Cold Sweat

By Anne Baines

Who do you turn to when someone is trying to ruin your life from the shadows and nobody around you believes it?

Sam Arbichaut, former police detective turned Private Investigator who has a weakness for people in distress. When a woman comes to him with horrifying tales of a stalker and a humiliating video she swears is faked, he's on the case.

But as the web of lies begins to unravel and Sam gets closer to the spider in the center of his client's family and friends, he'll need all his courage and smarts when it is his life that starts to come apart.

For if Sam can't find the truth and stop a potentially deadly stalker, the new life he's built in Portland will be only the first casualty... Grab the thrilling third mystery in the Sam Arbichaut series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094418780

Anne Baines

Ex-professional poker player and thriller writer Anne Baines spends her non-writing time learning languages, lifting weights, and traveling around the world. She lives in the Netherlands with her husband. She is the author of the Sam Arbichaut mystery series and the Delilah Thrillers.

Book preview

Cold Sweat

A Sam Arbichaut Mystery

Book Three

Anne Baines

BRYANT STREET PUBLISHING

Copyright 2019, Anne Baines (AnneMarie Buhl)

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher.

Chapter 1

Not so fast! Jennifer Mercia laughed as she tucked a strand of golden-brown hair behind one ear. At five foot two, she could barely keep up with her brother’s long strides at the best of times, and right now, she had just eaten enough food for any three normal-sized people.

Oh, come on. Christopher gave her a grin. "Shake it off. Walk it off."

It’s a miracle I’m walking at all! I really considered asking you to roll me home. How big were those burgers?

Exactly the correct size, and I won’t hear anyone tell me differently.

"Not everyone is over six feet tall and a lifter. Jennifer hobbled after him. Some of us eat a normal amount of calories in a day. You’re a doctor; you should know that."

I’m a surgeon.

Jennifer laughed. It was one of the family’s favorite pranks to ask her brother very specific questions about one branch of medicine, and then shrug at him and say, But you’re a doctor. Even better, he could clearly see that they were messing with him and he still got prickly.

She yelped when he elbowed her in the side, though.

Careful, I might actually throw up on you.

"If the burger was so big—he waved his hands—you could have considered not consuming an entire shake, all of your fries, and the plate of jalapeno poppers."

Excuse you. She was laughing again, but gave a confused look when she saw him staring at her, a faint smile on his lips. What?

You seem happier. He looped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side, and she rested her head against him for a moment with a smile. He craned his head to look down at her. Did they change their minds, then? The police?

Oh. No. Jennifer pulled away and sighed. "But I am happier. It’s been weeks and nothing’s happened. Maybe… She cleared her throat. Maybe they were right—it wasn’t anything to worry about. She saw her brother’s skepticism and shrugged. I don’t know. I… Nothing’s happened."

No more flowers?

Jennifer shook her head and headed off the follow-up questions. And no emails, and no calls, and no… jewelry.

You never wear it, Chris said.

"Would you?"

I think I’d look very nice in a diamond necklace. He pretended to be prickly again, and then swallowed. I’m glad that you’re happy, I really am. I just… wish they would have done something about it.

Maybe I can go back. She didn’t want him thinking about this all day.

You won’t.

I will.

You won’t, he said again. I was shocked you went the first time.

I would have been right not to, Jennifer pointed out. They didn’t take me seriously.

You need to stick up for yourself. He took out his keys as they approached his house. "I don’t care if they tell you it’s no big deal—it is a big deal. You go back, and you don’t take no for an answer. Make them find this guy."

Chris…

I’m worried about you. He turned to take her by the shoulders. It’s been years, and yeah, maybe it’s just the flowers and the necklaces and the cards—

"It’s more than that. It was why I got fired at Sacred Heart. They loved me."

Okay, so believe yourself! Stick up for yourself when you go in. Even if it were just the cards, it would be enough to worry about. He nodded decisively. "It’s weird. Who does that and doesn’t say who they are?"

That’s why I went, Jennifer said as he opened the door. It’s—

She ran into him when he stopped dead in the doorway, and, as she peered around him, she saw why.

