Sell Low, Sweet Harriet

by Sherry Harris

  “I’ll dry,” Mike said.

  After rinsing out a couple of pots Mike had used to cook, I filled the sink with soapy water and started washing the utensils. It’s how we did it at my house growing up. Utensils, plates, glasses, pots. I’m not sure why in that order, but it was still a habit all these years later.

  “Where’s the poker table and your playing buddies?” I asked as I handed him a fork.

  “I’m keeping a lower profile than last time.” Mike dried the fork with a vengeance and put it away in a drawer.

  That time, I’d seen Seth over here and had been worried about their relationship. Last summer I had found out that Mike fed Seth information sometimes. It was a dangerous business for both of them.

  “Do you think someone found out about your dealings with Seth?” I asked, handing him a plate.

  Mike looked down at me. His blue eyes were normally unreadable. But this time I was sure I saw a trace of fear in his expression. “I hope not.” His voice was quiet. “It could be many things.” He shrugged, tried for and missed a grin. “Maybe it’s just a rival cheese shop owner trying to run me out of town.” He dried the plate. “Are you going to wash anything else or just stand there?”

  I went back to washing. The unease I hoped to shake off from earlier came back, bringing with it additional worries. If Mike was somehow compromised, Seth could be in danger too.

  “What about Seth?” I asked.

  “He knows what happened and that I’m here.”

  I already knew that, since I’d been the one to tell Seth that Mike had moved in. They must have talked since though.

  Mike leaned against the counter. “I don’t want to worry you, but I think you deserve to know what’s going on.”

  That was a change. I wondered why he was telling me all this, but now understood. “What will you do if someone does find out?”

  “Worst case scenario for me is the truth comes out that I’m an informant and I have to disappear.”

  “And Seth?”

  “He’ll be the hero of the law enforcement world.”

  I hoped that was true. “Do you think it’s someone you trust?”

  Mike went back to drying. “We’re checking everyone out. Anything’s possible.”

  I would hate to be the one who betrayed Mike “the Big Cheese” Titone. “Since we’re laying everything out there, I should tell you about Fake Troy.” I briefed him on what had been going on as we finished up the dishes.

  “You have any pictures of the guy?” Mike asked.

  “I wish.”

  “Can you get your hands on the camera you found?”

  I scrubbed the last pot. “Not a chance. Why?”

  “I might know someone who could have helped out with that. You find anything else, you bring it to me, not the police.”

  I finished washing the pot without answering.

  * * *

  When I got home I called Frank Bristow. “I apologize for bothering you on a Sunday night.”

  “It’s okay. I’m always working these days. What do you need?”

  “I wanted to pass along some information. And I didn’t want to put it in an email.”

  “Best not to,” Frank said.

  I explained to him that Becky had called me. I managed to leave out the part about her asking me to help out. But I mentioned Alicia’s sister and that Becky’s husband had asked for a divorce. If he’d known either of these things before right now, I’d never know. His responses were neutral, either “oh” or “thanks.” I also filled him in on the incident at the board meeting where Alicia had spoken so rudely to the general’s wife, Ginger.

  “I hadn’t heard that,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’re welcome. It might give Ginger or her husband a motive.”

  “It’s possible. But given their positions, they’ve heard worse.”

  I couldn’t disagree with that. “Something else has been bugging me. Walter Arbas had a lot of free weights in his house. Can a smart bed tell the difference between a real person and weights? Maybe Walter put weights in the bed just long enough to go out and kill Alicia.” I hoped it wasn’t true. I liked Walter.

  “We looked into that. But the bed didn’t show him getting up at all. And changing out the weights would have indicated someone got up. Even briefly.”

  “He didn’t say anything about going to the bathroom.”

  “No. He slept through the night. The bed proved that to be true.”

  I was glad to hear that. “You never did tell me if Alicia was poisoned or not. Our talk about that was interrupted Friday night.”

  “It was interrupted and I didn’t tell you. Did you ever find out who the woman was who said that?”

