Sarah Winston Garage Sale 01 - Tagged for Death

by Sherry Harris

James drained the water out of the sink and wiped it down with a purple sponge. “I know CJ had a few drinks, but he didn’t act drunk.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel better? Because knowing that CJ made the decision to sleep with Tiffany without being drunk isn’t helping.”

  James blew out a breath of air. “I’m an ass. What I was trying to say was Colonel Brown was drunk. Really drunk. He and Tiffany were very flirty. CJ pulled him aside and said something to him. They argued and Colonel Brown left—even though his team wasn’t finished bowling yet.”

  Oh, my God. Ted had denied knowing her the day I went to his office. This proved he did.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

  I didn’t want to get into any of this with James. “Tiffany might have flirted with Brown, but she slept with CJ.” I put the last plate away. I was hesitant to share what Deena had told me. Although, after the way she’d been treating me, I decided she didn’t deserve any kind of loyalty from me. And this was about CJ, not me.

  “Have you ever heard any rumors about Colonel Brown’s wife?”

  “Deena? What kind of rumors?” James took the dish towel from me, folded it, and put it by the sink.

  “That she was sleeping with a gate guard, and it’s not a rumor. She told me she did. Anyone talking about that?”

  James thought for a moment; then he shook his head. “I haven’t heard a word.”

  “Would you have if it was one of the civilians?”

  “Not necessarily. I’ll ask around. See if I can find anything out.”

  “Thanks for stopping by. It means a lot to me. Your friendship.”

  “If I can do anything . . .”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Not long after James left, Carol called me. “I’m still at the store. Come over. I have everything out to paint and a no-show.”

  It was only eight, so I walked back across the common to Carol’s store. It smelled of paint and the vanilla-scented candles she burned. She put a glass of wine in my hand and plunked me in front of an easel.

  “I’m not going to paint. Remember what happened last time?” I’d gone with a group from the Spouses Club last fall, when I still was a spouse.

  “Yes, you painted a lovely tree of life.”

  “Mine looked like a head of moldy broccoli.”

  Carol popped up a picture of a wineglass holding red wine, which sat on a table covered with a blue tablecloth. “Here this one is easy. My kids can paint this one.”

  “Thanks. Now if it comes out looking like an alien or algae, I’ll really feel good about myself.”

  Carol set up her own easel. She wasn’t painting from a picture, though. She was doing an oil of the Old North Bridge in Concord. It was a winter scene as the sun set. She’d splashed bright shades of orange, pink, and blue across the sky. The colors reflected in the Concord River and on the snowy banks.

  “Is that for me?” I asked. I had one other painting she’d done. It was of the coast in Monterey. I’d been bugging her for another one for years.

  “Maybe. Quit watching me work and paint. It will relax you.”

  “I doubt it.” I picked up my brush and started filling in strokes. Carol would occasionally lean over, helping me with a detail or blending a color.

  “Have you had any more gunshot calls?” Carol asked.

  “Yesterday morning. I was driving to Bedford to work on Betty’s garage sale.”

  Carol put down her paintbrush. “What are you going to do about them?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t even figure out who’d care.” I waved my brush around, splattering blue paint on the table.

  “It sounds like CJ would.”

  “I can’t tell him while he’s locked up. He can’t do anything.”

  “I get that. Someone should do something.”

  “At least you know,” I said as I turned back to my painting.

  “What about that social life you mentioned the day we went to the garage sales? Anything going on with that?”

  My cheeks grew warm, but, fortunately, Carol continued to paint and didn’t notice. Seth. Where did he fit into my life? He didn’t.

  “Not a thing,” I finally answered.

  Carol glanced over at me, but she let it go without comment. My painting started to take shape. It looked like a wineglass. I’d managed to make the tablecloth drape nicely. I imitated Carol’s bold splashes of color for the background instead of doing the more bland background in the picture.

  Carol’s phone rang. She glanced at it, frowned, and said, “I have to take this. Keep working.” She moved to the back of the store, mostly listening, occasionally saying, “Uh-huh” or “You’re kidding.” She glanced over at me more than once before she hung up.

  She came back over. She took a slug of wine before refilling my glass. “Your painting looks good.”

  “Just tell me.”

  Carol shook her head; then she sighed. “I have some bad news.”

  “Okay.” How much worse could it be than two murders?

  “That was Laura. You’ve been banned from the base.”

  CHAPTER 24

  I dropped my paintbrush. “What? Why?”

  “I’m sure it’s just temporary. Laura said Deena threw a hissy after she left the thrift shop. She said you’d been harassing her and Ted.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Ted backed her up. Did you go to his office?”

  “Yes. Once.”

  “And their house? She said you blocked her way when she was trying to go to the gym.”

  “All that happened, but it’s wildly exaggerated. Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. Laura said Deena’s been strange lately. I’m sure it will get straightened out in a few days. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s . . .” I was going to say “okay,” but it wasn’t. It hurt.

  “Laura wanted you to know tonight, instead of having you show up on base. Having someone tell you at the gate or visitors center. She told her husband the whole thing was ridiculous. He’ll try to get it straightened out soon.”

