A Good Day to Buy

by Sherry Harris

  “What?” Luke asked, catching me studying him.

  My voice caught and my eyes filled with tears for the second time today. “I’ve missed you.”

  Luke pulled me to him in a brief hug. “I missed you too.”

  We finished eating and I stuck the trash into a bag to take back to my place. Luke leaned his elbows back against the counter. “You were involved in a murder yesterday?”

  “Sort of. How did you know?”

  Luke held up his phone. “I read about it online. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I guess seeing you drove it out of my head.”

  Luke scratched his bearded chin. “I feel terrible. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Luke and I were only ten months apart, and while I had often lorded my elder status over him, we’d been closer than lots of siblings until he’d left for the Marines. I nodded. “I do want to talk about it.” My response surprised me, but I started talking. Luke listened attentively, asking questions when I faltered, and patting my arm when I choked up. My spirits lifted after spilling not only the details but my reactions to all of it. Sharing things with Luke felt like home in a way nothing else did in my life.

  “It sucks,” I said when I was all talked out.

  “Death is never pretty.”

  It made me wonder what Luke had seen when he was in the Marines, why he’d quit instead of staying in. I wanted to ask but held back a flood of questions. For now, I’d just enjoy having him around.

  Luke kissed me on top of the head. “I have to work tomorrow. What’s a good time to leave?”

  “If CJ spends the night, he usually leaves to go to the gym around five. Stella rarely pokes her head out the door before eight-thirty or nine. The only wild card is Awesome.”

  “Who’s Awesome?”

  “Stella’s boyfriend, Nathan Bossum. He’s a cop too. I have no idea what schedule he’s on, and he’s over at Stella’s a lot these days.”

  Luke pursed his lips like he always did when he was thinking something over.

  “I’m going to be busy most of the day,” I said. “I have to meet with a new client this afternoon and then go on base to help at the thrift shop this evening.”

  “I’ll work from here today, and I’ll be very careful when I leave in the morning.”

  I nodded and then headed back to my apartment.

  * * *

  I made a quick marinara sauce and pasta for dinner tonight, stuck it in the refrigerator, and cleaned the kitchen. On my way out to see my client, I dropped some off to Luke. The rest of the day, I rushed from one place to the next until I settled on the couch around 9:30 PM. It had been a long day, especially after tossing and turning the night before.

  The work at the thrift shop was endless lately. My friend Laura Nicklas and I had been spending a lot of evenings there the past few weeks as we prepped for PCS—permanent change of station—season. Or, as civilians called it, moving. The busiest moving time for military members was during June and July. It meant in May people donated things they didn’t want to move to the thrift shop. It was great for the shop but created a lot of extra work for the volunteers who ran it. I loved keeping up with my friends on base, and volunteering at the thrift shop was one way I could do it now that I didn’t have any official status there. With that work done for the evening, I had some research to tackle.

  I grabbed my computer and Googled Luke Winston. I couldn’t wait to see what kind of articles he’d written in the past. I frowned at my computer because I didn’t find anything. I tried again. Unfortunately, both Luke and Winston were very common names. I ended up scrolling through a lot of pages of Luke Winstons. Some were too old, others too young—those were the easy ones. I looked at profiles hoping I’d find something. But my Luke didn’t have a footprint when it came to the Web. No Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn account. No articles.

  I checked the less well-known sites, like the PopIt photo-sharing app, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t have an account there. I drummed my fingers on the edge of my laptop trying to decide if I should pay one of those places that said they could find anyone. But without more than his name, age, and birthdate, they probably wouldn’t have much more luck than I did. Luke had hidden himself not only from my family but from everyone else too. I wondered why. I’d ask him tomorrow.

  I decided to research the Spencers too. There were a couple of articles about Mr. Spencer’s death and Mrs. Spencer being at the hospital. But nothing else showed up. Spencer was almost as common a name as Winston. I did find a brief mention that Mrs. Spencer was part of the local garden club.

