The Longest Yard Sale (14 page)

CHAPTER 21

I woke up early the next morning, in my own bed, alone and happy I'd indulged in only one glass of champagne and one heart-stopping kiss. There were many temptations when it came to Seth and his sleigh bed. I grabbed my computer and downloaded the pictures I'd taken by the Rails to Trails path. As I blew them up, I noticed a scrap of fabric clinging to one of the bushes. I zoomed in. It looked like a piece of camouflage from a BDU.

It didn't mean someone from the military had started the fires, although it was true that someone from the military might have the skills to make an incendiary device. This bit of fabric didn't look like the latest iteration of a BDU. The military constantly updated the pattern and material to make troops as safe as possible. Anyone shopping at the base thrift shop or a military surplus store could own this. It also didn't rule out someone in the military because lots of people could easily have clothing made of this fabric. I'd have to show it to CJ just in case he didn't know. However, it was unlikely he'd be at the station at 5:30 on a Saturday morning.

I popped out of bed, showered, ate a couple of Fig Newtons (invented in and named for the town of Newton, Massachusetts). I was nothing if not loyal to the products of my adopted home state of Massachusetts, whenever possible. That philosophy gave me an excuse to eat fluffernutter sandwiches, Boston cream pie, Parker House rolls, and chocolate chip cookies without guilt. Patronizing Dunkin' Donuts also fell under that same category since the first one had opened in Massachusetts.

Even though I'd grown up in California, something about New England just felt like home. My parents wanted me to move back after my divorce, but I just couldn't do that. My mother had recently discovered her ancestors had landed in Hingham, Massachusetts, in the 1630s. Maybe that was why New England felt like home to me: the place was in my genes.

I trotted down the stairs and grabbed a newspaper off the front porch. I took it back up, grabbed my computer, and searched “garage sales.” I studied the listings in both to find the ones that sounded the best. It was the first Saturday I hadn't had to run one in a very long time. The thrill of the hunt got my heart zinging with anticipation. Even better, I was spending Seth's money and not mine. This was almost my perfect scenario. Perfect would be my own money and the space to fill it with whatever I found.

I charted a route that wended its way through Ellington, Bedford, and Concord. It was always hard to decide which sale to hit first. Fortunately, this morning a lot of them had different starting times. Many sales listed antiques, but that term was thrown around a lot when stuff was actually only vintage or old, or when someone decided to call a fifteen-year-old Beanie Baby an antique. In the trade, anything over one hundred years old was an antique, fifty to one hundred was vintage, and everything else was just old. Some people used the word
vintage
to refer to things that came from a specific era.

I hit an ATM to get cash before I headed over to Bedford, my first stop. Even though the person throwing the garage sale should have plenty of change, I wanted to have my own in case someone didn't. At a garage sale, cash was required. Often, estate sales or auctions were set up so people could use credit cards, but I'd yet to see a garage sale that was. At 6:55, I pulled up to a house with the most promising ad. People already milled about as the owners pulled stuff out of their garage onto the drive. I joined the throng.

A carved oak end table caught my eye. It had two shelves, and the top was about a twelve-inch square. The scale was perfect for Seth's living room. It looked handmade. I turned it over to check for markings but didn't find any. That didn't bother me. I didn't care if things were labeled or signed; tramp art often wasn't and yet could be valuable, although finding pieces by Stickley or Hitchcock was always a thrill.

I carried the table with me to another piece I spotted: a comfy-looking chair that would fit perfectly next to Seth's fireplace. The chair would have to be reupholstered—I didn't think Seth would like the pink cabbage roses on the fabric—but if the price was right, the size was perfect. I plopped down in the chair, and it was as comfortable as it looked. I tried to get the attention of one of the people working the sale; the chair was too large for me to carry, and I didn't want to lose out by leaving it to another avid shopper.

I couldn't find a price on either piece, which worried me. It meant one of two things: either they wanted too much and I'd have to walk away when I really didn't want to, or they didn't know the value, which would work in my favor.

