All Murders Final!

by Sherry Harris

  On the bright side I was flattered that three people cared about me in varying degrees. But now seemed as good a time as any to put my moratorium on seeing CJ and Seth back in place. I called Carol. Fortunately, my call went straight to voice mail, so I left her some flimsy excuse about why I was now in the housecleaning business. Then I stumbled into the bathroom, took a long shower, flopped on my bed, and conked out.

  * * *

  Thursday morning I perused my garage sale site as I drank my first cup of coffee and ate a fluffernutter. I considered myself a strong person after all the years of garage sales and hauling things around. But this morning I still ached, and I already hoped that the job today wouldn’t be as bad as yesterday’s. I didn’t know how long I could keep this up.

  Frieda had posted her own cleaning ad. It cost ten dollars more than mine, and she emphasized her twenty years of experience and her triple A rating with the Better Business Bureau. Her “Don’t hire an unknown person” was a direct strike at me. Even though I wasn’t in this for the long haul, I still felt annoyed, not just for myself but for Juanita and all the other hardworking cleaning people out there.

  I decided to drop by Ellie’s Deli, the place where Carol had seen Frieda and Juanita together, on the way to my morning cleaning job. By the time I got to Ellie’s, the work crowd was gone and the moms whose kids were in school had arrived. There was a banner by a corner table that read WE MISS YOU, MARGARET. FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS. It didn’t take a genius to know there was some story here. I just hoped I could find out what it was.

  I ordered chai tea and a scone. If it wasn’t Dunkin’s coffee, I really wasn’t interested. I found a small table and watched Ellie work. I figured when things slowed down, I’d ask her to join me. I was on my second cup of chai, and a “chai high” was kicking in. I’d never figured out if it was the caffeine or the sugar, but when I drank this stuff, I got a boost, one that would have me cleaning like a whirling dervish when I got to my job today. I thumbed through my phone, approving and disapproving various posts for the garage sale site. By the time I finished, there was a lull, and so I went up to Ellie.

  “Do you have a minute?” I asked her. We’d met when she’d catered some breakfasts for Spouses’ Club activities on base.

  Ellie swiveled her head around, taking in the scene. A little smile played over her lips as she observed her domain. “Sure,” she said, turning her “so blue they were almost violet” eyes on me. “Let me grab some coffee. Do you need a refill?”

  “No, thanks.” A third cup of chai would probably have me levitating.

  I sat, and a couple of minutes later, Ellie set a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies on the table before sitting across from me. Her light brown hair was in a tight bun.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I wanted to ask you about Margaret.” I pointed to the sign by the corner table.

  Ellie took a sip of coffee and relaxed into the chair. “Why?”

  I leaned forward. “I’m the one who found both Margaret and Juanita. I’m scared the police are looking at me as a suspect. And a friend told me they saw her here with Frieda Chida and Juanita a couple of weeks ago. I feel like I need to find out what was going on in Margaret’s life. Who might have wanted to kill her.”

  “Frieda and Juanita used to be here together a lot. Thick as thieves.”

  Hmmm. Interesting way of putting it. “When did that change?”

  Ellie thought about it as she munched on one of the cookies. “A few months ago. I’m not even sure when.”

  “I heard they had a fight here the other day.”

  “They weren’t happy with each other. I know that much.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  Ellie reddened. “I don’t like to seem like I eavesdrop on my customers.”

  “Trust me, I understand. You can’t help but overhear things.”

  “Most of it I wish I could un-hear.”

  “Happens to me when I throw garage sales sometimes.”

  “They were arguing about money and who owed whom what. It stuck in my mind because I know Margaret didn’t have money problems.”

  And I knew Frieda did. “That’s odd.”

  “At first I figured it was just about the whole cleaning lady thing. Do you know about that?”

  “Frieda gave me an earful about it. Was that all you heard?”

  Ellie looked around and leaned forward. “Frieda told them they were both liars and cheats.”

