Old Maid's Puzzle

by Terri Thayer

  I moved away from him.

  "Whoa, what's wrong?" A frown crossed his face, his forehead creased like a boy learning table manners.

  I grabbed my wine glass and moved into the living room. I stood in front of the fire, watching the sparks fly. "I told you I don't like being on the receiving end all the time," I said.

  He followed me, putting his arms around my waist from behind. "You're tired, Dewey, come on. And you're mad because I have to leave."

  I turned on him, breaking his embrace. "Do not diminish what I'm saying. Yes, I'm tired, yes, I'm upset that you have to leave, but I know how I feel. I feel like a geisha, performing for your amusement."

  "Well, sorry," Buster's voice grew petulant. "Here I thought I was being a good guy."

  Where was the guy I'd thought knew me so well? I felt a wave of despair. Was I making all that up? Did he know me at all? Did he know what I wanted enough to give it to me? Right now, it didn't seem like it.

  Buster walked to the door. I took a deep breath.

  I said, "Don't leave yet. We need to talk this out."

  He looked at his watch, but came back and sat on the couch. I stood in front of him.

  "Look, it's not that I don't love what you do to me," I said. "You know I do. But the one-sided stuff has got to stop."

  He wasn't looking at me. "You've enjoyed it. I've seen you. I've heard you."

  I ground my teeth. Why was he so obtuse?

  I tried an explanation. "Didn't you ever have a friend who insisted on picking up the check every time you went out? Never let you buy dinner or a drink?"

  He shook his head.

  Darn. "Well, at first, it's kind of nice, but after awhile, you don't want to hang out with them. You drop that friend."

  "Are you going to drop me?" His voice was low and full of self-pity.

  I clenched my fist. It would be so much easier to pop him one like I used to do with Kevin when he wasn't listening. But we were grownups now, and I'd been told since preschool to use my words. I'd like to take the words, one by one, and drop them on his thick skull.

  I took in a breath and flexed my fingers. I was in danger of snapping the stem of my wine glass.

  I said, "It makes me feel like I have nothing to offer you. And that makes me feel like shit."

  He stared at his hands clasped in front of his knees. "That's not how I intended it."

  My mantel clock chimed twelve thirty. Buster pushed himself up from the couch. "I've got to go."

  I burst out, "Are you scared, Healy? Is that it? Afraid that all this foreplay will amount to nothing?"

  I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I'd gone too far. No guy could withstand a direct hit to his manhood.

  He left without another word.

  FOURTEEN

  I ROLLED OVER IN bed for the hundredth time, punching my pillow and pulling the quilt over my head. My mattress felt like a field of rocks, and my special quilt felt as scratchy and rough as if it was filled with straw instead of wool batting.

  The night was never-ending. At two, I was practicing blasting Kym for leaving the store unlocked. At three, I was wishing I'd let Buster have his way. In between, worries about Frank Bascomb being murdered and Tim Shore sleeping in my parking lot wound around the anxieties about Gussie having all that money in her house. By five, I was in a cold sweat, because I couldn't afford the penalty that the alarm company would charge us. That led to an all-out panic attack about the sale on Saturday and an obsessive recalculation of how much money I needed to make. I had to clear at least ten thousand dollars on Saturday.

  I had to take action. At six, I got up and called the Felix Scissors Company in New York. Their day began well before mine. Once I got squared away with them, maybe I could sleep.

  "This is Dewey Pellicano, from Quilter Paradiso. I wanted to let you know I didn't get the cashier's check for our purchase order into the Express mail yesterday as I'd hoped."

  The woman on the other end said cheerily, "No problem. We'll ship as soon as we receive it."

  I had to be assertive. "That won't work for me. I need the scissors here tomorrow."

  "Sorry," she said, in a fading voice that told me she was ready to hang up.

  I had one card to play. "Wait. The scissors are going to be on national TV the day after tomorrow. Can I talk to your supervisor?"

  Without even a "Hold on," an instrumental heavy-on-the-strings version of "Let It Be" played in my ear. I hit the speaker phone function, and started a pot of coffee. It was finished brewing before I heard someone pick up on the other end.

