Tagged for Death Page 14

  I’d also check with Betty to see if she had any strands of white lights I could string around the shed. I wanted the room to look nice, but I didn’t want to waste time overstaging the place. Ever since garage sale shows had started popping up on TV, people overemphasized the importance of staging a garage sale. My philosophy was to have the sale organized and the merchandise clean. Wasting too much time making things pretty was as bad as heaping everything in a pile on the ground. I’d seen both ends of the spectrum and tried to hit the middle.

  Carol called me just before noon. “Where are you?” She blurted it out without any of her usual “Hi, how are you?” preambles.

  “I’m in Bedford. What’s wrong?”

  “CJ was just arraigned and charged with Tiffany’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “Where did you hear that?” I hoped it was just the rumor mill kicking in. Someone had heard that CJ was being questioned, didn’t understand the process, and leaped to that conclusion. I glanced at my watch. It was just after noon.

  “I was in the Dunkin’ Donuts. Two cops came in. They were talking about it.”

  “You must have misunderstood.”

  “No. I asked them. They looked really embarrassed. One admitted to me that CJ had been arraigned and charged.”

  I peered through the thick glass in the lobby of the Ellington Police Department, waiting for someone to help me. A woman, one of the dispatchers, came over.

  “I want to see CJ.”

  “You are?”

  “His wife. His ex-wife. Sarah Winston. Please just buzz me in.”

  “He’s not here. He’s still being processed.”

  That sounded awful. Picturing CJ in an orange jumpsuit turned my stomach. “Where will they take him?”

  “He caught a lucky break today,” she said, looking at me as if I was the cause of all his problems. On this one issue, she was right. If I admitted I’d found the bloody shirts—that CJ had taken them from me—they’d have to let him go. But it was only a few hours since I’d promised CJ I wouldn’t tell anyone.

  “What’s his lucky break?” Nothing about this situation sounded lucky to me.

  “The Middlesex Jail in Cambridge is old. It’s in the process of being shut down. Some idiots tried to steal some of the copper wiring at a nearby construction site. It caused an explosion this morning. They’re in the process of evacuating the building. The worst of the lot will be sent to Billerica. The others will be farmed out. We know some of them are coming back here. Hopefully, CJ will be among them. We take care of our own.” Her look clearly indicated I wasn’t part of “our own.”

  As I headed back to Betty’s, I wondered if Pellner had known about the arraignment when I’d seen him at CJ’s house.

  My cell phone started ringing repeatedly around two. I ignored most of the calls, choosing to listen to messages, instead. The news of CJ’s arrest was out. The calls were divided between people who were worried about me and those who wanted some good gossip. MaryJo left a long message offering me her counsel, help, and her recipe for Yankee pot roast. She didn’t offer the chaplain’s help, just hers.

  I kept my jacket on as I worked. I added a pair of fingerless gloves I had found stuck in the drawer of a garden bench. No one, other than Betty, knew I was here. Hiding was exactly what I needed to do right now. Betty showed up at three with tea sandwiches and scones. I realized I hadn’t had lunch and that my Fluffernutter had worn off a long time ago. I devoured them.

  “My friends keep asking me if they can come by early, before the sale. I’m not sure what to do,” Betty said.

  “We could have a preview sale on Friday night. Invite friends and neighbors over from seven to nine.”

  “How about five to seven? Can you come? I wouldn’t know what to say if one of my friends tried to bargain me down on some piece I love.”

  I pulled out my phone like I was checking my calendar. “I can squeeze it in.” That and any other event she might be interested in having me attend in the next year or so.

  I drove over to Betty’s house Tuesday morning. I’d spent most of the evening on Monday hanging around the Ellington Police Department, trying to see CJ. No one let me. I found out the name of his lawyer. I’d left what had to be an irritating number of messages for him. The jerk didn’t call me back.

