Sell Low, Sweet Harriet

by Sherry Harris

  “China?” Eleanor grinned at me. “Does this have anything to do with a handsome DA?”

  “No.” It came out a little louder than I intended it to. I was a long way from thinking about picking out china with Seth, or anything else for that matter. I enjoyed my freedom. Although I did like him very, very much. My face warmed and Eleanor laughed. I still needed to guard my heart. All that I’d gone through with CJ had left me a bit scarred and scared. Definitely scared.

  “Then what are you going to do with all of this?” Eleanor asked. “I have a friend who’s been left so many different sets of china that she uses it as her everyday dishes.”

  I told Eleanor what I planned to do with it. But maybe she was right. I could use this china and get rid of the dishes CJ and I had picked out together when we got married. Maybe the china CJ and I used could be turned into the serving pieces I’d been thinking about. And I’d have the added advantage of having one less reminder of CJ at home. “Maybe I will do that too. I don’t have a dishwasher anyway, so I can’t damage the gold edges.” It was a pretty set. And new old things were so much fun.

  “I gave up worrying about the gold around my plates. It’s either, I’m never going to use them, or I can use them with the gold worn off.”

  “That’s smart.” My phone chimed. A reminder that I needed to head over to Jeannette’s parents’ house. “I have to run,” I told Eleanor.

  “Thanks for helping out,” she said.

  “Anytime.”

  Eleanor laughed. “You know I’m going to hold you to that.”

  * * *

  I was the biggest chicken ever. I sat in front of Jeannette’s house, daring myself to go in. Snow was falling softly. The snow from yesterday hadn’t melted. I had sat here long enough with the engine off that the heat from the seat warmer had dissipated. I either needed to start the car or go in. Sitting here wasn’t doing a thing.

  I grabbed the salad I’d swung by the grocery store and picked up on the way over, got out, and slammed the car door. Resolve. It was just a house. But I trekked around it as snow clung to my coat, hair, and even my eyelashes. I wanted to make sure all the windows were closed and locked. I wished the drapes weren’t drawn across so many of them. I came back around the corner and about jumped out of my pants when I almost ran Pellner down.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “A neighbor called in a suspicious person.” Pellner frowned at me. “You’re working here today? Alone?”

  “Yes. I have a job to do.” I wouldn’t admit to him how relieved I was to see him. I could barely admit it to myself.

  “Do you want me to go in with you? Do a walk-through?”

  I nodded. “Please. I admit I’ve been a little freaked out about going in. It’s why I was walking around out here. Suspiciously.” I grinned at Pellner, happy to have him here. I’d been in plenty of bad situations before and hadn’t been so shaken.

  Pellner agreed. “Come on.”

  We walked through the house together. Pellner checked out the basement with me and even pulled down the attic ladder. He climbed the steps, flashed his light around, and came back down.

  “The whole place is clear,” he said. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks for coming in. I’ve turned into such a wimp.”

  “With good reason.”

  “Any news about Fake Troy or whoever he really is?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Thin air so far. I’ll swing back by later in my shift to check on you. Until then, keep the bolts on the door and call 911 if you get scared.”

  “Will do.” I bolted the door behind him. I stuck a chair under the door that led to the basement and put the safety chain across the door that led to the garage. That should keep me safe enough. Then I smacked my hand to my forehead. I should have asked Pellner if Alicia had been poisoned or if that was just some wild base rumor that someone had started. Between Eleanor rattling me with her china question, me spooking myself, and then being startled by Pellner, it had slipped my mind. He said he’d swing back by; I would ask him then.

  I tried calling Special Agent Bristow to see if I could find anything out. I got his voicemail and asked him to call me. I wasn’t about to mention the poison in a message or he’d never call me back. I set my phone down and turned my attention to the job at hand. Jeannette’s parents’ house was a treasure trove. I never knew what I would discover in the next drawer or the next cupboard. It was like being at a birthday party and getting to open gifts. Fortunately, no one was around to hear me squeal with delight. It had been a long time since I’d had this much fun pricing things, even though some of the things were a challenge to figure out.

