I tried to relax and focus on my food until a bit of a soft conversation going on behind me drifted over.
“If she’s such a hero, how come she didn’t stop that murder? At her very own tag sale,” a woman said.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, would the people in the town just get over the hero thing? Being called a hero wasn’t as fun as it might sound. When I’d saved a life last February, the whole town had rallied around me to the point where it had become embarrassing. There’d been talk of a parade, but it had been quickly squelched by me and town budget constraints. However, I’d been chosen to be the grand dame of the Ellington Days parade next fall. No amount of squelching could get me out of it. I was going to be forced to ride in someone’s swanky convertible and wave to kids along the parade route like I was some kind of homecoming queen.
“Give her a break. She’s not Superwoman,” a man whispered.
I kept trying to fold my superhero cape and tuck it back in the drawer. But the more I tried, the more I found myself in situations where people called me a hero. Last March, I’d saved some kittens from a storm drain. I hadn’t made a big deal of it, but some passerby had taken a video of me lying in the mud, pulling out the kittens one by one. It had gone viral—I hoped because of the adorable kittens and not the way my muddy shirt had clung to me. But it had cemented the idea I was some sort of hero.
A couple of weeks later, I’d stopped a baby from being kidnapped at the mall. It had been dumb luck. The kidnapper had sprinted by me. I’d stuck out my foot instinctively and managed to catch the baby when she’d squirted out of his arms like a football. Then, last month, I’d happened upon a car wreck and badgered a group of people into helping me lift the vehicle off the person trapped underneath. It had been a Mini Cooper, not a Humvee. I’d done what anyone would have done. I was no hero.
“Well, some people around here act like she is.”
“She’s sitting right there. She’ll hear you,” the man said.
“I don’t care. I’d say it to her face.”
What people didn’t realize was I was a fraud and a fake. I’d had help the night I’d saved a life back in February, when this whole stupid hero thing had started. Mike Titone’s help that I’d sworn never to talk about. Help that haunted me. Help that kept me up at night when I watched CJ’s back rise and fall as he slept or when he pulled me to him with a contented sigh.
I took my napkin from my lap and wadded it into a ball. I wanted to turn and say something to the woman, but what good would it do? Instead, I slipped out of the restaurant and figured out what I needed to do next.
* * *
Ellington had only three motels, two seedy and one a nice inn. I couldn’t imagine Luke staying at an inn in a historic Colonial home. I’d heard the place was pricey and that they provided an authentic Colonial experience. Bed warmers to warm the sheets, a fireplace in every room, and they served authentic Colonial meals based on recipes passed down from generation to generation. I drove by it anyway, in case Luke was sitting outside on one of the rockers on the porch, whiling away time. The cars in the lot were all luxury models. I didn’t know what kind of car Luke had or if he had one at all, but he didn’t seem like a luxury-car kind of guy. He’d driven an old Jeep when we were in high school.
Next, I tried the Hotel de Ellington, a grand name for the boxy three-story building on Great Road. About a year ago, the state had started placing homeless families there. It had created a lot of controversy, as those things always did. Some claimed it would strain the school system, others that it would create more crime.
I drove around the building once. A group of men hung out behind the building. I pressed the accelerator and headed back to the front. I found a parking spot across the street and went into the lobby. A TV blared in one corner. The tile hadn’t seen a mop in some time, and it smelled like burnt popcorn.
A lone man sat on an uncomfortable-looking stool behind a counter. I gathered my thoughts as I waited for the man to acknowledge my presence. I didn’t even know how to ask about Luke. I didn’t want to say his name or show even a very old picture in case the police came around or already had been around.
“You need something, or do you just like the view?” the man said. He turned to the side and flexed his arms over his potbelly, like he was a weight lifter. Then he chuckled. “I’m guessing it’s not the view.”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“I’ll need a little more to go on, missy.”
“It’s my . . . friend.” Oh dear, I’d almost said brother. “He’s a man. A head taller than me with brown hair. And a brown beard.”
The man narrowed his eyes, assessing me. “You get left at the altar?” It came out altah with his accent. “You pregnant?” He opened a drawer and thrust some pamphlets at me.
“No. No, nothing like that. He’s a friend.”
He nodded like he’d heard it all before. “Listen, unless you can do a better job of describing your . . . friend, I can’t help.” He sighed. “Even if you could describe him, I couldn’t tell you if he was here or not. Privacy and all that. You’re welcome to have a seat and wait to see if he comes through. But it’s the best I can do.”
I looked over at the stained couch. Was the man trying to tell me Luke was here without coming out and saying it? I looked at him hopefully. But I didn’t see any secret message in his eyes.
“Honey, look,” he said. “Maybe move on with your life. Find a better man.”
I flushed, nodded, and slunk out.
Chapter 10
My next stop was the Ellington Motel on the west edge of town. It was one of those long, stretched-out places with a couple of little cabins at one end. This place looked more plausible. The cars were older, and a few of the lights above the doors were missing bulbs. The A-framed office sat in the middle. The NO on the VACANCY sign blinked on and off erratically. I’d practiced my spiel on the way over. This time, when I walked up to the desk, I was ready.