  “I wonder if they have pictures of me posted at all the gates with a big sign that says, ‘Don’t let this woman on base.’”

  Carol shook her head at me. “Leave your painting here tonight. You can come pick it up tomorrow.”

  At home I sat on my couch, flipping through TV channels, unable to find anything that interested me. I left it on a singing competition. The judges laughed at some poor contestant who thought he could sing. Public humiliation. I felt for the guy.

  I hadn’t only lost my husband in the divorce; it looked like I was also losing the life I’d known for the past nineteen years. While a large part of it had ended with CJ, at least I’d been able to continue some of my volunteer work and hang out with my base friends.

  Then the same feeling came over me that had at the thrift shop. Life might be telling me it was time to move on. I was used to change. Anyone who either made the military a career or married someone in the military knew what it was like to start over: new towns, friends, doctors, dentists, and, the worst, trying to find a new hairstylist. It was always a huge adjustment. What would moving on be like this time, now that I was alone? I wouldn’t live on a base or have an instant support group. Would I move away from Ellington? Even with all that had happened, I didn’t want to go. I liked it here.

  Agent Bristow called me at ten on Thursday morning. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’ve been banned from base.”

  “So I heard. I can have you escorted on and off, unless you’d rather meet somewhere else.”

  Being seen on base with a formal escort was way too humiliating. “Somewhere else sounds good.”

  “Why not meet me at Ellington’s library. In, say, half an hour?”

  Thirty minutes later, I walked into the library. I’d dressed for the occasion in a black dress, tights, and boots. It somehow made me feel ready for battle. Bristow wasn’t in the entrance. I roame
d around, looking for him. I stopped to admire Ellington’s famed artworks by Revolutionary War minuteman and artist Patrick West. The minutemen chased the British troops back toward Boston in the painting.

  I wished sides were that clearly drawn in my life—that I could tell who was on my team by the clothing worn. A throat cleared behind me. It was Bristow.

  We sat at a table near the painting. Bristow leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. The cuffs from his white shirt peeked out under the frayed edge of his hounds-tooth sports jacket. The stained, misbuttoned, frayed clothes might be a ploy to gain my sympathy. If so, it worked. We’d both lost people we loved, although in very different ways.

  “Did you ever find out who Jessica was talking to the Friday before she was killed?” I asked. I’d better get my question in before Bristow got to whatever topic he called me to discuss.

  Bristow hesitated before giving a little nod. “She made a lot of calls to West Virginia that day. We’re in the process of following up with the people she called to see if they can shed any light on what Jessica wanted. No one has been very willing to talk. I might need to send someone out there. She made a lot of local calls that day, too. It’s time-consuming work.”

  I was surprised Agent Bristow shared that with me. I’d really expected a “none of your business” answer. His willingness to tell me something, share anything, made me wonder why I was here. I might as well see what else I could find out before he shut me down.

  “I’ve heard rumors that the drug ring is still operating on base,” I said. “That even after the arrests, you still haven’t found the ringleader.”

  “Why are you asking me about that investigation?”

  “It could be related to Tiffany and Jessica. Have you looked into that?”

  “The drug investigation has nothing to do with them.”

  I wasn’t satisfied, but I didn’t want to make him angry. “Why did you want to meet with me?”

  Bristow cleared his throat. “We have news. The DNA results came back. I wanted to tell you myself. It was a ninety-eight percent match to Tiffany. I’m sorry. The results confirm it’s her.”

  I gritted my teeth. A hot wave of emotion roiled through me. I expected to feel sad, but I felt angry. Tiffany had screwed up my life in so many ways. Not just my life. I forced myself to relax my jaw. Tiffany was dead, not off living on a beach somewhere, or eloping or visiting Disney World. I hadn’t wanted her to be dead because of CJ.

  It never made sense that she’d leave when she had CJ here to support their child. She might have been mad at him for his refusal to stay with her, but running away only hurt her and the baby.

  “What will happen to CJ?”

  “The special treatment he’s been getting will end. He’ll be moved to Billerica on Saturday.”

  “Do you have any new evidence?” I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my dress.

  “No. If you know anything, now is the time to tell me. Withholding information wouldn’t help CJ.”

  I thought about the bloody shirts again, my promise about them to CJ. I was very conscious of Agent Bristow studying me. Little beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. CJ would only be safe for another forty-eight hours. Then he’d be in a jail with the general prison population—men who didn’t like cops.

  I weighed that against knowing CJ wanted to continue his career in law enforcement. CJ wouldn’t have killed Tiffany, no matter how angry he’d been with her. CJ had begged me not to tell anyone about the shirts. I would honor that request for now.

  “He’ll be charged with Jessica’s murder. Possibly in the death of the baby, too. Now’s the time to tell me anything you know, if you want to help him.”

  Three murders. I had to say something. “Of course I want to help him. What makes you think he killed Jessica?”

  Bristow came close to rolling his eyes. “CJ knows the base as well as anyone. He’d know the weak points in the perimeter. He knows the patrol routine.”

  “He’d know better than to leave behind a murder weapon with his fingerprints on it—a murder weapon that would be easily linked to him,” I said.

  “We figure he dropped it in haste as he was leaving.”

