I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  “I can give you ten.”

  “Twenty-five?” she said.

  I gave it a shake. “Look how loose it is.”

  “Okay. Ten it is.”

  “I’m going to look around before I take the table, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure. Have at it.”

  Eleanor was talking to a woman over near the sports equipment. I wandered over and picked up one of the baseball helmets. It was heavy. Heavier than I remembered Brody’s being. I looked inside and saw it had a lot of thick padding. It didn’t look that different than the one Brody owned. I scanned the rest of the equipment. It all looked about the same as Brody’s. Some was more worn, and other pieces looked almost new.

  The woman Eleanor was talking to looked up. “Can I help you with anything?”

  Eleanor introduced us. “I wondered about the baseball helmet. A friend of mine’s son had a helmet with a big dent in it. This one seems sturdier. Where did you get it?”

  “Rex Sullivan paid for the equipment. You’d have to ask him.”

  “This looks new,” I said.

  “My husband’s fault. He convinced our daughter to try softball, but she’d rather be reading a book or playing with her friends. The whole experiment was a disaster.”

  “You didn’t have to turn the equipment back in?”

  The woman frowned. “I never heard we were supposed to. I probably should call someone and check. Were you interested in buying something?”

  “No. Thanks. Just curious,” I replied.

  Eleanor helped me carry the table to the car. She put the backseats down. We shoved the table in the back of her Mini. It fit if we left the back open.

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble by driving across base with this thing sticking out,” I said to Eleanor.

  “We should be fine. We aren’t going that far,” Eleanor said as we took off.

  We cut across back streets but eventually had to pop out on Travis. We’d gone about a block when we heard the whoop-whoop of sirens behind us.

  Eleanor pulled over to the curb. “Rats. My husband is going to kill me.” In the military, an egregious breaking of rules could result in one’s spouse being notified or even his or her commander.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the blame.”

  We both looked behind us as the security policeman stepped out of his car and snapped his beret on his head. James.

  I bounced out of the car. “James. I haven’t seen you in a long time.” James had worked for CJ, hated to be called Jim, and was a hard worker, always willing to lend a hand.

  We hugged. I held a hand up to shade my eyes as I looked at him. He seemed more rested than the last time I’d seen him. “Why did you pull us over?”

  “That table is about to fall out the back of the Mini,” James said.

  I turned toward the back of the Mini. The table did seem perilously close to tipping out.

  “We just have to drive off base. My Suburban is parked at the office building on the left.” I pointed. You could see it from here. I went to the back of the Mini and shoved the table back in as far as it would go.

  Eleanor peered at me from the driver’s seat. “Is everything okay? Am I getting a ticket?”

  “I don’t think so.” I turned back to James. “That should last until we get to my car.”

  “Okay,” James said. “I’ll just follow you off so you don’t get in trouble.”

  When we pulled into the parking lot of the office building, James pulled into a space and got out.

  “Let me give you a hand with that,” he said.

  I ran over and opened the Suburban and, with James’s help, got the table tucked securely in the Suburban, legs up. I hugged Eleanor. “Thanks, Eleanor. That was fun, even if you don’t know how to drive a bargain.”

  Eleanor laughed and waved before she took off.

  I turned to James. He looked good. He’d always been cute in a rugged way, but he also looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in a while.

  “How are you?” I asked. In the spring James had told me he was seeing a therapist off base. It was against military rules to go off base for medical or psychological help without your commander knowing.

  “Good. I know you were worried about me seeing a therapist off base.”

  “I was. I am. But you look more relaxed than you did. That’s a very good thing.”

  “I went to the base chaplain and told him about it. He went with me to my commander when I told her.”

  I’d heard that she was a tough woman. “What happened?” I looked quickly at the rank on his uniform. All his stripes were still there. He hadn’t been demoted.

  “She wasn’t happy. But the three of us worked through it. She put a letter of reprimand in my folder, with the promise that she’d remove it if I toed the line for the next six months.”