Samantha, Christopher’s wife, sat still as a statue on the couch. When Jennifer looked closely, she could see Samantha shaking—and she had clearly been crying her eyes out for some time now.

Sam. Jennifer ran to her.

"Don’t touch me! Samantha’s voice came out of nowhere, so hoarse it cracked, and she scrambled away from Jennifer. Don’t—don’t touch me. She pointed between Jennifer and Chris. Don’t either of you touch me."

Sam? Chris sounded entirely lost. He approached his wife slowly, hands out like he was gentling a horse. Tall, with his blonde hair and his lifter’s muscles, he entirely dwarfed Samantha. He held her dark eyes. What’s wrong?

What’s wrong? Samantha started laughing. The sound was wild and hysterical. "I know. I know everything. Don’t even think of lying to me. I saw. She pointed at the two of them. And don’t think if you kill me, no one will know. Nick saw, too."

"Nick saw what? Chris looked at Jennifer. Do you know what—" His face changed.

It’s him, Jennifer whispered. She looked at Samantha. Look, Sam, please, whatever you heard, whatever got sent to you—

A video, Samantha spat at her.

Okay, a video of what? It’s not real, Sam. You know I went to the police about this.

"Yeah. You went to the police—and you got a lot of sympathy about it from my husband. Samantha was screaming now. He’d finally stopped spending so much time with you and you just couldn’t take it, could you? You—you— When Chris took a step toward her, she backed away from him. Don’t touch me!"

What was the video? Jennifer asked.

Jen, not now. Chris sounded annoyed.

We have to know.

"You want to see? You can’t guess?"

No. Jennifer flinched at the glare Samantha gave, and when she flung her arm out to point at the phone on the coffee table, Jennifer went and picked it up. The video was already up on the screen, and she frowned. The room in the video looked exactly like…

Like her bedroom. And the two people on the bed—

Jennifer’s heart twisted and she opened her mouth in a cry of horror that didn’t come out.

Jen? Chris looked over at her.

I… Jennifer threw the phone away from her, remembering too late that it wasn’t hers. It isn’t— That’s not— Sam. She looked at Samantha. You said Nick saw this, too?

Yes. Samantha looked grimly satisfied. You can’t pretend it never happened.

But it isn’t—

Get. Out. Of my house. Samantha’s voice was ugly.

Jen, what was on the—

"You, shut up. She rounded on her husband and then looked back to Jennifer. Get out, or I will call the police."

Jennifer fled, her brother calling after her, a ringing sound rising in her ears. Out on the sidewalk, she doubled over and nearly threw up all of her lunch. She could hear a voice moaning, and realized it was her own, repeating one word over and over: no, no, no, no, no…

Her boyfriend had seen the video as well.

A video of Jennifer and Chris in bed, naked, the distinctive birthmark on Chris’s back clear as day.

Chapter 2

It was nine a.m., and most of the working regulars had cleared out of Moe’s Diner. Two of the tables held groups of old men, both groups regular customers, and with some grudge that Sam Arbichaut, despite three years of listening to their insults, had never figured out.

He wasn’t through with trying, though. He hunched over his white coffee cup and tried to catch snatches of conversation.

More coffee while you wait? Janine, his regular waitress, appeared in front of him with a full coffee pot. She raised her eyebrows when Sam’s head jerked around. Thought you were a detective. But you’re not too observant, are you?

Sam held out his cup with a smile. Janine was constitutionally irreverent. Whenever his ego started to get puffed up, he knew he could come in here to get taken down a peg. Of course, when he was down in the dumps, he knew he would get a joke and a smile instead. Janine, like all good waitresses, had a knack for reading her customers.

I’m trying to figure out why those two groups of guys hate each other, Sam said. He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. Don’t tell me—it will only ruin it. The mystery has been one of my favorite things about Moe’s.

Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. Janine shot a glance at one of the tables as she put the pot of coffee back. It started before I got here. So that’d be… oh, twenty years?

Twenty? Sam shook his head. Never. You’re not that old.

She pointed a finger at him sternly. You’re a charmer and a liar. Your girlfriend would not be pleased if she could hear you.

