The Longest Yard Sale (16 page)

“We wanted to hear what they were yelling about. We were tiptoeing over there when the Porsche pulled up. So we went back inside.”

“Did you notice anything about the car? Like the color or license plate?”

Lindsay shook her head. “It was a dark color—black or dark blue. It was too far away to see the plate.”

I decided I shouldn't press her anymore. “Want some iced tea?”

Lindsay nodded and followed me into the kitchen. I poured two glasses of tea.

“Tell me what it was like to grow up in California,” Lindsay said. “I've had friends stationed at LA Air Force Base. They loved living out there.”

“Monterey's quite a bit quieter than LA.” I shared a few of my milder misadventures as we drank. “Your dad being away is hard on your mom too, Lindsay,” I said, when our glasses were almost empty.

She huffed out a big sigh, and her eyes filled up with tears. She swiped at them. “I know. Oh God, now I'm going to have to go home and apologize.”

 

 

When we got to the base, I went in with Lindsay and busied myself with my phone while she talked to her mother in the dining room. After an hour, everyone seemed calm and able to get back to the daily business of their lives. Lindsay's mom followed me out to my car.

“Thank you. I'm glad she has you to talk to,” she said.

“I am too. All the deployments are tough,” I said.

“Especially when my husband keeps volunteering for them. He loves the action.” She shook her head. “Lindsay doesn't understand that someone from this base was murdered. That the murderer is out there. It's scarier than the deployments. Almost.”

“If you ever need a break, I could come stay with the kids for a weekend.”

Her face brightened. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

CHAPTER 25

When I was on my way home, Carol called. “I'm out. For now.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Where are you?”

“At the shop, painting. It's the only thing that keeps me sane with my mother-in-law at my house. I can only take being glared at a couple of hours a day.”

“Is it okay if I stop over?”

“I'd love some company,” Carol said. “Come in the back door.”

Fifteen minutes later, I parked and trotted across the town common to Carol's shop. If I kept this up, I was going to wear my own personal path across the grass of the common. When I walked down the alley I glanced at Herb's house. No twitch in the curtains today.

“How did it go?” I asked Carol after letting myself in. I leaned against the workbench and watched her paint.

“Vincenzo had me through the system so quickly I hardly had time to process what was going on. So I'm out on bail and deemed not to be a flight risk.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“That I'm out?” Carol managed a grin. “I have to get this painting done. Even with a bondsman, bail isn't cheap.”

“I can't imagine.”

“I saw a guy in the back of the courtroom who looked a lot like the man I saw leaving your apartment building the other night.”

I stared at the floor but felt that awful betraying blush sweeping from my chest to my neck to my face.

“You look great in red,” Carol said. “Come on—spill. I need a good distraction.”

So I spilled. Carol forgot to keep painting as I told her about meeting Seth, who he was, that he worked with CJ. “I can't believe Seth is even interested in me.”

“Why wouldn't he be?”

I stared down at the floor. “When I thought CJ had slept with Tiffany, I felt like there must be something terribly wrong with me. That if CJ would do that to me, no one would ever want me.”

Carol turned to me. “But he didn't do it to you.”

“I know, but that feeling still clings to me.”

“He wants you back. Why don't you go?”

“I divorced CJ for no reason.”

“You thought there was a reason. And he agreed to the divorce.” Carol let that hang between us. She pointed her paintbrush at me. “You didn't answer my question.”

I blew out a long, slow breath. “I don't trust myself. I slept with Seth the first time I met him. Who does that?”

“Lots of people. Especially someone who's vulnerable and needs to feel valued—even if that's the worst way possible to go about it.”

I pondered that. Maybe Carol was right.

“Get a grip. Everyone makes mistakes. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but it's what you do after the mistake that matters. How's that for platitudes?”

I really didn't want to talk about this.

“It sounds like Seth's interested, too. At least you didn't pick up some creep.” Carol grinned at me. “You're worth more than you'll ever know.” Carol started painting again.

