Let's Fake a Deal

by Sherry Harris

  “Where are the Greens?” I asked, trying to look past the officers toward the house.

  “No one’s in there. The place is empty,” Officer Jones said.

  Empty? Although empty was better than him saying there was someone dead in there. “I saw them go in there a half hour ago.” It hit me that it didn’t take a half an hour to make coffee. But I’d been busy enough that until now I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I paused. “By empty do you mean empty of people?”

  “Empty of almost everything,” the other officer said. He didn’t look at me, but at Jones. They both looked at all the furniture on the lawn.

  “This didn’t come from the house, did it?” I asked. I didn’t have to wait for an answer. I could tell by the expression on the officer’s face it must have. How could I have been so naive?

  I turned to look at the house again. It had one of those historic plaques by the door that said it had been built in the early 1700s. Where were the Greens? If only the plaque could tell me that. The house was a colonial style from the early eighteenth century. It was at the top of a hill. I’d read a bit about its history. The house had been a place where the townspeople went during Indian attacks. It had a tunnel that led from the basement to the nearby woods that was a last-resort escape route if things went south. The woods were long gone, and in their place were rows of small houses with small yards.

  “There’s a tunnel. From the basement to someplace around the back. Maybe they went out that way,” I said. The officers just looked at me. “If this is all stolen, they’re the ones that did it. Shouldn’t you send someone after them? They stole the stuff.”

  The smaller officer stepped away and talked into his shoulder mike.

  Jones turned to me. “Do you know where the entrance to the tunnel is?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Do you want me to show you?”

  * * *

  Minutes later I was down in the basement or cellar or whatever people from New England called them. Basements were few and far between where I grew up in Pacific Grove, California. This one had rough dirt walls and wasn’t fit to be a rec room or man cave. It was creepy enough to be a madman’s cave, though. Damp air flowed around us with its musty, rotting smell.

  Jones and the two other officers studied the primitive-looking wooden door with its rusty lock, hinges, and doorknob. It was set into the back wall of the foundation.

  “So if you didn’t know anything about this house, how did you know this was here?” Jones asked.

  “I noticed the historic plaque by the front door the first time I came over, so I read about the history of the house online.”

  “When was the first time you came over?”

  “Two days ago. To see where I could set everything up.”

  Jones and one of the other officers looked at each other. All of this exchanging looks and no explanations was making me very nervous. Cops. Jones reached over and turned the knob on the door to the tunnel. It moved easily in his hand, but as he pulled on the door the hinges groaned, resisting. The door snagged on the rough dirt floor. Even only open an inch, the smell of stagnant air pushed me back a couple of steps.

  “I don’t think I need to be here for this,” I said. I was afraid of what was on the other side of that door. Spiders, rats, bats—with my luck a dead body.

  But Jones lifted the door just enough to clear the spot where the door had snagged. We all peered in but saw nothing but darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jones flipped on a powerful flashlight. The tunnel went for about twenty yards before the darkness took over again. Lots of spiderwebs hung, but they looked recently disturbed to me. I shuddered thinking about having to plow through them.

  “Let’s go,” Jones said.

  “I’m not going in there,” I said. “No reason to. Could be dangerous, and you don’t want to put an innocent civilian in harm’s way.” I accented the innocent.

  Jones stared down at me but must have seen the sense in my words. If anything I told him was true, the Greens had fled down the tunnel to escape. They could be waiting farther down beyond where we could see. “You two go down,” Jones said to the other two officers. “We’ll go to the backyard and try to figure out where you’ll come out.”

  A backyard in daylight sounded good to me. We hustled up the steps, around the house, and into the backyard. There was a large deck leading down to a beautifully landscaped yard. A hedge of boxwoods made a natural fence that separated the flattest part of the lawn from where it dropped steeply to the houses below. We skirted the boxwoods and peered down the steep slope.

  “It looks like there’s some kind of entrance down there,” I said, pointing.

