The Longest Yard Sale (9 page)

CHAPTER 14

Laura walked into the Dunkin' Donuts on Great Road. The morning sun slanted in from the east, almost blinding me. I changed tables to escape the glare while Laura ordered her coffee. She'd sent me a text last night saying we needed to talk and to please meet her at nine this morning. Now she sat down with a glare that equaled the sun's, but I couldn't escape hers by changing tables.

“You knew Terry McQueen was dead when you came to see me,” Laura said. “I can't believe you didn't tell me.”

I was just pissing off friends left and right. “I really couldn't say anything.”

“Are you letting CJ boss you around all of a sudden?”

“No. It's a murder investigation. Not whose turn is it to cook dinner.”

“I'm still mad at you,” Laura said, sitting on the edge of her seat with posture that would have impressed the queen of England.

“If I buy you a coconut donut will you forgive me?” I knew Laura liked coconut donuts as much as I did.

“Maybe,” she said, relaxing into her seat as much as one could here.

A few minutes later, after navigating the long line, I came back to the table with two coconut donuts. “Do you know Terry's wife?”

“Yes,” Laura said.

Darn her. She was still mad at me if she wasn't going to volunteer any further information. “I don't think I've ever met her. What's her name?”

“Anna.” Laura picked up her donut and took a big bite.

I thought for a moment. “It doesn't ring a bell.”

We munched on our donuts. “Does she participate in any base activities?” I asked.

“She's around occasionally. But she's quiet and studious.”

“What's she studying?”

“She's getting ready to take the exam to become a CPA. She seems really smart.”

“What's she look like?”

“Tall, thin. I think they both were runners,” Laura said.

“I just can't place her. Did she ever volunteer at the thrift shop?”

“I don't think so. Not everyone loves the place like you do.”

“You love it, too,” I said, sweeping coconut crumbs into a little pile on my napkin.

“Yes, but we're a special breed.”

“Or shoppers who want to see the stuff as it comes in.”

Laura laughed. “Are you calling me a control freak?”

“As my momma used to say, ‘If the shoe fits.'”

“I've never heard you refer to your mother as ‘momma' or anything but ‘mother.'”

“Okay, my mother never said that, but she could have. Have you talked to Anna? Since Terry died?”

“I took over a casserole. We chatted for a few minutes. I felt like she only talked to me because of Mike's position on base. Personally, I think she would have preferred to slam the door in my face.”

As the wife of the wing commander, Laura had a certain status on base—and a three-page-long list of duties that included everything from serving as an adviser to the Spouses' Club to helping families separated by deployments. The list started with a regulation stating that none of the listed duties were required. But there were few commanders' wives who took heed of that, and most, like Laura, enjoyed their duties, even though they made up a more than full-time job.

“Where does she live?” I asked.

“On base.”

“She lives on base?” When there was extra housing available, bases would allow civilians working for the government, like Terry, or military retirees to rent houses.

“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Terry's from Ellington. You'd think they'd want to live in town instead of on base.”

“You know how expensive it is to live off base.”

I did indeed. I'd been lucky that I needed only a small place and that I'd found Stella's rental before anyone else did. “Maybe I should take a casserole over, too.” That would give me a chance to size Anna up for myself.”

“Really?”

My lack of cooking skills was well known. “I can cook,” I said. “Or I could get something from DiNapoli's.”

“Get something from DiNapoli's, please.”

“Do they have kids?”

“No.” Laura glanced at her watch and scooped up her empty coffee cup. “I have to get back to base.”

“Will you sponsor me on later so I can take something over for Anna?”

“If you think that's the right thing to do.”

“I found her husband's body.” Well, Carol had, but I was there soon after. “It seems like the only thing to do.”

“What if she wants details?”

I stood and grabbed my trash. “I can be discreet.”

Laura gave me a quick hug. I was about to follow her out when I saw Olivia's boyfriend, Jett, pull into the parking lot. I arranged myself so I could get in line right in front of him when he walked in. There were several people ahead of us, and thankfully he was alone. He stood behind me jiggling a handful of change. I took the opportunity to accidentally bump into him. The change fell on the floor and rolled away.

“I'm so sorry,” I said as I busied myself collecting coins from various cracks and crevices. When I'd found as much as I could, I straightened up and handed the coins to him. “Oh, hi. You're Olivia's friend.”

He cocked his head and looked me over before a slow grin spread across his face. “That I am. I'm Jett. And you are?” He puffed his chest out a bit so his already tight white T-shirt stretched to almost the breaking point.

Oh, Lord. He was an “I can charm the pants off anyone” kind of guy. But in the long run that might work to my advantage. I grinned back and batted my eyelashes. He had to be fifteen years younger than me. While that might be acceptable in Hollywood, I didn't think it would play well in Ellington, Massachusetts. I took a quick glance around and didn't spot anyone I knew.

“I'm Sarah. Winston.” I added the last reluctantly, not really wanting to give him my full name for some reason. “Olivia works for my good friend Carol over at Paint and Wine.”

“Of course. I remember seeing you there. How you doin'?”

I managed not to roll my eyes. I was pretty sure he didn't remember seeing me at all. “Did you hear someone was murdered at Paint and Wine?”

Jett shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “I did. Olivia's pretty shook up about it. She didn't want to go back. I told her lightning doesn't strike twice, ya know?”

“Did you know the guy who died?” I asked.

Jett turned his head to the side and cracked his neck. “Naw, he wasn't from town. He lived on Fitch.”

Hmmm, he said he didn't know the guy, but he did know he lived on Fitch. Everyone else in Ellington seemed to know McQueen, but he was a lot older than Jett. However, in Ellington news blew through town faster than a nor'easter in February. The line moved forward, and it was my turn to order. I probably didn't need any additional caffeine, and I absolutely didn't need another donut. I settled on a latte, and Jett ordered the same. We both headed out, Jett holding the door for me.