  “No. Do you want me to?”

  “If you can,” Frank said.

  “Is it because it’s true Alicia was poisoned?” I asked.

  “I have another call. Let me know if you find her.”

  The phone went dead, which wasn’t a big surprise. I wasn’t sure how to go about finding her, but I’d put that aside for the moment. I grabbed my laptop and settled onto the couch to do some research. It was easy to find Alicia’s obituary. Her sister, Fiona, was listed as a survivor in the obituary. I typed her name into a search engine, but I didn’t find much. She was a vet tech for a veterinary clinic in Salem, New Hampshire. But none of this told me any more about her temperament than what I’d witnessed earlier today at Walter’s house.

  I continued searching. On page three I found a piece in a local paper saying the police had been called to her house for a domestic incident. Fiona had held her boyfriend at knifepoint. My eyebrows popped up. Wow, she must have some temper. I kept searching for more details but there wasn’t anything. Maybe charges hadn’t been filed. But as I continued to search Fiona, I found more and more incidents: shoplifting, resisting arrest, speeding. I called Frank back, got his voicemail, and left a message about this. He might already know it, but maybe not.

  A few minutes later I got a text from Frank. He said that this didn’t fall into the listen-only instructions he’d given me. That was it. Not even a thanks.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I stood and stretched. Time for my second attempt at making chicken marsala. I knew last time I’d used too much flour, so this time I’d be more sparing. I did all the prep work followed by lightly flouring the thin pieces of chicken and sautéing them. Once they were browned on both sides I stuck them in the oven on low heat to keep them warm while I worked on the sauce. Soon I had it simmering and didn’t see any lumps. I added the chicken back to the sauce to simmer. I set an alarm on my phone so I wouldn’t overcook it.

  I poured a glass of pinot noir, a nice red wine for a chilly winter night. I took it into the living room, sat on my couch, grabbed my computer, and looked up who was in the PTA at the base elementary school along with Alicia. Ginger was on the list. The very one who Alicia had told to be quiet. Maybe they had issues going on between them from the PTA, which had spilled over to the meeting.

  I called Carol. I’d asked her when I saw her this morning if she knew anything about the PTA, but at that point I hadn’t made the connection that Ginger was on the PTA with Alicia.

  “What’s up?” Carol said when she answered the phone.

  “Me.”

  “Ha. Very funny.”

  “Do you know Ginger? Her husband is the new general and she’s on the PTA board with Alicia.” I told Carol what I’d heard that Alicia had said to her.

  “Oh, ouch. That’s an awful thing to say,” Carol said. “I’ve met her. She seems nice enough, but I’ve never been around her when Alicia was around.”

  “Ginger must either be a lot younger than her husband or they had their kids later in life.” Most generals would be of an age that they would have older kids.

  “I think it’s a combination of both,” Carol said. I called a few friends after we talked this morning.”

  “And?”

  “Th
e past few weeks Alicia had been late or a no-show for a lot of events. One friend said she hadn’t been her usual cheery self.”

  “Hmmmm. Did anyone know why?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing?” That seemed odd.

  “No. I think maybe because Alicia died so suddenly, no one wants to say anything bad.”

  “That’s understandable.” But it made me wonder what was going on. Marital problems? Or maybe she’d just bitten off more than she should have and was exhausted. I’d seen more than one wife trying to do it all and stressing out.

  “Even more surprising it’s respectful.” Carol sighed.

  “What do you know about Harriet? Your neighbor’s aunt.” I asked.

  “Why? Didn’t she work out?”

  “She’s fine.” At least I hoped she was. “Seems very organized. I just wondered what her background is.”

  “I don’t have any idea. I just know that she was driving my neighbor a little crazy on occasion and that she seemed nice enough.”

  “Not nice? But nice enough?” I asked.

  Carol paused. “I just caught a hint of ‘I could beat that crap out of you’ behind her smile.”

  “Yeah. I got that too.”

  “If you don’t want her help just tell her.”

