I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  A guy who looked like the guy in the profile picture climbed out and hitched up his jeans. He looked around, so I got out, too.

  “Sportzfan-one?” I asked.

  “BostonFan-nine-two-eight?” He looked me over and smiled.

  “Yes.”

  “Let me show you what I have.” He popped open the tail of his truck and opened a plastic container in the bed of the truck. I looked through his jerseys and a couple of framed photos. None of it was similar to the things stolen from the swap. Disappointment whirled through me.

  “Sorry,” I said to him. “It’s not exactly what I’m looking for.”

  He ran his eyes over me. “I might have something else you’re interested in.” He gyrated his hips and grinned.

  I backed away from him. “Get lost.” I turned and ran into the Dunkin’s.

  One of the employees hustled over. “I saw that creep out in the parking lot. Are you okay?”

  I opened my mouth. No words came out. The employee, a young Latina woman, patted my shoulder. We both looked out the window. The truck peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

  “Would you like a donut? On the house,” the woman said.

  “Sure.” I wasn’t going to pass up a free donut.

  Chapter 14

  Back in my car I checked my messages. Someone else had some jerseys to sell. I wrote back, saying I was in Lynn. I finished my second donut and drank the last of my coffee. I felt a little hyped up on caffeine and sugar. The person asked me to meet them by King’s Beach, which was a short drive from where I was.

  I drove over and found a parking place on Lynn Shore Drive, near Red Rock Park. Heat shimmered in waves on the hood of the Suburban when I climbed out. The beach was crowded with people sunning. Some were brave enough to dart in and out of the still cold water. That was beaches in New England for you—burning hot sand, frigid water, not unlike my hometown, Pacific Grove.

  I passed plenty of people as I walked along, so I wasn’t afraid. But as I got nearer the meeting point, I saw a familiar person climb out of a dark SUV, with two brawny guys on either side. Mike Titone again. I darted behind a parked truck to take a minute to decide what to do. Confronting him was my only answer, but I decided to walk behind the line of cars and show myself at the very last minute. If he spotted me coming, he might take off.

  I duckwalked down the street, keeping as close to the cars as I could. I didn’t want to get run over. A couple of cars honked, and one group of guys yelled out. Not a good way to go unnoticed. I peeked over the top of one car. Mike’s men seemed more interested in the women on the beach, a diverse group, than in who might be approaching them. I got to a pickup truck, stood, straightened my clothing, and walked over. I tapped Mike on the shoulder. He spun around and frowned.

  “What the hell!” he said. The two men on either side of him jumped. It turned out it was his brothers. I hadn’t seen them since February, when Mike had lived next door to me briefly. We took a few minutes for hugs and catching up before Mike and I faced off again. This time, instead of looking furious, he looked resigned.

  “I should have known better than to tell you to stay out of this.”

  “Why is that?” I asked, hoping for answers. I noticed that people who were out on a stroll or heading to the beach made sure to give us a wide berth.

  “What’s your sudden interest in sports gear?” Mike asked, instead of answering my question.

  Time to improvise. “I’m just looking for a birthday gift for CJ.”

  “Nice try, but CJ left you.”

  Damn. How did he know that? He took a step closer to me. Don’t back down, I told myself. Standing firm when I wanted to take two giant steps back wasn’t easy. His brothers stood on either side of him. The three of them looked like a wall of muscle.

  “Get in the car,” Mike told them.

  A group of young men tossing a football to each other ran by as Mike’s brothers moved toward the SUV. As they passed, the breeze picked up. A whiff of musky aftershave floated by me, the kind that my attacker had worn. As soon as his brothers got in the SUV, the smell was gone. I might not have moved, but it felt like all the blood in me had drained out. I swayed a little. Mike’s hand shot out, and he steadied me before I jerked away. Was the smell from his brothers or the guys with the football? I decided it had to be the latter, or else I would have noticed the smell when I hugged them.

