I Know What You Bid Last Summer

by Sherry Harris

  “Did anything stand out about it, Sarah?” Pellner asked.

  “Just that it was an older one. Leather loop strap at the top, bamboo pole, leather and bamboo basket. They are nothing like the poles people use today.”

  Ramirez stood. “Thank you for the information.”

  The rest of us stood, too.

  “Are you going to check it out?” I asked.

  Pellner looked at Ramirez, who scrunched his eyebrows together.

  “Of course we will,” Pellner said.

  Ramirez didn’t look too happy about that.

  * * *

  It was almost eight by the time Stella and I sat across from each other at a table at Lucina’s in Bedford. We kept giggling every time we looked at each other. Stella had on a pale blond wig that really didn’t go with her Mediterranean skin tone. I wore one that was a brown bob, and it reminded me of the one Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman. We both had on false eyelashes and more makeup than either of us usually wore. All I needed was a miniskirt and a halter top to look like a hooker.

  I held my menu up so I couldn’t see Stella, but it didn’t help. My shoulders shook with repressed laughter. I had to calm down, or the gig would be up before I even had a chance to order. The last thing we needed was to call attention to ourselves. I did some deep calming breaths before peeking over the menu.

  We grinned at each other but managed to bury the mirth. A woman came to take our order.

  “Which do you like better, the lasagna or the chicken piccata?” I asked her. This was another attempt to throw everyone off the scent. Lasagna was the special tonight, so there shouldn’t be any chance of them running out.

  “They’re both really good.” She said it in a bored tone that made me think she’d been asked questions like this a hundred times and wished people would stop asking it. “But I like the piccata,” she said.

  Darn it. Now what?

  “I want the piccata,” Stella said. “You get the lasagna and we can share.”

  Stella to the rescue. “Perfect,” I said, smiling up at the waitress as I handed her back my menu. “I’d also like a glass of the Chianti.”

  “One for me, too, please,” Stella said.

  The waitress nodded as she walked off.

  We waited and waited and waited. Another waitress finally showed up with two glasses of Chianti and a plate of calamari, which she set down between us.

  “We didn’t order this,” I said.

  “It’s on the house. Our apologies for the mix-up.”

  “What mix-up?” Stella asked.

  The waitress glanced toward the back of the restaurant. I craned my neck to see what she was looking at, but didn’t spot anything.

  “We don’t have any lasagna tonight.” She avoided eye contact.

  My eyebrows shot up. This couldn’t be a coincidence. “But the specials board and the specials list in the menu say tonight is lasagna night.”

  The waitress glanced toward the back again. “It’s a misprint.”

  “But it’s on your Web site,” Stella said. She looked astonished.

  “It is?” The waitress cleared her throat.

  I took pity on her. None of this was her fault. “I’ll have the shrimp fra diavolo.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’ll put a rush in on that.” She hurried away so quickly that she tripped over her own feet.

  “Do you want to go?” Stella sounded steamed. “I can’t believe we’re being treated like this.”

  “I’m hungry. It’s fine.” I picked up a piece of calamari and ate it. The breading was perfect; the calamari succulent. If the rest of the food was as good as this, their lasagna must be wonderful. I felt bad about letting Angelo down, though.

  After we ate, we strolled back toward our parking space. As we passed an alley, I heard a noise that sounded like someone said, “Pssst.”

  I stopped and looked into the dark alley.

  “What are you doing?” Stella asked.

  “I thought I heard something,” I said.

  Stella peered down the alley, too.

  “Down here,” a woman said.

  I still couldn’t see her. I took a step into the alley, but Stella grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t go in there,” she said.

  “I’ve got what you want,” the woman said.

  “What’s that?” My eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and I made out a Dumpster but didn’t see anyone.

  “It’s probably a drug dealer. Let’s go.” Stella tugged on my arm, but I pulled free.

  The woman mumbled something.

  “I couldn’t understand you,” I said.

