Death by Tea (25 page)

It took me a moment to realize the fake IDs weren't the only thing in the box. I set them aside and looked down at the square book that remained. It looked like one of those small scrapbooks you'd find at any hobby store. I picked it up, not sure what I'd find inside. More fake IDs? Some sort of collection of newspaper clippings, the kind you'd find in a serial killer's house?

A shudder ran through me as I flipped open the book. I was confronted with pictures of naked women.

A lot of naked women.

The first dozen pages held one photograph each, taken by a Polaroid camera. Beneath each photograph was a name, followed by a state.

My mind raced. This was exactly the same sort of photo as I'd found in David's room back at the bed-and-breakfast. I had a feeling that if I pulled one of these photographs free, I'd find a name and number listed on the back. I flipped through the first twelve and stopped on the empty page thirteen. Was Sara's picture going to end up here?

These women, all twelve of them, were David's conquests. I couldn't think of any other answer that made sense. I didn't know the women, and since they were naked I couldn't pick up clues from their clothing, but I had a feeling all of them had money, money David had more than likely taken from them. Was he a con man, then? A drifter who went from state to state, collecting pictures of naked women and then taking their money? Was he blackmailing them?

If so, I'd wager that it was a pretty good motive for murder. The only question was, who took that fatal step?

Paul would want to know about this.

I considered calling him right then and there, but my phone was in my purse, which was in my car. I supposed I could go out and call him, but then what? How was I going to explain how I'd gotten in, or even why I was there in the first place? I could leave the shoebox under the bed, go home, and then call the police. They could find it on their own.

But how would I explain how I knew where to find it? An anonymous call might work, but I didn't believe for an instant Officer Dalton or Buchannan wouldn't know who'd placed the call.

No, best take it with me. I could go home, do a little research, and then call the police to hand it all over. If I could give them more than just the box, like a motive for murder, then maybe they wouldn't look too hard at how I'd come by the information.

I shoved the photograph album back into the box, followed by the IDs. Once that was done, I checked to make sure I'd forgotten nothing, and then flipped off the bathroom light. I hurried down the stairs, too overjoyed by what I'd found to think about being quiet. I mean, it was like I'd hit the lottery of investigation. Everything I needed to solve the case was right here, waiting for me, all this time.

I'd just reached the living room when there was a loud knock at the door.

“David?” A male shape appeared at the window by the door. “Is that you?”

I didn't move, afraid that if I did it would give me away. There was faint light coming in, but I was clear across the room, hidden by the shadows. I didn't breathe, didn't so much as twitch. Whoever was out there knew David, and probably was keeping an eye on his house for him.

Which meant he might have a key.

The shape vanished from the window. There was a creak as he moved back in front of the door.

“Please, no. Please, no.” I repeated it like a mantra, just under my breath. If he were to open the door and find me standing there, my goose was cooked.

A dozen seconds ticked by. Two dozen.

And then the heavy thump of boots as the man walked down the stairs.

I waited there, unmoving, for what felt like an hour. I fully expected him to come back, this time with the key, but after a few minutes my muscles started aching and my head was pounding so that I had no choice but to move. I walked slowly, quietly, into the kitchen and considered the open window, and then deciding there was no way in the world I was going to climb up onto the counter to get back out that way, I turned toward the back door. I unlocked it, and then stepped outside.

A rustle from a nearby tree caused me to yelp, but apparently it was just the leaves on the breeze. I closed the door behind me, sweat pouring down my face, and hurried between the two houses. I checked to make sure no one was out on the street and then ran for my car, like a criminal who was about to be caught in the act. I got inside, tossed the box on the passenger seat, and then started the car.

And then I just about had a heart attack as I looked up to find a cop car bearing down on me.

27

The cruiser rolled by. The officer's eyes were cast down to the glowing phone he held in one hand, fingers typing away. He barely glanced up as he passed.

I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out onto the road. I made sure to drive a few miles per hour below the speed limit, just in case. I didn't think a cop would care what I had sitting in the seat beside me, though they might give me a funny look if they were to check. Still, I didn't want to take a chance. I'd taken too many of them already.

It was past midnight by the time I got home. I parked, got out of the car, and carried the shoebox into my house. Eleanor's windows were dark, telling me that for once, I'd managed to do something without her watching me. It was enough to bring a near smile to my face.

What I should have done was crawl into bed and get some sleep, or perhaps call Paul Dalton and tell him what I'd found. I was exhausted from my trip, but wired all the same. If I had a good excuse, I very well might have called him, but as it was, I could hardly think straight, let alone come up with an elaborate story that would convince the cops that I hadn't broken any laws.

Instead of risking jail with a call, I went to my computer, booted it up, and browsed the web for information on the women whose pictures I'd found in David's conquest book. All I had were first names and the images I could only bring myself to glance at, so it was next to impossible to come up with anything. I was sure the police would have programs that could match the features with someone online, but I was hoping to find something on my own.