  “Both of them?” Maybe this wasn’t some big mystery. Maybe it was just Frieda still being angry about Margaret replacing her with Juanita.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “Ellie?” called one of the women behind the counter. “The modem’s on the blink again.”

  Ellie stood. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’ll have the cookies wrapped for you to take whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks. One more question. Do you know if any of them smoked?”

  “Frieda does. Like a chimney.”

  Chapter 30

  I’d spent a lot of my time cleaning thinking about Margaret, Juanita, and Frieda and focusing on Frieda as the killer. It seemed plausible. She had had an axe to grind with Margaret and Juanita. She had obviously been angry with them. Maybe she’d lied to me about Margaret rehiring her to throw me off. No one could contradict that. But why would she stalk me? All I’d done was let Juanita post an ad. Was that enough to make Frieda go berserk?

  At the end of my second day of cleaning, I was beginning to think my theory that somehow the cleaners were involved in a crime ring was wrong. Maybe I was just overeager, or maybe I needed to post another ad, a more desperate-sounding ad. On top of that, I was already losing faith in humanity. The house was a small cape; the owner a perky, small woman who, if she’d been a dog, would have been a whippet, sleek, energetic, and alert. The place had looked pretty clean, no Sharpie-covered walls. After I’d finished cleaning, she’d asked me to organize the closet in the master for an extra fifty. No problem. Sorting clothes into categories was easy, and everything had gone smoothly, until I reached for a box on the top shelf. The lid had flown off, and I’d got showered with racy clothing and pictures of the owner in them. Yuck. She wore stuff I wouldn’t dream of wearing, let alone owning or being photographed in.

  Even now as I drove to the base to help with the final setup for the February Blues sale, I shuddered at the images I’d seen. Telling her good-bye and accepting money from her had required my best acting skills. I’d channeled my inner Hennessy. The woman had asked me to run a garage sale for her. I wasn’t in a position to turn down business, so of course I’d said yes. I grinned to myself. It might be one of the more interesting ones I’d ever do. Thankfully, tomorrow was a day off from cleaning, and I was back to the fun of running the base sale.

  * * *

  I pulled into the community center parking lot. There was only one other car there, and it wasn’t Laura’s. Where was she? I walked into the community center and hollered hello. No one answered, so I took a few tentative steps and yelled again. James popped out from around the corner, which made me jump.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to keep from scaring you. You must not have heard me yell back.”

  “It’s okay. Where’s Laura?”

  “She’s at some meeting and will be over as soon as she can. I came to help in the meantime.”

  “Great.” It was great, wasn’t it? I didn’t get any creepy vibe from James when I was with him. He was different, yes, but not creepy. “Let’s start hauling the tables out and setting them up. You’re probably stronger than Laura, anyway.”

  Forty-five minutes later all the tables were set and ready to go. Laura walked in. Her timing was so convenient, I wondered if she’d arrived earlier, seen us working, and scurried out. Yeesh. I was becoming cynical.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” But she grinned and didn’t appear all that sorry. Maybe
I was right. She looked at me closely. “You look beat. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Because I promised you I’d stay while people set up their tables.” The room was going to be open for the next two hours so the sellers could arrange their things this evening instead of early tomorrow morning.

  “As long as you give me the list for who has what spot, I can handle it.”

  I hesitated. Food and a bath tempted me.

  “Really,” Laura said, giving me a push toward the door. “I’ve got this.”

  I handed her the list and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

  James walked me to my car. “Want to grab a pizza?” he asked.

  I had to eat, I didn’t want another fluffernutter, and I did want to find out what was going on with James. I liked James but was worried about him. He had always been one of those “the nicest guys you’d ever meet” types. Or at least he had been before his last tour in Afghanistan. Today he was showing his nice side, but lately, I’d seen his harder side, too. I hated to think his deployment had changed him, but he wouldn’t be the first it had happened to or, sadly, the last. So yes, I wanted to have pizza and talk with him. Find out how he was. And I had another reason. I wanted to get to the bottom of these silly concerns about him and being with him in a public place seemed to be the best way.