  My phone rang as I entered Bedford. A gunshot sounded. I jerked the wheel of my car, hitting the granite curb. I yanked it back onto the road—lucky, I hadn’t popped a tire. Now I was just plain old mad. This time I wasn’t going to yell into the phone or hang up. I was going to listen and try to figure out who was doing this. I heard a click. The call disconnected.

  I didn’t think anyone was really being shot. Whoever was doing this hung up quickly this time. On some of the calls, they waited for my reaction before hanging up. I pulled into Betty’s driveway. Not much I could do about it. The best course of action was no reaction. Hopefully, they’d get tired of this game.

  I decided I needed a lobster roll for lunch. I drove over to West Concord Seafoods. I moved past their lobster tank and long seafood counter to the order counter. They had a few tables if you wanted to dine in. I decided to take mine with me. They had giant lobster rolls—lobster meat and mayo—no fillers like celery or lettuce. Instead of the traditional New England–style hot dog bun, they served theirs on a soft hamburger roll.

  I could see a guy in the back picking meat from a lobster. “Excuse me,” I called.

  The guy washed his hands and then turned, all frowny from being interrupted.

  “Tyler. I didn’t know you worked here.”

  Tyler came out from the back to the register. “I didn’t know you ate here. It’s amazing what we don’t know about each other.” He smiled and winked.

  It made me realize I hadn’t been very neighborly. I was sick and tired of always worrying about me. I needed to invite Tyler, Stella, and the Callahans, who were due back from their winter home in Florida any day, over for a party.

  “When the Callahans get back, I’ll have a party.”

  “That would be fun. I’ll bring the chowder.” Tyler said it with a wink, using an exaggerated Boston accent and pronouncing it “chowdah.”

  I placed my order, asking for fries instead of chips. Fat sizzled when Tyler plunged the fries into the oil. I watched him pile the lobster meat high on the bun. Higher than normal, I noted.

  He handed me my food, with a nod. “I stuck in some seafood chowder for later.”

  I put a way-too-generous tip in the jar, which earned me another nod. As I headed to the door, Scott Pellner’s wife walked in. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyplace to hide.

  “You’re the lady from the VFW,” she said.

  I glanced at Tyler, my face warming. Tyler didn’t know if I worked for the VFW or not. Still, this is what I got for lying. “I do some volunteer work there.” Add that to the list of things I needed to do: volunteer at the VFW so I wasn’t a liar. I hoped the blush spreading up my face wasn’t too visible. I noticed a trace of a Southern accent. Stella had told me Pellner’s wife was from Kentucky.

  “Are you from Kentucky?” Changing the subject was the only way to keep from further lies or from a lengthy explanation about who I really was.

  “West Virginia. I met my husband in Kentucky. I always think the accent is gone. I try to cover it by saying things like ‘This place is wicked awesome.’”

  I laughed. “I’m a transplant, too. I know what you mean.”

  “I forget and throw in a ‘y’all’ or a ‘bless your heart,’ which gives me away.”

  “I remember the first time I went to the Home-Goods in Bedford. One lady told her friend, ‘I’ll go get a carriage.’ I was thinking, ‘Cinderella.’ She came back with a shopping cart.”

  “Pocketbooks instead of purses.”

  “Jimmies on ice cream, not sprinkles,” I said. “So, is your husband a police officer?”

  Scott’s wife gave me an odd look.

  “I saw
the police shield in the garage when I picked up your stuff.”

  “Oh, aren’t you observant? Yes, he is.”

  “It must be a tough job, even in a small town like Ellington.” If she ever found out who I was, I would be embarrassed.

  “He loves it.”

  “I heard the new chief was an outside hire. That must have angered some people.”

  “It did.” She frowned. “Scott would have made a wonderful chief. What they did wasn’t right. That guy has been arrested for murder. They should have stuck with someone local.”

  Mrs. Pellner confirmed my growing suspicions that the Ellington police weren’t all that loyal to CJ. CJ was depending on his troops to rally around and protect him. That might never happen. I was never going to convince him otherwise.