  I smiled. He’d gotten off light. “You are a good line toe-er.”

  “I am under normal circumstances, and with the help of a good therapist.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I also met someone. I like her a lot.” James turned a little red around his ears.

  “Do I know her?”

  “She’s new on base. I met her at one of the fun runs a few weeks ago.”

  “I’d love to meet her sometime.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Being a good friend.” James gave me a hug and slid back into the patrol car. He sketched a salute as I waved to him, smiling.

  I went to slam the back of the Suburban shut and took a second look at the table. “Oh, no,” I muttered. I dug through the glove compartment until I found a small magnifying glass. I took it back to the table and looked it over. The underside of the table had lots of tiny holes, which could be woodworms. I should have examined it more closely at the sale. Woodworms weren’t worms but the larvae of beetles that burrowed into wood. There they had families and made more holes. To get rid of them, you either had to use chemicals or an expensive freezing technique. The table wasn’t worth it.

  “Arrgh.” I said it out loud and glanced around to see if anyone had heard me, but I was alone. If it was woodworms and I introduced them into DiNapoli’s, they could spread from this table to chairs to other tables. Soon enough all that would be left was a pile of dust to sit on and eat off. Okay, so that was a little dramatic. It would take years to accomplish that. But it was the last thing anyone needed. I should have noticed at the sale. I sighed, slammed the back doors shut, and resolved to make a trip to the dump.

  Chapter 30

  On my way home I decided to drive by a couple of sales in Concord I’d seen listed online. I liked this new “garage sales on Fridays” trend. Maybe I should try doing some. The first neighborhood was filled with lots of swing sets, basketball hoops, and bikes. It was probably a great place to buy stuff for kids. If I wanted antiques or vintage things, I’d look for a neighborhood with older people living in it. I slowed in front of the first house but didn’t see anything that appealed to me. I didn’t bother to park.

  My stomach growled as I drove the few blocks to the next sale. I parked and took a look around. The lawn was large and shaded by beautiful maple trees. It made shopping actually pleasant on a hot summer morning. The sale had lots of interesting knickknacks and quite a bit of vintage jewelry. Most of it looked like it was from the forties, fifties, and early sixties. Vintage jewelry was popular, even if it wasn’t made of precious metals and gems or didn’t have a designer signature. Lots of crafters bought it to make other things out of it. The prices were really reasonable. I started picking up pieces and soon had a handful.

  “Here, would you like a bag?” A silver-haired woman offered me a quart-size plastic bag.

  “Thank you.” I almost told her she had some beautiful pieces, but stopped before I said it. Complimenting a seller’s items made it harder to bargain. By the time I looked over all her jewelry, I had filled the bag and had a handful. Instead of
trying to haggle over each piece, I offered her a lump sum.

  “Perfect,” the woman said. She handed me another bag. “And go fill this one. On the house. I really need to get rid of all of this.”

  As I looked over the jewelry, I realized some of it tried to be something it wasn’t—fancy and expensive—while some of it was unapologetically fake. It made me think about Melba’s killer. Maybe it was someone who appeared to be one thing but was really another. Rex was the first person who came to mind. He appeared to be a benevolent benefactor by supporting all those teams and getting lots of kudos for doing so. While it was generous of him to loan me a truck, why did he have to lie about it?

  Mac and Lance also seemed to present one kind of image. Mac was the laid-back cigar lover, but his brother had been fired as superintendent and Melba had taken over. Lance was Mr. Friendly but then had insisted I sign the papers saying I wouldn’t sue. Anil and Betty seemed to be the most genuine.

  I picked out the pieces I liked the best, wondering what I was actually going to do with all of this. When I’d filled the second bag, I waved at the woman and strolled back to my car. Ripples of heat rolled off the hood of the car as I set off for home. The rolling hills, low stone walls, and woods were peaceful. I wished my mind was peaceful, too.

