Sarah Winston Garage Sale 01 - Tagged for Death

by Sherry Harris

  I would have answered, but his buddies came, pulling Seth over to a table at the other side of the bar.

  I found a bar stool, smiling to myself as I sipped my gin and tonic. I was glad I’d come. Maybe I could handle being single. Maybe I could even enjoy it.

  I mostly kept my back to the room, chatted with the bartender on the rare occasions when he wasn’t busy, and fended off a few drunks. I nursed another drink before switching to tonics without the gin. All in all a pleasant evening but if I drank anymore I wouldn’t be in any shape to drive home.

  I left a good tip and slipped off my bar stool. I was almost at the door when someone grabbed my hand. Seth.

  A noise outside my apartment jolted me back to the present. I pushed all thoughts of Seth aside when Tyler’s door slammed. The faint sounds of music came on next door. I rolled on my side. Tried to forget about bones and police interviews, about what CJ and I knew that no one else did. Our sin of omission or obstruction of justice, depending on how you looked at it. Someone else knew about the bloody shirts. Figuring out who was the problem.

  CHAPTER 8

  I pulled into Carol’s driveway after she’d had a chance to get the kids off to school. Her house sat on a cul-de-sac adjoining conservancy land on the outer edges of Ellington, not far from the Concord River. Two other houses shared the large cul-de-sac. The area was full of wildlife. No one would ever guess the 95 and the 495 were only a short trip away. New Englanders harassed me for using my California way of adding “the” before any numbered freeway.

  Carol lifted her garage door. “Ta-da,” she said, throwing her arms out.

  Boxes, furniture, and household goods were stuffed in almost every possible space. I placed my hand over my heart, staggering back a few steps. “It’s the worst mess I’ve ever seen.”

  “If it’s too much, we can put the sale off for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m joking. I’ve seen far worse.” For once I was grateful to stare down such a huge, disorganized pile of stuff. It kept me from thinking about the images of bones that had haunted me for most of the night. One small path cut down the center.

  “Brad said the lawn mower is hidden in the back somewhere. I think the warmer weather reminded him of that. That explains why he’s been moaning about all of this stuff. He’s threatening to haul it all off if he can’t get to the mower.”

  I dug into the first box, glad I’d dressed in layers, since the morning was still cool. Carol and I worked well together. Carol slapped sticky notes on any furniture, sports equipment, or boxes that could be sold. I followed behind her pricing and sorting. I envisioned different ways to display all of this. I wanted to get her the best price possible.

  “How are you doing?” Carol asked.

  “Not bad. There’s a lot to do here. I can have it ready by Saturday.”

  “That’s not what I was asking and you know it.”

  I sighed. “CJ said maybe the bones aren’t Tiffany’s. That maybe she’ll show up.”

  “When did he tell you that?”

  “Last night. He came over.” I watched Carol’s face. “It’s not what you think. He wanted to know how my interview went.”

  “That’s pathetic. How did he think it went? You were being interviewed about a murder. Why does he think she’ll show up? Does he know something you don’t?”

  “No. It was more of a hope. He was trying to make me feel better.”

  Carol muttered something, then looked at her sparkly, large-faced watch. “It’s eleven-thirty. I’ve got to get to the store. I’ll sort some more tonight and you can come back whenever. You still have the key and garage code, don’t you?”

  “It’s eleven-thirty? I’m supposed to be at the thrift shop.”

  “Will they be open today, after what happened yesterday?”

  “I guess so. Nothing happened in the thrift shop. It was all behind it.”

  “Are you sure you want to go back over there?” Carol asked.

  Pictures of the bones flashed through my head. I closed my eyes for a moment. Carol put her arm around me.

  “I’ll be fine. I’d rather get it over with now than have going back hanging over my head,” I said.

