The Gun Also Rises

by Sherry Harris

  “It’s a crazy story. One that I can’t fill you in on right now.” Weariness crept over me like an incoming sea fog. We finished our wine, chatting distractedly about families in the Air Force we both knew. Who was moving where, who’d been passed over for a promotion, how the new thrift-shop manager on Fitch was working out.

  I washed out our wineglasses. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Thanks for stopping by. I’ve missed you and nights like this.”

  Minutes later I headed up the steps to the front porch of my apartment eager to sleep in my own bed. I was tired enough that I felt like I might actually sleep tonight. As I reached for the doorknob, a car door slammed behind me.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Miss Winston? Sarah?”

  I turned around but didn’t recognize the woman standing at the bottom of the steps. I didn’t reply.

  “I’m with the Ellington Standard and just have a couple of questions for you.”

  “No,” I said. I turned back and opened the screen door.

  “Don’t you want your side of the story told?” she called.

  There was no my side. I stepped into the foyer. As I closed the door, a big flash blinded me for a moment. Great. She had a photographer with her. I closed the wooden door but didn’t lock it. Stella might be out, and so could Ryne. None of us had keys for this door, but I wondered if we should start carrying them.

  I trudged up the stairs. The curtains in my living room blew gently, reaching toward me like white hands on either side of the window. I crossed the room and looked out. The reporter was talking on her phone. The photographer looked up and spotted me. As he raised his camera, I hastily closed the curtains and retreated to my bedroom. As I closed the curtains in there, the photographer snapped another photo. I wanted to flip him off but resisted and yanked the curtains closed.

  * * *

  Banging on the door woke me up Thursday morning. I bolted out of bed, surprised to see light flooding the room. I glanced at my phone. It was already eight o’clock. I couldn’t imagine what disaster could precipitate such vigorous knocking on the door. Then I worried about why I assumed it was a disaster. Maybe it was flowers or donuts and coffee or a big box of chocolates. But then I heard Awesome’s voice.

  “Sarah? Are you there?” he asked.

  I yelled back, “Coming.” I hastily pulled on a pair of shorts and a blue tank top as I hustled to the door. I peeked through the peephole just to make sure it was Awesome. When I threw it open, Stella and Awesome stood there, then hurried me into the living room. Tux, Stella’s adorable black-and-white cat followed them in. Stella had adopted Tux last fall. He stayed near my ankles, as if he knew something was wrong.

  “What the heck is going on?” I asked. I ran a hand through my blond hair, which was probably a tangled mess.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Stella asked. “I was worried.”

  “I started getting calls from random numbers last night. Some of them were reporters, so I put my phone on Do Not Disturb.” I looked back and forth between them so quickly my eyeballs hurt. “Is Miss Belle okay?”

  “Yes,” Awesome said. “It’s the reporters.” He gestured toward the window.

  I walked over and slid to the side, using a finger to hook back the curtain. The sidewalk was empty, as was the street. I let the curtain fall back into place, relieved. “There’s no one out there.”

  Stella and Awesome hustled over to the window, looked out, and shrugged.

  “They must have given up,” Stella said. “Nathan has been chasing them off the porch all morning.”

  I sank onto the couch, still weary. Tux jumped up beside me. I stroked his fur. His purr sounded like a sleek engine. “Any news on who killed Kay or why?”

  Awesome was shaking his head before I’d even finished the question. I wasn’t sure if it was a no, I’m not going to tell you, or no, we don’t have any news. “No. But there is something else. Word of the manuscripts has leaked out.”

  “How? I thought the police were trying to keep it a secret.”

  Awesome nodded. “It’s not in the reports. Maybe it was mentioned over a mic or scanner. But it’s all over the international news. It’s probably going to bring more reporters to town. This morning it was all local and regional people. It might get worse.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not like I know anything about them. I only saw them briefly.”

  “But you held them. You read a bit. People are going to want to talk to you.” Awesome watched me, waiting for some sort of reaction.