  “And get the crap beaten out of me? No thanks.”

  Carol laughed and I did too.

  “She’s works hard,” I said. “I just was curious.”

  “You of all people should be able to get something out of her.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “So how is Massachusetts’s Most Eligible Bachelor?”

  “Dreamy,” I said. “I feel sixteen again when he’s around.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. We’re taking things slow.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  Now there was a loaded question.

  “Hey, are you still there?” Carol asked after a few moments.

  “I am. I was thinking.”

  “You don’t know if you’re in love or not?”

  I didn’t even want to talk to Carol about my difficulties telling Seth I loved him. “I love being with him. I love how he treats me. I love how smart he is.”

  “And how sexy.”

  I laughed. “That too.”

  “So it sounds like you are in love to me.”

  I smelled something. Something burning. “Ack. I’ve got to go.”

  “We’re talking more about this later.”

  “Okay.” I clicked off and ran to the kitchen. I took the lid off the chicken marsala and stared into the pan. The sauce had cooked into a hard brown residue. I grabbed a fork and poked at the chicken. It stuck like Velcro to the sauce. “I set my alarm. How could this happen?” I opened my phone and clicked on the alarm app. I’d set it all right, but for A.M., not P.M.

  Aargh. I scraped what I could into the garbage. Then I filled the sink with hot soapy water and stuck the pan in. “And now for another episode of Can This Pan Be Saved.” How many pans had I ruined over the years? People thought I ate out too much, but it seemed cheaper than constantly replacing cookware and groceries. I sighed as I opened the kitchen window a crack. Icy air rushed in, but at least the room would smell better. I found a cinnamon candle, lit it, and stuck it on the kitchen table.

  After I cleaned up, I decided to try to do an online search for my mystery woman from the thrift shop, the one who’d heard that Alicia was poisoned. Frank wanted me to find her, and while this again was outside the realm of listening, it was just online research. No harm, no foul. Right?

  I went through old online issues of the base newspaper. There weren’t a lot of pictures, and most of them were of someone who’d won an award for outstanding enlisted troop or officer of the quarter. But maybe she’d done something that would make her stand out. I searched the last twelve months. If she arrived before that, I would have run into her. Even though CJ and I had been divorced for two years now, the first year I had still spent a lot of time on base. But as more and more of my friends moved away, I hadn’t replaced them with new base friends, as one would if they lived on base.

  Next I went on Facebook to do some research. First I searched Eleanor’s friends. This seemed a little creepier than looking at the old newspapers. But Eleanor volunteered at the thrift shop and so did the woman I was looking for, so it made sense to try. By the time I’d gone through all of Eleanor’s friends my eyes were beginning to water from staring at the screen. Everyone began to look alike too. Even worse, I realized that a dressed-up photo for a profile picture was going to be a far cry from how someone looked when they went to volunteer at the thrift shop.

  I stood, stretched, and went to look out my front window. The moon shone on the hard crust of snow. Two people skated on the rink. They must be freezing, but they glided as one, almost like they were dancing. Ah, to be that coordinated. A white van idled on the curb across the street. It made me think back to my conversation with Jeannette. My teasing her that the camera was sending a signal to a van. A little shiver went through me, but I couldn’t worry about every vehicle that was outside. I yanked the curtains shut and then roamed around my apartment looking for cameras. Fortunately, I didn’t find anything.

  I forced myself to go back and look through more military friends’ lists of friends. I was beginning to wonder if I even accurately remembered the woman I was searching for. If only she’d had tattoos or piercings that were memorable. Shoulder-length light brown hair and average height described a lot of people. Thirty minutes later I gave up. While an online search was a good idea, it was time consuming and yielded nothing. There had to be some other way. Had I even asked Eleanor about her? Maybe she would recognize her from my description. I sat up a little straighter. Maybe the security cameras at the thrift shop would have a photo of her. That would be the easiest way to track her down. I gave Eleanor a quick call. She couldn’t think who the woman was off-hand, but agreed to meet me in the morning.