“Hi, my friend checked in earlier today. He forgot to tell me his room number. I was supposed to meet him at eight.” I kept my voice light and friendly.
“You pregnant?” The woman glanced at my belly, and I followed her look. Did I look pregnant? The man at the other hotel had said the same thing. Yeesh. CJ and I had tried often enough when we were married without success. My stomach looked smooth and flat. I’d actually lost five pounds over the past few months, but I sucked in a little anyway. I’d bought this flowy, blue top at a yard sale for fifty cents, but it wasn’t worth it if it made me look pregnant.
“No. It’s a friend.” Geez, didn’t people understand friends around here?
“Whatever. I’ll need a little more than when he checked in. Does he have a name?”
“Of course.” But what name? He wouldn’t check in as Luke Winston if he was undercover or in trouble. I smiled. “Bartholomew Winst.” It was the name he’d always used when we were little and played a spy game.
She tapped on a keyboard. “Yeah.”
My heart leaped.
“But he checked out this morning. I’m guessing because of this.” She slapped a flyer on the counter in front of me. It was a picture of Luke taken when he was in the Marines—all high cheekbones and stern look.
“Where did you get this?”
“The police brought it by a while ago.”
“They know Bartholomew was here?”
The woman snorted. “’Course they do. You think I’d lie to the police over some man staying here?”
“No.” I leaned in closer and dropped my voice. “What’d they want him for? The scumbag owes me money.”
“No idea. But you got to find yourself a better man.”
Yeesh, enough with the man advice. “Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
“He wrote a Buick down on his form, but it’s not what I saw him driving.”
We looked at each other, both waiting for something. “What did you see him driving?” I finally asked.
<
br /> “A blue Prius.”
“Do the police know?”
“They didn’t ask.”
Sloppy police work and a woman with an interesting take on ethics. But I knew more than I had an hour ago.
* * *
I went home at nine-thirty when I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. When I was really stressed, I cleaned. I scrubbed the plates in the sink, dried them, and put them away. In my bedroom, I stripped the bed and changed the sheets, and then moved on to dusting. I quit when every surface in the house sparkled.
It was times like this I wished I had a bigger apartment because cleaning this place hardly took any time. As I plumped the throw pillows on the couch, I spotted a small spiral notebook wedged between the couch cushion and arm. I pulled it out and flipped it open, recognizing Luke’s handwriting, even after all of these years. I must have knocked it out of his backpack the first night he was here.
Under other circumstances, I might not have read his notes. But something was horribly wrong, and this might be my only chance to help him. I flipped through the pages and found a list of cities next to a list of names. Most of the names meant nothing to me but some did. Verne, CJ, James, Brad, and Seth. My heart twisted at the sight of their names. Why would Luke have written them in his notebook?
* * *
If I was patient, maybe Luke would come back for his notebook. But I wasn’t patient. I grabbed my car keys and purse again. Even though it was already ten, I’d try to talk to some of the people on the list. I hid the notebook under some sweaters in my chest of drawers just in case Luke came back to look for it while I was out.
I parked across the street from Seth’s house and turned the car off. I listened to the tick, tick, tick of the engine as I studied his place. Lights were on; no cars were parked in front of his house. It didn’t mean he was alone, but I hoped he was. Seth had been named Massachusetts’s Most Eligible Bachelor for the past two years in a row. He had plenty of women throwing themselves at him. His picture was always in the society pages of the Boston newspapers with some model-like woman by his side.
Lights flickered through the curtains covering the small basement windows, like a TV was on. I’d decorated the room for him and he’d loved how it had turned out. I’d worked on the rest of the house too, but hadn’t ever finished his living room or his bedroom.
I hated unfinished business. Like his house, like our relationship. It had ended when I’d promised CJ I wouldn’t let him die a lonely old man. He’d been in the hospital, injured, fragile, and all the love I’d ever felt for him had come rushing back over me. Seth had come to CJ’s room that night as I’d sat by CJ’s hospital bed. He had been involved in something I hadn’t understood, something I hadn’t been sure I wanted to understand. But none of it mattered right now. What mattered was finding Luke. I needed to sort out why Luke’s fingerprints had been at the crime scene.
I forced myself out of the car, hustled to the door, and rang the bell before I chickened out. I wouldn’t normally stop by someone’s house this late, and especially not Seth’s. When nothing happened, I held the bell down. If I was interrupting something, I was going to die of embarrassment. The porch light came on and the door was yanked open. Seth stood on the other side of his storm door in a pristine white dress shirt, untucked over faded jeans, bare feet, and mussed hair. He stared at me with such shock, I might as well have been the yeti Flossie Callahan thought she’d seen coming out of her apartment. A look of hope crossed his face, but it was fleeting.
“Are you alone?” I asked, trying to discreetly look around him.
“Sarah,” he said, shaking his head.
Did he mean he wasn’t alone? This might be humiliating, but I’d do it for Luke. “I need to ask you something.” Seth opened the storm door.
“Come in.”
“I shouldn’t. Really.” I didn’t want to see whomever he was dating. Talking on the porch worked for me.
