“How are you doing?” Brad asked. “I can’t believe you were attacked.”
“I’m okay,” I tried to say it with confidence.
“Can you tell me what happened the night you were kidnapped?”
“I figured you knew.”
“I heard from the police, but would like to hear exactly what happened.”
I filled him in, wishing as I did that telling this story would make it less scary, but it didn’t. “What did the security guard who was stuffed in the trunk have to say?”
“He was patrolling by the construction site when someone flagged him down. He doesn’t remember anything until he woke up in the trunk,” Brad said.
“Is there any chance he’s lying? Maybe he could be in on it?” This was what my world had come to. Not believing anyone I didn’t know.
“No way. The man’s solid. He’s worked at the VA for ten years without as much as a complaint against him.”
“What’s his name?”
Brad shook his head. “Uh-uh. CJ would kill me if I told you.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“Nice try.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get to my meeting. Tell CJ I’ll try and meet him at the gym in the morning.”
I watched him leave and then turned back to Mrs. Spencer. Something felt off about Brad being here.
Chapter 17
I parked my car in front of the Spencers’ house. I’d promised Tim I’d have things ready for the sale next week, but I’d been putting off coming back here. I unlocked the front door. I’d run into Tim at the hospital as I was leaving. He’d asked me to be brutal about getting rid of stuff. Mrs. Spencer would be mad as heck if she knew. Now I had to walk a delicate balance of Tim’s needs, which I sympathized with, and Mrs. Spencer’s needs, which I did have a modicum of empathy for.
I decided to go through room by room and throw away things Mrs. Spencer clung to that had no value except as recyclables. As I did, I’d set aside things Tim might want to get rid of but his mother might want to keep.
First, I needed a box to put stuff in. I had large black plastic bags I could use to haul the recycling to the garage and for actual garbage. I went to Mr. Spencer’s study because I remembered seeing some flat boxes and tape there. As I reached for a box in a group leaning against the wall, I knocked a picture off. Fortunately I grabbed it before it hit the floor and shattered the glass.
It was the photo I liked of Mr. Spencer with men from his unit when he served in Vietnam. Boys really, not men. The picture was in black and white and kind of blurry. The three of them struck a jaunty pose like they didn’t have a care in the world. Behind them was a jungle. I stared down at the picture of young Mr. Spencer. Who killed you? Sadly, I wasn’t going to get any answers staring at this picture.
Mr. Spencer had shown it to me one day as he told me about his experiences in Vietnam. He’d laugh them off like it was a big adventure instead of the most frightening period of his life.
It made me think of James. While I was relieved he was getting help, I wished he could be more upfront about it. I was sure his unit would support him. It had been a great group when CJ was commander. And James could get in trouble by not reporting that he was seeing someone off base and off the record. I needed to talk to him again. I set the picture on Mr. Spencer’s desk and snapped a picture of it with my phone. It was one of the last times I’d ever see it and it was a nice memory of my time spent with Mr. Spencer.
An hour later, I took two large bags full of stuff and emptied it into the recycling. I had another bag full of trash and a box full of things set aside for Tim. I sent him a quick text telling him I’d left a box in the living room for him to look through. Tim could decide what he wanted to keep and what he wanted to sell.
He sent a text back. I can’t get away right now. Mom had a seizure of some kind today. Things aren’t good.
Poor Tim. Mrs. Spencer hadn’t looked well this morning. I sent another text. Anything I can do?
Pray.
I checked the time on my phone. If I hurried, I could grab a sandwich at home and then head over to Gennie’s house. Maybe if I told her I was full, I’d be able to get out of my training.
* * *
Being full only bought me an hour and a half reprieve. Gennie had informed me it would be plenty of time to digest and be ready for a workout. I glanced at the time on my phone. I only had another fifteen minutes to finish a minor repair on a lovely Victorian settee. I had it upside down with the legs sticking up in the air. I fisted my hands on my hips as I stared down at it.
“You are not going to win this battle,” I told the piece. The legs were pegged to the frame of the bench. When I got one peg in correctly, another popped out on a different side. “Come on, pretty please? I don’t want to use wood glue on you.” Maybe talking nice to the darn thing would work better. It had heard some words I didn’t normally use as I’d struggled with it. I got two of the pegged pieces in on one side. I set the bench on that side and leaned on it hoping the pressure would keep those two in place. After some wrangling, I got the other two pegs in. Voilà, the piece was sturdy. I set it back on its four legs.
“Stay,” I said, pointing a finger like it was a dog and would listen. I could have asked Gennie for help, but I didn’t want her to find me any sooner than necessary.
On Friday, an appraiser who was a friend of mine from Acton, Massachusetts, was meeting me here to price the last of the pieces. There were a few I wanted to make sure I was in the right ballpark with. Hmmm. Maybe it would get me out of a workout. I grabbed my hair dryer and plugged it in. I double-checked to make sure it was on the cool setting. The settee had a lot of intricate carving along the bottom and on the legs. I’d use the dryer to get dust out of crevices. It usually worked, but if it didn’t I’d use a soft paintbrush. Then I’d do a quick polish with lemon oil.
