Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (26 page)

“No. Just moved here in the late spring. May, I think it was. Caren was quite excited that I was offered this job.”

After Chad’s death. Seemed like she thought of everything in terms of before or after that fateful night. She asked, “What made you decide to move to Buccaneer Bay?”

“We liked the small town atmosphere, and Caren loves the coast. Being on an island seemed like the perfect solution. ”

“I see,” Andi stood up. The woman had just died. Andi should be feeling more charitable towards her. “That coffee went right through me.”

“You remember where the bathroom is?”

“I can find it.” Andi headed down the hallway and found the guest bathroom. After she took care of business she washed her hands and dropped the towel. She bent to pick it up and noticed a crumpled piece of crisp white paper. She picked it up and smoothed it open. It was on a notepad monogrammed with a “W,” and said “Jimmy Webster called –207-631-32” and the last two numbers were smudged. The note was signed with a “C” and curlicues accented the slanted writing. Andi sighed. If she and Paul were going to be together, Caren’s ghost would be present for some time.

That name, Jimmy Webster, tugged at her memory – he sounded like a two bit gangster. And she was fairly certain the exchange was the same as the numbers she’d found in some of Chad’s things.

Bangor.

Again.

P
aul called out, “Breakfast is ready!”

“Coming!” She tossed the note in the trash and strolled down the hallway. She glanced into their study, which reminded her a lot of Chad’s den. A framed picture on the wall caught her eye and stopped her short. She recognized the group of guys dressed in ski suits, with a roaring fire in the background. The large slanted writing at the top said “Winter Break 1998.”

The same photograph that Chad had framed in his dental office.

“Did you hear me?” Paul called from the kitchen.

Her heart rate quickened and thoughts jockeyed for position in her mind. She took a deep breath and gathered herself. What did this mean? She hurried down the hallway, and found Paul pouring orange juice into glasses. The smell of omelettes, with diced ham and cheese, just the way she liked them, wafted through the air.

Her thoughts kept turning to that photo, so she asked in the most casual voice she could manage, “Where did you go to college?”

He paused and looked at her, mouth open, fork poised. “The University of Colorado.”

She picked up the salt shaker. "I only went a couple of years, to Mizzou. Wanted to be a teacher."

"Ah, the Tigers." He stuck the bite in his mouth and chewed slowly before speaking again. “I started out as a biology major, but ended up switching to business.”

“That’s funny. Chad was a biology major there, too.”

He took a sip of orange juice and nodded. The clock on the wall ticked softly.

A chill traveled down her spine. “What year did you graduate?”

“2002.”

“Really? Chad graduated in 2001. Did you two know each other?”

He shook his head, “The University is huge. I may have run into him at some point. How is your omelet?”

She let the subject drop, but turned facts over in her mind and examined them. After they finished breakfast, Paul started the dishwasher. He turned towards her and leaned back against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel.

He was right. It was a big school. Maybe she was reading too much into things. She relaxed and smiled, loving how domestic and comfortable he looked. His piercing blue eyes crinkled when he smiled and she knew she had fallen for this guy hard. She wasn’t sure it really mattered whether he had known Chad or not.

“What?” he asked as he reached out for her.

She shook her head and went to him, feeling silly. “Nothing.”

He pulled her close and nuzzled against her thick hair. “Let’s go back to your place. I’ll help you clean things up.”

She murmured, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to do it all yourself. And the sooner you clean it up, the sooner it closes. And the sooner it closes, the sooner you can move into your cute little cottage just a stone’s throw from me.”

She laughed and agreed. "First, I have to get a job."

"Maybe I can help with that. I'll make some calls."

"Oh, could you? I didn't want to ask." Then she remembered the note she'd seen in the bathroom and said, “Did you live in Bangor before you moved here?”

“No. We lived down by Kennebunkport. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she shrugged, unable to shake the quiver in her gut. That name, Jimmy Webster, still sounded vaguely familiar, and she hated that she couldn’t place it. She also hated the thought of cleaning up the mess waiting for her back home, but the prospect of having help with it certainly made it more tolerable. He offered again to help, and she finally relented.

