Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries)

by Weinert, Suzi

  “You have such great stuff that I’m back again!” Jennifer said to Seller, trying to sound cheerier than she felt. She held up the toaster. “What are you asking for this?”

  “How about $4.00?”

  Great price, but Jennifer knew that purchasing used items cautioned “buyer beware.” In their zeal to complete a sale, some Sellers couldn’t resist stretching the truth a little and, unlike protocol for store purchases, you couldn’t return faulty merchandise the next day. All electrical appliances invited testing, as did anything battery-operated. The cardboard box in her van held aids to cope with this need, such as light bulbs to test lamps, various batteries, a flashlight and screw drivers, together with rope to tie down the SUV ’s tailgate if something large had to stick out, a bungee cord, packaging tape, newspapers for wrapping glass or ceramics and a blanket/pillow combo to cushion fragile cargo.

  “Do you mind plugging it in, please, to make sure it works?” Jennifer asked.

  “I guess it is only fair to test it,” Seller acknowledged, “although I didn’t really set up for that...”

  “Have you an extension cord or maybe there’s an electrical outlet in the garage?”

  “Let me think,” said the bewildered Seller. “I’m pretty sure there’s no plug in the garage. I... I guess you could try an outlet in the kitchen. I understand you want to be sure. Just go on in....”

  “Thanks!” Jennifer hurried to the back of the garage, through the kitchen door into the house. “Hello,” she called, not wanting to startle anyone inside. “Hello,” she called again. Silence.

  Plugging the toaster into the first outlet she saw, she depressed its plunger and watched closely as the coils inside glowed. Though grateful to test it out, she knew it risky for Seller to allow a stranger into her house unsupervised! Jennifer posed no problem, but others might. How could Seller know the difference? Should she share this thought or keep it to herself?

  When the toaster popped its imaginary bread to the surface, she wrapped the cord around one hand and, gripping the appliance by the handles, hurried back outside.

  “Thanks so much for letting me try it. It works perfectly. I’ll take it.” Jennifer fished $4.00 from the purse fastened around her waist, paid Seller and then hesitated as several customers pressed forward to pay for their items.

  Shielding her words from the others with a cupped hand, Jennifer whispered to Seller, “I just want to mention that it’s probably not a good idea to let anyone into your house unless you or someone you trust is there. Good luck and I hope you do really well today.

  Seller’s startled gaze followed Jennifer down the driveway to her car, before other Buyers jostled forward, demanding check-out attention. Now she probably wonders if I took something—the messenger never wins, Jennifer thought! Still, the woman needed warning…

  Jumping into her van, gunning the motor and simultaneously glancing at the notebook on the seat beside her, Jennifer placed a finger on the ad listing her next stop. Two garage sales on the same street and only a few minutes from her current location. As the SUV‘s motor roared to life, she executed a remarkably close U-turn and sped down the street.

  Jennifer’s mind wandered as she drove, thinking that behind every garage sale lay a story. At the last house, the story was doubly unfortunate—an obviously painful divorce and a sorely needed, if poorly executed, sale of belongings. Jennifer sincerely hoped happiness lay somewhere in Seller’s future.

  But what was happiness anyway? If you couldn’t achieve it in privileged and affluent McLean, Virginia, where the heck could you? The third world’s desperate poor who scrabbled in gritty poverty for daily survival surely imagined if they lived in safe and beautiful homes with plenty to eat they’d be happy forever. Yet she knew from newspaper accounts and neighborhood stories that the full gamut of crime—domestic abuse, child neglect, fraud, theft, arson and even murder—surfaced right here against McLean’s backdrop of comfort and wealth!

  She sighed as her thoughts turned again to the last Seller. If fifty percent of today’s marriages ended in divorce, what future did that suggest for her five grown children, three of whom already had spouses? And what of the ups and downs in her own forty-year marriage to Jason?