  Rats. I hadn’t thought of that. Miss Belle, Kay, and I were the only ones who’d seen them since 1922, as far as we knew. “I’ll lay low as much as possible.”

  “I could drive you,” Stella said. She picked up Tux, who meowed in protest.

  “I’ll be fine.” I shooed them toward the door. “I need to get ready for the day.”

  * * *

  I’ll admit I peeked out my curtains before heading to my Suburban. I’d changed into a black knit tank dress and black flats. As I went down the steps, Ryne was coming up.

  He held a bag from Dunkin’s. “Donut?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Ryne held the bag open, and I took one sprinkled with sugar and bit in. It almost melted in my mouth.

  “Yum. This is so good. Thank you.”

  “I guess the news is out,” he said as I continue to eat.

  I shoved the last bite in, chewed, and swallowed. “Did you see it in the paper?”

  “No. There were a couple of reporters lollygagging on the porch.”

  I frowned. “Do you know who they are?”

  “I didn’t recognize them.”

  Maybe that was a good thing. “How many of them are out there?”

  “Just a couple. But no worries. I chased them off.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stay safe out there.”

  I nodded as I went down the stairs. As a precaution, I stopped on the porch and scanned for reporters. The sun shone through hazy, late-July air. It sat on my shoulders like an extra burden. A couple ran past in shorts and tanks. They veered toward the town common. Even the Congregational Church seemed to slump a bit in the heat.

  I trotted down the steps, headed left, noting that Stella and Awesome’s cars were gone. Just as I opened the Suburban’s door I heard someone behind me.

  “Ms. Winston, do you have a comment about the missing Hemingway manuscripts?” A photographer shot video while a reporter shoved a microphone toward me.

  I had a comment, all right, but it wasn’t appropriate for the public airways, maybe not even late-night cable shows. Other reporters rushed toward us. I think they literally had been hiding in the bushes. I hopped in my car, slammed the door, and clicked the locks, but I couldn’t back out because a photographer stood behind the truck. I started it anyway. People hammered on the windows, tried the doors, and yelled questions.

  On the one hand, I got it. Finding Hemingway manuscripts was a big deal. But for the love of all that was holy, someone had died. Show some respect. I put the Suburban in reverse. That didn’t deter anyone. No one moved. I revved the engine. Nothing. My heart started to hammer, and with shaky hands, I reached for my cell phone. Where was Awesome when I needed him?

  I started to dial the nonemergency police number when I heard the whoop-whoop of a siren. A police SUV parked across the back of the drive. Pellner stepped out and started moving everyone across the street to the town common.

  “This is private property, folks. You’re trespassing.” Pellner said it over and over. He wasn’t that tall, but his presence was commanding. Even with his deep dimples, he managed to look menacing. I’d had that look turned on me before, and it wasn’t fun.

  I watched in the rearview mirror as the reporters and photographers reluctantly retreated. When he was done, Pellner came and stood by the window.

  I buzzed it down. “How did you happen to be nearby?”

  “Awesome was worried. W
e’ve been swinging by more often than normal this morning. Although to tell you the truth, since you moved into town, there’s been a lot more activity on Oak Street.”

  It wasn’t really my fault. Maybe once. But I had no comment on that for him. “Thank you. I need to get going.”

  “Why don’t you let me take you wherever it is you have to go?”

  I shook my head. A bit violently. “I have a lot to do.” I gestured toward the reporters. “And it looks like you might have your hands full.”

  Even from here, we could hear the whirs and clicks of cameras and reporters doing updates for the eleven a.m. news.

  Pellner frowned but nodded. “I’ll back down the street. You back out and I’ll follow you. At the end of the street, I’ll block the road and you can skedaddle.”

  “Skedaddle? You New Englanders never cease to amaze me.” I started to roll up the window but paused. “What’s it like over at Miss Belle’s house?”

  “So far, so good. We’re keeping a close eye on the situation.”

