The Longest Yard Sale

by Sherry Harris

  “Maybe he was going to see if she was interested in investing,” Anna said. “I know that Dave and Terry were aggressively growing their business. They’ve been very successful.”

  Aggressive. Interesting term. I’d felt like killing more than one salesman in the moment.

  “I don’t mean aggressive as in an obnoxious, hard sale. I mean that they worked hard on their business plan and ways they could grow the company.”

  This is why I didn’t play poker. Even when I thought I’d maintained a neutral expression I obviously hadn’t.

  “They understood the needs of active-duty military and veterans,” Anna said.

  “Bubbles is smart and charming,” I said. “One of those ‘could sell sand in the Sahara’ salesman types.”

  “And both Terry and Bubbles are good with numbers. But over this last month . . .” Anna shook her head.

  “What happened over the last month?” I wondered about market performance during the past several weeks.

  “Terry got some threatening notes.”

  My eyes widened. “You told the police?”

  “Of course. And base security, the OSI. Anyone who would listen.”

  OSI was the Office of Special Investigations, a branch of the air force that looked into serious crimes. “What kind of notes?”

  “They were stupid. Terry wanted to toss them, but I kept them. Just in case.” Anna drew in a ragged breath. “I didn’t think ‘just in case’ would ever really happen.”

  “Do you have them?”

  “The police took them.”

  I was disappointed, but it wasn’t really any of my business.

  “But I kept copies. Let me get them.”

  I wasn’t sure why she was willing to share them with me. Maybe she just needed someone to unload on and I happened to be available.

  Anna spread the five notes out on the table. They did seem childish. Things like “I’ll make you pay,” “Watch out,” and “You’re wrong.” From what I remembered, the writing seemed similar to the one Bubbles received. CJ sure hadn’t let on that Terry had gotten notes, too.

  “Where did Terry find them?” I asked.

  “On the windshield, in the door. Places like that.” Anna shrugged.

  “On base or off base?”

  “Both. Do you think that’s important?”

  “I don’t know. Could I take photographs of the notes?”

  Anna hesitated before nodding.

  I took two shots of each note with my phone. “Where did Terry work?” I took another sip of my tepid coffee. Maybe Brad was the one who knew Terry, and not Carol.

  “In the vaults on base. I don’t know what he did.”

  The vaults meant Terry was involved in some kind of top-secret program. Brad had worked as an administrator at the clinic. So their paths wouldn’t have crossed based on work. But working in the vaults meant Terry knew a lot of secrets—another area CJ and Seth might be looking into. I’d never find out anything about that, and they might not be able to, either.

  “Did you or Terry have any idea why someone would threaten him?”

  Anna shook her head. “We wracked our brains trying to figure it out. Terry reviewed the company figures. They haven’t had a loss worth mentioning with any of their accounts.” Anna stood, so I did too. “I’ll help you load the food in your car.”

  The threats must have been directed at Terry. Or maybe Anna was the target and Terry had gotten in the way.

  My car was a ten-year-old Suburban that I babied as much as possible. It was the perfect vehicle for hauling stuff to and from garage sales. I had to curtail my garage sale habit since I lived in a one-bedroom apartment. Throwing yard sales for other people kept me busy on most weekends, anyway, and thus out of trouble.

  After I dropped the food off at the homeless shelter, I drove home and cleaned up. I headed up to New Hampshire to visit a couple of thrift shops I’d heard about near Nashua, in search of some furniture for a friend. After I’d finished at the thrift shops, I was meeting Seth for dinner, so I felt a bit giddy. I tried to analyze that feeling as I drove. What was it about Seth that made me smile? I hoped it wasn’t the whole rich and handsome thing, but if I was that shallow, I wouldn’t be holding back. He was smart and funny, and he liked me. Nothing not to like there.

  I pulled up to the first thrift shop and walked in. It was filled with clothes, baby items, and assorted glassware—not what I was on the hunt for this afternoon. But I took a quick turn around the place just in case something was tucked in a corner. No luck.

