Sarah Winston Garage Sale 01 - Tagged for Death

by Sherry Harris

  “Bristow used a classic interrogation method on you. He tried to shake you up by making up a story about the DNA, to see if you were holding something back.”

  “That jerk.” I hoped that meant CJ wasn’t going to be charged in Jessica’s murder and the baby’s—that Bristow had lied about that, too.

  “You didn’t hold anything back, did you?”

  “No.” I hated to lie to James, of all people. “I have to go.”

  “Sarah, wait.” James tilted my chin up. “You’ve been hurt. You are worth more than that.”

  I didn’t say anything for a minute. “Thank you, James.” I jumped in the Suburban and took off. I had to talk to CJ.

  CHAPTER 28

  I headed back to Ellington. For a minute, back in Lowell, I’d thought James was going to kiss me. I hoped I’d misunderstood James’s actions—that he didn’t think of me romantically, when I thought of him as a friend. He was right about my being worth something. It’s why I’d left CJ. It’s also why I didn’t plan a repeat of a night with Seth or with anyone else.

  I parked across the street from the Ellington Police Station. My access to CJ would be limited when they moved him tomorrow. After talking to him, I’d decide if I needed to fess up about the bloody shirts.

  More than the normal number of people worked this late on a Friday night. They moved slower, heads down, as if they’d given up. The energy was different in the station.

  For once, I didn’t have to sit out in the lobby, hoping I’d get to see CJ. After surrendering my purse, an officer escorted me to the same room CJ had been staying in and locked me in. There was a time in my life when I would have been thrilled to be locked in a room with CJ.

  The cot still didn’t have a pillow. An old, bulky TV sat in a corner. A stack of thrillers stuck out from under the cot: David Baldacci, Robert Crais, and Michael Connelly, CJ’s favorite authors. A camera still hung from the ceiling, pointing down at CJ.

  He looked a heck of a lot more cheerful than everyone else did when I walked in. A game of solitaire sprawled across the cot.

  “Not quite poker night,” he said, gesturing to the cards. He moved to me like he was going to hug me, but he stopped when I took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have to tell someone I had the shirts first. I can’t let you go to the Billerica jail over this.”

  “It’s not just the shirts. It’s my ID card, my fingerprints, last-known person to have the statue.”

  “That’s not true. James’s partner at the crime scene, the day I found Jessica’s body. She said it was Tiffany’s. Other people had access to it, too.”

  “I explained to you before that I trust in the process. The charges will be dropped. If you tell, once the charges are dropped, no one will trust me.”

  “Agent Bristow told me they’re transferring you to Billerica tomorrow.”

  “A few days in Billerica won’t hurt me. I might learn something.”

  “Come on. I’ve always known you were an optimist, but you can drop the act. This is serious.”

  “Billerica is hardly Souza-Baranowski. It’s not a maximum-security prison. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve heard what happens to cops in jail.”

  “They’ll probably keep me separated from the general population.”

  “Probably? Or they will?”

  “They will.” The lack of conviction in CJ’s voice and his unwillingness to look at me told me otherwise.

  “I have something to show you.” I took the notes out of my coat pocket, glad I’d remembered to take them out of my purse before I went into the police station. I turned my back to the camera and handed them over to CJ.

  He read through each one, his face stoic. “You said Ted threw these away.”

  “These are different ones.” I told CJ about what I’d done last night. CJ shook his head while I talked, but at least he listened.

  “What the hell, Sarah? You have no proof where you found these.”

  “I do.” I showed him the pictures on my phone.

  “That’s not proof. Even if it was, it was obtained illegally. Sneaking on base, breaking into the Browns’ garage, stealing from them. You, of all people, should understand the chain of evidence.”

  I grabbed the notes and stuffed them back into my pocket.

  “You don’t realize how close you came to getting caught. How much trouble you would have been in.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Deena was picked up a couple of hours ago for drug trafficking. A lot of the evidence was in their garage.”

