Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries)
Page 7
Jennifer passed through the formal dining room and into the large kitchen, where a bent old man sat on a corner stool in the adjacent butler’s pantry. She shoved her heavy box onto a counter near him in order to better inspect the kitchen merchandise. “Are you okay?” she asked.
The frail, stooped man nodded affirmatively and resettled himself but didn’t answer.
“Looks like someone here really enjoyed tennis,” she said aloud, fingering the sport-related collection of ashtrays, mugs, trophies and a clock centered in a ceramic tennis racket base.
“Yes, he certainly did,” said the man in a voice surprisingly clear for his aged body.
She looked up. “You?”
“One and the same,” he said, stirring to life.
“So... is this your house then?”
He sighed, “For forty years it was and will be for two weeks more, until July first.”
“And then?”
“And then a new owner will grace these premises.”
“But this is such a magnificent home.” She tried to imagine tearing oneself away from this spectacular setting as she marveled aloud. “Glorious views from every window, the waterfall swimming pool in the back yard... ”
“Lots of life lived here. Children raised here. Good times here. Rich memories here,” he smiled thinly. Observing her questioning look and palms-up hand gesture he continued. “Then why leave? Why indeed,” he sighed again. “There is a time and a season for every purpose,” he began and then paused. “A new season is about to begin for me.”
Curious, Jennifer perched on a stool nearby to give this man her full attention. “A new season?”
“Yes.” He sat quietly long enough that she feared he’d forgotten their conversation. At last, he continued. “Surprising how few sentences describe the years of one’s life.”
“For instance...?” she encouraged.
He continued haltingly, “My wife died of cancer a few months ago. After bravely battling the beast for fifteen years, those last two awful years drained the very essence of her soul. Watching her helplessly, I... the experience nearly snuffed mine, as well.” He stared around the room. “Now, the house is too big, too empty and too quiet. All the beauty we gathered to enrich our life here didn’t halt its recent transformation into a mausoleum.” He drew a labored breath, “The real essence isn’t in what you find left here, it’s in the energy that’s moved on.”
In a wash of insight, Jennifer pictured life’s continuum from birth to death and for the first time recognized her own advanced progress on that path. In twenty years, maybe less, she or Jason would be this person!
“The circle of life,” she mused, adding playfully, “as the Lion King would say!”
But instead of warming to her humor, the hunched man focused intently on his own world of thoughts. “I… I loved her very much,” he croaked, fumbling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his eyes with the soft linen cloth.
Filled with empathy for this well-spoken, dignified old gentleman approaching the end of his years, Jennifer felt tears sting her eyes. He didn’t seem a stranger she’d just met but rather someone with whom she shared some inexplicable connection.
“Forgive my nostalgia, but memories comprise the only genuine value left here,” he rasped.
He looked so fragile and pathetic that Jennifer put her arms around him in a compassionate hug, willing strength to flow from her healthy body into his drooped bony shoulders. He folded his own arms around her and clung tightly, as if his life depended on it.
At last, she pulled back and stared into his rheumy brown eyes as he gave her a weak but sincere smile. She smiled warmth and compassion back at him.
“As they say in the vernacular,” his old eyes twinkled, “thanks, I needed that!”
They both chuckled. Besides his intelligence and articulateness, his photo nestled in her box on the counter reminded her of the handsome fellow this wrinkled man once was.
His wave of nostalgia past, he spoke with a bit more enthusiasm now. “I’m moving to California to be near my daughter and live in a cottage on a vineyard she owns there. My several grandchildren promise to entertain me until I cry for peace, and the bountiful surrounding nature should energize what’s left of my soul. Mark your calendar to think of me there in one month. I will mark mine to think of you! Let’s shake on it.” He extended his bony hand and they did, but afterward he didn’t release her hand.
On impulse she asked, “What made you decide to stay in the house during this sale? You could have gone somewhere else instead of watching your precious belongings disappear one by one.”
“Watching this unravel,” he spoke softly so she had to lean forward to hear him, “... provides needed closure. Seeing it happen helps me believe it and thus accept it.”
She sat back, her eyes moist again with tears. Would she feel this same way when she and Jason finally left their cherished McLean house? What unthinkable future circumstance would trigger that departure?
With the old man’s gnarled hand clinging to hers, they shared a wordless communication. At last she broke the spell and stood.
“Just a minute,” he said as she gathered up the box. “Are these your selections?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“What interested you?” he asked, and she showed him.
He scribbled something quickly on a small notepad and, still brandishing the pen, he asked, “Would you like for me to autograph my book for you?”
Drawing upon what she’d learned while in his library, she smiled, “Well, if you’re the famous Professor Snowden, yes definitely. Would you, please?”
“I am and I would! It’s my great pleasure, Madam, and, you are…?”
She told him her name and handed him the book, which he opened with a flourish before pressing pen to paper. Finished at last, he placed the closed book back into her box. From the pad, he tore off the note written earlier. “Please, take the contents of this box with my grateful compliments. By-pass the check-out line and if stopped, show them this paper.”
