The Gun Also Rises

by Sherry Harris

  “Nothing?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

  “Something.”

  “Ancient history and nothing I want to discuss with my brother.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  I didn’t want Luke to go into protective brother mode. He’d started that when we were in grade school. If some boy even looked at me wrong, and God forbid they should ever say anything derogatory, they got what we at home called “the full Luke.” For as gentle as Luke usually was, he had a temper.

  “I hurt him,” I said.

  Luke nodded. We both fell quiet when we heard Seth coming back. He returned with an uncorked bottle of red wine in one hand and three glasses in the other. He put it all on the Louis Vuitton trunk, the family piece I’d turned into a coffee table for him.

  “Would anyone rather have a beer? There’s plenty of Sam in the basement fridge.”

  Sam was Samuel Adams beer, brewed in Boston. “Wine is fine,” I said.

  “A beer sounds good to me,” Luke said. “I’ll get it. Just point me in the right direction.”

  I had a feeling he did it to give Seth and me a moment alone. Seth poured the wine and brought me a glass.

  “How are you? Really. You’ve had a lot going on since we met in my office.”

  I assumed he was talking about Kay and the missing manuscripts. “I’ll be happy when Kay’s murderer is found and life goes back to normal.”

  “It’s not the only thing you’ve had going on.” Seth sat back down on the couch, and we both took a sip of wine.

  Was he referring to adjusting to life without CJ? “Right. The missing manuscripts. And the book.” I didn’t want to talk about anything personal. Luke would be back any second. There wasn’t time for a long conversation now. “How’s the case going?”

  “I’m hoping your stalker is going to plead out so you won’t have to testify.”

  My stalker. It still sounded so odd to me. It felt distant, as if it had happened to someone else. Just a story I’d read in the newspaper. “I’d rather not, but if I have to, I will.”

  “CJ’s testimony was damning.” Seth looked away as he said it.

  I’d known CJ was going to have to testify, but I didn’t know when. I tried to keep my face neutral, but my eyebrows popped up in surprise.

  “He flew in and out the same day,” Seth added.

  I nodded. What CJ did wasn’t any of my business anymore. But I was relieved to hear we wouldn’t run into each other if I did have to testify. Part of the problem with our relationship had been blurred lines. Even though we’d divorced, the lines between our old life and our new one kept blurring, like watercolors that spread across thick paper. We never managed to get it right either—when we were apart or when we were together.

  Luke trumpeted his return by pounding up the steps. He popped back into the living room with a beer in each hand, Sam’s Summer Ale. My favorite of the Samuel Adams beers.

  “Need a glass?” Seth asked.

  “Nope. The bottle is just fine with me. I’m a simple guy,” Luke said.

  I didn’t know if that was some kind of dig at Seth. His life had been anything but simple growing up in a prestigious Boston family with a house on Beacon Hill and a compound on Nantucket. I’d always been surprised that Seth had settled in this modest house in Bedford instead of something big and fancy. And that he’d had me help him furnish it with secondhand finds. Luke had done some research into Seth the last time he’d been in town, but I never knew how much.

  If it was a dig, Seth didn’t seem offended. I remembered he’d once told me how hard he’d worked to prove to the world that his success was due to his own hard work and not his family’s connections. Luke raised his bottle to him, and Seth responded by lifting his glass.

  “Thanks for letting us stay here,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I needed to pick up some things.” Seth stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get what I need and be on my way.”

  Seth left the room and trotted up the stairs.

  “That’s the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard,” Luke said. He took a long pull of his beer and then pointed his bottle at me. “He came to see you and didn’t expect me to be here.”

  Could that be true? Seth came back ten minutes later with a suit bag folded over his arm. Luke looked at his phone.

  “I have to take this,” Luke said.

  I suspected he didn’t have a call but was trying to give Seth and me some more privacy. It was so embarrassing.