Once they arrived back at her house, he wasted no time taking charge. He suggested she start on the second floor while he started on the main floor. She grabbed a couple of trash bags from under the kitchen sink, then jogged up the steps and decided it would be best to start in the bedroom. Pots and pans clanked downstairs, and she was thankful Paul offered to tackle the chaos in the kitchen.

Clothes hung out of every drawer of Chad’s dresser, so she started there. She pulled his clothes out by the handful and stuck them in the trash bags to drop by Goodwill later. There was no reason to keep any of his things. Other people in the world could use them. She sank into the mindless task, and her thoughts turned to other things. Something about that slip of paper in Paul’s bathroom still nagged at her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. For some reason, she thought maybe she'd come across that name while looking for a job.

She closed the last drawer, then stood and turned to tackle her dresser, and noticed the red message light blinking on the answering machine. Four new messages. She hadn’t gotten four new messages in a day since right after Chad’s death when people called to express their condolences. She punched the button and listened.

“Andi, it’s me. Call me on my cell.” It was Dana. Apparently they hadn’t made it home yet. The machine announced the date and time – it must have been her calling right as she and Paul had left. Andi was sorry she'd missed her friend.

“Andi, it’s me again. Call me as soon as you get this.” Dana's voice was tense.

“Andi, where are you? I left a message on your cell phone, too, so ignore this if we’ve already talked.”

In the last message, Dana's voice rose higher. “Andi, it’s urgent that I talk to you. It’s about Paul.”

Andi snatched up the handset and punched in Dana’s cell. Her friend answered on the first ring.

Dana was breathless, “Oh, thank God. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. What’s going on?”

“It’s Paul, Andi. He’s bad news. Remember Amanda Dobbins, the paralegal for the attorney that drew up Chad’s paperwork?”

Andi blinked, wondering what the paralegal had to do with anything. “Vaguely.”

“She and I went to elementary school together. Used to be good friends. Hadn’t talked to her in years, but she recognized my name when Edward called her boss and told him to ask for me.”

Andi was confused. Dana meeting up with an old friend wasn’t urgent news. “What's the problem? What's wrong?”

“Chad wasn’t their main client. They just did the work for him at the request of a client who has them on retainer.”

Andi sat on the bed. “I know. It was Portia Woodson.”

“No-“

“Or Woodson Enterprises. Whatever. Same-“

Dana cut in. “No, Andi, it was Paul.”

Andi froze and looked at the door. No pots and pans clanged downstairs. Goosebumps pimpled her skin. She whispered, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying Paul and Chad were in it together. Amanda says Paul is a really scary guy. He’s the sole beneficiary of Chad’s trust.”

“What?” Suddenly, it clicked. Jimmy Webster was the PI in Bangor that had the ad in the paper for an assistant. Caren had taken a message for Paul. He was the one who hired the PI, not Portia.

“There’s more. Amanda said Paul asked her for a recommendation for a private investigator. She gave him the name of some guy named Jimmy Webster. It’s Paul, Andi. Paul is the one who’s blackmailing you.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the open door. She swallowed. “I’ve got to go.”

“Andi-“

She cupped her hand around the mouthpiece and whispered into the phone. “He’s here. In my house. I’ve got to go.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Ask for Detective Johnson.”

“Don’t let him know you suspect anything, Andi.”

Andi gently sat the phone back in its cradle and crept down the stairs, listening for anything that would indicate where he was. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribcage. She peeked around the corner. Pots and pans littered the empty kitchen. She eased down the hall to the den. The bottom file cabinet drawer was ajar, and Andi knew she'd closed it after checking for missing items after the break in. Something metal clanged in the basement. She walked to the top of the stairs, and heard something scrape along the concrete floor.

She took a deep breath, tried to clear any strain from her face and walked down the steps. Paul rummaged through Chad’s work cabinets against the wall. The third step creaked and Paul looked up, his face flushed and blue eyes wide.

