I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  “Did you try it?” Rosalie asked.

  “Yes. You’ve got nothing to worry about other than food poisoning.”

  Angelo stabbed one of the noodles and lifted it. It hung like a sad fish that had lost the battle with a fisherman. “How can something be burnt and limp at the same time?”

  “You’ve gone above and beyond with this one, Sarah,” Rosalie said.

  “Let me fix you some real food,” Angelo said.

  “No thanks. I had ice cream at Bedford Farms.” And I still had a freezer full of meals at home.

  The door rattled and slammed open. A big man came in. He had a shocking head of dark hair, which was standing up all over the place. His thick mustache twitched above a mouth twisted into a snarl. He looked somewhat familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. Rosalie stepped in front of the food and threw a napkin over it.

  “What da you think you’re doin’, sending her over to my restaurant?” He pointed a finger toward me.

  Angelo puffed up. “No idea what you’re talking about, Tony.”

  Tony? Of Tony’s in Billerica? How the heck would he know who I was or why I was in the restaurant? Now I knew why he looked familiar. I’d just seen a caricature of him on the cover of his menu and on the take-out bag. What I had thought was a caricature, anyway. It seemed fairly accurate now that I saw him in person.

  He pointed a shaking finger at me. “I saw her at my restaurant. It took me a while to put it all together. I recognized her from the newspaper, knew she was friends with you. I told my staff to let me know if anything suspicious happened leading up to the contest.” His glare swept over the three of us. “And she was suspicious. If she’s trying to sabotage my lasagna, there will be trouble.”

  “I’m not sabotaging anything,” I said. “A friend asked me to meet her for dinner. I took some of it home. Isn’t that allowed in your restaurant?”

  Tony looked confused. “Of course it is. But I’m warning the other chefs that you’re up to something.” He walked out and slammed the door after him.

  We all stared after him.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Angelo said. “He’s all air.”

  “And bad food,” I added.

  * * *

  I walked into my living room ten minutes later and shrieked. Mike Titone sat on my couch, a foot up on my trunk, flipping through a copy of my Vintage Finds magazine. A glass of red wine sat next to his elbow, on the end table. He looked like he belonged there. He didn’t. I heard feet pounding up the steps.

  “Welcome home,” Mike said, tossing the magazine back onto my trunk.

  There was a knock on my door. Someone to my rescue.

  “Get rid of whoever it is,” Mike said.

  I walked away and answered the door, and Stella stood there, looking anxious. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you scream.”

  “I had an unexpected guest who surprised me. Come on in and say hi.” Mike Titone could not tell me what to do in my own apartment.

  Stella followed me into the living room. An irritated look flicked across Mike’s face before he smiled. He stood and gave Stella a kiss on both cheeks. Her face reddened.

  “Stella, I never thanked you properly for letting me stay here last winter.”

  Good grief. The man was smooth.

  “I brought you both gift baskets to thank you for putting up with me.”

  “Yeah? Where are they?” I asked, looking around.

  “On your kitchen table. I hope you don’t mind. Your door was unlocked, and I was concerned when no one answered my knock.”

  Unlocked, my ass. I remembered locking it when I left.

  “That was so thoughtful of you, Mike.” Stella actually fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  I wanted to smack her for buying what he was selling. She was a terrible judge of men, except for Awesome. He seemed okay. Mike went into the kitchen and brought out two giant cellophane-wrapped baskets filled with cheese, crackers, and wine.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Stella said, accepting hers.

  When I didn’t reach for mine, Mike set it on the trunk. “What’s in it?” I asked. “Arsenic? Bombs? Booby traps?”

  “Sarah,” Stella said. “That’s not very gracious of you.”

  Mike threw his head back and laughed. Stella joined him.

  “You are so witty, Sarah,” Mike said. He grabbed Stella’s elbow and started steering her to the door. “I really appreciate you helping me out, Stella. It’s not something everyone would do.” Seconds later Stella was out in the hall and Mike was closing the door behind her. I could hear her singing some aria as she went down the steps. Traitor.

