Seth’s campaign manager had released a brief statement explaining that Seth for obvious reasons had recused himself and that his rival should, too. Then he was put in the awkward position of defending me. The news switched to Seth, who stood charmingly in front of his office building. A reporter asked him if he’d stand by me.
“Of course. Sarah has obviously been set up. Her arrest was hasty.”
He shouldn’t have said that. What are you doing, Seth? I was equal parts warmed and chilled. His campaign staff and, good grief, even worse, his parents, must hate me for causing problems for Seth. I flipped off the TV. I was going to have to talk to Seth, make him understand that we shouldn’t see each other for the sake of his campaign. I know he said he didn’t care about it, but I did.
After sitting for a few minutes, I dialed his number.
“You saw the news, didn’t you?” Seth asked.
“I did.”
“I know what you are going to say, so just don’t. Please.”
“We don’t see each other every day as it is.” How could I explain the quagmire of emotions stirring in me? “You might not care, but I would feel terrible if this tanked your campaign. You’re a good man. A good DA. People other than me need you, too.”
“I don’t want to abandon you when you need me.”
“You aren’t. Let’s just take it a day at a time. Okay? Please?”
“A day at a time,” he agreed.
I hoped that this way he could huddle with his staff and come up with a solution for dealing with the situation. I sent a text to Carol in case she’d seen the news, letting her know I was okay before I turned off my phone. I was determined to find the Greens, by whatever means necessary.
A knock sounded on my door. It was senseless to try and pretend I wasn’t here since the lights were blazing. I hoped it was Stella and she was coming to check on me. I peeked out my peephole, then stood back. Apparently, by whatever means necessary had just arrived.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mike “the Big Cheese” Titone was not a guy you wanted to owe a favor to. But I did. More than one. Mike had Mob connections, but he also had a good side. I was just never sure which Mike Titone would show up—the charmer or the snake. But tonight it didn’t matter because if the devil himself had shown up and said he’d help, I would have said let’s do this. I wasn’t sure that Mike showing up was much better. Mike owned a legitimate, as far as I could tell, cheese shop in the North End of Boston.
I opened my door. “Come in.”
He not only came in but walked past me into the living room like he owned the place. We sat on opposite ends of the couch. I wasn’t getting much of a read from his icy blue eyes. Sometimes he scared me to death and other times he was Mr. Fix-it.
“You’re in trouble and you’ve created trouble for Seth. I don’t want that trouble to blow back on me,” Mike said. He put his feet up on my trunk. “Seth needs to win this election for a number of reasons.”
Ah, self-serving Mike was here. Mike and Seth had an interesting relationship where Mike sometimes helped Seth out by providing information on crimes. That coming out would be very bad for a lot of people, especially Mike. I could whine and say it wasn’t like I wanted to be arrested, but what good would that do? I thought about stalling him until I was more comfortable by offering something to drink. Best to get him out of here as quickly as possible, though.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
Mike tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch. “To find the people who set you up. So tell me about the Greens.”
I spilled everything I could think of. Mike had fingers in a lot of wheels of cheese. His network knew a dark underbelly of the world I didn’t. Maybe that world included the Greens.
I showed him the fuzzy picture on my phone. “This is the only photo I have of them.” I showed him the blur on Alex’s face that was the comma-shaped birthmark.
He frowned at it. “It’s not much. But send it to me just in case.”
“We need them alive so they will spill what they did. Cement boots in the river might be satisfying”—boy would it—“but it won’t help Seth or me.” I couldn’t believe I actually had to say that to someone.
Mike gave a little shake of his head that seemed to indicate I was an idiot.
He stood. “No one does cement boots anymore. Such a cliché.” Then he left.
What did they do instead?
* * *
Monday morning I sat in the courtroom waiting for my turn to be arraigned. It was just after eight. Vincenzo had somehow whisked me in a back entrance when we spotted the media gathered in the front.
Seth wasn’t there for obvious reasons, but we had talked on the phone earlier. Talked was a stretch. Argued about how to proceed from here was more like it. Seth pushed for ignoring what was going on, but I couldn’t for either of our sakes. Since I had court, we put off making any final decisions.
A bit of commotion broke out behind where Vincenzo and I were sitting. I turned around to see Seth’s opponent stride in. His silver hair shined in the harsh lighting.
Vincenzo leaned over to me. “Ignore him. Turn back around.”
I did as I was told. “Why’s he here?”
“Only for political gain, trying to use the situation for votes.”
“Is he going to be the prosecutor on my case?”
“I can’t imagine anyone would allow that.”
Great. I noticed the judge and the clerks, who’d looked a bit bored minutes ago, had perked up. A few minutes later my name was called. I went and stood in front of a microphone just as Vincenzo had instructed me. I listened to the clerk reading the charges against me. It didn’t sound good, and my lip started to quiver. Vincenzo had told me to try and hold my emotions in check. I pressed my lips firmly together.
Our best outcome would be a dismissal, but that didn’t happen. The judge set a pretrial conference date for next week. Minutes later Vincenzo had whisked me out of the courtroom and back home.