  “I’ll let you know if anything changes with the trial. If not, you’re going to need to come to Pittsfield early next week.”

  “Are you sure you should go back tonight? Luke or I can sleep on the couch.”

  Seth gazed at me, then nodded. “I have an early morning meeting.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you. Safe travels.”

  “Thank you. I’m fighting for you, Sarah.” He turned and left.

  Fighting for me? Did he mean that as a lawyer or as a man? How did I want him to mean it?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Luke came in the room, which, thankfully, distracted me.

  “How was your call?” I asked, using finger quotes when I said the word call.

  “The Globe wants your story.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say. No comment.”

  “Sarah, this is a great opportunity for you.” Luke gave me that look again. The one that persuaded me to do almost anything for him when we were kids.

  “Or you,” I snapped at him. I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Sorry. I’m exhausted and going to bed.” I turned on my heel and made a grand exit. Then realized I didn’t know where to sleep or where the things Luke had picked up for me were. I reversed direction.

  “My bag?” I asked.

  “Next to the dining-room table.”

  “Thanks for getting it for me.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m taking the guest room in the hall.”

  That left me the couch or Seth’s room. Luke stood up and gave me a big hug. I expected him to launch into a list of reasons why I should do the interview. It would have been his MO as a kid. Instead, he kissed me on top of the head and let me go. He had grown up. I knew so little of him still.

  I grabbed my bag and reluctantly walked up the steps to Seth’s room.

  * * *

  At eight Friday morning, I sat across from Alicia Blackmore, confessing that I’d pretended to be someone else yesterday. The look on her face had gone from polite interest to annoyance to distaste. It wasn’t going at all as well as it had when I’d told Luke my plan on the way over here. He’d insisted on coming along because he was worried about me. I’d made him promise to wait in the car. I thought Alicia might be more forthcoming if it was just me in there.

  “So you lied to me.”

  “Yes, and as I said, I’m sorry. I think the bigger issue is, someone seems to be pretending they worked for you.” Not to mention someone had been murdered and I’d been chased all over the place. But I’d keep my mouth shut to try to gain Alicia’s cooperation, to get her to tell me the truth about Kay. Maybe my honesty would make her admit she’d lied too.

  She frowned, but this time it didn’t seem so much at me but with me. Alicia studied me with keen eyes. “I can’t decide if you’re completely nuts and I should call the police or if you’re telling the truth.”

  “I might sound nuts, but I’m telling the truth. Also, Miss Belle Winthrop Granville thinks her employee came from here. You don’t want that to get out.”

  Alicia got up and paced around her office for a moment. “I don’t understand how this happened. I double-checked my records after you left last night.”

  “This is going to sound bad, but do you have any enemies? Someone who’s mad at you, or a disgruntled employee or client?”

  Alicia clicked her way back over to me and sat back down. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

 
I shrugged. “Have the police or state troopers been by?”

  Alicia pulled back. “No. I thoroughly vet my employees and my clients.” She gave me a look that would wither steel. “I can’t imagine either group would help with this—this fraud. Give me some time to sort this out. I’ll figure out a way to find out who did this.”

  “Thank you. Let me know what you find out.”

  * * *

  On the drive from Boston to Ellington, I told Luke what Alicia had told me.

  “Do you trust her?”

  “I’m not sure who to trust.”

  “I’ll see if I can find out anything more about her agency,” Luke said. “Drop me back at Seth’s house and I’ll get on it. What are you going to do?”

  “I have to meet someone about the event tomorrow.”

  This morning at breakfast, I’d filled Luke in on the fund-raiser but hadn’t told him about Tracy. I wouldn’t without talking to her first. Luke had told me he hadn’t learned much in town yesterday. He was going back to mingle with the treasure hunters because he wanted to find information to help me, and he wanted to do a story on them. But I guess digging into the Blackmore Agency now took priority.

