Absence of Alice Read online

  “Can’t you let us in already,” a man asked. He tapped a foot, twitchy and impatient looking.

  “Thirty minutes. It will be worth your wait,” I said as I breezed by.

  Alice looked harried when we went in.

  “There are people outside on my porch,” she said. “They’ve been knocking and ringing the bell.”

  “I warned you this might happen,” I said. “It will be all right. I’ve done this a time or two.” I could have kicked myself for sounding short. Stella’s kidnapping meant I was stressed beyond anything I’d experienced before. But I had to focus. If I projected confidence, maybe Alice would calm down. We’d blocked off access to the attic and the basement where the things Alice was keeping were stored. My back started to hurt just thinking about all that moving of furniture. Alice had paid in advance and extra for that service. Harriet and I had managed most of it ourselves with an assist from my brother as needed.

  “Just remember, your job is to stay by the back door and make sure no one sneaks out that way,” I said. My hope was that by assigning her a duty it would keep her from running around bothering people. I could easily see her protesting as we bargained over prices.

  “Got it.” Alice bobbed her head up and down.

  Chapter Seven

  We were only an hour into the sale when, out of desperation, I texted my friend Eleanor for backup. Alice was breathing down everyone’s necks and wouldn’t stay by the back door. I’d seen two people set down things they looked like they were going to buy and leave after encountering Alice. At this rate, I wouldn’t come close to the sum of money Zoey had offered her.

  Eleanor bustled in twenty minutes later. She was a part-time school nurse at Ellington High School and also managed the Fitch Air Force Base thrift shop. Both meant she dealt with a lot of uncooperative people. Her bright brown eyes and smooth complexion hid a spine of steel.

  “Why don’t you have any signs up?” Eleanor asked.

  I raised my eyebrows. “I put up lots of signs on my way over here.”

  “There aren’t any now. Fortunately, I had the address.”

  “Who would take down my signs?” It was a rhetorical question. I was very careful about where I placed my signs to make sure they weren’t on private property and fell within Ellington’s codes.

  “Zoey?” Eleanor said. “She wants to be the only garage sale organizer in town.”

  “I know she does.” Zoey had undermined me at every chance she’d gotten for reasons I didn’t understand. I didn’t mind the competition—at least not too much. It was the way she’d gone about it. The very first ad she’d put in the paper had more or less accused me of stealing from my customers. I didn’t like that one bit. “But I can’t imagine her doing something like that.”

  “Do you want to go put some more up?”

  “I don’t have time. I’d have to leave to make more signs and then spend the time putting them out. We have a good crowd. It will hinder a few people, but hopefully not many.”

  Alice walked up just then. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all.” I hoped not anyway. I introduced Eleanor to Alice.

  “I told you I didn’t want to pay for an extra person,” Alice said.

  “I’m a volunteer,” Eleanor said. “Free labor because I love a good garage sale.” She soon had Alice by the arm and led her back to the kitchen where the back door was. I waved a thank-you as Eleanor winked at me over her shoulder. If she wouldn’t let me pay her by the hour, I’d take her out to dinner sometime.

  Three hours later things were going well. Being busy kept my anxiety about Stella down to a minor buzz. Although I’d had to send a text to Awesome just to keep up the pretense of all being well with Stella. We’d sold a lot of the big antique pieces like an armoire, a bookcase, and a desk that could be hard to sell. Even better, the people had paid the full asking price. Harriet had been working with them. I chalked that up to her special skills as a negotiator.

  “I like that painting,” I heard a man say to his wife.

  They were looking at the painting of the Old North Bridge. Harriet walked over to them.

  “Are you familiar with the artist?” she asked.

  The couple shook their heads.

  “He’s very well-known in this area.” She glanced around and leaned in as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear, which immediately drew the attention of everyone in her vicinity. “He’s known as the Bob Ross of New England.”

