A Good Day to Buy

by Sherry Harris

  I refrained from squirming in my chair. “No. I was looking for Mr. Spencer’s military records. Tim found me going through the files.”

  “But he said it was okay to take this picture.”

  “No. I just took it.”

  CJ tossed the picture on top of his desk. “And then you decided to bring the stolen picture to me.”

  I stood. “I shouldn’t have taken it. But at least now you have some idea what’s really going on.”

  “What you think is really going on. I can’t use that picture.”

  “Are you sure?” I scooped the picture off his desk.

  “It’s complicated, and I don’t want you to end up being prosecuted for theft.”

  Yikes, I didn’t want to be prosecuted for anything. “Did you hear about what happened at Herb Fitch’s house?”

  “I did.”

  “Anyone have any theories about why someone would spray-paint his house?”

  “We’re following up on it.”

  In other words, Butt out, Sarah.

  CJ frowned. “Awesome said you were on the scene.”

  “Just by happenstance. I was going to buy some end tables from a woman who lived down the block from him.”

  “I don’t think there’s room for anything else in your apartment.”

  Ah, the age-old minimalist versus the not-at-all-minimalist argument. “I didn’t end up buying them.”

  “Sorry,” CJ said. “Buy them if you want them.”

  I looked down at the picture in my hands. “Hey, what about Mr. Spencer’s Purple Heart? It should have his name and rank on the back of it.”

  “Did you take it too?”

  “No. I saw it near his body. It must be in your evidence room or with his personal things. Did Tim pick those up?” If Tim had and looked at the Purple Heart closely, he might know his dad’s been lying. What child would want that out in public? It might be why he wanted his key back.

  “Good idea, Sarah.” He stood. “I’ll check on it right now.”

  Cue the exit music. “One more thing. Have you talked to Brad lately?”

  “What, you suspect him too?”

  Of something, maybe, but obviously this wasn’t the time to mention it. “I was hoping we could all get together soon. He’s been really busy lately.”

  CJ nodded, but in a distracted way, as he looked over at his computer monitor. I leaned over his desk for a quick kiss. I didn’t tell him that our conversation had made me more determined to find Luke and clear his name. Or, if it was Luke, to make sure he was caught and paid for what he’d done to the Spencer family.

  Chapter 31

  I stood in front of Brad Carson’s desk, determined to find out what was going on with him. Carol could brush off his behavior as being too busy, but I wasn’t so sure. Tim’s questions about Brad had continued to bother me. I hoped my next call wouldn’t be to Vincenzo to have him help save Brad’s neck. Brad waved me to the chair across from him. His office was cramped and filled with overflowing metal file cabinets. The walls were decorated with official-looking plaques interspersed with artwork by his kids. It smelled faintly of burnt coffee.

  “What are you doing here, Sarah?” He looked at me suspiciously.

  I guessed it was because I’d closed his office door when I came in. “Something’s up with you, and I want to know what. Everyone keeps telling me you are too busy, but I’m not buying it.” I was worried Carol didn’t even realize something was amiss since she’d just said he was busy.

  Brad adjusted his tie. “No idea what you are talking about.”

  I laced my fingers together in my lap. “Both times Mrs. Spencer relapsed, you were at the hospital.” It was a lot harder to get out than I’d thought it would be.

  “You think I had something to do with it?” Creases deepened on Brad’s forehead. “I wasn’t the only one there those days. Not by a long shot. You were there, Tim, many other people. I can’t believe you’d even accuse me of trying to hurt her.”

  I had to so I could watch his reaction. It seemed genuine enough. “I don’t think you did anything to her, but Tim thinks it’s odd you’re visiting her. Something’s up. You’re an administrator here. You don’t deal directly with the patients.” I waved my hand around. “Your office isn’t even close to the patients.”

  “It doesn’t mean I don’t know any of them.” He started to put his finger in his collar to loosen it, but jerked it away when he noticed me watching. Brad folded his hands together on the desk.

