The Longest Yard Sale (13 page)

CHAPTER 19

At home, I sat on my couch, opened my laptop, and started searching for more information about Terry McQueen and his family. His dad had owned a sports agency for thirty years and represented a lot of Boston Celtics, Patriots, Bruins, and Red Sox players. He'd even worked with some of the Revolution pro soccer players before selling the business five years ago.

Terry had run the Boston Marathon more than once and finished with pretty good times. There was an occasional mention of him at charitable events, so even though he'd moved away, he'd stayed a part of the community to some small degree. But there wasn't any mention of him as a camp counselor or anything about the camp. Then I thought of someone who might know something.

Fifteen minutes later I knocked on Herb Fitch's bright red door. When it opened, I said, “They let me out.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said through the old wooden screen door. “I followed up. You're Chief Hooker's ex-wife.” He stepped out onto the porch, wincing when he moved his left leg.

“Sarah Winston.” We shook hands. I was gentle with his arthritic one.

Herb motioned to a couple of Adirondack chairs on the left side of the broad covered porch. He might have jumped the gun by calling the cops on me, but he was sharp enough not to let a stranger into his house.

“I wondered if you saw anything the night McQueen was murdered,” I said.

“It was one of the few nights my arthritis medicine actually worked, and I slept well. More's the pity,” he said.

It was worth a shot, but not my primary reason for coming. “I heard there used to be a camp for troubled kids in Ellington and that Terry McQueen was a counselor there.”

Herb squinted up at the porch ceiling. “I started the program. Tried to keep kids on the straight and narrow. You thinkin' that might have something to do with the murder?”

“It was a thought. That's all.”

“It's a pretty good thought. Some of those kids didn't turn out so well. Wonder if anyone over at the Ellington PD thought of it. You tell 'em?”

“Not yet. Nothing really to go on at this point.”

“Terry spent a week there himself after his junior year of high school.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Record's sealed,” Herb said. “He was a juvenile.”

I guess that was Herb's way of saying none of my business. “And then he got to be a camp counselor?”

“After he straightened up. He only worked there for a couple of summers while he was in college. I thought at the time it might show those kids you can turn your life around.”

“Sounds smart.”

“Then he started working for his dad.”

“I heard he and his dad had a falling out.”

“Yep.”

I waited. It took me a minute to realize Herb wasn't going to add anything additional on that topic. “Gennie ‘the Jawbreaker' Elder went through there, too.”

“Another success story,” Herb said. “Too bad the program got swept up into a county program. It was more successful on a local level.” Herb pushed himself up out of his chair, so I stood, too. “Might be better for me to mention this theory of yours to the Ellington police.”

I nodded. Anything that might take suspicion away from Carol was fine with me. “Thanks for your time.”

I stopped over to see Carol after I left Herb. A class was just finishing up, so I had to wait a few minutes. Carol smiled and joked with the students in the class. After they left, she leaned against the door and shook her head.

“You managed a class after having the place searched.”

“I have to keep the business going,” she snapped.

“I meant it as a compliment. That couldn't have been easy.”

“Oh.” Carol pushed herself off the door and started cleaning up. I helped.

“What did they take during the search?”

“Some of my painting supplies. Paint thinners. Turpentine. A couple of tubes of paint. They already had the computer. Not much else around here to take.”

I thought about it for a minute. “Everything they took was flammable.”

“I thought the same thing.”

That didn't sound good. None of what they took seemed like it had anything to do with the murder or the missing painting. I thought about the fires and the incendiary devices. Did they think Carol had some connection to those? For once I didn't say it out loud.

 

 

As I got back to the apartment, Stella pulled up.

“You look dejected,” she said, climbing out of her car. Her arms were full of bags from a local crafts store. “Come in. I bought some frames for the sheet music I got at the yard sale last weekend. Want to help me?”

“Sure.” We set up at Stella's kitchen table and got to work. I took the frames apart and cleaned the glass while Stella assembled the sheet music and put the frames back together.

“What is it with this town?” I asked her after we'd worked for a while. “Either you hear everything or everyone acts like they're guarding matters of national security.” Which in actuality, if they worked on the base, they could be.

“What are you trying to find out?”

“McQueen was in trouble in high school and got sent to a camp for troubled teens. He straightened himself out and became a counselor there during the summer while he was in college. During one of those summers, your Aunt Gennie was at that camp with McQueen. After college McQueen worked for his father's sports agency. They had a falling out, Terry moved, and started working for the government.” It seemed that plenty of sources of trouble had circled around Terry. His own problems as a juvenile, his work with at-risk kids, and then some kind of conflict with his father.

“And?”

“And . . . I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with why he was murdered.”

“Want me to call my mom? Maybe she remembers something.”

“I'd be grateful.” I hesitated. “Do you remember any of this?”

Stella finished framing the last piece of sheet music. She pursed her lips as she worked. “Not really,” she finally said. “I'm enough younger than Aunt Gennie that we didn't hang out with the same people. My mom wasn't that close to Aunt Nancy or Aunt Gennie. I think it's one of the reasons she moved to Florida.” Stella picked up her phone and dialed her mom.

