Sell Low, Sweet Harriet

by Sherry Harris

  “It’s a Tiffany bracelet,” the saleswoman said.

  “A several years old, used Tiffany bracelet,” the woman in white said.

  Her voice was familiar, but . . .

  “Two fifty is the best I can do.” The saleswoman sounded nervous. “It was originally five hundred.”

  “Look right there. It’s missing a tiny little piece that looks like a lock and has Tiffany engraved on it. Ninety-five is generous. Maybe eighty would be better.”

  “It’s platinum,” the saleswoman said. She looked toward the back of the store like she was hoping help would show up. I took a step forward.

  “It’s not. It’s sterling silver. See right there? That’s the mark for sterling. Really seventy would be more what it’s worth in this condition. You don’t even have the original box.”

  “Okay. Seventy it is.”

  I was astounded. Who was the bargaining wonder woman in white with the familiar voice? I headed to the front of the store as the saleswoman rang up the bracelet.

  The customer turned toward me. Bright red lips stood out on an impeccably made up, classic-looking face.

  “Harriet?” I asked, astounded. Or did Harriet have a twin who was a motorcycle mama?

  “Sarah. Nice to see you.” She took the bag from the lady. “Thank you.” She winked at me and left.

  Who the heck was Harriet?

  The saleswoman looked at me. “I can’t believe she wrangled me down like that. I figured I should quit while I was ahead or I’d be paying her for the bracelet.” She shook her head. “I’ve done this for a lot of years. That was impressive.”

  I chuckled. “It was.” Maybe Harriet would work Jeannette’s sale with me.

  “Can I help you with something? I’d better warn you I’m usually made of tougher stuff than that.” She stood up straighter as if to prove her point.

  Great. Harriet ruined my chances of getting a great deal. I led the employee to the back and showed her the outdoor furniture set I had been looking at.

  “If you’re interested in that set there are cushions for the chairs and settee, right behind you.”

  I turned. The cushions were covered with a vintage barkcloth, dark burgundy with white tropical flowers and bright green leaves. I tried to hide my delight, but I think I failed miserably. I didn’t want to give up my ace bargainer card, so I had to ask for less. I quickly calculated ten percent off. “Would you take fifty-four for the set?”

  “I would, but furniture is half off today so it’s only thirty. If you want to pay more than that you’re welcome to.” She grinned at me. “It will make up for the money I just lost on that bracelet.”

  “Half off? I need to do some more looking.”

  “As you can see, the room is full to its gills with furniture. We need to move some of this out of here before the fire department decides to swing by and declare us a fire hazard.”

  “I have a virtual yard sale site. You are welcome to post your sales there.” I took a business card out of my purse and wrote my phone number on the back of the card. “You can call me if you have any questions.”

  The woman took the card. “Thanks, we obviously aren’t marketing geniuses.” She gestured again to the furniture.

  I could see why most of the furniture was here. A lot of it was made out of poor quality particleboard. But in the right hands, with some paint, it could be refurbished and made serviceable again. I carried the pieces I wanted out of the fray, which cleared a little space. Fifteen minutes later I was up at the register. I had found a beautiful mirror with a white frame. It was a three-foot rectangle with some simple carving on it that was meant to be hung horizontally. I also found a sweet mission-style end table. Its simple lines and sturdy oak were impossible for me to resist. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep it all for me or stick it in my attic space for when I threw my own garage sale.

  “You don’t happen to have any cobalt glass, do you?” I asked. “I’m looking for a vase.”

  The woman’s face reddened. “I’m not even sure what that is.”

  I explained to her what it was and showed her the picture that Pellner had sent me of his wife’s collection.

  “I think I might have some,” she said. “Follow me.”

  We weaved through the store to plastic shelves cluttered with all kinds of dishes. I found a few pieces of the pattern called Royal Lace by the Hazel Atlas Company. They were from the thirties and forties. In the very back of a shelf I found a beautiful foot-tall vase. Its clean lines looked Art Deco and Pellner’s wife didn’t have anything like it. Plus he could fill it with his wife’s favorite flowers before he gave it to her. Perfect.