On the contrary, she would say I was being very polite. Sam grinned. If she heard me let that comment of yours go by without a protest, she’d thump me and tell me to learn some manners. He gave Janine a meaningful look as he took a sip of coffee. "Haitians are intense about manners."

Janine gave a rich laugh, and then Sam saw her gaze catch on the door. She gave a nod toward it and a brief look at him. Your friend’s here. You know, the skinny one. Tell him to order some decent food.

Sam turned to look, and—not a surprise, given Janine’s description—saw Leo McCullough weaving between the tables to get to the counter where Sam sat. He smiled, a question in the raise of one eyebrow, and McCullough cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat.

It’s… I’ll tell you after breakfast. He waited while Janine banged her way out of the kitchen and set a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of Sam. That looks good. I thought you didn’t eat carbs, though.

I wasn’t. But then Laura explained, very nicely, that if I didn’t become a bit more pleasant, you know, ‘like when you used to eat bread like a normal person’—he made finger quotes as he tried to capture her faint accent—she was going to kill me in my sleep. And she’s a nurse, so she knows how. However… He looked up at Janine. I did order wheat toast instead of pancakes.

"Maybe I took the liberty of making you a bit more pleasant, Janine said, unconcerned. And what’ll you have, sweetheart?"

From the look on McCullough’s face, he was not often called sweetheart. He blinked several times and then said, Whatever you would recommend, please.

I like him, Janine told Sam.

Why, because he knows you’ll just give him whatever you want to, no matter what he orders? Sam piled pancake into his mouth and tried not to groan. How long had it been since he’d had pancakes? He’d forgotten how good they were. It was totally worth sabotaging his morning workout for this.

Yes, Janine said, unconcerned. And he’s polite about it.

She whisked away to the kitchen, and Sam pulled the syrup toward himself as he chewed. So you might as well tell me now, before she brings you back three plates of food and stares you down while you eat it.

"Three?" McCullough said.

She thinks you’re too skinny.

One might suspect her of being a very good saleswoman, McCullough said, with a raised eyebrow. But since I like pancakes… He shrugged and cleared his throat. I have a case for you.

This should be good. You get warned off it? Sam and McCullough had first met when they butted heads over a murder investigation, McCullough the lead detective, Sam a PI hired by one of the suspects. An unlikely friendship between police officer and PI had been born, a product of mutual respect and a shared deadpan sense of humor, and the two had collaborated on another case a few months later, a kidnapping the Portland police had been told not to investigate.

Sam, having been a police officer in another life, provided McCullough with a way to work outside the system, while still understanding good practice and not getting in the way of the police detectives. Frankly, he’d been waiting for McCullough to show up with another case.

McCullough shook his head, however. Oh, it’s nothing like that. In fact… Well, we’ll get to that. It’s a stalking case.

With a sense of deep foreboding about the phrase we’ll get to that, Sam raised an eyebrow.

Let me say first that it’s not even my case. McCullough smiled and nodded as Janine put some coffee down in front of him. It’s actually not anyone’s—it’s not officially actionable.

This should be good, Sam muttered. Deep down, however, he was intrigued. McCullough was in many ways very by-the-book. He would not have broken the rules by divulging this information unless he thought it was important.

Here’s the deal. McCullough considered his words. A young woman came in a little while ago to report that she was being stalked. Thing was, she didn’t know who was doing it.

Ex-boyfriend, Sam said around a mouthful of pancake. It’s always the ex-boyfriend.

"She claims it isn’t. She hasn’t had many relationships, and this has been going on for years, apparently. It’s emails from addresses that bounce when she tries to email them back, calls from protected numbers with no one talking on the other end… Gifts, jewelry, notes. But none of it says who the person is."

Threats? Sam asked.

No. McCullough heaved a sigh. Which is why we weren’t able to help her. No violence, no one she’s ever seen. This guy is a ghost, whoever he is.

Is she making it up? Sam asked. It would be unlike McCullough not to consider the possibility, but people developed blind spots in this line of work. Like, if she’s accusing someone—

She hasn’t accused anyone—that’s the thing. McCullough took a sip of his coffee and looked down into the cup. This is terrible.

Yeah, it’s an acquired taste.

Why would you ever try to acquire a taste for this?