“That was all routine,” Vincenzo said. “We’re fine.”
“Did your investigator find anything out about the Greens?” I asked.
Small wrinkles formed around Vincenzo’s mouth. Not a good sign.
“Not yet, although she said the information you’ve been providing has given her some leads.”
“That’s good.” A little flutter of hope filled my chest. Or maybe it was gas or the onset of a heart attack.
“You have nothing to worry about. Even if we don’t find the Greens, we have a good case.”
Good didn’t sound great to me.
“Just go about your routine. Don’t talk to the press. Maybe you and Seth should go out to dinner someplace showy in Boston to prove to people you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not dragging Seth into this any more than he already has been. And that’s not negotiable.”
I didn’t tell Vincenzo about my conversation with Mike last night. I didn’t want him to say Mike needed to butt out. I needed all hands on deck, to use every resource possible. That might sound a little damsel-in-distress after trying to prove to myself that I was a strong, independent woman. But sometimes even the hero of a story needs a little help.
* * *
After the arraignment I changed clothes and headed straight over to Kitty’s house. I’d told her that I’d be there by ten and would only be a little bit late. There were a million things I’d rather be doing right now—tracking down the Greens, helping Michelle, taking a nap—especially taking a nap. However, it didn’t take long to get into a rhythm of pricing and checking prices once I arrived. I set a few things aside to consult with an antiques dealer friend. Toulouse kept me company again. He alternated between purrs and gentle snores. It was soothing.
I unwrapped two ceramic and porcelain bowls. Both of them were shaped like cats’ heads but hollowed out like a bowl. They were about four inches tall and it looked like a bit of wax was in the bottom of each, which puzzled me. They ha
d whimsical faces that reminded me of the illustrations from a book my grandmother read to me when I was a kid. Those had been happy times, snuggled under her down comforter in a cast-iron bed with my grandmother beside me. It was our special girls’ time as she called it.
I wanted to hug the bowls to me. After some quick research I realized they were fairy lamps. Very popular in the late 1800s, they were used as night-lights when a new smaller better burning candle was invented by Samuel Clarke. His lamps often had a fairy on the bottom and the term stuck. One was chipped, but even with the chips they were cute and would probably bring in around fifty dollars each.
Next, I pulled out a large quilt. “Look, Toulouse, it’s a cat quilt.” Toulouse lifted his head and seemed to peer at the quilt. It had a white background and backing. But the appliqués were little yellow cats sitting on what looked like pussy willow branches. Just looking at the cats made me happy. I almost laughed out loud when I realized Kitty and all of her things were converting me into more of a cat lover than I’d ever been.
The quilt was obviously hand-stitched. The batting was thin, but it was in good condition. It would make a great wall hanging or throw on a bed or couch. I guessed it was from the thirties considering the design and soft cotton material. I priced it at two hundred dollars but made a note to myself to do some more research.
The fairy lamps and quilt were the best two finds of the day. Everything else seemed to be fairly modern and mundane. I had doubts that Kitty was going to finance all she wanted done on the house with what I’d found so far. Then again, I had doubts about almost everything right now, including my ability to find the Greens and clear Michelle’s name. The evidence was mounting against me. There were the charges on my credit card. The fact that Alex and Luke looked a bit alike. The way the Greens had covered their tracks so well.
I had to shake all those doubts off and try to find my normal positive attitude, if not about my personal problems then at least about this sale. Maybe the sheer volume of items, if it was a well-attended sale, would make up for the difference. I was going to have to be creative in how I marketed this sale so I could find cat lovers to attend.
When I was in the foyer by the front door, I hollered to Kitty that I was heading out.
She came to the top of the stairs. “How did it go?”
“You have so many cute things,” I said as she trotted down the stairs.
“But nothing of great value?” She sounded so disappointed.
“I’m finding gems here and there.” I told her excitedly about the quilt and fairy lamps.
“I’ve found most of it at garage sales and flea markets. So at least I won’t lose money on them.”
“That’s excellent news.” I paused. “Can I show you a picture of someone and see if you recognize them from any garage sales?” I took out my phone and found the picture of the Greens. “Here.”
“Why are you looking for them?”
I figured I might as well tell her the whole story. I probably should have sooner. Frankly, I was surprised she hadn’t heard the news. I filled her in on what happened. “If you don’t want me to continue here, I understand.”
Kitty looked at the floor for a minute and then over at Toulouse. “Toulouse is an excellent judge of character. If he’s okay with you, then so am I.”
Thank heavens for Toulouse. Kitty looked at the picture again. She enlarged it.
“I think that’s the Youngs,” she said.
My heart leaped. “You know them?”
“I met them at the flea market in Ellington. I bought a cute signed cat print from them.” She looked at me in horror. “Do you think it’s stolen?”
“It might be. I can have one of the Ellington police officers check.”
Kitty ran up the stairs and returned with a cute print of three brightly painted cats. “Will you just take it with you? If it’s not stolen, bring it back. But I don’t want a tainted cat in my house. It will create negative energy.”