“Why, thank you kindly, Professor, but this isn’t necessary.” She touched his shoulder. “Meeting you is already the high point of my day! Great happiness to you in your new life!”
“And happiness to you also, my dear! My life has been grand and yours is… charmed.”
Confusion played across her face. “Charmed?”
“Yes, you’ll see. Perhaps you think I’m a rambling old coot, and actually you’d be right about that too,” he chuckled at his own humor, “but sometimes one well advanced in years learns during that sojourn to observe and to detect… forces not everyone sees.”
“You mean, like gravity or electricity?”
“Yes, but instead I refer to the electrical energy people radiate. Some call it ‘auras’, though it’s more than that. Yours is... ” He shook his head as if to get a clearer picture. Then his expression sobered, as if he just understood something very important. Putting a gnarled hand on her arm and looking straight into her eyes, he spoke with surprising intensity. “Remember our date one month from today! Remember…”
“You can count on it.” She hugged him good-bye; his thin arms encircled her once again, capable of more strength than she expected. Or was it desperation?
“Farewell, dear Lady,” he managed and then, as if an urgent last thought revealed itself to him, “Be careful. Be very careful!”
“You too, kind Sir,” she replied. His eyes followed her every move as she slipped quietly out of the room, turning at the doorway to wave one last time.
Who would believe this encounter if she described it? Frankly, she didn’t understand it herself. What did he mean about auras? Long before receiving Tina’s frog, Jennifer felt luck in her life—great health, a good mind, a rewarding marriage, bright children, financial comfort and living the good life in a land of opportunity. But “charmed”? And why the warning to be “very careful”? Was the old professor more eccentric than prescient?
While waiting for the detective and Hannah to reappear, she opened the professor’s book. On the blank opening page she read his handsome handwriting:
“To Jennifer Shannon,
Rudyard Kipling wrote, ‘Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.’ But then, he had not experienced your hug.
With gratitude, Gilbert Snowden”
CHAPTER 11
Hannah’s tap on the car window jerked Jennifer as she said, “Mom, how about just one more sale so Adam can run the license numbers at his office? Then shouldn’t we get back to see what’s happening in our own driveway?”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Hannah.
Iverson asked, “Which of these addresses left on your list do you suggest for the last one today?”
“We want to find Regulars,” she considered. “Where might they be? Let’s try this one.” She tapped Number 7 on her itinerary. “Hannah, would you like to ride with me this time?”
Iverson interrupted, “Um, actually she’s teaching me important things I need to understand about these sales. Why doesn’t she continue with me to this last one?”
Looking for and getting positive confirmation from her daughter, Jennifer nodded and sped off.
So, it’s “Adam,” is it?
Jennifer arrived first at their next stop. “Moving sale” could mean one household member moving out or everyone leaving or even a moving-in sale. “Everything must go” usually translated to, “Everything-we’re-not-taking-with-us must go.” With a closed garage and empty yard, she wouldn’t know until inside. This upscale address in the Evermay development drew a big turnout today, judging from the number of cars parked around the house.
As Jennifer climbed out of her van, an idea popped into her head. She grabbed the cell phone from her car charger and stuffed it into her pocket.
The detective’s vehicle nosed into a nearby parking spot just as she opened her van door. Assuming they’d be right on her heels, she paused to hold the front door of the house open for them until she realized they still sat in the car, talking.
Once inside, Jennifer learned the home’s entire contents were indeed for sale. The first bedroom contained linens, many with original price tags attached. Recognizing a long-time Regular, Jennifer watched the Duchess examining the table cloths and impulsively implemented her plan. Raising her cell phone Jennifer said loudly, “Excuse me.” When the Duchess looked up to see who spoke, Jennifer took her picture.
“Oh, sorry.” She invented a quick alibi. “I was trying to get a shot of the... er, lamp behind you.”
Duchess frowned annoyance but resumed her quest.
The similarly crammed second bedroom held elaborate Christmas décor and more furniture. Fur jackets, coats and clothes hung in the open closet.
Then Jennifer visited the master bedroom, roomy and beautifully decorated with a gorgeous comforter set on the bed, lamps, statuary and elaborate furniture. The walk-in closet housed pricey ladies clothes, hats and shoes, most in their original boxes.
Some lucky little lady occupied the next room, straight from Better Homes & Gardens: pink and white striped curtains and complementary bed linens, a white canopy bed and matching dresser, mirror and chest, a Victorian doll house, white book shelves displaying toys, games, books, dolls and a white plastic bin overflowing with stuffed animals. Finding a big plastic bag, Jennifer filled it with small horses and riders plus fences, corral, barn and other equestrian accessories to become an under-the-pillow-gift for a granddaughter.
Moving to the kitchen, she almost recognized someone but not his straight blond hair. Although nearly disguised with cover-up, the barely visible cheek scar looked like Swordsman’s. But wearing a wig? Why would a guy with curly black hair change to a blond wig and lightened eyebrows except for a costume party? Or was the curly one the wig? She watched him stare at the back yard through the sliding doors, his hand upon the locked handle.