I settled on a stool, watching her. Carol was the one facing a murder charge, and here she was, comforting me. I had to do something to help her.

“Can I look at your phone records?” I asked.

“Why?”

“They must have found some connection between you and Terry. We know he isn't on your computer system. But what if he called your cell phone or the shop?”

“I don't remember ever talking to him.”

“Maybe he called when the shop was closed or when Olivia was here.”

Carol shrugged and gave me the information to access her phone records. I went out into the shop and planted myself in front of the computer. It was easy to eliminate some of the numbers on her cell and business phone—me, Brad, her home, Olivia. I made a list of ones I didn't recognize and then took them back to Carol. She crossed out the numbers she recognized.

“What are you going to do about the calls neither of us recognize?” Carol asked.

I thought for a moment. “I'll call them. Let's assume most of them are people who booked appointments. I'll ask them if they had a good experience and tell them about your specials.”

“I don't have any specials,” Carol said, a little crease forming between her brows.

“You do now. Ten percent off for returning parties.”

Carol shook her head but smiled. “Okay. Go for it.”

I started making the calls and booked several parties. I hoped Carol would be free and able to do them. When I got tired of calling people and wanted to stop, I reminded myself that Carol's freedom was on the line. So I kept dialing. A couple of times I reached suppliers. I told them I had the wrong number. After an hour, my ear hurt from holding the phone to it, and I was only halfway through the list.

I grabbed some water from Carol's refrigerator. I was tempted by the wine, but I needed a clear head for the calls. I dialed the next few numbers.

One rang so long I was ready to hang up.

“Hey, this is Terry McQueen, I can't take your call right now, but leave a message. You know the drill.”

I hung up so fast I felt like my hand had been burned. I went back over the bill. There were three calls from Terry's number to Carol's shop. The length and times of the calls varied, as did the days. I went through Carol's cell phone records again. One call from Terry to Carol's cell lasted about a minute and a half. It was made the afternoon of the day he was murdered. This must be part of what they had on Carol. They would have gone through the records by now.

But Carol must not know about the calls because she wouldn't have wanted me to go through the records if she did.

I walked back to where Carol painted. She used tiny brushstrokes to make the agony on a wounded soldier's face come to life. I hated to interrupt her with this terrible news.

“Carol. There are phone calls from Terry McQueen to your shop and cell phone.”

Carol whipped around so fast she almost knocked over her painting.

“There can't be. I've never talked to him.”

“One was to your cell phone. The day Terry died.”

“Was murdered.” Carol shook her head. “That wouldn't look good.”

“Where's your phone?”

Carol pointed to the closet where she kept her clothes. “It's in my purse.”

I found the phone and took it to Carol.

“He must have left a voice mail. I usually just call the number back. But I know I never called or talked to Terry McQueen.”

We huddled over her phone. It said there were three voice mails. Carol hit speaker phone, then play.

“This is Terry McQueen. It's urgent I talk to you about your painting of
Battled
. I'll stop by your store this evening.”

“Oh, no. That's bad,” Carol said.

“How does he even know you were copying
Battled
?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Does his voice sound familiar? Could he be the mystery client?”

We listened to the message again.

“I don't think it's my client.”

“But he must at the very least know your client.”

“I guess.” Carol twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

“Maybe Olivia talked with Terry when he called the shop,” I said. “If we're really lucky, you won't have been here when the calls came in. Let's check to see if she worked the day of the calls. If she did, then we need to track her down and see what she remembers.”

We went to the front of the store. Carol opened her computer, and we started looking through the schedule.

“Olivia definitely worked on the days of the calls,” I said, as we studied the records.

“But there's nothing to prove I wasn't here.” Carol clicked away, bringing up different screens on her computer. She pointed at one. “Look at this. During one of the calls a group was here painting.” Her voice had a hopeful note in it.

“What difference does that make?”

“I didn't talk to him. I'd never interrupt a group to take a call,” Carol said.

