by Lea Wait
Gussie nodded. “Sounds harmless. Although with Lily you never know. I’m hoping we have the rest of the shop packed by noon. After we do I’ll call Ellen and get Ben to come and pack both our vans and we’ll get them over to the shop. Maybe later this afternoon we could all get together and open the wedding gifts. That’ll be fun, and then I could write the thank-you notes in my spare time.”
“Right! I’ve noticed all that spare time you have,” Jim agreed drily. “But opening gifts does sound like fun. And then tonight I can tell Mother about them. She’s been dying to know what people have sent us. I’m sure she thinks we’ll get silver tea sets and punch bowls, like she did back in the dim dark ages.”
“I have no idea what we’ll get. But we’ll need to thank everyone for everything,” said Gussie. “And I have my maid of honor here to play secretary.”
“’Bye, ladies!” said Jim, backing out the door. “Try to stay out of trouble. See you late this afternoon!”
“What?” said Maggie, who’d been focusing on murder suspects, not wedding gifts.
“That’s one of the jobs of the maid of honor, Maggie! Didn’t you look all this up while you were researching topics on the Internet last night? The maid of honor is supposed to keep track of who gives gifts and what they are. So prepare to have your pen and paper at the ready.”
“Aye, aye, my captain,” said Maggie. “Opening gifts does not sound like hardship duty. It sounds like fun.”
“And good practice, for when you and Will get married.”
“Oops! Missed target,” said Maggie. “I thought we’d settled that. Don’t you remember in the old, old days when you were single, and not engaged? You do not talk to single women about future marital plans or possibilities at or before the wedding of their close friends. It’s a long-standing rule.”
“You’re right. Forgot!” Gussie grinned. Then she leaned over. “Can I whisper, then?”
“No wedding hints. Or engagement hints. Not allowed! Period.”
“Okay, okay. Boring, but you win,” said Gussie.
“So we have a deadline. It’s almost nine-thirty, and you want to finish packing the store by noon. How close are you?”
“Almost there. I finished the doll and toy parts I was working on yesterday afternoon. You could box up the books still in the bookcases in the front room. While you’re doing that I’ll check all the drawers in the cabinets to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Diana arrived fifteen minutes later, and, with her help, they’d finished the shop by eleven, an hour ahead of schedule. Diana and Maggie decided to pack two more closets upstairs (“I never realized how many closets you had in this place!”) while Gussie telephoned her sister.
“Ellen? We’re ready for reinforcements. Are you and Ben free to come over? We need someone to help with heavy lifting.” She called upstairs, “Diana, do you mind taking a couple of cartons in your car over to the new store?”
“No problem,” Diana called back.
“Then, with your car, we have two vans and two cars,” said Gussie to Ellen. “I wish I could help but…I know, I know. I’ll supervise. Some of the cartons are light. Ben can help with the others. I have the dolly he and I use at shows. I think we can get it all loaded in about half an hour. Then we need to drive everything over to the new shop and unload. Great. See you then.”
“Ellen and Ben’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” she told Maggie and Diana.
“Who’re Ellen and Ben?” Diana asked, as they came downstairs and started sorting the packed cartons.
“Ellen’s Gussie’s sister. She’s a realtor here in town,” said Maggie. “Ben’s her son. He’s about your age. Twenty-one?”
Diana nodded.
“Can’t believe it, but, yes. Ben’s birthday was last month,” Gussie confirmed.
“Is he in college?” Diana asked.
“No,” Gussie answered. “Although he wishes he were. He misses his friends from town who’re away at school now. Ben has Down Syndrome. He lives with his mom and helps at the real estate office, making copies and running errands, and helps at my shop when I need him.”
“He goes on the road with Gussie when she does antiques shows out of town, too,” said Maggie. “He does the lifting for her.”
“That’s right,” said Gussie. “He and I share one thing in common: people with Down’s and people who’ve had polio both have weak muscles. I had physical therapy for years, and still go for sessions when I can. Ben tries to make up for it by lifting weights and running. He’s in Special Olympics, too. He can climb ladders and reach things I can’t, and pack and unpack the van. I tell him he’s my legs and arms now.” The back door of the shop slammed. “And here he is!”