  Thinking of his familiar craggy face, balding head and warm grin, she smiled and then chuckled aloud as she drove. Somehow, they’d survived those frenetic early years together, enduring each other’s foibles, building Jason’s business and raising a big family. Now they found themselves sharing a particularly comfortable time with each other and with the life they’d shaped together.

  As the congestion of parked cars just ahead signaled her upcoming destination, she pushed aside her thoughts to concentrate on finding a place to wedge her crossover. Since every sale reflected a story, what tale would unfold at this next stop?

  CHAPTER 3

  Jennifer maneuvered her car smoothly into an opening among the vehicles clustered in front of the next sale. The later on a Saturday morning, the more Buyers are awake and on the prowl! Knowing that choice stuff sells fast, she jumped out and hustled up the driveway.

  An entirely different scenario here—these Sellers were NOT novices. The two of them seemed relaxed as they looked out confidently over their well organized, pre-priced merchandise.

  Jennifer dodged through the large crowd of buyers to approach the comfortably seated sellers. “What a lot of effort you’ve put into getting ready for this!”

  “You’re so right! We’re recently married and so we’re combining two households,” the man said pleasantly, beaming at his new bride. “For instance, I thought I had a lot of exceptional bachelor stuff, but I’m told now,” he winked at his wife, “it’s inappropriate!”

  “Well,” added his wife, “besides the usual duplication we have some one-of-a-kind things that just couldn’t work in the new house,” she glanced at her husband mischievously.

  “Such as?” Jennifer queried with friendly interest.

  New Wife cradled a coffee cup in one hand and gestured with the other. “Such as everything on that side of the driveway from my husband’s old apartment! Such as that oil painting of a nude woman, coincidentally also an old girlfriend,” she shot her spouse a meaningful glance. “Such as all this ultra-modern black and chrome living room furniture, the zebra rug and pillows, and all those chrome accessories. And,” she wrinkled her nose, “and not least, such as these stacks of Penthouse and Playboy magazines.”

  “A fifteen-year classic collection of both,” New Husband remarked wistfully, reminiscing as he riffled through one of the magazines. Dropping it back on the stack, he sighed. “Perfect for just the right guy.”

  The sign on the husband’s orphaned items read:

  COUCH - $100

  2 MATCHING CHAIRS - $40 each

  3 GLASS/CHROME COFFEE AND END TABLES - $30 each

  CHROME 4-PANEL ROOM DIVIDER - $75

  PAIR CHROME TABLE LAMPS - $30 each

  CHROME FLOOR LAMP - $40

  CHROME SHELVING - $85

  FRAMED ORIGINAL OIL PAINTING - $100

  MEN’S MAGAZINES $1 each or all 360 for $200

  The painting caught Jennifer’s eye right away. She’d immediately divined the bamboo tree’s place in her living room, but where could she hang this intriguing art? She walked around the sale thinking this over before again returning to study the painting: a nude woman seated with her back to the artist, delicate flesh tones accentuating her hour-glass figure, her long, tawny hair cascading from the crown of her head down over her shoulders. Because of the subject ’s unseen face, the picture embodied every woman who had ever sat in that classic pose. She definitely wanted it, but where to display it? Her mind flipped through possible places in the house and then it came to her—their spacious master bathroom was the perfect location. But $100?

  Jennifer approached New Wife, “What’s your best price for the old girlfriend you don’t want.”

  “I especially want THAT to disappear today,” New Wife confide
d. “Hey, make me an offer!”

  “Okay, how about... um... $50?”

  “I think it’s worth way more than that.”

  Jennifer smiled craftily, “Ah, but what is it worth to you to have this abomination gone forever?”

  “Sold!” laughed New Wife. Jennifer paid her, awkwardly hefted the large painting as best she could and sidled slowly down the driveway with her oversized trophy.

  Suddenly an obstacle blocked her way and a rough male voice commanded, “Put that down. It’s mine!” Hardly a polite suggestion, this was an order!

  “Pardon me?” Jennifer said politely, “I’ve just bought this and am taking it to my car.” As she tried stepping ahead, her path was again blocked. Now she lowered the large frame slightly, her blue eyes barely peering over the top.