  Crime scene tape still blocked off the parking lot on the side of the building. If I were Catholic, I would have crossed myself. I was tempted to, anyway. I parked the Suburban near the old, rusted lift on the outside of the thrift shop. We used it to haul things from street level up the four feet to the floor level of the thrift shop. It was great for heavy loads or big items like couches. Since the lift was at street level, I loaded the bags from the back of the Suburban onto it before going inside.

  Laura rushed over to me the minute I walked in the front door of the shop. “Are you okay?” she asked as we walked through the thrift shop. A half wall divided the main room into a smaller room with clothing and sporting goods. Beyond it was a storeroom. “It was creepy coming back here today.” She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected a monster to be there. “I wonder who it was out there. Do you think it was Tiffany?”

  “I hope not.” For more reasons than I could say out loud. “It’s awful no matter who it is.”

  We rolled up the heavy steel, garage-like door. I hit the button to raise the lift. The noises it made as it rose suited the special-effects department of any haunted house. It sounded worse than usual. The base or the spouses’ club budgets didn’t have the money to fix the lift when it finally did break. I hauled the bags from the lift to the storeroom used for sorting while Laura rang up some customers.

  I put on a blue bibbed apron with a name tag that said, Barb. Using other people’s aprons had started as a joke; but with the whole CJ/Tiffany scandal, I appreciated the anonymity. I helped a few customers, plugging in a TV to make sure it worked for one. During lulls I slipped back to the storeroom to empty the bags I’d brought in.

  Laura hollered to me to meet her in the office after some other volunteers arrived. She closed the office door. “They think out by the Dumpster is a secondary crime scene. That the murder was committed somewhere else and then the body dumped.”

  That made sense, considering the lack of blood around the bones. “We had that heavy rain for a couple of hours on Saturday night.”

  “Mark said there’d still be evidence, even with the rain,” Laura said.

  “What about the blood in Tiffany’s room?” I asked.

  “I heard it wasn’t nearly enough to be the murder scene.”

  Lots of things could explain that. Blankets or using something to stanch the flow, something like shirts. I kept that thought to myself.

  “They’re bringing in some cadaver dogs to see if they can find anything else around base,” Laura said.

  Fitch had K-9 units, but no cadaver dogs. The base K-9 units were either drug sniffers or bomb sniffers. They did regular patrols around the base, including the housing areas. They also performed random searches of cars entering base. I knew teens on base who bragged they’d had pot in the car that the dogs didn’t catch. What they didn’t realize was how fortunate they had been that the bomb dogs, instead of the drug dogs, had been on duty that day. CJ had done trials with the dogs. They could sniff out as little as a seed of marijuana.

  Lots of people complained when they saw the K-9 units at the gates. They were there randomly. Anyone’s car could be searched from a teenage dependent to the two-star general to a contractor who worked on base. The K-9 units helped keep the base safe, while giving the dogs practice for deployments.

  “I think the dogs come tomorrow,” Laura said.

  “I wonder why they didn’t just toss the body in the Dumpster?”

  “I asked about that, too. The theory is the body was left by the Dumpster in hopes animals would drag off the remains.”

  “Then why leave it by the Dumpster instead of taking it another ten feet into the woods?” I knew better than to ask Laura where she’d heard all of this. Some of it probably came from Mark, although he could be tight-lipp
ed with her at times. Laura always made friends with his secretaries and executive officers, or execs as the name was shortened to. Plus she knew almost everyone on base and managed to charm most of them.

  “Between the vultures and the coyotes on base, bones could be scattered all over the place,” Laura said.

  I shuddered at the thought. After 9/11, the perimeter of the base had been fenced in for security reasons. The surrounding towns had protested. Many people used the base roads to cut through from point A to point B. Coyotes had been trapped inside the fencing and still roamed around the base.

  Laura scooted back in her chair. “Go home. I called in a couple of people. We can keep the place open without you.” She turned back at the office door. “Let me know if you hear any news.”

  At dinnertime I looked out my window at DiNapoli’s. A family walked out as I watched. A little girl skipped ahead. Her dad hurried behind her, grabbing her hand before she ran into the street. I had a freezer full of ziti I could eat. I should stay home. A walk would be good for me, however—especially one that ended with me at the counter of DiNapoli’s.

