A Good Day to Buy

by Sherry Harris

  “What’s the extent of their injuries?” the dispatcher asked.

  “I’m not sure. Mr. Spencer has blood near his head. I can’t imagine what happened.”

  I looked around. The back door of the garage was open. The backyard stretched to one of the many wooded paths that wove around and through Ellington. I saw a brown blur of movement, the impression of a man running. There were popular trails through much of the conservancy land, but that wasn’t a jogger. It was someone fleeing.

  * * *

  I started to rise to go after him. But I quickly sank back to the floor next to Mrs. Spencer. Chasing a possible murderer through the woods was a terrible idea. I told the dispatcher what I’d seen. Maybe the police could catch him at the end of the trail. I stroked Mrs. Spencer’s arm as we waited. I told her everything would be all right, even though I knew I was lying. With her beloved husband dead, her world would never be the same.

  I studied the garage, trying to note what, if anything, was different from how it had been early this morning. On the workbench, a few tools were askew, as was the pegboard hanging above it. Maybe there had been a struggle. It couldn’t have been too prolonged or loud, or surely I would have heard something.

  The song “Help” by The Beatles boomed from the speakers outside. It made me realize the music must have blocked any sounds of fighting. I’d never imagined the music would allow a bad person to do something horrible. It was supposed to be fun.

  Both of the Spencers had multiple bruises. Mr. Spencer’s plaid shirt was askew and his hand was out as if he was reaching for something. There were some tools scattered on the floor, along with a brightly painted wooden lobster trap buoy on a thick rope, Mr. Spencer’s Purple Heart medal, and a white business-size envelope with cash spilling from it. I squinted and saw most of the bills were hundreds. That couldn’t have been money for the sale because I always asked my clients to get an assortment of small bills. What could possibly have gone on back here? It must have been an attempted robbery, but somehow the word “payoff” popped into my head.

  Why? I realized how little I knew about the Spencers other than that they wanted to move to Florida. I’d grown fond of Mr. Spencer over the past two weeks I’d been working at their house. What a contrast he was to his wife. But other than having a fairly intimate knowledge of their household goods, I knew almost nothing about them.

  * * *

  The EMTs and police converged at once. I hurried over to Lindsay after a police officer ordered me out of the garage. Someone re-hung the sheet for privacy.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her. Quite a few people still stood on the front lawn. Some huddled in groups. Others talked on their cell phones. A few filmed everything like this was a sporting event. I hated to think this tragedy might go viral online.

  Lindsay jabbed a finger at the street. “A few people left even though I told them not to.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not like you could sit on them.” I pulled off the light sweater I’d worn this morning for our eight-o’clock start.

  “I couldn’t believe it. What’s wrong with people?” Lindsay said. “But I took pictures of them and their license plates.” She held up her iPhone.

  I smiled at her. “Good thinking.” It was possible whoever attacked the Spencers might have blended back into the crowd. Could someone be that cold? I thought about the man I’d seen near the woods. Maybe he had a good reason to be there, but he certainly seemed suspicious to me. “Will you send the photos to me?”

  Lindsay nodded, and in a few seconds, my phone vibrated in my pocket as each picture came in. “You’d better call your mom,” I told her.

  “I already did.” Lindsay’s father had deployed last fall, and she’d come to me for support when she and her mom were fighting. When I’d asked her to help out with the garage sale, I’d never imagined anything like this would happen. Her mom wouldn’t be happy.

  Two EMTs hustled by with Mrs. Spencer on a gurney, an oxygen mask covering part of her pale, frail face, and an IV stuck in her arm. This was the first time I ever wished I could hear her voice berating me for not valuing her things. I waited but couldn’t see what was going on behind the sheets. Soon enough, another set of EMTs came out. They walked slowly and lugged their equipment. I knew it meant Mr. Spencer was dead. I dug my nails into the palms of my hand. Keep it together.

