2 Murder on Consignment

by Susan Furlong-Bolliger

  She had a point. I really didn’t have any sort of evidence at all. “You’re right. I’ve been spinning my wheels. I’m not any closer to figuring out who killed Pauline. Maybe Sean’s right; maybe the Farrells have nothing to do with this. Just because they’re a dysfunctional family, doesn’t mean they’re murderers.” I put down my donut. I wasn’t hungry any more. “I don’t know. I’ve hit a dead end.” Another day was gone and I was no closer to finding Pauline’s murderer. All I had done was screw things up. I was failing Shep.

  Mary Frances put a hand on my shoulder. “Well, you could always pray about it.”

  I cringed. The last time I sincerely talked to God, I had a gun pointed at my temple. At the time, I was bartering for my life. I actually promised God that if he spared me, I’d never get involved in another case again.

  I shivered. Hopefully, God wasn’t going to renege on his end of the deal because I couldn’t keep a promise. “It’s almost nine. We better head for St. Joan’s,” I said, completely avoiding the whole topic.

  Chapter 15

  Morgan didn’t walk into the parish hall until after ten. In fact, I was surprised to see her as I figured she might be too tired from her late night rendezvous at the Huntley.

  “Hi all! Sorry I’m late. I’ll work extra hard to make up for it.” Her voice held no trace of outrage I’d seen the day before at JimDogs. She seemed happy and quite composed in her skinny jeans, multi-layered shirts, and mid-calf boots. The outfit, while it did look good on her, was a bit over-the-top for working a garage sale. I wondered if she had other plans for later in the day.

  Morgan plopped a brightly colored, over-sized quilted bag onto the table and extracted my sweatshirt. “Here you go, Phillipena. I think you left this in my car yesterday.”

  She handed it over with no hint of an apology for leaving me stranded in the JimDog parking lot. I decided to approach the topic anyway. “So, Morgan. Is everything alright? I mean, when you left me at JimDogs yesterday, you seemed really upset.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Oh sure, everything’s fine.” She started sorting and stacking paperback books by category. I had been avoiding the books, unsure of what to do with some of the romance novels that were donated. They didn’t seem appropriate for a church garage sale.

  Morgan, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered at all. “The afternoon crew sure got a lot done yesterday, huh?” she commented, while absent-mindedly leafing through a novel with a busty woman. It was titled Sins of the Master. I blushed just thinking about what those sins might be. Morgan, on the other hand, read the back cover, smiled to herself, skimmed a few pages, smiled some more, and tossed the book into her bag.

  She glanced up and caught me watching her. “We couldn’t possibly sell that type of book at this sale. I’ll take it home and dispose of it,” she said.

  I glanced over at a large garbage can filled to the brim with broken, unsellable items and then back at her purse; but she made no move to pitch the book. Obviously she wanted to save the garbage for herself. Maybe she wanted to share it later with Alex. Ugh … I shook off the image. Yuck and double yuck.

  I grabbed a bottle of cleaner and some paper towels and moved on to cleaning the donated toys. Mary Frances was nearby untangling the laces on a pair of rollerblades. “Hey,” she said to Morgan. “Were you at the Huntley last night?”

  “Excuse me?” Morgan replied, stopping what she was doing and staring at my sister.

  Mary Frances paused and looked directly at Morgan. “The Huntley in Lisle.”

  I was all ears.

  “Were you there, Sister?” Morgan asked.

  The air sizzled with tenseness. I was watching Morgan closely.

  Mary Frances went back to work on the laces as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “That hotel has the best restaurant. I do enjoy going with Sister Bernadette and Sister Teresa from time to time,” she said, not quite telling a lie.

  Morgan made some sort of small guttural noise, but didn’t respond. She seemed uncomfortable. As far as I was concerned, she was looking guiltier every second. Maybe not of murder, but infidelity for sure.

  “Were you there with your brother, perhaps?” Mary Frances prodded. I think she was enjoying herself. She had a wicked little smirk on her face.