  “What are you really doing here?” I asked.

  Mike put his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt you don’t believe I’m here to thank you both.”

  “You can knock off the charm now. It’s just us.”

  Mike relaxed on the couch again and took a sip of his wine. “You didn’t answer my text.”

  Chapter 16

  “Take a hint. I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. And your ‘help,’” I said, complete with air quotes, “comes at too high of a price.” Mike had helped me once before but had made me promise not to tell anyone. Actually, it was more of a threat than a promise. But I’d held to it, even though it had cost me greatly in the end. Even as I said it, another part of me was yelling, Yes, yes, you do need his help. I tried to ignore that thought.

  But I couldn’t. “What are you planning to help me with?” Ugh. Curiosity and the cat and all that. I was playing with fire and would probably get burned.

  “What do you need help with?” Mike said as he leaned forward.

  I ticked the things off on my fingers. “Who attacked me, who stole from the equipment swap, and who killed Melba.” The lasagna situation I could handle on my own.

  Mike started to say something, but I held up my hand and cut him off. “And what’s going on between you and Seth Anderson? Don’t say nothing, because it’s something, and if I start poking around, it’s going to get messy and come out.”

  Mike leaned back in surprise. Apparently, he was the one used to giving orders instead of getting them. A bemused expression crossed his face. Then it dawned on me. I’d just threatened Mike Titone. Again. I must have a death wish, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t back down now. He made a funny sound. Then he laughed, loudly.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you. You have balls.” He swiped at his eyes. He’d laughed so hard, tears had formed. “It’s been a long time since anyone spoke to me like that. Except my mom. She’d love you.”

  Mike stood up. He got close, leaned down, and spoke low. “Stay out of my business with Seth.”

  He left, and I just stared after him.

  * * *

  I quivered with disgust. Mike was a clever one. He’d told me he’d help, I’d told him what I needed help with, and now he knew it wasn’t anything of concern to him. Except for Seth. What the heck did they have going on? I’d seen them playing poker together last winter, so maybe they were involved in some high-stakes gambling ring. What else was the Mob known for? Racketeering, drugs, prostitution. It was impossible to imagine Seth doing any of those things. Maybe he owed Mike something, like I did, and had no way to extricate himself. Maybe that’s why he’d ended up in the hospital.

  I called the hospital again, since Seth was on my mind, and got another generic update. Seth was doing better or at least not any worse. I looked around for something to do rather than just sitting here worrying. Brody’s stuff. I crawled into the attic space off my living room, found a box, and dragged it out into the living room. I started packing Brody’s now dry things in it. The helmet and bat were hard to get in. I sealed the box and made a label for it. After sticking the box in a corner, I got ready for bed. What a freaking day.

  * * *

  I spent most of Tuesday running errands including mailing Brody’s box, talking with a couple of new clients, and buying all the fixings for the pretzel bar. I s
poke with Kelly to confirm she’d found a tent and had an electrician to set up the lighting. Things were looking good for her sale. If only chasing down who attacked me and helping Anil were half as easy. Maybe I needed a fresh start instead of continuing to obsess about the items stolen from the gym. I started by brushing up on Melba’s background. I read her bio on the Ellington school district Web site and her obituary. Both were very impersonal. She’d dedicated her life to educating children. She had no living relatives. There was nothing about hobbies, although I knew she liked auctions and garage sales.

  I Googled her and found out that in the past six months she’d been almost militant about wanting to increase the number of students in each classroom. Fewer teachers meant more funds for other programs. That seemed to have caused some ripples of discontent among the school board and the teachers, who had always supported her. Was a teacher mad enough about more kids in their classes that they killed Melba? Fortunately, Stella and I were going out to dinner, so I’d quiz her about all of that then.