  Those same blue eyes widened in shock as she stared directly into the face of the brawny, blond muscleman who’d crashed into her at the last sale—the man she’d vowed to avoid! A thick neck topped the tall man’s square torso and the beady eyes in his obstinate face glared coldly straight down at Jennifer across the top of the picture frame. Only inches away from him now, she shuddered as her initial apprehension from that first sighting escalated into fear. Big and nasty, he reminded her of a wrestler, which confirmed this as the right name for him.

  Wrestler barked at her, “I just bought everything listed on that sign from him,” he pointed toward New Husband. “That means all of it—the furniture, magazines, lamps AND this picture.”

  Her logical mind commanded her to defuse this risky situation fast, but incongruously she did not. Summoning courage born of the conviction that she was in the right and reinforced by the illusion of safety with at least twenty people at the sale who could come to her rescue, to her surprise she said, “But I’ve already paid for this. I think that makes it mine!”

  Wrestler’s expression turned malevolent as his large, powerful hand encircled and squeezed her small wrist. He spoke in a measured, demanding voice. “I bought it and I’m taking it now!”

  He was hurting her arm! Frozen, she still clung to the painting, unable to move away from this menace. Heads turned in the direction of their raised voices and New Husband hurried toward them.

  Jennifer had already mentally hung the painting in the chosen room at home and knew that at these sales whoever paid first became the new owner! To her amazement she stubbornly repeated to New Husband, “I believe I bought it first and if so, I think it’s mine.”

  Wrestler’s face reddened as he fought for control. His arm muscles twitched, his fingers clasped and unclasped, his already thick neck seemed to swell as his frustration increased.

  “Hey there,” New Husband said to them both in a congenial, relaxed tone. “I bet we can work out this little misunderstanding. As you both can see, my wife and I are each trying to sell everything out here today and sometimes people come to us separately with offers.” Turning to Jennifer, he continued. “I’m sorry but my wife made a mistake offering the painting to you. She didn’t realize I’d already sold it to this guy. We really apologize to you for the confusion. Of course, we’ll return your money. No harm done?”

  “But money changed hands. I think it’s mine!” Jennifer protested to New Husband, careful to avoid Wrestler’s glare.

  “May I talk to you privately for a moment over here?” New Husband asked Jennifer.

  Carrying the painting with her, she walked a few guarded steps to the side with New Husband.

  “Look,” he said, “I understand that you like it, you paid for it and you want it, but here are three things to think about. First, you can understand that we hope to get the best price offered today for our stuff. That’s just common sense. Wouldn’t you feel the same way if you were giving this sale today? And you know he paid us twice as much as you did. Second, we can’t know which of you bought it first. Let’s imagine that my wife sold it to you at the same moment I sold it to him. You can’t both take it—unless it’s cut in half, which makes no sense. And third,” he glanced toward Wrestler, “frankly, this guy makes me very uneasy. You know what I mean? What happens if we try to take it away from him?”

  Peering sidelong at Wrestler, reluctantly, she did understand. His intransigent scowl, his body radiating bottled energy and his next move ominous and unpredictable, never mind that piercing stare...A barrage of thoughts tumbled through Jennifer’s mind. Was this the kind of nut who would follow her home, stalk her or the children, bash her car windows or poison her cat?

  New Husband continued calmly, “Look, agreed, this isn’t the outcome you’d like, but here is your money back with an extra five dollars,” he pressed it into her hand, “and we’ll make you the deal of a lifetime on anything else you buy here today. How does that sound?”

  Vacillating, her focus flicked from New Husband to the glowering Wrestler and back again.

  “This isn’t fair,” she said in a quiet voice to New Husband.

  “No, it isn’t. But it is a good decision,” New Husband assured her, pressing the money into her pocket and gently easing the picture from her loosening fingers. “Now go look around and find some good stuff. Then see me for a REAL deal!”