  More police cars arrived, and officers Pellner and Awesome, whose real name was Nathan Bossum, climbed out of a car. Awesome had joined the Ellington police force last winter after leaving the New York City Police Department. He dated my friend and landlady, Stella Wild. Pellner had been with the force for years. We’d had a rocky start when we first met last spring, but had slowly eased into a friendly-ish relationship.

  Pellner headed over to me, and Awesome hustled over to the garage and disappeared behind the sheets I’d hung so carefully earlier this morning. If only I hadn’t, maybe none of this would have happened, at least not in the garage where they couldn’t be seen. I should have cordoned the back off with a rope and a sign that said PRIVATE. But no, I had to hang the sheets. It was the one thing I’d done Mrs. Spencer had approved of. That in itself should have been a sign.

  “Sarah, would you come with me?” Pellner asked.

  Lindsay shivered beside me. I put my arm around Lindsay’s waist. “I’m not leaving Lindsay until her mom gets here.”

  “I’ll get an officer to stay with her,” Pellner said.

  Lindsay leaned into me. Now that the immediate action was over, for us anyway, the emotion of what had happened was starting to sink in. Kids with parents in the military weren’t unfamiliar with death, but it didn’t usually happen in front of them. We huddled together. I didn’t know which of us needed the other more, but I did know I had to stay calm as long as she was here.

  “No. She’s with me.” I looked at Pellner with a steady, don’t-mess-with-me gaze.

  He gave a quick, unhappy nod. He had five kids, and I think he understood how protective I felt. “Wait here then,” he said. “You’ll have to give statements before you leave.”

  “Lindsay, tell Officer Pellner about the pictures you took.”

  She explained about the people leaving, taking pictures of them and their license plates, and then forwarded the photos to Pellner. Lindsay’s mom arrived and joined the small crowd at the bottom of the driveway, which was strung with yellow crime scene tape. She argued with a police officer who was keeping track of who came and went from the scene. She gestured toward Lindsay. But she wasn’t allowed to pass by.

  “Pellner, Lindsay’s mom is here.” I pointed down to the bottom of the driveway.

  “Okay, I’ll take your statement now then.” He pulled Lindsay off to one side. They talked quietly and Pellner did a lot of nodding while he took notes.

  Pellner slapped the notebook shut, and they walked back over to me. “You can go,” Pellner said to her.

  Lindsay gave me a hug.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through this,” I said.

  “It’s not your fault.” She glanced at Pellner. “It was kind of cool being able to help the police.” Lindsay gave me one last hug and trotted down to where her mother waited on the other side of the crime scene tape near the street. While Lindsay might be forgiving, her mom’s stiff posture said something else entirely. I’d have to talk to her later.

  * * *

  One by one, the police took statements and let people leave. While I waited for my turn, I scrolled through the photos Lindsay had sent me. No one stood out. I actually recognized a few people because I’d seen them around our small town or had talked to them during the sale. When Pellner headed back over to me, I flicked off the photos. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew I had them.

  “Where’s CJ?” I asked when he arrived by my side. CJ was my ex-husband and the chief of police of Ellington. Our relationship was beyond complicated. We’d divorced over a year ago after being married for nineteen years. For most people, tha
t was it, but we were taking baby steps back into a relationship.

  “Chuck’s helping coordinate the search for the man you reported seeing in the woods.”

  I hated it when people called CJ Chuck. Sure his first name was Charles but that didn’t fit him either.

  “Our department is strained to the limits because of you.”

  “Me? I didn’t do this.” The guilt I’d felt earlier disappeared faster than the woman with the free Pyrex. “What are you talking about?”

  Pellner rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I’ve been working a lot of extra assignments. I’m tired.”

  It was a common practice for the Ellington PD officers because it gave them extra money. I looked at him more closely. “Everything’s okay?”

  “Ready to give your statement?” Pellner asked.

  I nodded and filled him in on what I knew, which wasn’t much. He jotted down notes in his notebook while I talked.

  “Do you know anyone who’d want to harm the Spencers?” he asked.

