Old Maid's Puzzle

by Terri Thayer

  From the front door, we stepped right into a trashed living room. Panic hit me. She'd been robbed already.

  A large pile of magazines had toppled out of their basket, leaving a slippery hazard. Beyond, I could see an overturned TV tray table that Gussie had been using as a surface to collect small quilt blocks she was piecing. Her tomato pincushion was full of threaded needles and a pair of silver folding scissors lay nearby.

  "Should we call the police?" I asked, picking up the box cover to a thousand-piece puzzle.

  She looked at me like I was nuts. "Why?"

  I looked around the room and then at her. She was not upset, and picked her way through the clear path on the crowded floor. I realized with a gulp that this was the way she lived. "No, it's just that..." I stuttered.

  Gussie laughed. "My creative clutter? Don't worry, you're not the first person to think my house has been ransacked."

  I laid the puzzle lid on a card table to keep her from seeing my flaming cheeks. The half-finished puzzle looked like it would be a covered bridge scene when finished. I resisted the urge to linger and fill in a piece of fall foliage.

  "I figure heaven will be nice and orderly," she said. "I'll probably hate it."

  She moved aside a stack of quilt books that blocked the egress to the kitchen at the back of the house. "I'm a very visual person," she explained. "The minute I put something away, I lose it. So I keep my projects in sight. Believe it or not, I know where everything is."

  I made agreeing noises, but inside I was flipping out. Every surface was covered. Quilted wall hangings fought for wall space with souvenir plates. Next to the window was a framed picture of two black silhouettes surrounded by a heart-shaped mat. The side views of a man and a woman, it was dated September 6, 1947, Niagara Falls, NY. No doubt from Gussie's honeymoon.

  A dusty philodendron looped around the curtain rod. A sunbleached sand art in a terrarium shared a space with several African violets blooming in cracked tea cups.

  Two cats tussled in the corner. They were fighting over a skein of purple yarn. I could see now that they were the reason for the toppled TV tray. The same yarn was twisted around the legs.

  The smaller cat broke away and ran over my feet to beat Gussie into the kitchen.

  I took in a deep breath. There was no question a woman lived alone here. There was no couch, only a threadbare recliner next to the TV table. A spindly dining room set was visible through the arch. No longer used for family dinners, the top was covered with fabric scraps like the ones she'd picked out of the garbage cans at the store.

  Was this what I had to look forward to if I never married? Could my collection of pottery morph into this mishmash of old lady stuff? If I continued to haunt the online auction sites, it just might.

  Looking closer, I was surprised to see that the fabric scraps had been sorted by color and size. A piece of paper on each gave the approximate dimension. Some of the fabrics had been cut into triangles, with the long corners nubbed, ready to be sewn. Maybe there was a method here after all.

  Gussie moved quickly through the clutter, knowing just where to put her feet. I followed her.

  The kitchen was better. The pale green countertops were worn and faded, but gleaming. Clean dishes were laid neatly in a rack next to the sink. Fresh oranges and a ripening tomato were in a bowl under the kitchen window.

  Time was passing. I wasn't going to make it to the post office unless I got going. Maybe I should have Vangie meet me at the post office with the purchase order and the addressed envelope.

  Nah. That was overkill. I did the calculations. Five more minutes here with Gussie. Her house was only a few minutes walk from the store, and then I had a few minutes walk to the post office. The whole trip shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes. I was okay.

  Gussie laid the tote bag on the counter next to an antique blender.

  My phone beeped with a text message from Vangie. "WHR R U?" Where was I? "Coming, Mother," I typed back.

  "What are you going to do about the money?" I asked.

  "Nothing I can do until Larry comes by for it. He'll be along soon." She washed her hands. The window over the sink looked out into the backyard.

  "He'd better be. With that afternoon commute traffic, he'll never make it to Redding today."

  "I'm not worried. Larry and Jeremy have talked and figured out the timing. Jeremy's lucky. Larry's got connections at the title company, and he promised to take care of any problems."