  Turning back to the sale, she tried to refocus yet couldn’t help glancing sideways as Wrestler loaded his purchases into the black pickup truck, mercifully ignoring her. Relieved at his rapt absorption with his task, she realized now the idiotically stupid risk she’d taken. She had pledged to avoid him and instead confronted him! Madness! What was wrong with her today?

  Still, she memorized his license plate number to record in the notebook in her car, an act giving her the illusion of a strategic edge: she knew his vehicle plate number but, thank goodness, he didn’t know hers! Also this information doubled as insurance against any possible future trouble from him, in which case she could tell police exactly how to trace him.

  Shaking these uncomfortable thoughts as best she could, Jennifer forced her attention back to the sale. Soon she noticed a bench which her tape measure confirmed fit her space perfectly. With a little paint and simple upholstering she could turn this into a decorator piece to transform her mudroom in a practical yet custom way. The tag read $20.

  Looking around, she observed that Wrestler’s truck was gone. Relieved, she lugged the bench and some other small items into the line of buyers to pay New Husband for their purchases.

  When Jennifer’s turn came, New Husband patted her arm and without even cataloging her items said, “You just take these with our compliments. No charge at all! And again, I’m sorry for what happened earlier. But that guy was, well, strange! You know what I mean?”

  “Here’s your $5 bribe back,” she said with a twinkle, “and thanks for your kind offer, but of course I’ll pay for my purchases,” and when she insisted, New Husband finally agreed. Jennifer continued, “That dreadful guy had no sense of humor at all, but clearly you do!”

  New Husband chuckled appreciatively, “God knows I try, and I admit that bachelor stuff held warm memories for me. But my future’s going to be way better than the past.” He glanced happily toward New Wife, busy selling items on the other side of the yard.

  Jennifer started to leave, but on impulse turned back. “I’ve been thinking about the way you handled that situation with the painting and I must ask—what do you do in real life?”

  New Husband threw back his head and broke into a hearty laugh. “Funny you should ask! I’m a professional mediator.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Checking her watch, Jennifer realized with regret that only 20 minutes remained to shop if she were to return home by 9 a.m. as planned. She pulled into the knot of cars at the next sale and parked quickly.

  Three gloomy middle-aged couples conducted this sale. They’d neatly categorized and priced the items around them, but these dejected Sellers were not happy campers.

  “This represents a whole lot of work,” Jennifer commiserated, surveying the scene.

  “Yeah, but not because we wanted to,�
� said the woman in orange. “After Mama died, Daddy just couldn’t keep on by himself. He forgot to pay bills, so the utilities got turned off a couple of times and he blazed up a few pots of food on the stove. We were afraid he’d set the house afire and burn himself to a bacon-crisp if we hadn’t finally put a stop to it by finding him a nursing home.”

  “Assisted living,” corrected the tired-looking man in green, who wore a straw hat.

  The woman in yellow said, “It ’s been a nightmare going through all their things, and were they ever savers: old bills, receipts and magazines dating back fifty years! Besides all we put out for this sale, there’s a ton more to go through inside before we can sell the house. Because some of us grew up here, that’s yet another nightmare.” Yellow sighed heavily.

  The man in the red shirt glanced at the other two. “Lucky for us, Reba knows all about giving garage sales, which saved us a pile of money because those estate sale folks charge a bundle to do it for you.”

  Orange said, “We had a devil of a time pricing stuff because we’re not from around here and not real sure what’s right for these parts. So if the price doesn’t look right, make us an offer.”

  About fifteen other shoppers milled around now. Spotting Swordsman again, Jennifer watched him peripherally. What set him apart from the other shoppers? Not focused on the sale’s merchandise like everybody else, instead he looked around the house and yard as if in the first upscale residence he’d ever seen. Nor did he fit the bored husband stereotype— one dutifully accompanying his shopper wife but with no shred of interest himself. No, Swordsman seemed alert to the surroundings, but if not a shopper or the spouse of one, then why repeatedly visit these sales? An architect looking for new ideas? That seemed farfetched.