Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries)

by Weinert, Suzi

  “I’ll never trust my own judgment… or any man… again,” she sobbed against her father’s shoulder when he tried consoling her.

  “Hannah, Hannah. Honey, time does heal; broken hearts can mend to love again and judgment grows from experiences like this one. Someday you’ll find just the right trustworthy guy, I promise. They do exist, you know!” He looked into her tear-filled eyes.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she wailed, “why couldn’t Kevin be like you?”

  “We’re all who we are! And some good may come out of this if Kevin realizes his behavior cost him a wonderful girl and he decides to change that behavior. You’ve moved past someone who didn’t share your expectations and freed yourself to find someone who does, someone you can respect and who feels the same about you.”

  Wiping a tear from her cheek, Hannah asked, “Is that how it is for you and Mom?”

  This unexpected question from his twenty-year-old daughter caught him by surprise. Blowing her nose into the handkerchief he’d handed her, Hannah didn’t notice his smile grow as he reflected upon how he and Jennifer had stretched, changed, grown and merged in their forty-one years together. Some coincidental mix of intelligence and humor miraculously buoyed them through those harried years of marital adjustment and child-raising. Overcoming rough patches and sharing precious moments forged them together, so that now they felt closer than ever. “Yes it is that way for us,” he answered honestly. Hannah seemed comforted, whether by her parents’ affection or by his honesty, he wasn’t sure which.

  Intuitively, he thought Hannah would survive this temporary shock and hurt, land on her feet, emerge wiser for weathering the difficult lesson and some day reach for love again. He reminded himself that people heal differently, but five months of this sadness did seem a long time….

  Jason returned to the dining room in time to hear a six-year-old Grand shout, “Auntie Bethany brought the birthday cake,” as the youngster rocketed past the table on his way out to the back yard goldfish pond. A fancy chocolate cake with “Happy Birthday, Jennifer” frosted across the top dominated one end of the buffet table; and, if not 60, a large number of candles promised a warm glow.

  The front door opened as Dylan and family arrived, with plans to stay several days to visit local museums. After hugs all around, they hustled their suitcases to appointed bedrooms and returned to the main floor just as a scout at the front window ran through the house calling, “She’s here, quick, she’s here!”

  Stopping tasks and conversations, parents herded their children together into the dining room where numerous young Grands danced around in barely-contained anticipation. They listened as the automatic garage door droned open to admit Jennifer’s car. Kaela whispered loudly to the group, “Okay, everyone, this is it! Get ready. It’s party time!” Seconds later, the door from the garage to the house opened and Jennifer stepped in, followed closely by the three girls. Startled at the unexpected crowd in her house, she stopped in her tracks, amazement showing in her wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.

  The room echoed as shouts of “Surprise!” erupted in various octaves. Jennifer stood transfixed in the open doorway, a widening smile animating her face as a lively high-low chorus of voices launched into an off-key but enthusiastic rendition of “Happy-Birthday-To-You.”

  Delighted, she touched Jason’s arm. “I’ll bet you masterminded this, you rascal,” she whispered to him and joked to the group, “Can’t sudden shocks like this level a tottering 60-year old?”

  “Speech, speech,” someone called.

  Emotional now, she managed to say, “I must be the luckiest person on Earth to have all of you in my life. Sharing this day with me is the very best possible present. Thank you! Thank you!” Approving hoots, foot stomping and whistles followed from the crowd.

  Emerging from an impromptu conference with his siblings, Dylan stepped forward. “Mom, this gift is from all your children, but since I’m the oldest they want me to present it.” He read the tag attached to a colorfully wrapped package, “For the woman who already has almost everything, here’s one thing she doesn’t.” He handed her the box.

  Fumbling the wrapping open, she drew out a metal rectangle and held it up for all to see. “YRDSALE” said the vanity license plate for her car. She burst into appreciative laughter and the rest joined in.

