The Longest Yard Sale (19 page)

CHAPTER 30

Vincenzo leaped up. “Calm down, Jett.”

Jett shook his head. “The Mazda belongs to a Marine buddy of mine. He's deployed and asked me to drive it a couple of times a week for him.”

My mouth formed a little
o
.

“As for the yellow
flashy
car. The Corvette.” He turned back to his father. “You remember Rick Ford? I went to high school with him?”

Vincenzo nodded.

“He moved to California to get an MBA at Stanford. He planned to drive it out, but he got in a bad bike wreck and can't sit long enough to drive that far. So he flew. Rick asked me to drive his Vette occasionally until he can get back out here to pick it up or I drive it out there for him.” He lifted his chin. “You don't believe me, you can call them both. Although my Marine buddy is a little hard to get hold of.”

The weight of what I'd accused him of and how wrong I was crashed down on me. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I jumped to conclusions with everything that's going on. Please accept my apology.”

Jett and Vincenzo exchanged a “what do you think?” look. Jett shrugged and then they both nodded.

I was embarrassed and furious with myself. My zeal for getting Carol off was making me into a crazy woman. I needed to take it down a notch and trust that she was in good hands with Vincenzo.

“But there's something I need to tell you. And you aren't going to like it,” Jett said.

Vincenzo kind of braced himself, like he'd heard those words many times and never knew what would follow.

“I got a call a few weeks ago. An old bud.” He looked at his father's face, which reddened. “He knew someone who was looking for an expert with ordinance experience.”

“I've told you to stay away from your ‘old buds,' Jett.”

“I do, Dad. I can't stop them from calling me.”

“You don't have to answer.”

“Will you just hear me out?” Jett asked. His father finally gave a brief nod. “The guy tried to convince me it was perfectly legal. Someone just wanted to burn down an old building on their property. But knowing who was making the call, I said no.”

Vincenzo relaxed. “I'm proud of you, son.”

Based on the beam on Jett's face, I don't think he'd heard those words very often, if ever.

“It made me wonder if it had something to do with the old chicken coops in Bedford. You know, that developer has been trying to get approval to build low-income housing there.”

Vincenzo nodded. “He wanted the tax credit.”

“I was thinking maybe he didn't want to pay to have the buildings torn down,” Jett said.

“What does that have to do with the other fires that day?” I asked. The two men turned as though they'd forgotten I was in the room. “It just seems too convenient that four fires broke out at the same time.” I didn't add “using similar devices.” Vincenzo might now trust his son, but I wasn't sure I did.

“We need to go over to the Ellington PD and talk to Chief Hooker, son. Maybe they can find more out through your contact.”

Jett didn't look happy as he followed his dad out of the store, but he went without protest.

 

 

Carol and I reached for the water that so far no one had touched.

“I feel like a fool,” I said to Carol.

Carol sipped some of her water. “But it led to this new information, so it's a good thing.”

“I guess. I wonder why Jett mentioned it now and not before?” I asked Carol.

Olivia popped out of the back room. “Because his buddy called him this morning and said he'd better not mention the first call. Jett was livid. We were headed over to find his father when he called.” Olivia moved around the room, setting up for a group that was coming in later today.

“Do you know who the guy was? How he knew Jett?” I asked.

“No idea,” she said in a way that made me think that even if she did, she wasn't about to tell me.

I drank some more of my water. “I hope this helps you, Carol.”

She sat straight up. “Do you think it could?”

“They took all of those flammable things when they searched here. Hopefully, Jett's information will lead to someone who set up the fires. The fires caused enough distraction that it gave someone the opportunity to steal
Battled
. And none of that would be connected to you.”

Carol smiled. “Thank you. Now I'd better get back to painting.”

 

 

After grabbing a quick sandwich at home, instead of going back to Gennie's as I'd intended, I headed up the 3 to Nashua. Thankfully, at one-thirty traffic was light. Lots of people who lived in Nashua worked in Massachusetts, so the 3 could be slow at rush hour. Bubbles's ex-wife and two kids lived in New Hampshire. While I'd known Bubbles a long time, he was already divorced when I'd met him. Maybe his ex would be able to shed some light on what was going on.

Jill Jackson was a Realtor, and I hoped she worked from home. I'd found her address on the Internet. It's scary how much information is available at a couple of clicks of a button. My excuse for seeing her was flimsy at best. She might slam the door in my face, but I had to try. Thirty minutes later, I pulled up in front of her house.