A woman came over and we began to haggle. She tossed out a price of $75 for the table and $150 for the chair. We went back and forth; I pointed out that the table wasn't signed, and she pointed out that the chair was stuffed with down. We finally agreed on $25 for the table and $75 for the chair. I felt good about the table and so-so about the chair. In the end, both pieces were worth more than I paid for them, so overall I was happy.

The woman's son, a teenage grumpy Gus, grudgingly helped me carry the chair and shove it into the back of the Suburban. Later today, I'd drop it off at an upholstery shop I liked in Ellington. I loaded the table, thanked the kid, and took off. The next two sales were a bust; either I was too late or their idea of antiques consisted of some old, plastic dinnerware and clothes from the eighties.

I had a heck of a time finding the next place on my list. It was on the far outskirts of Concord, and I passed the hidden driveway three times before I saw it and turned in. They needed balloons by the entrance and bright signs far enough from the turn so people could find it without zooming past and having to circle back around. No one else was even at the sale. Their loss was my gain, I hoped.

I headed to the furniture first because it was what Seth needed most. The owner had two large walnut wardrobes, both in excellent condition but too big for Seth's place. I ran my hand across the smooth walnut with a sigh. Too big for my place, too. I checked out a mahogany dresser. The veneer on the top curled up, which I could fix, but even from a distance the piece smelled musty, so much so that I didn't think putting charcoal in the drawers would clear up the odor.

I drifted over to the tables loaded with smaller items. I enjoyed digging through a box full of artwork, turning over the odd, lone spoon to see if it was silver, and sorting through a box of paperbacks to see if there was a book for me. Before long, I'd purchased three old framed maps, two lamps, and a dining room table that folded to a size small enough to work behind a sofa and that expanded to seat ten. It came with four chairs, enough for now. I was tempted to keep it for myself.

As I shut the back of the Suburban, I turned to the homeowner. “You really need some signs out on the side of the road. And some balloons on your mailbox. I drove by three times before I found the drive.”

“Kids,” the woman yelled, “get your poster board and markers. Thanks,” she said. “I wondered why things were so slow. My friend told me all I had to do was put an ad on Craigslist and I'd be swamped.”

The back of the Suburban was pretty full, but I decided to make one more stop at a house in Concord since I was already out here. This sale was well marked and crowded. I sorted through a rack full of clothing, which wouldn't do anything for Seth but might do something for me. All of the pieces were clean, fairly new, and, best of all, cheap.

“I can't believe Terry McQueen's dead,” a woman said.

At first, I thought she was talking to me, but she looked at a woman beside her.

“I'm worried he was the brains in the investment business he owned with Dave Jackson.”

My ears perked up faster than a dog's who heard a whistle.

“That's not what I heard. My husband says Dave's the genius and Terry just crunched numbers.” Her friend carried a large decorative mirror in her arms. “Did you hear that Anna McQueen has already moved off base?”

“So soon? Did they kick her off?”

“No. She could have stayed for a year. I wonder why she left and where she went.”

I wondered the same thing. The two drifted off to look at a Little Tykes playhouse. Maybe Anna's house was so bare because she was packing. But I hadn't seen any moving boxes. I'd have to get hold of Laura and see what she knew. I started to leave but spotted a rug rolled up off to one side of the garage.

I went over to where it leaned against a wall. I could only see the very end, but the colors were variations of navy and red. I pressed my nose to it to see if it smelled.

“It's from a smoke-free, pet-free home,” a man said.

“Will you help me unroll it?” I asked. “How big is it?”

“Eight by eleven.” He set it on the ground, and we unrolled it. There was a small hole in one corner, but the pattern was lovely. We flipped it over so I could look at the backing. He said it came from a pet-free home, but I wanted to make sure there weren't any stains on the back. Trust but verify.

It looked good to me.

“Its sister rug is in the garage. Same colors, slightly different pattern, slightly smaller.”

We dragged that one out, too, and negotiated the price for both. One would work in Seth's living room and one in the dining room. They'd look good together but wouldn't be too much of a match.

“What about that love seat in the garage?” I asked. “Are you getting rid of that too?” A neutral cream with a tufted back, it was just the right size for Seth's living room and would go well with the cabbage-rose chair once it was reupholstered.