  “It’s lasagna. From Lucina’s. I was your first waitress.”

  Stella and I looked at each other, mouths open.

  “You stay here, Stella, in case this is some kind of setup. I’m going in.”

  I got my phone out of my purse and turned the flashlight on. I swung it around, and it landed on a woman just beyond the Dumpster. She was holding a white plastic bag with the Lucina’s logo on it.

  I trotted over to her.

  “I don’t know why they didn’t want you to have this, and I don’t care.” The woman frowned. “If a customer asks for a dish and it’s on the menu, they should get it.” She shoved the bag at me.

  “Will you get in trouble?” I asked.

  “No. They gave us all some so it wouldn’t go to waste.” She turned and hurried away.

  I walked back to Stella, shaking my head.

  Stella just stared at me. “Evenings are never boring with you. And can we take these wigs off now? My head is itching like crazy.”

  I laughed as we both pulled off the wigs and shook out our hair. “I’m not eating any lasagna anytime soon.”

  “How do you think they got onto us?” Stella asked.

  I raised my shoulders and dropped them. “No idea.”

  * * *

  As I walked over to DiNapoli’s with tonight’s lasagna, my cell phone rang. It was Pellner.

  “We went over to the dealership and found the ski pole.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was surprised that Pellner was telling me any of this. I didn’t want to break the moment by asking the wrong question.

  “Rex denies knowing anything about it. Said that it wasn’t his and that anyone could have put it in his office, which is rarely locked. He has an open-door policy.”

  I stopped at the light on Great Road and waited for it to change. The night air was hot; the church bells rang out the hour. “It was unlocked when I was there,” I admitted grudgingly.

  “He claims someone is trying to frame him.”

  “That’s exactly what Anil said.” I frowned. “But Rex wanted Melba out. Isn’t that motive?”

  “It could be but may not be, either.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this? It’s not like you.” The light changed, and I crossed the street and then turned right to get to DiNapoli’s.

  “Because I was hoping you’d reciprocate if you know something you’re holding back.”

  “I came to you today about the ski pole. I’m obviously sharing information.” I thought about Seth and Mike’s arrangement. But I couldn’t tell him about that.

  “Okay then. But if you think of anything else . . .”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  * * *

  “Sit, sit,” Rosalie said, shooing me over to a table. “We’ll be right there.”

  I sat at the table, which rocked a little when I leaned on it. I frowned and pushed on it. Yes, that was definitely rocking. Maybe tomorrow morning I’d hit some garage sales before I went over to the Longs’ to put the final touches on their garage sale. I’d noticed that during the summer, more and more people were having sales on Friday mornings. Some were being held midweek even. I could look for a table to replace this one. It would be fun, and I needed some fun. This week had been emotionally and physically exhausting. I dug around in my purse, found a measuring tape, did a quick measurem
ent of the table’s dimensions, and typed the information into the notes section of my phone.

  I handed off the latest and last piece of lasagna to the DiNapolis as I filled them in on the evening’s events. Rosalie and Angelo laughed so hard, they wiped tears from their eyes as I described our outfits.

  “You shouldn’t have gone into the alley,” Rosalie scolded. She looked at Angelo. “No more asking favors of Sarah.”

  He put his hands up in the air. “I can’t make my beautiful wife mad.” He crossed his heart. “No more.”

  “Don’t be silly. It was fun and took my mind off things.”

  “Let’s heat this up and see how it tastes,” Angelo said. He took the lasagna to the kitchen and put it in the oven.

  “How are you doing?” Rosalie asked.

  “I feel like someone gave me a bunch of pieces to a jigsaw puzzle, and that if I could fit them together in just the right way, I’d have the whole picture.” Sadly, it would be one of someone plunging a ski pole into Melba. “But I’ve never particularly liked jigsaws. Maybe I’m too impatient.”