It was nice-looking, newish, built to look like a bigger version of a wood-framed saltbox house. The roof had a steep pitch. The style was original to colonial New England and called a saltbox because the structure resembled the wooden boxes salt was kept in at the time. The original saltbox houses were two stories in front and one story in the back.

A silver Mercedes SUV sat in the driveway; magnetic signs on the car's side displayed the name of the realty company. I rang the bell. A nicely groomed woman who looked to be in her early forties opened the door. Her dress, haircut, and makeup looked expensive. I'd trust her to sell my house, if I had one.

“Can I help you?” She smiled a friendly smile.

“I'm a friend of Bubbles, Dave.”

“Are you his latest fling coming up here to cry on my shoulder?” She shook her head, her hair's subtle highlights catching the sun. “Come on in.”

“You have a lot of his exes showing up here?” Maybe I needed to mention that to Stella.

“Showing up, calling, texting. I'm easy to find since I'm a Realtor. I guess Dave talks about me. After he moved back here, he wanted to get back together. But I told him ‘been there, done that.'”

We walked into the living room. “Have a seat.”

The room looked as though it came out of a page of a Pottery Barn catalog, though some of the pieces were higher end. Everything was in its place, but none of it looked very personal, kind of like a Realtor had staged it to sell. I settled onto a couch after moving a couple of plump pillows out of the way. Jill sat in a chair opposite me.

“I'm not one of his exes,” I said. “We're just friends. My husband, ex-husband, and I met him a long time ago at one of our assignments.”

“You're an air force wife?”

I nodded, not wanting to take the time to explain my long, involved story.

“I didn't like the life. We were high school sweethearts. Married right after. I worked and had our two kids while he went to college on an ROTC scholarship at the University of New Hampshire.”

Some people couldn't adjust to all the moves. “It can be hard,” I said.

“Once Dave's dream of being a flight test engineer fell apart, they sent us to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I hated it there. No trees and too far from our family. Too windy.” She shook her head at the memory. “I always felt like grit was blowing into my mouth.”

We'd never been stationed in Cheyenne, but most of the people I knew who'd lived there had liked it. “So what happened?”

“He put his twenty-four-hour shifts in the launch-control center to good use.”

Lots of guys worked on master's degrees while they were on crew. “He studied?”

“I wish. He had an affair with his crew partner, Anna Sweeney. Dave swore it wouldn't happen again, but I packed up the kids and came back.”

Could Anna Sweeney be Anna McQueen? “I'm sorry. I know how difficult being divorced is.”

“Don't be. He actually ended up being a pretty good father. Always sent more than his allotted child payments. Saw the kids as often as he could. He's been up here a lot since he got stationed at Fitch. He's paying for their college. Dave couldn't be prouder—one at Dartmouth and one at U-Mass Amherst.”

A private college for one and out-of-state tuition for the other. That had to be expensive.

“I'm rattling on. Why'd you come?”

“I've been worried about Bubbles with all that's going on.”

“I'm glad he has someone who cares about him.”

“Did you know Terry McQueen?”

“No. I only know him because Dave mentioned him.”

“Did Anna Sweeney marry Terry?”

“No idea. Like I said, I left.” She glanced at her Rolex.

“Nice watch,” I said as I stood. She was probably busy.

“Dave gave it to me. He hasn't given up on the concept of us.” Jill stood, too. “Thanks for worrying about Dave. He's very good at picking the wrong people to trust.”

CHAPTER 31

Laura lived in the newest housing section on base; the lawns were broad, toys were scattered, and kids ran loose. Tot lots and basketball courts dotted the open spaces. I pulled into Laura's driveway. It was a wood-frame like Jill's, but more Craftsman style than saltbox. I'd called her, for a second time, on my way back from Nashua and said I needed to talk to her privately. Even though CJ had assured me he'd look into this, I wanted to follow up on my own. He already had a suspect and knew there was a fairly solid case laid out against Carol. CJ had lots of balls in the air. I had one—helping Carol.

I got out and rang Laura's doorbell. The wing commander's house was bigger than most of the houses on base, not only because of the rank and position of the person who lived here, but because it was also used for entertaining dignitaries who visited the base. It was a home and a place of business. We'd been here many times for official functions.

