“Please do! If you follow the newspaper trail, you should know their ads for these kinds of sales aren’t necessarily under one heading in the classifieds.”
“What does that mean exactly?” the detective asked.
“Some are listed under ‘Estate Sales,’ some under ‘Moving Sales,’ or ‘Household Goods’ or ‘Garage Sales.’ The rob... that is,” she corrected, “burglary connection could surface under any of those headings. You might want to check the Washington Times as well as the Post.” Then frowning, she remembered, “I almost forgot, this Saturday my daughters are holding a garage sale at my own house. But wait, they won’t need me for that, so we can still follow your plan.”
“Here, please write down your address and phone number and what time should I arrive on Saturday?”
She did. “I get an early start so please be there by 8 a.m. or I’ll already be under way!”
“Not a problem, Ma’am. And thank you for coming in with your information.”
“You’re welcome. Nice to meet you, Detective Iverson,” she smiled and shook his hand before leaving the office. “See you Saturday,” she called over her shoulder.
The detective knew police don’t routinely release to newspapers the addresses of victims of burglaries, but in this situation increased protection from the Neighborhood Watch’s high alert justified the temporary decision to do so. If Mrs. Shannon’s tip resulted from that choice, it was a good one.
After she left, he ran her name through his computer. With the only blemish a speeding ticket four years ago, he viewed her police record as a virtual zero. Next, he flipped through his Rolodex, picked up the phone and dialed his contact at The Washington Post to get a list of their relevant ads for the last six months. The Washington Times would be next.
CHAPTER 9
The daughters masterminding the Saturday garage sale in the Shannon driveway stayed overnight on Friday, ready for a very early start the next morning. Up at 6:30 a.m., they wolfed down breakfast and bustled to their pre-sale tasks. Earlier, Jennifer priced her own contributions for the sale, items the girls promised to peddle in her absence.
She told her family about her visit to the police station, so when Detective Iverson rang the doorbell at 7:45 a.m. and introduced himself, Jason promptly invited him inside.
“Some news,” the detective volunteered when Jennifer joined them in the foyer. “We found two more hits from those notebook pages of yours that we copied. This looks like a connection we hadn’t considered until you pointed it out. Good work!”
“The same to you for following through,” she said. “You don’t waste much time, do you?”
“I try not to, Ma’am. I see a sale set up in your driveway. Could that be my first garage sale experience?”
She glanced at her watch. This meant getting a late start for the other sales, but catching a real criminal overrode catching a first look. “Of course,” she agreed. “Good idea!”
Iverson cautioned, “Outdoors let’s not say much about why I’m here. A garage sale is a public place. I assume your family already knows about me but we don’t know who else might be listening. Maybe the very person we’re trying to find… or one of his associates.”
Jennifer nodded understanding. Walking the detective along the driveway’s merchandise-covered tables, she introduced him to her daughters. They hurried about putting final touches on their displays, erecting signs at the head of the cul-de-sac, moving attention-getting furniture toward the front sidewalk and arranging a jewelry display on the “check out” table. But the novelty of a detective on the premises distracted them from their work long enough to make him feel welcome. Before they could object, he graciously moved several pieces of furniture for them and was rewarded with a donut in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.
Though scheduled to begin at 9 a.m., these sales invariably drew early-birds, who began arriving today at 7 a.m.. Jennifer knew dealers often scoured better neighborhoods for under-priced antiques and “collectibles” to resell in their stores at healthy markups. Besides professional or amateur antique hunters, other early-birds typically searched for certain specifics: military paraphernalia, cameras, certain kinds of glassware or china, old books or records, photography equipment, tools, postcards, cigar boxes or whatever fueled their passion.
Jennifer handed the detective a copy of her proposed morning “itinerary,” grouping prospective sales by neighborhood and numbered in the order she expected to reach them. When Hannah returned from positioning signs at nearby intersections and pulled her mother aside briefly to whisper in her ear, Jennifer answered, “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
Walking to where Iverson stood by his car, Jennifer said, “Um, two more things, Detective. First, if we stumble upon an Unadvertised Special not already on my list, I may stop rather suddenly, so please watch my turn signals.”
“Ma’am, I’m a cop! I have a pretty fair idea how to follow a car. And what’s second?”
“One of my daughters asks to ride along with me today,” and as the 20-year-old girl approached them, Jennifer said, “Hannah, this is Detective Iverson.”
“Hello, Hannah!” He stared with immediate interest at the brown-eyed girl with shoulder-length hair almost the same honey-color as her mother’s. This daughter wasn’t in the driveway earlier with the others. Thinking fast, Adam said, “How would you like to improve my cover today by riding to the first sale in my car?”
“Well, I…I guess that’s okay,” she agreed somewhat reluctantly, and he helped her into his car.
No, Jennifer thought as she climbed into her own van. No, he doesn’t waste much time!
***
Ten minutes later, after both their cars parked at the first sale on the list, Jennifer strolled up the driveway, chatty as usual. “Hello,” she began, “You’re so well organized; did you own a store.”
“Didn’t own one,” said the lady-seller, “but I spent many years working retail.”
“Oh? Where?”
