Old Maid's Puzzle

by Terri Thayer

  "Oh my," I said.

  Pearl and Ina roared with laughter, Ina snorting and Pearl throwing her head back so hard she nearly tipped her chair over.

  Pearl said, "Like him? We're calling him Petey."

  "Or Major Johnson."

  "How about King Leer?" Ina and Pearl were both sputtering now.

  I giggled. This was a first, being pranked by these senior citizens. "You two are crazy."

  "You should have seen your face," Pearl said, giggling.

  The door opened with a bang. Mrs. Unites came into the classroom, her eyes wild.

  "The dead man is speaking to me," she said.

  ELEVEN

  "LOOKING FOR ME?" I stood in front of the ironing board, practically covering it with my body. Pearl and Ina were beginning to laugh harder.

  "That policeman is not listening to me." Her voice was high and reedy. She was breathing hard. "He keeps making jokes about bad burritos. You know my food is always fresh."

  I did know this about her. She was fanatical. "He doesn't really think you poisoned him. He just doesn't want to reveal too much," I said.

  "I'm telling you, like I told him. DDT."

  She looked around to see if we were tracking what she was saying. We must have looked a little nuts ourselves, caught in the silliness of the ironing board trick.

  She sounded desperate. Her usually flawless English became heavy with the Mexican cadences of her parents. "I know this. I know what it looks like. My parents were migrant workers. When a girl found herself in a family way that was not anticipated, a little DDT would take care of the problem."

  She stopped. "Too much, and she'd end up with the same face as that man the other night."

  "Frank Bascomb?" I asked.

  Mrs. Unites smacked the table. "Exactly like that."

  Ina was rolling her eyes, and Pearl was about to make the crazy sign by her temple. Mrs. Unites caught them and shook a finger at the pair.

  "You'll see I'm right." She left the room in a huff.

  "What was that?" Ina asked.

  Pearl giggled. "She needs to chill. She could have used a little glimpse of Colonel Weiner."

  I wasn't sure. Her ranting set my teeth on edge. "I don't know, you guys, she's usually very together. This murder investigation has her way off track"

  "All of us are a little loony," Ina said. "Now close that board up and get Vangie in here. She's next."

  I dutifully went to the office. I could get back to my work now.

  "Ina and Pearl would like to see you," I said to Vangie.

  "Where've you been? Your cell has been ringing. Buster's ring. Isn't it about time you went home to get ready for date night?" Vangie asked.

  I reached in the box of notions to count the red floss I'd ordered. I glanced at the clock. It was going on four. "Soon. I should leave by five-thirty to have enough time to wash my hair, and shave my legs."

  "Shaved legs, huh?" She leered at me.

  I ignored her innuendo. "Did you talk to Zorn? What did he ask you about?" I wondered what he'd thought about Mrs. Unites' theories.

  "He asked a lot of questions about my trip over to the guild meeting. Did I see anyone walking funny? Like that."

  "Did you?"

  Vangie shook her head. "Not me. But the guild e-mail group is full of people who thought they saw a drunk walking in the neighborhood."

  One more thing I'd forgotten to do. I'd fallen down on the job of watching that listserv. I pulled up my e-mail. Usually, I kept up with what the five hundred quilters who made up the local guild were doing and talking about, by going to their meetings once a month and subscribing to their list. A digested version of their messages came in my inbox once or twice a day, depending on the volume. Sometimes days went by with only one or two messages. There was always a flurry right before their monthly meetings.

  And there was a storm now. I scrolled through.

  The guild meeting had started at six on Tuesday. According to someone called quiltingsassy, she'd called 911 just before the meeting because there was a drunk wandering in the street nearby. Someone else had gotten to the meeting late and saw him closer to the street that QP was on. There was plenty of speculation about who he was.

  I closed the e-mail.

  My cell rang. It was Buster.

  Vangie recognized his ring, too. "Told you," she said. "That boy is eager."

  "Go," I said with a shooing notion. "Ina, Pearl, remember?"

  "All right," she said and pushed away from her computer. I took a peek. She'd been working on the online store website. She'd scanned fabrics and was grouping them in batches that would make them easy to find on the Internet. I felt a jolt of excitement at the prospect of having customers in New Zealand or Germany.

  I answered my phone.

  "How's everyone doing over there?" Buster asked.

  I brought one leg up under me and got comfortable in my chair. Out the window, I could see a customer wandering through the fabric. Probably planning her assault on the store early Saturday morning, when the discount was highest. I wrote myself a note to check the usual hiding places. I had one or two customers who liked to stash bolts where only they knew where to find them.

  I heard gales of laughter coming from the classroom. Vangie had met Petey.

  I got back to Buster. He was talking about me meeting him at my house.

  "I'm going home early. I need to go to Los Angeles in the morning," he said. This voice, the low one meant just for me, set off bottle rockets in my stomach. "Can you get home soon? Like in ten minutes? I'd like to start Date Night early."