  As I listened to the directions my phone gave me to the next place, I wished there was something along those lines to guide the heart. Detour around this guy, exit before that one, take the express lane to another—he’s the one. But unfortunately, I had to figure out the whole Seth/CJ thing on my own.

  A white wicker furniture set consisting of a love seat, two chairs, and a table sat out in front of the next shop. That could be just the thing. I parked and tried not to scamper over. Be cool, I told myself. The closer I got, the more beat-up the set looked. I hoped it just needed a fresh coat of paint. But after walking around it and turning it over, I realized the wicker was broken in too many places to repair.

  I went into the shop and poked around. An hour later I came out with a small oil painting of a vase of roses and nothing else. But the owner had been lovely. She’d attended New England’s Largest Yard Sale and thought it was fabulous. Next year she wanted to have a booth. I promised to send her details as soon as I had them.

  As I drove down a winding lane lined with low stone walls and towering trees, I spotted a pile of stuff set near someone’s driveway. There was a FREE—TAKE ME sign hung on an old stereo console. I pulled over and hopped out, tempted by a jumble of old chairs, a spindled, rocking cradle with no bottom, and some old iron pieces and flowerpots.

  I couldn’t resist two of the chairs. One was a square-back with a ripped and stained seat. The other had a delicate carving of a shell and a broken cane bottom. I thought both were probably American-made, based on their simplicity. English and European chairs were generally fancier and more decorative. I loved chairs, but they aren’t a very practical thing to collect when you live in a small space.

  I picked up the cradle. It was pegged together and would come apart easily. The various pieces would look fabulous in someone’s garden, where flowers could climb the spindles. But there wasn’t any place to garden at Stella’s, so I turned my back on it. The two chairs fit easily into the back of the Suburban. As I got behind the wheel, I wondered how much it would cost to fix up my “free” chairs. I took one last look at the cradle and climbed back out. If I didn’t end up selling it myself, I’d take it to Carol for her garden in the spring.

  I’d arranged to meet Seth at a little diner on the outskirts of Nashua. Lots of people from Massachusetts shopped up here because New Hampshire didn’t have a state sales tax. There’d been a few scandals when Massachusetts officials were caught coming out of liquor stores or other shops with merchandise. There were laws about buying things here and reporting it in Massachusetts, but I’m fairly certain most people ignored them.

  I’d taken some time getting ready for our dinner before I’d left. After all, Seth was used to dining with Victoria’s Secret models. My hair shone, my makeup was as flawless as I could achieve on my own, and my eye shadow was smoky. I waited, studying the menu and the clientele, hoping I wouldn’t run in to anyone I knew. But since I didn’t know a lot of truckers, I felt fairly safe.

  Seth slid into the booth across from me. “How many more greasy spoons are you going to make us eat at?” he asked. He held up his spoon, which was indeed greasy.

  This didn’t seem to be a good start to the evening. He smiled to soften his words or me—one of the two. “You look awfully nice for someone who was up here, what did you call it, junking?”

  Yep, that had been my excuse to meet him up here—that I was already going to be out on a buying expedition for a
friend who wanted help furnishing her new home. “Just because I was junking doesn’t mean I have to look like junk.”

  He grabbed one of my hands, so I had to stop shredding the paper that recently covered my straw. “You never look like junk to me.”

  His dark, long-lashed eyes looked sincere. The cook slapped some burgers on the griddle. They sizzled and popped. Seth’s look had me sizzling, too. What was wrong with me that I kept him at a distance? And what was wrong with him that he let me?

  “Thank you,” I said, biting my tongue to keep from joking off the compliment. The waitress arrived, and we ordered. When Seth asked for clean silverware she snapped to, obviously wanting to please him, even though she was probably old enough to be his grandmother.