I worried about Luke as I polished and checked my phone for calls. Worrying about Luke made me think of the Spencers. Which made me think of Ethan. Three men, all vets, connected or not. My mind swirled with the motion of my cloth as I worked the polish into the carving.
“Playtime’s over. Let’s get to work,” Gennie said.
I jerked my head up and gasped. Gennie stood in the doorway. “Be still my heart,” I said, looking up at her. “This is hardly playtime. It’s my job and affects you if it isn’t done well.”
Gennie nodded. “I scared the crap out of you. If I’d been an assailant, you reacted too slowly.”
“But I feel safe here so I let my guard down. I can’t be worried about getting attacked every second of the day.” After one last swirl with the polishing cloth, I pushed off the floor. “I don’t think I have time to get everything ready for Saturday’s sale.” That was a complete fabrication. My sales were always organized by the date of the event.
“You can work in the mornings.”
“I can’t. I have another sale to get ready for.” Why wasn’t I saying no? It was a two-letter word I normally had no trouble using.
Gennie jerked her head toward the basement. “Come on. What is more important than your safety?”
My hand went to my throat. Almost being strangled had scared me more than I realized.
She was right so I followed her to the basement. “Shouldn’t we be listening to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ or something?” I asked.
“At this point, I don’t think you need the distractions.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was a sweaty beast. I’d been on my butt on the mat more times than I’d ever admit to anyone. “Face it, Gennie, I have terrible balance.”
She laughed. “We’ll work on it. Come on, let’s try a bit of boxing.” She grabbed a pair of boxing gloves. “I’ll let you try these to get the hang of things, but in the real world, you won’t have them.”
I slipped my hands into them and Gennie tightened them for me. I immediately started jabbing the air and moving my feet around in what I thought was a pretty good imitation of a boxer
. As I was getting into it, I heard a half-snort, half-hiccup noise from Gennie. I stopped. Her eyes were watery and she made the funny noise again.
“That’s what you think boxers do?” she asked.
I put my hands up in what I thought of as a classic boxer’s move, one a bit higher than the other with my elbows bent at ninety-degree angles, holding them far from my body. “How’s this?”
“It’s great,” Gennie said. I beamed at her. Maybe I was a natural. “If you want to get coldcocked.”
She smacked my arms apart like they were spaghetti strands and had her fist grazing my jaw before I could blink. She didn’t actually hit me, but she could have. So much for being a natural. Gennie taught me to put my arms and fists close to my body to protect my core.
“This is going to sound counterintuitive, but if you have to fight, you want to go in close to your opponent.”
“I thought I should run and scream.”
“If you can, absolutely do it. But if you can’t, move toward your opponent.”
“Toward him? That doesn’t sound smart.”
“If they can pull their arm back, then extend it fully, their hit is going to have a lot more force behind it. And do a lot more damage.” She demonstrated both on the punching bag. “Now try to hit me.”
I tried more than once. My arms were starting to tire and all I was hitting was air. Yeesh.
“Have you ever actually hit anyone or anything?” Gennie asked.
Had I? “I slapped my brother once when he shaved the head of my Barbie doll.”
“How’d it feel?”
“Not good. Especially after a week of hand washing all the dishes and going to bed a half an hour early.”
Gennie laughed again. “But in the moment. Can you remember how you felt?”
“I was furious. It was my favorite Barbie. She had long blond hair and she looked like me.”
“You have to tap into that fury. Unless you have a better moment of fury.”
I nodded. “Someone tried to kill me.”
Gennie got very still. “Were you mad or scared?”
“Scared first. Then mad.” I thought back to the incident last spring, one I usually tried to forget. “I think both emotions worked to let me save myself.”
“Excellent. Now I’m going to hold the bag and you punch it.”
We walked over to the long, cylindrical bag in the corner of her basement. It’s cheery red color did nothing to make me feel better.
“I’ve got to warn you, it’s not like punching a pillow. It doesn’t have much give.”
I nodded and put my hands up the way Gennie had shown me. I shuffled my feet a little and then hit the bag.
“You call that a punch? I bet you slapped your brother harder.”
I tried again.
“Come on. You didn’t even make me feel it.”
Gennie was making me pretty angry with her mocking tone. I struck out with a fast jab. The jolt zapped through my hand, up my wrist, and right to my shoulder. “Owwwwww.”
Gennie grinned at me from the back of the bag. “Do it again.” I’m pretty sure she murmured, “Wuss,” under her breath.
I felt like one of those cartoon bulls who swiped their feet in the dirt, head down, before they charged. That bag was going to get everything I had.
Chapter 18
I struck out, but Gennie moved the bag a bit to the left. My trajectory took me past the bag toward the mat-lined wall. Gennie snatched the back of my shirt. It allowed me just enough time to twist so my shoulder smacked the padded wall instead of my face. But a shock wave of pain surged through my body.
I rubbed my shoulder. “What did you move the bag for?”
“You think your attacker is going to just stand there?” She started loosening the boxing gloves. “Good work. Let’s get you some ibuprofen and water.”
We settled in her kitchen at stools by the massive granite-topped island. “How are things going at your new place?” I asked.