  Holy crap. “Who told you?” Why hadn’t James told me? “Was Ted involved?” I asked.

  “Pellner told me. Ted’s denying it. Deena’s saying someone planted it.”

  “Was anyone else arrested? Anyone in Ellington?” I thought about Tyler and Stella.

  CJ shook his head.

  “Do they think anyone else is involved?”

  “They think she’s the only link between a supplier in LA and the base.”

  It was a relief to know Stella or Tyler wasn’t involved. At least I wasn’t living in the middle of a bunch of drug lords.

  “If you’d left the notes, they’d have been found and investigated.”

  I filled in what CJ left unsaid, “You might have been released.” I paused. “Agent Bristow told me the DNA results were in. That it was a match to Tiffany.”

  “What? No one told me.”

  “That’s because it isn’t true. He lied to me. I talked to James and he told me the results weren’t back yet.”

  CJ looked thoughtful. “James always really liked you.”

  “He’s been a good friend. I can always count on him.” I hadn’t meant it as a slam to CJ; but from the expression on his face, that’s how it came off.

  “Are you sure you can trust him?” CJ asked.

  “Of course. I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.” We sat for a minute, watching each other.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” CJ asked.

  “Bristow’s trying to get me to tell him something—anything that will convict you.”

  “Keep our secret about the shirts. Promise me you’ll keep it.”

  “For as long as I can.” I stood to go.

  “I’m starting to wonder if you are trying to help me or get me locked up for good.”

  CJ’s last comment did nothing to improve my mood. As I picked up my purse, I smacked my hand down on a desk. Heads jerked up. “Do something, damn it,” I said.

  I looked at them with disgust and headed to the front door. Someone muttered, “I’d like to arrest you.”

  I decided to drive the route I’d taken the day Carol and I went to garage sales one more time. I might have missed something when I tried it last week. I had no idea what I’d find, but it beat going home and sitting around wondering what I might have been doing. I headed down Bedford Road. As I passed Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, clouds moved over the moon, blanking out the light. It was dark enough to imagine the Headless Horseman could be here, too.

  The moon came back out as I hit the rotary in Concord. Light reflected off some of the dark windows at the Colonial Inn. It was rumored to be haunted. I’d heard a story about an air force officer who had stayed there. In the morning, he came out looking pale and asked where the library was. The librarian later called the hotel to tell them an air force officer had been in, and he was researching ghost stories about the inn. On a night like this one, I could believe in ghosts. If a ghost could give me answers, I’d be happy to encounter one.

  I crept by the house where we’d gone to one of the garage sales. Despite the late hour, cars crowded the street on either side. Tiny white lights draped all over the trees in the backyard. People danced on the front porch and the front door was wide open. It looked fun.

  I wound my way around, past the Paul Revere Capture Site and the Minute Man National Historical Park Visitor Center. I kept going until I arrived in Lexington.
Some of the houses were set back farther from the street. It was difficult to see much at this time of night. I thought about CJ’s comment about trusting James.

  I’d just seen what a strong arm James had—one that could easily strike a blow—but lots of people were strong. Jessica said Tiffany wouldn’t give the enlisted guys the time of day, but she never mentioned James by name. James had no reason to kill Jessica. He told me he barely knew her or Tiffany. He’d brought Jessica over to my apartment because she needed a ride.

  As I drove around Lexington, I realized I’d had the same set of headlights in my rearview, on and off, for almost the entire drive. It wasn’t like they were always there, but they were distinctive. Halogen bulbs set in a line, the kind that came on high-end SUVs. I made a couple of turns I didn’t need to and the lights disappeared.

  I decided to drive by the few remaining houses Carol and I had gone to, just in case. The Victorian was dark; a Cape the same. I took it as a sign. Go home. There’s nothing to learn out here. I drove down a side street heading toward Lexington Town Center. Headlights flashed into my rearview. The same ones. Again.