“I'm sorry about knocking the change out of your hand.”

Jett grabbed my hand that wasn't holding the coffee and brushed his lips across it. “If it meant meeting you, it was worth it.”

“Sarah.”

I turned to find CJ striding toward us.

Jett winked at me, dropped my hand, and hustled over to some kind of fancy red car. How many cars did this kid have? By the time CJ arrived at my side, Jett was pulling out of the parking lot at a sedate pace—a drastic contrast to how he had been driving yesterday.

“What were you doing with that thug?”

“I wasn't doing anything with anyone. Thug or not.” CJ's attitude bugged me. “Is he a thug?” At first, I thought CJ wasn't going to answer.

“He's a regular. Lots of weekends eating McDonald's at the jail.”

“Why weekends?”

“After noon on Friday the court's closed. So you have to wait until Monday to be arraigned.”

“Why McDonald's?”

“We're too small a department to pay for a cook.”

“So you offer free lodging and a healthy dose of salt and cholesterol?”

CJ's frown indicated he didn't find me amusing. “You didn't answer my question. What were you doing with Jett?”

“Nothing. Our orders came out at the same time. We walked out together.” I couldn't tell if CJ was jealous or concerned.

“He's bad news. Stay away from him.”

“I can't believe you think I'd want to be around him.” I couldn't believe we were having this conversation out in public. “He dates Carol's assistant.”

CJ jerked his head back like he did when something surprised him.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. I need some coffee.” CJ brushed past me and went into Dunkin's.

I headed to my car thinking about CJ's reaction to the information about Jett's dating life. CJ must be worried about a known criminal hanging out at the scene where a murder had been committed. I wondered what kind of crimes Jett had been involved in to get CJ so worked up. Then I realized I could kill two birds with one stone easily enough.

 

 

I knew that by ten someone would be over at DiNapoli's prepping for their eleven o'clock lunch opening. I hoped that someone would be Angelo. Even though the CLOSED sign hung on the door, I rapped on the glass. Angelo spotted me from the back of the kitchen and waved me in.

“What do you need?” Angelo asked. Although it came out like “whadda ya need.” “I hope you aren't looking for breakfast. We don't do breakfast.”

I knew full and well they didn't do breakfast, but Angelo continued. “Why does anyone need someone to cook them breakfast? It's eggs or cereal. You need someone to make you cereal?”

I shook my head no, knowing better than to interrupt when Angelo was on a roll.

“You can't fix yourself an egg or pour a bowl of cereal, you go to Dunks and get yourself a donut. Who can't do that?”

I kept nodding and shaking my head as necessary while Angelo talked. I, myself, liked waffles or pancakes on occasion. When I tried to cook them on my own, they were burned or runny, not fluffy like they were at Helen's in Concord, my favorite breakfast place.

Angelo took a breath. He looked at me. “What do you need?”

This time I knew he wasn't talking about breakfast. Now that I was here, it wasn't as easy to bring up Angelo's errant godson as I thought it would be. “I want to order a small pan of ziti to pick up this afternoon.”

“What time?”

“Say three?”

“Sounds good.” He didn't write anything down. I didn't think I should suggest he should. “What else besides the ziti did you come in for, kid?”

Angelo had taken to calling me “kid” in the not too distant past. It seemed like a term of endearment. I hoped he wasn't calling me a goat. But at thirty-eight it seemed a little odd to be called “kid.”

“Come with me,” Angelo said. “You talk. I'll work.” I followed him to the big six-burner range. He pointed to a stool, and I sat as he started making a marinara sauce. He heated a pan, poured in a generous amount of olive oil and began chopping onions. He tossed the onions into the olive oil and crushed garlic with the broadside of what a native would call a wicked big knife. “I'm working. You're supposed to be talking.” He added the garlic to the pan.

I took a deep breath. “I was wondering about your godson, Jett.”

“Why?” Angelo said as he chopped tomatoes at a breathtaking speed.

I didn't want to throw CJ under the bus or have Angelo think that CJ was blabbing things when he shouldn't be. “He's dating Carol's assistant. I want to make sure he's good for her.”

Angelo turned for a second, giving me a look I couldn't decipher before turning back to the sauce.

“I heard he's been in some trouble,” I added. “I wondered what kind.”

Angelo shook his head. “The kid's middle name should be trouble. Nah, his first name should be trouble. He just needs someone to take a firm hand to him. And don't get riled up. I don't mean beat him. I mean tell him no.”

Angelo waved his knife in the air. “It started with a little shoplifting, some minor vandalism. He moved on to drag racing, robbed someone at knifepoint. I'm guessing your ex knows him pretty well. Instead of getting punished, he gets a sports car.” Angelo dropped some tomato paste in the pan, sautéing it with the onions and garlic. Even though I was full from the donut and two coffees, the sauce smelled amazing.

“I've seen him in a couple of different sports cars. How many does he have?”

Angelo frowned. “He wrecked the one his dad gave him. I thought he was driving an old clunker. If you can consider a ten-year-old Mercedes a clunker.”

From my perch on the stool, I saw Rosalie hurry by the large front window. She flung the door open, and it banged shut behind her. “Did you hear?” she asked.

Angelo added the tomatoes to the pan and turned down the heat before turning to Rosalie. “Hear what?”

“I was just over at Giovani's getting my hair cut.”

“It looks gorgeous, Rose. Like the day we met,” Angelo said, kissing her cheek.

Rosalie blushed a little. I sighed inwardly as I silently reflected “How sweet,” which wasn't something people normally thought about Angelo.

“Someone stole
Battled
from the library,” Rosalie said. “And replaced the original with a forgery.”