  “Maybe we can help,” Angelo said. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”

  What could I say that didn’t give away what Seth and Mike had told me? “It all seems to go back to the swap.”

  “It does,” Rosalie said.

  “Someone tried to make it look like Anil was selling stuff that was stolen from the swap,” I said.

  Angelo and Rosalie both nodded.

  “They planned to kill Melba but needed to make it look like someone else did it. Anil told me that Melba called him in the middle of the night, asking for him to meet her at the gym. And that it wasn’t the first time she’d asked for a middle-of-the-night meeting.”

  Rosalie shook her head. “Melba always loved cloak-and-dagger stuff. Movies, books. I think she fancied herself a spy.”

  “Pfft,” Angelo said. “I think she was a lonely woman with a type A personality who worked late at night. She didn’t think about other people having lives.”

  “Maybe it’s a bit of both,” I said. I didn’t want them to get into an argument over the situation. “I’m going to just throw out a couple of theories, and tell me if they ring true.” I took a deep breath. “The police probably notified Melba about the attack on me and the robbery.”

  “That sounds plausible,” Angelo said.

  “She can’t go back to sleep and decides to go over to the gym to see for herself what happened.” I looked at both of them, and they nodded their agreement. “While she’s there, she notices something is off and calls Anil to come take a look.”

  Rosalie shrugged. “It works for me.”

  “But here’s an alternate thought. Someone was using the swap to cover something else up. They went over to take care of it. I was a complication, and Melba ended up being one, too.” It made me feel very lucky to be alive.

  The timer binged, and Angelo got the lasagna from the oven. He brought it to the table with three forks. We all dug in. I went back for second and third bites. So did Rosalie.

  “It’s not bad,” I said.

  “Probably was better when it was fresh from the oven,” Rosalie added as she took another bite.

  Angelo frowned and ate some more, too. “It’s okay.”

  “Maybe we’re all just really hungry,” I said. Although I wasn’t that hungry, because I’d already eaten a big dinner at Lucina’s.

  “That must be it,” Rosalie said as she scooped up another bite.

  “Have you had any spies from your competitors come in?” I asked.

  “We think so,” Rosalie said.

  “But we outsmarted them. We don’t have lasagna on the menu,” Angelo said with a grin.

  “We don’t have it that often, anyway. Only as a special,” Rosalie said.

  “And I changed my marinara sauce for our other dishes. This week only,” Angelo said. “That way if someone tries the chicken Parmesan, the sauce won’t taste the same as at the bake-off.”

  Rosalie tried to cover a yawn.

  I stood up. “Thanks for listening.”

  “It sounds like you are on the right track,” Angelo said. “Watch your back.”

  That was what I had said to Anil a few days ago. “I will.”

  Chapter 29

  Friday morning at eight-twenty I parked my Suburban in the parking lot of a mostly vacant office building right outside the gate of Fitch Air Force Base. The sun warmed the back of my Boston Red Sox T-shirt and my shorts when I got out of the car to wait for Eleanor. Dressing down was one of my rules for going to garage sales. No one wanted to bargain with someone who was decked out and dripping in jewels. Eleanor pulled up seconds later. Instead of sponsoring me on base, we had agreed to meet here.

  “Thanks for letting me know about all the garage sales on base today,” I said as I slid into the front seat of her Mini Cooper. I handed her one of the two cups of coffee I’d picked up at Dunkin’s. There was a Dunkin’s on base, at the base exchange, but the line was usually longer and less efficient than the one at the Dunkin’s in town.

  “You’re welcome. A bunch of people got together and decided to give Friday mornings a try. It worked for the February Blues sale you ran.”

  “Yep. More people on base means more buyers.” Fitch Air Force Base employed a lot of people. Most of those people didn’t live on base, so the base was a lot quieter on weekends.