  Thirty minutes later, after a brisk walk, I stood at the counter ordering a medium bianco with garlic and fresh tomatoes to go. I carried the hot pizza box across the common. Lights glowed from Tyler’s and Stella’s windows, and in the houses around mine. Even Tyler had company. I saw shadows of more than one person through his thin curtains.

  I knocked on Stella’s door. When she answered, I held up the pizza box. “Want to come up for pizza?”

  “Mmmm, I smell garlic. I’ll grab a bottle of wine and be up in a minute.”

  Thirty minutes later, we looked at the empty pizza box. We’d also polished off half the bottle of Chianti that Stella brought.

  “Did they figure out whose body that was on base?” Stella asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard. Did you know I found the body?” I looked at Stella.

  “I ran into Scott Pellner at the Stop and Shop. He told me. Seemed happy about you finding it. Almost like he hoped you had something to do with it.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “We dated in high school. He thought I was going to be ‘Mrs. Scott Pellner.’ That tells you something about his personality. I didn’t even get to be ‘Stella Pellner.’”

  “What happened?”

  “First of all, I wasn’t about to be ‘Mrs. Anybody’ at that age. The last thing I wanted was to stay home and start popping out babies. I headed off to Europe to become an opera star.”

  “Scott stayed here?”

  “Surprisingly, he enlisted in the air force. Did a four-year stint. He met the girl of his dreams while stationed in Kentucky. As soon as his time was up, they moved back here. She did start popping out kids. They have five.”

  “It’s surprising he’s loyal to CJ, an outsider. You’d think he might have been interested in being chief.”

  “Back in high school, his ambition was all in pursuit of as many varsity letters as he could get on his jacket. Being chief would feel like being the captain of the football team all over again. The status it would give him. It’s like he’d always be on the winning team.”

  “Could he be jealous of CJ? That CJ is the chief, instead of him?”

  “The Scott I knew in high school would have been. I don’t know him well enough to say anymore,” Stella said.

  “Who lives in the other apartment down by you? I’ve never seen them.”

  “The Callahans. They winter in Florida. Usually, they come back in time for Patriots’ Day. A cute little couple that’s been married for years. When their kids moved out, they sold their place. It closed faster than they expected, so they rented from me. They talk about buying another place. Never do it, though.”

  I poured us both more wine. “How long did you stay in Europe?”

  “A couple of years. I loved it, but as they say, ‘A New Englander’s roots run to the middle of the Earth.’” Stella took a sip of her wine. “When I came back, I tried living in the South Shore. Even that was too far from home.”

  “It’s what an hour or two away?” I’m not sure I’d ever understand a New Englander’s concept of distance. It took longer to get from Monterey to the California/Oregon border than it did from Ellington to Caribou, Maine.

  “Depending on traffic. Here I am, back in Ellington. Even though I missed it when I was gone, I sometimes wonder why I moved back.”

  After Stella left, I shut off the lights and turned my grandmother’s rocker to look out on the common. By nine-thirty at night, only an occasional car drove down Great Road. People called Bedford “Deadford” because of its lack of nightlife; Ellington wasn’t any different. The lights flipped off at DiNapoli’s. One person trekked across the town common. A few flakes of snow started to fall. April was one of those months where it could be eighty degrees or we could have a blizzard. I hoped the weather would warm up for Saturday or the garage sale could be a bust.

  Putting the bloody shirts in my car had to have been a deliberate act. If anyone else had found them, they’d have tossed them in the trash. Someone was familiar with my routine of going to garage sales and taking stuff to the thrift shop. I hadn’t lived in Ellington very long. I didn’t know that many people. It must be someone from base.