“Penney’s, Sears and Montgomery Ward. My husband was in the service so I stuck with the big chains likely to have stores wherever we were stationed. That way I complemented his career with one of my own, and in the service the double income helped.”
A large black Labrador scampered excitedly around the side of the house, galloping straight for Jennifer. She froze rigid, a hand at her throat and her eyes widened in panic as they riveted upon the black streak closing in upon her.
“My god, what’s wrong?” cried Seller with obvious concern.
“I...I’m afraid of dogs,” Jennifer stammered in a high voice choked with fright. “Sorry, but… if you have the fear, it’s real.”
“Baron,” shouted Seller seconds before the dog reached Jennifer. “Into the house this minute!” The dog jerked to a stop, head hung in disappointment. With reluctance, he walked toward the opened kitchen door. He cast a last, long appraising look at Jennifer before disappearing inside.
Was it just superstition or could they smell fear?
“Forgive me,” Jennifer apologized, breathing deeply to calm herself, “but dogs are territorial and can get upset about strangers on their turf. Even the cute little ones have a full set of teeth.”
This amused Dog Owner. “My fault,” she apologized. “He shouldn’t have been out here today.”
“Thanks for your understanding!” Jennifer calmed enough to change the subject. “With the beautiful weather this morning, bet you’ve had a lot of customers.”
“You wouldn’t believe it. Our ad said 8:30 a.m. but the early birds began at 6:30 a.m.. Waking up to the chiming doorbell surprised us, but luckily we organized everything yesterday. So we just threw on our clothes and started the sale two hours early.”
“Good for you.” Jennifer glanced about for Regulars while scoping the sale merchandise.
Over the years, she’d made some amazing purchases, not just for her own house but for her family and even for friends. Once she took an “order,” su
ccess was usually only a matter of time! And they “shopped” risk-free because if they didn’t like what she brought, she fielded it later at a consignment shop or a future garage sale of her own. The four-slice toaster requested by a neighbor was such an example.
Daughter Kaela asked her to look for a room divider and here stood a four-panel folding screen in mint condition. It exactly matched Kaela’s description and price range: “natural wicker, tall and the Victorian curlicue style for $50 or less.” So handsome was it that she momentarily tried to craft a spot for it in her own house. “What’s the price for this?”
“How about $50? Actually, it’s probably one-of-a-kind. We brought it back from our tour in Hawaii and even there, I bought it at a military thrift shop for that price ten years ago.” Dog Owner ran a hand over the wicker. “It’s in perfect shape and they’re hard to find now.”
Jennifer examined the hinges and made sure the screen unfolded smoothly and stood level. Satisfied, she thought it well worth the money but remembered to bargain, especially acting as Kaela’s “broker.” “Would you take any less?”
“Not now, because I think it’s fairly priced. But you might stop back at 4 o’clock when the sale ends. If it’s still here then, I could negotiate.”
Other buyers arrived and Jennifer didn’t want to lose this screen. “You drive a hard bargain,” she smiled, “but I’ll take it. Will you please hold it for me while I look at the rest of your sale?”
Dog Owner nodded and taped a “sold” sign on the screen as Jennifer moved among the furniture and tables of doo-dads while keeping a peripheral eye out for the Regulars.
Having accompanied her mother to many past sales, Hannah schooled the detective in shopping for used items.
He asked, “Is all this second-hand stuff really usable?”
“Buyer beware.” She repeated her mother’s counsel. “Especially if it’s electric or battery operated. Don’t accept what the seller says; try it out yourself. With clothes or rugs or linens like bedspreads or table cloths, inspect every inch. For lamps and other electric appliances, cord condition is a potential safety issue unless you know how to replace it yourself.”
“Hey,” Iverson exclaimed, “I’ve always wanted one of these.” He studied a tie rack which, when screwed into the wall, held at least twenty ties. “Couldn’t belts hang on these hooks, too?”
“Why not? How much is it?”
“The tag says $2. Luckily, I’ve been saving up!” They laughed. He tucked the item under his arm and they shopped further.
“And here’s a treasure for me,” cried Hannah, picking up a book of poems.
“Do you like poetry?” he asked.
“Yes,” she read the sign over the pile of books, “especially at fifty cents a book.”
“This could become habit-forming,” he said.
“Detective Iverson…” she began.
“Please call me Adam.”
“Is that your real name or an undercover alias?”
“Nosy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I’m not even the detective,” she teased and they laughed again.
Jennifer hefted the folded screen toward her car. “No Regulars here.
Ready for the next sale?”
“As soon as we make our purchases,” Hannah said.
“If you get lost, remember we have cell phones to reconnect,” Jennifer said.
According to Jennifer’s notebook, the next stop on their itinerary would be an estate sale put on by professionals. She drove to this location, watching in her rearview mirror for the detective’s car to follow and realized she was somewhat annoyed not to see it behind her. After all, wasn’t this police business? Maybe he just wasn’t a very dedicated cop. Maybe he didn’t share Jennifer’s own urgency for cramming as many sales as possible into whatever time she allotted. Maybe Hannah’s banter distracted him from his professional focus.
Or maybe something else?
