After that, the first thing that popped up when I typed in Damaris’s name was a link on a site to find a therapist. It listed her specialties, which included PTSD, relationships, and trauma.
That was followed by a paragraph about her philosophy, which included “wanting to get to know you” and to help you find your “superpowers” so that “you can live a meaningful life.” Superpowers? Really? Did superpowers include forming groups that targeted other people? Whatever. That kind of thinking wouldn’t get me anywhere.
According to the website, Damaris had earned her undergraduate degree at a university in Philadelphia and her graduate degree from Harvard. Harvard. I remembered seeing the degrees hanging on the wall in her office, but it hadn’t hit me in the moment. Seth had graduated from Harvard law school. Did they know each other? Had they dated? Now I was just being ridiculous, making leaps from two people attending a school with over twenty thousand students to dating.
I had wondered how she had ended up in Ellington of all places, but maybe it was because of Seth. Ugh. There I went again. The website also listed her hourly fees and what insurance companies she was in network with. I added Philadelphia to her name in the search bar. A surprising number of articles came up.
Her father had been the supposed head of the Greek mob in Philadelphia in the eighties. When Damaris was thirteen he had been incarcerated for racketeering, money laundering, and prostitution rings. Two years later he was killed in prison while serving his sentence. Wow. That was a lot for a teenage girl to have to deal with. My sympathy meter turned up a notch for her. It was no wonder she had studied psychology. She was probably trying to fix herself. I hoped she had found her superpower.
By eight o’clock I’d only found out a bit more about Damaris. She’d organized a nonprofit in Philadelphia for crime victims, and she was still on the board. Damaris had certainly thrown herself into community service by starting the group at the church. Given her background I could see why she had. The mob connection and prostitution ring her father had run seemed worrisome. Was Damaris behind getting Mike out here? I yawned. Damaris was a puzzle that I’d have to try to solve later. I’d have to ask Seth if he knew her. Figure out if I could ask Mike. I flipped on the TV. The Phantom of the Opera was on. I watched until I couldn’t stay awake any longer.
* * *
Wednesday morning at nine I sat at a table in the community center on Fitch with a group of women whose children were all enrolled in the Air Force Exceptional Family Member Program or EFMP. It was a program for people who had a family member with a special need. Needs ranged from kids with autism, cerebral palsy, or cancer to spouses with asthma.
My friend Rebecca Nichols, whose daughter had a rare disease, had asked me to come to the quarterly moms’ morning out meeting. It was a potluck breakfast. I had brought bagels and cream cheese. My plate was heaped with food—an egg and bacon casserole, ham and cheese croissant sliders, loaded breakfast potatoes, and French toast. This was the first time since Stella had been kidnapped that food looked really good and I wanted to eat.
However, as I looked at the food I realized I hadn’t heard from the kidnapper since yesterday when he had said the game wasn’t over. It worried me. But Rebecca was starting to talk and I needed to pay attention.
“We were thinking of throwing a garage sale to raise funds for some of the families who have things they need that aren’t covered by the military,” Rebecca said. Rebecca had light red hair, a sprinkle of freckles, and a get-it-done attitude.
I knew that the military paid for medical expenses and would fly a dependent child and parent somewhere else to see a specialist if needed. They even got a per diem for food and hotel. “What kinds of things do you need?” I asked.
“My son has cerebral palsy,” another woman said. “It’s severe, and he can’t do anything for himself. He turned fourteen recently, and he’s the size of a full-grown man. We need a van that can accommodate him, and that’s one thing that isn’t covered.” The woman had dark circles under her eyes. Her thin shoulders were rounded under her sweater. “Trust me, I know we have it better than a lot of civilians, and I’m grateful for that. I just don’t see how we can afford the van we need. And without it, getting him to medical appointments and therapies is becoming impossible.” She took a big shuddery breath.
The woman next to her put an arm around her. “My husband is deployed. My daughter has autism, and she’s a wanderer, which is usually caused by sensory overload. If we could put a swing set in the backyard, she could play outside on her own. But we need a privacy fence for our backyard to keep her safe. It’s okay with the housing people if we put one in, but now that the housing is privatized, we have to pay for the fence.”
The government used to own and run housing on bases. Over the past twenty years most of the housing had transitioned to being owned by private companies, and there were a lot of problems. This was just one of them.
“My husband is enlisted,” the woman continued. “We just hit the threshold where we aren’t eligible for food stamps anymore. There’s no way we can afford the fence.”
My heart hurt for these women.
The rest of the women around the table shared their stories, talking about what had been going on in their lives since their last meeting. Not everyone needed something money could buy, but they all needed someone to talk to.
“Another need is for respite caregivers,” a woman said. “The government will pay for some, but there just aren’t enough caregivers to go around. We help each other when we can. But we’re all exhausted.” Most of the women nodded. “I forgot to renew my ID card, and my expired one was confiscated at the commissary. My husband is TDY somewhere, and I have no way to get hold of him.”
