Garage Sale Riddle

by Suzi Weinert

  Jennifer got a better hold on the items she carried. “You seem to know about the past, after all.”

  Selby laughed. “Only because my mother told me this many times, having the same name. In grade school, kids teased me about it, so my mother told me what to say back to them. She’d faced the same thing when she was little. But it didn’t help me.”

  “Why?”

  “Then they called me Old Norse or Willow Farm.”

  “Kids!” Jennifer looked down at her new frame. “Where in Virginia did your mother grow up?”

  “Right here in Fairfax County. Our ancestors owned a thousand-acre farm once. Back then I guess McLean and Great Falls were mostly farm land.” Seller paused, remembering. “I do know one Civil War story Grannie drilled into us when we were young. She said a band of Union soldiers gunned down my great-great-grandfather on his farm during the Civil War. Without him the family couldn’t make a go of it, and in time they sold off all but twenty-five acres. About sixty years ago, they sold more, reducing it to five acres surrounding the original homestead here. My mother redid the house beautifully, adding wings, patios and a five-car garage. But times have changed and my sister and I just can’t afford to keep it. Heartbreaking. Really. We all grew up here. It’s the end of an era for our family.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Jennifer pulled paper and pencil from her pocket. “If you think of anything else about the picture, would you please phone me? There’s something about it.” How could she explain? “Feels like it has a story to tell.” She handed Selby her contact info.

  “Sure,” Selby said. “Oh, wait a minute. I do remember something. Let me look at the picture again. Yes, before this went to the attic, it hung near my grandmother’s back door when I was little. I remember her saying this place in the picture really exists—somewhere in this area, I think. But if she told me where, I don’t remember.”

  “You have my number in case you do. Thanks for my purchases and thanks for talking with me. Good luck with your sale.”

  Jennifer hefted her newest treasures into her car. She’d intended to visit more sales this morning, but excited about finding the frame at last, she smiled triumphantly and pointed her car toward home.

  She glanced at the dragon watching her from the passenger seat box. Was it her imagination or did he give her a knowing smile?

  CHAPTER 3

  As her car approached her house in a quiet McLean cul-de-sac, Jennifer pressed visor buttons to open the driveway gate and lift the garage door. Her watch read 9:02am. With her husband playing golf and her just-graduated-college-daughter sleeping late, she expected no interruptions as she examined the startling framed painting she’d just bought. Her other garage sale “finds” could wait in the car until later—except for the dragon. She put him in her large purse, as one might tuck a small dog into a carrier.

  On the way into the house, she probed a garage shelf for the painting she’d saved for this frame and tucked it under her arm. Inside, she lay her own painting atop the framed one. Yes, the right size, but not the effect she’d envisioned. Disappointed the frame didn’t compliment her own painting as well as did the one mounted there, she’d erase any doubt by substituting hers.

  She put the dragon on the table before studying her other purchase again. Besides the unusual frame, something about the painting’s haunting scene again gripped her attention. She might end up hanging it as-is.

  Turning the frame upside down on the kitchen counter, she pried aside the small rusty nails fastening the backing to the wood. She eased away the cardboard backing, but instead of the rear of the painting, she found cloth padding. She pulled it aside, discovering a second cloth underneath. Was that writing on the fabric?

  She spread the cloths open, written side up, for a better view. On one appeared a jumble of words; the other looked like a crude map with a pirate-style “X.” What in the world? Folded for so long, the wrinkles wouldn’t flatten enough for a clear look at the scratchy pencil marks.

  She hustled the cloths to the laundry room and laid them upside-down on the ironing board. With a warm iron, she gently pressed both fabrics on the non-writing side. Turning the cloths over, she saw this flattening improved legibility.

  Were these two different pieces of cloth accidentally padding the same frame? She moved the pieces of fabric around on the ironing board, noting torn and even edges. As she brought them together, the torn sides matched exactly. Two pieces from one cloth. So these weren’t separate fabrics randomly stuffed in the same place; they were related. Moreover, the same scratchy pencil had marked both pieces.

  Back at the table, she grabbed paper and pen to copy recognizable words, line by line. Finished, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Glancing up, she found the dragon staring directly at her. Didn’t archeologists identify readable words on scrolls or reliefs and then infer missing or illegible words? After a couple of tries, she made substitutions for the handful of garbled words which seemed to fit the shapes of partial alphabet-letters, the size of the space to be filled, the logic of each sentence and the rhyming nature of what appeared a poem. Then she shot the dragon a conspiratorial look and read aloud:

  “April 30, l863

  A RIDDLE: WHAT IS ‘X?’

  A Union general stole X for the Blue

  from Virginia families whose anger grew.

  But the Gray found X in the general’s lair

  and rescued it back with daring flair.

  Then danger loomed for Grays who carried X.

  To avoid recapture, they quickly buried X.

  When Gray Ghost sent his men to get it,

  only one could but he’d regret it.

  Pursued by Blues, he couldn’t carry X.

  His only choice: he must rebury X.

  If X you find, your task is clear,

  for pride of cause and honor dear.

  You’ll know it’s X by JSM’s knife.