  “Tell me what’s going on. I don’t want to have to involve anyone else.” I couldn’t believe I was threatening a longtime friend. But I had to for Carol’s sake and their kids.

  Brad stood, picked up a marble obelisk, walked over to my side of the desk, and then sat in the chair next to mine. The one between me and the door. He weighed it in his hand, staring like it might have some answers. Brad looked at it so long I began to sweat. I should have been more upfront with CJ about my concerns. I gulped.

  Brad finally placed it back on the desk. “After Mr. Spencer died, I decided I’d go over their benefits to see what was available to Mrs. Spencer.”

  “Why? That’s not your job, is it?”

  “No. But it was such a tragedy, and I’ve seen how families are affected. I planned to help Tim navigate his way through the process.” He jiggled a knee. “I am an administrator, but I like to get out and remind myself there’s a human side of the story. With all the problems we’ve had in the past few years, I was being extra careful with the paperwork.”

  “And?”

  “I found some discrepancies.”

  “Mr. Spencer didn’t ever serve, did he?”

  Brad’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know?”

  “It’s not important. What have you been doing at the hospital?”

  “I wanted to talk to Mrs. Spencer. I hoped she could shed some light on this. I hoped I was wrong.”

  “Have you told Tim any of this?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “How could they get away with this?”

  “Back when they started their scam, it was easier. Paperwork wasn’t digitalized. It was mimeographed and filed by hand.”

  “Why would they do it?” I knew the answer even as I asked it.

  “Money,” Brad said. “Between the disability and retirement pay, the medical benefits. It adds up.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I still want to wait and talk to Mrs. Spencer. I still hope I’m wrong.”

  I sat back in my chair. “I don’t think you are.”

  Brad leaned forward. “Let’s keep this between us for now, okay?”

  “Isn’t it fraud?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  Brad stood. “I appreciate that. Will you keep my secret until I can figure out what to do?”

  Brad was doing something wrong for what sounded like the right reason. I walked to the door, looked back, and nodded. I felt the weight of keeping another secret for someone weigh on me.

  * * *

  I’d finished everything I had to do at Gennie’s to prepare for the sale on Saturday. While I worked, I thought through my list of suspects now that I knew Brad was innocent. Tim loved his dad, so killing him made little sense. Although killing someone never made sense. I was still suspicious of the four men who’d shown up in town right when all this happened. I knew CJ was convinced they were just here to hunt turkeys, but I wasn’t as sure. There were the fingerprints from the unknowns, as I’d taken to calling them in my head. And then Luke. Each day that passed increased my anxiety about Luke and his involvement in all this.

  I realized I was staring blankly at the Victorian settee I’d fixed the other day. It had held together. I’d have to tell whoever bought it the truth about its precarious legs. Everything looked as good as it could. My friend the appraiser had come in and helped with the pieces I didn’t feel confident in pricing. Stripped down of al
l the paintings and knickknacks, the room’s elegant Colonial lines showed through. Even with the low ceilings and dark woods, I could envision living here. It was a beautiful home.

  “Sarah?” Gennie called.

  I found her in the kitchen, although I dragged my feet a little getting there. I wasn’t ready for another lesson, but knew it was inevitable and good for me.

  Gennie patted the kitchen stool beside her. “You look like you’re preparing for the guillotine.”

  “Maybe that should have been your nickname—Gennie the Guillotine, instead of Gennie the Jawbreaker.”

  Gennie laughed. “Where were you when I needed you?” She handed me a bottle of water. “Drink up. I want you hydrated before we sweat.”

  “Is this some kind of trick?”

  “My, aren’t you suspicious. Which is a good thing when assessing an enemy. Girls are trained to be nice. Today I want to talk some of that training out of you and then teach you a couple of moves.”

  “Okay.” Talking was much better than punching a bag. I rarely injured myself while talking. Well, there was the one time when I was chattering away to a friend and smacked face-first into a parking meter. But it was a long time ago.

