I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  “Any ideas what?”

  “No. That’s one of the things I need you to work on.” Nancy’s phone rang, and she made a shooing motion at me. “Time for us both to get to work.”

  Chapter 20

  Betty Jenkins lived in a rambling yellow farmhouse off Great Road, on the Bedford-Ellington line. It looked like each generation had added on another section to the house, making it longer and putting their stamp on the property. Since part of her property was in each school district, she’d long ago decided to send her kids to Ellington schools.

  Betty opened the door after I knocked. “I was expecting you.” Betty was the complete opposite of her house, neat and small. She looked like the kind of woman who should be out biking or hitting a tennis ball.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really?” I followed Betty through the foyer to a low-ceilinged living room.

  “I just happened to call Nancy about something, and she said you were probably going to stop by sometime. Do you want some coffee?” She tucked a piece of short blond hair behind her ear.

  “Coffee would be great, if it’s no trouble.”

  “None at all. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Even though I’d done a huge garage sale for Betty last spring, every corner was still crammed full of furniture. A person wouldn’t want to walk through this room in the dark. There was also a locked gun case full of old muskets that her husband used in local reenactments as a member of the Bedford militia.

  Betty came back with two steaming mugs of coffee. “I guess you’re here to talk about Melba?”

  I nodded as I sipped my coffee. I set it down on a coaster with a photo of the old Bedford Flag on it. We sat in two wingback chairs that faced the fireplace, which was filled with candles and fresh flowers, mostly daisies and pink roses.

  “Did Melba have any enemies that you know of?” It sounded like such a cliché, a line straight out of a bad movie.

  Betty’s eyebrows popped up in surprise. She drank some of her coffee in what seemed like a delaying action. “Not that I know of.”

  “Anyone who held a grudge on the board?”

  Betty sat her coffee cup down. “Maybe Mac.”

  “Why?”

  “His oldest brother was the superintendent before Melba. He always blamed Melba for getting him fired.”

  “How could that be?” I asked.

  “The man was a drunk. I guess he made a pass at Melba at some school event, and she reported him. Once that came out, lots of other stuff did, too, so it wasn’t really Melba’s fault.” Betty crossed her ankles. “When she got the job after him, there was a lot of talk about whether he ever really made a pass or not.”

  I sipped on my coffee. That seemed like a possible motive for murder.

  “However, even with that, we all worked well together. Sure, we had disagreements, but we usually pulled together as a team in the end. We all want what’s best for the students attending our schools.”

  That sounded like an idealistic version of what most school boards were like. “You said usually. Anything recent?”

  “We were working on the budget and hadn’t figured out the best way to handle it.”

  The budget kept coming up. “What happens without her?”

  “Work will continue, and someone will be named interim superintendent.”

  “Any idea who that will be?”

  “One of the people from her office.”

  We heard a knock on the door. Betty answered it, and I could hear her talking to a man. She walked back in the living room with Pellner and Ramirez, the state trooper. Neither of them looked happy to see me. I stood and greeted them.

  “Just let me know if you decide to do another garage sale, Betty,” I said. “I’m booked for the next several weeks.” I hoped she’d realize I didn’t want the men to know what I was up to.

  “Okay. I’ll be in touch,” Betty said. She grinned at me as I left.

  * * *

  Sullivan Luxury Car Sales was on the east edge of Ellington, right on Great Road. I decided this would be as good a place to talk to Rex Sullivan as any. The floor of the dealership was filled with beautiful cars, shiny, expensive, and way out of my reach. Sun flooded the space through large floor-to-ceiling windows. Lights beamed down on the red, silver, and black cars. Was that a DeLorean? I was no expert in cars, but I had seen all the Back to the Future movies. No one seemed to be around, not customers, not staff.

  I noticed a case filled with trophies and, next to it, a wall lined with photos. There were pictures of Rex with kids in every sport imaginable: gymnastics, hockey, baseball, tae kwon do, and anything in between. They all stood in uniforms emblazoned with the Sullivan Luxury Car Sales logo. It was even stamped on all the equipment.