  “I’ll take this one,” I said. It was a steal at ten dollars. “You should put the rest of this somewhere that it’s easier to see. It’s harder to find than it was twenty years ago.” Maybe that’s why it didn’t seem as popular right now. It was scarce because it was already privately owned. While she rang up my purchases, I went to my virtual garage sale site and took down my ISO post that I was looking for cobalt glass. A few people had responded, but either the price was too high or I didn’t like the piece they had.

  A few minutes later I had paid, filled the back of my Suburban with furniture, put the cobalt glass on the passenger seat, and felt ready to track down my mystery female. But since I was over by the base, I was going to do one other thing first.

  * * *

  I parked by a dirty snowbank on the far side of the headquarters building where Colonel Cane worked. A place where I could see the door but my giant Suburban didn’t stand out too much from all the other SUVs and minivans. I couldn’t go in, not that I wanted to, because there were guards at the door and passes that had to be swiped. This wasn’t a building for the likes of me. But I knew he was still there because his blue car was in a special reserved spot with the license plate CANE 2. I told myself I wouldn’t wait more than a half hour. This was probably a fool’s errand anyway. However, he came out fifteen minutes later.

  I followed him at a discreet distance as he left base. He took a left on Great Road toward Ellington. We meandered along in the stop-and-go traffic. People bustled in and out of restaurants and dry cleaners doing end of the day tasks. Colonel Cane drove by the town common and took a right into a shopping area across from the CVS Pharmacy. He parked and went into an Asian restaurant. The smell of spicy and fried foods wafted through the air. I backed into a parking spot as far from him as possible, but where I could still see the door.

  Lots of people went in. I wondered who was meeting Colonel Cane. Sitting here wasn’t going to give me any information, so I called in a takeout order. I knew from having eaten here before that I’d have a good view of the restaurant when I picked up my food. Ten minutes later I strolled in, keeping my head down as much as possible.

  After giving the hostess my name, I glanced out from under my eyelashes and scanned the room. Colonel Cane was at a table with four men. Fortunately, he was seated with his back to me, so I could straighten up a bit. Two of the men also wore military uniforms. The fourth man was one of the town selectmen. In other words, nothing to see here.

  I took my food back to the car, two appetizers—spring rolls and beef on a stick. Foods that were easy to eat while I waited. I called Pellner after I ate.

  “Did you have any luck with the camera we found at Jeannette’s house?” I asked.

  “Nothing yet. Like I said the other day, we probably won’t find anything out.”

  I sighed. “I found a gorgeous cobalt vase for you and a vintage Valentine.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I have to run.”

  Thirty minutes later the men came out, shook hands, and went their separate ways. Colonel Cane looked at his phone and seemed to be texting someone. When the other men had gotten in their cars and driven off, Colonel Cane went into the florist shop that was two doors down from the restaurant and uncomfortably close to me.

  Five minutes later he came out of the store with a bouquet of red roses. Maybe foll
owing him hadn’t been a waste of time after all. I watched him walk to his car and toss the bouquet onto the passenger seat. Who were those flowers for, Colonel Cane? He took off and I managed to get out on Great Road a few cars behind him. I was on pins and needles wondering where he was going. But it didn’t take long to figure it out. Base.

  It didn’t seem like he’d have an affair with someone on base. There were too many eyes watching. Kids always complained if they got caught doing anything wrong, their parents would know about it before the kid got home. I continued to follow though, just in case. But soon enough he pulled into his driveway, opened the garage, drove in, and disappeared from sight as his garage door closed. As I drove home, thoughts plucked at me. Something’s off. Something’s wrong. But maybe he was just trying to make things work with Becky. Or was he trying just a bit too hard to make it seem that way?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When I got home, I arranged the furniture on the covered porch. It would have some protection from the elements and since it wasn’t actual wicker it should be just fine outside. I hoped Stella liked it. As I finished arranging it, a white van pulled up across the street again. I moved closer to the door. A sprightly white-haired woman came around the side and opened the back. She hauled out a cake, closed the door with her foot, and carried it into the church.

