All Murders Final!

by Sherry Harris

  Seth stood and laughed. “It’s fine. It’s just a shirt.”

  “Hand it over.”

  Seth unbuttoned his shirt, and I braced myself for the sight of his bare chest. Fortunately, he had a white T-shirt on, but it was also soaked with wine. He yanked it off over his head. I held my hand out for both, trying not to stare at his chest. Eyes up.

  “Do you have a towel?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I kicked off my traitorous fuzzy slippers and dashed off to get one. I returned and watched as he carefully blotted up as much of the excess wine on his blue shirt as he could.

  “Do you have any club soda?” he asked.

  “Yes. Give me the shirts and I’ll rinse them.”

  “Just point me to where it is, and I’ll take care of it.”

  He followed me into the kitchen, which seemed smaller than normal, considering his proximity and bare chest. I opened the fridge and pointed. “There’s the club soda.” I hustled out of the kitchen and grabbed a couple of hangers from my bedroom.

  “Here,” I said, when I returned to the kitchen and handed him the hangers. “We can hang your shirts from the shower rod so they can dry.” After Seth put the shirts on the hangers, I took them to the bathroom. I couldn’t sit out there with him half naked. I only had so much willpower when it came to Seth. So I went back into my bedroom and scrounged around in my dresser until I found the biggest T-shirt I owned.

  Seth sat on the couch and I tossed him the T-shirt. God help me, if I didn’t watch him pull that thing on. It hugged his chest and flat abs, but this was much better than bare. I hustled back into the kitchen and fanned myself with a dish towel. I needed to turn down the thermostat. After pouring him another glass of wine, I went back into the living room. I meant to sit in my grandmother’s rocker by the window, but Seth grabbed my wrist and pulled me down next to him. I’d like to say I shot off the couch. Instead, I stayed, took a drink of my wine, and smiled when I felt Seth’s lips brush across my hair. I fit next to him so well. But that made me think of CJ and the promise I’d made to myself to keep my distance from both of them until I could figure out—with a clear head—what I wanted. Or whom. I put a little space between us. I felt more than heard Seth’s sigh of resignation.

  “I’m sorry you found Margaret,” Seth said. “Are you okay?”

  I found my head circling in a yes-no motion. I propped my feet up on the old trunk I used as a coffee table, grateful I’d given myself a pedicure a few days ago. “It was horrible finding her.”

  “Tell me about the picture.”

  I quickly told him all I remembered. Which was what I’d told the police and the state troopers. “You must have read my statement.”

  “I did, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

  “So you could tell if I was guilty?”

  “No. So I could see how I could help you.” He studied me for a minute. “As a friend.”

  I gave a little snort. Friend. Funny. I didn’t feel like ripping the shirt off and jumping into the lap of any of my other friends.

  “And I know CJ’s out of town.”

  Apparently, everyone had that bit of information. “So you thought I needed protecting. I’m not some fragile damsel in distress.” Yes, yes, I am. Please don’t buy my bravado and leave me.

  “No. Like I said, I thought you might need a friend.”

  That took the wind out of my sails.

  We talked and finished the bottle of wine. I woke at three, sprawled across Seth’s chest, his arms wrapped around me. He snored gently. I slipped out of his arms, got a blanket from my room, and put it around him. Part of me wanted to snuggle under it with him, but I couldn’t see that leading to any place good, or maybe I saw it leading to someplace very good that I needed to avoid. So I crawled in my own bed and slept better than I would have thought possible given my day.

  * * *

  At 9:30 a.m. I scurried to the bathroom because I needed to freshen up before facing Seth. Seth’s shirt and T-shirt were no longer hanging from my shower rod. I peeked around the corner into the living room. The blanket was neatly folded on the couch, and a piece of paper lay on top of it, but my T-shirt was nowhere to be seen. The piece of paper was a note from Seth: Let me know if you need anything. Call me if anything else happens. He’d underlined the word anything twice. I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. Needed, wanted, I could barely tell the two apart anymore, which was why last October I’d told both him and CJ that I needed a break. But now that I’d seen Seth and knew I still had feelings for him—lots of messy, wonderful, scary feelings—I realized I needed to see CJ again and soon.

  Pellner called and told me I could pick up my car at the station, which was a good thing because I had a meeting on base this morning. I bundled up, hoping that Stella was home and could give me a ride. If she wasn’t, I’d make the walk. Even though the sun was shining and some of the snow was melting, it was cold out, according to the weather app on my phone. I trotted down the stairs and knocked on Stella’s door. She answered, also bundled up and looking like she was leaving for the day. Her cat, Tux, meowed behind her. He was black, with a white chest. I’d found him a collar that looked like a bow tie in the front. He was the George Clooney of the cat world.

  “It’s okay, boy. I’ll be back,” Stella said as she started to close her door. I waved at Tux, but I wasn’t sure he appreciated the gesture. Stella taught voice at Berklee College of Music. We were about the same age and height, but she had exotic Mediterranean looks, with olive skin and deep green eyes, while I had dark blond hair and blue eyes.

  “Where are you off to this morning?” I asked.