It’s, ah… Sam shrugged. When he had first arrived in Portland, divorced and not quite sure what he was planning to do with his life, he hadn’t known anyone in the city. Janine’s conversation, and the low-key interactions he had every morning at Moe’s, had been his lifeline for a few months. He shook his head. I like it here. So I put up with the coffee. It’s better if you fill it with cream and sugar.

You haven’t, though. McCullough peered at his cup.

"I worked out this morning. I would like that to be not entirely in vain. I’m already mostly sunk with the pancakes."

McCullough grinned. And judging by how you attacked those, I’m guessing that sending them back wasn’t really an option. He smiled when Janine brought out a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, a double order of bacon, and chocolate chip pancakes. Thank you. When she disappeared again, he poked at the pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes? I feel like I’m five years old.

Better eat ’em, or she’ll yell at you. Sam pushed the syrup in McCullough’s direction. So, the woman hasn’t accused anyone.

Yeah. I guess they asked and asked her nine ways to Sunday, and she swore up, down, and sideways that she has no idea who this is. That was why she was coming in—she said it was ruining her life and she needed to find out who it was and make them stop.

But you said no threats.

No threats. McCullough poured some ketchup onto his plate. But—

You put ketchup on your eggs? Sam quailed at the look McCullough gave him. Never mind. Sorry I mentioned it.

Mmm. McCullough took a bite of scrambled egg. And no, no threats, but she says the gifts and notes have driven wedges in her relationships. She was fired from her job as a teacher and she thinks it was why, though I guess the school wouldn’t confirm or deny that. She says every relationship she has, every job she gets, it falls apart, and she thinks this is why.

But whoever’s doing this, they’re never saying who they are. Sam chewed on his lip. Well, that’s one of the weirder cases I’ve heard of. So, how did you get involved?

Horace mentioned it. He’s one of the detectives who interviewed her. I was talking to him; he asked if I ever had cases that stuck with me. I guess he can’t forget the way she looked when they told her they couldn’t do anything for her.

Sam swallowed, all traces of humor abruptly gone. He knew the look in people’s eyes when they were afraid that no one was going to help them. That look did stick with you. It was desperation, panic, and, worst of all, acceptance.

So what’s the catch? he asked. You said it wasn’t your case. You mentioned… something. What aren’t you telling me?

Well… I told Horace to follow up with her, right? I said if he had a hunch that this was real and they should do something, then he should call her and try to get her to bring the evidence back in.

Evidence? Sam raised an eyebrow.

He said she came in with folders of it: the notes, documentation on the emails, all of that. It was like she was afraid they weren’t going to believe her—and I guess his partner didn’t, told her that it was just someone being nice and she should be flattered.

Sam set his coffee cup down rather than throw it at the opposite wall.

I know, McCullough said. I know. She said other people had told her that and they were wrong… but Horace said it was like she was fighting to believe that. He believed her, but he didn’t know what to do, had no leads to follow, and his captain told him to let it go. Thing was, when he called her, she told him it was too late and hung up.

Sam’s eyebrows rose. So that catch is…

She probably isn’t going to accept your help right off the bat, McCullough muttered, busying himself with his pancakes.

So, what are you coming to me for? Sam asked. McCullough muttered something else, and Sam reached out and pulled his plate away. You get the pancakes back when you tell me.

McCullough sighed. Okay. Fine. I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t let it go if she told you to back off.

You want me to… investigate a case where the victim is going to insist I shouldn’t?

Yeah, pretty much.

Sam gave him a look.

I know, McCullough said. "I know. But… I mean, you think about what she told him, and ask yourself if you really think the problem is better. And you know this sort of thing is only going to escalate," he added.

Damn you.

So, I take it you’ll check it out?

"Fine. Yes."

I’d recommend you take Kellogg with you, McCullough said, sparing barely a moment for his victory. I think a random man showing up alone is probably going to make her nervous. He shook his head when Sam pulled out his wallet. No, no, I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.

Reviews for Cold Sweat

[Sandra Lloyd · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very good book,but the proofreading should have been as good.

[Samantha · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read all 3 in 3 days. Couldn't put them down

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Brilliant! What a page Turner. I couldn't put it down at all.

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