Tagged for Death

by Sherry Harris

  My eyes widened. I wasn’t expecting Agent Bristow to ask about my relationship with Tiffany. Although, I guess, I should have known he’d get around to it. “The day I moved off base. She was parked down the street.” I gulped down some of the Coke. I’d thought my only concern was helping CJ.

  “No other contact since then?”

  I explained to him, as I had to CJ, about the whole Facebook incident. It was embarrassing, like I was some teenage girl. “That’s it. I’ve avoided her.”

  “Why’d you stay here after your divorce? Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot to hold you here. No family or job.”

  What could I say? Somehow the day I’d talked to my mom, I reverted back to my defiant eighteen-year-old self. That didn’t make me sound very stable. Would he understand my fondness for this area—its history, the quirky accents and pronunciations, the food? I liked it here. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Do you have any information about Airman Lopez’s whereabouts?”

  I thought about the bloody shirts. That didn’t tell me anything about Tiffany’s whereabouts. I calmly looked Bristow in the eye. “No.” Then I asked, “If the EPD is running the investigation, why are you asking me questions?”

  “I’m not confident any of them would remain neutral. The chief agreed. Thanks for your cooperation, Miss Winston. If you think of anything, let us know.” He handed me his card as he opened the door for me.

  That was it. I don’t know what I expected. Something a lot more complicated than that innocuous interview. I pictured hours in a too-cold room and warnings not to leave town. I should be relieved. Instead, the process in the interview room left me uneasy. I walked toward the lobby, expecting to see CJ waiting for me. He wasn’t around. After picking up my car keys at the front desk, I trotted down the steps. Pellner came around the side of the building as I hit the sidewalk.

  “Sarah,” he called.

  His familiarity pissed me off. I wanted to breeze by him like he didn’t exist.

  “Yes?”

  He walked toward me, got close, in my personal bubble. “Don’t make trouble for Chuck. We’ve got his back.” He leaned down, with his lips almost touching my ear. “I know about Lowell.”

  I jerked back, horrified. That was a night I’d rather forget. I hurried across the street, spotting my Suburban in the municipal lot. Pellner’s laugh followed me to the car.

  CHAPTER 7

  As I turned out of the lot, Pellner flagged me down. What now? I wanted to speed off, but I stopped and rolled my window down. He ripped a ticket off his pad, thrusting it at me. “Jaywalking is a ticketable offense in Ellington.”

  I snatched the ticket out of his hand. “You know, Officer Pellner, I just had the worst day of my life.” I shook the ticket at him. “If you think a jaywalking ticket is going to upset me, you are dumber than you look.”

  Now I’d put my foot in it. I wondered what kind of ticket you got for insulting a police officer.

  He took a step back. It almost looked like he smiled. He gave me a small salute as I pulled away. I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel to keep from giving him a different one back. That’s probably what he hoped for. Instead, I tossed the ticket in the passenger seat and drove off at a sedate pace.

  After parking the Suburban at my apartment, I headed over to DiNapoli’s. My stomach rumbled, this time from hunger instead of nerves. I’d keep it light—a salad would do. I crossed the town common. I wondered if walking across the grass was a ticketable offense, too. The church bell struck three as I waited at the light to cross Great Road. No cars were coming. With my luck, if I tried crossing, some police officer would be lurking to give me another ticket.

  By the time I entered DiNapoli’s, Rosalie was waiting for me. She hustled me over to a table. “Lou, hurry up with those mozzarella sticks for Sarah. She’s probably half starved after being questioned by the police.”

  Rosalie already knew I’d been questioned. Many people who moved to small towns were surprised by the speed with which news traveled. I was not. The wives’ network on any base was a well-oiled machine. Not always accurate, but fast. Sometimes our husbands came to us for information. I’m pretty sure the NSA’s business model was based on the efficiency and ability of military wives to gather and disburse news.

  “How about a Greek salad?” I asked.