  “Virginia doesn’t allow enough spaces to spell out both words, so we had to abbreviate!” chirped another Grand, twelve-year-old Rachel.

  “This is perfect! There’ll be no hiding my madness from the world now.”

  “Time to eat!” Mike called, hustling to the barbeque to wield tongs transferring chicken from grill to serving platter. Lunch proceeded with noisy exuberance, followed by candle-lighting of the cake, wish-making and a circle of excited grandchildren helping Jennifer blow out the tiny flames. Afterward, the adults relaxed to talk together while the children played outside.

  During a lull in activity, Tina approached Jennifer. “Mrs. Shannon, I have a little present for you also, to celebrate your birthday and to thank you for welcoming me so often into your home.”

  Touched, Jennifer hugged Tina, thanked her and opened the small gift box. Inside sat a tiny red cloisonné frog. Reading Jennifer’s puzzled expression, Tina explained, “Shopping for someone like you is hard because you already have so many unusual things, but frogs are good luck omens in the Orient. Red is also a good fortune color there, so it’s a double dose! My dad brought this one from China. It’s small enough to carry with you as a little talisman. I hope you like it.”

  “Oh, Tina, thank you so very much. What an original present! You can be sure I’ll cherish it because it comes from you and because nobody can have too much good luck! Look, I’m putting it into my pocket right this minute. He’s on duty as of now!”

  A little later, Kaela took her mother aside. “Mom, I’d like to have a garage sale next weekend but my house is too far away. Your address is a better draw if we could have it in your driveway. The other girls want to join in and we thought you’d probably have some things to contribute from your stash in the garage. We’d do everything: put the ad in the newspaper, put up signs and clean up afterward. Even the Grands could sell toys they’re bored with at their own little tables.”

  Jennifer looked doubtful, “Remember two years ago how much work that last one was? Are you sure you want to take this on by yourselves?” Bethany, Kaela and Becca all nodded.

  “Then if Dad doesn’t mind, it’s fine with me. And you’re right,” she added with a twinkle, “I certainly do have a few items to contribute!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Delighted that Dylan’s family stayed on after her party, Jennifer marveled at how quickly their three-day visit sped by. She still felt the damp farewell kisses from little Asa, Christopher, Ethan and Gabe. Such cute little Grands! But after their noise and energy, returning to quiet, normal routines also had definite rewards. Win-win, Jennifer thought.

  When the phone rang, she rushed from folding sheets in the laundry room to get the call before the answering machine kicked in. “Hello,” she said.

  “Jennifer Shannon?” a male voice asked and when she acknowledged that she was, he continued, “This is Ronnie Williams over at Forensic Labs. Remember me?”

  “Of course I do! How could anyone work at the lab for three years and not remember you, Ronnie? What’s new?”

  “Pretty much the same except Heather, who we hired when you left, must start maternity leave next week… sooner than expected, doctor’s orders. So, we wonder if you might like to temp for her during the two months she’s gone. Returning short term might fit your schedule and since you already know the business office routine, we wouldn’t have to train someone new. What do you think?”

  Jennifer mused, “Interesting, Ronnie. You know I left only because I didn’t want full time work any more. How many days a week?”

  “We could probably get by with four because, if I remember, you work like a house afire!”

  She laughe
d, “ Well, I like keeping busy! Four days a week for two months sounds possible.”

  They discussed salary and recent office chatter about other employees she knew. “This is a tentative ‘yes’ but I want to discuss it with Jason first. I’ll call you back within the hour! And Ronnie, thanks for thinking of me for this job!”

  “Jennifer, I’m always thinking about you!”

  “You’re incorrigible!”

  “I try to be.”

  How pleasant! She warmed to the idea of working again in the lab’s business office—a stimulating environment, pleasant staff, extra income for her garage sale mischief and… how nice to be wanted back. Ronnie, the office manager, hadn’t changed a bit: still flirty but in the nice way, not the harassment way.