  I wanted the fund-raiser to be a success even in the midst of everything else that was going on. After dropping Luke off, I met James at the town common on the side farthest away from my apartment just after nine. The tents seemed to be gone, but I could see a group of tweed-wearing people milling about on the other side. Apparently, Trevor hadn’t had much success getting them to leave.

  I still had on the pink-flowered sundress I’d worn to see Alicia. As a precaution, because we were meeting out in the open, I’d tucked my hair up under a baseball cap and donned sunglasses again.

  “Do you think we’re going to pull this off ?” James asked. He was in his uniform.

  “Of course.” I said it with a bit more confidence than I felt. But I chalked up the doubt to exhaustion. Even though I’d slept pretty well last night, my mind was a tornado of bits of information. I kept hoping they’d swirl together and reveal an answer. My bigger fear was that it would all just blow away before I could figure everything out. Focus, Sarah. I explained to James how I’d envisioned the day going.

  “Any last-minute details I need to work out?” James asked.

  “The base is going to let us borrow some tables and chairs?”

  “Yes. A team will bring them over here early Saturday morning. Eric’s fussing like an old woman about everything.”

  “Normally, that wouldn’t be fun, but in Eric’s case, I’m glad he’s so involved.”

  James laughed. “It’s better than seeing him alternate between anger and apathy.” James paused. “It’s just if we don’t make enough, I’m not sure what that will do to him.”

  “If we don’t make enough, we’ll have another sale. Or find some other way to raise the money.” I was determined this airman was going to be reunited with this dog. It would cost between four and five thousand to bring King home. I pictured King’s sweet little face in the photo Eric had shown me. King might be Eric’s only hope of surviving, of fighting back from the very dark place he’d landed. I didn’t want him to become another statistic of veteran suicides.

  We heard cheers from the other side of the town common.

  “What’s going on over there?” James asked.

  I squinted. Stella stood on the steps, which was what had caused the shouting, apparently. We looked nothing alike; she had dark hair, green eyes, and Mediterranean skin. I guess anyone going in or out was cause for an uproar. Stella made a gesture that didn’t look very friendly. She stomped down the remaining steps and hopped in her car. Things calmed back down after she took off.

  “Who are all those people?” James asked.

  “Remember Trevor from DiNapoli’s yesterday?”

  James nodded.

  “It’s more of his group.” I quickly explained what I’d found out about them.

  “They sound a little crazy.”

  “I can’t argue with you there,” I said. Another cheer went up. This time, Ryne stood on the steps, but he trotted down them over to the group. I could see him shaking hands and clapping people on the back. Of course Ryne would charm them. Maybe I should ask him to get them to leave.

  “You’d think they’d get bored and take off,” I said.

  “How are you getting in and out?” James asked.

  “I’m not. I’m staying with a . . . friend,” I said. James looked curious, but I didn’t want to talk about it. “Anyway, back to tomorrow. The VFW is going to do a pancake breakfast. And then the American Legion will cook burgers and hotdogs at noon. Both organizations will donate all the proceeds to the cause.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Anything else you’re worried about?” I asked.

  James smiled. “Sorry to be a pest.”

  “Not at all. We both want this to go well. I appreciate how much work you’ve done.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I headed up the block away from Great Road to where I’d left the Volkswagen Beetle. I’d almost reached it when Bull popped out of nowhere on the sidewalk in front of me.

  I screamed loud and long. James came tearing back over. He took one look at Bull and stepped between us. James was a lot smaller than Bull but strong.

  “Get out of here,” James said to me.

  Bull tried to reach around him and grab my arm. James whacked it away. I took off across the street. I didn’t want to go to the car because then I’d be at square one again with cars. I dodged between two cars parked on the other side of the street. I looked back to see the treasure hunters streaming across the town common in this direction.

  “I just need to talk to you,” Bull yelled after me.