  “No. You need something that will stick to you. Lou’s making his special ziti for you.” Rosalie left for a minute. She returned with the mozzarella sticks, garlic bread, and a glass of red wine in one of their plastic water cups. I knew for a fact they didn’t have a liquor license.

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” I gestured toward the wine.

  “You let me worry about trouble!” Angelo yelled over to me. “The selectmen are a bunch of idiots.”

  I took a sip, letting the warmth slide through me before digging into the cheese sticks and bread. The DiNapolis left me alone until they served the ziti.

  “You need a lawyer, kid?” Angelo asked me as he set three heaping plates on the table. Rosalie went to the front door and flipped the sign to CLOSED.

  I dug into the ziti with its big chunks of Italian sausage, tomato, and cheese. It gave me time to think about what I wanted to say.

  “Angelo’s cousin is an attorney,” Rosalie said as she sat at her place, pouring us all more wine. “He got Mike ‘the Big Cheese’ Titone off from multiple racketeering charges.”

  “Mike’s got a cheese shop in the North End. They accused him of slicing up more than cheese,” Angelo said. “According to my cousin, the case had more holes than Swiss.” Angelo laughed at his joke.

  “I don’t think I need one, but thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  “You should never talk to the police without a lawyer,” Angelo said. “Especially when the chief is your ex-husband.”

  Someone rattled the door. Angelo deftly swept up our empty wine cups while Rosalie opened the door. They sent me home with enough leftovers to feed the whole security squadron.

  At home I repackaged the leftovers into smaller portions. I stuck most of them in the freezer. I put the Greek salad, which Rosalie had included, in the fridge for later. That is, if I ever needed to eat again. Carol called as I finished.

  “I’m so glad you called. My day was awful.” Probably not as bad as Tiffany’s, though. I told her what had happened: the finding, calling, being interviewed. Carol murmured sympathetically while I talked. “CJ was nowhere. Not during the interview. Not after.”

  “Did you want him to be?”

  I sat at my small kitchen table, tracing my finger around the bright flowers printed on the vintage tablecloth. “He should have been. No. Maybe I did want him there. Not for why you think. I don’t want him back.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You called me. What did you want?”

  “It can wait. This sounds more important.”

  “No. I’ve been preoccupied with myself. With my problems for months. Tell me what you called about.”

  “I need your help. My house is overflowing with stuff that we don’t have room for. I want to have a garage sale. I need you to organize it for me. Please?”

  It was a common problem for military families. At one assignment, you had a giant base house; at the next, a tiny apartment. Carol had moved from Eglin Circle, where the biggest base houses were, to a much smaller place in Ellington. This area was very expensive, even though Ellington was the poor stepchild of Lexington, Concord, and Lincoln—even Bedford, for that matter.

  Carol and Brad had bought a 1950s Cape with three bedrooms, two baths, and a single-car garage. A far cry from the spacious colonel’s quarters they’d had on base. She’d filled every inch of it.

  “Of course. When do you want to do it?”

  “Is next Saturday too much to hope for? Besides all the things crammed in the house, the garage is stuffed. Brad is threatening to set it all out on the cu
rb.”

  “It’s not like I have anything else to do. I’ll come over tomorrow to start pricing. I can list it on Craigslist and the Wicked Local site. We’ll need to make some signs to put up near your house.”

  “You’re a doll. If you need anything or want to talk later about what happened today, call me, even if it’s in the middle of the night. Love you.”

  If Carol was having a garage sale, maybe I should get rid of some things, too. In the living room, I accessed the crawl space to the attic. I dragged out two boxes, pulling them over to the couch. I opened the first one. Right on top was one of our wedding albums. Not the photographer’s album with all the formal shots, but the one filled with pictures that friends had taken. I started flipping through it.

