Sell Low, Sweet Harriet

by Sherry Harris

  “I’ll come over and take a look,” Jeannette said. “It’ll be about thirty minutes.”

  I clicked off and looked up to see Harriet watching me. She had a man’s suit in her hand.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear,” she said. “Can I take a look?”

  I hesitated then held the piece of paper up to her. She didn’t reach for it but leaned in a bit. “It could be lottery numbers.”

  I realized how very little I knew about Harriet. “Why does anyone need to hide lottery numbers in a flour canister?”

  “People are odd.” She straightened back up. “I agree that it’s most likely a combination for something. I’ll let you know if I find anything with a lock.”

  “Thanks. Did you need help?” I gestured toward the suit.

  “Mint condition, handmade, silk. I couldn’t figure out a price.”

  I did a quick search on my phone and suggested a price. She nodded and went back off to the bedroom.

  I continued to work until I heard Jeannette at the front door around three thirty. I introduced her to Harriet who was getting ready to leave.

  “All the clothes are sorted. All of the men’s pants are together, shirts by color, women’s clothing by color and category. I also placed the undergarments that can’t be resold in plastic bags. Shoes are organized by style and if they are men’s or women’s.”

  My eyes grew larger with every word. “That’s great. Maybe tomorrow you can price them.” She did more in a few hours than Zoey did in a day.

  “I already did that. I apologize, but I’m not sure I can work tomorrow,” Harriet said. “I have to take my niece to a doctor’s appointment in the morning and physical therapy in the afternoon.”

  “That’s okay. I think Zoey is here tomorrow.” Between the two of them things would get done in time. Harriet said her goodbyes.

  “Harriet’s an interesting woman,” Jeannette said.

  “She is.”

  “Cop?”

  Maybe that’s where I was getting the bodyguard vibe from. “I’m not sure. I was expecting a little old lady on a fixed income.” I explained how Harriet had ended up here.

  “Her red Porsche says otherwise,” Jeannette said.

  “She drives a Porsche?” I thought that over. I should have asked more questions, but time to get back to why Jeannette was here. “The numbers can’t be that important,” I said to Jeannette as we walked to the kitchen.

  “I had the same thought, but I’m still curious. Have you found anything with a lock on it?” Jeannette asked.

  “No, but I haven’t spent a lot of time looking. I wonder if there is something in the office.” When we got to the kitchen, I handed her the floury piece of paper.

  “That’s my dad’s handwriting.” She smiled down at it. “I haven’t seen any locks either. But there’s a lot of stuff in here. Do you think this has anything to do with the man who claimed to be my brother?”

  “I thought that too. But this is so low tech that it doesn’t seem like your parents would do this.”

  “You’re right. Unless it’s so low tech it’s the last place anyone would think to look. Where was the canister?”

  I pointed to a cupboard. “There are five sets of canisters. I think this was the second to last set I pulled out. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

  “Right. Who would even think they’d find a note like this, hidden? There wasn’t anything in any of the other canisters?”

  “Just remnants of flour, sugar, tea, and coffee.”

  “I’ll go look around the office. It’s a good afternoon to do some sorting anyway,” Jeannette said.

  “I’ll keep working in here.” I pulled open a drawer and found mundane utensils. They were still in a plastic holder divided into sections, so I priced it all as one item. The next drawer was full of vintage metal cookie cutters. How fun. I found a set of four tin playing card cutters. Then the mother lode of heart-shaped ones in all sizes. Some of them looked like they were actual antiques. These would appeal to people who loved hearts, antiques, or cookie cutters. I set them aside. There were a few sets in their original boxes. The colors on the boxes were faded but the graphics screamed I’m vintage. Oh, good. People loved things in their original boxes. It added to the value. It took me a while to price everything, so I was startled and let out a little yip when I heard the floor creak.

  I whirled around to see Jeannette standing there.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said.

  “It’s okay. I was having so much fun going through all of these cookie cutters that I forgot you were here.”

  Jeannette held up a Christmas tree cookie cutter from the drawer and dangled it from a finger. “It’s kind of ironic that my mom has all of these because she usually just bought cookies from the bakery. Except for that year in Japan. Mom was a busy woman with a full-time job and a family.”

  Jeannette sounded like she admired her mom. I thought about my own mom. She’d worked part-time in an insurance office from the time I headed off to school. She loved to bake though, so our house usually smelled like cinnamon and sugar. Maybe I should take up baking along with learning to cook more.

  “Any luck finding anything with a lock on it?” I asked.

  “Nothing. But I did sort through a bunch of paperwork. I’m going to go back and shred it now.”

  “Okay.” I worked for a couple more hours, but didn’t find anything too exciting. No combinations. No antiques. I was almost through with the kitchen when Jeannette and I decided to call it a day.

  We were in the foyer wrapping up.

  “Oh, this weather,” Jeannette said. “It’s so bitter cold.”

  “It is especially brutal this year. I live by the town common and have hardly seen anyone out on the skating rink.” One thing I’d learned in my time in Massachusetts was the citizens loved to talk about the weather. As if each winter the terrible weather was a surprise to them. It was so different than growing up in coastal California, where the weather was much the same all year round. A little more rain in the winter, a little more sun in the summer. But nothing drastic like here.

