The Longest Yard Sale (12 page)

He grabbed one of my hands, so I had to stop shredding the paper that recently covered my straw. “You never look like junk to me.”

His dark, long-lashed eyes looked sincere. The cook slapped some burgers on the griddle. They sizzled and popped. Seth's look had me sizzling, too. What was wrong with me that I kept him at a distance? And what was wrong with him that he let me?

“Thank you,” I said, biting my tongue to keep from joking off the compliment. The waitress arrived, and we ordered. When Seth asked for clean silverware she snapped to, obviously wanting to please him, even though she was probably old enough to be his grandmother.

I poked at my salad of iceberg lettuce that was on the verge of being spoiled. Seth powered through country-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy, sharing bites with me in the process, asking why anyone would order salad at a diner. He ordered chocolate cream pie with a graham-cracker crust for us to share. When the towering piece of pie arrived, he left his seat and moved over to sit beside me.

“Bench sharing?” I asked. “Isn't there a Seinfeld episode about this?”

“There's a Seinfeld episode about everything.”

I dug my fork into the pie and wrapped my mouth around it. Seth leaned in to wipe a bit of the cream off the corner of my mouth before he took a bite.

“I didn't realize you decorated houses for people,” Seth said.

“It's not really decorating. I find pieces I think they'd like and help them arrange what they have to go with it. Just for a few friends.” I took another bite.

“I'm your friend, right?” Seth said.

I almost choked on the pie, thinking I'd just walked into something. I swallowed. “Of course.”

“Great. I just bought a house in Bedford. I need help finding some things for it.”

Bedford? One town over from me. He'd been living in an apartment in Lowell, a more comfortable twenty-five minutes away.

“I love your apartment,” Seth said. “It feels homey. I'd like something similar.”

“But you can afford any decorator in Boston.”

“I don't want some overly decorated apartment that's been ‘done' as a showcase. I want a home,” Seth said, flashing his smile. “Please?”

Working closely with Seth to set up his house seemed about as smart as running across the base shooting range in front of the targets. The risk of getting hurt seemed enormous. “I'll think about it.”

“One more favor?” Seth asked. “A ride home?”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Where's your car? How'd you get here?”

“I was in Nashua for a meeting with other DAs from around New England. A bunch of us carpooled up here. You don't want to strand me here, do you?”

“What did you tell them you were doing?” I asked.

“The truth. Meeting a friend for dinner.”

I didn't like it, but I was kind of stuck. I couldn't just leave him here. “Okay, let's go.” I sighed inwardly. What could go wrong?

CHAPTER 17

Thirty minutes later we pulled up in front of his apartment complex.

“Come up?” Seth asked. Before I could say no, he added, “In a strictly professional capacity. To assess my current furnishings and see what you'll be able to use.”

“I guess. Since I'm here.”

“You sound reluctant. I've never made a pass at any of the people who work for me.”

I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Without seeing where you're moving to, it's going to be hard to tell what's usable and what isn't.”

After a quick jog up two flights of stairs, Seth unlocked the door and gestured for me to go in first. I only had the vaguest of memories of the place. I'd been here once and was drunk when I'd arrived. The following morning I'd scooted out as fast as possible.

The furnishings were sleek, modern, and soulless. The shades of gray felt lifeless; I was actually a fan of gray, just not these grays. A large modern painting of splashes of gray hung on one wall.

“How do you stand it in here?” I asked. “It's so cold and depressing.”

“I'm usually just passing through. And it's why I asked you for help.”

We walked from the living room to the small eating area. The table was a tall, wrought-iron-and-glass combo with three low-backed stools around it—one of those pieces that looked cool but wasn't comfortable to use. The table was covered with a couple of computers and lots of papers. Seth added his briefcase to the mess. The tiny kitchen opened to the rest of the room. “Do you want some coffee?” Seth pointed to an espresso machine that looked well used.

“No thanks.” I didn't plan to stay that long. A few memories started flashing in my head, and heat warmed my face. “Let's look at the rest of the place.”

Seth seemed to be fighting a grin. He grabbed my hand and led me down a hall. One of the rooms was an office full of Red Sox memorabilia and a beautiful, large walnut desk. Its smooth top was clear of clutter and polished to a mirror-like shine. Oh, no. Had we . . . ? In here?

I pulled my hand from his. “We can use the desk. For your office. In your new place,” I added hastily, my face growing even warmer. “And all your Red Sox things. They'd be perfect in a man cave, if you plan on having one in your new home.”