  “Don’t bother telling me to stay out of it again. I’m going to find out who stole the stuff from the swap in Ellington.” I jabbed a finger in his chest and heard before I saw one of his brothers get back out of the SUV. “I’m going to find out who killed Melba.” Jab. “And who attacked Seth. Because an SUV that looked a lot like yours drove down Seth’s street that night.” Jab. “And who attacked me.” Jab. Jab. Another car door slammed, but I didn’t break eye contact with Mike.

  He looked away, but I got the feeling he was trying to hide a grin, which made me even madder.

  When he looked back down at me, any trace of humor was gone. “Like I said before, stay out of it.” He whirled around and started to climb into his car. Mike paused for a second but then pulled his leg into the SUV and slammed the door. I stood there until they pulled out. Then my shoulders slumped and I dropped on the nearest bench. What had I been thinking to threaten Mike? I stared out at the ocean for a while, listening to the waves pound the shore. My phone binged, letting me know a text message had come in. From Mike. I’ll help you.

  * * *

  I hadn’t responded to Mike’s text when I let myself back into my apartment. Why did he want to help me all of a sudden? I’d spent the entire drive home going over our conversation, trying to understand what I’d said or done for him to change his mind. I spotted the envelope with the number for the hospital and decided to check to see how Seth was doing. It was a very generic message, but it said Seth was in stable condition which is what the newspaper said this morning. I took my laptop over to my grandmother’s rocking chair and sat down. I looked for Sportzfan1, but all traces of him were gone. I wasn’t surprised. I Googled other Sportzfan combinations but didn’t find anything.

  I did some new posts on various sites that were ISO, or in search of listings. I’d try again to find the missing auction items. It was the only way I could help Anil at this point.

  * * *

  I arrived at Carol’s house at six-thirty to pick her up for our dinner at Tony’s. Her twin boys and her daughter attacked me when I arrived, giving me their strongest bear hugs, each one trying to outdo the other. I laughed until I was gasping for breath and tears were in my eyes.

  “Where’s Uncle Chuck?” they asked, almost in unison. They called us aunt and uncle, even though we weren’t really related. I hadn’t been here since CJ left.

  “Kids,” Carol’s husband Brad said, coming down the hall.

  I hadn’t seen him, either. “It’s okay.” I turned to the kids. “He moved to Florida. It’s a beautiful place with lovely white sand beaches. I bet he’d love it if you went to visit him.”

  “Can we go, Dad?” Now the kids hopped up and down around Brad.

  He gave me a look like “Thanks a lot.” “Maybe sometime.”

  “Does he live by Disney World? Can we go see Mickey Mouse, too?”

  “Maybe Aunt Sarah wants to take you there,” he said.

  Carol saved me by yelling from the back of the house, “Pizza’s ready.”

  The kids all flew down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Brad and me alone.

  “How are you?” Brad asked.

  I’d been asked that so many times lately, my automatic response had become “Great,” so I just went with it. Brad opened his mouth to say something more, but Carol saved me again by walking down the hall.

  I always joked that she looked like a Barbie, tall, thin, and built. Carol had on jeans, boots, and a sweater because she was always cold, even in the summer. She kissed Brad on the cheek. “We’re out of here.”

  * * * />
  Fifteen minutes later we were seated in a wooden booth at Tony’s Pizzeria in Billerica, the town just to the north of Ellington. We both had glasses of Chianti and menus. While Tony’s looked a little nicer than DiNapoli’s, Angelo always disparaged Tony’s food. I guessed we’d find out if that was accurate or not.

  “Why did you want to come here?” Carol asked. “I thought you were totally loyal to DiNapoli’s.”

  I remembered Angelo had asked me not to tell anyone what I was up to. I hated keeping secrets from Carol, but I would this time. “Everyone needs a change of pace.”

  “What are you going to have?”

  I pretended to study the menu. “I think I’ll try the lasagna.”

  “No pizza?”

  “Not tonight. What are you going to have?”

  “The spaghetti and meatballs sounds good.”

  Our waitress came by, and we added salads and garlic bread to our orders.