The man nodded and gave me a good price. With all of that stuffed in the back of my Suburban, I headed over to Seth's. He'd given me a key last night—not a “you can move in key,” but one that I could use for unloading things as I found them. I knew I'd need help with all of this and hoped I'd catch him at home.

A brand-new, black, sporty-looking convertible was parked at the curb. I thought about going on by but really didn't want to haul this stuff all over town. And who knows, maybe the car wasn't even at his house. I rang the bell, not wanting to use the key unless I had to. A woman opened the door. Good heavens, she was stunning—all high cheekbones, round sapphire eyes, and long lashes that must not be real. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I realized she was the Victoria's Secret model who'd been hanging on Seth in the picture from the newspaper. She was so thin her leggings were baggy. Her oversized sweater made her look like a waif in borrowed clothes.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her glossed lips were so full it looked like they might burst at any moment.

Her voice was kind of high and squeaky. It ruined the whole effect, so I managed to close my mouth. I'd been expecting some husky “will you go to bed with me” voice. Well, this felt awkward, another woman asking
me
if I needed help at Seth's house. I could ask the same of her.

“Is Seth here?” I didn't know Seth all that well. Maybe he handed out keys to every woman he knew.

She looked me over and dismissed me with her eyes. I didn't look that bad, did I? I glanced down and noticed some dirt on my pink, scooped-neck top and a bit on my jeans, too. Garage sales weren't necessarily the cleanest places in the world, especially when I was always sticking my nose in drawers, and on rugs and upholstery to make sure they didn't smell. I wiped my hands on my jeans.

“I'm Sarah. I have some furniture for Seth.”

She glanced over at my Suburban and grimaced. “I'll get him.” She closed the door in my face.

CHAPTER 22

I stared at the door, trying to decide what to do next. Part of me wanted to hightail it out of there, clean up, and come back the best version of myself. But another part wanted to let her know I wasn't that easily dismissed. I got out the key Seth had given me. I was about to unlock the door when Seth swung it open.

“Sarah,” Seth said. “Come in. This is Barbie.”

Of course, I'd heard of her before. Her last name was Doll; her mom had named her Barbie. If names were destinies, hers certainly worked.

Barbie spotted the key in my hand and attached herself to Seth, clinging like a grape to a vine. Wow, this was uncomfortable. Seth detached her.

“Sarah's a friend of mine,” he said to Barbie. “She's decorating the place.” He didn't seem uncomfortable at all. “I was hooking up the TV downstairs when Barbie showed up.”

It seemed like an explanation and apology all at once. From the pout on Barbie's face, she picked up on it, too, or maybe her lips were going to blow. I took a step back.

“I have to go,” Barbie said. She tried to kiss Seth on the mouth, but he turned, and all she got was a bit of cheek. Barbie flounced out, glancing back once before taking off in her convertible.

Seth turned to look at me. “Sorry about that. I didn't expect Barbie to show up. I didn't think she'd ever leave Boston to come out to what she considers the country.”

“No apologies necessary. It's not like I think I'm your only friend.” Maybe I put a little too much emphasis on the word
friend
, and maybe I was more jealous than I realized.

“I'd be happy if you were my only friend,” Seth said.

I wasn't fishing, was I? I pointed to Seth's cheek. “You have a bit of gunk on your cheek.” Pink gloss was smeared across his cheek where Barbie's lips had landed.

He swiped the back of his hand across it. “Did I get it?”

I nodded. Seth ran his finger down the length of my nose, creating a shiver through my body. “You have a bit of something left over from your shopping expedition today.” He held up his finger, and there was dust on it.

Disturbed by his touch, all I could do was change the subject. “Let's unload my Suburban and see if you like what I found.”

An hour later, the rugs were down and the dining room set arranged, and we'd hung the old maps in his office. The living room looked bare with only the love seat, oak table, and rug, but I envisioned what it would eventually look like and smiled.

“I saw another chair in the back of your Suburban. Is that for me?” Seth asked. He tried to sound casual but sounded worried.