  She was very calm for a woman who'd just set down a tote bag containing nearly thirty thousand dollars. I couldn't keep my eyes off it, but I wanted to know more about this guy she was giving her money to.

  "What's Larry's deal?"

  "What do you mean, his deal?"

  "What does he do for a living?" I nearly groaned when I heard myself ask that. My father had asked that same question about every boyfriend I ever had, starting when I was fourteen. Paper boy, Dad. Duh.

  "He's retired mostly. He sells some things on the Internet." She took out a worn tea towel from a drawer, dried her hands and laid it over her shoulder. "Come out to the garden. I meant to bring this zucchini to the store yesterday but I forgot. It'll only take a moment."

  Before I could stop her, she upended the tote bag. Bundles of money spilled out onto the counter and the floor. I bent down and picked them up. I had to fetch one pack from under the refrigerator. By the time I'd wiped off the dust and turned back around, Gussie was outside. She'd grabbed a broken-down straw hat from a hook by the back door, and was walking resolutely down a stone path.

  I followed her with a backward glance at the pile of money on the counter. I tried to remember if she'd locked the front door.

  Gussie was still talking about Larry. "He took five of my old quilts and got a couple hundred dollars for them. He's always after me to give him my old toy sewing machines."

  I'd seen the shelf running around the top of the kitchen where pink and blue mini-sized sewing machines were on display.

  "He says he could get thousands for the five of them."

  I must have looked skeptical because Gussie patted my hand. "You're not to worry. He knows what he's doing. Celeste trusts him. I trust him."

  Looking at her, trying to read her expression, I tripped over a watering can laying on its side. Gussie's garden was like the inside of her living room. No sense of order. Plants growing without boundaries. Pumpkins surrounded by hydrangea. Marigolds mixed with mint. Raspberries and roses.

  Next to the fence that separated her yard from the house next door, there was a pile of weeds. The plants had been pulled out and tossed in a heap. The leaves were large and serrated with seed pods that looked like spiky helmets.

  Next to the weed pile, I saw several three-leaved plants that looked suspiciously like something my college roommate had grown in a closet. Did Gussie know what she had there? Was this what Pearl was baking into Vangie's brownies?

  I moved closer. "Umm, Gussie? What's this?"

  She looked at me. She was holding a piece of mint in her fingers, breathing in its fragrance.

  "Oh, that's Celeste. She's been over here pulling weeds again." She laughed. "You can imagine how much my garden annoys her. She's in here all the time, trying to restore order."

  I let it go. It wasn't my business.

  I looked to where she pointed, the large Craftsman home next door. "That's Celeste's place? I didn't realize you lived right next to each other."

  Celeste's yard was quite different. Plants were grown in raised beds, with formal brick walks in between.

  Gussie stopped pulling the squash off the vine. Her eyes got cloudy and unfocused. "I wish Celeste would stop trying to take care of me. She's all wrong about Larry, you know. He really loves her. He and I are just friends. But she can't see it. She's so sure he's going to leave her. She won't be happy until she drives him away."

  I started to get uncomfortable again. All this talk about senior love reminded me that one day my father might be experiencin
g these same pangs. That I did not want to think about.

  Gussie saw me shifting my feet. "You've got things to do, I know you do," she said. "Go on back to the store. I'll be fine." She handed me the bunny tote bag of zucchini. It was full and weighed a ton.

  I hesitated. "I'd like to stay with you until he gets here, but I can't. I don't like leaving you here with all this cash."

  "This is the safest place there is. Who's going to think this crummy old house has tons of money in it?"

  That was true. The old hide-in-plain-sight gambit. Except that the money was all over the kitchen counter.

  I pointed inside. "Only if you put that pile somewhere more secure.

  "I promise."

  I wanted to be sure. "Let's do it right now."