“My last decorator wanted to me to toss everything in here, even after I explained the desk was my great-grandfather's.”

I shook my head. “The desk is amazing,” I said, turning to him. His eyes smoldered, and I rushed out of the room.

I peeked in his bedroom. It held a large antique sleigh bed. That I remembered all too well. I hustled back to the living room and opened the front door. “The bed will work, too. Depending on the size of your bedroom.”

“Sarah, wait. Don't rush off.”

“I have to,” I said over my shoulder as I slammed the door behind me. I zipped down to my car. I sat in the Suburban and fanned myself. I was having very X-rated thoughts on what was supposed to be a G-rated night.

 

 

At seven the next morning, the sound of car doors slamming blew in through my bedroom window, along with a chilly breeze. I tossed the covers aside to see what had caused the racket. I flung open my curtains. Carol stood outside her store across the town common. Its door was wide open. Two police cars were parked out front, and police officers strolled in. Vincenzo's black Town Car slid to the curb. He exited and headed to Carol's side.

The police must be executing the search warrants Vincenzo warned Carol would be coming. I spotted Seth walking up the street toward Vincenzo and Carol, carrying his briefcase. CJ walked down the sidewalk from the other direction, also heading toward Carol and Vincenzo. I watched in horror as they arrived and shook hands, first with each other, and then with Vincenzo and Carol.

This town was just too small. They all turned and looked over in my direction. I ducked back in what I hoped was the nick of time, whatever the nick of time actually is. I took a hasty shower, threw on a long-sleeved top, jeans, and boots. After spending a few minutes on my hair and makeup, I was ready—for what I wasn't sure—but a knock on the door proved my instinct was right. Please, don't let it be all four of them. My heart couldn't take it.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Stella stood there. I stuck my head out and looked around.

“Expecting someone else?” Stella asked as she followed me into my apartment. “You look awfully nice. You must have been expecting a man.”

“Can't I look nice anytime?”

“Sure, but this early in the morning?” Stella was in yoga pants and a sweatshirt but still looked cute. “I need to go on base and wondered if you'd go with me.”

“Why are you going on base?”

“Dave's out of town for a few days, and he wanted me to check on his cat. I don't want to go on base by myself.”

“Why not?”

Stella let out a breath of air. “I don't know—guilty conscience, fear of wandering into a secure area. Maybe it's just the guards, fences, and razor wire. And I haven't been on Fitch since my senior year of high school for a swim meet.”

“You were a competitive swimmer?”

“No. But I liked one.”

It might be good to get out of here while CJ and Seth were both in such close proximity. I'd check in with Carol when I got back. “As long as we swing through Dunkin' Donuts on the way,” I said. “I'll drive.”

 

 

Twenty minutes later we drove onto the base. We'd already gone to the visitors center to get a pass. That was the easy part because Dave had left instructions allowing Stella to get on base.

Stella looked around as we drove. “Is the bowling alley still here?” she asked.

“It is.”

“I spent a lot of time there my junior year.”

“Let me guess: you liked a guy.”

“No. I was on a team. Back then there wasn't any razor wire, gates, or guards. Anyone could come on. Then after 9/11 they beefed up all the security.”

I took a right, and we passed the youth center, a place for kids to hang out, then the elementary and middle schools, and the base swimming pool. We drove up Luke Road. Bubbles lived in one of the older two-bedroom town houses near the top of the hill. It was an end unit that was connected to three others.

Stella looked up at the two story-building as we parked. “These look old.”

“They are,” I said. I was so used to the rows of white buildings that I didn't pay much attention to them. Some were right on the street; others sat back on U-shaped courtyards. All the garages were behind the units.

“Wonder why he doesn't live in one of those?” Stella mused as I parked, pointing across the street to the cute, brick Cape-style houses.

We walked up the short sidewalk to his door. “I'm guessing he could have. It's all based on rank and number of dependents.”

Stella unlocked the front door and went in. I picked up a base newspaper that was on the minuscule front porch before following her. A scrawny black-and-white cat met us and wove through our legs, purring its contentment.

“This is Tux,” Stella said. “Dave rescued him a couple of years ago.”

“You're a sweet baby,” I told Tux, patting him on the top of his head. We busied ourselves with feeding Tux and putting out fresh water. When we finished, I picked up Tux and cuddled him to my chest. “I'd take you home with me, but my mean landlady doesn't allow pets.” Tux licked my cheek with his little rough tongue.