  CJ slumped in just as I gave up my search.

  “I cooked,” I said, leading CJ to the kitchen.

  “I’m not very hungry. Do you have a Sam’s?”

  The Sam he was referring to was a Samuel Adams beer, brewed locally in Boston. I put a hand on my hip. “I made pasta and it’s delizioso.” I put my fingers to my lips and kissed them. CJ might be afraid to eat something I’d fixed because he’d suffered through enough of my meals over the years. “Just pasta with marinara sauce. What could go wrong?”

  CJ smiled and I threw a dish towel at him because I knew he was remembering his first birthday after we were married. I’d wanted to throw a big party and do all of the cooking myself. I’d known nothing about cooking for a crowd and little about cooking at all. The pasta had bonded faster than a group of sorority sisters and had come out as a glutinous mass. The sauce had tasted like burnt garlic water, the salad had been soggy, and the bread extra crispy. Thankfully I’d had the good sense to order a cake so at least something was edible.

  “Okay, something could go wrong, but it didn’t.” In the nick of time, I bit back a comment that Luke had loved it.

  I grabbed a Sam Adams Summer Ale, my very favorite of the Sam Adams beers, out of the fridge and opened it for CJ. He found a glass I’d bought at the brewery and poured the beer in.

  He took a long drink. “Okay, I’ll risk your cooking.”

  I cocked my head.

  “Please?” CJ asked. “I was teasing.”

  After CJ finished a second plate, he wrapped his arms around my waist as I washed the dishes. “What brand of sauce was it? We should stock up.” He nuzzled my neck with his lips.

  “I made it from scratch.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it.

  He pulled back. “Wow. I’m even more impressed. Where’d you get the recipe?”

  Damn. I didn’t want to tell him Seth had taught me to make it last February. He was so sensitive at any mention of Seth. It was understandable. I didn’t want to hear about whom he’d dated when we were apart.

  “Carol.” I was glad I wasn’t facing him. Carol was a great cook and friend. I’d met her soon after I’d met CJ, when she and her husband Brad, along with CJ, were all stationed in Monterey. We’d been overjoyed when they had been stationed at Fitch. Then all of us had moved to Ellington because we loved it here. She’d cover for me if the subject ever came up.

  We settled on my couch after I grabbed two more beers. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh. But I could feel the tension in CJ’s body. I knew his mind must be on the Spencers. We’d talked about him being more present when we were together. As a military spouse, I was used to coming second. The Air Force and its demands always came first. But I was tired of living that way.

  I flipped on the Red Sox game and took a drink of my Sam Adams. Spring filled the air with hope in Red Sox nation. The Red Sox were playing well, and the promise of making the playoffs kept everyone optimistic. I glanced at CJ. He stared at the TV, but it looked like his mind wasn’t on the game. He was frowning and the Red Sox had just scored. Apparently, cops’ families came after the job too.

  “How’s Mrs. Spencer doing?” I asked during the first commercial.

  “No change. I wish she could tell us what happened.” His leg started jiggling next to mine.

  “It must be frustrating.”

  CJ shrugged instead o
f answering and took a pull of his beer.

  “Is there a cause of death?” I asked.

  “No. It will be a while before we find anything out.”

  “I was thinking about the lobster buoy and the scratches on Mr. Spencer’s arms. It looked like there was some kind of fight. Was the buoy the murder weapon?”

  CJ leaned forward to watch the next play. Base run.

  “Any idea who did this to the Spencers?”

  “Nothing I can share.”

  I’d gone from feeling ignored to trying to interrogate CJ. “Do you think it was a robbery gone wrong? All that money was on the floor.” I shuddered as I pictured the Spencers sprawled across the floor of their garage.

  CJ slung an arm over my shoulders and pulled me closer. I was halfway on his lap. “Let’s not talk shop.” He took the beer out of my hand and kissed me.