  * * *

  After a quick fluffernutter sandwich at home, I pulled up to the Longs’ house at twelve thirty. I resisted the urge to pound my head on the steering wheel after catching a glimpse of the setup in their front yard. “The customer’s always right,” I muttered to myself. The tent Kelly had ordered looked like something out of The Arabian Nights as its sides ruffled gently in the breeze. If harem dancers, genies in bottles, or magic carpets appeared, I’d know I was hallucinating, that my injuries the other night were worse than I’d imagined. But no such luck. The tent stayed put.

  Kelly Long waved frantically and met me at the bottom of the drive.

  “What do you think?” she asked. Her black, wavy hair danced in the breeze. Her exotic brown eyes glittered with anticipation.

  I’d better not answer that the way I wanted to. Which was something like, “Are you completely bonkers?”

  “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked.

  “It certainly is,” I said.

  “This sale will be better than any of those you see on HGTV.” She bounced a little as we went up the drive. “No one’s ever seen anything like this in Ellington.”

  “They certainly haven’t,” I said. Kelly wasn’t one to interpret sarcasm.

  “I’ll be the talk of the town.”

  “Oh, you will be,” I agreed.

  “The electrician has been here so now it’s up to us to make it perfect,” Kelly said.

  “Oh, good.” I’d finally realized that Lance was just defeated and was giving in to Kelly’s whims. I could only dream of having the kind of money to do that.

  My concern was that if this sale was a dismal failure, Kelly would blame it all on me. Which wouldn’t help my business. I put on my game face. “Are you sure you want to put all your things in the tent this afternoon?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. I want to make sure it will be perfect for tomorrow.”

  “What about overnight? I’m worried about people taking things.”

  “Between our sons and their friends, our rottweiler Daisy, and my Glock, I don’t think we have a thing to worry about.”

  Oh, good heavens. “Okay then. Let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  The good thing about Kelly was she had the energy of three hyper toddlers rolled into one. She also wasn’t afraid of hard work when she felt passionate about something. The two of us dragged a Jenny Lind–style double bed frame into the tent first. Jenny Lind beds weren’t a brand but a classic style of bed with wooden spindles. The real Jenny Lind was a Swedish opera singer who toured America in the 1850s and supposedly slept in a spindle type of bed.

  It was hot in here. When we’d started working, we put three sides of the tent down so no one could see in from the street. Only the back side stood open. Sweat had pooled in almost every spot on my body that was available for pooling. Fortunately, Kelly had brought out two large window fans. They helped a little bit.

  I positioned the bed in the corner. This one was painted white. I’d love to see it in turquoise, but it wouldn’t go with Kelly’s vision. She’d explained that to me when I mentioned painting it the first time I had seen the bed in her garage. Next, we carried out the box spring and mattress. Kelly brought out a new expensive brand of sheets with a high thread count. I hoped for Lance’s sake they’d been on sale. We made the bed and covered it with a beautiful white chenille bedspread. It was a twin, but twins worked on a double because back when they were originally made, the bedspreads hung to the floor. Now that everyone used dust ruffles, a twin came right to the bottom of a double mattress. We folded an old quilt across the bottom of the bed and then added ten throw pillows made out of vintage dish towels.

  We stepped back to admire our work. “It looks inviting,” I said.

  Kelly smiled. “Told you.”

  We worked companionably for the next couple of hours. The sturdy frame of the tent allowed me to hang her five chandeliers, mirrors, framed paintings, and photographs with U hooks. A combination of Oriental and rag rugs covered the driveway. Painted dressers were tucked in corners. I decorated their tops with lace runners and Depression glass. The pale pinks and greens complemented each other and the furnishings. If this were a store, I’d want to shop in it. Or if it were a house, to live in it.

  “Where did you get all this stuff, Kelly?” I’d been curious, but she’d never mentioned it when I was over here pricing earlier in the week.

  “Most of it came from an aunt of Lance’s in York, Maine.”

  Lance stepped into the tent. Kelly and Lance were such a contrast to each other. He had silver-blond hair. His eyes reminded me of the pale green sea glass I used to pick up on the beach near my home in Pacific Grove, California. Together they were the definition of light and dark. He looked around. “Where’s the sports equipment going to go?”