  I opened the flimsy screen door, and she followed me. She pulled an old stainless steel bread box off the top of the refrigerator. It was hard to hang on to, and she nearly dropped it. I grabbed one end and helped her settle it on the counter. All this was taking time. I glanced nervously at the bird clock over the kitchen sink. Just past two-twenty. I was okay, time wise. I checked my pocket. The cashier's check was still there.

  "Where can we put this? Something with a lock?"

  Gussie thought, fingers on her chin. "There's an old footlocker in the shed. I had a padlock on it when I used to have pesticides."

  "Okay, perfect."

  We went back outside. The shed was rusty with holes in the roof, but the footlocker looked intact. I doubted anyone would think to look here. We put the money in the footlocker and Gussie put on the padlock. I waited until she had twisted the lock.

  "All right, I'm going back to work," I said.

  Gussie laid a hand on my arm and handed me the tote bag I'd laid down. "Dewey, don't forget the zucchini." She didn't take her hand away. She looked over at the neat garden next door. "Larry might be at Celeste's. I can't go look. Will you?" Gussie said. "It's on your way back to the store."

  I couldn't say no.

  "There's even a short cut," Gussie said. "This is how we get to each other's houses. Or at least we did, when we were still speaking."

  She opened a gate in the white picket fence that separated their yards. A bare dirt path on Gussie's side gave way to a herringbone brick walk.

  A fountain trickled in the middle of Celeste's backyard. I was willing to bet it was in the exact center of the space. Everything in the garden was symmetrical. Nothing out of place.

  I'd just put my hand up to knock when the back door opened. "Don't just stand out there like a Jehovah's Witness. Come in, Dewey," Celeste said.

  She led me into her kitchen. It was cool and quiet. The cherry cabinets had intricate geometric inlays of lighter wood. The slate on the counters changed colors from blues to pinks and back to purple.

  "I've never been in here," I said, using the hushed tones usually reserved for museums.

  "Of course you have," Celeste said. "You helped serve at my husband's funeral."

  I remembered now. Mom had dragged us along to the funeral and back here. Kevin had disappeared outside and I'd been stuck, alone, delivering plate after plate of mini quiches.

  At that time, I had no interest in Craftsman style. It had taken a freshman college course in Architecture to light that particular fire.

  I spotted a ceramic cup on the counter. My heart rate jumped. I felt like Lovejoy near a real Louis XVI Porter chair. "Is that an Ohr?"

  I pointed to the cup, which I knew was a mortar and pestle. It had the fluid lines that the famous Arts and Crafts potter was known for. It was unglazed, so it had to be one of his later pieces. Kind of ugly, if one didn't know the value.

  "I didn't know he made mortars," I said, reverently.

  The lines of the piece were so inviting. Without thinking, I picked it up. Celeste stiffened. I would never have had the nerve to touch it if I'd thought about it. I promised not to drop it.

  Rubbing my fingers along the curvy top, I could see a few seeds inside. "You use this?" I said in amazement. One Ohr piece could sell for thousands of dollars.

  Celeste gently released my grip and took the mortar from me. She pulled up a corner of the apron she was wearing and wiped out the inside of the cup and the pestle. "Everything I own has a function and purpose. That's the Craftsman credo." "

  That was true. "I have an Ohr mug," I said, trying to imagine putting coffee in it. "My parents got it for me as a graduation gift."

  I know," Celeste said, with a slight smile on her face.

  "Did you ... help Mom find it? I wondered where she suddenly got the expertise."

  Celeste nodded, placing the mortar and pestle back on the counter. "It was one of my pieces. I have an extensive collection."

  I half-remembered a built-in cabinet filled with pottery that I'd thought was ugly when I was fifteen. Now I'd love to see it. "Can I see the rest?"

  A shadow crossed her face. "Another time perhaps"

  She pointed to the tote bag full of zucchini. "I see you came from Gussie's. Are you here to broker a peace?"

  "Not exactly," I said.

  She led me into a redwood-paneled living room. It was like stepping into a picture from one of my architecture books. The sideboard looked to be Royersford. The stately grandfather clock was Stickley.