  I poked at my salad of iceberg lettuce that was on the verge of being spoiled. Seth powered through country-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy, sharing bites with me in the process, asking why anyone would order salad at a diner. He ordered chocolate cream pie with a graham-cracker crust for us to share. When the towering piece of pie arrived, he left his seat and moved over to sit beside me.

  “Bench sharing?” I asked. “Isn’t there a Seinfeld episode about this?”

  “There’s a Seinfeld episode about everything.”

  I dug my fork into the pie and wrapped my mouth around it. Seth leaned in to wipe a bit of the cream off the corner of my mouth before he took a bite.

  “I didn’t realize you decorated houses for people,” Seth said.

  “It’s not really decorating. I find pieces I think they’d like and help them arrange what they have to go with it. Just for a few friends.” I took another bite.

  “I’m your friend, right?” Seth said.

  I almost choked on the pie, thinking I’d just walked into something. I swallowed. “Of course.”

  “Great. I just bought a house in Bedford. I need help finding some things for it.”

  Bedford? One town over from me. He’d been living in an apartment in Lowell, a more comfortable twenty-five minutes away.

  “I love your apartment,” Seth said. “It feels homey. I’d like something similar.”

  “But you can afford any decorator in Boston.”

  “I don’t want some overly decorated apartment that’s been ‘done’ as a showcase. I want a home,” Seth said, flashing his smile. “Please?”

  Working closely with Seth to set up his house seemed about as smart as running across the base shooting range in front of the targets. The risk of getting hurt seemed enormous. “I’ll think about it.”

  “One more favor?” Seth asked. “A ride home?”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “Where’s your car? How’d you get here?”

  “I was in Nashua for a meeting with other DAs from around New England. A bunch of us carpooled up here. You don’t want to strand me here, do you?”

  “What did you tell them you were doing?” I asked.

  “The truth. Meeting a friend for dinner.”

  I didn’t like it, but I was kind of stuck. I couldn’t just leave him here. “Okay, let’s go.” I sighed inwardly. What could go wrong?

  CHAPTER 17

  Thirty minutes later we pulled up in front of his apartment complex.

  “Come up?” Seth asked. Before I could say no, he added, “In a strictly professional capacity. To assess my current furnishings and see what you’ll be able to use.”

  “I guess. Since I’m here.”

  “You sound reluctant. I’ve never made a pass at any of the people who work for me.”

  I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Without seeing where you’re moving to, it’s going to be hard to tell what’s usable and what isn’t.”

  After a quick jog up two flights of stairs, Seth unlocked the door and gestured for me to go in first. I only had the vaguest of memories of the place. I’d been here once and was drunk when I’d arrived. The following morning I’d scooted out as fast as possible.

  The furnishings were sleek, modern, and soulless. The shades of gray felt lifeless; I was actually a fan of gray, just not these grays. A large modern painting of splashes of gray hung on one wall.

  “How do you stand it in here?” I asked. “It’s so cold and depressing.”

  “I’m usually just passing through. And it’s why I asked you for help.”

  We walked from the living room to the small eating area. The table was a tall, wrought-iron-and-glass combo with three low-backed stools around it—one of those pieces that looked cool but wasn’t comfortable to use. The table was covered with a couple of computers and lots of papers. Seth added his briefcase to the mess. The tiny kitchen opened to the rest of the room. “Do you want some coffee?” Seth pointed to an espresso machine that looked well used.

  “No thanks.” I didn’t plan to stay that long. A few memories started flashing in my head, and heat warmed my face. “Let’s look at the rest of the place.”

  Seth seemed to be fighting a grin. He grabbed my hand and led me down a hall. One of the rooms was an office full of Red Sox memorabilia and a beautiful, large walnut desk. Its smooth top was clear of clutter and polished to a mirror-like shine. Oh, no. Had we . . . ? In here?

  I pulled my hand from his. “We can use the desk. For your office. In your new place,” I added hastily, my face growing even warmer. “And all your Red Sox things. They’d be perfect in a man cave, if you plan on having one in your new home.”