  “I’m meeting the family for Sunday brunch in Boston. Then giving some private lessons this afternoon. You?”

  “I need a ride to the police station.”

  “The police station?” Stella’s voice sounded concerned, with a hint of amusement.

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Stella murmured sympathetically while she drove and I told her the story. It didn’t take long to reach the station.

  After thanking Stella, I trotted up the steps and entered the lobby. It was a square space with a couple of chairs, two doors, which I knew were locked and which you had to be buzzed through, and a bulletproof glass window with a small opening for speaking through. No desk in the lobby with a gossipy receptionist sitting there who might fill me in on what was going on with Margaret. Or even a stoic Yankee receptionist who might walk off to get something, allowing someone like me to snoop.

  No, this lobby was snoop proof. Darn the Ellington police and their modern ways. I walked up to the window. The desk on the other side was empty. “Hello,” I called, putting my lips near the vent-like thing embedded in the window. I hoped it amplified my voice so someone would hear me. After a few moments a woman with puffy red eyes showed up. Her name tag read MORE. I wondered if she was the dispatcher who couldn’t talk to me yesterday morning and how she was related to Margaret.

  “I came to pick up the keys for my Suburban. Officer Pellner said I could pick it up.”

  The woman gave a short nod and disappeared from my view. She returned a few minutes later and slid the keys through a contraption like you see at the movie theater. “The car’s round the side of the building.”

  She turned away before I could even say thank you.

  * * *

  It was 10:30 a.m. by the time I stood in the community center on Fitch Air Force Base, the site of the February Blues garage sale. I handed Laura Nicklas, my good friend and the base commander’s wife, one of the two cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee I’d swung by and picked up on the way over here. Mine was almost gone, because I’d needed the jolt of caffeine this morning. I dropped my purse in a corner to keep it out of the way.

  Laura took a drink. “Yum. Just what I needed. Thanks.” Laura stood about two inches taller than my five-six and looked a lot like Halle Berry. She’d actually gotten into arguments with people who insisted she was indeed Ha
lle. As if she wouldn’t know she was a rich and famous movie star. Laura had sponsored me on base, which allowed me access after I went to the visitors center, filled out a form, and got a pass to display on the dashboard of my Suburban.

  The security forces were sticklers for procedure, even with people like me, who used to live on base. Usually, the pass they gave me was only good for a few hours, but with the work leading up to the February Blues garage sale, Laura had gotten me a thirty-day pass. Woo-hoo! Now I wouldn’t have to go to the visitors’ center and fill out a form every time I came to base to help with the sale. By showing the pass and my driver’s license to the security guard at the gate, I’d be able to sail right through. It would feel like the old days—just over a year ago—when CJ and I were still married and I had a dependent’s ID that allowed me on base.

  I looked around the room. My status on base might have changed, but the carpet here hadn’t. It was still old and stained, and the crystal chandeliers seemed to be at odds with our purpose, but we were able to use the room for free, so neither of those things really mattered.

  “Why are we doing the sale on a Friday? Aren’t they usually on Saturdays, when more people are off work?” Laura asked. One of the many duties Laura had as the base commander’s wife was running the base thrift shop, so she was savvy about sales.

  “That would usually make sense, but more people are on base during the week because of all the people who commute to work here, so I thought Friday would be better.” I hoped my theory was right. “More people means more sales.”

  “Okay. You’re the expert. Where do we start?” Laura asked. “I don’t have much time, because I have to go to mass.”

  “Let’s go to the storeroom and measure what size tables are available. Then we can start laying out a floor plan for the room.”

  “I hate that creepy storeroom. I always think I’m going to find a dead body in there.”

  I winced, thinking about Margaret.

  “What? What do you know?” Laura asked. We started walking across the room, which was about the size of an elementary school gymnasium. “Do you know something about Margaret More? Did CJ tell you something juicy?”

  “CJ didn’t tell me anything.”

  “But . . . I know you have a but.” And that was why Laura always knew what was going on around base. She was observant, she asked the right questions, or she could stare you down like you were a teenager fibbing about where you’d been.

  “I found her.”

  “No.” Laura’s mouth dropped open so far, I was pretty sure her jaw hit her toes. “How’d you happen to be the one who found her?”

  “I went to pick up the stuff she was donating for the silent auction.”

  “Where’d you find her? How’d she look?”

  The image of Margaret there in her car, looking so peaceful, floated through my mind. I shuddered. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

  “Sorry. I watch too many of the CSI shows. It’s fascinating. Are you okay?”

  “As okay as anyone can be after finding someone you know dead.”

  “How’d it happen? They didn’t say anything on the news last night.”

  “I can’t say.” I finished my coffee to keep myself from adding anything else and tossed the cup in a trash bin.

  Laura didn’t press me. “Fine. I get it. This is going to sound shallow, but she promised us a Cartier watch to auction off. No way we’ll be able to come up with another one.”

  “How well did you know her?” I asked.

  “I saw her at a lot of events. You know, charity balls, silent auctions, military functions.” Since Laura’s husband was the wing commander for Fitch, they got invited to a lot of functions. “I’ve been to tea at her house a number of times.”