  Eleanor pulled up to the guard at the gate and showed him her military ID. She was considered a dependent since her husband was active duty, and her ID looked different than his. Some days they did 100 percent ID checks, and then I’d have to show some form of ID. Some days the dogs were out sniffing cars for drugs or bombs. Today wasn’t one of those days, so we sailed right onto base. It was an acceptable and legal means of getting on base. And sometimes, such as with spur-of-the-moment trips, it was more convenient than filling out all the paperwork. Eleanor was responsible for me while I was here. If I did something wrong, I could be barred from returning. But all I was planning on doing was find a bargain or two.

  We drove to one of the older housing areas first. For the most part, enlisted and officer housing was separated. It seemed archaic to me but had to do with chains of command and people following orders. Eleanor parked on a steep hill, and we walked toward the first garage sale. Kids rode bikes and tossed balls, and screams of joy came from a tot lot across the street. Moms and the occasional dad gossiped on corners.

  I had to admit that I missed the sense of community I had when I lived on base. Even with all the people rotating in and out, it was easy to make friends, because everyone was in the same boat. In a new place, where they knew no one and had to start over again. I’d been lucky to establish my own small community in Ellington, but it was definitely smaller than the ones I had on the various bases CJ and I had lived on.

  The first two places we stopped had lots of kids’ clothes and toys. Nothing I was interested in, but Eleanor picked up some things for her sister’s kids. Eleanor didn’t even try to negotiate a better price.

  “Um, Eleanor. That’s not how garage sales are supposed to work,” I said as we walked up the hill to the next sale.

  “What are you talking about?” Her big brown eyes were wide.

  “Ask for a better price.”

  “But it was already a good price,” Eleanor said. “Have you seen how much toys cost at the store?”

  I laughed. It was hard to argue with that.

  We stopped at a house that had a table out that might work for the DiNapolis. I gave it a shake. It rattled like a skeleton, so I flipped it over. I could fix most things with carpenter’s glue and bolts. But the wooden legs had splits in them. There was no way to fix that without buying new legs, which would be more work and money than this table was worth.

  “Oh, look at this,” Eleanor said. I walked over to find her holding a bee figurine on a spring, so the bee bobbed around. It had a happy expression that reminded me of Eleanor.

  “It
’s cute,” I said. “How much?”

  “Fifty cents. It’s a bargain.”

  I took the bee from her and approached the man watching over the sale. “Will you take a quarter for this?” I asked.

  He frowned. “It’s only fifty cents.”

  “Everyone wants a bargain,” I said.

  “It is a bargain. Look, the sticker’s still on the bottom. It cost five dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

  A non-bargainer. Garage sale goers didn’t like that.

  “I’ll take it,” Eleanor said. She whipped out a one and handed it to him. “Keep the change.”

  I laughed. “Paying more than they asked? You are never going to live that down.”

  We walked back down the hill to Eleanor’s Mini. She carefully placed the bee and the things for her sister’s kids on the floor behind her seat. “Let’s head over to the other side of base.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  It took only a few minutes to get from one side of base to the other. It would be less if any of the roads we traveled had a speed limit higher than twenty-five. We cruised along at just below twenty-five. Speeding on a base was never a good idea. If you got caught speeding too many times, you could get your base driving privileges taken away.

  We parked in front of a sale with lots of tables crammed with stuff. It didn’t look that well organized, but the number of items was impressive. Sometimes these kinds of sales were the most fun, because you could find buried treasure. As we approached, I realized a lot of the stuff was sports equipment. I strolled around the sale. Everything looked clean, although some things had been thrown on tarps on the ground. That was a last-resort move, in my book.

  Finally, I saw a table that looked like a good possibility for DiNapoli’s. I shook it, and it seemed fairly sturdy. I looked underneath. This one I could fix. After measuring the table, I called to one of the people running the sale. There wasn’t a price on the table.

  “How much do you want for this?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. How about fifty?”

  I usually priced everything at sales. If you didn’t, you came off sounding hesitant, like this person. The hesitant person was the best person to bargain with.