  Morgan attempted a chuckle; it came out like a snort. “No Sister, I wasn’t at the Huntley last night. You must have mistaken me for someone else.” She picked up her purse and began rifling through it. “I’m so sorry girls, but I just remembered I have an appointment. I’ll be back tomorrow to help out some more.”

  She was quickly making her way to the door with me in hot pursuit. I wasn’t about to let her get away without an explanation.

  Just as her hand reached the doorknob, I reached out and got a hold of her arm and spun her around. “Can you wait up a minute, please? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  She jerked out of my grasp, turned back, flung open the door and ran right into Patricia Farrell.

  “Hi ladies. How’s it going here?” Patricia asked, curiously studying Morgan’s flushed face. “Are you leaving already, Morgan?”

  Mary Frances crossed the room. “Hello, Patty,” she said, looping her arm through Patricia’s and directing her away from Morgan and me. “I’m glad you’re here. Come on in and see how much progress has been made. I think this is going to be the best sale ever. I’m so excited about the possibilities for the woman’s shelter. Plus, with your gracious offer to match our earnings this year, we should be able to do something wonderful for them.”

  “Of course, Sister. James and I are happy to help in any way we can,” Patricia replied scowling at us over her shoulder. “Wait for me Morgan, while I talk to Sister,” she added firmly. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  “What is your problem?” Morgan asked in a low, throaty whisper. We were still huddled by the exit.

  “My problem? You’re the one acting weird. First you throw a fit and chuck a drink across the room, then you leave me stranded at JimDogs, and now … what? Sneaking around the Huntley with strange men?”

  “Mind your own business,” she hissed.

  So, it was her leg I’d seen. “How do you know Alex Sokolov?” I was grasping for straws, but what did I have to lose? I wasted too many days bumbling without any solid information.

  “Alex Sokolov?”

  “Quit acting dumb, Morgan. Two women are dead and one of them was my friend. If you’re involved in this, you’d better come clean.”

  “Dead?” She seemed to go pale all of the sudden. Her eyes were darting from me to Patricia. She seemed on the edge.

  “Yes, all over something that was hidden in a book. A Russian book,” I volleyed back.

  I was waiting for her reply, when Patricia walked back over. “Well girls, I can see that you’ve been working hard down here. You all deserve a break. I’m calling ahead to the house to have Anna fix something nice for lunch. Why don’t you lock up here and come by in what … maybe a half-hour?” She flipped open her phone, shot another disapproving glance at Morgan who seemed to be shrinking next to me.

  “Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Mary Frances, the ever polite one, called after her.

  Patricia glanced back. “No imposition at all. In fact, I insist,” she replied in a tone that really did seem insistent. Her eyes settled again on Morgan and they exchanged a look I didn’t quite understand.

  Then, suddenly Morgan flinched and scurried out the door, not even bothering to say goodbye.

  “Wait!” Patricia yelled out, giving us a quick wave before taking after Morgan.

  That was strange. No problem, though. I’d catch up with Morgan after lunch and finish our conversation. I couldn’t help but smile. This was the break I needed. Only problem was, I felt gross. I hadn’t showered, brushed, or changed since yesterday morning. In fact, now that I was thinking about it, I had been wearing the same sweats for several days. They could practically stand up on their own.

&
nbsp; I glanced around. Out of desperation, I started searching through the Women’s Size Medium table. It only took a couple of passes before I happened upon a pair of khaki pants and a long sleeve black top. Perfect.

  I caught Mary Frances’s attention. “Hey, I’m going to make an early purchase. They’re already marked. I’ll throw a couple bucks into the cash box when we open, okay?”

  Not waiting for her reply, I headed off to freshen up. About twenty minutes later, we were on the road. I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. I’d splashed, rinsed, tied back my hair, and shimmied into my new outfit, which, by the way, fit pretty well. That’s the thing with used clothing—no need to break it in; it’s comfortable from the get-go.

