Garage Sale Riddle

by Suzi Weinert

  She looked at her dragon. Did primitive man have trouble separating dreams and visions from reality when both seemed equally vivid? During recent nights, she’d vision-walked in century-old shoes of people she felt she knew. What was going on here?

  Her fingers touched the dragon necklace, surprised she’d forgotten to remove it last night. She scoffed. Wasn’t this necklace just a silly modern version of early man’s desire for charms, beads, figures or other talisman magic to gain that vital edge for survival—good luck? How could this stubborn primitive urge for protection still entice, despite scientific knowledge to the contrary? She thought of four-leaf-clovers, a rabbit’s foot, of gamblers who always wore their lucky socks to the craps table, or ball players their lucky number, or lucky pennies tucked into loafers. She shook her head in confusion.

  Getting dressed, she looked expectantly at her own dragon sitting on the dresser. It seemed he returned an equally expectant stare.

  Her mind swirling with questions, Jennifer made a cup of coffee in the suite’s kitchenette and took it to the balcony to compile today’s to-do list. Gazing over the seemingly endless waves lapping the shore below her, she sat back, closed her eyes and invited cosmic connections to engulf her. She felt at one with these natural rhythms and ancient sounds of the universe.

  When her pen dropped noisily from her lap to the balcony tile, her imagination rocketed her back from space to her planet to her balcony chair. She sighed, opened her eyes and started the list. “Let Peggy into Grammy’s house at 9AM to tag” and beneath that, “Call Goodwin” and “Visit Chelsea?” She thought a moment and added, “Call Birdsong.”

  The sale would begin Friday morning, end Sunday at 4:00 and they’d start their drive north Monday morning. So one week left in Florida before Grammy’s new life began in northern Virginia. She glanced at her watch: 8 o’clock. She must hustle to dress and drive to Grammy’s house to admit Peggy’s crew at 9:00. When she tiptoed back into the bedroom to get her clothes, Becca lay comatose in the other bed, doubtless having returned late from her date.

  Jennifer dressed in the suite’s living room, wrote a note explaining her whereabouts and drove toward Grammy’s house, stopping on the way for coffee and a bag of donuts. As she unlocked her mother’s front door, her phone rang.

  “Goodwin, here,” said the voice. “Could I come by for a few minutes? Are you at the hotel?”

  “No, at mother’s house.”

  “Good. See you in five.”

  Peggy’s group arrived to continue their tagging and arranging inside, as Goodwin’s car pulled up curbside. He approached Jennifer on the porch. “Look, a couple of things. Chelsea’s at home, resting. She’s going to be fine—just shaken up and nursing some bruises. She’ll be back at work Wednesday. I…” he sounded uncomfortable, “I want to thank you, especially, for figuring out her odd phone message and calling 911. You…you saved her from Roderick… and we captured him besides.” He laughed. “And I thought I was the detective here.” She chuckled with him. “Also, that other reason I needed to get back to you, we think we found some more of your mother’s stolen jewelry. We need her to identify it, maybe later today?”

  Jennifer grinned. “Wonderful news. You name the time and place and we’ll get her there.”

  “And what’s your interest again in the Venuti case? You asked me about him.”

  Jennifer considered her answer. If Goodwin thought her interest casual, he’d give her a casual response. But if he knew her interest was significant, he might tell her more.

  “If I speak to you in total confidence, will you keep what I tell you a secret?”

  Goodwin looked doubtful. “So long as what you tell me breaks no laws, I will.”

  Jennifer took a deep breath. “He and my mother had a three-year love affair and planned to marry. He told her he worked for the FBI on dangerous assignments and if he failed to return from one of his trips, it meant he was dead.” She shrugged, “It sounds fishy to me, but she believed him. Then one day he didn’t come back or message her why. She assumed he died in the line of duty. It broke her heart that they wouldn’t be together, but worse, she worried he’d met a horrible end. It’s like that when you love somebody.”