  Make haste then if you value your life.

  Get X to General Robert E. Lee

  for return to owners in our Confederacy.”

  Jennifer leaned back in her chair. Didn’t General Lee command the Confederate Army in the Civil War, and wasn’t April l863 a date during that conflict?

  Grabbing another paper, she scribbled key words: Union General, Blue, Gray, Gray Ghost, JSM, General Robert E. Lee and Confederacy. She hustled this list to her computer and Googled “Dates of the American Civil War.” Wikipedia confirmed l861-1865. Next, she typed “Civil War Gray Ghost.” Up popped links to John Singleton Mosby. This fit the riddle’s initials, “JSM.” A thrill rushed through her. Had she accidentally stumbled upon something historic? But what was X? Stolen by a Union general and found in his lair, which angered Virginia families.

  How did JSM link to a Union general? She Googled “Mosby and the Union general.” This provided numerous links to a Union General Edwin H. Stoughton. But nothing about X.

  Googling “Gen. Stoughton’s documents” yielded nothing. Next, she tried “Gen. Stoughton’s valuables.” This brought up a “Civil War Treasures” link, describing an alleged cache of gold and silver looted from wealthy southern families by Stoughton’s invading army and later captured by Mosby during his raid on the general’s headquarters at Fairfax Courthouse.

  If Jennifer substituted “treasure” for “X,” the riddle made sense. She flashed the dragon a victory smile. Was her imagination overactive or did he return the smile? What a silly thought.

  She turned next to the crude map on the other cloth. Nobody could miss Potomac River, lettered on the far right along two parallel lines which ran north/south and then curved west. Might that curve on a standard map help narrow the location? Another line clearly showed a railroad. The printed names, Gentry and Parker, might mean individuals or farms she could trace.

  But this looked like two maps in one and drawn to different scales: the larger showing the Potomac, railroad and farms and then a smaller insert detailing a stream, a stone wall, a winding path and a squar
e structure with sharp right angles. Near the bottom was an odd sketch depicting a shape like a box with rounded corners and something she couldn’t identify on top—an odd primitive hut?

  Except for the river, railroad and proper names, the map’s landmarks remained mysteries, but the spot marked by X, wherever that might be, stood clear.

  She need not be a curator to realize the fragile cloth and faded writing would suffer from handling and folding, so she made copies of them at her printer. Then she copied her interpretation pages, showing the key words and her inferred substitutions. Gently folding the cloth originals, she slid them into a large envelope for safekeeping and hid it on a laundry room shelf behind some vases.

  “Now, why did I think it smart to do that?” she asked the dragon, who said nothing.

  Back at the computer, she wiggled excitedly in her chair. If correct, she’d answered the riddle’s question: what is X?

  “But,” she said aloud to the empty room, “the riddle’s real message targets something different: where is X.” If the map held the answer, could she follow it herself to discover the location?

  If not, who could she trust to help her discreet search for artifacts that might affect history? Who had the important knowledge she needed without the greed treasure hunting often generated?

  Now the dragon’s wise stare made her uneasy, as if he read her mind. Did he know the secret of “X?”

  CHAPTER 4

  As she pondered the riddle, the map and the dragon, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Jen. Its Mary Ann. Guess what. I think I’ve met a very special man.” It was Jennifer’s friendly neighbor who lived three houses away and whose husband had died two years earlier.

  “Good morning, Mary Ann. So, tell me.”

  “Well, you know it took me a year to land on my feet after Dan died. Although you and other friends rallied around me, I began to miss male companionship and signed up for that dating service where I met the losers. But a few weeks ago, I found this ad on Craigslist and he sounded nice and about my age, so we met in a public place, just like you’re supposed to. And, Jen, he’s quite good-looking—handsome, even. And has an out-going personality. He’s English and I love his accent. His name is Charlie and he has nice manners. We’ve been seeing each other regularly for three weeks, and I think I’m smitten.”

  Grateful that Mary Ann paused this monologue to take a breath, Jennifer said, “You certainly sound excited. Have you met any of his friends?”

  “Not yet and he hasn’t met mine. We wanted to see if the two of us clicked before we widened the circle.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “He rents an apartment near Tysons Corner. I’ve been there and it’s beautiful. He said he had a decorator furnish it for him and it looks like it. He let slip a few times that money was no object and he takes me to great restaurants like L’Auberge Chez Francois and Ruth’s Chris and The Palm. We’re having wonderful times together.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Some sort of import/export business involving antiques.”

  “Has he been to your house?”

  “Yes, several times. I cooked for him one night, and last night on the patio, he grilled delicious steaks. It felt a lot like old times when Dan was alive. Of course, I realize Dan’s gone forever and I have to move forward. Charlie may be the one to move forward with.”

  “Will Jason and I meet him soon?”

  “Great idea, like a double date. Also, I’d appreciate Jason’s impression of him.”

  “I understand. Shall I get my calendar?”

  “No, I’m driving right now. May I call you tomorrow to set up a time?”