  Later, when I woke up next to CJ, the curtains in my bedroom puffed out with cool night air. I snuggled closer to him. CJ used to talk cases out with me when he was commander of the security squadron at Fitch. Unless they were classified. I’d even solved a case for him once. It was a he-said /she-said domestic violence dispute. According to everyone, the young officer had come back from Afghanistan a different man. What they didn’t know was he’d found out his wife had had an affair. She had gone berserk when he’d asked for a divorce and beat the crap out of him.

  I’d found all that out by working the wives’ network. I’d tracked down their former neighbor, who’d witnessed the wife’s outburst. She’d been shocked to hear the accusations against him. Without my digging, the truth might have never come out. He would have, at the very least, been kicked out with a dishonorable discharge, but could have served time. Why wouldn’t CJ talk this case over with me?

  * * *

  A scream bolted me out of a deep sleep Monday morning. It was still dark out but not middle-of-the-night dark, more almost dawn. I glanced toward CJ’s side of the bed, but he was gone. I heard another scream, followed by a shout. It sounded like it had come from right below me. Oh no, the Callahans’ apartment. My heart pounded as I thrust my arms into the sleeves of my robe. I tied it as I ran down the stairs. Stella almost crashed into me as she flew out her door.

  Chapter 5

  I looked in horror as I saw Mr. and Mrs. Callahan standing in the hall. They’d arrived hours earlier than I’d expected. Their apartment door was open, as was the front door of the building. I went over and flicked on the entryway light. Everyone blinked a couple of times. I shut the front door to keep the cool air out.

  “What happened?” Stella asked Burt and Flossie.

  “Someone or something was in our apartment. Looked like a yeti,” Flossie said.

  “Hunchback,” Burt corrected. “A giant. Charged out when Flossie opened the door.”

  Oh no, oh no, oh no. I knew it was Luke. If his backpack had been over his shoulder, he might have looked like a hunchback in the dark. I don’t know where the hell the yeti reference had come from—Luke wasn’t that tall or hairy. What should I do now? I’d promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone about him being here without letting him know first.

  “Is Awesome here?” I asked Stella. I figured he wasn’t or he’d be out here with us, or worse, chasing Luke down the street and catching him.

  “No. CJ?” Stella asked.

  “No.” I vaguely remembered him kissing me good-bye and leaving for the gym on Fitch. Stella’s black and white cat, Tux, meowed. He’d wandered out in the entryway with us. Tux came over to me, rubbing against my leg and meowing. Stella scooped him up, put him back in her apartment, and closed the door. It gave me a couple of seconds to think.

  “Okay, let’s all take a deep breath,” I said. “I’ll go in and check the apartment, but it sounds like whoever was in there is gone. And they couldn’t have been there for long because I watered your plants and aired the place out for you yesterday. No hunchback then.” My hands trembled. I shoved them in the pockets of my robe.

  I overruled the chorus of nos. “CJ taught me how to do this. I’ll leave the door open. If anything happens, you can call the police.”

  “You’d better call anyway, Burt,” Flossie said.

  There was no way to stop them from calling without sounding crazy. Burt talked into his cell phone while I walked through the apartment, knowing it was safe. I wiped down a few surfaces with the hem of my robe and made sure Luke hadn’t left anything behind. As much as I wanted to clean the front doorknobs, I couldn’t without getting caught and I hoped Luke hadn’t ever touched them. A couple of minutes later, I returned to the hallway. “It’s fine. No one’s in there.”

  We all trooped into the apartment. Burt and Flossie collapsed on the couch. They were tanned, wrinkled, slender, and short. Almost bookends with their gray hair, khaki shorts, and Hawaiian-print shirts.

  “What are you doing back?” I couldn’t help asking. They weren’t supposed to be home.

  Flossie jerked her head toward Burt. “Mr. Big Shot here bragged about how we could make it home in two days. It was a stupid idea.”

  “Could have if it weren’t for that huge traffic jam in New York City.”

  “I told you not to go through it. You should have listened to me when I said to stay in New Jersey and go over the Tappan Zee Bridge,” Flossie said.