When Hannah and Iverson walked in, she gestured with sign language their need to talk. In the hall, she alerted them to the two Regulars at the sale and described her photo of Duchess. “Do you want one of Swordsman, too?”
Iverson nodded.
“Snapping Duchess was easy but Swordsman could be trickier, so I may need your help.”
Looking again for Swordsman, they checked the dining and living rooms before descending to a thickly carpeted family room with stocked wet bar, fancy pool table in a separate alcove and a home theater arrangement with comfortable reclining chairs and a movie-room television. Everything was priced. On one of the couches sat an oversized, stuffed orange orangutan, and a middle-aged man lounged in an adjacent chair, but no sign of Swordsman. Had he slipped past them to his car?
“What a beautiful home!” Jennifer said to the man in the chair. “Is this entire level finished?”
“No, just the family room, theater area and the exercise and billiard rooms. The utilities and workshop are in the unfinished section through that door. If anything you want isn’t priced, let me know.”
“This place is huge,” Iverson observed, entering the unfinished area where tangles of electrical wires and cables crisscrossed the ceiling. Swordsman stood beneath them, looking up.
They’d found him, but could they get his picture? As Iverson stepped back into the family room, cautiously followed by Swordsman, Jennifer tossed the stuffed orange monkey to the detective, calling, “Here, catch!” Hearing this, everyone in the lower level watched the airborne orangutan sail across the room, deftly caught by Iverson as Jennifer snapped his photo with Swordsman right behind him, looking directly into the camera.
The middle-aged man stood. “I won that handsome beast at the county fair five years ago. At first, he was a glorious memento of my triumph and after that, a very large dust-catcher cluttering the garage. Would you like to buy a prize orangutan?” he asked Jennifer.
“Actually, I would,” she replied, “for one of my Grands who collects monkeys.” Jennifer fingered the price tag as Hannah and Iverson nonchalantly followed Swordsman up the stairs.
Adam whispered, “Hannah, would you follow Duchess to her car and get her license number while I do the same with this guy? Can you do it without her noticing?” Hannah nodded.
Still downstairs, Jennifer read the price tag. “You’re asking $10 for this orange animal? How about $5 if it goes to a really good home where a little girl will give it lots of love?”
“How about a compromise at $7.50?” the man countered.
“Sold,” Jennifer agreed, pulling the cash from her fanny pack. “By the way, I’m just curious and if you don’t mind my asking, clearly you’re moving, but why would anyone leave such a wonderful house in a great neighborhood like this and sell virtually the entire contents?”
The man smiled. “Remember the fairy tales that end with ‘they lived happily ever after’? My wife and I married ten years ago and had a little girl, but we didn’t do the fairy tale bit. In fact, we separated, for four years. She stayed here while I started a new job and a new life up in New York. “Then about a year ago, my wife and I talked about mending fences and we did and now we’re back together again. Our little girl is thrilled about our reconciliation and we’re pretty amazed and excited ourselves. So we’re moving to my upstate New York house and going to do just what the fairy tale promised!” He grinned as if owning the best secret in the world.
“What a wonderful story,” Jennifer said. “I love happy endings. Now, Handsome Prince, make sure that fairy tale ending comes true.”
“Why, you sound a lot like our fairy godmother,” he joked back and waved warmly as she walked up the steps.
Outside, Hannah
held the enormous orangutan as Jennifer unlocked her car. Finally seated inside the vehicle, Jennifer started the motor and pulled into the street, “Will Detective Iverson let us know what he learns when he runs those plates?”
“It’s an active case but he’ll tell us what he can. I’ll e-mail them to him when we get home.”
Jennifer nodded and they drove along in silence a few minutes, before Hannah spoke again, “Mom, don’t you... don’t you think he’s kind of... interesting?”
Keeping her hands tight on the wheel, Jennifer gave her daughter a sidelong look, noticing Hannah’s relaxed expression and wide-eyed stare.
Well, well!
CHAPTER 12
Returning home, Jennifer parked a block from her house to free up plenty of closer parking places for shoppers visiting the sale in her driveway.
“Mom, look how many people are there!” Hannah marveled.
“Mornings are usually busiest. Since we’re parked on the street, let’s lock our own purchases in the car for now,” Jennifer suggested.
“Mom, here’s Adam’s e-mail address.” Hannah handed it to her. “Would you mind sending him the photos while I take my turn as cashier?”
Jennifer nodded her agreement.
Walking up the driveway together, Jennifer asked Kaela. “How’s the sale going, Honey?”
“Amazingly well, so far, Mom! Haven’t added up the other girls’ sales yet but I made nearly $200 and it ’s not even noon! Big crowds of shoppers, and why not: perfect weather, good address, catchy newspaper and Craigs List ads, fifteen signs at nearby intersections, balloons on the mail box and eye-catching furniture near the curb to lure customers.” Kaela turned to answer a customer’s question and then back to her sister. “Ready to cashier awhile, Hannah?”
“Sure, but remind me again how we’re keeping track today. We all wrote our prices on colored sticky labels. Looks like this legend at the top of the page shows blue for Becca, red for you, orange for Bethany, yellow for Mom and the green ones are mine.”