TDY stood for Temporary Duty. It was more or less like a business trip, but they could last up to 179 days. That left the other spouse home handling everything on his or her own, as military spouses often did. Almost every military spouse understood what it was like to have a husband gone and unreachable at times.
“Do you have a power of attorney?” I asked. If she did she’d be able to get a new ID on her own.
“I can’t find a current one. I’m supposed to leave for a trip with girlfriends to San Francisco. We’re booked at the Marines’ Memorial Club in San Francisco, but without my ID, we won’t be able to check in. I know it’s my fault, but this is supposed to be my respite.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I hope you can work it out.”
Another woman spoke up. “My four-year-old son needs an adaptive tricycle. They can cost from five hundred to two thousand dollars. Like the others, we just can’t afford it. His physical therapist said it would be good for his coordination and socialization. Not to mention he’d get more exercise.”
“How can I help?” I asked. As I’d listened, I’d begun to formulate a plan, but I wanted to see what they had to say first.
“We thought you might have some advice about the best time to have a sale and how to set it up,” Rebecca said. “Where to have it too.”
“I have an idea, if you are interested,” I said. Everyone, well almost everyone nodded. One woman was frowning at me for some reason. “I’m having a garage sale on the town common on Saturday to celebrate the two-year anniversary of my business. Why don’t I turn it into a fund-raiser for all of you?”
“That would be wonderful,” Rebecca said. “We knew you did the one for Eric and Tracy Hunt to bring Eric’s dog over. But we didn’t expect you to do something for us. We just wanted some advice.”
“I’m full of advice, but it would be an honor to help you all out,” I said. “I know it’s short notice, but if you all are willing we can make it work. I can ask some friends to donate things for a silent auction. That really helped last time.”
Everyone chatted excitedly as we tossed around ideas. Everyone except the woman who had frowned at me. She finally spoke up.
“Zoey Whittlesbee could do the sale for us,” she said. “She has a
garage sale business too. It’s new, and she could use the publicity.”
“That’s fine if you want to work with her,” I said. I hoped my voice and face were neutral. I wasn’t doing this for publicity. Although realistically doing a good deed usually yielded something back. There had been an old Friends episode in which Phoebe had challenged Joey to do something that wouldn’t benefit him. It was almost impossible.
“Zoey thinks the garage sale should be on base,” the woman said.
“That’s an option, but more people will be able to come if it’s on the town common. You need to do what’s best for your group. Another option is to have Zoey do one sale on base and me do one in town.” I wished I wouldn’t have said that. All I needed was to have Zoey view this as some big competition between us. “Why don’t I step out for a minute and let you discuss it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Rebecca said.
“No, it’s fine. Really.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I walked out and sat in the little gazebo. The air smelled of damp dirt with a hint of things that were starting to grow. A few minutes later Zoey’s friend charged out of the community center and took off toward the housing area. She didn’t even notice me sitting in the gazebo. Or if she did, she didn’t want to acknowledge me. Rebecca came to the door and motioned for me to come in.
“I didn’t mean to cause a problem. Everyone seems to have enough of them,” I said as we walked back to the meeting.
“You didn’t. And, like you said, Zoey can always do a sale too. We just liked your enthusiasm. And, between us, Zoey can be difficult.”
I would have liked to ask Rebecca more, but needed to work out the details for the garage sale while we finished our food. Most of the ladies would be contributing things, while others agreed to help out the day of the sale.
When we were finished, Rebecca walked me to my car. “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to turn your garage sale into a fund-raiser for us.”
“I’m happy to do it.” I’d planned to use the money to rent a cabin at Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire and surprise Seth with a getaway, but this was more important. “I don’t mean to pry.” I totally did. “But you mentioned Zoey is difficult. How so? And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
“She’s one of those people who volunteers to do things, but then just wants to have a bunch of underlings to boss around. No one wanted to say it out loud, but if she ran the garage sale, we’d be doing all the work. Zoey would show up long enough to grab some glory.”
Zoey sounded annoying, but that didn’t make her some kind of homicidal kidnapper. Somehow that disappointed me. “Do you know if she’s independently wealthy?” I was still curious about how she had the money to offer to buy all of Alice Krandle’s stuff.
“Not that I know of. If she was, I don’t think she’d be living on base. The houses aren’t that great.”
“Has she done any garage sales for people on base?”
“A few. I went to one of them. It was like Martha Stewart herself had designed it. Very fancy.”
I’d done one high-end garage sale where everything was arranged to look like a fancy store. It was a waste of time and money as far as I was concerned, but the customer is always right.
“She also did a sale for a neighbor of mine.”
“Do you know if your neighbor made any money?”
“Not much. Zoey made her buy expensive tags, signs, and an open-sided tent for the sale. It took hours of organization. She would have been content just to throw stuff on tables and hope for the best.”
That wasn’t the best way to do a garage sale either. I took a middle-of-the-road approach for my sales. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be in touch soon with final details about the sale.” We hugged our good-byes. As I drove away I remembered Trooper Kilgard wanted me to cancel the sale. I couldn’t let those women down.