  “Any update on Kay’s killer?”

  “Have a good day. Call my cell or Awesome’s if you need help.” He turned and trotted down to his vehicle.

  When he pulled back, I hit Reverse, wheeled out into the street, and took off. The journalists scrambled like ants fleeing a hill. No one stepped out in front of me. At the end of the street, I checked my rearview. Pellner’s car slanted across the already narrow street. I headed the opposite direction from Miss Belle’s house, just in case someone managed to run to a car parked on some other street.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I whipped out my cell phone and called James. “Can you sponsor me on base?” I asked.

  “Sure. For how long?”

  “Long enough for me to drive in one gate and out the other.” Reporters wouldn’t have access to the base unless one of them happened to be retired military. It seemed unlikely.

  “I’ll meet you at the Visitors Center. What’s going on?”

  He deserved an explanation of my unusual request, so I filled him in. After I hung up, I drove through Bedford, a bit of Concord, and swung back around to the base. James was there, and we quickly filled out the paperwork. He put my destination as the base thrift shop. I would drive right by it on my way to the other side of the base so it didn’t seem like a complete fabrication.

  Fifteen minutes later, I popped out the other gate, which was in Lexington. I drove past Gilgannon’s Irish Pub. Stella loved to go to karaoke there and often dragged a reluctant me along. So far, Awesome had refused to go. Even though I’d begged and tried bribing him. If he went, I wouldn’t have to. I continued down the road, cutting through bits of Bedford and Ellington until I felt comfortable enough to head to Miss Belle’s.

  I made it to her house about nine forty-five, parked, and was heading to the front door when a big man stepped out in front of me.

  “What da you think you’re doing?” he asked. He wore a T-shirt that stretched across massive shoulders and a large belly. His jeans and thick dark hair were rumpled. I backed up as he stepped toward me. If he was a cop, I didn’t recognize him. If he was a reporter, he needed to work on his people skills.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, worrying I was going to have to call Pellner already.

  The front door swung open and Frieda stepped out. “She’s okay,” she told the man.

  Then I remembered her son-in-law was going to help out with security. I was surprised he was still here.

  He nodded and lumbered off toward the side of the house.

  “How’s Miss Belle?” I asked as I trotted up the steps and into the house.

  “Resilient.” Frieda put a hand on my arm and pulled me over to a corner near a coat closet in the foyer. “You don’t think she’s going to want me to wear one of those silly maid’s dresses, do you?”

  The image of Frieda dressed like Kay almost made me burst out laughing. “I don’t think she will. Was there any trouble last night?”

  “No. Quiet as could be.”

  I hoped that was a good thing and not a gathering storm waiting on the horizon. We walked down to Miss Belle’s study but didn’t see her.

  “Miss Belle?” I called.

  We heard a shuffling sound. Miss Belle’s rear end backed out from under her desk. Next, her head popped up over the edge of her desk. As she stood, she swiped her hands against each other. Frieda and I exchanged a glance.

  “Well, that book has got to be around here somewhere, right? I’m in no-stone-unturned mode.”

  “What about Sebastian’s desk?” I asked. “Have you done the same with that?”

  “I haven’t,” Miss Belle said. “Shall we?”

  We trooped down the hall and into his study. His desk was massive. “I’ll climb under this time,” I said. I knew Frieda worked hard cleaning houses and probably was on her knees scrubbing things more than anyone should be. And Miss Belle had looked a bit stiff as she’d pushed herself up off the floor of her study.

  I pushed the office chair out of the way. My heartbeat seemed to accelerate to supersonic speed in anticipation. I lay down on my back and scooted under the desk.

  “Do you need a flashlight?” Miss Belle asked.

  “Yes, please.” It was darker under here than I anticipated, and I’d left my phone in my purse in Miss Belle’s study. Frieda’s head popped into view, and she handed me a large silver flashlight. It only took seconds to ascertain there wasn’t a book hidden under here. I did see a bit of paper or cardboard stuck between the bottom of the large desk drawer and the back of the desk. I gave it a gentle tug. It came loose, along with several other pieces of paper.