  From up here we could see a rickety door in the hill.

  Maybe something awful had happened to the Greens. “Maybe they were kidnapped,” I said to Officer Jones. I didn’t want to believe that sweet couple had stolen goods.

  “If there even are people named the Greens.”

  “There are.” I looked at Officer Jones, but he wouldn’t look at me. The kidnapping story didn’t ring true even to me. It was wishful thinking on my part. Most of the stuff that sat out front were items the Greens had had me pricing in a storage unit they had rented. They said it was theirs. I clenched my fist.

  “Seems kind of odd to have a garage sale on a Thursday,” Officer Jones said. “I thought most people had them on the weekend.”

  Even that sounded like an accusation of some kind. “It’s when they asked me to do it. The customer’s always right.”

  Officer Jones stared at me until I looked away. In this case the customer had been far from right, the lousy, cheating Greens.

  A few moments later the door below us swung outward, and the two officers blinked in the light. After they looked around, they climbed the hill toward us.

  “Did anyone come out ahead of us?” one of the officers asked.

  “No,” I said. Jones gave me a look like this was his show and I’d better sit back and watch.

  “Anything in there?” Jones asked them.

  “Nothing but cobwebs and rats. A few footprints in a damp spot.”

  “They looked fresh,” the other officer added.

  They all turned to me, and I didn’t like the looks they had on their faces, like I was some kind of great prize they’d just won at a state fair. I put my hands out as if I could somehow ward off their thoughts.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here. But I didn’t steal that stuff.” I gestured toward the front of the house. We headed back that way. Nothing had changed out front. The Greens weren’t standing there waiting to explain themselves.

  “Do you know what kind of car the Greens drove?” Jones asked.

  I thought about it. “I met them at the Dunkin’s on Great Road in Ellington the first time we met. I didn’t walk in or out with them, so I didn’t see what their car looked like. After I finished pricing things at the storage unit, they showed up there in a big box truck they’d rented from somewhere.”

  “What company did they rent it from?” Officer Jones asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. It wasn’t one of the big-name places. I didn’t pay that much attention. There was no reason to at the time.” Back when I’d thought they were honest, trustworthy innocents from Indiana. “I have their phone number. In my phone. Over there.” My carpenter’s apron looked abandoned and lonely on the driveway.

  Jones nodded and walked me over. He picked up the apron and pulled out my phone, looking at it suspiciously before handing it over. I pulled up the number and gave it to him. “Why don’t I try calling? Maybe we can get this all straightened out.”

  Part of me still wanted to believe that the Greens were the people they portrayed themselves as being. Jones let me try to call them. I put my phone on speaker. The call just rang. There was no “Hi, this is the Greens” or any other sort of message. It went to voice mail after it rang five times. Officer Jones reached over and disconnected.


  “Give me the best description of the so-called couple you can,” Jones said.

  “I took some pictures of the sale earlier, before I opened. Maybe they are in one. Can I look?”

  Jones nodded and I started swiping through pictures.

  “This is the only one,” I said, holding out my phone. It was disappointingly bad. They both wore nondescript hooded sweatshirts, one black, one gray. And they were looking down at something on one of the tables. Plus they were way across the yard from me. At least the house was in the background, so he could see I’d taken the picture here and wasn’t making people up. I made the picture bigger and cropped it to focus on their heads. Alex had a small birthmark on his right cheek that looked like a comma.

  “This doesn’t help much,” I said. I was so disappointed, but I pointed out the birthmark, which was a blurry blob. Officer Jones squinted at it as I described them. It was my best shot. I was still uncertain whether he believed me or not. I was leaning toward not.

  After I finished describing them, Officer Jones used the mic on his shoulder to call someone. He repeated my descriptions. I assumed he was putting some kind of APB out on them. Maybe the all-points bulletin meant he believed me even though he seemed pretty skeptical.

  “And where’s the storage unit?” Jones asked.

