out of his way to drive past the Chestnut Inn during deliveries. Other routes would have been shorter. Why did he choose that route on that particular day?”

     “It was raining pretty hard that day. Maybe there was an accident or a construction delay along his normal route.”

     “I checked. No accidents or construction last Wednesday.”

     “So you’re beginning to think Janet’s instincts are valid?”

     Carter chewed his lower lip, ignoring my question. “His computer is going to be difficult to hack. I’m leaving that as a last resort. It can be done, but it’s not legal.”

     “Has that ever stopped you before?”

     Carter smiled. “Nope.”

* * *

     During the ten-minute drive to Sunrise Dry Cleaning, I couldn’t help but notice the relaxed expression on Carter’s face. I would’ve guessed he’d be a little on edge with the prospect of questioning a potential murderer. I certainly was. But there was something about Carter that made me feel secure. Whatever it was--stature, air of confidence, laid back attitude, or years of experience--it almost didn’t matter. I was learning how this business worked, and I was fascinated.

     Sunrise Dry Cleaning came into view. We parked directly behind a van being loaded with what appeared to be plastic-wrapped bundles of linens. I followed Carter’s lead, getting out of the car just as the man in the grey uniform closed the rear doors of the van.

     “Lance Harding?” Carter inquired as we approached the van.

     “Yeah?” Harding’s husky, egg-shaped body turned to face us. The man’s considerable facial hair matched that of the photo. Harding was about my height--five foot seven--but appeared to weigh well over two hundred pounds.

     Carter made a friendly gesture with his right hand. “My name’s Carter. This is Sarah. Can we talk with you for a minute or two?”

      “About what?”

     “Just a couple of quick questions concerning the accident you were involved in the other day.” Carter paused then added “We were friendly with Marty, the guy you hit.”

     Harding’s eyes widened.  He shook his head and put up his hand. “Look, I already gave the police my statement. I never saw that guy walk into the street.” Harding looked down at his feet. “I called 911 immediately.”

     “Did you know Marty?” Carter asked.

     Harding scratched his chin and shook his head. “No, I didn’t know who he was until the police told me later that day.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet again. Despite the freezing temperature, his sweaty forehead glistened in the faint sunlight. “I swear I wasn’t speeding,” he added. “I’ve learned my lesson. I can’t afford to lose my job over another ticket. My boss is already angry enough. The company just bought a brand new fleet of vans and I managed to screw mine up the second day I had it.”

     “I understand. Where were you headed when the accident occurred?”

     “I had just dropped off a couple bundles of linens at the Yellow Daisy Motel. I was on my way to Hometown Inn.”

     “Really?” Carter rocked heel to toe, hands clasped behind his back. “Odd you’d take that route. Wouldn’t Main Street have been more direct?”

     Harding looked away and scratched his neck. “There was a lot of traffic that day. I was running late and decided to take a side street with no traffic lights.”

     “And you never saw Marty walk out into the road?”

     “No, I did not. Look, it was raining like crazy that day. I had no idea what I’d hit until I got out of the van.” Harding suddenly appeared bewildered, his facial features contorted. “Wait a minute. Who are you guys? Are you from the insurance company?”

     “Relax,” Carter said. “You’re not in trouble. You just might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

     I noticed a trickle of sweat fall from Harding’s nose as he glanced back toward his van. I could certainly understand why Janet might be leery of him. He was an odd character, for sure. He scratched himself so often I was beginning to think he had hives.

     “Look, I don’t know what else to tell you guys,” Harding said. “Should I be hiring a lawyer or something? Not that I can afford one.”

     Carter smiled. “Don’t get all worked up. You don’t need a lawyer. We’re just trying to figure out how Marty wound up dead, that’s all.”

     “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” Harding wiped his forehead and slowly backed away. “Look, I’ve really got to get going. I’ve got a ton of deliveries to make. I’m really sorry about your friend. I really am.”

     “Thanks. I appreciate you taking time to talk with us.” As Harding trailed off toward his van, Carter said, “Oh, one other thing.”

     Harding turned back around.

     “Did you happen to notice anyone else on the sidewalk? Was anyone standing near Marty before he walked out into the street? Maybe--”

     “No. I didn’t see anyone.” Harding’s mouth twitched as he thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the van. “Look, I’ve really got to go. Like I said, I’m sorry about your friend.” He turned and lumbered toward the van. Just as Harding climbed inside and slammed the door shut, Carter squatted and attached the tracking device to the underside of the van’s back bumper.

* * *

     Ten minutes later we were stuffing our faces with cheeseburgers. There had been little conversation between us since leaving Harding’s workplace.

     “What’s on your mind?” I finally asked Carter, knowing he’d been chewing on more than beef and a sesame seed bun.

     “Did you pick up on what Harding said about not seeing anyone standing near Marty before he hit him?”

     I looked at Carter and shrugged.

     “Well, if he didn’t see Marty, how could he be sure no one was standing next to him?”

     “Good point. So he’s lying?”

     Carter wiped his mouth with a napkin then took a swig of his soda. “He seems to be lying about something. At any rate, if he strays from his schedule today, I’ll know it.”

     I looked at my watch. “Shit, I need to get back to the office. I’ve got a client at noon.” I stuffed the last bite of burger into my mouth.

     “Okay. Did you call those others? Uh, Jason, and that Ted guy from Marty’s contact list?”

     “Yes. I’m meeting Ted later this afternoon. He’s over at that assisted living community, Andover Estates. The other guy, Jason, is a bankruptcy attorney. He hasn’t called me back yet. I would assume he’s pretty busy these days.”

     “Let me know what you find out. By the way, I had my friend give Marty’s computer a look, after all. He didn’t find much. No e-mails from crazy girlfriends or threats from angry customers. There was nothing but a few subscriptions to porn sites.”

     “I can’t say I’m at all surprised.”

     “I’ll need you for a while tomorrow morning,” Carter said. “I set up an appointment with Marty’s restaurant manager, Abigail.”

     “Okay, but it seems like a lot of hassle. I’m beginning to feel like we’re on a wild goose chase, or something.”

     Carter looked at me sideways. “That’s your first mistake, Sarah. Never assume anything.”

* * *

     My last client made his way out of the office after the usual pleasantries. I put the day’s dirty laundry in the wash and tidied up. As I made my way toward the restroom to wash my hands, I overheard Sammy talking to someone in the reception area. I headed out after a quick scrub. As I rounded the corner and looked over toward the desk, I felt my chest tighten.

     “Hello, Sarah.” The green eyes I’d thought about often now sparkled as Max smiled at me.

     “Hi, Max,” I said, feeling paralyzed.

     “Well, I’m leaving early today,” Sammy announced as he walked to the closet and grabbed his belongings. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Max. See you tomorrow, Sarah.” He snatched his computer bag from the desk and disappeared.

     Max stepped toward me. “How have you been, Sarah?” His demeanor suggested he was unsure of himself. Perhaps my silence made him wonder if he’d made a mistake in coming to see me.

     I finally got my mouth in gear. “Doing good . . . uh . . . fine. I’m fine. I thought you were traveling.”

     “I was.” He stopped and tucked his hands inside pockets of his tight jeans. “I just got back last week.”

     “So, uh … what brings you back so soon?”  

     “Soon?” His expression was sullen. “I’ve been gone several months,” he said, looking up at me. “I came to the realization that I was running away from my life and from the pain of losing my sister. I thought leaving home would clear my mind and help me make sense of it all.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I spent a lot of time thinking about the people I’ve lost, and not enough time thinking about those who are still around.”