  Yeesh, I was becoming way too paranoid. Listening to my gut was one thing. Being suspicious of everyone was just plain stupid. I hauled the cushions for the porch furniture upstairs and tucked them in the attic. They would go out when it was nice enough to sit on the porch. No sense exposing them to the harsh Massachusetts winter. After that I hauled the other furniture up to my apartment. I was sweating by the time I was done, despite how cold it was outside. Mike must be out somewhere because no one was sitting outside of his apartment. He hadn’t gone too far though, because the chair was still set up by his door.

  I moved everything off the end table I was using, including a lamp with a cobalt-glass base, a vintage cut-glass coaster, and a small postcard-sized painting that looked like a Monet. I slid the end table from its position on the left side of the couch over near my grandmother’s rocking chair by the window. Then I carried the mission-style one and put it by the couch. I stepped back to see if I liked it there or not. It was wider than mine, which might not be best in the small apartment. But I liked how it looked so I found a dust cloth and some polish to clean the piece up. My phone rang as I finished.

  “This is Judy Bruce.”

  “Hi?” I couldn’t imagine why Judy would be calling me. She’d always been one of those spouses who lived up to the reputation of the power hungry, snooty wife. Maybe she wanted to do a garage sale though, and I could certainly use the business.

  “Quit spreading rumors about Becky’s marriage.”

  That’s not what I’d been expecting. “I haven’t been,” I said. Other than the one conversation with Frank. I couldn’t imagine that Frank would run around telling anyone what I’d shared with him. Although if he’d looked into it, talked it over with someone, and someone overheard that conversation, I guess it was possible.

  “They returned from their dream cruise about a month before Alicia died. Becky’s husband told me that he fell more in love with her each and every day. So just knock it off with your nastiness.”

  How was that possible? Was he trying to cover up whatever was going on? Maybe something had happened after the cruise. I thought about the bouquet of roses. “But—”

  “My husband and I just went out to dinner with them a couple of nights ago. They are so freaking sappy with each other it’s almost embarrassing.”

  “Who told you I was spreading rumors?” I needed to know who to defend myself against.

  “I don’t gossip.”

  Yeah, right, Judy.

  “For some reason Becky thinks highly of you and I don’t want this to get back to her. But if I hear one more word about this you will regret it. Why are you even hanging around base anyway?”

  She didn’t wait for my answer, she just hung up. I slumped onto my couch, still staring at my phone. What was that? Would Becky share a confidence with me that she wouldn’t with one of her best friends? She said they were trying to work things out. He’d taken her flowers. Becky was a private woman. She must have told me in a moment of extreme stress.

  I sprang up, went to the window, and opened the curtains to stare out. The church steeple’s sharp shadow loomed across the town common and looked like a dagger slashing through the snow. Maybe Becky was trying to save face while she and her husband hopefully worked things out. But why would he make those comments and then turn around and tell Becky he wanted a divorce?

  * * *

  My conflicting thoughts on what Becky had told me versus what everyone else but Ginger had said, were interrupted when Stella stopped by a few minutes later. She headed straight for my grandmother’s rocking chair and sat down. There was just something comforting about sitting in that chair. “There’s new furniture on the front porch. Do you know anything about it?”

  I sat on the couch. I should find another chair for in here. If it wasn’t too big, one could fit on the other side of the window. “Do you like it?” I thought I’d make sure before I admitted to buying it.

  “It’s great.”

  “I found it at a thrift shop I went to. All their furniture was half price. Hang on a second, there’s more.” I crawled into the attic space and dragged out the cushions. “What do you think?”