  “Nice seeing you again.” I waved a good-bye to Pellner’s wife and Tyler.

  “Hey, Tyler,” she said. “I need some advice on what to serve a crowd. Chelsea’s singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ at the Celtics game. We’re going to have a big party.”

  It was hard for me to imagine Scott Pellner at a party.

  My phone rang as I walked out. “They’re finally letting us move the thrift shop to a new location. Wait until you see it,” Laura said after the “hello” and a few sympathetic comments about CJ. “Can you come help this afternoon? I’ll have you work at the new shop, setting up.”

  I’d planned to go back over to Betty’s. I wasn’t anxious to go back on base. It had only been two and a half days since I’d found Jessica. If I went now, I could face everyone, listen to all the comments about Jessica and CJ, and get that out of the way. Laura would be there to support me.

  “Sure. Sponsor me on?”

  An hour later, I stood inside the new thrift shop space. It was at the corner of Travis and Wright Street. Much more centrally located than the old out-of-the-way building. This space had large windows and water you could drink. Everyone always referred to the building as “the old Chinese restaurant.” I’m not sure when it had been one, because I’d never met anyone who had eaten there. I’d always heard it had been shut down for unsanitary practices. No one ever mentioned what those unsanitary practices were.

  Colonel Nicklas showed up midafternoon with a tray of Italian pastries from Royal Pastry in Lexington for the ten of us who were working. He’d brought enough for three times that number. Only a few of the women working today volunteered regularly. Colonel Nicklas left to take another tray over to the group at the old thrift shop. I couldn’t bear working over there. I didn’t ever want to see that building again.

  Before I finished my cannoli, it started.

  One woman looked at me and said, “I’m sorry to hear about CJ.”

  “Me too, Sarah. It’s like your life has become a bad country song. Cheating man, dead girl, prison.” The woman didn’t sound sorry at all, more like excited.

  “Show Jessica some respect. She was a young airman who was murdered,” I said.

  Laura looked like she was about to say something. I stood up. “CJs not in prison. He’s at the jail in Ellington. It’s a huge difference. He didn’t do it. Anyone who thinks he did is a fool.” I dumped my half-eaten pastry in the garbage and walked to the back room. The murmur of voices followed me.

  CHAPTER 20

  Since I was still on base, I drove to the enlisted dorm. Technically, I was only supposed to go to the thrift shop with my visitor’s pass. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d added in another errand. Someone might know what Jessica had been up to after Tiffany’s murder. A group of kids, some from the security squadron, sat around a large-screen TV in a lounge area. The ones from the security squadron looked weary. I’m sure they’d been putting in long hours.

  “Hey, Miss Sarah. What are you doing here?” Shaniqua, the girl who asked, was short, muscular, and had beautiful dark skin, which contrasted with her light green eyes. Her hair was still pulled back in a tight bun. She must have gotten off work recently.

  How to answer that question? Especially when all those pairs of eyes now turned away from the TV and were watching me. “I was over at the thrift shop, helping out, and thought I’d stop by. I miss you guys.”

  A couple of the kids waved hello; others turned back to the TV.

  “How are your classes going, Shaniqua?”

  “Why don’t you come up to my room—we can talk up there without bothering anyone.”

  I followed Shaniqua to her room, where she turned her stunning eyes on me.

  “What do you really want?” Shaniqua asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about Jessica. She told me she was going to look into Tiffany’s death. Or disappearance. Whichever it is.”

  Shaniqua went over and sat on her bed, hugging a pillow. I took the chair at her desk. “I’m not sure talking to you is the best idea. Jessica did . . . and she’s dead.”

  “Is that what people are saying at the squadron?” My stomach clenched. They thought I was a jinx, like my statue. No wonder none of our kids had shown up after Jessica died.

  “Some are. I’m more practical. The ones saying it, though, are superstitious types.”

  “So have you heard anything?” I asked.

  “Jessica and I didn’t really hang out that much. I overheard her talking to someone on the phone last Friday when we headed into the squadron. She mentioned Tiffany. She told the person, ‘thanks,’ and that they’d been very helpful.”

