Garage Sale Riddle

by Suzi Weinert

  “All right, our secret. Thank you, Jennifer. I love you, dear.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  Jennifer’s mind raced. Would her mother stay safe until she arrived?

  CHAPTER 5

  Jennifer ended the call, sighed and cradled her face in her hands.

  She’d balanced small signs of her mother’s forgetfulness against her equally strong wish to live independently in the same Florida neighborhood familiar to her for thirty years. This worked if her mother could drive, handle daily living and decision-making on her own. Finding caretakers to deal with a senior’s creeping dependence offered solutions but also risks. Paid help could neglect or otherwise take advantage of an elder without a trusted advocate nearby to check.

  But now Jennifer recognized having nobody on site left her mother at even greater risk, as today’s revelation proved. Should she have insisted on local oversight to prevent her mother’s gradual aging issues escalating into this crisis?

  Jennifer inhaled deeply, acknowledging this wasn’t her first sudden race to Florida. Besides the “want to” trips, when she and Jason visited her mother to exchange Naples’ warm winter sunshine for McLean’s blustery winters, were the anxious “have to” trips. Her mother’s ambulance ride to the ER triggered Jennifer’s first dash to Naples. Fortunately, the resulting A-fib diagnosis could be treated with prescriptions—assuming her mother remembered to take the meds.

  When her mother’s beloved Jaguar developed expensive mechanical troubles, Jason flew down to help select a new car. The Mercedes they chose—he for the dependable machinery, she for the aristocratic lines and plush interior—served her well until today’s revelation about no driver’s license.

  And the lost purse episode, when Jennifer rushed to Naples to resolve the missing checkbook and credit cards and to get her mother a new driver’s license at DMV. Because the purse also held her keys, they changed locks on her house. And, of course, replaced the missing cellphone.

  Still another time, Jennifer persuaded her mother to simplify life with a Naples home-care group sending someone daily to cook and help with shopping and light housework. After the first week, her mother locked them out, certain they were stealing her sterling silver, one piece at a time.

  Forays to Florida to stomp out these brushfires weren’t convenient for a daughter living this far away. After today’s experience, she knew her mother shouldn’t live alone any longer. Should she search out senior housing for her in Naples or coax her here to McLean, where they could keep an eye on her? Getting her to agree to such a move promised a battle.

  She glanced at her watch. Ten in the morning. Back at her computer, she pushed aside copies of the riddle, her translation attempt, and the map in order to type in her travel options. She booked a flight, leaned back in her chair, stared at the ceiling and closed her eyes. So much to do to get ready in so little time.

  She scribbled a hasty to-do list, wrote down meal suggestions for food already in the refrigerator and packed a suitcase. On impulse, she threw in her copies of information from the cloths. Then she cancelled appointments for two weeks and knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door.

  “What is it?” a sleepy voice asked.

  “Grammy needs me, Becca. My flight’s at 1:00. Any chance you could dash me to Dulles in half an hour? I could drive and park myself but I don’t know how long I’ll be away and don’t want to leave my car in the airport garage for weeks.”

  After a pause to comprehend, again the sleepy voice managed, “Okay, Mom. I…I’ll be ready soon.”

  “Thanks, hon.” she said to the closed door. Next, she phoned Jason. “Jay, sorry to bother you on the golf course, but…” and she explained her impromptu trip of unknown length.

  “Do you think this is the beginning of what we talked about for your Mom…moving her out of her Florida house and close to us?”

  “Maybe, but she won’t cooperate. It means stress between us instead of the good memories I’d like in my final years with her. Wish you were there with me, because she’d listen to you. She thinks you’re wise and wonderful.”

  He chuckled, “Well, she got that right.”

  “Indeed, she did.” Jennifer smiled. “I’ll make a list for you of things happening while I’m gone, like Celeste cleaning house on Tuesday. I’ve left a few meals, but you’ll soon be on your own.”

  “Don’t worry, just new reasons to appreciate you. Becca and I’ll bachelor it for a week. After all, I survived in the military.”