  My insides were getting even warmer as I tried to figure out if I could get out of here. I had piles of work to do. Then again, I could always come back here after our date and catch up. I was warming to the idea. I might even be able to get more work done after hours.

  Date night had started as Buster's effort to court me and, like so many things we did, it had turned into a contest. We took turns planning our Wednesday nights, trying to outdo one another. So far we'd been to the shooting range (my idea), to the Demon roller coaster at Great America (his) and plenty of restaurants and bars.

  They'd all been fun, but last week had been the best one yet. And not because of where we went.

  We'd stopped at Gayle's Bakery in Capitola for takeout and took the pasta salad and sandwiches to the beach at dusk. The night air was soft and balmy. We'd spread out an old quilt on the sand and ate. Someone had lit a bonfire down the beach.

  Bay Area weather was contrary. October nights were warmer than July ones. The sun set and the fog had lifted, revealing a canopy of twinkling stars. I was loving being right where I was. With Buster, under the stars, on a quilt made long ago by my mother. My heart swelled and I leaned in and gave him a kiss.

  "What was that for?" he asked, gathering me close to him.

  "I'm having fun," I said. Silly as it sounded, I was. There was no place I'd rather be.

  "This is your idea of a perfect date, huh?" Buster asked. He propped himself up on one elbow and was watching me. He moved a stray hair from my cheek. I could barely tell the difference between his touch and the soft breeze.

  "Not quite perfect," I said, just to see his worried look. The eyebrows came together and the two lines at the bridge of his nose got very deep.

  "All I need..." I paused for great effect. "... is to see a shooting star"

  His forehead didn't unfurrow as I'd expected. Instead he said the sexiest thing I'd ever heard.

  "I want you to have what you want," he said and turned his face upward as if he could force a star to start hurtling toward the earth.

  I waited to see if there was more to come, but Buster stayed quiet, his breath going in and out of his chest. I let his words sink into me. So simple, but so profound. Was there anyone else who wanted that and only that? Whatever I wanted? The notion that what I wanted was so important to this man stopped me.

  No shooting star that night, but it didn't matter. I had what I
wanted. A guy who got me, who knew what was important to me, and would help me get it.

  Now he was saying that again. He wanted me to have what I wanted. I had to be sure we were talking about the same thing.

  "Are you suggesting that we might meet at my house and have sex?" I said. "Before the official Date Night?"

  "Yes," he said.

  This was getting interesting. "Full-on, mind-blowing, headboard-slamming sex?"

  "You don't have a headboard, but yes. But we can't be late for our reservation, so you better get here soon."

  "You're there already?" I said, jumping out of my chair. I'd tell Zorn he could talk to me tomorrow.

  "I called from the car," Buster said, and hung up.

  I had to get out of here. The thought of Buster in my house, ready to break our agreement, without me, was killing me. I headed back to the kitchen to talk to Zorn.

  Zorn wasn't there. I pulled open the back door to see if he'd gone outside. Instead I found Jenn standing in the parking lot, staring back at the green dumpster. She was smoking.

  "Jenn?" I'd never known her to smoke. The sight brought me up short. "I thought you'd gone home hours ago."

  She put the cigarette behind her back. "Officer Zorn asked me to come back."

  I saw with satisfaction that some of the cars were gone from the lot. No fat quarters were on the ground, so the customers must have found them under their wipers. Shore's van was still here. The hood of the van was open and a ratty mat was underneath. Shore himself was not around.

  There was no sign of Zorn, either. Jenn blew smoke out of the side of her mouth and waved her hand around. "Sorry. I found an old pack of Kym's in the kitchen. It's really stale."

  She took another drag and coughed.

  "Why are you smoking? I know it's upsetting having the police around."

  "It's not that."

  "What?" I was beginning to see how worried she was. She'd bitten her trim nails down to where the nail beds were bleeding. Her usually perky ponytail was limp.

  I laid my hand on her shoulder, and moved her back to the porch so we could sit down without seeing the dumpster with its fine dusting of fingerprint powder. Enough staring at the place where the body was found.

  I remembered her trembling earlier. "This morning, it sounded like you might have known Frank Bascomb."

  Her pale blue eyes widened. She nodded. I waited. Jenn needed to talk this out. I was the one to hear it.

  A motorcycle roared by, and she jumped. She threw her cigarette on the ground and rubbed it out. She picked up the butt before I could.

  She crossed her arms across her chest and rocked forward. Her voice was high and tight, like she wasn't taking in enough oxygen. "I never thought I would hear that name again."

  "You knew Frank Bascomb?"

  She nodded. "Unfortunately. Met him when I was in college. The sorority house was in bad shape, and we never had enough money to fix it up. He'd do odd jobs. Clean the gutters, paint the porch, fix the screen door. I just thought he was this weird guy who thought of us as his granddaughters and wanted to help us."

