The Devil's Puzzle

by Clare O'Donohue

  “When did you do this?”

  “When you were out solving the world’s problems,” Eleanor said.

  “Natalie did the quilting and I sewed on the binding.”

  “You could not have given me anything I would appreciate more. It was going to take up my whole day finishing this.”

  “What’s a quilt group for if not to help you get a quilt finished . . .” Natalie started.

  “Or investigate a few murders,” I said.

  “Assuming you don’t spend your afternoon doing that,” Eleanor interrupted, “what will you do with your day?”

  “Hang quilts.”

  I headed over to Bryant’s Cinema, where I assembled the quilt poles for the quilts that would be shown in his lobby. Ed wasn’t there, but he’d left me a note saying he’d arranged for How to Make an American Quilt to play all day in a salute to the show and the holiday. After the poles were assembled, I hung the twelve antique quilts that would be displayed.

  They represented generations of quilters, some beginner, some expert. Some used scraps, like the star quilt of blue denims and white and yellow shirtings that had been made in the seventies. Others were made from quilt kits that dated as far back as the twenties. And still others were made from velvets and silks with elaborate embroidery.

  After I’d hung them on the poles, I placed the racks throughout the lobby. Bright appliquéd baskets in one quilt gave way to soft pastel log cabin blocks in another. A quilt from the Civil War faced a quilt made a hundred years later. In each one the maker was evident, and I stood wondering about each of these women and about the hard choices they faced, the rumors they lived with, and the losses they accepted. I felt a part of them, the way you do when you become a quilter. We are all joined by a love of needle and thread, by the usefulness and the beauty of a quilt, and by the friendships that form because of it. But as I looked at each quilt, I also saw the individual behind each piece. You can hide who you are from much of the world, but when you quilt, I realized, your personality finds its way into the finished product.

  After I finished, I went to each shop that had agreed to display a quilt outside and I put together the poles, hung a reproduction quilt, and placed it inside the window. At Jitters, my last stop, Carrie and I hung her reproduction Depression-era broken dishes quilt, an easy pattern of quarter square triangles. Each block looks like an hourglass, but when assembled, the quilt looks like a mosaic of broken dishes spread out over a muslin floor. For the borders, Carrie had cut wide strips of muslin and appliquéd dozens of small Scottie dogs to it. Scottie dogs were a popular appliqué item in the 1940s, as a nod to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s dog, Fala. While it must have taken hours back then to trace and cut out each three-inch pup, Carrie had made a more modern choice. She ordered the Scotties, precut and ready for appliqué, on the Internet.

  “Just keep it in the window until tomorrow at ten a.m.,” I said. “That’s when all the merchants are supposed to put the quilts out on the street. The parade starts at eleven, so all the people will be watching just outside your store and hopefully enjoying the quilts while they watch the parade.”

  “What time is the carnival?” she asked. “I’m taking my kids to that.”

  “It starts at noon. After the parade and the big unveiling.”

  “Glad’s statue.” Carrie shook her head. “Any hints on what it looks like?”

  “None yet. I passed the park on my way here. The statue was there, but it was completely covered by a huge blue cloth and tied with a rope.”

  “That’s going to be interesting.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the only interesting thing that happens tomorrow.”

  “What’s left to happen?” she asked. “Most of the town buildings have been broken into or vandalized already.”

  “Whoever murdered Winston has done an excellent job of misdirection,” I said. “We’re no closer to finding the killer than we were when we found the body.”

  “You certainly have enough suspects,” Carrie said. “Everyone seems to have had the finger pointed at them at one time or another.”

  “Everyone but me,” I said. “I’m off the hook.”

  “Only because you weren’t alive in 1975—if that’s a hint for a free birthday cupcake.”

  “I already had one.”

  “So have another. And make a wish,” she said as she put a small pink birthday candle on my cupcake.

  “I want Winston’s killer to turn himself or herself in. And after tomorrow I want life in Archers Rest to return to normal.” I blew out my candle.

  “Birthday wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud.”

  “I knew it couldn’t be that easy,” I said, and bit into a lemon-filled vanilla cupcake with raspberry icing.

  CHAPTER 59

  The next morning I arrived at the shop, a little worse for the birthday celebrating—excessive champagne, rich Italian food, and a night spent at Jesse’s house. But I was smiling. For the first time in a long time, I was determined to focus only on quilting and having fun.

  “Let me see it,” Eleanor said as I walked in the door.

  “See what?”

  “The ring.”

  I held up both unadorned hands. “No ring.”

  “When is he going to propose? Last night was the perfect opportunity.”

  “Maybe he has another plan in mind,” I said. “When it comes to romance, he’s a bit of a perfectionist.”

  “Jesse?”

  I stopped. “Yeah. Jesse. Of course, Oliver is a romantic, too.” “Back to that again.”

  “Well, the reason you were so against remarrying is that you thought there was a chance you might still be married,” I said. “And now you know you’re not.”

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Every puzzle has an answer.”

  “Not every puzzle. But this one did. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t have him declared dead after seven years. Couldn’t you have done that?”