  “Okay. DiNapoli’s?” I said.

  “Sure. I’ll meet you there.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later we sat across from each other at DiNapoli’s. My being here with James raised a few eyebrows. Okay, a lot of eyebrows. Everyone from Rosalie to Angelo to Ryan to Lois to some of the diners had done a double take when we walked in. I couldn’t exactly shout out that we were just friends. But I had introduced him that way as we ordered a half-pepperoni, half-cheese pizza.

  James deflected my attempts to find out more about his deployment as we drank water and waited for our food. I ended up talking about myself more than I had meant to. When the pizza arrived, we started to eat, and our conversation was more about “Pass the hot peppers and the Parmesan cheese.”

  After my third piece of cheese pizza, I pushed my plate away. “That was good.”

  “Mind if I eat the rest?” James asked.

  I shook my head no, relieved that with whatever was going on, at least he was eating. “Have you heard anything about Margaret’s or Juanita’s murders?” I asked.

  “Is this why you wanted to eat with me?”

  “No.” It wasn’t the only reason. “I wanted to see how you were doing, but you aren’t talking.”

  “Since the victims have nothing to do with base, I haven’t heard much.”

  I was disappointed. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “But I saw on the garage sale site, you started a cleaning business.” James watched me intently.

  I tried my best not to squirm. “I needed the extra money. There aren’t a lot of garage sales in New England in the winter. The garage sale site takes a lot of time and produces very little income.”

  “Do you want to come clean my place?”

  I laughed. “You live in one room in the dorm on base.” Single enlisted troops could live in dorms on base for far less than they could out on the economy or, as civilians would say, in town.

  “Not anymore. I moved off base a few weeks ago, to an apartment not too far from here.”

  Well, this was awkward. I hadn’t thought about someone I knew asking me to clean for them. And beyond being awkward, James lived in town now. Which meant he’d could have been around, taking pictures a lot more easily, but I still didn’t want to believe James could be my stalker. “I’m pretty booked right now.” It sounded like a lie, and judging by the frown on James’s face, he thought so, too.

  “Did you stop to think it might look like you killed your rival and then took over her business?”

  Oh, no. I’d never dreamed anyone would think that, but if James did, others might. By trying to draw out the killer, I’d just completely screwed myself. “You know that isn’t true.”

  “I know that, but the state police might not.”

  Chapter 31

  After a restless night’s sleep, and having no solid answers either way about James, I roamed around the community center at eight in the morning. The sale would start in an hour. Tables lined the outside walls, and there was another square of them in the middle of the room, allowing just enough space to maneuver around everything. Laura and I were the only ones here. She’d helped me set up my table. We had eaten the donuts I’d brought along, and now we sipped coffee as we walked around the room.

  “Laura, look at this bench.” The curved arms of the bench were upholstered in burgundy leather that had cracked in several places. The seat was burgundy velvet, which I suspected was added later. I tipped the bench over and saw that the thin cheesecloth-like fabric covering the bottom was still intact. I stuck my nose as close as possible to the bench and sniffed. It smelled fine. I was leery when things smelled of air freshener or Febreze.

  “Where would you put it?” Laura asked when I stood back up.

  “It would just fit at the end of my bed.” Where it would really look beautiful was in Seth’s bedroom in his house in Bedford. The previous owners had turned the attic into a spacious master. I blushed a little as I thought about that. I’d done some decorating for him, and he’d asked me to do more, but with the moratorium on seeing him, I hadn’t. Although I’d broken that well and good more than once recently. “I’d have to re-cover it, but you don’t see these every day.”

  “The carving along the bottom and on the legs is beautiful.”