  Mary Frances and I decided to drive separately. Once again, as we passed the gateman and started down the winding drive, I was in awe of the beauty of the Farrell estate. Today, its massive brick and stone façade stood out crisply against the bright, cloudless sky. Mature oaks and maples provided a colorful canopy framing the house and surrounding gardens. Behind the house, I could see the stable hands had turned out the horses. Several handsome thoroughbreds grazed inside the white fenced pastures.

  Patricia greeted us inside the foyer and escorted us toward the back of the house. I assumed we were heading to the conservatory again, but instead we ended up in the dining room. I had to admit, Patricia had a great decorating style. Everything about this home was a statement in refined elegance.

  “I thought we’d take lunch in here today. There’s more table space and the guys will be joining us,” Patricia said.

  “Where’d Morgan go?” my sister asked, looking around.

  Patricia motioned for the maid as we settled into our seats. “I’m sure she’ll be along shortly.”

  We’d just sat down when a clattering came from down the hall. Patricia left the table and went to intercept the men. I strained my ears, but couldn’t hear much. I assumed she was warning hubby and Junior about their unexpected lunch guests.

  “Fine. But I won’t be here long. I need to change clothes before heading over to the site,” I heard JimDog say as he made his way down the hall. “I met with the inspector this morning,” he continued, walking into the room. “Looks like we’ll have it all done by the grand opening. We just need to take care of a few …” He hesitated for a split second, nodding at us before positioning himself at the head of the table. His expression turned slightly sour as his eyes scrutinizing me. It was obvious that he hated me. “Have you been feeling better?” he asked, without a hint of sincerity in his voice.

  “Yes. Much better, thank you,” I answered, raising my glass and taking a huge gulp of water. Suddenly, I felt like I was at Sunday dinner with the mob and JimDog was the Godfather.

  “You’re opening a new JimDogs?” I asked, trying to break the ice.

  “Yes, in Skokie.”

  I hesitated, waiting for him to add more. He didn’t.

  “Where’s Morgan?” J.J asked, sitting down.

  “She should be here any minute,” Patricia answered. “Let me introduce you to the O’Brien girls. Sister Mary Frances, and Phillipena.”

  I shook his outstretched hand, which was a limp as a wet noodle, and tried hard not to stare at his head. I couldn’t help thinking it looked just like a flesh colored bowling ball resting on his narrow shoulders. His round eyes were positioned closely together above a long narrow nose which led right down to a round mouth that looked to be just the right size for an eight-pound ball’s thumb-hole. Looking at his head, it seemed that I could poke my fingers in and go for a strike, or at least a spare.

  After a little more small talk, we settled in and waited for lunch. I was having a difficult time focusing on the conversation as I couldn’t get past J.J.’s appearance. He was the exact opposite of Alex Sokolov. How could that be with the same father? It was a cruel twist of genetic fate that the same man would produce two sons so physically different from one another. If Alex the Sasquatch and this bowling ball man could combine genes, they’d end up with about the right amount of hair.

  “Pippi?” My sister was saying. “Patricia was just asking you about your business?”

  I refocused and noticed that all eyes were on me. “My business?”

  “Yes,” Patricia said, smiling up at Anna who had brought in a tray with plates of salad. “I think it’s fascinating that you left a job in finance to become an on-line retailer. It must have been a huge decision for you. How could it not have been with the different life-style choices you must have had to make?”

  I sighed, and dug into my salad. How could I explain to this woman a decision to leave a prestigious, six figure salary to take on a career digging through garbage? I couldn’t. So, I decided change the subject in a big way.

  I took a deep breath and smiled sweetly at Patricia. “Actually, my life is a lot different than it used to be when I worked as a trader, but it’s still very exciting. And, I meet the most interesting people. Why just the other day, I was tracking down merchandise that was sold off in an estate sale and I met the most charming man from Russia.” I paused for a couple of seconds to make sure I had everyone’s full attention. I definitely had JimDog’s.

  “His name was Alex Sokolov.” I let the name drop like an atomic bomb.

  The air was suddenly sucked out of the room. Jaws dropped, forks dropped, curse words dropped.

  “What did you say?” James Farrell said, the look on his face and the way he was angrily clutching his fork, sending spasms of fear up my spine.