  “But that would have meant admitting he was dead, and his sister wasn’t able to do it. Elizabeth assumed it, as I did, but to have it declared in a court of law, that would have been too painful for her.”

  “Hey, what can I do to help?”

  I turned and saw Molly walk in with Natalie.

  “You want to help?”

  “Sure. I am supposed to be here helping with the anniversary celebration, and it does sound kind of fun,” Molly said. “Besides, I figured Grace would want me to pitch in, as a representative of the family.”

  “We’re getting ready to position the quilts in front of the shops,” I said. “If you can just walk down the street reminding the shop owners and assisting anyone who needs help bringing the quilts outside, that would be wonderful. And if you can do it without breaking into any banks or questioning any suspects . . .”

  She laughed. “I’ll try. I may not have solved my great-uncle’s murder, but at least I got to know him a little. So I guess that’s something. And I have to say,” she paused, “I think he might have been wrong about this town.”

  Natalie threw an arm around her. “You remind me more and more of Grace.”

  “That’s a high compliment,” she said.

  “But,” Natalie reminded her, “Grace knew how to quilt.”

  “I may give up investigating and take up quilting,” Molly said.

  “You can do both,” Eleanor told her. “Just ask Nell.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get the quilts out before Glad finds me and throws another fit.”

  Twenty minutes later, I hung my devil’s puzzle quilt just outside the shop, pinned Allie’s striped square next to it, and looked up at the sky—bright, blue, and clear.

  “A perfect day,” I said to myself.

  Molly must have felt the same way, because she was smiling brightly as she walked toward me. “The quilts are out, and Ed’s theater has all the antique ones ready for showing. He also told me he has the wine and cheese for the reception this afternoon. What else
do you need?”

  “Tourists, I guess. And coffee.”

  I ran into Jesse and Allie at Jitters. Allie had dressed herself in pink, white, and blue. The American flag, she told me, but she liked pink better than red. Jesse had his full force out for the day, and he was on duty himself, except for a half hour he had promised to Ed.

  “How did I talk myself into the dunking booth?” he laughed.

  “I don’t know, but I’ve been warming up my pitching arm all morning.”

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “You put me in a good mood,” I said.

  “Even with an unsolved case on our hands?”

  I frowned. “I think this is the one we don’t solve, Jesse. Too many clues but too few real ones. And a decades-old skeleton of a man no one seemed to like. Maggie said to me a while back that we should just let this one go. Maybe she was right.”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to let it go for today anyway. Too much else going on.” He took Allie’s hand and kissed my cheek. “See you tonight at the fireworks display?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’ll be at the dunking booth at noon sharp.”

  The parade went off without a hitch. The high school marching band and bands from several towns over all played beautifully. The fire department, complete with fire truck and Dalmatians, was followed by twirlers and kids waving small American flags. Barney led a pack of dogs that seemed to have joined the parade of their own accord. At one point Barney wandered into the marching band, nearly tripping a trombone player, but it just made the whole event all the more endearing to the crowds that had come for the celebration.

  And there was a crowd. News of the skeleton had reached major papers, with side articles about our anniversary celebration. It had brought people from New York, New England, and even a few states just to the west of us. It was exactly the kind of day that all of us had worked so hard to bring about. I got myself a hotdog and a glass of lemonade and joined Ed as he walked toward the park, where the parade was scheduled to end right in time for the unveiling of the statue.

  “The quilts look great, Nell,” he said. “You must be proud of your hard work.”

  “And you must be, too. This is one amazing parade.”

  “Thanks, but I probably should go back and check to make sure the parade route gets cleaned up.”

  “Don’t you want to see the statue?”

  “And get accosted by Glad again?”

  I grabbed his arm. “I’ll protect you.”

  We got to the park just as Glad, the mayor, and several of the town council members were positioning themselves on a small temporary platform next to the still-covered statue. Ed and I stood next to Eleanor and Oliver. Carrie was there with her husband and kids, Natalie with her husband and son, and Maggie with a pile of children I assumed to be her grandkids. Much of the town, it seemed, had turned out. In the distance I even saw Mary, standing by Glad’s lemon yellow Mercedes watching the proceedings, as riveted as we were.

  “I thought she never left her house,” I whispered to Ed. “And yet I keep seeing her in town.”

  “Shh. I want to hear this.” But even as he ignored me, I saw him watching Mary and smiling.

  The mayor made a speech about the beauty of our town and its long and vaguely interesting history, but no one was listening. We were all waiting for the main event. Finally, Glad stepped to the microphone.

  “This is for all the citizens of Archers Rest, past, present, and future,” she said as we waited to see the installation. “We are a small town, and maybe we haven’t been a major part of American historical events. But we care about each other and we love Archers Rest, and this sculpture, I hope, will be a simple acknowledgment of that.”

  With that, she pulled a rope that released the canvas and revealed . . .

  “It looks like a potato chip,” Eleanor said quietly.

  “I think it’s a wave, dear,” Oliver told her.