“No one’s here.” The words came out sharp. I must have hurt him more than I’d realized. “I was downstairs watching the Red Sox game. I heard about your brother.” His voice softened a little bit.
I followed him into the living room. It looked almost like the last time I’d seen it, furnished with things I’d found for him at garage sales. The chair I’d had reupholstered in brown leather looked great, but was in the wrong place. It had been delivered after CJ and I got back together. I walked over to it and shoved it until it was just right. Then realized what I’d done. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Seth had a bemused expression on his face.
“I’ll put it back.”
“No. It looks better there. Leave it.”
He sat on the arm of the sofa and gestured for me to sit. I perched on the edge of the chair.
“What do you want?” Seth asked.
I detected a note of something in his voice. A bit of hope.
“I wanted to talk to you about my brother.”
“Ah.” Seth rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. He was one of those men who could pull off a five-o’clock shadow and look even better than he did clean-shaven. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“He’s been estranged from our family for a long time. I haven’t seen him in almost twenty years and only talked to him a couple of times.” I stopped myself from blurting out, “until two days ago.” That would have been a disaster because I needed to find Luke and talk to CJ first. I almost shuddered at the thought.
“What do you think he was doing here?” Seth asked.
Investigating a story. Please let it be the truth. “I don’t know.” That was the truth, right? But I wanted to be the one asking the questions. The lawyer side of Seth just naturally kicked in.
I leaned forward. “CJ told me Luke’s fingerprints were in the Spencers’ garage. Couldn’t it be some kind of horrible mix-up? Someone whose fingerprints are a near match? Or a clerical error?”
Seth was shaking his head no before I’d even finished speaking.
“Everything’s digital. The chances of an error are next to zero. Unless he can prove he wasn’t in the area.” Seth gave me a direct look. One that must wilt witnesses. “Do you know where he is?”
“No. I wish I did.” Boy, did I. “But no.”
After an awkward silence I thanked Seth and left. I sat back in my car and burst into tears. All the pent-up emotions surrounding the death of Mr. Spencer, my brother’s arrival, and even seeing Seth flowed out of me. I leaned on the steering wheel and sobbed.
A knock on the window shocked me straight up.
Chapter 11
Mike Titone stood there. I glanced from Mike to Seth’s house. What the heck?
“Are you okay?”
I rolled the window down, swiping at the tears. “I’ll be fine.” The words came out terse.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same.” How odd to see him twice in one day.
“I’m just driving by. On my way home.”
“You’re just driving by Seth Anderson’s house? The DA? On your way home to the North End?”
“Anderson lives around here?” He looked around, surprised. “Interesting.”
I didn’t buy his very convincing act for a minute. They were involved with each other in some way that worried me. Not my problem, at least for the moment.
“What are you doing out here crying?”
I swiped at the tears rolling down my face. Not his problem. He’d made that clear earlier today. “A bad day.”
Mike studied me for a minute, then shrugged. “Okay.”
I watched as he strolled back to a black SUV I hadn’t even noticed idling behind me. Luke’s appearance in my life had thrown me completely off my game. Mike opened the passenger door, but paused. He looked at me for a minute before clambering into the SUV. It took off around me. I gave a slight wave as it passed, but the dark tint of its windows prevented me from seeing if anyone waved back.
I started
my car, ready to head off in search of Luke, when it hit me. I’d asked Mike Titone to hide someone for me this morning. If he heard about my brother, if he told Seth . . . it was almost too awful to think about. I rammed the car into drive. I had to find Luke fast. I called James as I left Seth’s house since there had been a James on Luke’s list. I didn’t know if it was the James I knew but I’d better find out. He had worked for CJ when CJ had been the commander of the security forces on Fitch. I’d hoped he was home so we could talk at his apartment, which wasn’t far from mine. But he was on patrol duty on base. When CJ and I were still married, we’d call his troops “our kids.” Those feelings didn’t go away, although I never felt like a mother figure around James.
It was almost eleven by the time I parked behind the Shoppette, where James had told me to meet him. The Shoppette, which was kind of like a 7-Eleven in the civilian world, was already closed. Across the parking lot, a few people went in and out of the gym. The bowling alley next to it was also closed. All and all, it was a quiet night. I yawned as I waited.
James pulled in beside me a few minutes later and motioned for me to get in his patrol car. “Mind if we talk and drive?” he asked once I closed the door. “I’m still on duty.”
“Sure.” Although it would be more difficult to watch his reactions. I’d been worried about James since he returned from a deployment in Afghanistan last October. He had a harder edge to him than before the deployment, and I’d yet to get to the bottom of why. Stella thought James liked me in a romantic way, but I wasn’t sure. I had seen him around town and on base with other women.
He took off, turned onto Travis Road which took us past the library and the thrift shop. This time of night, though, everything was closed. James turned left and we drove to a quiet section of base where the old thrift shop had been. A young enlisted officer had been killed here, and soon after, the thrift shop had moved to its new location on Travis, the main street that cut from one side of base to the other.
A Good Day to Buy Page 7