“I thought you said you're allergic,” Stella said.

“I am. Tux doesn't understand that.”

“But he understands I'm the mean landlady?”

“I didn't say
you
were my landlady.” Tux squirmed in my arms, so I put him down. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands thoroughly. “Are we done?” I asked.

“I forgot the litter box. It's upstairs. I'll be right back,” Stella said as she trotted up the stairs.

I picked up the base paper, and some ads fell out, along with a piece of paper. I stared down at it. “Stella, we have a problem,” I yelled.

CHAPTER 18

Stella and I stared down at the note. “Beware” was scrawled across the plain white sheet of paper. Stella bent to pick it up.

“Don't touch it.” I said it so loud that Stella jumped back. I took out my cell phone and snapped a couple of close-ups. Later I'd compare this one to the ones I'd taken at Anna's house. Stella watched me but didn't ask why I was taking the pictures. “I have to call the base security force.” I dialed the nonemergency number and gave a brief explanation of what had happened.

“Who's doing this to him?” Stella asked.

I tapped my hand against my thigh. “I don't know. Is there a room we can put Tux in? We don't want him to slip out, and I have a feeling a lot of people are going to be in and out of here in a few minutes.”

Stella picked up Tux and carried him to the upstairs bathroom. She murmured to him as she did.

James, one of my favorites on the security force, showed up first. As we explained the note and its possible connection to McQueen, I studied James. His dark brown hair was shorter than he normally wore it, and his cheekbones were more pronounced. He'd been deployed and looked tougher than he had before going overseas. James was now the epitome of a lean, clean, fighting machine. He did a quick walk-through of the house, and then the party really started as the house filled with more security personnel and other base officials.

Thirty minutes later, Scott Pellner and another guy in a suit, whom I recognized as one of the detectives from the EPD, pulled up and joined the already large crowd of security forces personnel milling around. The base had a memorandum of agreement with Ellington, so Ellington helped with some crimes on base. Since this might have something to do with Terry's death, it made sense that Pellner and the detective were here.

Stella and I had been questioned and told to wait in a corner of the living room. I hadn't mentioned I'd snapped a couple of pictures of the note. Neither did Stella. Pellner's eyes widened when he spotted me, and he said something to the detective, who then glanced at us. But they ignored us and went over to talk to James. I could see through the large living room window that a crowd of moms and kids stood out on the sidewalk talking as they tried to figure out what was going on. This time last year I would have been out there with them.

Bubbles's living room doubled as an office. A closed laptop sat on a desk next to some pictures of Bubbles with two kids who looked to be college-age. I wondered if they were his. A shelf above the desk held books about investing and war. Across from the desk was an overstuffed black leather couch. A large flat-screen TV filled a corner. Pictures of different places Bubbles had been stationed hung on the wall above the couch.

Stella's dark green eyes were large as she observed the goings-on. “This is why I don't like to come on base alone.”

“This doesn't usually happen,” I said.

James came over to us. “How've you been, Sarah?”

“Good. I heard you were off on a four-month deployment.”

“I just got back a couple weeks ago.”

Things had been a bit awkward between James and me. After my divorce, he'd come around a few times, at first I thought as a friend, but I think he was interested, and CJ hadn't liked it one bit.

“You two can head out. We've got your contact information. I'll walk you through the gauntlet out there so you don't have to answer any questions,” James said.

I waved at a couple of women I knew who stood off to one side. They'd been my neighbors before the divorce. One of them, Michelle Murphy, had a teenage daughter who always used to drop by when I still lived on base. I wondered how Lindsay was doing. James opened my car door for me.

“Thanks, James. Take care,” I said. My phone was ringing before I'd pulled away from the curb, but I ignored it.

 

 

Back at my apartment, I transferred the photos from my phone to my laptop. I studied each one. The white paper the notes were written on looked the same in each photo. But that wasn't helpful since that kind of paper was available anywhere. Some were more smudged than others. The handwriting looked the same. Each note had different wording, but they did contain some of the same letters. I'm sure an expert could look at pressure points and loops to be more precise.

But my uneducated eye told me the same person had written all of them. And from what I remembered of the note Bubbles had showed us the other night, the same person had written that one, too. Now, how to figure out who that person was.