  A raspy man's voice came on, "What's this about my product being on TV?"

  "Hello, is this Mr. Felix?"

  "Just Felix," he groused. "Mr. Felix sounds like a gay hairdresser."

  I didn't want to ask him what his problem with that was.

  "One of my employees is appearing on tomorrow's airing of the show, Wonderful World of Quilts and she's shown using your palm-tree-handled applique scissors."

  "Those are my most popular item." His Brooklyn accent was thick. Dos are mouy most paupular idems.

  Uh-oh. Meaning he didn't need any help selling them. I'd have to up the ante. "In the preview Lark Gordon sent, I saw the scissors featured prominently."

  It wasn't the scissors placement that caught his attention. "You know Lark Gordon?"

  "I do."

  "Listen, kid. Here's how business works. You wash my back, I'll scratch yours. You call that Lark character, tell her I want to give her scissors to use on the show."

  "I can do that..." I agreed tentatively.

  "I've been trying to get my products on her show for years. Just put in a word. Paulie..." he yelled. "Ship that order to California. Now. Overnight. And throw in a half dozen of the new ergonomic dressmaking shears too."

  "Thank you, Felix."

  "Forget about it. I'm sure you and me will be doing lots of business."

  Me and yous, I thought. I went back to sleep with a smile on my face.

  I slept for several hours, then woke up, heart racing. I was late for work. The store had opened an hour ago. I took a pounding shower, using all my hot water, trying to restore my energy. The day before-dealing with Gussie, eating with Kym, the breakin, the fight with Buster-had completely drained me.

  Today was going to be a long day. I was so far behind. I'd have to stay really late tonight. I needed to get the e-mail out, finish checking in and shelving the notions, make sure the store's supply of coins was filled up.

  I called Vangie and told her I'd woken up late. She said cheerfully that I should take my time.

  I drove to work, even though it was a short walk, mentally arguing with my inner environmentalist that today was different. I needed to get there now.

  I put my car on the side street and came in through the parking lot.

  Tim Shore's van was still here. I kicked his tire, releasing some of the pique I was feeling. I hoped his motel mattress was full of fleas. If he didn't get this heap of junk out of here by this afternoon, I'd have Dad come over with his Suburban and tow it out.

  Stewing about Shore, it wasn't until I was in the store, almost to my office, that I noticed something looked different.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother's smiling face. The hall, usually a dim space that led from the back door to the front of the store, was transformed. Pictures of all shapes and sizes were hanging on the wall. Overnight, the hall had become the Portrait Gallery of Quitter Paradiso.

  It was hard to believe this was the same space where Wong, Buster, and I had stood twelve hours ago. The usually blank wall was covered in photographs. Lights, stuck on the ceiling, cast a glow.

  I gasped to see a picture of my mother, wearing a newspaper hat, mugging for the camera with a much younger Ina at her side. Pearl grinned in the background. Next to that was a picture of Mom and Kym with a grinning Kevin throwing up rabbit ears behind both their heads. I touched a photo of elves for the Christmas in July sale
and witches for the Halloween Monster Mash.

  The history of the store was here, in photos.

  "How? Who?" I said, my voice cracking. Vangie came out of the office at the sound of my voice. She was grinning, and I knew who was responsible.

  "You did this?" I put my hand over my heart and patted it. Words were suddenly too difficult to form.

  "I came in wicked early this morning. I didn't think I'd get done in time. It's a good thing you were late."

  Her face was flushed prettily. Her dimples were so deep, I could have planted dimes in them. I hugged her tight.

  "This is what you've been working on so secretly?"

  Vangie said, "I wanted it to be a surprise."

  Kym came out of the kitchen, blowing on a mug of hot chocolate. "She certainly didn't ask me," Kym said. "I think you're wasting valuable space with the photos. Space we could have used for merchandising."

  "No, it's perfect," I said. "Our customers are a big part of the store. They'll love seeing themselves on the wall."