  Goodwin stared at Jennifer a long moment. He wanted to say he knew something about loving somebody, his wife who died last year and now a new spark with Chelsea. But he discarded that impulse as unprofessional, never mind unmanly. “Look,” he said instead, “I got a buddy in the FBI. We grew up together and stayed friends over the years. Yesterday we talked about another case when the Venuti matter came up. My buddy said…” Goodwin’s phone rang, interrupting his sentence. “Sorry, got to answer this.” He spoke into the phone. “Okay. Okay. When…? I’m on my way.” He ended the call and turned to Jennifer. “Got to go. I’ll let you know a time later today for Frances to ID the jewelry.” He hurried to his car.

  “But…” Jennifer said to no one because Goodwin pulled away from the curb, seeming to entirely forget their Venuti conversation.

  She sighed and went inside. Was volunteering the confidence of her mother’s relationship with Venuti an unforgiveable mistake? She had no right to do so. If Goodwin let this slip, might criminals connect her mother to Venuti and come looking for their missing money? Money enough for her to buy into any upscale senior residence she chose? Yet Jennifer couldn’t take back what she’d told Goodwin. Words are free, she thought, it’s how you use them that can cost you.

  Feeling regretful, she wandered into the house and sat in the kitchen. With time to kill before Becca and Grammy asked her to pick them up, she dialed Chelsea. After the phone rang several times, she prepared to disconnect, thinking Chelsea might be asleep, but then she heard, “Hello.”

  “Chelsea, its Jennifer. How are you?”

  “Well…okay I guess.” Her voice sounded very hoarse. “Had the scare of my life, but thanks to you, Jen, a happy ending. I’m amazed and grateful you translated the hair colors into danger levels. I doubted anybody could understand. It was a pathetic long shot, but my only chance.”

  “Give yourself credit for paying attention in your course and then explaining it so well to us all at the beauty shop. So the hospital discharged you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take it easy a couple of days and start back at the salon on Wednesday. I’ll wear a scarf to cover the bruise on my neck. He…he strangled me, Jen. I…I almost died. If the police had arrived a few seconds later, I’d be gone. I couldn’t talk for a day and a half. I’ll never forget the cold, zombie stare in that man’s eyes.”

  “Oh, Chelsea, I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”

  “Yeah, well…stuff happens.” She changed to a safer subject. “You two coming for your usual Thursday appointments?”

  “Yes, and could someone give Becca a haircut?”

  “Sure, we’ll fit her in. And Jen, thanks again for getting my meaning and calling 911. I owe you.”

  “Take it easy and we’ll see you Thursday. Bye.”

  When the doorbell rang, Jennifer looked out the glass. She couldn’t believe her eyes. William Early! She eased the door open, leaving the chain attached. “Yes?”

  “Hello. My name is William Early. May I talk with you a few minutes?”

  Obviously, he didn’t appear to recognize her from the plane when he’d been so drunk. She closed the door enough to remove the chain but didn’t intend letting him inside. She opened the door six inches and braced her foot against it so he couldn’t push it further. “What do you want?”

  “Are you Jennifer Shannon?” She nodded. “May I come in?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s not convenient now. What do you want?”

  “You don’t know me, but I think you may have something to sell that I’d like to buy. A Civil War map and a riddle?”

  “Where did you get such information?”

  “Many folks know of my Civil War interest and tell me when something interesting surfaces, like your two items. May I please see them?”
/>   “No, sorry.” She started to close the door.

  “Wait,” he called. “I’m prepared to offer you $50,000 each for them. That $100,000 could help fund a college education for one of your grandchildren.”

  “What makes you think I have grandchildren?”

  “I know quite a lot about you because you may have something I want. If so, I’d like to make you the right offer.”

  “I have nothing to sell, thank you.”

  “Oh, but you do, and if it’s what I want I’ll double the amount to $200,000.”

  “No, thank you.” Jennifer again tried to close the door but he’d wedged his foot in so she couldn’t.

  Just then Peggy appeared behind her and spoke loudly, “Is everything all right here or should I call the police?”