After exchanging pleasantries, Stella put the phone on speaker and filled her in on McQueen's murder. “Didn't Aunt Gennie know Terry?” she asked.

“Know him? She loved that boy. They met at a, uh, summer camp.”

“Mom, I know Aunt Gennie got sent there because she was in trouble. She's still trying to protect me from the ‘bad' things in life.”

“They were an item,” Stella's mom said. “Then when Gennie went pro, Terry was her agent. But that didn't last long. Things ended on a bad note. People should listen to that old adage: don't mix business with pleasure.”

“What kind of bad note?”

“Let me think,” her mom said. “I can't remember. Ask your Aunt Nancy; she'd know.” Stella and her mom talked for a few more minutes while I mulled over the fact that Gennie and Terry had more than a business relationship, that he'd been Gennie's agent, and that things ended badly. Was whatever happened between them bad enough that years later it was a motive for murder?

CHAPTER 20

Back in my apartment, I made a salad for dinner. I grabbed my laptop and searched for Gennie “the Jawbreaker” Elder. Wikipedia had a full biography. It mentioned that she'd signed with the McQueen agency briefly but left them shortly after her first fight. It had a full list of her fights and the people she'd beaten. Her first fight was against a woman named Missy “the Meat” Tucker. I kept digging and found some dirt.

There were allegations that Gennie threw that first fight. Missy Tucker vehemently denied it, as did Gennie. I thought about what Gennie had said about that photo of her from her first fight. She never wanted to feel like that again. Maybe she hadn't been just talking about getting knocked out. If she'd thrown it, maybe Terry had pressured her into doing so. And maybe his dad had found out and that's why Terry had left the agency and Ellington. Unfortunately, all I had were a lot of maybes and no answers.

I did another search, this time for Missy Tucker. She lived in Concord, and her phone number and address were listed. I called and left a message, saying I'd like to interview her about her career as a fighter. I hoped she'd call back.

 

 

I spent most of Friday putting the finishing touches on a garage sale that was going to be held on Saturday. Vicki O'Malley was the second cousin of Nancy and Gennie Elder by marriage. She'd been following my column in the newspaper and had been an enthusiastic supporter of New England's Largest Yard Sale. Vicki hired me to organize and price the items for her sale. While she loved going to garage sales, she knew throwing one was a whole different skill set and a lot of work. She didn't need me on Saturday because she was from a large family who'd come over and help.

Vicki met me in her oversized, two-car garage. “I'm not sure how to price these clothes,” Vicki said.

“I usually go ten to twenty-five percent of the original cost, depending on the condition. Thirty to forty if it's a name brand.”

“This jacket hasn't ever been worn,” she said. She held up a classic black wool blazer from Talbots. The ticket was still on it.

“Do half of the ticket price on that one. It leaves room to haggle but still gets you a good price.”

“What are you going to do once the snow sets in and you can't throw garage sales?”

“I'm not sure.” It had been on my mind. I couldn't just sit around all winter and do nothing, even with the nice nest egg I'd built up over the summer doing garage sales and with the money the city had paid me. I'd been out of the job market so long as a military wife that my skill set was rusty. And the financial world relied so heavily on technology now that I'd have to take classes to get back up to speed.

“What about estate sales?” she asked.

“That's a whole different field. You have to know a lot more about antiques and jewelry than I do.”

“I guess you could learn,” she said. “New England's Largest Yard Sale was certainly a boon for the town, although the way Nancy's acting you'd think she thought of it and did all the work herself. But don't worry; everyone in town knows it was all you.”

“Thanks. How is Nancy?”

Vicki paused and looked away. “I haven't seen her since the morning of the sale.”

Interesting. I'm pretty sure she wasn't telling the truth but couldn't figure out why she'd lie. “She disappeared for a few hours in the middle of it.”

“She's a busy lady,” Vicki said.

We finished up a few hours later. All Vicki had to do on Saturday morning was throw open the garage and drag one table out.

“Have fun tomorrow,” I told her as she paid me. “Tell Nancy I said hi.”

Vicki nodded but didn't make eye contact as I left.

 

 

Instead of heading home, I decided to take a walk on the Rails to Trails path. I was curious about the fires and wondered if there was anything to see. The parking lot at the start of the path was crowded, but I managed to snag a spot. This must be the after-work rush. An old train caboose, parked in the lot, now served as a snack shack. Across the street, a strategically located bike shop sold gear and bikes, and helped people with flat tires and bent rims.

Old oak and maple trees lined this section of the asphalt path. I remembered that Nancy said the fire had been started near the beginning of the path. But I walked about a half mile, dodging bikers and joggers, before I noticed the burned area off to the right side. Singed grass stretched out in front of me for about twenty feet. Some of the trees beside the path were scorched. An acrid odor still hung in the air.