  “I know you told Brad you’re great, but how are you really? You just got attacked three nights ago,” Carol said after the waitress left.

  “I’m fine. Keeping busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I have several garage sales to get ready for this week.”

  “I saw in the paper that Seth Anderson was stabbed and his house set on fire. Have you talked to him?”

  “No . . .”

  “But?”

  “I’m the one who pulled him out of his house.”

  “What?”

  I filled Carol in on what had happened that night. “That’s all I know, except that he’s still in the hospital recovering.”

  “The paper said the fire was contained to the kitchen. I guess he has you to thank for that, along with being alive.”

  “He doesn’t have to thank me. It’s just lucky I stopped by.”

  “Why did you stop by? You aren’t interested in him again, are you?”

  While Carol had supported me after CJ and I broke up the first time, she’d never really been happy that I’d dated Seth. She probably still hoped that CJ and I would somehow end up back together. “I’m not interested in anyone. I need to take care of myself.”

  Fortunately, the waitress came by with our salads and the basket of bread just then. After she left, we both stared down at our plates. The salad was awash in some kind of Italian dressing. The lettuce was brown on the edges. There was a limp piece of onion and a tomato so pale, it was almost white. I flipped the napkin off the bread and chose a piece. It was soggy. I took a bite and knew this was some kind of fake garlic-flavored butter. One bite was plenty. If this was any indication of how the lasagna was going to be, Angelo had nothing to worry about.

  “How are things at Paint and Wine?”

  Carol’s face lit up. “I love the paint camps I started this summer. I’m doing them in the morning, which was usually a slow time for me. It’s so exciting to see how happy kids are to create art. You should come by some morning.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  We both pushed our food around and talked. Carol didn’t even try the bread when she saw that I had set mine down after one bite. Our main courses came. Carol’s had watery-looking sauce and four giant meatballs. It didn’t look too bad.

  “Careful. The plates are hot,” the waitress said as she slid my lasagna in front of me.

  The noodles looked like they were topped with the same sauce Carol had. The edges of the noodles were burnt. Some congealed white cheese covered part of the top. I poked it with my fork, and it didn’t move. I dug in and took a bite. The noodles were soggy in the middle and had a watery taste. I cut around the burnt edges because they were too tough to bite into. Instead of ricotta, the dish was stuffed with cottage cheese or at least a cottage cheese–like substance. The sauce had very little flavor, and I suspected it came from ajar. While this didn’t bode well for Carol and me, Angelo would be ecstatic.

  I looked over at Carol. She was chewing a bite of meatball, and chewing and chewing and chewing. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “This is a disaster.”

  Carol nodded. “How do you think they stay open? Maybe their pizza is good?”

  I shrugged. “At least it’s cheap. And the waitstaff is friendly.”

  We both finished our Chiantis.

  The waitress came back and looked at our almost untouched plates. “Not hungry?”

  “We filled up on salad and bread,” I said. We all looked at our full salad plates and the bread basket.

  The waitress leaned in. “Lucina’s has an excellent lasagna.” She winked.

  Lucina’s was one of the restaurants on my list. “I’ll take mine to go.”

  The waitress looked surprised. “Whatever floats your boat, honey.”

  “Really?” Carol asked after telling the waitress she was fine. “I’m not taking mine, and Brad will eat almost anything.”

  “Maybe it will taste better warmed up.”

  Carol snorted. “In your dreams.”

  My phone buzzed. I had a text from a woman responding to my ISO post. She wanted to meet in Bedford. So I suggested Bedford Farms Ice Cream. I was still hungry, and there’d be lots of people around on a nice summer night. She agreed and told me to watch for her curly red hair.

  “What’s going on?” Carol asked.

  “I have to meet someone at Bedford Farms.”

  “Why?”

  “To look at some stuff they’re selling.”

  “What stuff?” Carol asked.

  The waitress came back by with my boxed lasagna and our check. I paid and left a good tip. It wasn’t her fault the food was awful.

  “Some sports stuff.” I stood up and started walking to the car.