“But there's no way to prove you didn't,” I said. “Even if Olivia tells them she's the one who talked to Terry, they might twist that in front of a jury. If she's been in trouble before, any good DA will eat her alive on the stand.” I pictured Seth, pacing back and forth in front of a jury, hammering his points into them. “Call Olivia and get her down here.”

 

 

Olivia unlocked the front door about fifteen minutes later. I didn't realize Carol had given her a key. Jett followed her into the store. We explained the situation and asked her if she remembered talking to Terry.

Olivia bit her lower lip in concentration. “I thought he was that famous director calling. I told him all about my acting experience.”

“You mean Steve McQueen?” I tried to keep the incredulousness out of my voice. “Why would
he
call here?”

Olivia shrugged. “I just heard the McQueen part. I'd be a great actress. I was in all my high school plays and even had speaking roles sometimes. And I lied to my mom all the time. She totally believed everything I told her.”

Thus all the trouble with the law, I suspected.

“Then all he wanted to talk about was stupid investing, and I hung up. But he called back another day. I've saved up a couple hundred dollars and asked him what I should do with it. He was a very nice man.” Olivia looked back and forth between Carol and me. “Does that help?”

Carol patted Olivia's hand. “Of course it does.”

They stood to go. I noticed Jett had a tattoo. In blue ink across his bicep were the words “Semper Fi.” That was the Marine Corp motto. Had Jett been in the Marines, or was he just a wannabe?

After they left, I turned to Carol. “You'd better call Vincenzo and tell him about all of this.”

Carol made the call. “He can meet me later this evening.”

“Let's go get something to eat at DiNapoli's. I'm starving.”

When we went in, Carol headed over to the counter to Rosalie. “I need to speak to Angelo.” She said it loud enough that Angelo could hear her. He hesitated and then came over to the counter. I went over and stood next to Carol.

“Thank you for calling Vincenzo for me. Things are a mess, but they'd be far worse without him.”

Angelo looked uncomfortable. He seemed to squirm a bit, something I'd never seen him do. “Sarah seems to think you're okay, so that's good enough for me.” He turned and headed back to a chopping board, slicing through onions like he meant it.

Rosalie patted Carol's hand. “How about some dinner?”

“I need to go spend some time with my kids. While I can,” Carol said. She hugged me and left, straightening her posture and attitude as she did.

“What about you, Sarah?” Rosalie asked after Carol left.

“Sure.” I really didn't feel like being alone. I studied the menu. Even though the restaurant is called DiNapoli's Roast Beef and Pizza, I almost always ordered pizza or pasta, but tonight I wanted something different.

“How about I make you the best roast beef sandwich you ever had,” Angelo called across the kitchen.

Decision made. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds good.” Fifteen minutes later Angelo set a sandwich large enough to feed a family of four in front of me—tender roast beef cooked to a perfect medium pink, melted provolone, caramelized onions, and thick, beefy tomatoes. I couldn't even close the roll around the mounds of food. Rosalie set a glass of water and a kid's cup in front of me with a wink. I was thankful for the wine.

I used a fork and knife to eat way more of the sandwich than I should have. During a lull in the dinner rush, Angelo came over and sat with me. “It is the best roast beef sandwich I ever had,” I told him. Angelo spread his hands apart, like what did I expect. If he said it, it was so. I made it through about a third of it. I made a mental note to take a long walk tonight to work off some of the calories.

“Vincenzo said your Uncle Stefano had a copy of
Battled
made. Know anything about it?” I asked.

“Everyone knows about it,” Angelo said. “He tried to buy
Battled
back in the seventies when the city was in financial trouble. Offered them more than it was worth at the time.” He frowned at one of the girls clearing tables, like she wasn't doing it the way she should. “The whole thing put the town in a big uproar between those that thought the money was more important and those that thought the legacy was more important. Obviously, the legacy folks won. As they should have.”

“Does he still have his copy?” I asked.

“As far as I know.” Angelo got a glint in his eye. “Want to go find out?”