Let's Fake a Deal

by Sherry Harris

  He got up slowly like his knees were stiff and hobbled over to an ancient file cabinet. It was more dents and scratches than smooth metal. He fought to get a drawer open. It screeched and complained as he pulled it out. I wanted to do the same. After he rummaged around in the drawer, he turned toward me. “Nothing under Green. Sorry.”

  “Would you mind taking a look at a picture and see if you recognize them?”

  “Don’t mind at all.”

  I handed him my phone, cued to the picture. “Alex has a small birthmark in the shape of a comma on his right cheek. It’s hard to see in the photo.”

  He studied it for a couple of moments before shaking his head. “Sorry. They don’t stand out.” He handed the phone back to me.

  I was lucky he’d done this much for me. “Is there anyone else that helps out in the office?”

  “Just me.”

  I handed him my business card and turned toward the door.

  “You might ask the vendors in the food court. They have as much or more contact than I do with the people who set up their booths here.”

  “Okay. Thanks for your time.”

  “I’m not usually so free with my information. But I’m a sucker for that lost puppy look you have.”

  Lost puppy? I was no lost puppy. But then again if it got someone to help me, I would use it to my advantage.

  * * *

  The hot dog and cotton candy people didn’t recognize the name or the people in the photograph. I left my card with them anyway. I followed my nose to the popcorn lady. She had cynical eyes and hair that looked like a piece of just-popped popcorn. I stood to the side of the booth until there was no line. I ordered a medium bag of regular popcorn with plenty of salt and extra butter. Resisting popcorn was futile.

  After money was exchanged for popcorn, I gave the lady my spiel—complete with what I hoped was a lost puppy dog look.

  She laughed. “That look ain’t going to work on me, honey. But I’ll look at your picture.” I handed her my phone and mentioned the birthmark. “Oh yeah, I remember him.”

  Finally. Someone remembered them. “Do you know them?”

  “All I know is their order. He was plain popcorn no salt, no butter. She was caramel corn.”

  Hmmm, maybe that’s how I should remember my clients, by the stuff they had. One person could be old sheets, another lovely antiques. Or cats. “Have they been here recently?”

  “Only remember seeing them the one time. I never forget the plain popcorn people. Can’t trust them.”

  “Do you know their names?”

  She pursed her lips and gazed up at the ceiling. “Maybe Young. Maybe not. Plain popcorn. That I won’t forget.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I gave her my card, thanked her, and hurried back down to the office with the new information. Like the last time, he got up slowly and wrestled with the drawer. The man flipped through files with excruciating care. I was about to start bouncing around like Kitty had the first day I had met her. Breathe, this is probably another dead end.

  The man pulled a raggedy manila folder out of the file cabinet. He hobbled back to the desk, pulled out a pair of reading glasses, opened the folder, and perused it.

  “May I see it?”

  He shut the folder and looked at me over his readers. “Why do you want to find them so badly? Not for some nefarious purpose, I hope.”

  “No.” I explained what had happened to me.

  He scratched his jaw while I talked. “I can’t have people selling stolen goods here. That would ruin my reputation.”

  I totally got that.

  “Might shut me down even.”

  “I hear you,” I said, nodding empathetically.

  “But I can’t let you see the folder. It’s private.” He set the folder on the desk. “I have to step away for a minute. Don’t be here when I get back.”

  “Thank you,” I said. The minute he was out of sight I snatched up the folder. It was a two-page contract. They’d signed it Jane and Neil Young. Yeesh. The address they gave him was the same one I’d tracked them down to at the apartment complex, so it was no help. The phone number. It was different from the one I had for them. The one they called me from. A new lead. I snapped a picture of it with my phone. I checked to make sure the number was clear in the photo. It was. I left the office and almost ran out of the flea market. With any luck this would somehow help me out of the mess I was in. I dialed the number as I hurried back to my car.

  “Burke’s Dry Cleaners. How can I help you?” The woman’s voice sounded bored and not interested in helping me at all.