  I sped up, slammed on my brakes, and angled my car across the street, blocking it. An easy feat, given the narrowness of the side streets and cars parked on either side. The SUV started to reverse. I rolled down my window and snapped a photo of the license plate. I wouldn’t have taken the risk if I’d been out in the boonies, but I was a stone’s throw from the Lexington Police Department.

  I maneuvered my car around and headed up the street. I turned into the Lexington Police Department lot, parking in the first open space. The SUV pulled in behind me, trapping me.

  CHAPTER 29

  I couldn’t run into the station. I dialed 911. A car door slammed, or, in this case, an SUV door. As I waited for dispatch, I looked in my rearview mirror. Scott Pellner stood behind my car.

  “Where’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.

  I looked back at Pellner and sighed. “Never mind. It’s a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Where’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asked again.

  “I’m in the parking lot of the Lexington Police Department. Really, it’s okay. Someone I know accidentally scared me.”

  “Stay on the line.”

  I knew they’d send someone out to check. For a moment, I savored a thought of telling the LPD officer that Pellner had been stalking me or tried to run me off the road. Picturing him in handcuffs made me smile.

  I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. “Pellner, I called 911. You scared me. I tried to tell the dispatcher to forget it, but someone’s probably going to come out.”

  A cop ran out of the building. Pellner already had his badge out and open.

  “Hey, Scott. What’s going on?”

  Great, they know each other.

  I climbed out of the Suburban and walked over to where the two of them stood.

  “You the lady who called in?” the burly cop asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see some ID? License and registration.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure Officer Pellner didn’t mean to scare me.”

  “I meant your license and registration.”

  “But—”

  “You can be charged for making nuisance calls to 911.”

  Pellner stood stoically, eyes on the officer. He was probably savoring the thought of me being taken away in handcuffs.

  I grabbed my license and registration out of the glove box. “I thought someone was following me. I felt threatened.”

  The officer looked over everything and handed it back. “We good here?”

  I started to answer, but I realized he was looking at Pellner.

  Pellner stood silently; then he gave a slight nod. “Yeah, Carl. Let her go.”

  Let me go?

  “How’s Junior doing at Fitchburg?” Pellner asked him.

  “Loves it. He’ll be playing tight end for them next fall,” the cop called over his shoulder as he reentered the building. He stopped in the doorway and pointed at me. “Watch the calls. Leave the lines open for people with real emergencies.”

  When he’d gone back inside, I turned on Pellner. “What the hell? You’ve been following me since I left Ellington. You made it look like I did something wrong.”

  “Sounds like you were a little hotheaded down at the station. I wanted to make sure you didn’t cause any trouble.”

  “More like you wanted to be there if I did.” I headed toward my car, but I turned back to him. “How did you know about Lowell?”

  “Lowell may be bigger than Ellington, but it’s still a small town.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “My cousin owns the restaurant across the street from the bar. I saw you hanging on the sidewalk and Seth giving you the eye.”

  “You know Seth?”

  “Of course I do. He’s the DA.”

  “What? You followed me that night, too? Into the bar? You watched me?”

  Scott shook his head. “I have better things to do. One of the bathrooms at my cousin’s restaurant was having some problems when I left the night before. I brought up some parts and tools the next morning so my cousin could open for the day. Doesn’t take a genius to figure things out. I saw you hopping out of Seth’s car and back into yours in the same clothes you had on the night before.”

  “Why do you even care?” The same question everyone had been asking me lately.

  “I like the chief.”

  I wondered about that, but I wasn’t going to bring it up now, while we were out here alone. He could whack me over the head, stuff me in his trunk, and dump my body somewhere. I’m sure that as a cop he knew all the best places for hiding bodies.

  “You keep running around acting like you’re worried about Chuck. And yet you’re seeing the DA. It looks to me like you’re helping Seth build the case against Chuck. Letting Chuck think you’re trying to help him. You have a lot of reason to be mad at Chuck. Could be this is your way of getting back.”