“Hi, Aunt Gussie! Hi, Maggie!” Ben gave them both hugs. “Who are you?” He stared curiously at Diana.
“This is Diana Hopkins. She’s visiting from Colorado and she’s helping us today,” said Gussie. “Thanks so much, Ellen, for bringing Ben over.”
“Glad to be a help. Hi, Maggie! Good to see you. And, Diana? I’m Ellen, Gussie’s sister,” Ellen said. “We were about to take a lunch break anyway.”
“Whoops! I forgot lunch,” said Gussie.
“I didn’t forget lunch, Aunt Gussie,” said Ben. “I never forget lunch.”
“That’s true. You don’t,” agreed Gussie. “Why don’t we load the vans and cars and then stop for pizza on the way to the new shop? Can you wait that long?”
Ben walked around the two rooms of the shop very seriously. “Are we all going to work?”
“I think so,” said his mother. “You’ll do the heavy work, and the rest of us will carry the other cartons and plan where everything will go. Aunt Gussie’s in charge.”
“Then, yes. I can wait. We can do this pretty fast,” Ben declared. “But let’s get started. I like pizza.” He stopped for a moment. “Can it have pepperoni?”
“Of course, Ben,” said Gussie. “I wouldn’t get you pizza without pepperoni.”
“Which carton do you want lifted first?” he asked.
Diana just looked at him and laughed. “You’re very funny, Ben.”
Ben laughed, too. “Yes, I am. And I’m very nice. You look nice, too, Diana. Are you nice?”
The smile Diana returned was the biggest Maggie’d seen her give anyone in the past two days. “I hope so, Ben. I certainly hope so.”
Chapter 16
Great Black-Backed Gull. Hand-colored steel engraving from 1865 edition of A History of British Birds, written and illustrated by the Reverend Francis Orpen Morris (1810-1893), naturalist and Vicar of Nafferton. Morris, an early advocate of conservation, was also one of the founders of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. Illustrations for his seven-volume history were engraved by Alexander Francis Lydon, hand-colored by a team of women colorists, printed and bound in the North Country village of Driffield, and shipped in tea chests to London. It went through various editions from 1851 until 1903. Print shows gull standing on beach, rocks and sailboat in distance. 6.75 x 10 inches. Price: $150.
With four of them working together and chatting, and pizza as a motivator, the emptying of the former location of Aunt Augusta’s Attic and then the deposit of all the cartons at its new location went even more smoothly and quickly than Gussie’d hoped.
Ben and Ellen were able to wave their good-byes and return to the real estate office by two-thirty. Diana stayed a little longer to help Gussie and Maggie sort the cartons, but it was clear Gussie was beginning to tire when Diana received a text from Cordelia.
“Chief Irons stopped in at the house. He wants me to come to the station. What’s that about?” she wondered out loud, picking up her backpack.
“Remember not to answer any questions without Jim being there,” Gussie cautioned her.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Diana assured her. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably wants to know something about my dad. I’ll go now, and then go back to Cordelia’s. See you tomo
rrow?”
“Call me in the morning and I’ll let you know,” said Maggie.
“Tomorrow I’d like to focus on unpacking and arranging merchandise here at the shop,” Gussie put in.
“Talk with you tomorrow, then,” said Diana as she headed off.
“Why don’t you go home and rest,” Maggie said to Gussie. “I’ll pick up whatever’s at the post office, put the cartons Diana and I packed yesterday in my van, and take everything over to the new house when we meet Jim there later to open the wedding gifts.”
“Would you do that? I’d appreciate an hour or two of down-time,” said Gussie. “I’ve been keeping quite a pace the past couple of weeks.”
“And it isn’t going to slow down until you’re safely in your new house, you have that gold band on your hand, and your shop is organized and open, the future Mrs. Dryden,” said Maggie.
“Not Mrs. Dryden, you old-fashioned woman,” said Gussie as they headed to their vans and she handed Maggie her post office box key. “I’ll still be Gussie White. I’m not changing my name. But Jim and I will be wearing matching bands. That’s a tradition I do believe in.”
