Free The Stares of Strangers by Jennifer L. Jennings Page B

threat.”
    “ Do you plan to go talk to him?”
    A short pause. “I have to be in court for the better part of the day. If you have the time, why don't you pay him a visit?”
    “ I'm on it.”
    As soon as I ended the call, I checked my email and found the attached file. Brandon's driver's license photo revealed a completely different person from whom I was expecting to see. He resembled an adolescent nerd, complete with dark rimmed glasses, acne and a unibrow. He was twenty-three years old, brown eyes, brown hair, five-eleven and 155 pounds. The kid had to be skin and bones scrawny to be that height and weight. What had Penny seen in this guy? She really must have been drunk when she slept with him. Perhaps he gave a better impression in person. I was eager to find out.
    As I grabbed my purse and car keys, I considered calling Carter to tell him about the new development, but he was probably fast asleep. No point in bothering him. I could handle Brandon on my own.

Chapter 13
     
     
    I got in my car and headed to the historic section of downtown Bridgeport. In the winter months, I can actually get a parking spot unless the snow banks prevent it. The roads are narrow and, if there are even a few inches of snow, they city workers have to come and truck the excess away.
    Brandon Whitman's address led me straight to the most prestigious area in all of Bridgeport. I realized there's no way a young kid of twenty-three could afford to even rent an apartment on this street lined with pristine Victorian homes.
    He must still live with his parents.
    When I located number 333, I opted to park on the road instead of the driveway. I cinched up my coat, hit the sidewalk and walked up the front stairs to the house. Must have been in the single digits with the wind chill. Having lived in New England all my life, you’d think I’d be used to this by now.
    The person who opened the door was an elderly gentleman with a perfectly groomed white beard, wearing a wool Irish cap. He reminded me of a professor with his tweed jacket.
    “ Hello, sir,” I said with a bright smile. “I'm looking for Brandon Whitman. I was told he lives here.”
    The man inspected my face with pursed lips, his eyes the clearest blue color I've ever seen. “Yes, may I ask what this is about?”
    “ I just want to ask him a few questions in regard to a case I'm working on.”
    “ A case?” The man's eyes widened in interest. “A police investigation?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Is he in trouble?”
    “ No, nothing like that.” I tried to look past him into the house, but he blocked my view. “Is Brandon home?”
    “ Why don't you give me your card,” he said firmly. “And I'll see that he gets it.”
    “ Are you his father?” I asked, although the man seemed much older than that. I figured the compliment might endear him to me.
    The man raised an eyebrow, but he showed no signs of warming up to me. “I didn't catch your name.”
    “ Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Sarah Woods.” I reached into my purse and retrieved a card. “Here you go. Please give that to Brandon.”
    He held the card close to his face and peered at it. “A private detective?”
    “ Yes, that's me. And what is your name?”
    He slid the card into an inside pocket of his sport coat and said, “I'll make sure my grandson gets your information. Good day, Ms. Woods.”
    And then he shut the door in my face. So much for warm, New England hospitality.
    As I walked back to my car, I knew I'd never get a call from Brandon, even if the old man gave him my card. Nope, I'd have to find another way to approach him.
    I decided to drive down the street, make a U-turn and park my car facing the house. I would sit and wait for Brandon to emerge. I'm not sure why, but I had a feeling he was home.
    Turns out, I was right about that. Twenty minutes later, a blue BMW with a dent in the bumper backed out of the driveway; the person behind the wheel looked exactly like Brandon. Here we go. I shifted into