“Sure,” I said. “Do you know the Youngs from anywhere else? Or have any contact information for them?”
“I don’t.” Kitty paused. “They seemed so lovely. But selling stolen cat goods. What awful, awful people.” Kitty picked up Toulouse and gave him a kiss. “I should have listened to him. I showed him the print and he just walked off with his tail in the air.”
I thought about making a crack about cat burglars but didn’t think Kitty would appreciate it. “Do you belong to any cat-related groups that I could send flyers to about your garage sale?”
“You mean my Cat-tastic Garage Sale? I do. Why don’t I e-mail you a list?”
“Great.” I hustled out with the weight of other things on my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I swung by the police station to see Pellner. He was out on patrol, so I met him at a Dunkin’s on Great Road just after one. I’d been spending a lot of time in Dunkin’s lately. Pellner stood by his patrol car with a giant coffee cup in his hand.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“Picking up extra duties as much as possible. I keep thinking about the five kids I have to put through college.”
Pellner’s oldest daughter was in high school. Stella gave her private voice lessons. She’d sung the national anthem before a Celtics game last winter. His oldest son was in high school too.
“I heard about the arraignment,” Pellner said. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” I didn’t want to elaborate nor did Pellner really want to hear about the emotional black hole in my soul that grew larger every day.
He studied me for a minute. He didn’t need his cop sense to know my “fine” was a lie. “What’s up?” Pellner asked.
I was grateful he chose to move on. “Did the phone number I gave Awesome yield any information?”
“He mentioned the phone number to me this morning.” Pellner crossed his arms over his chest.
“Pellner, this isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about Seth. His opponent is trying to use the situation against him. Seth doesn’t deserve that. He’s a good DA. A better one than that guy would ever be.”
Pellner nodded. “That’s true. But we have to go through channels to get the information on someone’s phone. Legal channels.” He emphasized the word legal. “It takes time.”
Of course it did. “I have some new information since I talked to him and a possible stolen print.”
Pellner frowned, his dimples deep. “You have more stolen goods? With you? In your car?”
“Whoa. A client of mine gave it to me.” I quickly told him how Kitty came to have the print. I got it out of the back of my Suburban and gave it to him.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Pellner said. “But from now on you might want to call me or Awesome if you have something you think is stolen instead of hauling it around in your car. You are in enough trouble as it is.”
* * *
I got a text from Michelle asking if I’d meet with a Chief Master Sergeant Rooney. He worked with Michelle, according to the text, and had spoken with the Inspector General team. I told her sure and arranged to meet him at DiNapoli’s for a late lunch. My stomach was rumbling.
Fifteen minutes later, the chief and I both had DiNapoli’s famous roast beef sandwiches sitting in front of us. One sandwich was enough for three meals. Sometimes I wondered how the DiNapolis made any money with their generous portions, but the place was always packed.
“Michelle said you’d already been interviewed by the IG?” I asked. CJ had always said that the master sergeants were the ones who really ran the Air Force. And that if you needed something done, they could do it or figure out who could. This was just the kind of person who might know enough about Blade and his background to help Michelle’s case.
The chief nodded as he chewed and swallowed. He took a big drink of his iced tea. “They did. Late yesterday afternoon.” His light hair was in a military precision crew cut, which highlighted his broad face.
“Did their quest
ions give you any indication of what the charges were in the complaint?”
“Damn—sorry ma’am—straight they did.”
“It’s Sarah, not ma’am.” While CJ was active duty, I’d been nearly ma’am-ed to death. But there wasn’t any need for it now. I watched the chief eat. He was broad shouldered and slim waisted. He must work out a ton the way he was powering down his sandwich. I tried to be patient, but my right leg started to jiggle.
After the chief swigged about half of his iced tea, he finally seemed ready to talk. I only picked at my sandwich.
“Their questions were bull sh—uh, bull. Sorry.”
I waved my hand to indicate I didn’t care.
“They asked me if I’d been treated fairly by Colonel Diaz. If she favored the women troops. If I’d seen anything ‘untoward’—their words—between Colonel Diaz and Major Blade.”
“So, in other words, someone did accuse her of sexual harassment.” Up to this point it had been all speculation. I didn’t add I thought it was Blade, because that seemed obvious and now he was dead. This wasn’t good news. “Did you ever see any of that kind of behavior?”
“Only from Major Blade. He was a real pr—sorry, jerk.”
“How so?” I asked.
“He’d talk about women sometimes while they were in earshot. Who looked hot. Who wanted him bad. It was ridiculous. Trust me, none of those women were interested. They kept their heads down and did their jobs.”
“Do you think Blade is the one who filed the complaint?” I asked.
“Probably. But he poisoned a lot of the younger troops against Colonel Diaz.”
“So maybe he convinced someone else to file the complaint?”
“Who knows? But Blade manipulating someone wouldn’t be a big surprise. He had a certain charm about him.” His face got pink. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. They’ll take away my man card.”
Let's Fake a Deal Page 11