  “How do you know he fled in haste?” I didn’t think Agent Bristow would answer many more questions. I sensed his impatience. He leaned back in his chair, a physical move that proved my theory right. He was almost done with me. Any questions he’d answered were only to get more information from me.

  “Doesn’t his ID being by Tiffany’s remains and the statue at Jessica’s look just a little too convenient?” I asked.

  “I can see how you’d think that. I think these were both crimes of passion.”

  “Why would CJ kill Jessica? What would make him that angry with her?”

  “I was hoping you could answer those questions. Did they have a relationship outside the office? Something inappropriate?”

  Could they have? I shook my head. “No. There’s no reason to believe that. If they did, why not suspect me?”

  “You’ve been looked at. Thoroughly.”

  That made me extremely uncomfortable. I tried hard not to let it show. “Why aren’t I sitting in jail? I’m the wronged woman.”

  “I don’t think you’re the kind of woman to blame the other woman. You’d aim your anger at CJ. If you were going to kill someone, I’d put my money on CJ’s head, not Tiffany’s or Jessica’s.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “You didn’t try to cling to CJ after you found out about the affair. You left. Until Tiffany disappeared, you two had very little contact, even though you live just a few miles apart. Yes, you had opportunity, with everyone and their second cousin willing to sponsor you on base day or night. Unless I’ve read you completely wrong, your reactions to both finding the bones and Jessica’s body were real.”

  They must have gone through CJ’s phone and computer records if they knew how little contact we’d had until recently. Or mine. I hoped they hadn’t gone through mine. “Then you must know there wasn’t anything going on between Jessica and CJ.”

  Agent Bristow leaned back in his chair and waited. “You’re the one who gave me the information that Jessica dated a lot.”

  I should have just kept my big mouth shut if he was going to use that against CJ. “Agent Bristow, you are way off on all this.”

  “Even if they weren’t in a relationship, Jessica might have uncovered evidence that proved CJ killed Tiffany.”

  “CJ didn’t kill either Jessica or Tiffany. You have to find out who did.”

  “You must still really care for him.”

  I stifled a groan. First Carol, then CJ, and now Bristow. How many more people were going to say that to me? I couldn’t explain it was guilt over the bloody shirts that made me act this way.

  “Have you looked closely at the Ellington Police Department? I’ve heard a lot of rumors about corruption. Someone may be setting CJ up.”

  Bristow looked startled, like he was expecting me to say something else. That worried me. “I’ll take it into consideration,” he said.

  After my conversation with Bristow, I realized no one was interested in the real murderer. The evidence against CJ continued to pile up. I thought about Deena, a lot. Maybe Ted did have an affair with Tiffany. Deena might have flipped out and confronted her. They could have argued. Deena grabbed the nearest thing, my statue, and whacked Tiffany over the head with it.

  She could have planted rumors about her affair so no one would suspect her. I couldn’t figure out how she would have had access to CJ’s ID—unless he’d lost it at the gym. She might have found it and meant to give it back to him. I remembered she’d been at our house, too, on the day I’d moved out. Deena could have taken it then.

  If Jessica found out, Deena could have killed her, too. If it wasn’t Deena, it could be someone from the dorm. Jessica had said Tiffany ignored the enlisted guys. Maybe one of them couldn’t take it. Figuring out how anyone pulled
it off wouldn’t be easy, since I didn’t have access to the base. I only had two days to find out who’d killed Tiffany and Jessica before CJ was moved. I had to take action.

  I parked my car in the lot behind Bedford High School, the school that the kids from Fitch attended. Time to put into action the best plan I could come up with. Thankfully, it was chilly. I pulled my hoodie up, hiding as much of my face as possible. I slapped on a giant wraparound pair of sunglasses, which, hopefully, would cover my laugh lines. I wore yoga pants from Victoria’s Secret and some UGGs I’d dug out of the back of my closet. Pink lipstick and a ton of gloss completed my look. Kids started pouring out of the school. I walked over to where the school buses were lined up.

  Earlier in the day, I’d gone through all my options for getting on base. Until recently I could have called the visitors center, pretended I was someone living on base, and sponsored myself on. Someone had spotted that gap in security procedures. To sponsor someone on, you either had to send an e-mail request from an official government address or show up in person. This was the best plan I could come up with on short notice.

  The bus for the base kids opened its doors. I almost turned around, but I heard Angelo’s voice in my head, “Be the bull.” I hoped I had a little more finesse than a bull would. My outfit blended in with what the kids were wearing. I worked my way to the middle of the group. The bus driver took no notice of me as I climbed on the bus. I grabbed a seat near the back of the bus, popped in earbuds, and concentrated on my phone. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see I wasn’t the only one doing this.

  The bus took off with a jarring bounce. I readjusted my sunglasses and tugged my hood forward, making sure as little of my face showed as possible. The bus headed down Great Road and took a right on Hartwell. The two girls in the seat in front of me chatted away. One looked like your typical blond-cheerleader type. The other was all dark, Goth, spiked-hair gloom. An odd combination for friends. The cheerleader turned around and looked at me.

  “Are you new? I don’t remember seeing you before.”