“What's going on?” Laura asked when we'd settled into her family room. You'd never guess this was a base house and not her own home. It was beautifully decorated, from the curtains to the rugs to the paintings on the wall. The house looked like they'd lived here forever, not just a year and a half. I'm guessing all of her homes over the years had looked this way.

It wasn't easy asking to look at someone's financial information. But I needed to know if what had happened to Gennie was or wasn't a fluke. “I know I'm imposing, but could I look at the most recent statement you got from Bubbles and Terry?”

Laura's eyebrows shot up. “Why would you want to see that?”

“You have to swear to me you won't let anyone else know what I'm going to tell you.”

Laura nodded, and I explained, without using any names, that Gennie's statement had an error. I didn't mention going to CJ. “I thought if yours had the same error I'd better let Bubbles know right away so he can get it fixed.” I didn't want to throw Bubbles under the bus if CJ was right and this was a glitch or if someone was setting Bubbles up.

Laura left and returned with a statement. It was dated about the same time as Gennie's last one, and another should have arrived. “You're sure this is the most recent one?” I asked.

“Yes. I always enter the numbers on our computer when the new one comes in.”

“Do you have the statements from the funds company?”

“No. Dave and Terry kept them to consolidate the information into one statement for us.”

At least that story was consistent. I compared the numbers on Laura's statement to the funds company. There wasn't any difference between the numbers the company had and the ones on her statement. I was disappointed, not because I wanted Bubbles to be a bad guy but because I thought this might help Carol.

“Yours looks fine,” I told Laura.

“Whew. I'm sure Bubbles will get it straightened out for your friend.”

I hoped so. “I think I'll drop over and see him on my way home.”

 

 

I tried to figure out what was going on as I walked up to Bubbles's front door. Could Gennie's statements really be a fluke, or was Bubbles smart enough to know that ripping off a wing commander would land him in hot water fast.

I knocked on the town house door and waited. Tux meowed on the other side of the door. I pounded harder, but Bubbles didn't answer. His truck wasn't out front, but I knew he had a garage around back. I headed back to the row of garages. Bubbles's garage door was down. I looked around before hefting it up. The garage was empty. I started pulling the door back down.

“Can I help you?” a female voice called.

I jumped back, letting the garage door crash closed. A woman stood on the back porch of her town house. This is why there was so little crime on base: people watched out for each other.

I smiled my best “I'm not doing anything” smile. “Bubbles told me he had a ladder I could borrow and to just drop over and get it.” I tried to relax my shoulders, which wasn't easy with my pulse racing. “I didn't see it in there, though.”

I walked over to her. She must have moved onto the base after I left. I didn't recognize her. I stuck out my hand and introduced myself.

“Dave left a few hours ago,” she said. “I'm watching his cat for him.”

“You didn't happen to notice a ladder in his house, did you?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe in the basement?”

“I've never been down there. I have to go over to feed Tux. You can come with me and take a look.” And this was why there was crime on base: everyone was very trusting.

While she went upstairs to feed Tux, I rushed down to the basement; fortunately, there wasn't a ladder in sight. I didn't want to have to haul one to my Suburban. But there also weren't any computers or statements lying around for me to peruse. I darted back upstairs and looked around the first floor. Not that it helped. It looked the same as the last time I was here. The only difference was that Bubbles's laptop was gone from the desk in his living room. But if he'd left for a few days it would make sense that he'd taken it. I didn't spot any signs of recent conspicuous consumption nor any indications he'd fled the country, or even the base, for that matter. Another flutter of hope went through me. It wasn't Bubbles; it was Terry.

When the woman came back down, I thanked her. “No luck with the ladder. I'll check back when he gets home. How long did he say he'd be gone?”

“Just a couple of days.”

“Did he say where he was off to?” I asked as we walked out and she locked the door.

“A business trip somewhere for a few days.”

Since she started to look suspicious, I left with a wave and a “thanks.”

 

 

I knocked on Stella's door when I got back to Ellington. She opened it, dressed in a beautiful black cocktail dress. But she didn't look happy; in fact, if it were possible for steam to come out of ears, hers would be blasting.

“It looks like you're headed out,” I said.

“I thought I was. Dave was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.” Stella tapped her watch impatiently and then looked back up at me.

My unease came back. “You're planning to climb into Bubbles's old beat-up pickup in that gorgeous dress?”

“I hope not. I assumed he'd bring his Porsche.”