  I mulled it over for a few moments. “Not really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Spencer wasn’t easy to get along with, but Mr. Spencer was a doll.” I shook my head again at the image of them lying on the floor of the garage. “I don’t know anyone who would harm them. Any news on Mrs. Spencer?”

  Pellner’s dimple deepened, but not because he was smiling. “Nothing yet.”

  We both turned at the sound of car doors slamming. Seth Anderson, the district attorney for Middlesex County, stood with a couple of his assistants, scanning the yard. I hadn’t seen Seth since February when I’d realized my heart belonged to CJ. But now he was here, as handsome as ever with his dark hair and broad shoulders, dressed in a tailored suit that was bound to be custom made. He noticed me standing there and our eyes met. I’d like to say I felt nothing, but, oh, I felt something. I just wasn’t sure what it was.

  Pellner watched me as Seth approached us. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, but a betraying warmth crept up my cheeks.

  Seth stopped a few feet shy of us. “Are you okay, Sarah? I’m sorry you’re involved in a situation like this.”

  My eyes filled with tears. Something about Seth had always made me feel vulnerable. With Lindsay gone, I no longer had to keep it together, although I really didn’t want to fall apart in front of Pellner and Seth. Seth took a step toward me, hand reaching for me. The crack of a car door slamming stopped him. CJ had arrived. He spoke to the officer at the bottom of the drive and ducked under the crime scene tape. As he strode up the driveway and noticed us, his jaw tightened.

  Seth dropped his hand and took a step back. He nodded toward CJ before turning to Pellner. “Show me the scene?” He started to turn, but let his gaze sweep over me before moving away.

  CJ shoved his sunglasses on his head, mussing his hair. It was longer than when he’d served in the Air Force. His pale blue eyes studied me as his long legs shortened the distance between us. He pulled me into his arms as soon as he reached me. I buried my face in his chest for a few moments. He pulled back and tipped my head up.

  “I’m okay,” I said before he asked. “Go do what you need to do.” I nodded my head toward the garage. “Find who did this.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I flicked my head toward the garage. “Go.”

  * * *

  I walked down the block to my Suburban, carrying the Spencers’ money from the sale with me. CJ had promised to secure the rest of the outside stuff when they were done with the crime scene. I indulged in a pity party as I drove the winding, narrow roads typical of New England. Why me? It was like a black cloud hovered over me, except instead of a direct hit of lightning, I kept getting singed. I tried to concentrate on avoiding the unforgiving granite curbs, but a couple of angry tears rolled down my face. I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and swiped at the tears with the other.

  I pictured the scene in the garage again. It jolted me out of self-pity mode and back to thinking about the Spencers. I replayed the horror of seeing their bodies sprawled across the floor and the realization that Mr. Spencer was dead. His son would be getting a knock on the door or phone call sometime today. The kind of call no one ever wants to get.

  * * *

  It was after one by the time I flung my keys, sweater, and purse on my grandmother’s rocker and moved to the living room window beside it. Home. I loved this place. My second-story apartment was one of four in the old house and overlooked the town common. A white clapboard church sat at the south end of the common, and a long lawn used for community events stretched to Great Road, the main thoroughfare of Ellington. My favorite restaurant, DiNapoli’s Roast Beef and Pizza, sat on the north side of Great Road waiting for me, not only with good food but good company in the form of Angelo and Rosalie DiNapoli.

  I sighed because I wasn’t ready for company. Instead, I went to the kitchen to make a Fluffernutter sandwich out of Marshmallow Fluff and peanut butter on white bread. They didn’t appeal to everyone, but there was a reason people balked when someone suggested they should be removed from the school lunch menu. The reason being they are delicious.

  I set my plate on the small kitchen table and ran a hand across CJ’s leather jacket, which hung on the back of one of the two kitchen chairs. Part of me felt like he’d left it there on purpose, staking his claim or marking his territory. There wasn’t any reason for him to do that anymore. I’d thought I’d made that clear to him.