  “My last decorator wanted to me to toss everything in here, even after I explained the desk was my great-grandfather’s.”

  I shook my head. “The desk is amazing,” I said, turning to him. His eyes smoldered, and I rushed out of the room.

  I peeked in his bedroom. It held a large antique sleigh bed. That I remembered all too well. I hustled back to the living room and opened the front door. “The bed will work, too. Depending on the size of your bedroom.”

  “Sarah, wait. Don’t rush off.”

  “I have to,” I said over my shoulder as I slammed the door behind me. I zipped down to my car. I sat in the Suburban and fanned myself. I was having very X-rated thoughts on what was supposed to be a G-rated night.

  At seven the next morning, the sound of car doors slamming blew in through my bedroom window, along with a chilly breeze. I tossed the covers aside to see what had caused the racket. I flung open my curtains. Carol stood outside her store across the town common. Its door was wide open. Two police cars were parked out front, and police officers strolled in. Vincenzo’s black Town Car slid to the curb. He exited and headed to Carol’s side.

  The police must be executing the search warrants Vincenzo warned Carol would be coming. I spotted Seth walking up the street toward Vincenzo and Carol, carrying his briefcase. CJ walked down the sidewalk from the other direction, also heading toward Carol and Vincenzo. I watched in horror as they arrived and shook hands, first with each other, and then with Vincenzo and Carol.

  This town was just too small. They all turned and looked over in my direction. I ducked back in what I hoped was the nick of time, whatever the nick of time actually is. I took a hasty shower, threw on a long-sleeved top, jeans, and boots. After spending a few minutes on my hair and makeup, I was ready—for what I wasn’t sure—but a knock on the door proved my instinct was right. Please, don’t let it be all four of them. My heart couldn’t take it.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door. Stella stood there. I stuck my head out and looked around.

  “Expecting someone else?” Stella asked as she followed me into my apartment. “You look awfully nice. You must have been expecting a man.”

  “Can’t I look nice anytime?”

  “Sure, but this early in the morning?” Stella was in yoga pants and a sweatshirt but still looked cute. “I need to go on base and wondered if you’d go with me.”

  “Why are you going on base?”

  “Dave’s out of town for a few days, and he wanted me to check on his cat. I don’t want to go on base by myself.”
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  “Why not?”

  Stella let out a breath of air. “I don’t know—guilty conscience, fear of wandering into a secure area. Maybe it’s just the guards, fences, and razor wire. And I haven’t been on Fitch since my senior year of high school for a swim meet.”

  “You were a competitive swimmer?”

  “No. But I liked one.”

  It might be good to get out of here while CJ and Seth were both in such close proximity. I’d check in with Carol when I got back. “As long as we swing through Dunkin’ Donuts on the way,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

  Twenty minutes later we drove onto the base. We’d already gone to the visitors center to get a pass. That was the easy part because Dave had left instructions allowing Stella to get on base.

  Stella looked around as we drove. “Is the bowling alley still here?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  “I spent a lot of time there my junior year.”

  “Let me guess: you liked a guy.”

  “No. I was on a team. Back then there wasn’t any razor wire, gates, or guards. Anyone could come on. Then after 9/11 they beefed up all the security.”

  I took a right, and we passed the youth center, a place for kids to hang out, then the elementary and middle schools, and the base swimming pool. We drove up Luke Road. Bubbles lived in one of the older two-bedroom town houses near the top of the hill. It was an end unit that was connected to three others.

  Stella looked up at the two story-building as we parked. “These look old.”

  “They are,” I said. I was so used to the rows of white buildings that I didn’t pay much attention to them. Some were right on the street; others sat back on U-shaped courtyards. All the garages were behind the units.

  “Wonder why he doesn’t live in one of those?” Stella mused as I parked, pointing across the street to the cute, brick Cape-style houses.

  We walked up the short sidewalk to his door. “I’m guessing he could have. It’s all based on rank and number of dependents.”