  That drew “ooohhhs” from the group surrounding her. The couple who’d first looked at the painting realized they weren’t alone and stiffened. I pressed my lips together so I didn’t laugh out loud. I ended up emitting a choking sound. Bob Ross had had a painting show called The Joy of Painting on PBS for eleven years in the eighties and nineties. He’d painted something like thirty thousand paintings and over one thousand of them on his television show. While Bob Ross had died in 1995, he’d reemerged in popularity. The New York Times had recently published an article wondering where Ross’s paintings were.

  The local artist Harriet was referring to had a painting show on a local-access station with a small following. I’d looked him up before Carol and I had priced his painting. He was prolific, but since he was still alive and still painting hundreds of pictures a year, the price of his paintings had actually gone down since Alice had bought hers.

  The original couple looked at Harriet. “We’ll take it,” the wife said.

  “I’ll top that price by fifty dollars,” someone else said.

  “That’s not fair,” the wife from the first couple said.

  “I’ll pay one hundred more,” a third person offered.

  Soon Harriet was running a little auction for the painting. The price went up to seven hundred—two hundred more than Alice had originally paid. I couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t stop with that painting. A group was following Harriet around and bidding up the price on every piece she held up and described. I could barely contain my glee. I didn’t know how Harriet kept a straight face. I only hoped I didn’t get an angry call after someone went home and checked prices of the local artist’s paintings. With any luck for the buyer the artist would quit painting, and then the price might actually go up.

  By the end of the sale we’d topped Zoey’s offer to Alice by two thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it. It was one of my most successful sales ever. I had Harriet and Eleanor to thank for it. Harriet because of her negotiating skills and Eleanor for keeping Alice out of the way.

  “I told you, you could do it,” Alice said. “Thank you.”

  “You did, Alice. I’m happy for you.”

  * * *

  As we left Alice’s house, I’d offered to buy Harriet and Eleanor a very late lunch or maybe it was an early dinner after we finished at four twenty for the day, but they both had other things to do. I walked to my car and spotted one parked across the street. It had one of those magnetic signs on the door. This one read: Zoey’s Tag Sales. Zoey sat behind the wheel. She was a petite woman who had a tanning booth tan that didn’t suit her—wouldn’t suit anyone. When she saw me, she started her car, waved her middle finger at me, and took off. I stared after her. What was her problem?

  I still hadn’t figured it out by the time I got to DiNapoli’s. They were doing a brisk business even though it was four forty-five on Saturday. There were no cooking classes on the weekend, and this was why. I waited in line, trying to decide what to order. My worries about Stella came storming back. During the sale my fears had gone to a gnawing anxiety, but now it took over like a roaring beast as I pictured her alone and scared.

  “Hey, lady, you going to order or get out of the way?” the man behind me asked.

  “Sorry.” I looked up, and Rosalie watched me with crinkles around her eyes.

  “We have a special for anyone who’s found a dead body in the past two days,” Rosalie said. “Fifty percent off.”

  I had to smile. Rosalie was always coming up with unique ways to giv
e me a discount. But I guess the word was out that I had found Alice in Wonderland.

  “What can I get you?” Rosalie asked.

  “A Greek salad, please,” I said. Their Greek salads were amazing, with loads of Kalamata olives, feta cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, just the right amount of onions, and their fabulous house vinaigrette. It was a heaping pile of goodness with a thin layer of lettuce on the bottom. Unlike most Greek salads, where there would only be a couple of olives hidden in the lettuce. “And a coffee please.”

  “How are you? Why didn’t you tell us you’d found another body?”

  “I’ve been busy. Just done with a great garage sale.” I worked on smiling.

  Rosalie frowned at me.

  “Really. I’m fine.” There wasn’t much conviction in my voice. Fortunately, the line behind me was long enough that she didn’t have time to grill me.

  I found a table and sat checking my phone for messages until my food was delivered. It was a huge Greek salad but there was also a serving of chicken and broccoli in a creamy sauce topped with shaved Parmesan cheese. Steam still rose from the pasta. I looked at the kitchen to see Angelo watching me. I blew him a kiss and took a big bite of the pasta. He smiled and went back to work.