  Geez, we were young. I was nineteen and CJ twenty-one. We gazed at each other with googly eyes and sappy smiles. CJ in his mess dress, the air force equivalent of a tux; me in a simple white gown. Our mothers stood in the background with forced smiles or actual frowns if they didn’t know they were in the pictures. I bet CJ’s mom was giving him an earful now about making the mistake of marrying me. At least our dads were happy. Us toasting, cutting the cake, dancing like fools. Even pictures of us doing the sprinkler.

  Someone knocked on the door. I slapped the album closed.

  “Are you okay?” CJ asked when I answered the door.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I shrugged. I headed for the couch, where I tried to shove the wedding album out of sight. CJ took it from me and looked through it.

  “Hard to believe we went from that to this.”

  “There’s a simple explanation.”

  CJ set the album down.

  “Did you tell Special Agent Bristow about the shirts?” I asked.

  CJ shifted on the sofa. “No. I take it you didn’t, either?”

  “You didn’t watch when Bristow interviewed me?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to. I asked to be in the room with you.”

  “Why didn’t they let you?”

  “You’re my wife. You found the remains. Bristow didn’t think I could remain impartial. He was right.”

  I didn’t remind CJ I was his ex-wife. “I didn’t tell Bristow about the shirts. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “We’re digging a big hole for ourselves. This could all blow up in our faces.”

  “You mean you’re digging a big hole for yourself. It could blow up in your face.” Even as I said it, I knew I could be in trouble, too. I was no lawyer, but even I could build a case against myself: the wronged woman, the bloody shirts in my car, enough access to the base to have hunted Tiffany down when I was supposed to be working at the thrift shop. “I know we shouldn’t hide this, but as despicable as you’ve been, I know you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Thanks? When he was done with you, Bristow grilled me, too. Especially about my ID.”

  “How do you think it ended up in the field? Aren’t they supposed to be destroyed when you get a new one?”

  “Yes. Remember, I lost that one in December?”

  “Do you think Tiffany took it?” I asked.

  “She must have. It will take a while before the results on the DNA tests come back. Maybe it isn’t Tiffany. She might turn up. Then the shirts won’t matter.”

  “If it is Tiffany, it means the baby is dead, too.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I sucked in a deep breath.

  CJ ran a hand over his head. “I can’t even sort out how I feel about that yet. I’m not even sure it was mine.”

  It’s the first time I’d heard him say that. Up to this point, it was always about supporting the baby. “You could have done a DNA test after the baby was born.”

  “I know. What I did was wrong. Even if it wasn’t mine, that kid was going to need someone. Tiffany couldn’t support a baby on her own.”

  I didn’t know whether to toss him out or hug him.

  “I saw you with Pellner outside the station. What did he want?” CJ asked.

  My stomach full of ziti seemed to solidify. I’d put the whole Lowell thing out of my mind. “Some BS about watching myself and the force having your back. Then he gave me a ticket for jaywalking.” I had to admit to myself I was more than a little jealous. I wish some group had my back. CJ had always created a loyal following at all of our assignments.

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  That was the last thing I wanted. “Don’t worry about it. You’re lucky they feel that way about you. It’s one of your greatest strengths.”

  “Did you just give me a compliment?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. Do you want some ziti from DiNapoli’s to take with you?”

  “I’m leaving?”

  “Yes, CJ. I have stuff to do.” (I had nothing to do.)

  “I’d love some ziti. The only way I can get food from there is if someone picks it up for me. With the looks Angelo and Rosalie give me, someone spitting in my food is the least of my worries.”

  I tried not to smile. I guess someone had my back, after all.

  I tried to sleep: Images of vultures, bones, Tiffany, and the baby kaleidoscoped through my head. Those thoughts shifted to Agent Bristow, CJ, and Pellner. Pellner mentioned Lowell. I’d only made one trip to Lowell since I’d left CJ. How did Pellner know anything about it?

  It had been on a Friday night. I had called every friend I could think of. None of them were up for a girls’ night out. They all had plans with their husbands. I couldn’t distract myself cleaning. I’d scrubbed the apartment spotless in the wee hours when I couldn’t sleep.