  “Sarah Winston, are you telling me that you’re trying to find out what happened to the stolen things from the swap?”

  I wasn’t telling her that, but she had realized it on her own. I sighed as we climbed into the Suburban. “Yes.”

  I listened to her rant about me being attacked and Melba murdered. “Do you want to come with me?” I asked as I started the car.

  “Of course I do.” She grinned.

  Chapter 15

  At eight-thirty we drove around the Bedford Farms’ parking lot, looking for a place to park. Finally, someone pulled out, and I slipped the Suburban into the space. Driving a big vehicle had taught me how to finesse my way into a spot of almost any size. We got in line and looked around for a woman with red, curly hair but didn’t see anyone. If Mike Titone showed up instead of a woman, I might just shoot him. If I had a gun. When it was our turn, I ordered my usual kiddie cup of Almond Joy, and Carol ordered the chunky chocolate pudding.

  We found an empty bench to sit on and dug into the ice cream. While they called this the kiddie size, it was a scoop bigger than a softball. I kept looking for dark SUVs, but so far I hadn’t spotted one. Then I spotted a young woman standing beside a beat-up multicolored two-door sedan parked on the other side of the lot.

  I nudged Carol. “I think that’s her.” I pointed with my spoon. I scooped my last bite of ice cream in as my phone buzzed. It was a text saying, I’m here. “I’ll go over. You wait here and keep an eye out.” Carol had kids. I needed to make sure she was safe. Brad would kill me if I got her in any kind of trouble.

  “For what? What am I keeping an eye out for?”

  “Trouble,” I said before I walked over to the woman.

  After brief introductions, the woman popped open her trunk. It was stuffed full of every kind of sports jersey imaginable and for every team, not just the Boston area ones. I looked at several different jerseys. They were all signed in black Sharpie. That in itself wasn’t so unusual, but the handwriting was the same on all of them, even though it was supposedly different athletes who had signed them.

  I gave the woman a good hard look. “I don’t know what kind of scam you think you are running, but these are obviously fake signatures.”

  “No they’re not. Each one is authentic. My boyfriend told me.”

&nbs
p; I proceeded to show her how all of the signatures were alike. “You need to stop this. Next time you might run into someone who isn’t as forgiving as I am. Or you might sell one to a cop and end up in jail. Ditch the merchandise and find a new boyfriend.”

  The woman slammed the lid of the trunk closed and flipped me off as I hurried back over to Carol.

  “That seemed to go well,” Carol said with a smirk on her face.

  I shrugged, and we left.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, after I had dropped Carol off, I turned down the alley behind DiNapoli’s, where Angelo had asked me to park. He didn’t want anyone to see me bringing in the leftovers. I saw the curtains twitch at a house across the alley as I grabbed the bag from Tony’s and slipped out of the car. Herb Fitch lived over there and, as a retired cop, still kept an eye on things. I waved in that direction as I closed and locked the Suburban. I knocked on the back door. Angelo opened it, looked left and right, and yanked me in before slamming the door behind me.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “I’m not gonna trust anyone until this contest is over. Did you see anyone lurking in the alley?”

  I was starting to get a little worried about Angelo. “No. I saw Herb’s curtains twitch. He’d know if anyone was back there.”

  Angelo nodded. “Let me make sure the coast is clear. Rosalie was just shooing the last customers out.” He walked down the hall, looking right and left, before motioning me forward.

  I placed the bag, which had Tony’s Pizzeria scrawled on it in a large fancy font, on a table in the dining area. Angelo frowned. I waved to Rosalie who was scrubbing a counter in the kitchen. Angelo and I both glanced at the large front window. I hurriedly took the box out of the bag and wadded the bag into a fist-sized ball. Angelo took it from me and tossed it toward the kitchen. I flipped open the lid on the box, and Angelo jumped back.

  “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the lasagna in horror. Rosalie hustled over to look and grimaced.

  “It’s the lasagna I ordered,” I said.

  They both picked up forks and poked it gingerly, like it was going to leap out and bite them.