  I held in a groan. More sports equipment? I’d had my fill. Besides, we hadn’t allocated any space for sports equipment. The only space we had left was going to be our kitchen corner. We needed to bring out the Hoosier cabinet. We planned to fill the shelves with Pyrex and Fire-King, which were wildly popular and increasingly hard to find. Kelly also had the assortment of utensils with wooden handles. Plus, vintage tablecloths and dish towels. I moved to a corner of the tent, pulled out my phone, and tried to look busy while they worked it out.

  “I told you, I didn’t want to sell the sports equipment at this garage sale,” Kelly said, hands on hips.

  “And I told you, I didn’t want to hire her”—Lance jerked his head toward me—“for a second sale. No offense, Sarah. We’re going to be in York for most of the rest of the summer.”

  It seemed to me that people from Massachusetts all fled to Maine, the Cape, Martha’s Vineyard, or Nantucket for most of the summer. One parent would take the kids, and the other would work and commute on the weekends. It was vastly different than the way I had grown up. My dad didn’t see any reason to take a vacation, because we lived in Pacific Grove, right next to Monterey, California. Whenever my mom suggested going someplace, he’d grumble and say, “People come here for vacation. Why leave?”

  “Sarah, what do you suggest we do?” Kelly asked. Her foot tap, tap, tapped away as both she and Lance stared at me. It was more of a glare, but I chose to ignore it.

  “Why don’t we put a couple of tables on one side of the tent for the sports equipment?” I said.

  Kelly’s face turned red.

  “I promise I’ll make it look good,” I added. “I have a lot of recent experience dealing with sports equipment.”

  Tap, tap, tap. Lance and I waited, trying to see if this compromise worked for her. Kelly finally gave a quick nod. “Okay, but I’m. Not. Happy.”

  Lanc
e just nodded and left. I was guessing he heard that a lot.

  After Kelly and I finished with everything in the tent, I would take a ton of pictures for my Web site. I might not have wanted to do a sale this way, but I did want to take advantage of the fact that I had.

  I swiped at my forehead just before sweat dripped into my eyes, cursing the closed tent. From what Kelly had told me about her vision, in the morning there’d be a large crowd gathered at the bottom of the driveway. Together, we’d slowly open the tent flaps and tie them back as the crowd gasped and congratulated Kelly on her masterpiece. I hoped it worked out like she’d planned.

  We carried the Hoosier cabinet out and angled it in a corner. That was the last piece of large furniture that we had to move. Kelly said she had some errands to run. So I continued to work on my own. I ran a damp cloth over the nooks and crannies of the Hoosier cabinet. It was painted a pale green, probably to cover up the fact that it was made out of more than one kind of wood. Kelly’s only had one minor chip in the porcelain top. I followed the damp cloth with a dry cloth, just to make sure I didn’t cause any water damage. Then I arranged all of the other kitchen items Kelly was selling.

  I hung a chandelier I’d created for Kelly over the cabinet. It had been an old wreck of a thing that Kelly had wanted to toss out. But I’d searched through a box of junk she had and found a bunch of old tin sifters. I drilled holes in the sides of old sifters to use as lampshades. I’d painted the sifters bright red on the outside and bright silver on the inside. The chandelier had come out cuter than I had imagined. My throat was parched, so I searched for my water bottle and found it tucked in a corner near the bed. I drank deeply, even though the water was warm. I checked my phone. Kelly had been gone for a couple of hours.

  I slipped out of the tent, through the garage, and knocked on the door leading to the house. It seemed rude to just barge in, even though I’d been in and out all afternoon. No one answered. I stood there like an awkward teen, trying to figure out my next move. Then I heard voices coming from the backyard and smelled smoke. I opened the door at the back of the garage and peered out at the backyard. Lance stood over a grill, in a flowered bib apron. Kelly stood next to him with a martini in hand.