I decided since I was on base I’d stop by the thrift shop and say hi to my friend Eleanor. Maybe she’d know something about Zoey. At the sale for Alice Krandle, Eleanor had said Zoey wanted to be the only garage sale organizer in town. How far was Zoey willing to go to accomplish that?
* * *
At eleven I went into the thrift shop through the back door. I hadn’t been here for a couple of weeks because I’d had one of those terrible spring colds that I hadn’t wanted to expose anyone to. Since I’d recovered, I’d been busy with my clients’ sales. The storeroom was shockingly clean and well organized.
I’d been here at times when donations were stacked everywhere and you could barely walk through the room. Now clothes were hung neatly on racks, toys were on low shelves, and stray boxes were up high on shelves above the clothes. I walked into the shop, which was equally neat, but there seemed to be less merchandise than usual. Eleanor was at the front of the store behind the cash register, looking at her phone.
“Eleanor, the storeroom and store look amazing.” I didn’t add “if rather empty.”
“It’s all Zoey Whittlesbee.”
“She must have spent hours in here.” I’d taught her well apparently when she’d worked for me in January.
“Oh, no. That’s not it. She’s convincing everyone to hire her to do garage sales, and our donations are way down. Three quarters of our recent donations are leftover items from the sales, and most of it isn’t worth trying to sell.” Eleanor shook her head. “I’m not begrudging anyone the chance to make money off their stuff. It’s just, from what I’ve heard, they aren’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Zoey has people signing contracts, but almost everything is an add-on.”
“Like?”
“Tags are extras. Signs are extra. She even charges for her time posting the sale online. I think she’s the only one making any money.”
“It doesn’t seem like she’ll stay in business very long at that rate.”
“Maybe not on base, but she has a rich aunt in Concord who knows everyone and has done a couple of huge sales there. I guess Zoey raked it in.”
That must be where Zoey had gotten the money to offer Alice Krandle a lump sum. It still seemed like a risky way to do business.
“Do you know what Zoey’s husband does?” I knew he was in the Air Force, but I couldn’t remember his exact job.
“He’s with the security force.”
The security force worked closely with the Ellington Police Department. He’d have access to all kinds of information. Did I really think Zoey could be behind Stella’s kidnapping? Was she that desperate?
“How long have they lived here?”
“About two years.”
Long enough to know that Green Monster was a flavor of ice cream at Bedford Farms. I’d moved off base about two and a half years ago which is why I didn’t know the Whittlesbees except from the brief time Zoey worked for me. During that time I’d never met her husband or kids. I just couldn’t imagine that I knew someone who would do this to me or Stella. The kidnapper said I knew him. I shook my head.
“Why do you ask? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Everything’s fine.” I’m not so sure Eleanor believed me, but she let it drop. Eleanor and I chatted for a few more minutes before saying our good-byes.
* * *
Next on my list was tracking down Louisa Crane. She was the last person I knew by name who had some connection to all that was going on. Damaris wouldn’t be happy if she found out, but that was the least of my worries. Figuring out who the kidnapper was had to be a priority. No one—especially Seth and Stella—would sleep well until that was accomplished. After a quick online search, I found an address for Louisa in an apartment complex on the north side of Ellington.
It didn’t take long to drive over there. A closed outdoor swimming pool was surrounded on three sides by four story buildings. It looked like each unit had its own balcony. Louisa lived on the third floor. I hesitated at the door before knocking. But what was the worst that could happen? I didn’t think sh
e was going to let me in and kidnap or kill me. It was more checking off a box. And I still had the wine bottle in my purse and hairspray in my pocket. I knocked, then slipped my hand in the pocket of my sweater to grasp the hairspray bottle.
Louisa answered the door and looked me up and down. “Sarah Winston.” Louisa was a lumpy woman who looked to be in her sixties. She wore jeans, a tunic top, and had thick black socks on her feet. “I can’t decide if you are brave or stupid coming here.”
I couldn’t agree more. “Probably some combination of both,” I said.
“Come in since you’re here.” Louisa turned, and I followed her down a hall. A bedroom was off to the right, a bath to the left. The main living space included a small kitchen open to the tiny living room-dining room combo. Another bedroom was off the living room to the left. It didn’t seem like anyone else was here, but I didn’t relax my grip on my hairspray bottle just in case.
Louisa had a huge leather couch and matching recliner that took up most of the living room. A flat-screen TV was hung on the wall opposite the couch. All of it looked new, and I remembered Frida had said she’d thought Louisa had come into some money. Louisa’s balcony overlooked the parking lot at the back of the building. Family photos hung above the couch. Louisa sat in the recliner, and I took a spot on the couch.
“Your apartment is lovely.” I’d try to soften her up first.
“What? You think I robbed a bank?” Louisa asked.
Whoa. That didn’t go as planned.
“If you must know, I won fifteen thousand dollars on a scratch-off lottery ticket.”
“That’s amazing. Congratulations. I’ve never won more than two dollars.” Not that I played often. “You must be very lucky.”
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