  Dry cleaners? I’d found a tag from the dry cleaners in the Greens’/Youngs’/whoever’s apartment. This didn’t sound like Kate Green, but maybe they were related or maybe she worked there.

  “May I speak to Jane Young?” I figured that name might be more real than Green. Surely, the flea market guy asked for some form of ID.

  “No one here by that name.”

  “How about Kate Green?” Maybe she switched back and forth between the two names.

  “No Kates. No Janes. No Greens. No Youngs. Do you need anything dry-cleaned?”

  “Not today. Thanks.” Darn. Another freaking dead end. I slumped into my car. Apparently, the flea market wasn’t any more careful about checking up on people than I had been. I didn’t think I was ever going to catch a break. Even though it wasn’t much to go on, I called Vincenzo and relayed this latest information. I climbed in my car not ready to give up yet. Surely there was something else I could do.

  * * *

  The faint smell of sweet-and-sour chicken greeted me when I went in the back entrance of the thrift shop at eleven. Ten years ago this space had been a Chinese restaurant. How the smell clung after all these years was a mystery. I slipped one of the blue bib aprons over my head so people would know I was a volunteer. I went out to the front where the merchandise was out on display. My friend Eleanor was behind the cash register ringing up a line of people and smiling her bright smile. She had sponsored me on base. We’d known each other for a couple of years but didn’t hang out all that often.

  While the line was good for the thrift shop, it wasn’t good for my chances of talking to Eleanor. One of the other volunteers signaled to me.

  “Hey, can you help me shelve books? We got a huge donation of books.”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” I said. Maybe I’d find something good to read that would distract me from my own drama.

  First, we carted the boxes from the back to the front. Fortunately, there was plenty of shelving available. Then we started organizing the books. We separated the kids’ mysteries from the adult ones, although I knew there were plenty of adult collectors who would want the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, and Trixie Belden books.

  “Did you hear what Becky Cane and her cohorts did?” my volunteer partner asked.

  “I—”

  “They asked Erin Imhoff to run the charity auction.”

  “Oh. Erin is an excellent choice.” Erin and I had lived near each other back when CJ was still active duty. She was a hard worker and a hoot.

  “She was. Erin set everything up. She gathered all the donations, she organized the event space. Erin even bought all the decorations, did all the advertising, and sold all the tickets.”

  “That sounds like Erin,” I said.

  “Yeah. Then Becky and her clan invited her out to lunch. They told her they didn’t need her anymore. They didn’t give her any credit for all of her hard work.”

  “That’s not good.” Ugh. I hated this kind of drama that popped up in the Spouses’ Club from time to time. The Spouses’ Club was for people who were married to active-duty or retired military members. They sponsored all kinds of activities and outings, and held fund-raisers. The Spouses’ Club did such good work ninety percent of the time by raising money for scholarships and other worthy causes. But it was this type of thing that made people not want to join.

  “They asked Erin to tell people she ste
pped back.”

  “I’m guessing that didn’t go over well,” I said.

  “Oh, no. I’m surprised Erin didn’t take an ad out in the base paper. But she let everyone know.”

  “Good for her.”

  “Erin told them where to go.”

  That made me smile. Erin wasn’t one to mince words.

  “But nobody wants to stand up to Becky because of who her husband is.”

  Becky’s husband was a colonel and second-in-command on the base. He had a bit of reputation of being a jerk. His position could make or break someone’s career. Becky seemed to be very aware of that and, as far as I could tell, used it to her advantage.

  I’d known Becky for almost fifteen years. We’d gotten off to a rocky start. A general’s wife asked me to fill a position on the Spouses’ Club board. It was a position usually filled by a colonel’s spouse. At the time CJ had been a lowly captain.

  After I said yes, the general’s wife told me she’d call Becky and let her know. Becky had been the president of the club at the time. Later in the day Becky had called me. She’d said she had a great idea and suggested I take the board position the general’s wife had already talked to me about. I was new enough to the military at the time that I just went along with Becky and I didn’t let on that I knew it wasn’t her idea.