“My contractor’s mad because I’m changing the space in Dorchester from our original design.” It came out Dorchestah with her accent. “But I have to so I can teach the self-defense classes.”
I rubbed my shoulder, then took the ibuprofen with great gulps of water. “Yeah, that’s a great idea because you’re so good at it.”
Gennie laughed. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little bit hard on you.”
“A little bit?” I asked.
“I’m trying to prepare you for real-world situations.”
“You might have to tone it down a little if you do offer classes. But it is a great idea.”
I checked the time on my phone. I wanted to be back home by five to meet the potential new renter. Luke’s list popped up again and I stared at it.
“What’s that?” Gennie asked, looking over my shoulder.
Gennie was a local. Maybe some of these names would mean something to her. I showed her the list. I didn’t like to talk about Luke and what was going on, but if Gennie knew someone, maybe it would give me some answers.
“Have you heard the police are looking for my brother, Luke? They are calling him a person of interest in Mr. Spencer’s death.”
Gennie ducked her head for a moment. “It’s around town,” she admitted.
Of course it was. Maybe that was why I’d unconsciously been avoiding places I usually went. I’d seen the DiNapolis two days ago and hadn’t seen Carol at all. We’d talked once, last Friday, and made plans to attend an estate sale later this week. I was surprised she hadn’t called me. Brad had to have told her what happened to me at the VA. I hoped everything was okay with her. With Brad.
“Sarah?” Gennie asked.
“Oh, sorry. Luke left a notebook in my apartment that contained a list of names. Some of the names are crossed off.” I sat for a minute trying to compose myself. “I recognized some of the names.” I took a drink of my water. “I talked to James and he had met my brother who was using an alias.” I made a note to myself to call James and apologize again. It wasn’t my only reason though. Maybe Luke had said something that hadn’t seemed important at the time but may now have some significance. I handed Gennie my phone. “Do you recognize any of the names?”
Gennie frowned as she read through the names.
“And look at the list next to the names. It’s of towns. Some of them have VA hospitals in them, but not all of them.”
“Can I see the list?”
I took my phone back, flicked to the list, and handed the phone back to Gennie.
She flipped back and forth between the two lists. Her eyebrows popped up.
“What?” I asked her.
“I may be wrong, but if you put some of the town names behind some of the names on the list, you have names of people who live in Ellington.”
“Show me.”
“I may be way off base.”
“It’s okay. It’s more than I’ve had to go on.”
“Charlie and Davenport fits together, and so does Susan and Fairfax. Then this one, Herb and Fitchberg. Could that be Herb Fitch?” Gennie asked.
Herb Fitch was a retired police officer and a veteran, descended from the Fitch family who’d fought in the Revolutionary War. The base was named after their family. I hadn’t seen him since last October. He lived across the alley from Carol’s shop, Paint and Wine. Herb had once called the police to report me as a suspicious person.
“I know Herb,” I said. “But he’ll be hard to talk to without arousing his suspicion. He’s a wily one.”
“He is. Susan passed away a few years back.”
“So she’s a dead end.” I thunked my hand to my head. “Poor choice of words.”
Gennie laughed and shook her head.
“Would Charlie talk to us?”
“Absolutely. Shall we go see Charlie?” Gennie sounded excited.
I’d rather go alone, but maybe having Gennie along was a good idea. New Englanders didn’t always take to people they considered outsiders. And as much as
I loved my adopted home state of Massachusetts, no one here would consider me a local. “Right now?”
Gennie was already standing up. “Yes. Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, we stood on the porch of a rambling Victorian house not too far from where I lived. The bright pink, purple, and green paint peeled in spots. Gennie bam, bam, bammed on the screen door.
“You’re going to knock the screen door off its hinges,” I said.
“Charlie’s a little hard of hearing,” Gennie said. She yanked open the screen and beat on the deep purple six-panel door.
I found a doorbell in the shape of a dragonfly. I pushed on it and we both heard a deep gong from inside. Gennie raised her fist to knock again when the door opened abruptly.
“You tryin’ to raise the dead?” Charlie asked with a scowl.
“You don’t look dead yet,” Gennie said with a grin.
“Too ornery for heaven or the devil, I guess,” Charlie said.
I was surprised—Charlie was a woman about an inch taller than my five-six with a large Afro and a commanding presence.
“Come on in. You two must need somethin’ important making all that racket,” Charlie said. I watched her well-developed hips swish down a hall until Gennie gave me a poke and I followed.
“You could have told me Charlie was a woman,” I said over my shoulder to Gennie.
She grinned at me. “The element of surprise is important in any fight.”
“What are you? Yoda now?” I asked. She laughed and motioned me forward.
We settled in what the Victorians would have called a parlor, but it was now part office space and part family room. As Gennie introduced us, I looked at the pictures on her walls and realized Charlie must be older than she appeared. Her brown face was unlined, but some of the photos were of her serving in the Vietnam War. Gennie and I had decided on the way over it wouldn’t be prudent to tell Charlie she was on a list written by a murder suspect. It troubled me even to think that way about Luke. Instead, we’d decided to ask if she knew Mr. Spencer or went to the VA herself.
A Good Day to Buy Page 11