  "Well, that one's crooked," Kym said, pointing to a frame as she walked into the store. She shouldn't be taking a beverage out there, but I was too happy to call her on it.

  "There's pictures from every year of the twenty years," Vangie said.

  I couldn't stop looking. All the troubles of last night melted away, as my eyes flitted around the wall, catching sight of another familiar face. My three brothers were represented, wearing redgingham aprons at one sale, jousting with packages of batting. In an old picture, the quilting frame was set up in the loft and a group of six quilters were seated at it, smiling into the camera. Celeste, Gussie, Pearl, Ina, and two others I didn't know. The original Stitch 'n' Bitch group.

  I paced the hall, having trouble forming a coherent thought. I squeezed Vangie's arm as I walked by her. She grinned broadly, her eyes rimmed with tears.

  "It's nice to see you so happy," she said.

  I felt like I had a fever. I was sure my cheeks were flaming red.

  "You must have been working on this forever," I said.

  She nodded. "Your dad helped, giving me the old photos. I stored the images in the computer and printed them out, when you weren't around. It was all very 007. I even gave it a code name-Project 20something"

  That was the name of the file I couldn't open yesterday. I was so glad now that I hadn't been able to get it open and spoil the surprise.

  I scanned the wall. My eyes filled with tears again, and I swallowed a sob.

  The best thing was, in all the pictures my mother was smiling. Every single one.

  I wanted to stay here all day, but work awaited. I tore myself away. I grabbed Vangie again and hugged her hard. "Thank you.

  "Back to work," she said, shooing me into the office.

  My phone had been ringing, and I'd let it go to voice mail. I checked for messages when I got to my desk. There were two. One, from Buster. He was in L.A. The prisoner wasn't available this morning after all, so he'd be staying there until late tonight. His message was short, with no mention of the way Date Night had ended.

  I swallowed my disappointment. I hated the way we'd left things last night, but I knew I wasn't wrong. I didn't want to take back what I'd said.

  The other message was much more welcome. Felix Scissors had shipped. I should have the scissors Friday morning.

  "Yessss!"

  Vangie looked up.

  I gave her a thumbsup. "I did it!" I said. "The scissors will be here in the morning." It felt so good to get something right.

  "How'd you pull that off?" Vangie said. She held her hand up for a virtual across the room high five.

  "I called the scissors place from my bed as soon as they opened."

  "Buster didn't mind?" Vangie said.

  "He went to L.A. early," I said. Vangie looked askance, but I ignored her and moved on to a safer topic. "Wonderful World of Quilts airs at ten thirty our time, and the shipment is guaranteed to be here by eleven."

  "Perfect," Vangie opened up a screen on her computer. "I'll make the barcodes and print them out, so as soon as the scissors get here tomorrow, we can start selling them."

  "Good deal." At least something was working out okay. One item off my to-do list. "I'll mail the check."

  Now I needed to confront Kym about leaving the back door open last night. I went up front. She was bent over something and drawing.

  I stopped. There were store things that needed to be done. She could vacuum the floor while there were no customers. The book rack needed restocking yesterday like I'd asked. The fat quarter shelves were low on inventory.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  She looked up. "Kevin put the light box together last night, so I'm setting up a display for the sale on Saturday." She showed me the applique design she was tracing.

  I took a measured breath. The light box was so big, Kevin could have run his toy trains on it. "We don't have room for that."

  I wasn't taking up valuable floor space to have her sit and draw all day. "No, final answer. Take it down."

  This wasn't why I came out here. "Last night, Kym, I got a call that the alarm was going off. You didn't lock the back door."

  "I thought you wanted to move forward," she said. "This is the future."

  "The door, Kym?"

  "It was locked," she said.

  I let out a breath. "You couldn't have. The door came open, and the alarm went off. The cops were here and everything."

  "Ask your brother," she said. "You know how anal he is. He went around and tried all the doors before we left for dinner."

  That was just like Kevin. I knew my brother would not have left a door unlocked. Still, the alarm had gone off. "Are you sure that wasn't another night?"