  “The two most important things are knowing you will do whatever it takes to save yourself or someone else. And assessing your enemy.”

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  “Are you willing to gouge eyes, break a nose, see someone else bleed?”

  I winced. “Sure.”

  “You winced and said sure like you were some timid little lamb.”

  Now she was making me mad. I’d fought once and survived. “I’m sure.”

  “That’s better, because if you give off an aura of confidence, you’re less likely to be a victim. It makes you stand taller, gives you a look that makes a bully or career attacker go elsewhere.”

  I straightened my shoulders.

  “Do you know who Ronda Rousey is?” Gennie asked.

  “Mixed martial arts fighter. Undefeated for a long time.”

  “Before her first loss, Ronda said she might lose. It gave her opponent a mental edge.”

  It’s not like we were in the same league, but I got the point. “Okay.”

  “If you have to fight, know how to. Let’s go down and I’ll show you a couple of moves. There’s only so much you can learn in a few days.”

  Thirty minutes later, I’d worked up a good sweat.

  “So what’s today’s takeaway?” Gennie asked.

  “Attitude is everything. You can attack the eyes, but the blink reflex often saves them. If someone is coming at you, step to the side and yank them past you if you can.”

  “And then?”

  “Run fast and scream.” I pantomimed screaming and pumped my arms like I was running.

  “Very funny. It’s not much, but it will have to do until I have things set up in Dorchestah. I’ll expect to see you down there.”

  I nodded. As sore as I was, it made sense to know something about defending myself.

  * * *

  I hurried into the apartment, feeling bad I was twenty minutes behind schedule. I’d promised Stella I’d be there at six to meet the latest person who was interested in renting the apartment next to mine. My hair was matted with sweat, and I was pretty sure I smelled really bad. Hopefully, whoever was coming would be late too and I could grab a quick shower.

  As I hustled into the foyer, Stella came down the stairs with a man following her. They were both laughing. I skidded to a stop and stared at the man with his jet-black hair, deep green eyes, and cleft chin. The man who’d called me out at the estate sale I’d gone to with Carol.

  Chapter 32

  “Sarah, perfect timing. This is Ryne O’Rourke,” Stella said.

  “We meet again,” he said.

  “You can’t rent the apartment to him,” I told Stella, gesturing to Ryne.

  “Why not?” Stella asked. She glanced back and forth between us.

  “He’s a con man. He told me himself.”

  “It was a joke,” he said. “You know, like you can’t kid a kidder?”

  “That’s not what you said.” I shook my head. “We need to check him out first.”

  Stella glanced away. “Um, it’s too late. Ryne signed a lease.”

  Stella was a terrible judge of men. Although she and Awesome seemed to be doing okay. I couldn’t believe she’d let a stranger rent the place without checking his credentials. I looked at him. “I don’t care if he signed or not. She has to run a background check.”

  Ryne laughed. “Be my guest.”

  “My ex-husband is a police officer,” I said. Maybe that would scare him off.

  “Well, I guess we won’t be seeing much of him then,” Ryne said.

  “But you will because we’re kind of back together.”

  “Kind of?” he asked.

  Jeez, he was annoying. “We are back together. He’s here a lot. And Stella dates a cop.”

  “Great. Can’t wait to meet them. See you later, ladies.”

  He sauntered out. Stella and I both took in the fine view. Then I shook it off. “Stella.”

  She held up a hand. “Not a word. It will be fine.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “He moved here to help his ailing uncle with his antique business in Concord. He’s a nice man.”

  “Time will tell,” I muttered, and headed up the steps to my apartment. Ryne O’Rourke. The name was so Irish it sounded fake. I’d have to have CJ check him out. At the landing, I looked down for Stella, but she’d already gone into her apartment. Probably so she didn’t have to hear anything more from me.