  “Help you?”

  I jumped a bit. A florid-faced man with greasy black hair stood behind me. He held a ham and cheese on rye and took a big bite.

  “I’m looking for Rex.”

  He held up a finger, indicating I should wait. He chewed and swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. Rex is out. I’m Tim Greer.” He transferred his sandwich to his left hand, wiped his right one on his pants leg, and stuck his hand out to shake.

  Ugh. I gave him a limp shake, trying not to touch more of his hand than necessary, and introduced myself.

  “I have just the thing for you.” He guided me over to a sleek, low-slung red Porsche. It was sexy as hell and so far out of my price range, I wouldn’t even dream about a car like this. But seconds later I was sitting in it, running my fingers over the leather-covered steering wheel.

  “It suits you. Let’s take her out,” the man said as he stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

  “I can’t. . . .” But the guy waved a hand around, produced a key, found a temporary tag, which he attached, and minutes later I was driving down Great Road, feeling like a rock star. Holy crap. Now I knew what all the fuss was about.

  “Let’s take Route Three up toward Lowell so you can see what she can do.”

  The Porsche hugged the twisty, narrow roads leading to Route 3. When I goosed the gas to merge onto the three, we shot forward onto the open road. There wasn’t much traffic this time of day.

  As much as I’d like to escape and enjoy the ride I’d showed up at Sullivan’s for information. Maybe Tim had some. I thought about all the trophies and team photos at the dealership. “Does Rex have kids of his own?” Maybe that was why he helped out so many teams.

  “Three, all grown and gone. Lots of grandkids.”

  “They didn’t stay in the area?”

  “Naw. One’s on the North Shore, two in Boston.”

  To me, someone who had lived the Air Force life and currently lived three thousand miles from her hometown, all those places were in the area. New Englanders had a different definition of area.

  “Did any of them have Melba Harper? They must be devastated.”

  “Yeah, the youngest boy, and devastated isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “Why not?”

  “They blame her for him not getting into Harvard. She wouldn’t give him an A his junior year.”

  “But they still worked together on the board.”

  “Rex hoped to oust her. That’s the only reason he’s there.”

  That was news to me. He’d always been civil and pleasant to Melba when I attended meetings. I wondered if the police knew about this. “Does he even have the credentials to be a superintendent?” As far as I knew, selling cars didn’t qualify someone for the position.

  “You bet he does. Years ago, he was the principal at the elementary school in Ellington. Has every higher education degree you can imagine.”

  “Why’d he quit?”

  “I guess he didn’t think it was lucrative enough.”

  “It doesn’t seem like the superintendent position would pay that well.”

  “He’s in a different place now.”

  “He must love kids, with all the sports teams he sponsors,” I said.

&n
bsp; “Yeah, the guy’s a nut about them. And it’s a tax write-off.”

  It might be a tax write-off, but that wouldn’t begin to cover the expense of all that equipment. I passed a car like it was standing still. Then I noticed I was doing ninety and eased off the gas. My passenger didn’t seem perturbed that I was going so fast.

  Tim grinned. “Can’t even tell how fast you’re going in a machine like this one.”

  I sighed. “You can’t.”

  “You think he’s crazy about kids’ sports, you should see his office. He loves pro sports even more.” He leaned back against the headrest. “He has a signed Brady jersey framed and hanging right behind his desk. I’ll show it to you when we get back. Turn around at Lowell.” He closed his eyes and within seconds was snoring.

  I perked up. Rex would have known about the auction items at the swap because he got all the emails where I updated the board on how things were going. All too soon we were back at the dealership. I had to give a snoring Tim a nudge when I pulled back into the lot. I tossed him the key as we reentered the dealership. “I hope you know I can’t afford a car like that.”

  “Yeah, but it got me out of here for a while. Things have been slow lately.”

  I looked around. A couple of people sat in their offices, working, but there still didn’t seem to be any customers.