  I ate a few bites as I tried to figure out what to do about finding Stella. I wondered if there was any news about who Alice in Wonderland really was. I searched my phone and found a few articles. None of them gave the name of the victim or mentioned that she had been dressed like Alice in Wonderland. I wondered how long the police could keep that a secret. One article mentioned that I’d found the body. If Rosalie knew it was all over town.

  “You’re hurting my feelings.”

  Chapter Eight

  I jerked my head up to find Angelo standing across the table from me. I’d hardly eaten anything, which I knew would offend Angelo. Rule number one at DiNapoli’s was eat all your food. Rule number two was don’t leave food behind if you don’t finish. Angelo considered that a personal insult. “I’m sorry. I got distracted.” That worried me, because with a kidnapper on the loose I couldn’t afford to not pay attention to what was going on around me.

  “Don’t get me started on phones at meal time,” Angelo said. He pulled out a chair and sat across from me.

  I didn’t want to. I’d heard him talk at length about phones and food before. “The Greek salad is delicious. Best one I’ve ever had.”

  Angelo smiled.

  “And this vinaigrette is the best. I’ve told you before—you need to bottle it. That way I could have it whenever I want.”

  “I’ll go put some aside for you,” Angelo said.

  Whew. I had managed to get him off the phone topic. As much as I loved him, he could go off on a topic like no one I’d ever known. Of course with a name that meant “messenger of God,” Angelo believed it was his duty to share his messages. Frankly, I don’t think most of the messages Angelo shared came from God. He had strong opinions on how the world should be run. If not the world, at least Ellington. It made me smile.

  “There. I like that smile. You’ve been preoccupied since you came in, and I’m worried about you.”

  “I have a secret. It’s weighing on me.” I clapped my hands to my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say that. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t. It’s a secret, right?” He smiled.

  “Yes. And it would be awful if anyone knew I had mentioned it.” I thought of Stella, of the dire consequences for her. The kidnapper hadn’t mentioned Angelo, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want Angelo to know. As much as I loved Angelo, secrets weren’t his forte.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I picked my mother up at the airport after she had been home to Italy for a visit?”

  “I don’t think so.” We stared at each other for a few moments. Ah. I ate some of the pasta. Angelo wasn’t going to talk if I wasn’t going to eat.

  He smiled and nodded. “I waited for her inside the airport. She burst out of security like someone was chasing her, which worried me. What had my mama done now?” Angelo leaned forward. “‘Come on,’ she yelled as she charged by me. I couldn’t imagine what she was up to. Fortunately no one was chasing after her. But then again, I didn’t wait long to find out if someone was gonna come.” He shook his head. “‘Mama, don’t you want to take your coat off? It’s ninety degrees out.’ That’s what I asked her.” He looked at me. “She was wearing a black wool winter coat. It dragged on the floor. She shook her head and charged out of the airport. I knew Mama was up to something. She wouldn’t even take it off as we walked to the car. Not even in the car. When we got to her house, she finally took the coat off. Figs.”

  “Figs?” I asked.

  “She had figs up her sleeves, in her pockets, tucked in the hem.”

  I laughed. “How did she get through security in Italy?”

  “Probably bribed someone.” Angelo shook his head again.

  “What about when she got here and had to go through customs?”

  “It’s not like you go through scanners on the way back into the US. And my mama does a great helpless old lady act when she needs to.”

  I laughed. “Why did she have figs?”

  “Because she wanted me to taste the best figs in the world. The ones my great uncle grew.” He pushed back his chair. “I have to get back to work. I’ll get the vinaigrette for you and wrap that if you aren’t going to finish.”

  I handed him my plate. “Thank you, Angelo, for the food and the story.”

  Angelo went to the kitchen, and I stared after him. Usually his stories had some point, but I wasn’t getting this one. He brought the wrapped food and the vinaigrette over to me in a bag.