  “Any idea who Jessica was talking to?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Jessica told me Tiffany ignored the enlisted guys. That it caused problems. Do you know anyone specific who was upset?” I asked.

  “With Tiffany’s Jennifer Lopez curves and big brown eyes, it was more a matter of who didn’t want to date her. I could name a dozen guys who were interested. Other than some testosterone-fueled posturing, no one stands out as a troublemaker.”

  “What about Jessica? She mentioned dating someone. Or at least talking to a guy. Do you know who?”

  “I don’t. I know lots of guys who wanted to date her, too.”

  “Were any of the guys upset with her?”

  “No. Jessica was a friendly girl. Cute, if you like that type. I’ve overheard guys make comments. Nothing out of line.”

  “Do you think Jessica’s dating had anything to do with her death?”

  Shaniqua shrugged. “I think anything’s possible at this point.”

  “Have you told Special Agent Bristow?”

  “No. It’s all conjecture. The only thing I know for a fact is that phone call I told you about. I mentioned it to the acting commander, Major Walker. She didn’t seem too interested. That’s another thing that worries me. Why isn’t she more interested?”

  A warm breeze lifted my hair as I crossed the parking lot. Cars were starting to stream up the hill on their way home. As I unlocked my Suburban, a car door slammed nearby. The girl who’d gotten stuck guarding me after I found Jessica locked her car.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I called to her.

  She glanced around before giving me a wary nod. “I only have a minute. I’m meeting some friends at the gym. I need time to change out of my uniform.”

  I walked over to her. I didn’t want to keep yelling. “The day I found Jessica, you said the statue Agent Bristow had was Tiffany’s. Why’d you think that?”

  “Because she told me about it, how much she loved it.”

  “Did you ever see it in her room?”

  “No.”

  Darn. “So she could have made it up that it was hers?”

  “I guess so. But she described it to me in detail.”

  I wished she could place the statue in Tiffany’s room. It would have made it less likely that CJ had it. Others would have had access to it, too.

  “Did you tell Agent Bristow any of this?”

  She took a step back from me. “Of course I did. Do you think I’d withhold information during a murder investigation? Do you think anyone would?” She turned.
/>
  I watched her stride into the dorm. Did I think anyone would withhold information? Yeah, I thought I would. CJ would. And, definitely, the murderer would.

  I drove over to the security forces headquarters. This was the first time I’d been over here since I’d moved off base. I parked my car across the street in the commissary’s parking lot. I called Agent Bristow, filling him in on what Shaniqua told me.

  “Why didn’t she tell me this herself?”

  “I don’t know. Probably because she feels comfortable with me.”

  “Okay, then. Now I’m wondering if I need to reinterview the entire security force. Maybe you could sit in on all the interviews. Hold some hands. Pass out milk and cookies.”

  His comment would have made me angry, but I heard the weariness in his voice. I’m sure he didn’t want my advice or help, but I took the plunge, anyway. “Have you looked into who Jessica was dating? She had an active social life.”

  “Do you have anyone specific in mind?”

  Did I? “No. Maybe give Acting Commander Walker a call.”

  “Gee, thanks, I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Special Agent Bristow paused and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I appreciate you letting me know about the phone call Jessica made on Friday. We’ve been looking at her phone records. She made a lot of calls to a lot of people. The girl was on her phone all day and most of the night. I’m not sure when she slept. This information will help us narrow down what’s important.”

  I walked across the parking lot to the security forces headquarters. They’d spared no expense on the lobby. By “no expense,” I meant they hadn’t spent a dime on it, except for security precautions. It was a big box of a room, with security cameras, linoleum floors, and grimy walls. The only relief was the big, mirrored window to the left as you entered. One of those “they can see me/I can’t see you” affairs. Very disconcerting, even for someone like me who’d been in the building hundreds of times. A sturdy metal door was the only relief on the back wall.