  “I’m not dating Seth. And I am trying to help CJ.” Pellner was as suspicious of me as I was of him.

  Pellner held up his hands. “Call it what you want. I figured if you knew I had something on you, you might leave Chuck alone. He’s a good man who made a mistake. Let him move on with his life.”

  Like I believed anything coming out of Pellner’s mouth. “Whatever.”

  “Hey! I’m not going to tell the chief, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Go ahead and tell him, instead of threatening me.” I really hoped he wouldn’t.

  “He’s got enough on his mind. You shouldn’t be out adding to his worries.”

  “Leave me alone.” I climbed back into the Suburban. I only had a few hours left before CJ would be transferred.

  It was almost four in the morning when I arrived home. I tossed my keys on the trunk in front of my couch. Sleep would have to wait until I found something out that would help CJ.

  I grabbed my laptop and set it up on the kitchen table. After reactivating my Facebook account, I looked at Jessica’s page. It had a big RIP across the top. Hundreds of condolence comments were posted, along with a link to her obituary. Services were pending.

  Tiffany’s Facebook page had been taken down. I Googled her. I found local articles about her being missing, her presumed death. One article about CJ’s arrest popped up in conjunction with Tiffany. Not what I was interested in or cared about. It was a topic I was all too familiar with.

  I tried a search for “Tiffany” and “West Virginia.” Several older “hometown girl makes good in the Air Force” articles appeared. One included a picture of CJ giving her the Airman of the Quarter Award. Instead of facing the camera, Tiffany stared up at CJ—one might describe it as “adoringly.” I resisted the temptation to plant my fist in the middle of her tiny, smug face.

  I clicked on another link. Pictures of a homecoming parade the year Tiffany graduated popped up. As h
omecoming queen, she rode on a float with the king, surrounded by the court. They sat stiffly in crepe-paper-draped chairs in the back of a pickup truck. No convertible corvettes for this town.

  I zoomed in on the picture of the kids in the pickup. I studied each face and realized why the pictures at the garage sale today had set me searching. The homecoming king, quarterback hero who was Tiffany’s boyfriend, the one she’d left behind, was my next-door neighbor.

  It was Tyler.

  CHAPTER 30

  Pieces of information clicked through my brain. Tyler could have moved here when Tiffany did or sometime after. Stella would know when he’d moved in. He was already living here when I arrived in January. Who knew how learning about the news of Tiffany’s pregnancy and her affair had affected him? Maybe it was enough for him to kill her and frame CJ. He could easily have put the shirts in my Suburban during the night.

  I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table. What was he doing with Deena? If Tiffany slept with Ted and CJ, both Tyler and Deena had reason to be furious. One could have killed her and the other covered it up. Then in some twisted way, they’d turned to each other for solace. I didn’t have any proof and no clue how to get any. I had to tell CJ.

  I rushed out of my apartment. Tyler stood by his door in his standard outfit of jeans and hoodie.

  “Hiiii, Tyler. I’m heading out. . . .” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out what to say. I didn’t owe him any explanations. “What are you up to?” As if I didn’t know. I edged toward the stairs.

  He looked at my outfit: jeans, V-necked sweater, and silver ballet flats. I had my keys in my hand and purse slung over my shoulder. Our eyes met and I knew he knew that I knew. I lunged for the stairs. He took two strides and grabbed me. He yanked me back against him. I stabbed at him with my keys. Tyler knocked them out of my hand. I opened my mouth, letting out an ear-piercing scream before he cut it off with a hand over my mouth.

  “Scream all you want. Stella drove Mrs. Callahan to the hospital an hour ago. Chest pains. No one is home to hear you.”

  Tyler looped his arm around my neck, applying just enough pressure for me to see dots, but not enough for me to pass out. I tried to stamp my foot on his insole. He deftly moved it out of the way.