  At this, William Early withdrew his foot. Jennifer slammed and locked the door.

  “Thank you, Peggy.”

  “Glad to help.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Jennifer reattached the security chain, leaned her head against the closed door and tried to breathe normally. From the window, she watched Early leave the front porch and get into a car, but the car didn’t drive away. Was he sizing up the house to break in?

  At least he hadn’t identified her from the plane, although that encounter gave her knowledge about him. She knew he had a drinking problem and was prepared to do anything to get what he wanted.

  While waiting for his car to depart, she dialed John Birdsong to describe what happened. “Have you any idea how he learned about my riddle and map? You’re the only person in Florida who knows they exist. Who did you tell?”

  “Jennifer, I’m sorry about this. I’ve never met him myself, but William Early gives all Civil War buffs a bad name. I told you I’d put out a few feelers regarding your riddle and map. Many Civil War enthusiasts talk together on the internet about our theories or ideas or discoveries, and he has a lot of ‘spies’—contacts wanting payoffs from him for leads they provide. This internet network extends beyond Florida. Civil War fans anywhere in the U.S.A. or elsewhere might participate.

  “But my questions revealed nothing about you and I only asked probability questions, like what they thought the chances were that Stoughton had a treasure that Mosby rescued. Or, if somebody found a map and a riddle that appeared to address this treasure, what were the chances it might be authentic? Could anybody suggest who had the knowledge to authenticate such documents? And so on. I don’t know Early personally, but by reputation he’s a very aggressive private collector with big bucks and atrocious manners.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  Birdsong laughed. “That I don’t know, but I’d guess more obnoxious than dangerous.” A buzzer sounded in the background. “I have to get something from the stove. My wife’s visiting her mother for a week so I’m playing bachelor and cooking for myself.” The clang of pans sounded in the background. “There, all set now. Sorry to interrupt.”

  Confused, Jennifer said, “From what you describe, I see how he found you, but how did he find me?”

  “I really don’t know. Rumor says he’s used private detectives to track people down if they have something he wants.”

  “Well, thanks for wanting to help me, John, but please stop your inquiries as of now.”

  “Done, Jennifer. Did you get the info I e-mailed you about Raiford and links to research on the treasure?”

  “Not yet, but thanks for sending them.”

  “Shall I contact you with any feedback from inquiries already made?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Jennifer no sooner ended the call than her phone rang again.

  “Morning, Mom,” Becca chirped much too cheerfully. “Would you mind picking us up at the hotel? We could eat here or go out for lunch or buy groceries for lunch at Grammy’s house.”

  “Let’s use up groceries already in the pantry. Could you be in front of the hotel in fifteen minutes…? Good, I’ll swing by then.”

  During lunch, Jennifer told them about William Early. “We want to avoid him and keep him out of the house, because he’s after the copies I printed of the cloths from the frame.” She explained the Mosby treasure theory.

  Grammy clucked, “Well, if Mr. Early thinks these papers are valuable enough to buy for $200,000, let’s hide them in the safe.”

  “Good idea,” Jennifer agreed. “Who has the combination?”

  “I thought we all did.”

  “You’re right. I put mine back in the This-and-That file but the movers took the file cabinet.”

  Jennifer stood. “I have a copy in my purse. Let’s go upstairs to solve this while Peggy and her people are away for lunch.”

  As they started up the stairs, Jennifer’s cell rang.

  “Goodwin here. How about 3:00 for the jewelry ID? I’ll meet you and Frances at the Property Evidence Room in Building J at the Sheriff’s Headquarters, 3319 Tamiami Trail East. Got it?”

  “Got it. Thanks, Deputy. See you at three.” At the top of the stairs, she confirmed this plan with her mother.

  The doorbell sounded and as Becca raced downstairs, Grammy called, “Must be Peggy’s gang returning to work on the estate sale, but look out through the window before you unlock.”

  Becca looked out, then hustled back to the foot of the stairs. “It’s a man I don’t recognize,” she said in a stage whisper.