  “It was on the west side of Billerica.” I gave him the address.

  After he wrote it down, he tilted his head back and glared down at me. I wanted to grab Jones by the collar and tell him You’ve got to listen to me, I’m innocent, I’d never do this. But I’m guessing he heard that a lot. So I stood there waiting for his next move. I hoped it didn’t involve handcuffs and hearing the Miranda rights read to me.

  I broke first—no big surprise. “I didn’t know any of this was stolen.” Maybe if I said it often enough, it would get through his thick head.

  “Turn around,” Jones said. “Hands behind your back.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. But one look at his face told me he wasn’t. I complied.

  “You’re under arrest for receiving stolen property,” Jones started.

  The snap of the handcuffs startled me. They were hot like they’d been out in the sun and tighter than I ever imagined. My ex, CJ, and I had had some fun with his handcuffs back in the day. But this was nothing like that. A man across the street stood on his porch, arms folded. Officer Jones had said someone had tipped them off. I had a feeling the man on the porch was that someone. Other people clumped in small groups down the street.

  Jones started reading me my Miranda rights. Miranda rights! Soon I was in the back of the squad car, then at the station, fingerprinted, mug shot taken. Mug shot! It would show a tearstained face. I’d been stripped of my personal belongings and booked.

  Jones had asked a lot of extra questions besides the ones about my address and name. Where did I get the stolen items? Who else was I working with? At least I knew better than to answer anything that would incriminate me or sound like a confession. Just the facts, sir. Jones wasn’t happy that he couldn’t trick me into saying more. One phone call and then into a holding cell. Nightmares do come true.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What were you thinking using your one phone call to call me?” Scott Pellner asked. It was almost ten. He stood outside my holding cell. The one I still couldn’t believe I was locked in. Fortunately, it was a slow day here and I had the place to myself. Pellner had his arms across his chest and must have been on duty, because he was wearing his Ellington Police Department uniform. He had these deep dimples that didn’t soften his face, and frankly his look and body posture scared me a little. Pellner was only a couple of inches taller than me, but unlike me he didn’t have an inch of fat on his muscled body.

  “I thought maybe you could vouch for me. Tell Officer Jones that I’m not selling stolen goods.”

  “You think I can just wave some magic police wand and make this all go away?”

  I nodded. “Something like that.” My voice rose at the end, making it more of a question than a statement.

  “I swear I spend more time with you than my wife sometimes. And get you out of more messes than my five kids combined.”

  Ouch. That hurt. “I’m sorry. I just figured you could talk policeman to policeman to them. You know I wouldn’t sell stolen goods if I knew they were stolen.”

  “Don’t say things like that in here. It sounds fishy, and who knows who is listening.” His dimples deepened even more. At this rate his whole face was going to be sucked into them. At last his face relaxed. “I do know that you wouldn’t knowingly sell stolen goods, but it doesn’t mean you’re not a pain in my neck. You should have called a lawyer. Not me.”

  My hand went to my mouth. “You think they are going to keep me here?”

  “They might. I looked you up in the system before heading over here. In Massachusetts anything above $250.00 is a felony.”

  Oh, no. There was way more than two hundred fifty dollars’ worth of stuff at the garage sale. “They think I committed a felony?”

  Pellner nodded. Tears started rushing up into my eyes. I blinked as fast as I could. I hated crying in front of people. I always feared once I started crying, I wouldn’t stop. That all the hurts and scares of the last couple of years would just overwhelm me and that the tears wouldn’t end until I was just a hollow shell of the former me.

  “Please explain to them that I didn’t steal that stuff or even know that it was stolen.”

  “I’m a cop, not a miracle worker. They’ve probably looked you up online. They saw the stories. Possible connection to an art theft, old woman’s death, missing manuscripts, to name a few things.”

  I’d had some brushes with the law, but I’d never been arrested. “But none of that is true,” I wailed. “I helped solve those crimes. I didn’t commit them.”