  “Or a cloud,” I said.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t a statue of John Archer or Glad’s father. After the initial shock had worn off, I realized it was a cool abstract sculpture that somehow fit our little town. It was what you made of it.

  “I like it, Glad,” I said once she had come down off the platform. “This was a lovely donation.”

  “Thank you, Nell. I realized that since none of us really know what John Archer looked like, it might be better to have something that represents the freedom he came here looking for.”

  “It does.”

  “It’s missing the plaque, of course. That’s still being engraved with my name. And the flowers. There must be red flowers all around the base. I absolutely insist on it.”

  After she finished she walked off toward her sister, who stood waiting for her. The two women talked for a minute and then got into Glad’s car and drove off in the direction of Main Street.

  “I wonder where she’s going,” I said to Carrie.

  “I don’t know. But just in case something else happens, where’s Jesse?”

  I looked across the park to where the carnival was starting. “Encased in a glass booth filled with water.”

  CHAPTER 60

  “Glad’s probably just going to sit out the carnival and come back for the fireworks,” Carrie offered. “I can’t see her taking a ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

  “I guess.” I looked around. “Good crowd, though.”

  “Amazing crowd. The press is really bringing people up here.”

  “I guess the mayor knew what he was doing,” I admitted.

  “You did, too,” Carrie said. “People have been coming into Jitters talking about the quilts. They love that they’re all over town. It brings a lot of color to the place.”

  “Well, I have to get back to work,” Eleanor said. “I can’t leave the shop closed with this many people in town.”

  “Do you want me to help?” I asked.

  “No, thanks. Enjoy the carnival. Natalie is on the schedule for today.”

  We both looked toward Natalie, who seemed about to fall over. “I don’t think she’s coming into work.” I rushed over, with Maggie, Eleanor, and Carrie right behind me.

  Natalie was bent over, breathing heavily. “Baby,” she said. “The baby is early.”

  “Call us from the hospital,” I said to her. “We’ll be thinking about you.”

  She sighed. “With all the work for the quilt show, I didn’t finish the baby quilt I was making.”

  Maggie took her hand. “That one and a dozen more will be waiting for you when you get out of the hospital. Now go.”

  We stood and watched Natalie, her husband, and their son drive away.

  “We’re off to the carnival,” Carrie said, as her kids pulled at her shorts. “It looks like Ed did a spectacular job putting it together.”

  “He did,” Maggie said. “He’s very giving. And speaking of giving,” she said as she turned to Oliver, “so far we’ve sold three thousand raffle tickets at five dollars apiece. I’m getting people calling from as far away as Montreal, wanting to have a chance at your painting.”

  Eleanor leaned into him. “No surprise there.”

  Oliver put one arm on Maggie’s shoulders and the other around Eleanor’s waist. “The town raises a little money, and I get the gratitude of two beautiful women,” he said. “Seems like a win-win.”

  “Nell,” Maggie said, “come with us for the drawing. We’ll have Oliver take his picture with the winner if the winner is around. It should be the highlight of this whole event.”

  “Sounds great,” I said, “but I think I want to head over to the carnival.”

  They left, but for some reason I didn’t move. I couldn’t place my finger on it. I just wanted to stay in that spot and stare at the statue. And I wasn’t alone. Some tourists were taking pictures of it, and the mayor and several of the town’s other leaders were standing nearby talking.

  The statue was beautiful. It glistened in the sunlight, its silver color standing out against the blu
e sky and the Hudson River in the distance. I could picture it years from now as something people talked about—the Archers Rest ripple statue.

  But in my daydream something occurred to me. Something that had been there all along but I’d never seen because I hadn’t put the pieces together. And now, suddenly, Glad’s statue had made it all clear.

  I ran through the park to the other side, where Jesse was sitting in the dunking booth in a Yankees T-shirt and denim shorts. I yelled to him, but he didn’t hear me. I tried to run back, but the carnival worker wouldn’t let me.

  “How much for a dunk?” I asked him.

  “Two dollars for four chances,” he said.

  I grabbed two dollars out of my pocket and laid them on the table. I grabbed the first ball. I missed. Jesse laughed and stuck out his tongue at me.

  I threw another ball. It didn’t even come close to the target. The third ball was closer but still a miss. On the fourth I threw so wild I nearly hit the carnie.

  “It’s going to be two more bucks if you want to try again,” he said.

  “Oh, to heck with it.” I climbed over his table and ran to Jesse. “Get out,” I yelled.

  “What?”

  “Get out.”

  As I was yelling the carnie came up behind me. Before he could pull me away, I jumped up to the target and hit it with my hand. The bench collapsed beneath Jesse and he plunged into the water.

  “That’s cheating, Miss,” the carnie said.

  “That’s the chief of police. He can arrest me.”

  Jesse pulled himself out of the water and got out of the booth. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Winston,” I said. “I know what happened.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Back at the police station, I waited in the entryway while Jesse dried off and changed. I paced the floor, listening to the music and laughter coming from the streets. Finally Jesse emerged from his office.

  “You’re sure,” he said. “Because you have to be sure.”