  “Absolutely. Okay, bye for now.” Jennifer ended the call. Did her friend remember their earlier discussion about potential pitfalls in these blind date situations? Or had infatuation swept caution away? Did this man answer Mary Ann’s prayers or embody her worst nightmare? She wished Mary Ann a second chance at happiness. She knew numerous friends who lost a spouse and later found a loving companion to share their golden years.

  The dragon stared at Jennifer, as if aware of those answers.

  She reached again for the map, but the phone interrupted again.

  She picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Help me. Help me…please,” a frail old voice begged.

  Jennifer immediately recognized this caller’s voice but not the fragile, beseeching tone. Her grip tightened on the phone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I…it’s happened so quickly I can hardly think straight right now.”

  Alarmed, Jennifer eased into the nearest chair, gripping the phone. Masking her worry, she forced herself to use a calm voice. “Take a deep breath and start at the beginning.”

  “I…I guess it began at the gas station. When I couldn’t start the pump, a friendly young man at the next pump offered help. He said his name was John and we chatted while he filled my tank.”

  “Go on…”

  “He asked if I garden. I told him I used to but now I paid a service to take care of my landscaping until they stopped coming because…well, because I forgot to pay their bill. He said he did yard work and would charge less than the service that deserted me. But he’d have to see my property to give an estimate. He asked how I liked my Mercedes and if I did a lot of driving. I explained I didn’t drive much anymore, just for necessities, because…”

  “Because…” Jennifer prompted.

  “Because…well, I didn’t want to tell you this, but I failed my last driving test, so I guess I’ve been driving illegally for a few months. Instead of chastising me like you’re probably about to, he laughed. He’d chauffeured in a past job and suggested the ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ thing. So John came back to my house, looked around, gave a really low estimate for the yard and said he’s also a handyman. I showed him a few chores and he spotted several more. He changed my burned-out light bulbs, opened a window stuck shut for years and suggested a little paint would brighten up the woodwork. I agreed. So he gave me his prices, did the chores and I paid him.”

  “Yes…” Jennifer encouraged, wondering how this related to the call for help.

  “The next day, he drove me to the grocery in my car, which made me feel rather queenly. On the way home, he mentioned his wife does domestic work and is also a great cook; would I like to give her a try? I agreed, thinking what good luck to meet him. She’s also pleasant enough. She cleaned the house and cooked a fine lunch and dinner. And then…”

  Jennifer shifted the phone to her other hand because she’d gripped it so tightly her fingers tingled. “And then…” she urged.

  “Then when they returned the next day he looked sad for the first time. He said they had to move from their rented house because the owner decided to sell it and they had to be out today. They found a nice furnished place but couldn’t move in for two days. He said money was tight and they were trying to figure out a place to stay for two nights. Well, I looked around my big, empty house and thought I could be gracious to this nice, hard-working young couple, so I offered to let them stay here. They moved in and…” the voice trailed away.

  “And?”

  “And it should be wonderful because Jane cooks, cleans house and goes with me every time I leave the house so I have a companion. But…”

  “But?”

  “But they still haven’t left and it’s been over a week.”

  “Did you tell them to go?”

  “I don’t like confrontations or acting impolite, but I hinted. Weren’t they only staying two nights? Yes, but their new place had a roof leak and the owner needed another week for repairs. They always have believable answers for my questions, ones that involve staying here longer.”

  “Are you all right otherwise? Have they harmed you?”

  “Well, yes and no. I feel like a prisoner in my own house. John drives me where I want to go, so he has my car keys and they’ve hidden the phones so I can’t make calls. I wonder if they put something in my food
, because I sleep a lot more than I used to.”

  “Without a phone, how are you calling me now?”

  “You know, Chelsea’s done my hair at the same beauty shop for thirty years. That’s where I am now. Chelsea let me borrow her cellphone, and I’m hiding in the ladies room because Jane stays to watch and listen whenever I leave the house. I wonder now if it’s to make sure I don’t contact anyone. She listens to every word I say. She’s sitting in the shop right now waiting for me to come out so John can drive us home.”

  “Can you get help from a neighbor?”

  “No. Those two watch me every minute I’m awake. They seem like they’re just being nice, but they don’t leave. They seemed so interested in me and learning all about my family and friends. Since I live alone, I enjoyed someone to talk with. Looking back now, I realize they asked me a lot of questions and I told them much more than I should have. But in the beginning they seemed so…wholesome and likeable that I wasn’t at all suspicious.”

  “What if I told them to get out?”

  The voiced sobered. “I don’t feel comfortable about that. What if it makes them angry? How could I defend myself?”

  “I think I should call the police right now. They will…“

  “No. Please, Jennifer, just come here yourself to help me. Couldn’t you get to Florida tomorrow on a plane…or maybe even tonight? I hate to bother you, dear, but I…I’m scared.”

  “You are never a bother to me. Look, I’ll check flights and get to Naples today if possible, latest tomorrow. Can you manage until then?”

  “I…I hope so. Thank you, Jen. I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Try to relax now and don’t worry. I’ll be with you in less than twenty-four hours. Just hang on and know I’m coming to rescue you.” A sudden thought struck her and she added quickly, “Remember, this is our secret. Don’t tell John and Jane I’m coming.”