  Jason encouraged her to do what she wanted, so she and Ronnie decided she’d start on Monday.

  Smiling at this unexpected surprise, Jennifer poured a cup of coffee and sank into a chair in the quiet kitchen. Realizing she hadn’t looked at the morning newspaper, she opened the Washington Post. A few pages inside the first section, an article immediately drew her attention: a burglary in nearby McLean Hunt. She attended a sale in that neighborhood just a week ago and something about the address looked familiar!

  On impulse, she found her garage sale notebook, flipped pages until she located the McLean Hunt sale and compared the house number to the newspaper information. An exact match! She cut out and dated the newspaper article. Didn’t Jason mention a robbery in Woodlea Hills last Saturday when she returned from sales with the soup tureen? Rushing to the newspapers stacked in her garage for recycling, she pulled out the previous weekend’s Washington Post and Times.

  Paging through, she found Jason’s article and checked it against addresses from the last few weeks in her notebook. Comparing the Woodlea Hills address in the paper to her notebook, she couldn’t believe it: another match!

  The newspapers in her garage went back about a month. Dragging them inside, she began with recent dates, looking for a very specific type of news article. When she glanced at the clock, an hour had passed. Unsuccessfully comparing several more articles with notebook entries, she cursed herself for a waste of time and was about to stop when she found yet another match.

  How many incidents form a pattern? Three surely defied random coincidence. Her mind raced as snippets of TV police dramas came to mind where crimes were examined for—what was it?—method-motive-and-opportunity. So if the motive was stealing, and the method involved something happening at a garage sale, that left only opportunity.

  Carefully marking the three targeted pages in her notebook, she wondered what commonality might link these entries with the crimes. All upscale neighborhoods offered promising pickings for a greedy thief. Two of the ads described moving sales. The third, an estate sale, must have been run by an amateur because professional groups typically put their company name in the ad.

  Trying to match specific sales with the newspaper addresses was daunting because she visited so many. Would a drive through those neighborhoods refresh her memory? Grabbing the newspaper articles and her notebook, she jumped into her car and sped off on her mission. An hour later, she walked into the McLean Police Station on Balls Hill Road.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jennifer entered the police station for the very first time. Talk about a sheltered life! Once inside, she spoke to the uniformed policeman behind the glass reception window. “Hello, there! I think I may have some information about the recent string of residential robberies in McLean and surrounding area. May I speak with the person working those cases?”

  “That would be Detective Adam Iverson,” he explained pleasantly. “May I have your name, please?”

  She told him.

  “Have a seat and I’ll see if he’s available.”

  Should she have discussed this with Jason rather than acting on her impetuous decision to rush over here? If her information seemed less logical to the police than to her, how foolish she’d look and feel!

  She hardly sat down in the empty waiting room when a pleasant-looking young man dressed in street clothes strode in. “Mrs. Shannon? I’m Adam Iverson.”

  Grabbing her purse and notebook, she shook his offered hand. He looked maybe thirtyish, about the age of some of her children. Though only half her age, this policeman doubtless saw more violence and the seamy human behavior in his years on the force than she in her entire sixty years. Bless these guys for what they do, she thought with gratitude and respect.

  His hazel eyes, neatly combed wavy brown hair and trim civilian clothes that fit his six-foot frame created a good first impression, but it was his congenial smile that dispelled her police-station nervousness and restored her sense of purpose. He’d put her completely at ease.

  “Please come on back to my office,” he invited and she followed him down the hall to his cubicle, where he indicated a chair. “Please have a seat,” he said before sitting opposite her behind his desk. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Shannon?”

  “Detective, I notice you’re not in uniform like the policeman at the front desk. Why is that?”