  “They’re perfect. Thanks. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “You’ve been an amazing landlady and friend. You haven’t raised my rent since I moved in two years ago. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  Stella waved away the compliment. “You found the old sheet music I framed for my apartment. Besides you always take care of Tux for me if I’m gone.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” I’d lucked out when I’d moved here.

  “I heard you had dinner with Mike and Francesco the other night.”

  Something in her voice alerted me that I might not want to hear what was going to follow. “I did. It was nice of him, but kind of awkward too.”

  “How so?”

  “I guess we haven’t ever just socialized before. There was always some purpose for any interaction.” Usually me wanting his help for one reason or another.

  “Hmmm,” Stella said with a little smirk on her face.

  “What? What’s that ‘hmmm’ mean?”

  “I think he’s interested in you.”

  “I bug him often enough.” I chose to avoid what she was hinting at. Because that seemed crazy to me.

  “Romantically,” she added. “Remember how happy he was when he saw you the day he moved in?”

  I slumped against the couch. Maybe I had realized that the other night on some level, but hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. I’d tried to chalk up the awkwardness to not knowing each other all that well. “But he knows I’m with Seth. He must have seen him here.” Mike and Seth’s real relationship was a closely guarded secret. I couldn’t fill her in or say anything like Mike knows a lot about Seth and me.

  “Doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.”

  Now I was going to feel awkward around Mike. “If he ever brings it up to you, please tell him there’s no way.” Seth or no Seth. “How’s Awesome been?”

  “Better, but I can tell there’s something on his mind that he doesn’t want to talk about.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “For now.” Stella stood up. “Thanks again for the furniture.”

  “You’re welcome.” Awesome better get his act together and quick.

  * * *

  After eating a bowl of canned soup, I poured a glass of wine and went into the living room. I grabbed my computer. Maybe action would make me quit thinking about Mike possibly being romantically interested in me. My search for the mystery woman started by using the list of volunteers I’d found in the thrift
shop office. Maybe she was the key to all I had heard, all I was questioning. I took the name of each of the volunteers that I didn’t know and typed their names into a search engine. I quickly crossed off the names of several women who were active on social media. Their pictures didn’t match my memory. One woman I couldn’t find much on. But my guess was the mystery woman was young enough that she would use lots of social media platforms, so I kept going down the list.

  I typed in the name Delaney Cooley, and there she was at last. She lived on base, didn’t have kids, and loved cats. Her Facebook feed was full of cat videos. Delaney had two of her own and volunteered at an animal shelter here in Ellington. I checked the list from the thrift shop again. It looked like she volunteered on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I’d swing by the shop tomorrow. Hopefully, at long last, I’d get some answers.

  My phone rang right as I climbed into bed. Becky.

  “I can’t believe you tracked down my husband at the gym.”

  Becky didn’t sound happy, and being on the receiving end of an unhappy Becky wasn’t ever fun. “I bumped into him.”

  “What were you doing there? I know you can’t work out on base.”

  That was true. Since CJ and I divorced, the number of things I could do on base was limited to volunteering at the thrift shop or visiting a friend. I couldn’t use any of the facilities like the pool, bowling alley, base exchange, or the commissary. This was awkward.

  “I was meeting a friend who had some things she’d bought from me on my virtual garage sale.” I didn’t like to lie.

  “I don’t believe you. Stay away from him. Our lives are difficult enough right now without you butting in.”

  She disconnected. Wow, think how mad she’d be if she knew I’d spent my evening following him around. But she’s the one who asked me for help and if she didn’t like what I found out, that was her problem. And right now I was positive she wasn’t going to like me much at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I called Frank at eight o’clock Tuesday morning. He’d just gotten into the office. I’d spent part of the night thinking about the nasty comments of the women at the dining-out and Judy Bruce’s when she had called about Becky. I remembered Angelo’s remark about nothing was perfect when he was trying a new recipe for his Fra Diavolo sauce. Nothing was. Frank had asked for my help, as had Becky. Eleanor liked having me work at the thrift shop. I wasn’t going to let a few nasty women stop me.