  “Yes, but the mess hall fed you or you had those meals-ready-to-eat.”

  He groaned. “Just thinking of MRE’s kills my appetite. I’ll be fine, Jen. It’s you I’m worried about. Go by the police station first and get a cop to go with you before you square off with this John and Jane duo. They think they’re on to a good thing and may not give up easily. Your Mom might not realize it, but they could even be armed.”

  “Jay, I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. Okay, I won’t go alone.” She looked from her to-do list to her watch. “Becca’s taking me. My flight’s at 1:00 and I must arrive an hour before, so I’ll leave for Dulles by 11:00. Love you, hon. I’ll miss you and thanks for being understanding about Mom.”

  “At least I got lucky in the mother-in-law department.”

  “You think so now, but who knows what’s ahead if she…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll wear my FH and DSIL hero cape and goggles for the task.”

  She wrinkled her nose, trying to puzzle this out. “FH and DSIL?”

  “Fearless Husband and Devoted Son-in-Law.”

  * * * * * *

  Traffic slowed as they drove toward Dulles airport. “Probably an accident,” Becca guessed, eyeing the crawling line of cars snaking ahead. “Not even a steady creep, just stop-and-go.”

  “I can’t miss my plane. Your Grammy needs me…”

  “Worst case, Mom, you can catch the next flight. Why not reserve a seat right now so you have one if you need it?”

  Whipping out her cellphone, Jennifer did.

  “Look, Mom, not everybody makes it to the airport an hour before flight time. Your boarding pass and carry-on give you an edge. Once through security and the shuttle train, maybe you can run for it.”

  Jennifer nodded but then admitted, “Anything preventing getting to Grammy fast is a worry, but you’re right, the later plane is Plan B.”

  They inched along for ten miles as XM radio music played. Jennifer tried not to fidget.

  “Look, Mom. Traffic just opened up. No accident or logical explanation for the slow-down. Go figure.”

  Jennifer’s watch read 12:20. “I might still make it if the security line’s short and the shuttle train out to the planes is quick.”

  “…and if your departure gate is near the shuttle gate. Last time I flew they said their new policy is closing the plane door ten minutes before departure.”

  Jennifer gathered her purse, double-checked her boarding pass and when they reached the ticketing curb, she jumped out. “Love you, Becca. Thanks for getting me here…physically and mentally.” She grabbed her suitcase, blew her daughter a kiss and dashed into the terminal.

  Inside, she located her gate on the electronic board displaying flight information. The security line moved fast. Once through, she hurried for the shuttle train. At the departure terminal she rushed toward her plane’s gate. Empty waiting-area seats told her the plane had already boarded as she dashed up to hand the agent her ticket.

  “Sorry, economy seats are full. When you didn’t arrive on time, we gave your seat to someone else. We’re just closing the door.”

  Jennifer fought tears. “Please, I just learned this morning that my mother’s in critical trouble. Her life’s in danger. She’s desperate for me to help her. I left home with plenty of time but traffic stalled on the highway. Please. Please let me on this plane? I must get to my mother.”

  The ticket agent frowned and shook her head as the boarding agent came up the ramp.
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  “Ready to close,” he said.

  With the next flight hours away and her mother at risk, every minute counted toward her rescue. Jennifer choked back a sob, anguish clear on her face.

  CHAPTER 6

  The impatient airline gate attendant looked up, studied Jennifer and shifted uneasily. The agent recognized how this passenger’s obvious distress mirrored her own only last week when she’d rushed to Chicago to help her ailing father. Sudden empathy softened her standard corporate response, and the agent made a snap decision. She studied the boarding pass in her hand. “Just this last passenger, Jennifer Shannon. Put her in the empty in first.”

  As the boarding agent motioned Jennifer down the ramp to the plane, she touched the gate agent’s arm. “Thank you for this kindness.” Then she hurried down the jet way.