  They had such an eclectic mix of items and didn’t seem to have much of a system for where they put what. I opened a cedar chest in the living room. It sat under the picture window and had a cushion on it for extra seating. The cedar scent wafted out. The chest was filled with photo albums and scrapbooks. I started flipping through them to see if they were personal family albums or if they contained things that could be sold.

  The first two were family albums. But the third one, oh yes, was filled with vintage postcards. I had a hard time resisting vintage postcards and these needed saving. They were in an old photo album in individual plastic sleeves that used to be so popular. The plastic would eat away at the old paper, eventually ruining the postcards. They needed to be on archival paper or in an archival box that wouldn’t react with them.

  I took the postcards out one by one. Some were from Boston with sites like the Boston Public Library, Boston Harbor, and a hotel I’d never heard of. There was one of South Station. On the back it said it was the gateway to the South and West. That more passengers went through it in the course of a year than any similar station in the world. It was hard to tell the age, but the cars on the postcard led me to believe it was from the late thirties.

  But my favorite was one of the Old South Church. Benjamin Franklin was baptized there. I’d been to it myself when I toured Boston. The postcard called it the “Sanctuary of Freedom.” I’d have to look it up and see why.

  I flipped to the next page. It was full of Christmas cards. The next, New Year’s Eve cards. I crossed my fingers, hoping the next would be full of Valentines. Woo-hoo. It was. I took them all out of their sleeves. Surely, one of these would be just right for Pellner to give to his wife. One was a little girl and boy with two hearts between them. It said: Two hearts beat as one they say—But my one beats like two. In fact it beats like sixty—Whenever I see you. Red hearts rimmed the border. I loved it. I still had to find him a piece of cobalt glass that would be unique and different than anything his wife had. I hoped I could find a vase of some sort that he could put flowers in. That would be perfect.

  I took the rest of the cards out of the album—Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, along with some from New York City, and one old linen card of Fenway Park from 1933. It was likely the most valuable one of all. I did a quick price check on my phone. There was a similar one selling for twenty-nine dollars. That didn’t mean it would go for that, but would give me a starting price. I would watch the card online and see what it sold for. If a lot of people swooped in at the last minute and a bidding war broke out, it could be fun to watch. I added a reminder on my phone to let me know when the sale was almost over.

  I took the Valentine with me to the kitchen, found a notepad and pen, and wrote Jeannette a note telling her I’d like to buy the Valentine card from her for a friend of mine. After looking up prices on my phone I added what I thought the approximate value was and marked it up a bit to be fair. I also added a bit about finding the family albums and the stack of vintage postcards I’d taken out of their album.

  I took a break and ate my lunch before getting back to work. An hour later my phone rang. I stood and stretched as I reached for it. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local so I answered it anyway. It might be a new client.

  “Sarah,
this is Zoey Whittlesbee.”

  Her name didn’t sound familiar. “Hi,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  “Becky said you were looking for someone to do some part-time work for you.”

  “I am.” Yes! I smiled as I explained the job and pay to her. “Are you interested?”

  “Absolutely. If I can work when my kids are in school and on weekends when my husband is home.”

  “That’s not a problem.” But what I had to say next might be, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, not tell her about the odd man showing up and then disappearing from the hospital. I explained the situation. “So if that changes your mind I understand completely.” I waited for a couple of moments. “Zoey?”

  “Oh, sorry. I got a text from my daughter. She wants me to break her out of school early.” Zoey laughed. “I get at least one of these a week. The answer is always no, but she doesn’t give up. I always tell myself that her persistence will pay off some day in her future.”

  “I’m sure it will. About the job?”

  “Oh, I’m in. If we are both there how dangerous can it be?”

  I hoped those weren’t famous last words. She agreed to meet me at the house tomorrow morning at ten.

