“I bet you get a good price.”
“I always try to be fair.”
“Has anyone ever given you stuff?” Zoey asked. “Besides Jeannette giving you the dress?”
“Sometimes.” I moved more glasses from the shelf to the counter.
“What price should I put on the glasses?”
“Twenty-five cents. The jam jars can go in a free box.”
“Why do you put things in a free box if you are trying to make money for your client and yourself?”
“I always check with a client first, but a free box set near the front of a sale can bring buyers in. Plus there’s less to deal with afterward. If I can get someone else to haul stuff off, the less work for me and the client.”
By the end of the day we had done a lot of work in the kitchen, but there was plenty to go. Jeannette’s parents weren’t hoarders—the house was too neat for that—they just had a lot of stuff. Fortunately, Zoey had caught on quickly how to price things. I spot checked some of the things to make sure she was on track. We cranked up some tunes and sang while we priced.
“Thanks for all of your hard work today,” I said at four.
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I can’t help out tomorrow.”
“No worries. Enjoy your time with your family. And I’ll see you on Monday.” After Zoey left I locked the door behind her. I decided to work for another hour. Seth wasn’t coming over until seven, so if I quit at five I’d have plenty of time to get ready. Without Zoey here the house seemed creepier. It was getting dark out and snow was falling yet again. Welcome to January in Massachusetts.
I checked my phone to see if there was any local news about Becky. Nothing. And no texts from anyone on base, so whatever was going on with her must not be out in public. Yet.
I went back into the hall that led to the bedrooms and started pricing items hanging on the walls. Pictures snapped and framed by Jeannette’s parents were basically worthless. Unless a photograph was by someone famous like Ansel Adams, no one would pay much. The frames had some value but not much.
I hummed because I didn’t want the radio up loud enough to cover any other noises. I guess I was more freaked out about being here alone than I realized. Surely, if Pellner had heard anything about the mystery man he would have called. I guess in this instance no news wasn’t good news. I wandered down the hall to the office and looked in, as though it would have some answers for me. But all I had were unanswered questions.
Honestly, what was that guy doing in here? And the one who attacked him? What were the odds that two random men would show up here at the same time on a day that I happened to be here, after the house had been sitting empty for several months? Astronomical. The odds would be off the charts. Of course this was real life and coincidences happened all the time. You go to some random spot on vacation and there’s your best friend from second grade. That sort of thing. Maybe the two of them were working together. When Fake Troy got hurt the other guy took off.
I sat down in the desk chair and looked around. My first thought was that the break-in had to do with Jeannette’s parents being CIA agents. There was so much stuff to go through. Finding a stashed secret would be next to impossible. I opened one of the desk drawers. It was full of pens. I took them out one at a time and clicked each one several times. They were regular dull pens and none of them looked like the pen with the disappearing ink that I’d used two days ago.
I picked up a blue one, clicked on it, and jokingly spoke into it. “Testing, testing.” I clicked the cap and it replayed my words. I was so startled I dropped the pen. It rolled off the desk and onto the floor. Thank heavens it wasn’t a poison dart pen. The dart would have shot right into my leg. I rescued the pen from the floor and clicked it several times. Maybe there was a secret message that would explain the two men’s presence in the house. Sadly, all it did was replay my words and then there was just a staticky sound. A recording of Fake Troy and whoever else was here would have been just too easy.
I was more careful as I went through the rest of the pens, always making sure they were pointing away from me. If any of them were gadgets they were too advanced for me to work. I heard tiny staccato taps on the window and looked out to find it was sleeting. For a second there, I’d been afraid it would be a person. Great. I didn’t mind driving in snow, but ice and sleet were a whole different ball game. I grabbed my purse and headed home.
* * *
After sliding halfway home, I was grateful to be snug in my apartment. Lights were on at the Congregational church on the town common. There wasn’t much traffic for Saturday night at five thirty. Carol’s shop was dark, but DiNapoli’s still had the lights on. Seth had said he’d take me out, but ice was already weighing branches down on the trees on the town common. Maybe I should get food from DiNapoli’s and bring it back here. Besides, I had this restless energy that borderlined on being jumpy. A quick walk to DiNapoli’s would do me good.
The sleet picked at my face as I headed over to the restaurant. The sidewalk was slick and even my boots with the good tread weren’t keeping me from slipping every few steps. I should have stayed home, but at this point I was halfway there. I finally got on the grass and crunched along. Minutes later I was opening the door to the restaurant. The scent of spicy sauce and basil enveloped me like a warm blanket. The place was deserted.
“Still open?” I asked as I entered.
“Come in.” Rosalie had been leaning a hip against the counter as she watched Angelo stir a pot on the stove. “We’re still open. Angelo decided to take advantage of how slow it is and make a sauce for tomorrow.”
Angelo motioned me in. “Come try this.” He pointed to the sauce. “It’s a new twist on my Fra Diavolo sauce. Rosalie thinks it’s too spicy.”
“A new twist?” I asked. I threw my coat and scarf over a coat tree next to the door. “How can you improve on perfection?”