  “My boyfriend has been wanting to go, but I keep putting him off. I’m not the best skater so it doesn’t hold a lot of appeal anyway. Thanks for all of your hard work.”

  “Thanks for having me.” I set the security system and reached to open the door. I noticed a half-inch long wire sticking out of the wall to the left of the door. “What’s that?” I asked Jeannette. I didn’t remember seeing it before, but usually flipped off the light before I opened the door. “Is it part of the security system?”

  Jeannette shook her head slowly. “I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The wire had a bit of glass on the end. “I think it’s a camera,” I said as I studied it.

  “A camera? I don’t understand,” Jeannette said.

  “Neither do I.” I pulled on the wire but it didn’t budge. “It’s pointed at the security system.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong. The security company must have installed it too. But they never mentioned it.”

  Now it was my turn to shake my head. “I don’t know that much about security systems, but this doesn’t seem right.” I looked from the tiny wire to the security system panel. “It’s pointed at the panel.”

  “Whatever for?” Jeannette asked.

  “Whoever installed this can see the security code when it’s typed in.” That had to be it. I had a unnerving feeling Fake Troy was behind this.

  “Then why didn’t they get it and take the wire out? This must be legitimate.”

  Wishful thinking. “The angle might be off. I usually stand right in front of the panel when I punch in the code.” My mind was doing fast spins, trying to figure this out. “Let’s go out on the porch.”

  “Oh, and follow the wire to whoever did this?” Jeannette asked.

  “I don’t think it will go very far.” I must watch way more spy shows th
an Jeannette did. We went out on the porch and stared at the door to the right side of the house. I tried to gauge where the wire was on the other side. It only took moments for me to spot the wire attached to a teensy box stuck on the back of the lantern-shaped porch light. I pointed to it. “Look. It’s attached right there.”

  Jeannette came and stood next to me. She reached for it.

  “Wait. Don’t touch it. Maybe there’s a fingerprint or two. I shouldn’t have touched the one inside.” I turned, facing the street. Only two of her neighbors could see the front porch from their homes.

  “How will we find out?” Jeannette asked.

  Jeannette was clearly traumatized and not thinking this through. I couldn’t blame her. She had been through a lot with the death of her parents, the fake brother, and now this.

  “Go back inside. Call the police.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Knock on your neighbors’ doors and see if they noticed anyone hanging out by the door.” My guess was no one would have seen anything or they would have called the police like they did on me.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, as I finished up my last conversation with one of the neighbors, Pellner pulled up. We walked up the drive together.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  I’m guessing he wasn’t going to like my answer. “I checked with the neighbors to see if they’d spotted anyone messing around the porch light.” Before he had a chance to say anything I added, “I know, I know. Leave it to the police.”

  “I was going to ask what you found out.”

  “No you weren’t.”

  Pellner shook his head. “Just tell me what you learned. Lectures are futile with you.”

  That wasn’t necessarily true. I’d mostly done what Bristow and Pellner asked—that I just listen for information about Alicia. I could follow instructions but decided not to point that out. “Nothing. No one saw anyone hanging out who shouldn’t be here.”

  I showed Pellner where the camera was. Jeannette came out, carrying a stepladder, and joined us.

  “I’ll go back in,” Jeannette said. “There’s not room for all of us out here.”

  Pellner stood on the porch, pulled on a glove, and climbed the ladder. I held the base of the stepladder for him. The wind swirled snow around my feet. Once the camera was out, he detached the little black box from the back of the porch light and dropped the whole thing in an evidence bag. We went back inside, where Jeannette stood in the foyer waiting for us. She was wringing her hands.

  “Can you take this back to the station and trace where the signal was being transmitted to?” I asked.

  Pellner stared at me for a moment.

  “They do that. In movies,” I said, my voice trailing off as I realized how ridiculous I sounded. Now who was watching too many spy shows?

  “It’s not impossible. But it would be a low priority for the state techs.”

  “Someone drilling a hole through your wall and sticking a camera in isn’t a high priority?” Jeannette’s face flushed red. “Someone watching you isn’t a bad enough crime?”

  “It’s a property crime. Not a crime against a person,” Pellner said.

  “Not yet.” Jeannette glared at Pellner. “But who knows what they caught on the camera. Poor Sarah’s been here and by herself on and off.”

  I hoped I hadn’t scratched myself in any embarrassing places when I’d been in the foyer. How much had they seen? I hadn’t spent a lot of time in the hallway, but still . . .

  Pellner’s dimples deepened, but not because he was smiling. “It’s shut off by now. Once they saw you spot the camera, there’d be no reason to leave it on.”

  “Maybe they don’t know yet,” I said. “Maybe it isn’t being monitored twenty-four seven.”

  “Chances are the signal has been cut off too,” Pellner said.

  “Don’t you have hackers you can call to trace this stuff?” Jeannette asked. “Why turn it over to the state?”

  “I wish. You must be confusing the police department with the CIA,” Pellner said.