“Bubbles has a Porsche?” I remembered my conversation with Lindsay. She'd said the McQueens' fight ended when some old guy in a Porsche showed up. I'd been thinking white hair and stooped. But of course to a teenager someone in their forties would seem old.

I wondered why no one had ever mentioned Bubbles having a fancy car, not that he couldn't afford it as a single colonel. “I wonder where he keeps it since he has only a one-car garage.”

“He doesn't drive it all the time. And he keeps it garaged at his place in the Back Bay.”

“Back Bay?” I squeaked out. It was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Boston.

“It's stunning. Great views. I'm surprised you've never been there. He said lots of guys keep two places so they don't have to commute—one in the city for the weekends, and one on base.”

“No one keeps two places. You can't on a military salary.”

“What?”

I'd been working hard at maintaining what I thought was a neutral expression. “I'd better come in.”

“Is this going to require scotch?”

“It might.”
For you, anyway
. It seemed unlikely that Bubbles was off on a business trip if Stella was sitting here waiting for him to pick her up. While Stella got the scotch, I thought over how things in Bubbles's life weren't adding up, unless he came from a very wealthy family. I'd never heard anyone say that. In fact, his ex-wife said he'd gone to the University of New Hampshire on an ROTC scholarship. That didn't sound like he came from a family with money.

I sat in Stella's living room. Her apartment had a bump out on the back, which added an extra room. But I liked my bird's-eye view of the common better. Stella grabbed a bottle of scotch and two rocks glasses off a dry bar. She poured. If scotch is measured in fingers, she had a fist and I had a pinky. Stella knew it wasn't my favorite. After we clinked our glasses, she tossed some back and shook herself. “Tell me.”

I took a small sip, feeling the burn all the way down. “I was just over at Bubbles's place. He wasn't home, and his neighbor said he'd left on a business trip this afternoon.”

Stella knocked back some more of her scotch.

“Have you eaten anything?” I was worried about what that much scotch could do on an empty stomach.

“I had a sandwich before Dave was supposed to get here. I didn't want to drink on an empty stomach at the event we were going to.”

“Where were you going?” I asked.

“Some kind of promotion party at Gillganins.”

Usually promotion parties were held at the Club on the base, but it was closed for renovations. Stella would have been overdressed for the occasion, but it didn't look like that was going to be a problem.

“So he stood me up and didn't call.” Stella thought for a moment. “It could be worse.”

“It might be worse,” I said. Then I plunged into a description of what had happened to her Aunt Gennie, without telling her it was her aunt. And I talked about Laura, again without mentioning any names. Stella's rigid posture made me sad. “Did you invest any money with him?”

“I did,” Stella said; the words came out from between clenched teeth.

I sighed not wanting to go on. “Have you received your latest statement?”

Stella reddened, this time not from the scotch. “I don't know. I'm not that good with investments. I trusted Dave and Terry to take care of things for me. I'll see what I can find.”

“Bring your laptop too, please. We're going to need it.”

When Stella came back with the statements, she'd changed into jeans and a long-sleeved, loose-fitting shirt. She handed me a couple of statements and her laptop. As I worked, she sipped her scotch.

I typed in her account number and got an error message, just as I had when I'd typed in Gennie's. I started the tedious process of comparing the numbers on the statement to the numbers on the fund's website. I felt that grim line settling in on my mouth again. Stella just watched.

I finally looked up. “These numbers don't match the fund's numbers. Stella, Bubbles was stealing from you.”

Instead of looking furious, she just looked sad.

“I have to call CJ. He thinks this is a fluke. That someone set Bubbles and Terry up.”

Stella looked up hopefully. “CJ's right. That must be what happened.”

“Why hasn't Bubbles called you, then?” It sounded harsh, but I couldn't believe that someone had set up an elaborate scheme and hacked into Bubbles's computer system and that neither Bubbles nor Terry had caught it. “Why'd he leave town?”

I called CJ and got his voice mail. I laid out my case again. One statement could have been a fluke, but two made that less likely. I thought about the two wives I'd overheard at the garage sale on Saturday. They'd talked about their husbands investing with Bubbles. It had sounded like they lived on Fitch.

“Want to go to a party?” I asked Stella.

She threw me a look like I'd lost my mind.

“The promotion party at Gillganins will be the perfect place to find a lot of military people who might have invested with Bubbles.”