  Kym's hands flipped back her hair, first the right side, then the left. "Why are you always picking on me, Dewey?" Kym said. "I told your brother I can't do anything right in your book. You live to tear apart every little thing I do."

  I gave up. Maybe Wong was right. Someone had made a key and broken in. That wasn't good. "Take down the light table," I said, leaving her. I felt her shooting daggers at my back.

  When I came back in the office, Vangie was mumbling. She had the receipts from the day before in front of her.

  "What's up?" I asked, alarmed by the look on her face. I could see Kym pull out a bolt of batik fabric and cut a yard of fabric for fat quarters. Finally, she was doing something useful.

  "I'm balancing the drawer, and the cash is off." Vangie was chewing on the end of her pencil. I resisted the urge to knock it out of her mouth. I always avoided her pencil cup, not liking the feeling of teeth marks under my fingers.

  "Let me see." I scooted my chair over to where she was going over yesterday's receipts.

  She said, "It's weird. Eighty dollars even. I've looked through all the cash sales on the computer. The amounts received and the change match up."

  I shifted gears, thinking about the sales yesterday. The store hadn't been very busy.

  "It's as if someone gave back eighty dollars too much change," Vangie continued. "What kind of idiot would do that?"

  My first thought was Kym, then my heart sank. It was me.

  "Uh-oh. I had a customer who accused me of shortchanging her." I flipped through the open screens until I found the sale. "See. I entered that she had given me a twenty-dollar bill, but when I gave her her change, she insisted that she'd given me a hundred."

  "And you fell for it?" Vangie's eyebrow peaked.

  "Wait, I remember, she proved it was hers. The bill had a special mark on it."

  Vangie had taken back the mouse, and was paging through the sale screens backward in time.

  "Her husband had given it to her for her birthday, and he'd decorated it with a heart," I said.

  "Look," Vangie said, pointing at an earlier sale. "Jenn took in a hundred earlier in the day. I'd bet you anything that was your sweetheart hundred."

  Vangie looked up at me. "They must have been con men. Con w
omen."

  My heart sank. "But she seemed so nice," I lamented.

  Vangie shook her head. "Face it. You were scammed."

  Oh, man. Eighty dollars. That was a lot of money. Especially now. I was bleeding money left and right. I rubbed my upper arms, feeling a sudden chill.

  "Should I tell the police?" I asked. "This is the kind of thing the Community Watch group is trying to prevent."

  Vangie shrugged. "Up to you," she said. "I wouldn't. They're not going to catch them anyway."

  I decided to tell Wong next time I saw him and went to work on the database. Vangie left to bank the deposit and get more coins and small bills for the till. I worked steadily until I heard Ina hooting and hollering in the back hall. "Look at us. Oh, my goodness, was I ever that young?"

  I joined Ina. She'd set down her purse and gotten out her reading glasses. She perched the red glasses on the end of her nose, and leaned in.

  "Can you believe it?" I said. "Vangie got these old pictures from Dad, scanned them and printed them out."

  Ina's eyes glittered with tears. "It's really fabulous."

  I warned, "Don't start. You'll make me cry. Again."

  Ina sniffed. Her voice was thin. "It's almost too much to take in. I mean, these are the last twenty years of my life."

  "There's the proof that it was good times."

  Ina clapped her hands. "Look, there's Margie, and Patsy. I loved them. They're gone now."

  "Dead?" I asked quietly.

  Ina looked at me askance. "No. Moved to Mesa, Arizona."

  Whew. I looked for the shot I'd seen earlier. "Isn't that the Stitch n' Bitch group?" I had a quick sense of a buried memory of these women teaching me to thread a needle.

  "That's us. That was the first raffle quilt we did for the shelter."

  They had a lot to show for their time together. At least twenty raffle quilts, and thousands of dollars donated to the shelter.

  In this picture, the group looked happy, arms slung around each other. Dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts and straw hats, it was hard to tell them apart. Gussie and Celeste were hand-in-hand. Even in the picture, it was easy to see how close they were. Or used to be.