  After that initial incident we’d always gotten along, although I was always careful what I said around her. Becky, despite her flaws, was a hard worker and a go-getter. That had been one active Spouses’ Club. She pulled off a great combination of fun activities and charitable events. It had been one of the best clubs I’d been associated with. Over the years I’d heard chat about Becky on and off. Since she’d always been friendly to me, I ignored it. But this troubled me. Maybe the power was going to Becky’s head.

  “Becky and Erin are friends of mine. I’d rather not talk about this,” I said. In reality, even though Becky had been stationed here for a couple of years, since my divorce we hadn’t seen much of each other. I chalked it up to us both being busy, but maybe since I was no longer in a position to be helpful, she didn’t want to waste her time. Stop it. That wasn’t ever who she’d been to me. Except that first time.

  The other woman shrugged but frowned at me. Whatever. We finished our work quickly. By that time I was starving. Fortunately, one of the workers had brought in a slow cooker full of chili. After I ate I spent the rest of the afternoon helping customers and dusting. That seemed like a never-ending task. When it was closing time, I asked Eleanor if she had time for coffee at the Dunkin’ Donuts on base. We agreed to meet there in ten minutes.

  * * *

  Eleanor and I sat at a table in an open area between the BX or base exchange, a small version of a department store, and the commissary, the military version of a grocery store. There were some stalls along one wall where vendors sold local souvenirs, sweatshirts with military logos, and sports team clothing and hats. On the other side there was the Dunkin’s, a Burger King, and a pizza place. A few people browsed around, but there weren’t a lot of people around at four. We both had iced coffee.

  “Did you know Major Blade?” I asked.

  Eleanor crossed herself. Her light blond hair hung loose around her face. She had those apple cheeks that would make her look young forever. “I’ve met him, and my husband worked with him.”

  “What did you think? What’s his reputation?”

  Eleanor crumbled some of the donut in front of her. “I didn’t care for him. My husband said he was a hard worker. A fast burner with a penchant for sucking up.”

  A fast burner was someone who got promoted below the zone, before the normal time for them to be promoted. Most of the time that happened when a superior saw something that separated a military member from their peers.

  “What about your personal opinion?”

  “I wouldn’t turn my back to him without fear of being stabbed. He was skeevy.”

  “That’s pretty much what I’ve heard,” I said. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this because I’m going to sound like dialogue from a bad movie. Can you think of anyone that had it in for him? Hated him?”

  Eleanor drank some of her coffee. “Not beyond anything I’ve already said.”

  Maybe it was love gone wrong if it wasn’t hate. “What about friends? Did he have a girlfriend?”

  “I’m not sure who he hangs out with. I heard he had a girlfriend, but she doesn’t live here. They met when he was stationed somewhere else.”

  “Do you know her name?” I asked.

  “I don’t, but I can try to find out.”

  “Thanks. I feel so bad for Michelle. She didn’t kill him.”

  “How’s Michelle doing?” Eleanor asked.

  “Mad at the world. Did you know there was an IG complaint against her?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Good grief. She’s as straightforward as they come. I can’t imagine her breaking a rule.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” We chitchatted while we finished our coffee and then we walked out to our cars.

  “Are you coming to the charity auction?” Eleanor asked.

  “I wasn’t planning to. I heard there was some drama.”

  “I like Becky,” Eleanor said. “But sometimes she gets power hungry and doesn’t think through her actions.”

  “Have you talked to Erin? Is she okay?”

  Eleanor laughed. “Erin always comes out on top. The woman is fierce.”

  I smiled. “She is.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I knocked on my landlady and friend Stella’s door when I got home at five. I had spotted her boyfriend’s car outside when I parked, and I wanted to talk to him. My apartment was right above hers, although hers was a little bigger than mine because hers had what they called a “bump out” in the back. It added an extra room.