CHAPTER 10
At last, Jennifer saw Iverson’s car pulling onto the road to follow her as she drove down Balls Hill Road toward Georgetown Pike. When she parked at the next destination, they were right behind her. She hurried up the sidewalk toward the sale while the detective and Hannah strolled leisurely behind her. Before entering the front door, she glanced back to see them laughing and pointing to something in one of the enormous old trees shading the house.
Once through the door, Jennifer found herself in a serious house: easily 15,000+ square feet with gray stone facing, a jumbled custom roof-line including a turret with curved windows, beautifully crafted landscaping and a meticulously groomed lawn. She bet herself that this one sported a handsome pool-patio arrangement in the back yard.
Jennifer and the detective agreed to conceal their connection while at sales. She’d use a hand signal to identify a Regular. Almost immediately she saw the Englishman and there was the Yugoslavian, as usual, concentrating on clocks, watches and cameras, but still investigating every room. Seeing Iverson enter the huge, high-ceilinged, marble-tiled foyer, Jennifer signaled him, identifying both men. Exciting, playing spies!
Staying close in this mansion was impossible. Besides, Iverson left periodically to follow Regulars outside to their vehicles! Jennifer thought Adam appeared more attentive to his non-stop conversation with Hannah than to his police assignment. Or was this truly part of his cover? As they all moved further into the large house, she decided to roam about looking at the merchandise and find him only if she spotted another Regular.
Touring the home at an estate sale always intrigued Jennifer. With far deeper exposure than a docent-led tour of a famous person’s house, these sales gave one the cupboards-open run of a complete stranger’s home: the books they read, the movies they collected, the music they liked, the art they selected, the china and silver they used and even the clothes and shoes they wore. Open pantries housed the spices and foods that sustained them, kitchens held the pans they cooked with and bathrooms stood wide to reveal their cosmetics, soaps and vitamins. This inside peek at another’s life story intrigued Jennifer. Equally fascinating was the chapter explaining their departure, which resulted in the sale itself.
During her own major household moves, each new empty house seemed a canvas inviting her artistry. These owners followed the same route, as their decorating solutions revealed, but unlike traditional house or museum tours, if you admired an original item here, you could buy it!
Wandering into the wood-paneled study where floor-to-ceiling book shelves lined the walls, she approached the large carved wooden desk to price ornate matching brass accessories for sale on top. Beside the brass-edged blotter-holder stood a brass pencil cup, letter opener and scissor set, double pen stand and the framed photo of a young couple posed in front of a yacht.
The woman in the picture stood in front of a man whose arms encircled her, touching her clasped hands as the camera captured forever this moment in their lives—a charming photo in a frame exactly matching the rest of the most unusual, classy-looking brass desk set. With only weeks until their anniversary, Jennifer wanted an unusual gift for Jason and this functional but handsome grouping would look fabulous on his home or office desk. Priced as a set, the tag read $150. She hesitated only seconds before loading the components into a nearby empty cardboard box.
Buys at these sales, with each item one-of-a-kind, pivoted on swift decision-making. If you left the merchandise for even a few minutes, someone else might scoop it up! No retail store’s stockroom backup or reorder option offered a second chance. Here, if you snooze, you lose.
In their early McLean days with an expensive new house, large family and careful budget, Jennifer hated passing up extraordinary one-time purchases like this one in lieu of the more practical household and children’s necessities relevant then. As with the recent tureen, now she struck when a seductive find surfaced. This freedom heightened her zeal to prowl more sales for more treasures. You had to be in the ballpark to hit a home run!
She looked ar
ound the den. What could she learn about the person who’d spent so many hours here? Like Iverson, she became a detective trying to translate clues into profiles of those they reflected.
The book shelves held both decorative old leather bindings and contemporary fiction. Other than several encyclopedia sets and a surprising number of dictionaries, she saw no law, medical or other professional books hinting at the owner’s occupation.
Wandering back to the desk, she was drawn to two tall stacks of identical brand new books, each titled “Thinking and Writing Creatively” by Professor Gilbert Snowden. She picked up the top copy, turned it over and scanned the blurb on the back cover beneath the author’s photo.
“Gilbert Snowden, professor of English at Georgetown University, is a leading writer and lecturer in North America on the use and role of language, past and present. Popular with his students, this author of six books lives with his wife in McLean, Virginia.”
She studied the photo, comparing it with the framed picture on top of her box: recognizably the same man at a different stage of life. She tucked the top copy of the book into the box with her brass items and climbed the majestic curving staircase.
On the second floor, she perused the bedrooms and baths, decorated with rich colors, elegant fixtures and expensive taste. She made mental notes about the display of art objects, placement of flower arrangements and unique window treatments, any of which she might copy.
After roaming through the many upstairs bedrooms, including a breath-taking master suite, she descended the massive carpeted staircase back to the main floor. A line of buyers clutching their purchases flanked a check-out table near the front door. Throughout the house, Jennifer had noticed “helpers” circulating among the rooms, refolding scattered linens, rearranging silver and china on tables where a recent purchase left a conspicuous void, hovering over jewelry and watching for shoplifters. These busy professionals knew their job!
Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries) Page 6