He motioned towards the worktop, “I thought I’d clean up down here before starting on the kitchen. Some of these wood working tools were laying around.”

She nodded and glanced at the wooden gun cabinet. The pistol drawer was ajar. She continued down the steps and walked casually past Paul. “Cleaning upstairs went pretty quick. I went ahead and bagged Chad's things up to be donated. So, I thought I’d come down and help you. I’ll start on this side.”

“Did you come across anything unusual?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, just clothes. Lots and lots of clothes. How about you?”

“No, nothing but wrenches and screwdrivers.”

He turned his back to her and went back to the tool cabinet. He made a show of putting things back, but she noticed he looked in the cabinets at the same time. She went to the gun cabinet and opened the pistol drawer. The Ruger was in the front and the Walther was in the back, opposite of how she'd left them, and the felt was ripped. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the big white envelope on the work counter, peeking from underneath some tool manuals. Paul’s back was still to her. She quietly pulled the semi-automatic Ruger from the drawer and checked it. Still loaded. Safety on.

She took a deep breath, turned around and brought the gun up. It was deadly steady.

He faced her, leaned back against the counter, hands up. He smiled that crooked smile and his eyebrows arched up in surprise. “What are you doing?”

She concentrated on breathing and kept the bead on his chest. For the first time in ages, she felt confident and sure. “Getting my property back. Toss that envelope over here.”

“What are you talking about?” He pushed away from the bench, spread his hands, palms up.

“The envelope you took out of the pistol drawer. It’s just a couple of inches from your right hand. Toss it over here.”

His smile widened as his fingers groped across the work bench and closed over the flap of the envelope. He tossed it on the floor so that it slid across the slick concrete towards her. In the split second that she glanced down, he took a step towards her. She flipped the safety off with her thumb and he froze, still smiling.

The envelope was at her feet, but she made no move to reach for it.

Her voice echoed in the cavernous basement. “Move away from the counter. Up the stairs. Now.”

He sneered at her, “You won’t get away with this. You don’t even know what you’ve got there.”

“I may not, but I bet August Woodson does.”

“You bitch!” His face transformed into a twisted mask of hate. “You have screwed up everything. I tried to act sweet, to help you clean things out, but you wouldn’t let me. I poisoned you with old antifreeze I got from Caddy's, but you didn’t get as sick as you were supposed to. Maybe it was too old--”

A crash upstairs interrupted him and booted feet charged down the steps.

“Freeze!”

Paul grabbed a long screwdriver from the workbench and lunged towards her. She squeezed the trigger just as another gun exploded in a bang. Paul’s eyes widened and his mouth worked, but no sound came out. He stumbled towards her, and fell, his fingers inches from the blood spattered envelope at her feet.

D
etective Johnson rushed to Paul’s still body and knelt beside him. Andi stood staring, shaking, unbelieving as the Detective put his fingers to Paul’s neck, then spoke into his radio, and ordered an ambulance. He turned to her and she handed him her weapon without taking her eyes off of the body at her feet. A uniformed cop stayed with Paul.

The detective scooped up the large envelope still laying at her feet, guided her around Paul’s inert body, and took her upstairs.

There had been enough death already. She was glad she and Detective Johnson hadn’t killed Paul. Her shot went left, she was certain. She always pulled to the left when she shot. The detective had hit him in the right shoulder. The house flooded with police and investigators and photographers. Johnson took her into the kitchen and fixed her a cup of tea. She shivered as she turned over the events of the past several months, and tried to put the puzzle together. The paramedics had just left with Paul when Dana pushed her way into the room.

Andi rose and reached out as her best friend rushed towards her. The friends hugged, and Andi clung to her as if she were drowning. In a way, she was. And her best friend was there to save her. Detective Johnson pulled a chair out for Dana and sat down with them.

He started simply, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

There was so much to tell, Andi didn’t know where to start. He knew her husband had died, of course, and he wasn't surprised she'd found evidence Chad had an affair with Portia Woodson.