  “Detectives wear plain clothes so we don’t stand out while investigating cases. You seem pretty observant,” he added diplomatically but he would size her up as he listened. Her well-groomed appearance and sincerity appeared normal enough, but he knew that façade could hide a real fruitcake underneath. In this affluent area, some people—especially older retired ones—had too much time on their hands or felt lonely and hungered for attention. Others, who read too many mystery thrillers and spy novels, perceived sinister activity everywhere. Some already were, or bordered on, certifiable mental cases. Occasionally, an actual perp “volunteered” information to ensure his crime wasn’t overlooked or to ostensibly transform his role from “bad guy” to “good guy.”

  The flip side was that police sometimes got from the public, and occasionally even requested, tips that broke stalled cases. Because of this, you had to hear each one out. Where would this older woman fall on the rating scale? Who knew?

  “I hope I’m not wasting your time with this information today, but I’m naturally curious about situations and people and this concerns recent robberies described in the newspaper over the past couple of months.” Jennifer put the three newspaper clippings on his desk, which he recognized as reporters’ accounts of one group of cases keeping him guessing at the moment. “Do you know what garage sales, estate sales and moving sales are?” she asked.

  Where the hell is this going? he wondered. Instead he said, “I’ve never actually been to one, but I think I know what they are.”

  “Well, I go to lots and keep a record of them here,” she tapped the notebook in her lap. “This record goes back over a year, listing the local advertised sales I visit most weekends.”

  He nodded to encourage her.

  “Look at this, Detective,” she pointed to three pages marked in her notebook. “In the last month, these houses had sales followed by,” she shifted to the newspaper articles, “robberies. Seems like someone attending these sales later returned to rob the house! What do you think?”

  Iverson cleared his throat. “First, let’s use the same vocabulary. To police, robbery means a crime against a person involving a weapon or threat. Burglary means a theft from a residence or business. Okay?”

  “... and return later to burglarize the house,” she corrected.

  He smiled approval. “Thanks. Now, may I take a closer look?” He pointed to the book on her lap.

  Placing her spiral binder on his desk, she rotated it 180 degrees for him to read while she pointed as she described. “See, I typically cut out the newspaper ads describing each sale and tape them down the left side of the page. Because the print is too small to read while driving, I print the prime info just to the right of the ad in larger letters: the address, the hours of the sale surrounded by a circle and the book map coordinates surrounded by a rectangle.”

  “What’s this list on the opposite pag
e?”

  “What I bought that day at those sales and how much it cost.”

  “Is this some sort of code after each purchase?”

  She laughed, “I can see why you’d think that. If the item is for a particular person, I write the name after it. If it’s for a room at home I put LR for living room, K for kitchen and so on.”

  “What are EB, SS and UTPG?”

  “Easter Baskets, Stocking Stuffers and Under-the-Pillow-Gifts,” Jennifer explained.

  “Under-the-pillow-gifts?”

  “If any of my ten grandchildren spend the night at my house, they get an under-the-pillow-gift.”

  “Must be nice to be your grandchild.” The detective turned back to the notebook. “Now which sales match the burglaries?”

  She showed him and he verified their connection. Surprised at this new possibility for cases so far going nowhere, he felt genuine interest. “I think we should check this out.”

  “There’s more! These sales attract a few Regulars—I call them that because they regularly visit this area’s weekend sales—and any one of them potentially might be the thief.”

  “But you’re a Regular so you could be the thief yourself.”

  She snorted with disdain at the very idea before realizing he had a valid point. “Of course, you’re right! I’m not suggesting that every Regular is guilty… perhaps none or perhaps just one… but if so, which one? If not them, who would fit such coincidences?”

  “I don’t believe much in coincidence,” the detective said.

  “Then how should we proceed?” she asked.

  He leaned forward at his desk. “These sales are on weekends, right?” She nodded. “Then why don’t I come to your house in my own car? I follow you on your rounds that morning. You point out these Regulars. I see the cars they return to and run those license plates. That tells me who they are and if they have a rap sheet. Could I copy your notebook pages for the last few months? I’ll compare the sale addresses against our crime reports for more possible matches.”