  Jennifer and Grammy trotted down the stairs to the window.

  Looking apprehensive, Jennifer said, “It’s William Early again.”

  As they stared, he rang the doorbell again.

  “Should we pretend we’re not here?” Grammy whispered.

  Jennifer whispered back. “Becca, get the wasp spray from the kitchen.”

  When her daughter brought the can, Jennifer opened the door but left the chain in place. Holding the can out of sight, she looked out at the man on the porch.

  “Hello, again, Mrs. Shannon. Look, I’m really sorry we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I apologize for upsetting you. I told you I’m William Early, but I didn’t explain I’m a Civil War historian and collector of relics. Many enthusiasts, like me, read extensively on this subject and form study groups to learn more about this momentous period in our American past. Our common interest connects us like a fraternity, and we often talk on the internet about our slant on various battles and events.

  “That’s how I learned about something you may have found recently, a riddle and map.” He shifted his weight and moved his briefcase from his right hand to his left. “Because of my long-standing fascination with this war, you can understand why I’d like to see what you’ve found. From my extensive knowledge, I might be able to help you decipher codes or otherwise offer academic assistance or clarification. And on the offhand chance it’s something to round out my collection, I might offer to buy it from you at a very good price.”

  Grammy whispered, “He sounds reasonable and looks harmless. Should we let him in?”

  Jennifer shook her head before speaking again to Early. “Thanks, but what makes you think I have something that interests you?”

  He cleared his throat, shaping his answer. “Among my staff of close associates are some computer experts who have…special skills for finding who has put a piece of information on the internet and then tracing further to learn those he communicated with about it.”

  Jennifer realized this fit John Birdsong’s internet feelers on her behalf. Had they checked his phone records, too? But there must be more. “What made you think I have grandchildren?”

  “Most facts about everyone are public record these days. You probably know that.”

  “But even if you traced my e-mail address to my home, how did you find me in Florida?”

  “Maybe my associate checked an internet user’s phone records. Or maybe you have chatty neighbors who mentioned your vacation to one of my associates?”

  Under other circumstances, Early’s Civil War expertise would seem exactly what she needed to better understand the cloth
s’ messages, just as John Birdsong’s had. But now her intuition warned danger. She shivered—something creepy about him from the outset but way stronger now that she realized he’d stalked her.

  “I’m afraid your detective work’s in vain because I haven’t anything about the Civil War to show or sell. You’ve made a mistake.” From the corner of her eye, Jennifer saw Peggy’s car pull to the curb. “And I would appreciate it if you never bother me with this again. Because if you persist, I will call the police to arrest you. Now, please leave these premises and don’t ever come back.”

  Early started to protest, but seeing Peggy’s group coming up the sidewalk, he turned to leave.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said, albeit through clenched teeth, as he passed them on the way to his car.

  CHAPTER 63

  At the Property Evidence Room, Grammy studied the jewelry arrayed before her. “This one’s mine and this and this but not that one. She picked out nine of the ten pieces. “May I take them home now?”

  “Yes,” Goodwin confirmed. “We’ll add your photos to the ones we took for backup in case they’re needed at trial. Just sign here,” he pointed with a pen, “stating the jewelry is yours and today’s date when we returned them.”

  “Where did you find them?” Jennifer asked.

  “At a pawn shop in Michigan close to where they apprehended Roderick. The other missing pieces may be at similar shops between here and there. We have bulletins out, trying to track them down. Some shop owners are forthcoming, some aren’t.”

  “Deputy Goodwin, thanks for your good police work.” Grammy patted his hand. “Jen, is this a good time to tell Cliff about William Early, in case we need help later?”

  They did.

  “See, here’s the problem,” Goodwin shuffled his feet. “He hasn’t actually committed a crime yet, and we can’t arrest him unless he does. You could consider a restraining order if his threats accelerate. But to deliver that order we have to find him. Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes hard, especially if he avoids his home or his office–places we’d typically serve him the restraining order. Anything else?” They shook their heads.