  “Did she go with someone to the events? I read her husband has been dead for five years.”

  Laura stopped in front of the storeroom door and sorted through a set of keys. “There was one man I saw her with a few times.”

  “Mess dress or tux?” Mess dress was what the air force called the uniform that was formal wear. CJ had worn his mess dress to our wedding and had looked oh, so very handsome.

  “Tux.”

  “So not military.”

  “Probably not.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “A bit younger than her. Nice looking, but nothing that really made him stand out in a crowd.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “No. What is this? An inquisition?”

  “Sorry. I blame it on CJ’s influence.”

  “Maybe you should go into law enforcement.”

  “No thanks. I’d never make it through the academy. I can barely do one pull-up. And garage sales are a lot less scary. So did Margaret and the man seem like a couple?”

  Laura pursed her lips. “Not really. But the last time I saw them, they had some sort of argument. He stormed off, and Margaret’s face was bright red. A couple of her friends rushed over to her, and they all disappeared for a while.”

  “When was that?”

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  “Interesting.” Maybe it was interesting enough that I needed to tell someone at the Ellington Police Department.

  Laura unlocked the storeroom and threw open the door. The space was dimly lit and musty smelling. We could barely see into the dark corners.

  I pointed to the round tables stacked to the left. “Those won’t work. They’re too hard to stand behind and sell from.”

  “How about the rectangular ones?” Laura gestured toward the right.

  “Yes. Those look perfect.” I whipped a tiny tape measure out of my pocket, measured the tables, and jotted the dimensions in the note section of my phone.

  “Ladies.”

  Laura and I jumped, screamed, and turned almost simultaneously.

  Chapter 6

  James stood there, holding his beret. Because of military regulations, he had to take his beret off inside and wear it when he was outside.

  “Whoa. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” James was a cop for the security forces on base. He always introduced himself as “James, not Jim,” so most people called him Not Jim. I stuck with James because I knew he liked it better. But I’d noticed the few times I’d seen him since he returned from his deployment last October that people were calling him James instead of his jokey nickname. He’d returned a harder man than he’d been when he left last spring. It worried me.

  “I saw the door open, and then I saw Sarah’s Suburban, so I thought I’d stop and say hi.”

  “Don’t sneak up on people,” Laura said, patting her chest.

  “I didn’t mean to, ma’am. I apologize.” James’s light brown eyes had a few wrinkles around them. I’d like to think they were laugh lines, but I wondered if they were stress lines instead. His dark brown hair was longer than a lot of military guys wore theirs, just barely within regulations.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to go all ‘ma’am’ on me,” Laura said.

  But really he did, not because of who Laura was, but because of her husband’s position and superior rank. I used to get the same treatment, but since CJ was out and we were divorced, I could just be Sarah.

  Laura glanced at her phone. “I have to run. Can you finish measuring the space and lock up, Sarah?”

  “Sure.”

  She held up her coffee cup. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m sorry to desert you. I owe you one.”

  “No you don’t,” I said to Laura’s back. I hated it when I did something for someone and they said “I owe you.” I did it because I wanted to, not so someone would owe me something.

  I turned to James. He was a bit older than most of his peers, because he had enlisted at twenty-seven, instead of right out of high school, like so many kids did. James and I got along well, and for a while last spring I’d thought he had a crush on me. When CJ had still been active duty and we’d lived on base, James had always swung by when CJ was deployed or T
DY, off on temporary duty, to see if I needed anything. “How are you?” I asked.

  “I was worried about you. I heard you found Margaret More yesterday.”

  The base had memorandums of agreements with the local police departments of the surrounding towns, which meant they helped each other with crimes. But I guessed that bit of information didn’t come over official channels, since Ellington wouldn’t need base law enforcement for Margaret’s case.

  “How did you hear?”

  James shrugged. “The old gossip mill. You know Fitch. It’s like a small town. Word gets around.”

  It didn’t look like James had anything else to say on that subject, and I didn’t want to push him. The pre-deployment James I might have, but this James just wasn’t as easygoing.

  “Have you heard if there’s an official cause of death?” he asked.

  “Not yet. You probably know as much about that as I do. Maybe more.”

  We stared at each other for a moment. It felt like something needed to be said, but since I didn’t know what, I snapped back to my purpose for being here. “I’ve got to measure the room so I can start making a map of how many tables I can cram in here for the garage sale.”

  “Do you want some help?” James asked. That was the pre-deployment James I knew and loved, the one who was warm and helpful.

  “Sure. If you have time, it will go a lot faster.”

  I trotted over to where I’d dropped my purse, and pulled out my industrial-sized tape measure. With James holding one end of the tape measure, we finished up quickly. I added the dimensions to the notes on my phone.

  “James to the rescue again,” I said when we finished.

  James didn’t smile at my quip. In fact, he didn’t smile as much as he used to. It made me sad.

  We locked the place up and exchanged an awkward hug. “Thanks for your help,” I told him.

  James waited until I was in my car and pulling out of the lot before he took off in his patrol car.

  * * *

  I walked into the lobby of the EPD and approached the window. Two trips in one morning. This time a man sat there. “I need to speak to someone,” I said.