  Jeannette got a thoughtful look on her face. Maybe she still had some contacts from when her parents were agents or employees or whatever they were.

  Pellner took a deep breath. “I apologize for snapping at you. I’m worried about what’s going on here.”

  “As are we,” Jeannette said, speaking for both of us.

  “Should we look around the house for other cameras?” I asked.

  “Good idea,” Pellner said. “I’ll look around the outside while you two look in here.”

  Fifteen minutes later we met back in the foyer.

  “We went over every inch of this place,” Jeannette said. “We didn’t come up with anything.”

  Pellner looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders. We went over as much as we could without moving furniture or taking everything off the walls.

  “I didn’t find anything outside,” Pellner said.

  “No strange vans with antennas parked on the street?” I asked.

  Jeannette gasped.

  “I’m joking. I tend to do that when I’m stressed.” I took Jeannette’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

  “It’s okay.” She rubbed her temples. “I just don’t get it. I’ll talk to my brother and see if he has any ideas about what in the world could be going on.”

  “I’ll try to get patrols driving by more often,” Pellner said. “I need to get going.”

  After he took off, Jeannette and I each slumped against a wall opposite each other.

  “We should change the security code just in case they recorded it,” I said.

  Jeannette got the instructions and updated the system. “I keep saying this, but you don’t have to come back, Sarah.”

  “It’s fine. Quit worrying about me. I’ve been extra careful and I’ll make sure someone is here with me.”

  “Thank you,” Jeannette said. “I’ll let you know what I hear from my brother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I trudged up the stairs to my apartment at five thirty. A man sat outside Mike’s door on a folding chair that looked too small for his bulk. He leaped up when I hit the top step.

  “It’s just me,” I said. “I live in that apartment.” I pointed to the left.

  “Yeah, okay. Mike gave us all a picture of you. So nothing untoward happens.”

  Last year when Mike had stayed in the apartment, I’d had to prove who I was more than once. It had been annoying. I’m not sure I liked the idea of these guys having my picture, but whatever. I wished I had a picture of Fake Troy to show him, to make sure he didn’t show up here.

  The door popped open and Mike stuck his head out. “Want to come over for some dinner?”

  Wow. This was a first. While Mike and I’d had many interactions over the last couple of years, none of them had been social. I was still feeling uneasy about what had happened at Jeannette’s parents’ house, so company sounded good. Besides, it would give me an excuse to put off trying to make the marsala for a couple of hours.

  “Sure. Do you want me to bring anything?” Maybe I could take the Fluffernutter ingredients and make some kind of appetizer. I didn’t have much else in the house except the ingredients for the chicken marsala.

  “No. We’re good. Linguini in clam sauce in ten minutes,” Mike said.

  After a quick shower, which I hoped washed away my unease along with the grime from working, I dressed, swiped on some mascara, and found a decent bottle of pinot grigio to take for the dinner. Back in the hall, Mike’s guy almost looked like he was drowsing in his chair. Not very good protection for Mike. But he leaped up again when I closed my door.

  He knocked twice with his knuckle and Mike opened the door. I handed Mike the bottle of wine.

  “Thanks, come on in.” Mike stepped back.

  Last time Mike had stayed here there had been a poker table in the middle of the living room and games going all the time. At least that’
s what it seemed like to me. This time no poker table, but his brother Francesco was there. Where Mike was thin and runner-like, Francesco was bulked up from lifting weights. They had the same thick, dark hair and blue eyes, but Francesco had a mustache that would make Tom Selleck envious.

  We exchanged greetings while Mike disappeared into the kitchen. “There’s cheese and grapes to get started on,” he called over his shoulder.

  They had moved in a bit of furniture. A big TV, comfy couch, a recliner, and a rickety coffee table of dubious pedigree. A beautiful tray of cheese, crackers, and grapes sat on the coffee table. There were small white plates, cheese spreaders, and cocktail napkins on the table too. Francesco and I sat on opposite ends of the couch and dug in. I was starving. Ice cream for lunch just didn’t stick with me no matter the big serving.

  “This is delicious,” I said after downing several crackers with a creamy white cheese on them. Garlic scented the air and I hoped my stomach wouldn’t rumble in response. Francesco and I made small talk until Mike came back out.

  “We’re going to serve ourselves in the kitchen and then eat out here,” Mike said. “I’m sorry that we don’t have a nicer setup, Sarah.”

  “I’d be eating a Fluffernutter if you hadn’t invited me, so this is way better.” I often made a Fluffernutter and ate it on my couch while I read or watched TV.

  We fixed our plates. Big bowls of pasta with lots of clams and toasted to perfection garlic bread. There was also a beautiful salad with exceedingly fresh tomatoes for winter in Massachusetts. We carried our plates back to the living room. Mike put on some opera music. Even having lived near Stella for a couple of years, I didn’t always know one opera from the other. But the soaring music had melancholy tones. It seemed to suit Mike’s mood.

  Francesco poured us all a glass of wine. We ate in an awkward silence. Occasionally murmuring things like “This is delicious” or “Pass me the pepper.” When we finished, we all carried our plates to the kitchen.

  “I’ll wash the dishes to thank you for the dinner,” I said.