  I immediately wished I could take back my words. Unsure of how to proceed, I got busy with my salad, hoping to divert any additional conflict. Unfortunately, a leafy piece of arugula stuck in my throat sending me into a spontaneous coughing fit. I gulped some water trying to force it down, but it had stubbornly lodged itself somewhere between the back of my tongue and my tonsils.

  I coughed and sputtered.

  Mary Frances looked concerned. Everyone else at the table just looked angry. In fact, the way they were looking at me, I was sure they were hoping I would choke to death.

  I gulped some more. It was definitely stuck.

  “Are you okay?” my sister asked, concern turning to alarm.

  I couldn’t respond. I started to see dots. No air. I moved my hands to my throat; the universal signal for choking to death.

  None of the Farrells made a move to help.

  Thank goodness for my sister. In an instant she was positioned behind me. With amazing strength and virulence, she placed her fists around my mid-section and hoisted inward and upward.

  The green leafy glob shot across the table and landed right next to JimDog’s plate.

  I plopped back in my chair, gasping for air. After a few seconds of deep breathing, my vision started to clear. Looking about, I could see that everyone but J.J. and Mary Frances had left the room.

  “Where’d everyone go?” I sputtered.

  J.J. regarded me strangely and broke into laughter. “Did you really expect them to stick around after you mentioned the name Sokolov?” He laughed some more. His round little mouth stretching wide enough for me to see he had two gold fillings in his back molars. “That Russian woman has plagued this family for years. Really, as smart as my father is in business, he’s stupid when it comes to women. Calina Sokolov was the biggest mistake he ever made.”

  “You know that she passed away recently. Cancer,” I inserted.

  J.J.’s joviality dimmed for a split second. “No, I didn’t know. But, I’m not sorry to hear it. I’m glad to have her out of our lives.”

  “It must have been hard on your mother to know that there was another woman in your father’s life,” Mary Frances said.

  An unrecognizable emotion flashed across J.J.’s face. He recomposed quickly and shrugged. “I guess she thought it was worth putting up with his little side activity in order to keep her lifestyle.”

  “How’d that make you feel?” my sister asked. She was slipping into psychiatrist
mode.

  J.J. was fidgeting with his fork, turning it over and over. I was actually beginning to feel sorry for the guy. “I got used to it,” he said. “It didn’t really make much difference to me.”

  “Still, I’m sure it must have been difficult to know your father was unfaithful.” My sister was speaking in her soothing, Sisterly voice.

  I, on the other hand, was growing impatient with her line of questioning. I was here for information, not a discussion and support group.

  “Did you know that Calina had a son and that he may be your half-brother?” I threw out.

  J.J. turned to me, his eyes full of rage. Once again, I should have stayed quiet. I just couldn’t help myself. Mary Frances was soothing while I was as tactless as … well … at this moment I felt like one of those wacky day-time talk hosts revealing the results of a paternity test to one promiscuous woman and ten wanna-be daddies.

  J.J. slammed his fork against the table. “What? A child? He had a child with her?”

  Hum … guess he didn’t know.

  He picked up his fork again and began jabbing it in my direction. “I don’t believe that for one second. What proof do you have?”

  “Uh.” I looked toward Mary Frances for help. She seemed busy folding and refolding her napkin. “Well, actually, I don’t have any substantial proof. It’s really just a rumor.”

  J.J. stood abruptly, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “Why don’t you mind your own business?” With that, he flung the fork onto the middle of the table and stomped out of the room.

  Mary Frances raised her brows. “That went well.”

  “Yeah, well …” I looked around at the empty room. “Guess we’d better be going, huh?”

  We headed for the door finding Anna waiting in the foyer with our coats. As I reached for mine, I tried making eye contact with her. Maybe she’d be sympathetic to my plight and offer information that would be pertinent to the case. However, my hopes were dashed when she raised her chin and shot me a disapproving look down her nose. Old pinch-face wasn’t going to open up to me. She knew on which side her bread was buttered.