  Just as I took the first bite, I heard a knock on my door. I chewed fast while I headed for the door, unable to savor the gooey sweetness of the Fluff or the salty peanut butter. The whole bite felt like it was stuck on the roof of my mouth. I swallowed as I yanked open the door, hoping it was CJ with some good news. Instead, I dropped my sandwich and stared.

  Chapter 3

  I blinked my eyes a couple of times before I launched myself into the man’s arms. At first, he didn’t hug me back, but then his arms wrapped tightly around me. My eyes filled with tears as I pulled away. “Luke? What are you doing here? How did you find me? Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”

  My estranged brother stood there in worn jeans and a flannel shirt. A brown leather backpack was slung across his shoulder. His tawny brown hair settled below his shoulders, and a scraggly beard added to the weary look on his face. He hadn’t even been able to grow a beard the last time I’d seen him, nineteen years ago.

  Luke glanced around. “Can I come in?”

  I stepped back. “Of course. Are you hungry?” Hungry? Where the heck had that come from? I must be channeling CJ’s mom’s Southern girl hospitality, calling up some long unused manners required in an uncomfortable situation. If I didn’t watch it I’d be making sweet tea and apologizing for my bare feet.

  “Can you cook now?” he asked with a slight smile.

  I gave him a look and cocked my head. “Things haven’t changed that much.” Adrenaline was surging through my body for the second time today. “But I make an excellent Fluffernutter sandwich. Trust me, you’ll like them.”

  Luke followed me into the kitchen but froze when he spotted CJ’s jacket. “Whose is that?”

  “It’s CJ’s.” Luke looked around again. “He’s not here,” I said.

  Luke’s shoulders sagged and he collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. I busied myself making sandwiches, my hands unable to keep up with my thoughts. The last time I’d seen my younger brother was when he’d joined the Marines a couple of weeks after CJ and I had gotten married. He’d been so involved in his new life and I had been so busy with mine, I hadn’t realized for a while that we’d drifted apart. Way apart. When I’d tried to call or write, there had never been a response. I’d finally quit trying. Luke had only called me twice in all that time. The last call had been over ten years ago. There’d been recriminations and accusations. My hurt at his disappearance from our family had come out as anger. Both calls had ended with him hanging up on me.

  I glan
ced over my shoulder at him. His eyes were closed and his head was tipped back against the wall. But I could still see the baby brother I’d always defended, even with the long hair, broad shoulders, and lined face. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been a lanky boy. He’d done one tour with the Marines, gone home for bit, and then nothing but the two calls.

  His eyes popped open and he smiled. “How many sandwiches are you going to make?”

  I looked down and realized I’d made nine. I grabbed two plates and put two on one and three on the other. I handed the plate with three to Luke. I watched as he powered through the first two.

  “You’re right, these are good. Aren’t you going to eat?” Luke asked.

  I took a bite, but my hunger had disappeared. “Do you want something to drink? A beer or water? I could put on a pot of coffee.” Did he even like coffee?

  “Remember the last time we had a beer together?” he asked.

  I smiled at the memory. “I was eighteen and you were seventeen.”

  “Dad was furious when he realized we’d gotten into his stash of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.”

  “And even though we were both sicker than dogs the next morning, he woke us at sunrise and made us do yard work all morning.” I laughed at the memory.

  A knock, knock, knock sounded on my front door.

  Luke jolted out of the chair. “Who is it?”

  Why was he so jumpy? “It’s probably CJ. Or Stella, my landlady. She lives right downstairs.”

  “I can’t see anyone right now.”

  Even though he was looking down at me, I saw the little kid who used to look up at me. Eyes pleading silently for me to get him out of whatever mess he was currently in. I nodded, hoping I was wrong and he had a good explanation. “There’s an attic space off the living room.”

  “The small door I noticed?”

  Observant. One side of the living room had a slanted ceiling that met a four-foot-high section of wall. Behind the wall was the storage space. “Yes, go in there. I’ll close the door behind you.” Luke snatched his plate and the other sandwich, taking them with him.