  My phone rang again almost as soon as I hung up with Eleanor. “Hello?” I said.

  “This is Ginger. I’m sorry to call after nine, but I was wondering if you could meet me in the morning.”

  I couldn’t say no. I was too curious to find out what she had to say. “Sure. What time?” We agreed to meet at eight tomorrow morning at the Dunkin’s in Bedford. We could have met at the one on base, but I had a feeling Ginger wanted to avoid prying eyes as much as I did. Tomorrow was going to be interesting. I was on a roll and I promised myself that I would help Becky, find Fake Troy, and identify the mystery woman from the thrift shop.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I met Eleanor at the thrift shop parking lot on Monday morning at six thirty. Not my favorite time of day, and especially in the winter when it was still dark out. But Eleanor worked part-time as a school nurse and had to get to work.

  “Here’s the keys,” Eleanor said. “And I sent you an email with the instructions for looking at the security cameras. Good luck with finding the woman you were talking about.”

  “What about the alarm system?” I asked.

  Eleanor gave me the code.

  “Do you remember who stuck around the day Alicia and Becky fought after the Spouses’ Club meeting?”

  Eleanor thought for a moment. “Ginger, Judy, Nasha, Cindy. I know there were more than that, but I can’t remember everyone.”

  “Why do those people stand out?”

  “Ginger and Judy chased after Becky when she stalked out. Cindy, Nasha, and a couple of others followed Alicia out to the parking lot. When I went out to my car Zoey and Alicia were having an intense discussion.”

  “Zoey Whittlesbee?” That was interesting. Becky had recommended Zoey to me so they obviously knew each other. I wondered whose side Zoey was on.

  “Yes,” Eleanor said.

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  “I couldn’t hear anything from where I was. But Zoey flounced off, slammed her car
door, and took off with a squeal of tires.”

  So it sounded like Zoey was on Becky’s side then. “Do you think there was anything funny going on with the money? The report that Ginger was trying to question?”

  “No. It all got straightened out at the board meeting. Some numbers had just been reversed.” Eleanor glanced down at her watch. “I’ve got to run.”

  We waved goodbye and I went into the thrift shop. I disarmed the security system and flipped on the light as I made my way to the office. I sat down in front of one of the two computers in the office and powered it up. I checked for Eleanor’s email on my phone. Soon enough I had the security camera system up and running backwards. It would take a while for it to scroll back four days. I should have stopped for coffee on the way here.

  The office had one of those single-cup coffeemakers, but I’d hold out for Dunkin’s since I was meeting Ginger. The good thing about this system was it was motion activated so it skipped back faster than I’d hoped. Fifteen minutes later I got to the day I’d seen the woman. Then I realized this wasn’t going to be much help. The cameras were pointing down at an angle that just captured the tops of everyone’s heads. I’d have to tell Eleanor that the cameras needed to be repositioned. If anyone did steal things, we wouldn’t have a face to help us identify them.

  I spotted my head and watched as it moved toward the three women. I took a screenshot and sent it to my phone. Not that it was very helpful. One head of dark roots, one head of gray roots, and the woman I wanted to track down with her brown, neatly parted hair. If only she’d worn a headband or hat that someone might recognize. I turned off the computer and drummed my fingers on the old metal desk.

  I stood up and yawned. As I headed out the door I saw a piece of computer paper with the heading “List of Volunteers.” I scanned down the names. There were a bunch of names I didn’t recognize so I snapped a couple of photos of the list. Maybe a process of elimination comparing names to social media accounts might work to help me find out who the woman was. It was worth a try, but I’d have to work on it later today.

  * * *

  I parked my Suburban in the parking lot between the Shopette, a combination convenience and liquor store, and the base gym. Becky’s husband had always been athletic. And I hoped he was one of those guys who worked out every morning and then headed to the office. I wanted to bump into him someplace, and this seemed as good a place as any. At seven thirty he walked out of the front entrance. I leaped out of my car and headed up the walk toward him, acting surprised when I saw him.