  “C’mon. I’ll show you Rex’s office.”

  We walked into a large office in the center of the dealership. A glass-topped desk sat on stainless legs and was obviously custom made. It was more art than work space. The walls were lined with autographed pictures of local sports stars. Rex was in many of them.

  “His home is filled with even more stuff.”

  I nodded. “Do you know when Rex will be back?”

  “Not today. He’s going to be at the bowling alley tonight. You could catch him there.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for letting me drive the Porsche.”

  “Well, if you ever decide on a life of crime and can afford it, look me up.”

  * * *

  I drove off in the Suburban, which felt like a clunker after the Porsche. I patted its dashboard. “I still love you.” A life of crime was the only way I could ever afford a luxury car. And I’d seen enough crime to know that no car was worth it. At least to me. That got me thinking about Rex’s very empty dealership and his passion for sports. So maybe he only needed to sell a couple of really expensive cars a month to make ends meet. That seemed unlikely when I thought about the cost of operating a place like that.

  Was Rex a desperate man who stole the things from the gym, and did Melba discover this, and so he killed her? Maybe it wasn’t even financial issues but a bitter grudge he had hung on to for years after she didn’t give his son the grade he wanted. People had killed for a lot less than that.

  Back at my apartment I opened my refrigerator to make myself something for lunch. There was some leftover pasta, but somehow it didn’t sound too appealing, especially when I was going out for lasagna again tonight. Instead, I made a Fluffernutter sandwich: white bread, peanut butter, and Marshmallow Fluff. It was the state sandwich of Massachusetts, completely unhealthy, but the salty-sweet combo was hard to beat.

  While I ate, I searched for articles online about the school board. Just because Anil had said he was being set up didn’t mean he was. Maybe his motive would turn up here. The police had to have some reason to have arrested him besides “The evidence pointed us to Anil,” the reason cited in the paper.

  It didn’t take too long to find it. An altercation had occurred during a vote at a board meeting recently. Anil had gotten so upset with Melba that Rex Sullivan physically restrained him. The article didn’t say what the altercation had been about. However, once the meeting was over, another argument had started in the parking lot. Someone had called the police, and although Anil hadn’t been arrested, he’d apparently been issued a stiff warning to stay away from Melba. That was a very different story from what Anil had told me. But that didn’t mean he killed her. I needed more information. Maybe a visit to Mac Danucci was next.

  Chapter 21

  Mac ran a small market near the town center. I had been in it only once before and had been amazed it managed to stay open with a Whole Foods and a Stop & Shop nearby. Nothing had changed since the last time I was in. It was small, dark, and dingy. Maybe the dark was a good thing, because the dingy might have been worse in the bright light of day. It stayed open until three in the morning, so maybe that was why he stayed in business.

  A teenage girl sat on a high stool at a register. As soon as she finished up with her customer, telling him, “Thanks, doll,” and giving him a saucy wink, she turned to me. “What can I do for you, sweetie?”

  I wasn’t one who liked to be called affectionate names by strangers, but it was so heartfelt from this girl that I didn’t snap my usual “Nothing, honey” back at her. Instead I smiled. There was something infectious about her. “I’m looking for Mac.”

  “Food inspector?”

  “No.”

  “Loan collector?”

  “No.”

  “Bounty hunter?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Police? FBI? CIA?”

  “No to all three.” I started laughing. She had to be joking, or at least I hoped she was.

  “In that case, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” She pointed toward the back of the store. “Down the produce aisle, take a left at the bathroom, and pound on the door with the sign that says LEAVE ME ALONE. Mac’s in there. If he’s not out back, smoking a cigar.”

  I walked down the produce aisle. If Whole Foods produce looked like a beautiful still-life painting, this aisle looked like a Jackson Pollock painting, only less appealing. A teenage boy was restocking oranges by tipping the box upside down. Some of the oranges bounced onto the floor. He picked them up and tossed them back on the pile. He looked at me as I passed. His eyes looked older than he did. One of those ancient soul types. I gave him a wave, but he just turned back to the next box of oranges.