Angelo frowned briefly at that. “Nothing’s perfect and life’s too short not to try something new.”
Angelo often dispensed bits of wisdom through stories he told me. I wasn’t always sure in the moment what his story meant, but usually I realized the lesson and how it applied to my life soon after. I went and tasted the sauce. “Water,” I choked out after my taste.
“You think it’s too spicy?” Angelo’s brow creased as Rosalie rushed to get a glass.
“I’m just kidding. It’s delicious. You’ve certainly put the Diavolo in Fra Diavolo.”
They both laughed.
“What can I make you, Sarah?” Angelo asked.
“What do you have too much of?” I didn’t want them to go to extra work. “Seth was supposed to take me out, but it seems like a better night to stay in.”
“You are right,” Angelo said. “How about some eggplant parmesan and a salad?”
“That sounds like heaven,” I said.
“I’ll fix you some garlic bread that you can just heat up when you’re ready.” Rosalie crossed the kitchen and pulled out a loaf of Italian bread.
“You trust Sarah to heat it up?” Angelo said. He winked at me. Even Angelo knew about my lack of skill in the kitchen.
“I’ll write down the instructions. Then you set a timer, Sarah, so you don’t forget.” Rosalie found a notepad and set to writing down instructions.
Yeesh. I knew how to heat up bread. “Have you heard any local gossip?” I asked.
“Of course,” Rosalie said. “There’s a huge fight over having a dog park. Lotsa people want one but no one wants one in their neighborhood because of traffic, noise, and, uh, smells.”
Not what I was hoping for, but interesting.
“People are still convinced there are nukes over on Fitch,” Angelo said.
I shook my head. “No way. But I was thinking something more in line with crime.”
“The way things are going over on Fitch with that poor young woman dead, it seems like there’s more crime there than here in Ellington.” Angelo turned the burner off under the Fra D
iavolo sauce.
“What have you heard about that? Because originally they thought it was a terrible accident.” I said.
“My hairdresser’s cousin’s youngest daughter works on base and she heard otherwise.” Rosalie was making the salad I had ordered. I slipped some money onto the counter under the containers of salt, pepper, and hot red pepper flakes. They never wanted me to pay for anything. They would find it as they finished cleaning up for the night and I would be long gone by then.
Angelo pulled eggplant parmesan out of the oven, cut out a healthy portion, and wrapped it up for me. It smelled like heaven ought to. “That kid doesn’t have an ounce of sense. I wouldn’t trust anything she says.”
“But what did she say?” I asked.
“That someone sneaked onto the base and killed that poor girl.” Angelo brought the eggplant to the counter and put it in a bag. Rosalie put the salad in a container and placed it in another bag along with the garlic bread and instructions.
Rosalie shook her head. “I heard her say someone from base whacked the poor girl with a giant icicle.”
Angelo crossed himself. “You can’t trust anything she says.”
The door opened behind me. I turned to see who else was brave enough or dumb enough to be out on a night like this. The man’s head was down as he wiped his boots on the mat. He looked up. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised. It was Fake Troy.
Chapter Twenty
He bolted.
“Call the police!” I yelled. I dashed out after him. An odd scream sounded. My foot went flying up in the air on the ice. My rear end smashed down onto the sidewalk. A jolt went up my spine and made my eyes water. I scrambled to get up as a car pulled away from the curb. It fishtailed. Swerved into the other lane, righted itself, and rounded the corner out of my line of sight. Angelo came running out of the restaurant, rolling pin in hand. He slid on the ice, but didn’t fall.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Rosalie has the police on the phone, but all she can tell them is that a man came in and you ran out yelling.”
“I’ll explain in a minute.” Angelo followed me back into the restaurant. Rosalie handed me the phone. They listened intently, frowns forming as I explained to the dispatcher who the man was. A few moments later I hung up.
“The police will look for him, but my description of the car is so vague that it’s not much help. Why don’t bad guys drive around with stickers on their cars that stand out? I’m a criminal would be nice, but I’d settle for any identifier.”
“Nothing stood out?” Rosalie asked.
“Just that it was a light-colored car.”
“Do you need a glass of wine?” Angelo asked.
I smiled. I loved them both so much. “I’m fine. I can’t believe he’s still in town.”
“Who is he?” Rosalie’s face was creased with concern.
I briefly explained my encounter with Fake Troy at Jeannette’s house and how we came to find out he wasn’t her brother.
“Maybe there’s more going on in Ellington than I realized,” Angelo said. “Why would he still be here?”
“I don’t know.” And that worried me.
* * *
Seth came over at seven and was happy to have an evening in. “I can heat up the food,” he said. “You open the wine.”
I threw up my hands. “Really. It’s not like I can’t reheat food. I’m not that incapable.”
Seth pulled me to him. “It’s not that. I just like doing things for you. I’ve been gone a lot lately.”
I laid my head on his chest. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
He kissed the top of my head and let me go. “Believe what you want.”