  I hesitated. What did he want to talk to me about? Then I remembered his weird and scary jump onto the back of my Suburban. That didn’t seem like the behavior of someone who just wanted to talk to me. James took a step toward him. Bull put up his hands and backed away. The treasure hunters were getting closer, so I took off down the sidewalk and ran around the corner, out of sight.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I ran down the street, looking over my shoulder every few seconds. I found a giant oak tree to hide behind and ordered an Uber. Five minutes later—five long, excruciatingly slow minutes—a woman picked me up in a blue car that looked like a shoebox on wheels. As she found my destination on her app, I heard a car behind us. Bull.

  “Go,” I yelled. How did he keep on finding me?

  The woman tossed her phone on the seat next to her and took off, tires squealing. It made me wonder how often this had happened to her. She drove toward Great Road and turned left in front of an oncoming U-Haul, whose driver honked and gave us the standard one-finger salute. I turned around and saw Bull turn the corner behind us.

  “Where to?” the driver asked. “Your original destination”—she tipped her head to her phone still lying on the front passenger seat—“or somewhere else?”

  I needed to lose Bull. “The flea market on the west side of town.” The flea market was relatively new. It had sprung up at the site of an old consignment store. It was only open a couple of days a week, and today was one of them. The woman wended her way through back roads, but I kept getting glimpses of Bull behind us. Trees, low slung stone walls, and Colonial houses flashed by.

  “Do you do this often?” I asked.

  The woman laughed. “I was married to a no-good piece of work who stalked me after our divorce. I became adept at evasion.” She glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You never know when your past will help you out.”

  “I don’t know how he keeps finding me.”

  “The bad ones always seem to find a way.”

  That wasn’t much comfort.

  “I’ll drop you at the east end,” she said. “That’s where most people park. That should hold your friend off for a bit while he tries to find a place to park.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s no
friend.”

  “Honey,” she said, “I kind of figured that out right after you yelled go when he pulled up behind us.”

  “Thanks for this.”

  “How are you going to get away from the flea market?”

  “I’ll call someone,” I said. Pellner, Awesome, or James. I should have thought of them in the first place but had panicked when I saw Bull.

  “Tell you what, I have a friend who’s an Uber driver too. Want me to give him a call? He looks like a mean son of a bitch but is really just a big old cuddle bug.”

  “That would be great.”

  “He drives a black pickup truck. It’s got giant wheels because he also does monster truck competitions.”

  Figures. But whatever; a ride out of here was a ride out of here.

  “I’ll have him meet you at the west end of the flea.”

  She roared up to the flea market entrance. Even though you aren’t supposed to tip Uber drivers, I tossed twenty-five dollars on the front passenger seat next to her phone. “Thank you.”

  “Give me a good rating,” she called as I took off.

  I nodded and gave her a thumbs-up as I ran.

  * * *

  The flea market consisted of one long, low-slung building with a bunch of booths with awnings on the west end. The air inside was cool, and I had to stop and blink a couple of times to adjust my eyes to the dimmer light. Then I realized I was still wearing my sunglasses. I stuffed them in my purse, along with my Red Sox hat. The floors were concrete and the walls cement block. It wasn’t pretty on the outside, but the inside was full of fun for bargains hunters like me. Only not today. Today was about running from hunters.

  The place was packed even at ten in the morning. The air was scented by the vendors who sold hotdogs, kettle corn, cotton candy, and drinks. I passed a booth with hats, did an about face, dodged around some browsers, and made it back to the booth. I bought a straw sunhat with a broad brim without even taking the time to bargain. Farther down, I stopped at a booth with all kinds of mirrors.

  There was a walnut-framed mirror that surely used to have a bureau attached to it. One with roses etched around its border. Another with palm trees and flamingos painted on it. It looked like a Turner, but I didn’t have time to stop to do a thorough investigation. I used a cheap full-length mirror with a thin black frame to look behind me. There was Bull’s head sticking out above the crowd. His eyes were sweeping from one side to the other. He hadn’t spotted me yet.