After only an hour of browsing, I clicked off the web and carried the box to a closet, where I shoved it behind a stack of dishtowels, just in case someone came snooping around in the middle of the night. That done, I decided to head for bed and sleep on what I'd found. Maybe I'd come up with a solution overnight.

 

 

Sleep didn't come easily, which meant morning was not a welcome sight. I could have slept in since I wasn't due for work until midday, but I decided to get up since I was already awake. I dragged myself out of bed, showered, got dressed, and had a quick breakfast of toast and coffee before heading out, conquest book in hand. I wanted to talk to Sara one last time before calling the police about what I'd found.

Tonight was the big book club talk or competition or whatever they called it. I wanted to get Sara alone before that happened, so I headed for Ted and Bettfast. I hoped everyone would be tucked away in their rooms, reading
Murder in Lovetown
, or practicing their speeches, giving me the opportunity to go about my business without everyone watching me. Besides, it would be much easier to tell Sara what I knew about David without the others lurking about.

My mind flashed to the photographs. I'd been forced to look at them enough in my search. I had all of the women's faces memorized. I was positive none of them was in Pine Hills, or at least hadn't come into Death by Coffee while I'd been there. If one of them
had
killed David, chances were good they were long gone, which meant nothing I did now would matter.

Which, in a way, was why I was bringing the photos to Sara. If she recognized one of the women, had been accosted by one of them, then maybe I'd have something to go on, some bit of information I could pass on to the authorities. I wasn't about to go chasing after some vengeful ex-girlfriend from another state, not when I had trouble enough at home.

I pulled into the bed-and-breakfast lot, found a place to park, and then headed for the front door. I was nervous—as anyone who was carrying naked pictures of pretty girls around would be. If I were to drop the book and some well-meaning soul were to pick it up and see what it held, I would just die.

Neither Ted nor Bett were outside today, which was something of a relief. The fewer people I had to talk to, the better. I might lose my nerve otherwise.

I walked right in, past a startled Jo, and peeked out toward the pool. Sure enough, Sara was lounging in one of the chairs, my dad's book in hand. Orville looked to be asleep on the other side of the still water, face tinged red from the early morning sun. It was going to be a hot one, that was for sure.

I opened the door and went straight for Sara. Albert and Dan weren't around, but I didn't know how long that would last. I didn't want either man snooping while I was talking to her, especially since I didn't fully trust either one, Dan especially.

Sara's eyes lifted from the page as my shadow fell across her. She squinted up at me, and a frown creased her features.

“Yes?” she asked, clearly annoyed, as anyone would be. I'd hounded the poor woman enough. It was a wonder she didn't throw the book at me and storm off at first sight.

“Sorry to bother you again, but there's something I think you should know.”

“Can it wait? I have to finish reviewing the book before tonight.”

“No, it can't.” Without asking, I took the seat next to her, propping myself on the edge just in case she decided to attack me when I told her the news. It wouldn't be the first time the messenger got smacked around for delivering news someone didn't want to hear.

Sara heaved a sigh and scooted up in her chair so she was more or less upright. She closed her book without using a bookmark and turned her annoyed gaze on me. “Okay, fine. Have it your way. Tell me what you have to say so I can get back to work.”

My eyes flickered toward the back door. Jo was standing there, watching us. As soon as she saw me looking, she turned on her heel and walked away. I hoped she wasn't going in search of one of the men. I'm not sure why she would, especially since she knew why I was there, but with the way my luck was going, I wouldn't put it past her to call Buchannan on me. I had to be quick.

“I know you and David were an item,” I said, speaking slowly, uncertainly. This wasn't going to be easy for her to hear, nor was it easy for me to say. “You might even have loved him.”

Sara's jaw firmed. “I did.” She took a deep breath and it came out with a shudder that told me she was on the verge of tears. “But that's no reason to give up living, if that is what you are about to say. He would have wanted me to move on with my life, and that is what I intend to do.”

“It's not that.” Though I did wonder how she could sit here, mere days after David's death, and plan for a book club event. If it had been me, I would have been locked in my room, bawling my eyes out into my pillow for days, if not weeks. She was still upset by his death—that was obvious—but not nearly as much as I thought she should be, especially if she truly did love him.

Could it be because she found out about his past and killed him for it? I wasn't sure, but I planned on finding out.

“Well?” Sara asked, clearly impatient for me to be gone. She crossed her arms and gave me an expectant look.

“Did you know that David Smith wasn't his real name?”

Sara went still. “What are you talking about?”

“I've found . . . information that says he has gone by other names. Calvin. Jerry. But I think, without knowing for sure, that his real name was Caleb Jenkins, a man from Idaho, not Britain.”

Sara blinked slowly at me, as if what I'd said had come out in Swahili.

I didn't blame her. If someone would have come to me and told me the man I'd loved, a man recently taken from me in the worst way imaginable, was living under an assumed name, lying to me, I would have thought them crazy. You get close to people and can't imagine them as anything but how you know them. This sort of thing happened only in movies and books, never in real life.