  “The governor in New Jersey is the problem. He caused the traffic.” Burt crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Oh, that’s a load.” Flossie shook her head. “I caught him nodding off in Connecticut, and I insisted we stop. He woke me hours ago. Technically, we made it in two days.” She made air quotes when she said technically.

  Burt looked at us. “Wanted to get home before rush hour started.”

  “I suppose the traffic in Boston is the New Jersey governor’s fault too,” Flossie said.

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Flossie.”

  “Should you check to see if anything was taken?” Stella asked.

  The Callahans stood and moved with swift efficiency around the apartment.

  “No, everything’s as it should be,” Burt said.

  “That’s not true,” Flossie said.

  I braced myself for what would come next.

  “There’s fresh milk and some other groceries in the refrigerator,” she said. It came out refrigeratah with her Boston accent.

  “I brought those over yesterday. I hate having to rush out to the store right after a trip,” I said.

  “It was very thoughtful of you, dear,” Burt said.

  If he knew the truth, Burt would be calling me something other than thoughtful.

  Thankfully, Awesome walked in the door. “Everyone okay?”

  We all nodded.

  “Except for the fact a yeti was in here when we got home,” Flossie said.

  Burt shook his head. “It was a hunchback.”

  Awesome looked over at Stella and me, eyebrows up, but we just shrugged.

  “Have either of you seen anyone strange hanging around?” Awesome asked us.

  “Not me,” Stella said.

  Here was my chance. “Two guys came to look at the vacant apartment yesterday. Maybe they were casing the place.” If there was such a thing as karma, I was piling up trouble to rain down on my head at some point in the future. I’d thrown those poor guys under the bus for no good reason.

  “Do you have their names?” Awesome asked Stella.

  “Not really. I think the one who called said his name was Drake.”

  “They called each other ‘dude’ while they were here.” Sarah Winston, now playing the role of Miss Helpful. I was starting to hate myself. “But neither of them was tall enough to be a yeti and they weren’t hunchbacks.” Trying to balance the scales of karma by deflecting suspicion from them, I almost hung my head in shame.

  “Was anything taken?” Awesome asked.

  “Nothing,” Flossie said. Awesome asked us a few more questions, which didn’t provide him any more answers. After promising to drive around the
neighborhood looking for a hunchback or yeti, he hugged Stella and left.

  “Do you want me to have the locks changed?” Stella asked the Callahans. “I’ll pay for them.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Flossie said just as Burt said, “It’s not necessary.” They glared at each other.

  “Let me know,” Stella said. We waved and walked out into the hall, closing their door behind us.

  “Wow. They’re a trip,” I said. They hadn’t been around much since I’d moved in. They spent most of their time in Florida and a lot of time in Vermont with their daughter.

  “They are, but since they’re hardly ever here, it’s not that bad.” Stella shook her head. “Half the time, we have two cops in the building. Figures this happens when they aren’t around.”

  Thank heavens it had happened when they weren’t around. I wondered where Luke had gone. He’d told me he had to work today, but I had no idea where. I started up the stairs. “See you later, Stella.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “It has,” Stella said. I didn’t hear her go back into her apartment until after I got to the landing. Intuitive friends were a pain.

  * * *

  By ten, I’d showered, dressed, and formulated a plan. I needed help and decided Mike “The Big Cheese” Titone was just the man for the job. I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend, but he’d helped me out of a jam in February. Mike had a reputation that often went with being an Italian in the North End of Boston. I wondered about the crazy things I’d read on the Internet about him. I mean, really, who would put a piece of cheese on someone’s doorstep as a threat? It wasn’t exactly a horse head in a bed. Or maybe I ignored those things when I needed him. I hoped Mike would stash Luke someplace for a few days. Although, the last time he’d helped, it had come with a heavy price—a promise that I’d never tell anyone he’d helped me. I couldn’t tell CJ, especially not CJ. But trying to hide Luke in Ellington was too stressful.