  * * *

  I sent Jeannette a quick text telling her I’d hired Zoey. Jeannette wouldn’t have to worry about me being here alone for much longer. She let me know that the new security system was being installed first thing in the morning. A couple of hours later I was up to my wrists in a box of Japanese netsuke. I traced a finger over one of the small carved ornaments once used on an obi—a sash worn around a kimono—to attach and hold a small pouch for men. The one I held looked like a fish, complete with tiny scales. The craftsmanship was amazing. Some of the netsukes were jolly-looking men, others were animals that were so intricate they looked almost lifelike. They were made from everything from ivory to boxwood. I was amazed the family didn’t want to keep them. This would be a great draw for the sale because collectors went nuts for them.

  Pellner sent me a text saying he was on his way over and that he didn’t want to scare me by just pounding on the door. I appreciated that, since I’d been jumping at every little creak and groan the house saw fit to release. I stood in the window waiting for him. It was still snowing. My Suburban had about an inch on top of it. It seemed like it took forever for Pellner to arrive.

  “Alicia was poisoned?” I asked as soon as he stepped inside.

  Pellner’s expression didn’t change, which told me a lot. I recognized cop face from my years of living with CJ.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Please. I can see it in your face,” I said.

  “Where did you hear that?” Pellner continued to sidestep my question.

  “At the thrift shop. I was there this morning.”

  “Ah, the base rumor mill. Even I’ve heard about how quickly rumors spread. It’s possibly worse than the person-to-person telegraph in Ellington,” Pellner said. “You can’t believe everything you hear.” He looked out the window. Dark was creeping over the town. Night fell early in January in Massachusetts. The snow continued unabated. “The wind is supposed to increase and temperatures drop rapidly.”

  “In other words, it’s going to get slick out there.”

  Pellner nodded. “Are you staying much longer?”

  “I think I’ll wrap this up and head home.”

  “Okay. Take care.”

  After Pellner left I stowed the box of netsuke, made sure all the doors were locked, and headed out to my car. Wrapped in thoughts and my warm winter coat.

  * * *

  As I climbed the stairs to my apartment with the box of china I’d bought at the thrift shop, voices came from the empty apartment next to mine. Had Stella found a renter already? That was fast. Although rentals in this area always went fast. But what happened to checking the people out and asking me? I set the china down at the top of the steps and took off my gloves one at a time. It felt like I was getting ready for a fight. There were only two doors up here: mine to the left and the empty apartment to the right. Its door was open. I heard Stella’s voice and another familiar one. It was Mike “the Big Cheese” Titone.

  Chapter Twelve

  I followed the voices and found Stella standing there with Mike Titone.

  “Hello?” The room only had a couch in it. The front window provided the same view of the town common and Congregational church as I had. The scene made me smile. Especially with snow covering the ground. Seeing Mike, on the other hand, made me nervous.

  “Sarah.” Mike came over and kissed both of my cheeks. Mike was a runner, slender, tall, with icy blue eyes that sometimes scared me. “It looks like we are going to be neighbors again.”

  He was certainly in a good mood right now. Oftentimes he was reserved, bordering on cold.

  “Oh.” It wasn’t much of a response to his “neighbors” comment, but when he had lived here last winter it was because he was hiding from someone in Boston. Someone who had tried to kill him. People from Boston seemed to think that Ellington was in the hinterlands, even though it was only fifteen miles as the crow flies from Boston. Maybe less. And one town blended into the next the whole way here. Mike owned a cheese shop in the North End of Boston and had connections to the Mob but had a good side too.

  I was never sure which side of him would show up, but more often than not he would help me out when I needed it. Sometimes at the cost of owing him. And the cost of owing him was high. I’d like to do him a favor and get the owing part off the proverbial plate that constituted our relationship.

  “You’re moving back in?” I asked. Stella shot me a don’t be rude look—maybe because of my tone. It wasn’t exactly happy.