  “I’m not sure I understand the point of your story,” I said as I stood up and took the bag.

  “Mama had a secret, but it was for a good reason. Sometimes you keep a secret, but it’s for a good reason.”

  I hugged Angelo. “Thank you.” I left with a bit of spring in my step. But by the time I got home and walked past Stella’s empty apartment, I again pondered the magnitude of my secret. Second-guessed what I was doing. Francesco was sitting outside the door to Mike’s apartment. I gave him a quick wave and hustled inside my apartment. Time to think about next steps.

  Empty buildings are fascinating, aren’t they, Sarah?

  Another freaking text after a mostly quiet day. Well, if you counted finding out Mike was living next door as quiet. Was the kidnapper giving me a hint? Did he know I’d driven by a couple of empty buildings as I put signs up this morning? If he did, it meant he was following me, which was scary. No matter. I had to go check out the buildings I’d passed on the way to Alice’s house. If I combined this text with the earlier one saying he had something “in store” for me, it was my only possible move. Thank heavens there weren’t many to check.

  I shoved my leftovers and the vinaigrette in the refrigerator and hurried out the door, waving to Francesco again—act natural, the kidnapper had said.

  “Busy day?” Francesco asked.

  “Yes. And it’s not over yet.” I didn’t linger, but hurried down the steps and out to the parking lot to my car. I drove over to one of the empty storefronts I’d seen earlier in the day. This was a longshot, but sitting at home in the quiet seemed worse. At least it was still light out since the sun didn’t set until around seven thirty this time of year.

  I reached the first empty storefront, but didn’t stop. Instead I drove around the block and then down the alley behind it. If anyone was following me, I didn’t spot him or her. I finally pulled into the parking lot in front of the store. The store was at the end of a strip mall that housed a nail salon—now closed—a laundromat and a barbershop. It was a one-story building. Nothing suspicious anywhere. A For Rent sign hung in the window with a number to call. No signs saying: This Is Where Stella Is. I sighed. It would be an unlikely place to keep someone with customers going in and out of the other businesses.

  I parked in front of the store, got out
, and peered in the window. Empty, dusty, cobweb filled. I noticed something on the floor, but it was hard to make out what it was in the dark store. I turned the flashlight on my phone on and shined it in the store. I gasped. It was a roll of duct tape. I backed away, got back in my car, and started it. Instead of taking off, I sat there. It had to be a coincidence.

  After convincing myself of that, I drove to the next vacant store I’d seen and went through the same routine of driving around the block. Again nothing. What did my grandmother used to call doing this? A fool’s errand. I was the fool. This building was two stories, wood framed with a wooden door set between two bay windows. It was pretty although somewhat run-down. Nothing a fresh coat of paint, some potted plants, and a good window washing wouldn’t fix.

  I got out of the car and turned in a circle. No one else seemed to be around. There was a For Rent sign in this window, too. The realtor renting the store was the same one who had the listing for the Ghannams’ house. That might be significant. Once again I looked through the windows. This space was cleaner than the last one. A metal folding chair lay on its side in a back corner. The kind of chair people were always duct-taped to in movies. My phone rang.

  “Hello?” I tried to answer with confidence, hoping this was someone other than the kidnapper, but I heard the question mark in my voice.

  “Sarah! I left a present for you in the store. Go on in.”

  I looked around for a camera, but didn’t spot one. There must be one here someplace, but it was the least of my worries.

  “I knew you wouldn’t just sit around waiting for me to tell you where Stella is. But you know what they say about curiosity.”

  I didn’t want to go into that store. I didn’t want to end up on the nightly news. But I didn’t want Stella to either. I turned another full circle. Where was he? But I didn’t see any curtains twitching, anyone walking or even driving by.

  “Go on. Go in. I’ll give you a reward.”

  “I’m not breaking and entering.”

  “It’s only entering, dear Sarah. I did the breaking part for you.”