  I found the grimy door. Not only did the sign say LEAVE ME ALONE, but it also had a skull and crossbones on it. I knocked loudly, anyway, and heard a muffled “Come in.”

  I intended to leave the door open—after all, there was a chance that Mac was a killer—but the door swung closed automatically, and with a loud click. I looked in horror at Mac. He sat behind a metal desk, in a bloodstained apron. Then I remembered he was a butcher. I hoped he butchered only already dead meat and not people.

  “What can I do you for?” Mac chuckled and locked his hands over his belly. I’d heard him use that phrase and laugh every time I’d ever seen him, except for at the funeral. The smell of cigar smoke was powerful in here, even though I could hear the hum of an exhaust fan.

  I attempted a small laugh in return, but I sounded more like a mewling cat. “I heard something interesting and wanted your take on it.” At least for once I’d planned out a spiel before I arrived.

  “Shoot.” Mac had a thick head of dark hair that always reminded me of an old shag rug, because it went every which way.

  “I heard that Rex Sullivan was trying to oust Melba as superintendent.”

  “You did now, did you?” He scratched a spot on his apron right above his belly as he leaned back in his swivel chair.

  I nodded, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d been a lot more talkative in my imagination when I planned what I’d say to him.

  “Yeah, he probably did want to,” Mac finally said.

  “Because of the—”

  “Old affair.” He finished the sentence for me.

  What? “What affair?”

  “Rex and Melba. You mean it’s not all over town yet?” Mac’s chair creaked as he shifted in it. “It ended Rex’s marriage.”

  Was this the secret life that Rosalie had alluded to? Melba was a notorious marriage wrecker? That wouldn’t be a secret very long in a town like this. I tried to reframe my thoughts to put the Melba
I knew with this picture. She had been a bit plump, had worn a tight bun, and had had a teacher’s “I’m not putting up with any nonsense” attitude.

  “You look surprised. So was I when Rex told me over a bottle of bourbon one night. Rex paid his wife off so it wouldn’t get out and damage his reputation.” Mac plucked a cigar out of a humidor on the left corner of his desk. The humidor was the only nice thing in the office. The walls were dingy. A bulletin board hung behind him covered with OSHA signs. instructions about employees washing their hands, and not smoking.

  He put the cigar under his nose and inhaled. “Ummm. His wife died a couple of years later, so the story stayed undercover, so to speak. But Rex resented Melba for it. Blamed the affair all on her.” He grabbed a lighter off his desk and stood up. “Rex probably won’t be too happy that I told you that. But since the police know it, it’s bound to get out sooner or later.”

  “How long ago was the affair?” What if Rex had slept with Melba to try to get his kid the grade he needed so he could get into Harvard?

  “Years. But Rex didn’t forget or forgive the trouble she caused.”

  It takes two to tango. I bit back my thought, because I needed more information. “Do you like Rex?”

  “As well as I like anyone. He’s a good businessman but can be a stingy bas—jerk.”

  “What about the other board members?”

  “We are a darn good team. Made good things happen for the school district.”

  Mac was a regular Pollyanna. “Why would Anil murder Melba?”

  “Beats me. The guy was all about tutoring teens and trying to get more money for the math and science departments. You just never know what’ll make a guy snap.”

  I hoped that last statement wasn’t drawn from personal experience. “What happened the night Anil and Melba got in a fight and the police were called?”

  “I wasn’t at the meeting that night, and no one’s talking.”

  * * *

  I sat in a booth at Belliginos just after seven o’clock, waiting for Ryne. A glass of Chianti and my phone were my only companions. I did a quick search for Sportzfan and various combinations of Sportzfan and numbers but came up empty. Then I did a quick search on Seth. A bunch of articles came up. Most of them were speculative, with no real answers about what had happened. My name came up in a couple. I hadn’t been answering phone numbers I didn’t recognize since that night. A few reporters had left messages over and over, but I had ignored them.