  * * *

  A small brown box sat by the door to my apartment. I picked it up, carried it inside, and opened it in the kitchen. I lifted off some packaging material. A wedge of Edam cheese or one of those others with the bright red waxy coating sat at the bottom. My knees felt rickety as I stared down at it and its blood-red coating. Oh no. Maybe the rumors about Mike were true. I should have stayed away from him. That last trip to Boston must have been one too many.

  With shaking hands, I dumped the packaging material in the trash. A thick, creamy envelope was mixed in with it. What was in it? Anthrax? Explosives? I held it up to the light, but couldn’t see a thing. I held it away from me and ripped the envelope open. Nothing happened. No white powder spilled out. Nothing went boom. It contained a card with a message. Sorry, I haven’t been able to find your brother. Hope the cheese brightens your day. Mike.

  I collapsed on one of the kitchen chairs. I really needed to quit Googling people and believing what I read.

  My phone dinged, reminding me to meet Laura at the thrift shop at 7:30 PM. I took a quick shower, fluffed my hair, and swiped on some makeup. Since I still had some time before I needed to leave, I settled on my couch with my computer. The woman who owned the end tables had sent me a nice thank-you message.

  I read through a few other messages about the virtual garage sale site and then moved on to my next research project, Herb Fitch. I typed his name into the search engine and, as expected, quite a few articles came up. Herb was well known in the community, had served on the police force, worked with disadvantaged youth, and participated in a lot of events at the American Legion.

  I read several articles and found a picture of Herb in his uniform at a Legion event from a couple of months ago. Charlie stood near him. I zoomed in on the picture and studied it. I was no expert, but everything on his uniform—patches, ribbons, and medals, plenty of the last two—looked real. Then I noticed his belt. I frowned at the photo and zoomed some more. It definitely wasn’t a military belt. I snapped a photo of the picture with my cell phone. What if Herb hadn’t served and whoever had written LIAR on his house was right? I called Charlie and left a voice mail telling her I needed to talk to her.

  * * *

  Laura and I surveyed the back room of the thrift shop. We hadn’t worked here for the past few days so it was a sea of clothin
g, boxes, and bags. I couldn’t sit home waiting for word of Luke or I’d go completely nuts. I’d learned nothing from CJ and Mike hadn’t found anything. I wasn’t sure how much effort he had put into looking for Luke because he had no real reason to. And until I talked to Charlie, I wasn’t sure what my next step would be. But maybe Laura would have information about Ethan.

  “Anything new and exciting going on around here?” I asked.

  “Mark got his official orders, and the report-no-later-than date said fifteen June instead of July.”

  “Nooooo,” I said. “Don’t leave me.” I started yanking things out of bags. I made three piles—keep, recycle, and discard.

  “Hey, be gentle. You might break something.”

  “Yeah? Well, too bad.” I grinned to soften my words. It was inevitable in the military. Oh, the odd family here and there managed to plant themselves someplace and stay for years. For most of us, it was always onward and upward.

  “I talked to your friend Emily. She gave me a lot of great information about the area. She loves it there.”

  “Maybe I’ll figure out a way to come see you next fall.” I grabbed a sweatshirt out of a bag, but it felt lumpy. I unfolded it carefully. “Look at this, Laura. It’s a Belleek ring holder.” I plunged my hand into the bag. “I think there’s more in here too.”

  Laura stopped hanging up clothes and waded through the sea of containers over to me. We dug out three Belleek bowls of varying sizes and a Belleek sugar and creamer. Belleek was made in Ireland, a cream bone china with delicate green shamrocks hand-painted on them.

  “How valuable is it?” Laura asked.

  “Not thousands of dollars, but depending on the age, it can be pricey.” I held a piece up to the light. The china was so delicate I could almost see through it. “It’s called Parian china.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s supposed to imitate marble and is named after the Greek island of Paros.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the island is known for its white marble.”

  “You are such a smarty-pants.”

  “My grandmother had Belleek. I’ve always loved it.”

  “Maybe I can use all of the pieces for the charity auction this month,” Laura said.