  Inside the plane, the flight attendant guided her to the last empty first-class seat and hefted her carry-on into the overhead rack. She eased into her seat, buckled up and speed-dialed her phone as the plane pushed back. “Becca, please tell Daddy I made the flight. Yes…a miracle and I am breathless. Can’t talk now—time to turn phone to airplane mode. Call you tonight. Please cancel that later plane for me.” She gave her the flight number, ended the call and leaned back.

  The flight attendant approached, “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Yes, merlot, please.” She chuckled at the wild contrast from her near hysteria a few minutes ago to being aboard and en route to her mother. She’d toast this good luck with the wine.

  Grateful to board the flight at all, never mind in first class, she closed her eyes, listening to familiar taxi and take-off sounds. Her pounding heart began to slow. She opened her eyes to find the plane airborne. Glancing initially at fellow passengers enjoying the comfortable first class seats and attentive service, she turned toward her seatmate.

  He gazed out the window at the view, a closed book in his lap. The title read, “Civil War Relics.” He was clean shaven, dressed in expensive casual clothes. His carefully groomed white hair contrasted with a sun-tanned face. His prominent nose and thin lips combined into a hard profile. The manicured hand resting on the book had avoided hard labor. Something “creepy” about him, although Jennifer questioned superficial first impressions. On his tray sat two small empty airline bottles of Jack Daniels beside an empty glass.

  “Hello,” she said companionably. “Do you fly often?”

  “Yes and I loathe commercial flights. But my own plane’s hangared for repairs.”

  “Do you live here in the DC area or Florida?”

  He turned toward her. “Both.”

  Their drinks came. He filled his glass and she tried again. “How is that?”

  “How is what?”

  “That you live in both places?”

  “I have interests in Naples, business in Great Falls and homes in both.”

  “Is one of those interests connected with the Civil War?”

  A sharp, suspicious look crossed his face, as if uneasy at a stranger’s insider knowledge.

  She gestured. “…the title of the book in your lap,”

  “Oh… yes.”

  “Do you think many Virginians still feel reverence about the Civil War, even though the fighting ended over 150 years ago?” she asked.

  “In history’s terms, that’s like minutes ago,” he admonished.

  Jennifer plumbed her cursory Civil War knowledge. She recognized battles like Gettysburg, had read Andersonville in college, saw Gone with the Wind twice, Cold Mountain once and watched some of Ken Burns’ Civil War Series on public TV. Plus her latest Google searches relating to the newly found map and riddle. Admittedly, she knew little.

  “Why does the Civil War draw your attention?” she asked.

  He looked pensive before giving her a sudden sidelong look. “Are you really interested or making conversation?”

  Surprised, Jennifer still didn’t hesitate, “Unless we talk about the Civil War, it’s just another ordinary flight. But here’s my chance to learn something new. Of course I’m interested.”

  He held the book, its spine in his right hand, and lightly riffled the pages with his left thumb, as if releasing the volume’s mysteries into the air. Abruptly, he shut the book.

  “If you’re American, our Civil War’s results impact your way of life today in a general way. If you had relatives who fought in that war, it impacts your life in a personal way. If you live on the very land where the battles raged, it impacts you in an emotional, even a metaphysical way.”

  Jennifer sipped her wine, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought. At that moment, the flight attendant offered them refills. Jennifer shook her head, but her seatmate again held up two fingers. Obligingly, the attendant brought him two more bottles, scooping away his two empties.

  “So how has it affected you?” she prompted.

  “Though bloody, this war’s gore doesn’t differ significantly from that in other wars. Its leaders’ distinct personalities, like Robert E. Lee or Abraham Lincoln, seemed larger than life, but other wars had legendary leaders like MacArthur, Genghis Khan or Alexander the Great. Here, each side fought with passion for the cause they believed in, but that’s also common in other wars, except when mercenaries are employed.”

  “…who fight for anybody who pays them against any enemy their employer chooses,” she volunteered. “So those similarities aside, what was different?”

  “History’s other wars were in other times, on other turf and for other reasons. For Americans, this was ‘our’ war with causes wrenching enough to pit fathers against sons and brothers against cousins and each other. This war changed our country’s course while ravaging the land and the people it touched. Relics from those deadly battles turn up daily in Virginia’s fields, woods and urban excavations.”