  “Last night someone broke into my store, filled a metal garbage can full of cheese, dragged it out to the curb and lit it on fire.” Mike’s tone was light, but there must be more to the story if it was enough to make him come stay out here.

  “All that cheese,” I bemoaned. That’s one positive thing I could always say about Mike, his cheese shop was amazing.

  “Yeah, well, don’t worry. Whoever did it was thoughtful enough to provide a clean trash can, so it was like an instant fondue party on the block by the time I got there.”

  I laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Naw. You’ve never seen so much Italian bread in one place at one time. Everyone was happy except for my neighbor Alan. He has some weird cheese phobia.”

  “But you must feel like it’s some kind of message if you’re here,” I said.

  Mike shrugged.

  “Do you know who did it?” I asked. Someone like Mike must have security out the wazoo.

  “It was someone savvy enough to get around all of my security measures.” He didn’t sound happy. “I have friends checking cameras on the block, but so far it’s turned up nothing solid. What with the fondue party and all.”

  “That and the tourists,” I added. The North End was a popular place for tourists to visit with its combination of historical sites and fabulous Italian restaurants and bakeries.

  “Well, we’re glad to have you back,” Stella said with a side glance at me.

  Glad might not have been the word I used, but whatever. I wondered what Awesome would think about Mike being here. I guessed that he wouldn’t be thrilled and he was already grouchy. I hoped this didn’t make things worse.

  “The boys will be moving a few things in this evening, Sarah. I hope it doesn’t disturb you.”

  “No worries. I’m glad you’re safe.” I hoped we all would be. Someone sophisticated enough to get around Mike was a concern.

  “We’re taking the usual precautions. Flying and driving our cell phones to different locations. Making reservations in far-off locales. The way the weather’s been, a trip to someplace warm would be nice.”

  “Then why are you staying?” I asked.

  “To find the rat who did it.”

  * * *

 
Minutes later I was unlocking the door to my apartment and hanging up my coat. I set the box of china on the trunk I used as a coffee table. I rubbed my arms and went over to turn up the thermostat a couple of degrees. Then I looked out over the common. The snow pelted down and the skeletal branches waved frantically. I pulled the curtains across the window and shivered.

  Special Agent Bristow called. “Are you still available for the dining-out?”

  “I am, but I thought you didn’t need me anymore,” I said.

  “Alicia’s husband is off the hook.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Yes, really. He has one of those smart beds that shows he was in it at the suspected window for the time of death.”

  “His bed gave him his alibi?” I asked. I’d heard of personal fitness devices providing alibis or placing someone at the scene of the crime, but not a bed.

  “It’s a whole different world. These beds can track all kinds of things.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t him.” I didn’t add that I hadn’t thought it was him. “Do you have another suspect?”

  Special Agent Bristow paused. I could picture him rubbing his face. “No one we can charge. We’re back to the drawing board.”

  We decided to meet at the venue Friday night. He had offered to pick me up at my apartment, but that seemed awkward and too date-like. Bristow said a quick goodbye and hung up.

  He didn’t give me a chance to ask about the poison. Although a bed couldn’t provide an alibi for a poisoning. Or could it, depending on the type of poison and how fast acting it was? I called him back, but he didn’t answer. Again. This was all very confusing. Maybe I’d misread Pellner when I brought up the poisoning. Maybe his cop look was just that and not a comment on the validity of my statement. A gust of wind rattled the windows. I was rattled as well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I got a heart text from Seth. He was working late and must be in a meeting since he hadn’t called. At least he’d made it back from D.C. I fixed a quick Fluffernutter sandwich for my dinner. I’d never heard of them or eaten one until I moved to Massachusetts. Marshmallow fluff had been invented in Somerville and someone decided to pair it with peanut butter and white bread. Then it became the state sandwich of Massachusetts. It was easy and satisfying. Not as good as the food from DiNapoli’s, but good enough on a cold winter night when I didn’t want to venture out.