  Stella let me in. Her black-and-white tuxedo cat Tux ran over and rubbed around my ankles until I picked him up. “Who’s the best-looking cat in Ellington?” I asked him. I’d gotten him a bow-tie collar to show off his Hollywood looks. “You should be on TV.” I kissed the top of his head, set him back down, and said hello to Stella’s boyfriend, Nathan Bossum. He was an Ellington police officer who I accidentally nicknamed Awesome last winter.

  “Glass of wine?” Stella asked. She looked at me closely. “Shot of scotch? You may need that more.”

  “A glass of wine would be great,” I said. I wasn’t a fan of scotch.

  “Coming up,” said Awesome. He went into the kitchen. A cork popped.

  Stella came over and gave me a hug. “Are you okay?”

  “Do you realize how many times you’ve asked me that since I moved in here?” I’d found this place just over a year and a half ago. In an area that was full of expensive homes and apartments, it had been perfect. And meeting Stella had been icing on the proverbial cake.

  Awesome came back with three glasses of wine, which he distributed. He sat on the couch. Stella snuggled against him and he put his arm around her. They were so cute together. I took the chair across from them.

  “I guess you heard what happened to me?”

  “I can’t believe you were arrested.” Stella waved her hands around. “What was that guy thinking? Who does he think he is?”

  “It will be all right, Stella,” I said. “Vincenzo has an investigator looking for the Greens.” I hoped the investigator would have good news soon. Each day, each hour, that passed with no news upped my anxiety.

  Awesome looked between us and wisely stayed silent. The man was learning.

  “Awesome,” I said, “I have the phone number that may be connected to the people who stuck me with the stolen goods.”

  Awesome set his wineglass down and removed his arm from around Stella’s shoulders.

  “How did you get the number?” he asked.

  “It’s the number they called me on all of the time.” He didn’t look amused. “I know you don’t think I should be poking around, but I’m pretty sure that Officer
Jones isn’t motivated to find the Greens. He thinks I’m making them up.” Awesome twirled a finger like I should go on. “Face it. I pretty much got caught red-handed with a bunch of stolen goods. What reason is there for him to believe me or look for anyone else?” I choked up a little when I said, believe me.

  I took a sip of wine and realized how on edge I was. The running around the past couple of days and three restless nights were taking a toll. One that I couldn’t afford. I needed to stay sharp, on top of things. “It’s the phone number the Greens used to call me. Couldn’t you just look into it? Track their calls?”

  “Do the Billerica police have the number?” Awesome asked.

  “Yes. Of course. I gave it to them the morning of my arrest. But like I said, I don’t think they are that motivated to find anyone else. They have me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Awesome finally said. “It’s not my case or even the Ellington PD’s case.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I sent him a quick text with the number. “Stella, how is play practice going?” Stella had a part in The Phantom of the Opera, which was opening in Boston in a couple of weeks. It was her first big production since she’d sung opera in Europe awhile back.

  “About the shot of scotch,” she said.

  I couldn’t decide if she was joking or not.

  “It’s going well. Maybe too well,” she said.

  “Theater people are so superstitious,” I said.

  “We are. We’re doing a full dress rehearsal next Friday. Hopefully, it will be a disaster.”

  I stood. “Break a leg. Thanks for the wine. I’m going to bed early tonight.” I walked to the door with Tux trotting along beside me. I bent down and rubbed his ears. “And thanks, Awesome.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “There might not be anything I can do.”

  “I get that, and I appreciate that you didn’t just tell me no.” It’s what I’d expected.

  * * *

  Up in my apartment, I fixed and ate a salad. I slouched on my couch and flipped on the local news. Two seconds later I sat bolt upright and scrambled for the remote to turn the volume up. Seth’s rival who was a fellow prosecutor was on. He was talking about me. I grabbed my phone and did a quick Internet search. My being arrested was big news, but more for the trouble it was going to cause Seth and his campaign than any real interest in the crime. No mention was made of the Greens.