“Yes. I thought the pink cabbage roses would really add a pop of color to the room. Let's go haul it in.”

Seth paled. “O-k-a-y.” He drew the word out to four syllables.

I laughed. “It is for you, but I'll get it reupholstered. Unless you really like the roses.”

Seth looked so relieved I laughed again as I headed out.

“Scaring your client with cabbage roses isn't funny. What goes around . . .” Seth leaned against the doorjamb.

“Never threaten your decorator,” I called over my shoulder as I climbed into my car.

 

 

When I made it home, I ate a quick sandwich for lunch. Even though it was only eleven, I felt like it was much later. That happened to me every time I got up at 5:30. I called Laura to ask about Anna.

“I heard Anna McQueen moved. Where'd she go?” I asked.

“She
moved?”

I don't know which of us was more astonished—me that I knew something before Laura for the second time in a week, or Laura because something interesting had happened on base and she'd didn't know.

“I was at a garage sale in Concord and overheard two women talking about it. Did she have to move?”

“No. She could have stayed on base.”

“Do you know where she's from?”

“No. But I don't think she'd move far because of the CPA exam. Did you ever make it over to her house?”

“I did. She wasn't into decorating from the looks of things.”

“I guess that's because she was packing up to move.”

“Let me know if you hear anything about where she went,” I said. “I'd like to check on her again.” Anna's house didn't look like it was in the middle of a move to me. It just looked empty. Puzzling.

“What are you doing this morning?” Laura asked.

I'd been thinking of that long bath I'd been planning to take for several days. “Nothing important.”

“Why don't you come over to the thrift shop with me for a while? We're short of help, and you can meet Beverly, the new manager.”

I agreed and met Laura at the thrift shop thirty minutes later.

Beverly was working in the office when we entered. Jewelry was spread out all over her desk. Some of it looked expensive. She was a plump, affable-looking woman. Her gray hair floated around her ears like a cumulus cloud.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Beverly said as she shook my hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”

I hoped it wasn't all the affair and divorce stuff but let it go. “Do you want me to work in the sorting room?” I asked. Even though you came across some disgusting stuff while sorting, I still enjoyed doing it. You never knew what you'd find next to some old, stained T-shirt.

“Follow me,” Beverly said.

“Do you need to lock the office?” I asked as we went out, gesturing to the jewelry.

“It's just costume pieces. I'm sorting what's good enough to put out.”

Laura went off to run the register as I followed Beverly to the sorting room.

“Ta-da,” Beverly said, beaming.

I turned in amazement. “There's nothing to sort,” I said. I remembered Laura telling me the sorting room was no longer a death trap, but this was astonishing. Clothes hung on hangers in neat rows by size. A shelf held an assortment of higher-end purses, or pocketbooks, as they called them in Massachusetts. There was a red Michael Kors purse that caught my eye. I had a thing for red purses. A set of Wedgewood china and Waterford crystal sat above it on the higher shelves. On the floor, several Longaberger baskets were stacked next to a pile of clothes with the tags still on them.

“Wow. That's a nice haul,” I said. This was a far cry from the jumbled mess the sorting room used to be. Laura had done well when she'd hired Beverly.

“A retired general's wife is downsizing and brought us half her household.”

“Do you want me to put it out?” I asked.

Beverly shook her head. “I sell the high-end stuff on eBay. I get a better price. More profits for the shop. I've already photographed all of this and will put it up on the site as soon as I have time.”

It was a good idea and would reach a broader audience than just the people who had access to the base. “Do you want me to empty the shed?” There was a shed outside that was always packed with stuff people dropped off when the shop was closed.

Beverly flashed her broad smile. “It's empty. Would you mind dusting the glassware?”

Ugh. I hated cleaning. But I gamely grabbed a dust cloth.

“You forgot your blue apron,” Beverly reminded me as I headed from the sorting room to the shop. “We want to make sure our shoppers know who our workers are.”

I went to the hall tree all the bib aprons hung on and grabbed one. The name tag said Josie. It had always been a joke to wear an apron with someone else's name on it.

