From Beer to Eternity

by Sherry Harris

  “Have you two heard any local gossip about the murder?” Lots of military and civilians who worked on base lived in Ellington. There wasn’t ever enough housing on base for all military personnel to live there, and for civilians it was a dream commute—only fifteen minutes depending on traffic. Even if they didn’t live in Ellington they filled DiNapoli’s at mealtime.

  “Nothing here,” Angelo said.

  I looked at Rosalie.

  She shook her head. “I was at the hairdresser two days ago. There was a lot of speculation but no information.”

  That was strange.

  “You’re going to take that pizza home with you,” Angelo said, pointing to what I hadn’t eaten.

  No one left food behind at DiNapoli’s. Angelo took it as a personal insult. Rosalie took the pizza, boxed it up, and brought it back over. After saying goodbye, I left DiNapoli’s and drove over to meet my new client, pondering the lack of gossip about Alicia’s death and what it meant.

  CHAPTER 2

  A tall, thick-boned woman met me at the one-story ranch on a quiet side street in Ellington. The street wasn’t busy this time of day, but I knew at rush hour in the morning and evening it was used as a cut-through.

  “I’m Jeannette Blevins.” She had bushy brown hair held back with a sparkly headband. I knew from some of the paperwork she’d already filled out that she was thirty-three.

  “Sarah Winston,” I said. We shook hands. Her grip firm. We stood in a narrow hallway with a low ceiling that served as a foyer. What I presumed was a coat closet was to the right. We walked past it, took a left, and went into the living room. I was surprised to see a vaulted ceiling that made the room seem more spacious.

  “Like I told you when I called, my parents died two months ago in Senegal. A tragic accident with a faulty gas line.” She paused and sucked in a shaky breath. “My brother and I need to get rid of all of this stuff.” She waved her hand around.

  “I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t that old to have lost both her parents. Jeannette had contacted me through my website four days ago. Because of a past incident I now requested documentation proving the party had the right to sell the contents of the house. Since her brother was the executor and lived out of town, I’d also asked for and gotten a notarized letter from him saying Jeannette could oversee the sale. When I was satisfied that all was in order I agreed to meet with her.

  “Is there anything that you want to keep?” I asked. There was so much left in here.

  “My brother and I have gone through and taken what we want. I live in a two-family house and don’t have room or the desire to take much. He lives in New York City in a small place.”

  I scanned the living room. This would be a huge job. Every bit of wall space seemed to have something hanging on it. Paintings, mosaic tiles, mirrors, samurai swords. It was an eclectic mix that gave me a bit of a headache to look at. I stepped closer to study the things hanging on the wall next to me. Everything seemed to be excellent quality, at least in this room.

  “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

  We walked through the three bedroom, two bath house. One of the bedrooms had been converted into a study. The house was filled with Japanese furniture, a Danish modern bedroom suite in the guest room, framed maps, and shelves filled with figurines. “Your parents must have traveled a lot,” I said. I snapped pictures with my phone as we went through the rooms. It would help me organize, estimate how many hours this project would take, and maybe I could even do some pricing from home.

  “They did. We all did.” Jeannette stopped next to a family photo. Black and white, it looked like it had been taken in Egypt, since a pyramid and camel were in the background. She hesitated for a moment. “I guess it doesn’t matter now that they are gone.”

  I wondered what was coming next.

  “They were both in the CIA.”

  My eyes widened. “That must have been an interesting way to grow up.”

  “We didn’t know it. We thought Dad worked for the agricultural department and that Mom was a translator. We took all the moves for granted.”

  “How did you end up here?” I asked.

  “My dad was originally from Boston. They met in college at Georgetown. At least that was their story.” Jeannette grinned. “I think Mom was my dad’s handler, although they never admitted it.”

  “Wow.” I thought about growing up in Pacific Grove, California. My childhood had been grounded, a bit boring even. It’s one of the reasons why I’d gotten married so young “Are you . . .” I stopped. It wasn’t any of my business if Jeannette was in the CIA or not. She wouldn’t tell me if she was.

  “CIA?” She laughed. “Oh, no. I’m a teacher. I loved all the places we lived, but I wanted to settle in one place.”

  Having moved all the time when I was married to CJ, I understood the need for roots. It’s why I stayed in Ellington when we split up.

  “Did you have a favorite place where you lived?” I asked.

  “Japan. I was ten and it all seemed so exotic and amazing. For some reason my mom had more free time there. We spent lots of time baking and exploring. It was great.” Jeannette took the photo off the wall. “I guess I should keep this. If you find anything else like this, will you let me know?”

  I nodded.

  “There’s so much stuff that it’s hard to spot everything.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out. Am I going to find any spy gadgets?” My voice held a little more hope in it than I’d intended. This might be a very interesting sale.

  Jeannette laughed again. “I think spy gadgets are overrated. Most work was done talking to people one-on-one.”

  Maybe I’d find a lapel pin with a camera or a pen with a poison dart. A girl could dream. Maybe I should be extra careful sorting things, though.

  We discussed payment options. With a project this big I sometimes charged an hourly fee to price items, or I could take a larger than normal commission. The first option was better for me because there was no way to tell how much all of this would sell for. On the other hand I needed the business, so I was inclined to accept the larger commission. I’d toyed with the idea of starting an online auction site for this kind of sale. Maybe it was time to implement that. But before I offered it up as a solution, I wanted to double-check what kind of website I’d need to support it. And I would have to think about all the packing and shipping costs that would involve. It didn’t seem like the right time for this idea.

  We settled on a larger commission and signed a contract agreeing that I do the sale in two weeks. “I’m going to start promoting this sale online right away because we want to attract as many customers as possible.”

  “That’s a great idea. Thank you.” Jeannette gave me the keys to the house.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow to work.”

  Jeannette nodded. “The will stated that my brother gets eighty percent of everything.” Her voice sounded brisk.

  The way the will was split seemed unusual, but it wasn’t my place to ask why.

  “There was a reason, in the past, why they made that decision. I want to make sure we get top dollar for him.”

  “That’s always my plan. And I’ve built a reputation for doing that.”

  She smiled. “I know. That’s why I hired you.”

  Sherry Harris is the Agatha Award-nominated author of the Sarah Winston Garage Sale mystery series and the upcoming Chloe Jackson Sand Dollar Saloon mysteries. She is a past president of Sisters in Crime, a member of the Chesapeake Chapter of Sisters in Crime, the New England Chapter of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers.

  In her spare time Sherry loves reading and is a patent-holding inventor. Sherry, her husband, and guard dog, Lily, are living in northern Virginia until they figure out where they want to move to next.

  Website: Sherryharrisauthor.com Blog: Wicked-cozyauthors. com

  Beer to Eternity