  * * *

  Stella and I drove to Lexington for dinner. It was only five, but we had decided to eat early because I planned to attend the visitation for Melba in Ellington tonight. The air was warm, but not frying. I wore what was fast becoming my summer uniform, a sundress. I’d gone to a great garage sale in Lincoln, Massachusetts, a few weeks ago. A woman had been selling a ton of dresses in my size because they didn’t suit her anymore. Fine with me. It was hard to beat a buck a dress for name brands like Talbots.

  Instead of heading straight to Villa Bella to eat we strolled along Massachusetts Avenue, stopping at the statue of a minuteman on the Lexington Battle Green. A man dressed in colonial clothes was telling a group of tourists about what had happened here.

  “We learned all of this in high school,” Stella said.

  “But it’s fascinating. Let’s listen.”

  “British regulars fired on seventy-seven minutemen the morning of April nineteenth, seventeen seventy-five. Eight minutemen were killed, and ten were wounded,” the man said before Stella pulled me away.

  “After that skirmish the regulars went on to Concord, where the minutemen fired back,” I told Stella.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all a million times.”

  I guessed she didn’t love the history of the area quite as much as I did. Maybe that was the difference between growing up here and landing here.

  We peered into shop windows. There were a couple of antique stores I’d visited before, but their wares were way beyond my income. Still, it was fun to look.

  It was five-thirty when we arrived at the restaurant, so we were seated right away. Villa Bella looked like a traditional Italian restaurant, with checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in Chianti bottles. It might have been romantic if I were here with someone other than Stella. I took a seat so I faced the front of the restaurant instead of the kitchen. I thought my odds of discovery would be lessened that way.

  I, of course, ordered the lasagna, along with an appetizer of stuffed mushrooms, a salad, and garlic bread.

  “You must be hungry tonight,” Stella said. “That’s a good thing. I’ve been worried about you.”

  Too many people were worrying about me. “No need. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I’d eat everything else so it wouldn’t look odd when I took one bite of the lasagna, and then asked for the rest to be boxed up.

  “Wasn’t that sweet of Mike to give us the baskets as a thank-you last night?” Stella said.

  “Yeah, he’s just a wonderful man. What did Awesome think about Mike giving you the basket?”

  Stella turned a light red. “I dismantled the whole thing before he came over. Why create conflict when there isn’t any need? Besides we’ve been dating only a couple of months.”

  “Why borrow trouble and all that?” My tone might have been light, but there was some worry behind it. I didn’t want Mike causing problems for Stella and Awesome.

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you want to go straight to Melba’s visitation after we leave here?” I asked.

  “I forgot to tell you, I can’t. I’m teaching a private lesson at seven. They switched nights. I’m sorry to bail on you.”

  “It’s okay.” Doing things alone was good for me.

  The waitress brought the stuffed mushrooms, bread, and salads.

  We dug into the mushrooms, which were stuffed with bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese, garlic, and a little basil.

  “Mmm,” I said. “These are heaven.” If the lasagna was half as good, Angelo was going to have some stiff competition. I sighed. I really hoped he’d win.

  “I forgot to tell you. My aunt Nancy wants you to stop by her office.”

  “She does?” Oh, boy. We’d met recently to discuss New England’s Largest Yard Sale, which I was hired to run again in the fall. What else could be on her mind?

  Stella nodded. “We had a family dinner last night, and she mentioned it.”

  “Did Awesome go?” I asked.

  “No. He had to work, or so he said. Frankly, I think he’s scared of my aunts and mom, since they found out he’s a Yankees fan.”

  “I can see being scared of them. Poor Awesome.”

  The waitress came with our entrées. Lasagna for me, of course, and baked ziti for Stella. My lasagna looked exactly like what one would expect, nothing fancy or special. At least it looked much better than Tony’s. I kept eating my salad and the bread, and I finished off the mushrooms. I cleansed my palate with a glass of water.