Peggy the postmistress recognized Maggie immediately. “How’s Gussie doing? Is she very excited? Is everything organized for the wedding? Has she managed to move out of her old house and shop yet?” She handed Maggie a stack of cards Maggie recognized as wedding RSVPs. A little late. Those people had probably already gotten calls from Lily Dryden.
“Gussie’s tired, but she’s going strong. She’s almost out of the old house and shop. I think we’ll start getting the new shop organized tomorrow.”
“I hear Cordelia West’s young cousin’s been helping her.”
The postmistress did know everything happening in Winslow.
“That’s right. She’s been very helpful.”
“Such a shame, that other cousin of Cordelia’s, Dan Jeffrey, going and getting himself killed. Cordelia’s such a sweet woman. Can’t hear or say a word, of course, but she’s always baking cookies for people, or bringing me wildflowers to decorate the office. A sweet little woman.”
“Then you know her well?”
“Well, she’s lived in Winslow for twenty years or so. Gets her mail here most days. And we do a pickup at her place over on Apple Orchard Lane on Fridays.”
“Pickup?”
“Packages. The post office does that, you know. Got to compete with those other delivery services. She sends out all her packages on Fridays, regular as clockwork.”
“I understand she makes dolls. But I’ve never seen any. Have you?”
“I’ve seen a couple of her baby dolls. She makes those newborns. Gets supplies delivered all the time,” said the postmistress. “From all over the country, and Canada. Even Europe, sometimes. She ships dolls in the bigger boxes. Maybe one or two a week. Used to ship more. But the past couple of years she’s been sending smaller packages. Ten of those every Friday. Those go to post office boxes in different places. Boston, northern Maine, Washington, D.C. She has customers all over.”
“What does she sell besides the dolls?” asked Maggie.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” said the postmistress. “But I can’t talk with my hands, like she can, so I haven’t asked. She puts the value at fifty dollars for each box, so whatever it is can’t be too valuable. The big boxes, that hold the baby dolls, those she values at a thousand dollars. Sometimes more. I figure maybe now she’s making smaller dolls, and selling on eBay. Lots of people do that today, you know. How’re the wedding plans coming?”
“Fine. Did Gussie get any packages today? She and Jim have been saving their gifts. They’re going to open a pile of them tonight.”
“Let me check.” She went into the back of the crowded room. “I’m pretty sure I saw a pile of boxes for those two in here somewhere. Yes, here they are.” She reappeared carrying a stack of four boxes. “All different sizes this time. I’ll admit I’ve been curious about these gifts. Most times when people get married we get boxes from the big department stores, or from Sears, or when they’re summer folks, even from a place like Tiffany’s. But all the boxes Gussie and Jim have gotten have been wrapped by hand. Not a store name in sight.” The postmistress handed them over one by one, after recording their arrivals.
“I can see that,” said Maggie.
“ ’Course, them being an older couple, I suspect they didn’t put their names on a bridal registry saying they were looking for a set of white towels or a toaster oven, when it comes to it,” she added. “Between the two of them they probably have towels and toaster ovens to spare.”
Maggie laughed. “I guess they’ll find out once they get everything unpacked,” she said. “Thank you!”
She sat in her van for a few minutes and checked her watch. Two hours until the official gift opening.
Why had Ike Irons wanted to see Diana again? Maggie hoped the girl was smart enough to know if she needed to call Jim, or just say the magic word, “Lawyer.” Nowadays you’d think anyone who watched TV would know that. You’d hope. But despite all she’d been through, Diana seemed awfully naïve. Or maybe being young was, by definition, naïve.
When I was twenty-one, was I that innocent? Maggie thought back. Senior in college in New Jersey on scholarship. Working two jobs, so not much time for socializing. Not really innocent. But she hadn’t guessed the family situation her roommate, Amy, was coping with. She’d thought anyone who lived in a big house in Short Hills must be happy.
Yup. Twenty-one could be very naïve.