  “I told myself I could spend fifty dollars today.” Even though I wasn’t in desperate straits financially, I tried to watch my spending. It was kind of like going to a casino with a set budget and quitting when you hit your limit. But unlike from a casino, I usually walked away from my bargain hunting expeditions with something that delighted me.

  “There’s no price on it,” Laura said.

  “I’ll watch and make them an offer as soon as they come in.”

  Half an hour later a couple showed up and stood behind the table with the bench. I rushed over and realized I was breaking my own rule about trying to act casual to get a better deal. “I love your bench.” Yikes. What was with me this morning? I seemed to have lost all my bargaining skills.

  The couple exchanged a glance. “It’s not in very good shape.”

  Oh, be still, my heart. They didn’t realize how hard it was to find a bench like this. I had been looking for a long time and knew it was worth several hundred dollars, even in its current condition. “I know. I’d have to have it reupholstered. And I’m not sure I want to put that kind of money into it.” I hoped they bought my story. “What are you asking for it?”

  “Two hundred.”

  My heart dropped. That was way out of my price range. “Thanks, anyway.” I turned.

  “You can make us an offer,” the man said, with a quick glance at his wife.

  Yeesh. I should have done that automatically. “Would you take fifty? Since it’s going to require a lot of work?”

  The woman shook her head and shot a “Don’t say yes” look at her husband. From the looks of things, he was lucky to escape with a look and not a swift kick. “One-fifty. It does need work, but we’ve priced it with that in mind,” the woman said.

  “I can’t. Fifty’s my limit today.”

  “If it lasts through the day, we’ll consider it,” the man said.

  I smiled. “Thanks. I don’t think it will.”

  “I don’t, either,” the woman said.

  I hated losing out but brightened at the thought that if I sold enough today, maybe I could buy it. I put some finishing touches on the things on my table. I found a plug, so the blue and white lamp glowed. I arranged the atomic starburst dishes, and I gave the small end table a final dusting. After making sure everything looked as good as it could, I waited for the doors to open.

  The crow
ds were great, and I was so busy selling items that when my stomach rumbled, I was surprised to see it was 12:30 p.m. Since there seemed to be a lull, I ate the fluffernutter sandwich I’d brought with me. Just as I swallowed the last deliciously sticky bite, Ryan from DiNapoli’s walked in.

  “Ryan, hi.” I reached over the table and gave him a little hug. “You look nice today.” He had on a collared dress shirt and dark slacks. A wool overcoat was folded over his arm.

  “Thanks. I don’t always wear my work clothes.”

  “You made it,” I said.

  “A friend of mine brought me. We did a tour in the air force together years ago. It wasn’t for me. They sent me to a small town in New Mexico, and I thought I’d never leave that place. Have you ever been there? It’s so . . . so . . . different.” He smiled, and we both laughed. “Although, I guess I should have stayed in. My buddy has done well, and I’m still working at DiNapoli’s.”

  “I thought you liked it there. Angelo would be lost without you. He says you can fix anything.”

  “They’re like family. My own handyman business is really taking off, and it’s hard to do both.”

  “You should be proud of yourself. I know how hard it is to start your own business. Are you here looking for anything in particular?”

  “My girlfriend likes old stuff. I thought I might find something for her.”

  “Does she collect something or have a specific era of things she likes?”

  “I’m not sure.” He picked up and set down several things on my table.

  “What about a favorite color?”

  “She has a lot of blue in her house.”

  “A woman after my own heart. It’s my favorite, too.” I showed him a couple of cobalt-blue glass bottles from the forties. One was shaped like a violin. I had found them at a garage sale last summer and couldn’t resist them. But I’d realized I didn’t really have anywhere to put them.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  “What about this?” I picked up a blue and white porcelain jar. The writing on the front said MAGDA TOILET CREAM C. J. COUNTIE & CO. CHEMISTS. The top lid said COUNTIE OF BOSTON. “It’s from around eighteen-ninety. I did some research and found out the company was bought and it became Pond’s Cold Cream.”