I looked back down the path. It turned just enough that I couldn't see the parking lot from here. What I did notice was a lot of litter, but that would be taken care of in a couple of days. I snapped some pictures and walked all around the edges of the burned area. I turned into the woods to see if anything was back there. Even with all the people on the path, it was a little creepy with all the overgrowth. After getting scratched by a couple of thorns, I popped back out on the path.

“What are you doing?” Seth called out, startling me.

He jogged up to my side, glistening with sweat. His T-shirt was plastered against the hard muscles of his chest. I tried not to stare or drool.

“Taking a walk.”

“In the brambles?”

Darn. I guess he'd seen me leaving the woods. “I was curious about how far back the damage went from the fire. But after getting tangled up with a couple of bushes, I decided I didn't care that much.”

“Can you stop by my house this evening? I've moved most of my stuff over to Bedford today. I could really use your help.”

I studied him, hoping he really did want my help and not just me. “Okay. I'll come by at seven.”

“Great. I'll text you my address.” Seth jogged off with a wave.

 

 

At seven, I knocked on the door of Seth's little bungalow in Bedford. I was surprised it wasn't grander, considering his family. I pictured him in Revolutionary Ridge in a large house built for entertaining and sporting a three-car garage. This house had a one-car garage, two dormers, and a green front door that stood out from the white siding and matched the trim. It's the kind of house I'd want to live in. I looked over the yard as I waited. It needed a white picket fence, a puppy, and a couple of Adirondack chairs.

“Like it?” Seth asked from behind me.

I'd been so lost in my daydream, I hadn't heard the door open.

Seth looked me over. I'd dressed in a black pantsuit with a silk shirt underneath. My hair sat in a low bun. I thought if I looked professional, it would be easier to keep things professional. The little flips my heart did told me I wasn't immune to Seth at all. My outfit hadn't helped one bit.

Seth led me into the small living room. His sleek couch looked out of place in a room with built-in shelves, alcoves, and a charming brick fireplace. I whipped out my cell phone and started making notes. I murmured more to myself than Seth, “Couch, end tables, lamps, art.” Then I went through the living room, kitchen (updated), and dining room, oohing and ahing over its built-ins, adding to my list of what needed to be purchased. I headed to the basement to avoid the bedrooms.

“This can be your man cave. We'll put up your Red Sox memorabilia. The couch upstairs will be perfect down here. The tall table from your old place can go over in that corner. It's going to look great.” I turned to see why Seth hadn't said anything. Maybe he didn't like my ideas and was regretting his decision not to hire a professional decorator.

He smiled at me. “You're cute when you're enthused, tapping out notes and waving your hands around. Thank you.”

I tried to squelch back the glow from his compliment but smiled back at him. We went back upstairs. “Ready to see the bedrooms?” Seth asked.

I nodded. I had to get it over with sometime. The desk was already in one of the bedrooms. Seth had it pushed up against the wall.

“Let's reposition this. Do you want to look out the window or toward the door?” I asked.

“It's probably better with my back to the window so I don't get distracted.”

I ran out to my Suburban and grabbed some pads to place under the legs of the desk. That way we could glide it across the wooden floor without scratching it or having to lift the desk.

We pushed the desk into position and moved the chair. The office didn't need much else. The other bedroom contained a double bed and a tiny dresser. Not much else would fit.

“Where's your sleigh bed?”

“Up here.”

I followed Seth up a narrow flight of stairs that opened into a large master suite. The sleigh bed sat at the far end, and an oak tall boy stood against one wall. “Be professional,” I muttered.

“The bathroom's over here,” Seth said.

Someone had done a beautiful job updating the bath. A large, glassed-in shower had multiple shower heads. A free-standing soaking tub sat next to a window. I took a deep breath and tried to stop envisioning all the wonderful, fun things that could happen up here. “It's great.” I scampered back down the steps as though I was a squirrel and a fox was chasing me.

“Do you have any paper?” I asked Seth when he came down.

“Hang on. There's some in the office.” He came back with a plain white sheet of paper. It reminded me of the notes Bubbles had gotten. I shook myself. Everyone had this kind of computer paper. I took the sheet over to the counter in the kitchen and started sketching.

“You could do a great little reading nook in the space opposite your bed. A couple of great chairs, shelves full of books, a bench by the window.” I sighed, picturing it in my head. “Oh, and a couple of great rugs. Old and soft. What do you think?” I handed Seth my sketch.

He shook his head. I should have known. He'd want something more sophisticated. I felt foolish.

“It's amazing,” he said. “You got it just right.” He ducked behind me, trailing a finger across my lower back. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne.

“I have to go,” I said, listening to my head and ignoring my heart yet again. I kept turning down Seth's overtures but didn't completely understand why. Maybe it was because of the way our relationship had started—as a one-night stand. I so wasn't that person. I wanted to be sure Seth knew it, but I guess he must by now.

“It's my first night here. Just one drink to celebrate our partnership?”

Part of me wanted to run screaming. “Be professional.” I muttered to myself, again.

“What?” Seth asked.

I blushed and gave in. “Nothing. Just one drink.”