  “Aren’t you going to eat that?” Stella asked, pointing her fork at my lasagna.

  “I’m stuffed. But I’ll take a bite.” I dug my fork in but couldn’t get a bite to come free without using my knife. I smiled. Yay. I held it up and looked at it, trying to decide if they used real cheese.

  “What’s going on?” Stella was watching me stare at my bite.

  “Just admiring the artistry of the layers.” I stuffed the bite in my mouth before I said anything else. It was good, solid food, but not fantastic or award winning, in my opinion. Although, with judges, you never knew who would like what. That was why there were rows of pasta sauces at the grocery store, something for every taste. I ate a couple more bites for show and then asked to have the rest of it boxed.

  I dropped Stella and the lasagna at home. I’d have to take the lasagna to the DiNapolis later, because next on my list was going to the visitation for Melba. I wanted to pay my respects, but I also wanted to talk to all the school board members. Maybe I’d find out something that would help Anil, or maybe he’d feel like he no longer needed my help, which would be even better. I planned to use my nose to sniff out anyone who wore the same aftershave as my attacker had. Although for all I knew everyone and their second cousin wore the stuff.

  Chapter 17

  The funeral home was packed. The line to pay respects twisted and turned like a line at an amusement park. Lots of students—past and present, judging by the age range—plus parents waited to pay their respects. Town officials milled about up near the coffin. Closed, thank heavens. I shuddered a little as I thought about the last time I’d seen Melba. While people seemed sad, no one seemed distraught. The five school board members stood on either side of the coffin. Lance and Anil stood to the right and the three others on the left.

  As I got closer, I realized Anil was sweating profusely. He kept taking a white handkerchief out of his suit coat pocket and dabbing his face. Granted it was warm with all the people, and he was wearing a suit, but Lance stood next to him, as cool looking as could be. Anil leaned in when I shook his hand.

  “Have you found anything out for me?” he asked in a low voice.

  “No.” I took a deep sniff. Anil certainly didn’t smell of the scent I was searching for. If anyone could actually smell like fear, Anil did.

  “I thought you were going to help.” He fussed with his tie. His white shirt was partially untucked, his hair messy, and his eyes a little wild.


  “I’ll do what I can. I’ve been trying to track the stolen items. Have you heard more from the police?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s good news.”

  Anil shook his head. “I’ve heard from multiple people that the police are asking questions about me.” His voice squeaked on the word me. He grabbed my wrist, but I yanked it free.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He patted his forehead with his handkerchief again. “I can’t lose my security clearance. Or my job. My family . . .” Anil’s voice broke. “I’m feeling desperate.”

  I realized I didn’t know exactly what Anil did outside the board. But if he had a clearance, he worked either for the government or a defense contractor. “I understand. But if you start acting irrationally, it will make things worse.”

  Fortunately, the person talking to Lance moved on, so I could, too.

  Lance clasped my hands in his. They were cool and dry. Everything, from the lapels of his handstitched suit coat to his hair, was in place. Such a contrast to Anil. “Thank you for doing such a wonderful job leading up to our garage sale.” He said it in a loud voice and smiled at me. “Kelly is thrilled with how things are coming along.”

  I wasn’t sure how thrilled she would be when she saw how little money she was going to make. Thank heavens I’d charged a flat fee for a lot of the setup. I got as close as I could to Lance and tried to breathe deeply without being obvious. But Lance stood too close to the blanket of roses on the coffin. That was all I could smell.

  “The Ellington Citizen is doing a feature story on the sale, thanks to you.” He smiled again and then turned to the person behind me.

  “Really?” That would be good for business. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Since the line moved along I did too. Next was Betty Jenkins, who was my very first paying customer when I set up my garage sale business last spring. We chatted for a moment about her family.

  “Who arranged all this?” I asked. “I understand that Melba didn’t have any living relatives.”

  “We did—the school board. I didn’t want to be up here but was overruled.”