I hadn’t told him about the man at DiNapoli’s yet. Angelo had insisted on walking me home even though I was sure the man wouldn’t turn back up tonight. And frankly, he seemed more scared of me than I was of him. One of us had screamed like a girl and I was certain it was him. I opened the wine while Seth turned on the oven.
“There was a little incident at DiNapoli’s,” I said as I poured two glasses of Chianti.
“What kind of incident?” Seth asked.
I explained what happened. I hoped a lecture about running after the guy wasn’t going to follow. “It was instinct and frankly, I’m grateful to the slippery sidewalk. I’m not sure what would have happened otherwise. I’d like to envision myself leaping on to the hood of the car or yanking the guy out of it.” Surprisingly, Seth laughed. “But I’m guessing I wouldn’t have.” I handed Seth one of the glasses of Chianti.
Seth held up his glass. “To the only woman I know who runs after the bad guy instead of from him.”
“You’re okay with that?” I stared over my wineglass at him.
“Of course not. If I had it my way, I’d tie you up and keep you safe at my house.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We might have to try that sometime.”
Seth laughed again. “You’re on.” We both took a drink of our wine. “I’m glad you’re okay. Did you get a plate number?”
Wow. No lecture. But he wasn’t that guy. Never had been. How many times did he have to prove that to me before I would finally believe it? “No plate number and barely a description of the car.”
“I wonder why he’s still in town. What could be his endgame?” Seth’s forehead creased with lines. I hated to worry him.
Seth and I discussed it until the timer dinged saying the food was ready. We didn’t come up with any solutions.
* * *
Becky called me Sunday morning at eight thirty. Seth had left an hour ago. I was sitting on an ice pack, which seemed ironic considering it was ice that caused my fall and now ice was supposed to help cure my aches.
“We’re on our way to church, but could you stop by my house around ten?”
“Yes. Of course. Are you okay?”
She sighed. “No.”
“But you’re going to church?” I asked.
“I’m not going to hide. I’ll explain the rest when I see you. Do you need me to sponsor you on?”
I still had the pass that Frank had given me. Not that I wanted to tell her how I came to have one. “No. I have a pass. I’ll see you in a bit.”
After I hung up, I checked the news on my phone. But there was nothing about Becky or anything new about Alicia. I guess I’d just have to wait.
* * *
I arrived at Becky’s promptly at ten, curious as to what she had to say. Her house was in the newer section of base and was one of the larger ones, given her husband’s position. I scurried to the door as the wind grabbed at my hood, blowing it off. It was wicked cold, as the natives would say.
After I greeted Becky and shed my outerwear, which she hung carefully in a large coat closet, we went into the living room. Becky was so thin her head always looked too big for her body. She had short black hair sprayed stiffly into place. Her cheeks were bright red. I wondered if it was stress or illness, maybe both.
I’d been here before but not often. I was always surprised by the contemporary furniture and large abstract paintings in violent primary colors. Honestly, one of them looked more like a blood splatter pattern than a painting. I sat in a chair with my back to it.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Becky asked. Her husband wasn’t anywhere in sight. That was fine by me. He always kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies. He rarely cracked a smile and I never felt up to snuff around him.
“I’m fine. What happened yesterday? You said you were in trouble.” I was so curious why she’d asked me to come over. I just wanted to get to it.
Becky’s nose turned red. She pressed her lips together. It looked like she was trying not to cry. “I think they’re going to arrest me for Alicia’s murder.”
“What?” Part of me was shocked, but another part had been expecting news like this. Otherwise I wouldn’t have kept checking the news and searching Becky’s name. “But that’s crazy.”
“I’m so glad you think so to
o,” Becky said. “They took me down to the station and put me in this horrible, claustrophobic little room.” She shuddered.
I’d been in one of those rooms more than once, so I understood how she felt. It was terrifying.
“Why do you think they’re looking at you?”
“I was out for a walk that night. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Really?” The weather had been terrible. The ice storm from earlier in the day had coated everything. Wires and tree limbs had come down. And Alicia’s house was at least a half mile up a steep hill from here. I didn’t want to judge her though, since I was just out walking on an icy night and was still sore to prove it. “Okay.” That was neutral, way better than me shouting Are you crazy? which seemed more appropriate. No wonder the police were suspicious. “Why were you out?”
Becky glanced down the hall and cocked her head, listening for a moment. “This is terribly private.”
I nodded. “I’m not going to say anything.”
“Daniel told me he wants a divorce.”
Chapter Twenty-One
This time there was no holding back the tears. I grabbed my purse and handed Becky a packet of tissues. She dabbed at her face and took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. A small percentage of colonels had a reputation for tossing out wives like old, holey socks, marrying a much younger woman, and starting a new family. Not that that was necessarily what had happened in this case. I knew how painful a divorce was, no matter the circumstances. It was almost like a death without the rituals that went along with an actual death.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Becky nodded. “I’m hoping we can work things out. I’ve always been the forgiving type. It’s why I’m still living here.” She smiled a quick, nervous smile. “We went to church together this morning. I hope that’s a good sign.”
Sell Low, Sweet Harriet Page 11