  I finally realized I didn’t have to sit home. I could go out on my own. After a quick shower, I took extra care with my hair and makeup. I pulled on a black sleeveless dress that clung to my curves. I rooted around in my closet until I found my red peep-toed stilettos. I put them on and admired myself in the full-length mirror, which I’d hung on the back of the bedroom door. My lack of appetite had made my stomach flatter. The shoes made my muscled calves stand out. My cheeks were flushed. My eyes looked a little dangerous. At least I hoped they looked dangerous and not crazed.

  I climbed carefully into the Suburban, heading up the 128 toward Lowell. Lowell was an old mill town, not known for its nightlife, although it was a college town. It was far enough from Ellington that I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew and close enough to make it back after a drink.

  I drove down Lowell’s main drag, which looked a little seedier at night than I expected from my visits during the day. Since I was here, I wasn’t turning back, not until I had at least one drink out on my own. A little bit of my self-pity seeped away as I’d driven up here. I was an independent woman seeking a night of fun. I didn’t need anyone else to provide it for me.

  I spotted a bar with a parking spot that wasn’t too far away. After parking, I stopped in front of the door of the bar. Walking into someplace new, full of strangers, alone, didn’t sound as appealing as it had earlier. A group of people came up behind me. I attached myself to the back of their crowd and went in with them.

  A long bar lined the right wall. There was a band set up by a dance floor to the left. A few tables were scattered in the middle, with pool tables in the back. Not biker, not college, not upscale, but popular—the place was packed. I went with the group I’d followed into the bar. A guy at the front of the group announced to the bartender that the first round was on him. He was celebrating something. I didn’t catch what. When I finally made it to the front of the bar, the celebrating guy still stood there waiting to pay.

  “What do you want?” the bartender asked me.

  “A gin and tonic, extra lime,” I said. I glanced at the celebrating guy. He leaned one elbow on the bar as he waited. We were inches apart. “I’m not with his group.”

  The celebrator gave me the once-over and lifted his chin at the bartender. “Add her to my tab.”

  I looked at the guy, who was about my height, with my stilettos. “Not necessary.” I cou
ld buy my own drinks. The bartender had moved off to make my drink.

  “What is someone like you doing alone in a place like this?” he asked.

  I turned to face him. His white dress shirt, open at the collar, strained across his muscular chest and forearms. He was handsome enough that I bet a lot of women responded to his cheesy line.

  “Really? That’s the best you can do?” I asked him. “That’s your opening line?”

  “You got something better?”

  “Of course,” I said. The bartender came back and handed me my drink. I held out a ten to pay him, but he waved me off.

  “Seth said it was on his tab.”

  Seth handed over his credit card. “So let’s hear it.”

  “What?” I took a sip of my drink.

  “Your line. You said you had something better. I want to hear it.” He grinned, which highlighted his sturdy jaw.

  A smile played around my lips. I was out of practice with tossing out lines. I’m not sure I ever had any. CJ and I were very young when we met. “What are you doing for Patriots’ Day?”

  The band started up. Seth leaned in close. Spicy aftershave wafted off his warm skin. I breathed it in, thinking every man in America should be mandated to wear this stuff.

  “That’s your line? You think that’s better?” His breath brushed my ear.

  “Okay, maybe nice shoes.”

  I’ll give him credit. He tried to look down at my shoes, but we were too close together for him to see anything below my waist.

  “You shouldn’t make assumptions that I’m alone. My friends might be in the back.” I waved a hand toward the pool tables.

  Seth glanced over his shoulder. A bunch of pierced, tattooed guys played pool. “You’re going with those guys are your friends?”

  “They could be.”

  “Not the way you’re dressed. I know for a fact you were alone outside the bar. Looked like some wild creature getting ready to bolt from a predator. Then you attached yourself to the nearest herd. My herd.”