Or at least, I'd always thought they did, until moving to Pine Hills.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Ms. Hancock,” she said after a long moment, voice hard. “Do you have any proof of this claim?”

I cursed myself for not bringing the other IDs with me. They were sitting back at home, including his wallet with his Idaho license. “Not on me,” I said. I looked down at the book in my hand. I so didn't want to do this but felt I had no choice if I wanted to get to the bottom of his murder. “But I have proof that he might have been using women for their money for a long time now.”

Sara's eyes went even harder than they had been before. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn't speak ill of the dead, especially with such lies.”

“I wish I were lying.” Oh, how I did. I turned the book over in my hand a few times before holding it out to Sara.

She stared at it as if it might be a snake for a good thirty seconds before finally reaching out and taking it. I could see the curiosity in her eyes, the fear that what I was saying was true. There was pain there, a pain that just about broke my heart.

“I have to warn you,” I said. “You aren't going to like what you find inside.”

Sara gave me a quick nod, almost as if she hadn't really been listening to what I was saying, as she opened to the first page. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes just about popped from her head as she stared down at the nude woman on the page. She eyed it, transfixed, as if she couldn't bring herself to turn the page, let alone look away.

“I found this at a house in Cherry Valley registered to Caleb Jenkins, who we both knew as David Smith. This book is his.” I considered whether to say more but decided I had to if I wanted her to believe me. “I found a similar photograph in David's room here.”

Sara looked up at me, dread in her eyes. She knew what I was going to say but seemed she wouldn't believe it until I actually said it out loud.

“Of you.”

She broke down then, slamming the book closed without looking at any of the other photos. I didn't blame her; if I were her, I wouldn't have wanted to see them, either. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped, “I won't believe it,” between sobs.

I was torn between patting her on the shoulder to comfort her and grabbing the book and running. I felt like a royal jerk for making her cry, for telling her the truth about David when she could have lived her life perfectly fine without knowing that the man she once loved had been using her. I would have wanted to know, which was why I'd had to tell her. It wasn't my best moment, but I think she would be grateful in the end . . . If she wasn't the murderer, of course.

So, I just sat there, waiting for Sara to cry herself out. I kept expecting Dan or Albert to come rushing out at any moment, yelling at me for upsetting her, or for Orville to rise and wander over, yet no one appeared. It was as if I was being given a chance to make things right, to either learn from Sara who might have killed David or at least make her feel better about herself.

Sara's sobs turned to sniffles. She wiped her eyes dry, smearing mascara across her face. She gave me a defiant look when she was done, as if challenging me to say something about her breakdown.

“How did you get these things?” she asked. “Are you one of his . . . one of his women?”

I shook my head. “No. I . . .” I didn't want to tell her I broke into his place and poked around without permission. I floundered for a long moment before settling on a lame, “Someone let me into his house.”

Sara sniffed disdainfully before looking at the book in her hand. “I guess I'd always known I wasn't the first. But when you get to be my age, you never are. People don't understand how hard it is when you have money and looks. They think everything simply falls into your lap, that men come begging at your feet like dogs.”

I didn't say anything. Sara was looking at David's conquest book, talking as if she didn't even remember I was there. I was afraid that if I made a move, she would clam up and I would never hear where this was going. If this was a confession of some sort, I needed to hear it.

“Well, it's not easy.” She looked up, giving me another defiant glare before returning her gaze to the book. “Most men take one look at me and assume I'm already taken. I practically had to wear a sign that said I was available just to get anyone to ask me out. And with my money, the men who might be interested are often intimidated. They're afraid of women who can do as they please, who don't need men to buy them nice things because they already have everything they could ever want.”

Sara sniffed and clenched her fist. “And when one finally does take a chance, more often than not, he's after only two things: sex and money.” She smiled grimly. “I'm sure David was after both. And I was happy to give it to him. I don't want to die an old, lonely maid.”

There was a long stretch of silence before she looked up at me again. “Did I know David was living under an assumed name? No, I did not. Did I know he was after my money? A part of me did.” She picked up the book and held it out to me. “Do I care?” She shook her head. “No, I do not.”

I took the book of women and held it lamely in my hand. This was
so
not how I expected this to go. The crying? Sure, I'd expected that. The anger? Yeah. But I figured it would be targeted at David, not me. But the resignation to her fate? I didn't see that one coming at all.

It was sad in a way. This woman, with her money and looks, was probably the saddest person I knew. She wasn't really all that old, yet she talked as if she were on the verge of elderly. David might have been using her, but at least he'd made her happy.

“I'm so sorry about all of this,” I said, pulling the book close to my chest, almost as a shield. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Sara snorted. Somehow, she made it seem ladylike. “Yes, you did.” She grunted a bitter laugh. “You thought that perhaps I'd found out about David's other life and killed him for it.” She smirked. “You didn't even have to say it; it's written all over your face.” She picked up her novel. “I would never have hurt David, even if I'd known. I would have held on to him for as long as I could, hoping all the while that I'd be his last. If not . . .” She gave a helpless shrug.