That’s why she often felt protective of her students at the college. And now she felt protective about Diana. The world took advantage of the young too often.
The sooner Chief Ike Irons and his detectives found out who’d murdered Diana’s father, the sooner she could be on her way. Whatever she decided to do with her life, she needed to put the past behind her and get on with her future. It probably wasn’t by chance that her father’d been shot and dumped in Cape Cod Bay. But whatever trouble he was in wasn’t Diana’s trouble. It shouldn’t have to make a difference to her future.
Would her daughter or daughters be able to deal with whatever their early lives had dealt them? She’d have to help them begin again. Clean slate. Memories, yes. It would take time. But another chance.
Maggie’s mind was whirling with possibilities as she drove through the quiet streets of Winslow. Then, on her left, she saw the Lazy Lobster, the tavern Jim’d mentioned where Dan Jeffrey had hung out. At four o’clock on a brisk October Monday afternoon three well-used pickups were parked outside, and one salt-rusted Ford sedan. She hesitated, and then turned her New Jersey van in to join those with Massachusetts SPIRIT OF AMERICA or CAPE COD AND ISLANDS license plates.
All five men at the bar inside turned to look at her.
Clearly this was an establishment for locals. Fishermen, by their garb and the décor. The nets on the wall weren’t the colorful sort hung in places looking to attract tourists. These nets were used and grungy, smelling faintly of long-dead fish and the sea, and now the repository of old pinups, photos of fishermen with their catches, newspaper articles, and assorted empty beer cans and beer bottle labels. Sort of a grease-encrusted work in progress, an ode to those who worked the sea, drank beer and whiskey, and ate the burgers and chowder listed in smudged black marker on the mirror in back of the bar. It was a limited menu, but Maggie suspected the cook didn’t get many complaints.
Five teenage boys came in after Maggie. One of them wore a T-shirt that read TOO MEAN TO MARRY. And clearly too young to sit at the bar, at least legally. They sat in a corner booth.
“Can I help you?” asked the tall, bald man behind the bar. He wore a shirt embroidered Rocky and had a dragon tattoo on his neck that led down to places Maggie was grateful were left unseen.
“Beer,” Maggie said, sliding onto one of the bar stools. She glanced over at the taps. “Sam Adams, please.” She almost asked for Oktoberfest, but sensed that wouldn’t be on the menu h
ere.
“You got it,” said Rocky, drawing her a tall draft. “Visiting Winslow?”
“I’m here from New Jersey for Gussie White’s and Jim Dryden’s wedding.”
“So why aren’t you partying it up with them?”
“I heard this was where Dan Jeffrey used to drink.”
There was sudden silence. Maggie had the attention of every man in the place. Maybe she’d been too out-front. Why hadn’t she been more subtle? Oh, well. Too late now.
“You a friend of Dan’s?”
“I know his daughter.”
Two of the men looked at each other and one shrugged slightly. The other one spoke up. “Dan never said he had no daughter.”
“No?”
“He never said much, did he, Earl, when you think about it.”
“Nope. Never did. Never even said where he come from.”
“Told me he come from out West,” said the bartender.
“Hey, Rocky, but Cordelia West, that deaf-and-dumb broad he was staying with, he said she was his cousin, right? And she’s from the Vineyard.”
“That’s what he said,” agreed Rocky, quietly.
“You’d know that, I figured,” Earl put in.
The heavier guy added, “I always wondered about that cousin part. But she didn’t seem his type, you know. So maybe if they were relatives, that would explain his staying there so long.”
“What was his type?” Maggie asked.
The man shifted uneasily. “I didn’t mean nothing by that. I meant, you know, he was a real man, with appetites and such, and Cordelia West, why, she’s a quiet little woman. Real nice lady, I suppose. Wouldn’t you say that, Rocky?”
“So did he have a lady friend?” Maggie sipped her beer.
No one said anything. Then Rocky answered. “Jeffrey didn’t talk much. He was in town a couple of years, and I don’t think you’ll hear from anyone he was exactly a model of piety. He had his women. But he never talked about ’em. Give him that, wouldn’t we, boys? He never named names.”