I assumed whoever it was had disguised their handwriting. The words leaned a bit to the left, but not a lot. After studying the pictures a while longer, I realized no answer was going to magically appear. I hoped Anna didn't tell anyone I'd asked about them or taken pictures of them. CJ wouldn't be happy to know I was snooping around, and neither would anyone else. But I was fairly certain that Carol was in more trouble than anyone was saying.

 

 

I plopped a bag with two sandwiches from Ken's Deli in Bedford on CJ's desk a little after noon. I always felt like I was cheating on Angelo when I went to other restaurants, but Ken's offered a mean chicken on pita that I knew CJ liked.

CJ opened the bag and spotted the two sandwiches and bag of chips to share, like we'd always done. He looked weary or wary. It was hard to tell which.

“Another attempt to get information out of me,” CJ said as he passed me one of the sandwiches. I sat across from him. His desk was back to its ordinary neat state. It made it darn hard to snoop.

“No. An attempt to get you to eat because I know what happens when you have a lot going on. And you have a lot going on.” CJ would forget to eat for hours when he was busy. I'd always been the one to make sure he ate.

“Do I?”

“A dead man, mysterious fires, and an art theft. Oh, and Bubbles being threatened. It sounds like a lot to me.”

“I heard you found another note,” CJ said, as he bit into his sandwich.

I nodded. “Bubbles is out of town, and Stella asked me to go with her to feed the cat.”

“Maybe Bubbles should stay out of town for a while.”

“I thought the same thing.” CJ and I were so often on the same wavelength it frightened me sometimes.

“But Bubbles isn't one to run from trouble, so he'll probably be back,” CJ said.

We munched on our lunch for a few minutes. Until recently, everything had been so easy when it came to CJ that it made me question myself. We got along fine—better than fine. For months, CJ had wooed me with flowers, dinners, and day trips. He'd even surprised me last month by whisking me off to the fabulous flea market in Brimfield. He hated going to flea markets and garage sales. The last one he'd been to was on our honeymoon nineteen years ago. Now that I thought about it, our trip to Brimfield was the last time he'd taken me out. I'd been so busy with the community yard sale, I hadn't even noticed.

“What?” CJ asked. “You sighed.”

“Life's complicated.”

“It doesn't have to be,” CJ said.

I wished I'd kept my big mouth shut. I saw a lot more shades of gray than CJ did. He followed rules of law and thought rules like those applied to everyday life.

An officer stuck her head in the door. “Excuse me, Chief, but could you come down the hall for a sec?” She gave me the stink eye. I recognized her as the woman CJ had dog-sat for last spring.

CJ glanced around his office as though he wanted to make sure nothing important was out for me to see. I guess I wasn't the only one with trust issues. “I'll be right back.”

Another officer came in and laid a stack of files on his desk. After he left, I scooted closer, wondering what I could see upside down.

Chanting “I won't look, I won't look,” I picked up the trash from our lunch. I walked around the desk to toss the trash in the wastebasket CJ kept in the kneehole under his desk. CJ's computer chirped, announcing that a new e-mail had arrived. This place was a minefield of temptation. I swear I accidentally bumped the mouse, which lit up the screen. Clicking on it was a whole different story, and I chastised myself as I opened the message. It was a timeline of when they thought
Battled
had been stolen. The report surmised the crime had occurred during New England's Largest Yard Sale. At that time, the police force was spread thin with traffic and crowd control and, worse, helping with the fires. The station had all but emptied to battle the blaze at the football field just down from the station.

The report said a silent alarm had been triggered from the library, but by the time anyone had been able to respond, everything had seemed okay. It was written off as a system problem.

I hurriedly clicked the file closed, marked it as unread, and returned to my side of the desk. So someone must have used the fires as a distraction to steal the painting. It made sense that the police would help save the new AstroTurf field. A lot of the guys had kids on the football team and had put in hours raising the money for the field. The fires created a perfect opportunity for a crime. And now that I thought about it, the library had had a big outdoor book sale that day, so it was probably understaffed indoors. How dare someone use my event to steal
Battled
? It made me even more determined to figure out what was going on. I stood up to leave as CJ came back in. His eyes went from the folders to me.

“I didn't touch them.” At least I could say that honestly. “I have to go. Take care of yourself.” I considered giving him a peck on the cheek, but he moved around to the back of his desk. Thankfully, the computer screen was dark again.

“Thanks for lunch,” CJ said as he sat behind his desk.

The timeline kept circling through my head as I walked to my car. And then I remembered that Nancy had disappeared from the yard sale about the time the fires were burning. My sandwich rolled a little in my stomach.