  I scooted back out, clutching the bits of paper, and stood up. I put them on the desk.

  “These were hidden under there.” They turned out to be vintage postcards, one from the New York World’s Fair in the thirties, others from Paris, Hollywood, and Washington, DC. I loved the graphic images, the bright colors, the heavy paper.

  “Another thing Sebastian liked to collect,” Miss Belle said. “Another time I’ll have to have you sort through them, Sarah. They’re tucked all over the place. Some in albums and some in shoeboxes.”

  I flipped over to the backs to see if there were messages, addresses, or postmarks, but they were all blank. For the most part, vintage postcards weren’t worth more than five dollars. But the occasional one would have a rare stamp. Frieda and Miss Belle started going through drawers on either side of me. I drifted around the room, looking at all the books. There were so many, it seemed as if something could have been missed.

  “Oh,” Miss Belle said. She held a piece of paper in her hand.

  “What?” I asked.

  Miss Belle shook her head. “A letter Sebastian wrote me two days after we met.” She smiled. “We’re proof there is such a thing as love at first sight.”

  Frieda snorted.

  I’d thought the same thing about CJ and me. “You made it last too,” I said.

  “Yes. It was hard work and a lot of compromise,” Miss Belle said.

  Even then, things didn’t always end up the way you hoped and dreamed they would. I felt some twinges of guilt. Maybe I should have tried harder with CJ. Maybe I should have compromised more. If I had, I’d be living in Florida right now instead of here. But maybe, for once, CJ should have compromised more. He wasn’t blameless in this situation either.

  At eleven thirty, I explained that I had to leave. “I’m meeting a friend about a fund-raiser we’re doing this weekend on the town common.”

  “Who is it for?” Miss Belle asked.

  “Sergeant Eric Hunt. We’re trying to raise funds to bring back a dog he adopted while he was in Afghanistan.” I paused. “Eric has had a difficult time since he came home.”

  “Maybe I can find something to donate. I’d do books, but they’re already promised to the library.”

  “No worries. The library is a good cause too.” I said my goodbyes and took off to meet James at Di
Napoli’s.

  * * *

  I decided I’d park at home and then walk over to DiNapoli’s. When I started to turn down Oak Street, I was stunned to see a TV truck parked out front and a few reporters encamped on the porch. There seemed to be some other people milling about too. I continued on down Great Road to the next light. I took a left, followed by two more, and parked in the alley behind DiNapoli’s. The screen door was open, so I went in the back way, something I didn’t normally do.

  Angelo spotted me immediately.

  “Everything okay, kid?” he asked.

  “There are a bunch of reporters over by my apartment. I parked out back but can move if you need me too.”

  Angelo had a big meat cleaver in his hand. He shook it. “Need me to go over there?”

  I smiled. My defender. “No. But thank you. I’m sure they’ll get bored soon and move on.”

  “I’ll fix you the best sandwich you ever had,” he said a bit fiercely. Angelo meant messenger of god in Italian. The name suited him, and I think he sometimes thought he could fix all my problems by feeding me.

  “But I thought the last time I had your roast beef sandwich you said it was the best sandwich I’d ever eat.”

  “It was the best roast beef you ever had.” He paused and had a slight frown. “Until I make you another one. But this will be the best Italian sandwich you ever had.”

  “I’m sure it will. It sounds delicious.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I sat across from James with most of a large crusty roll full of chopped salami, ham, and several different cheeses in a delicious Italian dressing still sitting in front of me. A corn-and-black-bean salad was served on the side. From the couple of bites I’d taken, I knew it was the best Italian sandwich I’d ever had. As with all Angelo’s sandwiches, it was gigantic and would provide at least one, if not two, other meals. But seeing the reporters at my apartment had ruined my appetite.

  James leaned forward. “How’s it going with the sale for Eric?”