  Pellner patted my shoulder through the bars. “Fortunately, I called Vincenzo DiNapoli for you. He’s on his way.”

  I clenched my jaw and nodded. “Thank you,” I managed. I couldn’t believe things were so bad I needed Vincenzo. He was a lawyer, sometimes for the Mob according to stories I’d heard. He’d gotten Mike “the Big Cheese” Titone off the hook, helped a friend of mine out, and had helped me out of a jam. I didn’t like being in a position of needing an expensive lawyer. Who did?

  “Officer Jones said they were tipped off. Do you know by who?” I asked.

  “It was a neighbor. Apparently, whoever lives in the house you were set up at rents it out on SuiteSwapz. The neighbor knew they were out of town and realized the furniture out on the lawn was theirs.”

  I remembered the man on his porch across the street watching my arrest. I suspected he was the tipster when I’d first spotted him. Now I was certain it was him. I needed to talk to him and maybe his other neighbors.

  “Uh-uh.” Pellner shook his head. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “That innocent act isn’t going to work with me. Stay out of this and let the police handle it,” Pellner said. He leaned in. “This time is different. You have charges against you.”

  “I know.” It hammered through my soul with every heartbeat.

  “Getting involved with these people wasn’t smart, Sarah.”

  As if I didn’t know that. “I’ve never had to do a background check on anyone.”

  “Maybe it’s time to start,” Pellner said.

  “Why would the Greens do this? Why risk it? If they’d just stuck to selling the stuff from their storage shed, no one would have caught on.”

  “All my years in law enforcement and I still don’t understand the criminal mind.”

  “They would only make a thousand dollars at most. On a good day. If they were very lucky.” My mind spun in vicious circles. “The things they were selling weren’t that valuable.” I bit my lip. “They were willing for me to go to jail for a felony for them.” Why me?

  “I will vouch for you,” Pellner said.
“Not sure how much it will help.”

  “Do you know Jones?” I asked.

  “Yes. Our sons are rivals on their respective football teams.”

  Of course they were. “What happens next?” I asked.

  “Vincenzo will show up. He should be able to set up bail and get you out of here. They’ll set up an arraignment. Normally, it would be tomorrow, but the judges are all in some statewide conference tomorrow, so it won’t be until Monday.”

  “An arraignment?” Words I’d heard all my life suddenly sounded terrifying. “Then what?”

  “That will be up to the DA.” He winced right after the words came out.

  Oh, no. The DA. I was dating Seth Anderson, the district attorney for Middlesex County.

  “Seth is going to find out about this?” I hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet. I’d been so freaked out up to this point. Bad to worse. Frying pan to fire. Pick your cliché. What would Seth think? Even worse—what would his mom think? Seth’s mom would never accept me now.

  “Are you, uh, seeing each other?” Pellner asked.

  “Sort of. A dinner here or there.” I downplayed our relationship for reasons I wasn’t quite sure of. Maybe because it was humiliating to talk about Seth with Pellner because Pellner was a friend and former co-worker of my ex-husband’s. My face heated as I tried to hold back the tears and emotions that wanted to explode out of me.

  Pellner put his hands up in front of him. “Don’t start crying. Please.” There was an edge of desperation in Pellner’s voice. “I’ll go give Seth a call and explain the situation.”

  I nodded. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Better for Seth to hear it from Pellner than one of his staff.

  “Just hang in there. We’ll get it straightened out.”

  * * *

  Vincenzo DiNapoli showed up within thirty minutes. Vincenzo’s charcoal gray suit hung perfectly on his tall frame. A purple tie popped against his white shirt. His dark black hair was streaked with just the right amount of gray. As he walked toward me, his gold pinky ring with a big ruby glinted in the light. My heart rate went down a notch just seeing him. Soon after we were standing in front of the bail clerk. Officer Jones and Pellner were there, too.