“We don't do that anymore,” Beverly said when she saw my apron. “I didn't think it was honest.”

Apparently Beverly had amazing organizing skills but no sense of humor. I put Josie's apron back and found one without a name tag. Beverly nodded her approval and left.

I stopped by the register. “What's with all the rules?” I asked Laura.

“I know. She's a bit of a stickler, but look at this place.”

Stick-in-the-mud seemed more appropriate. The store looked great, although there was less stock than there'd been in the past. I dusted and polished for an hour until the glassware sparkled as brightly as it would at any fancy department store.

Beverly came out and told Laura she was leaving.

“Thanks for your help today,” she said to me.

“You're welcome.” After she left, I turned to Laura. “Why's she leaving early?” The shop wouldn't close for another hour.

“It's in our agreement. She lives out in Groton and has to pick her kids up from some activity. Then she heads to a second job running some other shop.” Laura glanced around. “I think her husband's a schmuck. She hasn't said a lot, but it sounds like he finds it hard to keep a job or pick up the kids.”

I stayed until closing, chatting with people who came in and helping them find things.

“Do you have any Longaberger baskets?” one woman asked.

“We do, but Beverly, the new manager, is going to put them up on eBay. You can watch the thrift shop page. I'm sure she'll have it up in the next couple of days.”

“Great, thanks,” she said before moving on. After closing, Laura and I lingered beside our cars for a few minutes. The sun peeked out between the clouds that were flying across the sky.

“Beverly's a whiz,” I said. “The shop looks great.”

“It does. But part of me misses the old shop. The chaos seemed to be half the fun.”

“Oh, thank heaven. I thought the same thing.”

 

 

Laura left. I checked my phone for messages. Nothing—not that I was expecting any. As I pulled out, I glanced over at the shed. Someone had left a couple of boxes and two black garbage bags outside next to it. I put my car back in park and headed over.

I opened the shed to put the bags in. It was stuffed to the gills. I was sure Beverly had said it was empty. I guess she was some kind of control freak and had to do it all herself. At least that's what I wanted to believe, but a little voice in my head wondered if that was true. I shook myself. Yeesh, I was starting to see a conspiracy wherever I went. After shoving the boxes and bags in the shed, I climbed back into my Suburban.

Back in Ellington, I stopped at the upholstery shop and dropped off the chair I'd found for Seth. After looking through fabric swaths, I picked a buttery, brown leather to have it recovered in. It was sturdy and wouldn't show much wear. Then I headed to the grocery store before heading home. I hoped I'd finally have a long soak in the tub. After stashing my groceries, I filled my tub with water. It was one of those elaborate, deep, claw-foot tubs—an original. It's probably what sold me on taking the apartment—that and the cheap rent.

After luxuriating in the bath so long my skin went pruney, I ate a light supper. By nine-thirty, I sat in my robe on my couch. Seth had a work thing tonight. He'd invited me, but as usual I'd said no. Now I wondered why. Saturday nights felt lonely. I flipped on the TV and found the Red Sox game. But instead of sitting around moping, I decided to get back to work, pricing things from Gennie's house.

I started with eBay, typing in descriptions. Some things I found prices for, and some items I'd have to explore further. I came across a couple of virtual garage sale sites that piqued my interest. There weren't any in the Ellington area. This kind of site was different from eBay because all the trades were done locally, without shipping or postage. Someone would post a picture of an item they wanted to sell. Another member of the group would say they wanted it. They'd arrange a place to meet to make the exchange. I wondered if I could set one up for this area and, if I did, how I could turn it into a money-making business for the winter months.

I decided to find the thrift shop's eBay store and check the price of the red Michael Kors purse. Maybe it was in my meager price range. Beverly had a lot of stuff up, and I paged through it, passing the Wedgewood china set and the Waterford. I didn't find the Michael Kors purse but did see some of the other handbags. Darn, she must not have posted it yet, because an auction for it wouldn't be over so soon. I'd have to come back later. After working on Gennie's stuff for another hour, I was tuckered out and decided to go to bed. I did one more check of the thrift shop's eBay page, but no red purse.