  Even if it was someone connected with Fitch, why put the clothes in my car? That thought didn’t take me to a happy place. Someone was trying to set CJ up for Tiffany’s murder. Handing me the evidence to put him away might have seemed like a smart move. I’d moved out right after I’d found out about the affair. Hell hath no fury, and all that. Instead of turning the shirts over to the police, I turned them over to CJ. Then I lied about—no, omitted—that bit of information when I talked to Agent Bristow.

  I guessed, if any of my speculation was even somewhat close to the mark, whoever had done this didn’t expect me to respond this way. What would be their next move when they figured out the shirts hadn’t been discovered? Maybe I needed to talk to CJ again. Knowing him, he’d already gone down that path and was way ahead of me. If he had, why hadn’t he talked to me about it? Someone, somewhere, might be planning his or her next move and it might involve me. I could sit here speculating all night—or I could do something.

  CHAPTER 9

  At eleven forty-five at night, I stood outside Tiffany’s dorm room with Jessica. She’d sponsored me on the base. Since it was after ten at night, the Fitch Visitors Center at the Patterson gate was closed and I’d had to come through the Offutt gate. I hadn’t wanted to involve Jessica, but she’d once bragged about being able to open almost any door with a credit card. It only took a minute for her to prove herself right. We slipped in.

  I blinked when Jessica flipped on the light. She’d said this might be hard for me, that it might not be a good idea.

  “You don’t have to stay. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I said. It wasn’t like police tape blocked the door anymore, but I didn’t think anyone would be too happy to find us looking around in here.

  “I’m good,” Jessica said.

  No blood remained on the linoleum floor, but one area was cleaner than the rest. The room looked like it had been hit with an explosion of pink. Pink comforter, frilly pillows on a twin bed, a jury-rigged pink chandelier, a large pink poof as extra seating, even pink-fringed curtains. A desk, a chair with pink seat cushion, bookshelves, and a small refrigerator covered with pink magnets completed the room.

  I went over to the bulletin board hanging over the desk. An official photo of CJ giving Tiffany an Airman of the Quarter Award filled the middle of the board. Another was the squadron volleyball team. Tiffany stood next to CJ in that one. The others were of CJ at various events. Some were clipped from the Fitch Times, the base newspaper. One of them had been a picture of CJ and me. He was in his mess dress looking very handsome. My shoulder still showed, a bit of my red sparkly strap. Tiffany had cut out the rest of me.

  I moved over to the rickety bookshelf. On top were frame
d pictures from her ultrasounds. She’d painted the initials CJ and TL on the top of one of the frames. She’d glued cutout hearts on others that said, Mrs. Tiffany Hooker or CJ plus TL equals love. I made a little choking noise. Jessica hurried over to me.

  “I’m okay. It’s not like I didn’t know.” Seeing the proof had hurt me more than I had expected, but I didn’t want to let on in front of Jessica. A round, bare spot stood out on the top of the dusty bookshelf. “Do you know what was there?” I asked.

  Jessica shrugged. “She was always redecorating, changing things out from one season to the next.”

  “I guess it must be pink season then.” I looked at the top of the bookshelf again. The photos had been rearranged, too, because clear spots in the dust showed where they used to be.

  “A lot of people were in here after you found the bones and Tiffany didn’t show up at work. Things got moved around,” Jessica said.

  I moved back over to the bulletin board. “What about those two pictures?”

  “They’re people from back home.”

  One was Tiffany in her uniform with a group of seven people around her. None of them looked happy—except for Tiffany. Her smile could have cut through fog. Perhaps because she knew she was leaving town? Another showed what looked to be a bunch of high-school kids in the back of a black pickup truck. They were all laughing and posing.

  “Do you know the name of the town she came from?”

  “Stahl, West Virginia. Tiffany said the only thing it had going for it was the coal mines. She wanted out bad.”

  “What do you know about her boyfriend?” I asked.

  “High-school sweethearts. Some jock football player. His grades weren’t good enough to get him to college, so he took a job in the mine. Tiffany said he was furious when she left. She didn’t want to end up like her mom.”