“Then I found several things here in the house that I didn’t understand.” She pointed to the blood stained envelope sitting in front of him. “It’s all in there. Most of it anyway. Stock certificates for Woodson Enterprises. In Chad’s den, you’ll find a valuation of Woodson Enterprises prepared by an accountant, and some sort of report. You already know that Chad was in over his head with gambling debt.”

Dana broke in, “And that’s where Paul Varney comes into the picture. He was married to Caren Woodson, Portia’s sister.”

Andi added, “And Paul and Chad used to be fraternity brothers at the University of Colorado. Chad must have confided in Paul about his money problems, and asked for help. I think that’s when Paul came up with the idea to introduce Chad to his sister-in-law.”

Dana said, “That’s right. A friend of mine is the paralegal that works for the firm that represents the Woodsons. She got to be friendly with the two granddaughters when she handled the probate of their parents’ estates. She told me that Portia idolized Caren, and desperately wanted to settle down and have the family life that Caren did. But she had a party-girl image, and didn’t want to get serious with any of that crowd. She was afraid they were all gold-diggers. So she asked her brother-in-law to hook her up with a friend of his.”

Andi's eyes widened, “And my husband – his old fraternity brother - was the first person he thought of?”

Dana nodded, “He took Chad to see the Woodsons’ attorney and arranged to have divorce papers drawn up, a new holding company set up, and got a new Will prepared that left Andi out in the cold, but left everything to his trust, which Paul would control if anything should ever happen to him.”

“Chad planned to get a divorce, and get remarried almost immediately,” Andi said, then told him about finding the notes about the wedding chapel in Atlantic City, and her conversation with the woman there.

The detective digested all the details, and tapped his pen against his notebook, “If I recall the news reports correctly, those two girls are the sole heirs of the Woodson fortune. August Woodson has spoiled them rotten, and probably gives them anything they want.”

Dana continued, “And Portia talked her grandfather into giving Chad a sweet deal on a condo so that he could make some fast money and pay off his gambling debts. He got in good with the old man, and started visiting some of the development sites on the old man’s behalf. It was on one those trips that he discovered several tourmaline crystals that had been dug up by a trencher. Paul knew about Chad's find, and offered to put him in touch with people who could put together a mining operation. Woodson Enterprises bought that land along with the mineral rights, but the Board intended to go public with the company as soon as the old man died.”

Detective Johnson nodded. “And if August Woodson died and the company went public, particularly given the big tourmaline find, anyone who owned stock in Woodson Enterprises would make a killing.” One corner of his mouth twitched up, then he added, “So to speak.”

His pen scratched furiously in his notebook. He paused to read back over his notes, then said, “So Paul knew about the tourmaline?”

Dana nodded, “But didn’t know where the stones were or the exact location where Chad had found them. He hired a private investigator by the name of Jimmy Webster to follow Chad and find out anything he could about the stones, but the investigator had no leads about the potential mining location.”

Andi glanced at her friend as she remembered the pictures Webster had taken in the course of his investigation. “And when the private investigator didn’t come through with any useful information, Paul cultivated a relationship with me so he could find out if I had found anything here, and so he could search the house himself.”

Detective Johnson interrupted, “We believe he was the one who broke into your house. Your neighbor just identified him today out of a photographic line up.”

She remembered how sick she'd gotten. “He borrowed my keys while I was in the hospital. He could have made a key then.”

“So he ransacked your house.”

“And he was here helping me clean up that mess.” Andi couldn't believe it. She thought she'd finally found her happy ending. “Dana called to warn me today, but he was here with me when she told me. He was downstairs, and he did find what he was looking for – part of it, at least – and that’s when you showed up.”

“We’ve been putting together a case on him for months. Now we’ve got enough evidence to put him away for a good long time.”

Andi swallowed hard, and kept her eyes down. "And you aren't going to arrest me for Chad's death?" A chill ran down her spine while the grandfather clocked ticked loudly in the hallway. She glanced up at the cop.

One corner of the man's mouth twitched up. "I think you've suffered enough."

Dana reached across the table and patted Andi's hand, “It’s over, Andi.”