  "Is that an Ali Baba bench?" I asked, my voice cracking at the sight of the rare piece.

  Celeste was amused. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  A ghost? A dream, maybe. This was my house, all grownup. "I live in a small Craftsman," I said. "Of course it's nothing compared to what you have." "

  I should think not. This is a Maybeck"

  My knees buckled. This was the real thing. "I didn't know he did houses in San Jose."

  She was quiet, waiting for me to get to the point of my visit. Arms crossed, she stood in front of her fireplace. Family photos lined the mantel in matching silver frames. To the left was a booklined inglenook. I wanted to build one of those cozy reading areas in my house.

  I shook myself. "I was looking for Larry. He was supposed to meet Gussie. An hour or so ago."

  Pain shot across her face. "Larry's gone."

  "Gone? Gone where?" I asked.

  Celeste's back sagged before she caught herself and straightened. "Gone for good. He packed his things and left me."

  This was bad. "I'm sorry." Was Gussie the reason Larry left? Did she know? She couldn't have; she'd sent me over here.

  "When?" I asked.

  "Yesterday evening," she said.

  Yesterday, I'd seen Larry and Gussie pull away from the store. He obviously had never told Gussie his plans to leave. Gussie was expecting him today.

  She walked past me and opened the oak-carved front door. "You won't mind if I don't want to talk about this. This is my private life. Not for public consumption. I apologize for the scene in your store yesterday. That will never happen again."

  Gussie was waiting for him. "Where did he go?" Maybe Larry had yet another woman stashed somewhere else.

  Celeste just compressed her lips into tiny white lines. She held the door open.

  I said, "He told Gussie he was going to help her." Was he going to keep his word and help Gussie get the money to her grandson?

  "If I were you, Dewey Pellicano, I wouldn't worry about Gussie. She's been taking care of herself for as long as you have. Longer. She's perfectly capable of handling her life."

  "But ..."

  "I don't know how you know about Gussie and Larry's plans, but it's really none of your business. We are independent women, taking care of our own affairs. Tell me, did you give any thought to what your mother was doing most days?"

  That hurt. That was not fair. My mother's life was cut short. She would never get to be an old woman like Celeste. My mouth twisted painfully as I tried not to cry.

  "I thought not. We don't ask for your help, Dewey. We don't need it. I will tell Gussie that Larry is no longer available, and that will be the end of it."

  I had no choi
ce but to go through the door.

  She nodded. "Larry is not a part of my life anymore. Or hers."

  The wonderful grandfather clock chimed three times. I'd missed the post office. What an idiot I was. Of course Gussie's clock wouldn't keep the correct time.

  TEN

  I WALKED BACK TO the store, the bunny tote bag conspicuously full of squash. It was too heavy to tuck under my arm, so I had no choice but to carry it by the handles. Thankfully, I saw no one I knew.

  Celeste's words had hurt. Was I substituting Gussie's problems for my own? I was ignoring everything I had to do.

  I went through my mental checklist of the chores I'd neglected for the last couple of hours. Top of the list was the scissors. I was the one who'd messed up getting the cashier check in on time, I'd be the one to fix it. I'd call the company first thing in the morning, and beg.

  I should be able to finish checking in the notions before my date with Buster tonight. Once I got those entered into the inventory, I would have Jenn or Kym tag them and put them out for sale. I wanted to be sure that the customers could easily find what they needed during the sale.

  My step got lighter as I got closer to the store. I'd had an idea that might earn me a few brownie points with my newest customers.

  I walked in through the back door. Vangie was in the hall, breaking down boxes and bundling the cardboard cores that fabric came wound on. Each one represented a bolt of fabric sold, and that was a good thing, but it also meant a never-ending recycling battle.

  I checked the classroom. Pearl and Ina were working on the Old Maid's Puzzle quilt. The quilt frame was up and the two women sat on either side of it, hand quilting. They looked a little lost as the frame was big enough to seat at least six people, and they were the only two there. I'd look in on them in a minute.