  “Relics like the ones in your book?”

  He inhaled one of his drinks. “Exactly.”

  “So what’s your role in this play?”

  He managed a deprecating smile, as if he were a celebrity she stupidly failed to recognize. “I guess you could say I’m a collector…and very particular about what I choose.”

  “A personal collection or a public collection, like a museum?”

  “A personal collection, though when I find duplicates, I sometimes offer them to museums.”

  “Then your collection must outshine most other collections?”

  Despite his patronizing expression, he chuckled at his own secret joke. “You might say that.”

  “So what happens if you and another collector vie for the same artifact?”

  He turned toward her, eyes beady. A feral grin creased his face. “That’s when the real fun begins. Money smooths most deals, and money isn’t a problem for me. It’s amusing to guess what cash offer proves irresistible for a ‘priceless’ artifact. Breaking the seller is part of the game. In the end, whether with money or otherwise,” his eyes narrowed, “I always get what I want—whatever it takes.”

  His face had turned cruel. His cold voice and ominous words sent a chill prickling across Jennifer’s neck and down her shoulders. She stared with surprise at the raised hairs on her forearms.

  CHAPTER 7

  As the flight attendant approached, Jennifer hugged herself, puzzled at her negative reaction to her seatmate. The attendant smiled. “Another round?” Her seatmate held up two fingers. Jennifer declined.

  “So you’re used to getting what you want?” she asked the collector.

  “Why not?” he gave a drunken sneer. “The last time I didn’t get what I want, I was seven years old.”

  “What happened then?”

  His harsh laugh caused her to turn toward him. Unnerving how his normal expression morphed into slitted eyes and mean mouth. He’s reliving it right this minute, she thought. Would he reveal his shelved memory or close up?

  He drained another airline liquor bottle into his glass and drank deeply. “Now I’m financially comfortable, but my fortune is self-
made.” Rancor filled his voice. “My middle-class parents wouldn’t buy me the red ten-speed Schwinn Flyer bicycle I wanted that Christmas. When Santa brought one to a six-year-old neighbor one street away, you might say I made the boy an offer he couldn’t refuse. The bike was mine. The boy told his parents the story I provided him: two men came by in a car, grabbed his bicycle and reached to take him also, but he ran away just in time. I told my parents a stranger riding in a limousine gave me the bike. The two sets of parents weren’t acquainted and never put the two stories together.”

  Cautious now, Jennifer asked, “And what was the offer the boy couldn’t refuse?”

  Alcohol made his eyes rheumy, but he poured another drink. “I told him my plan for his dog,” he slurred, “then for his little sister and then I’d come for him. I almost lost him when he said he hated his sister, but fortunately, he loved his dog.” His laugh showed a cruel edge.

  “And he believed you?”

  He downed his last drink. “I can be…persuasive when I choose.”

  His smirk made her uneasy. She changed the subject. “How do you find these relics?”

  He didn’t answer right away, as if reluctant to pull himself away from the childhood memory. “I prowl sources myself and get input from finders—some on the internet, some in pawn shops or stores specializing in Civil War artifacts, and some collectors like me who want to trade. They earn a nice finder’s fee if they locate something I want, so they’re eager to deal.”

  “After all this time since that war, does anything new ever turn up?”

  “Mainly documents or buried treasure.”

  The riddle and the map! He had her attention, but she didn’t want to reveal too much. “Treasure?” She feigned surprise. “Are you kidding?”

  “No. Southern plantation owners buried valuables on their property to protect them from plundering Union troops or deserters or carpetbaggers. Besides the small troves are occasional big ones. For example, in April l865 as the victorious Union Army marched on the South’s capital of Richmond, President Jeff Davis took with him the Confederate Treasury—plus gold reserves from Richmond banks to prevent their capture. But he reached his destination without those millions, rumored to be buried somewhere between Richmond and Georgia. Did plantation owners divide the treasure and bury it in many places? Did soldiers steal it? Jury’s out. In theory, large parts remain undiscovered.”