  She looked off in the distance. Her pretty face tight with worry. "Man, was I wrong."

  She had the matchbook in her hand and looked at the cigarette butt as though she was thinking of relighting it, but settled for gnawing on a fingernail. I fought the urge to pluck her finger from her mouth.

  She said, "When he said he could help me pay back money I'd borrowed, I listened. My family didn't have the money to send me to school, so I went through on student loans and credit cards. I thought he was talking about loan consolidation. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

  This was not going to end well. "What happened?"

  I didn't have to wait long. After taking another glance toward the dumpster, she looked at the closed back door and finished her story in a torrent of words.

  "He had me give him my next grant check. In a week, I got that money back plus more. We did that a couple of times. I thought I was going to end with up with enough money to pay off my student loans. But after awhile, the returns stopped coming in, and I had to borrow more money just to finish school. I wound up with loans for nearly twice what I owed. Seventy-six-thousand dollars. I never saw Frank again."

  Ouch. I tried to imagine myself with such a huge debt right out of college. I wouldn't have been able to buy my house or run the business.

  I was out of words. "Wow."

  She nodded miserably. "I was dating Brad at the time. When he found out, he was livid. My husband has always said if he ever got his hands on Frank, he'd kill him. But Frank disappeared. I never figured he'd be back in San Jose again."

  "You sure it's the same guy?" I pictured the prone body. "Was your Frank Bascomb about six feet tall?"

  She shrugged. "I guess."

  "Kind of thinning, sandy-colored hair?"

  "He had a full head of hair back then. This was nearly fifteen years ago.

  I said. "Officer Zorn is going to want to talk to you"

  I wanted to wait for Jenn and make sure she was okay after she talked to the police. This was a big step for her. Buster, and my sex life, was going to have to wait.

  I headed for my office to call him. I heard more laughter from the classroom. Vangie was getting a real kick out of Petey.

  As I turned into in the office, the sight of Kym using Vangie's computer stopped me in my tracks.

  "Kym! What are you doing?" I shouted, grabbing the mouse out of her hand. The day's frustrations caused a dam to burst inside of me.

  She let go with a jerk and a squeak. "Hey," she said.

  I tried to modulate my voice a little. "Geez, you know better than to use Vangie's computer."

  There was no sign of remorse in her eyes. She pounded a few more keys. "I can't open my file," she said. "Or whatever you call it.

  Kym's hatred of technology usually translated to her breaking programs irretrievably. Vangie had banned her from our office more than once. The computer program that ran the point-of-sale system was meant for the average person. Not so our office computers.

  "Move over," I said, bumping her off the chair and sitting down. "What file? You don't have any files on here."

  She was clutching a note that was in my brother's handwriting and thrust it in my direction.

  "Kevin sent over a file with the directions for the Joyous Hearts quilt. He told me how to get it open," she said, brandishing the paper like it was a hall pass. A pass that allowed her to go places she wouldn't ordinarily go.

  I looked at the screen, praying she hadn't done too much moving around. Somehow she'd gotten to a folder that needed a password. How had she managed to navigate here? A thousand monkeys, or one Kym, was all it took.

  I minimized that file. That was not where the e-mail was.

  Kym was whining. "Vangie can't say I didn't get the instructions to her. Kevin sent them, they're in there someplace."

  I moved over to the store e-mail. There was Kevin's e-mail with an attachment, called JoyousHearts.doc, unopened.

  "Are you kidding me?" I cried. "I told you this morning, it's too late. The patterns are finished. We don't have time to make a new one.

  Kym stuck out her lower lip in a pout and crossed her arms. "Vangie said if I wrote up the directions..."

  "That was six weeks ago. You can't expect her to be able to finish it in one day."

  "It won't take that long," Kym persisted.

  I sighed. She had no idea how long it would take. She expected the computer to do everything quickly and seemingly without human intervention. I tried to explain to her that Vangie would have to format the files and add our logo and the other graphics that would make it a part of our QP Originals. That it would take time to do it right. She wasn't having any of it. She left the office in a huff.

  I clicked off the e-mail. The file she'd stumbled on came back up. It wasn't like Vangie to password-protect a file. I tried the store password, but it didn't open. I typed in an old one. Nothing. The title of the fi
le was 20something. Maybe it was one of her music files.

  I closed the file and shut down the e-mail. I could only hope Kym hadn't gotten into anything else. She could be as destructive as a computer virus.

  I put my call into Buster, promising to get home as soon as I could. As long as I was stuck here, I continued working on my box of notions. I printed out barcodes and took the items out to the front for Kym to price and put out for sale. She took the box from me without a word.

  Walking back to my office, I passed the kitchen. It was empty except for Zorn, making notes. I rushed to the back door, but Jenn was already pulling out of the parking lot.

  I was sorry I'd missed her. I'd really wanted to make sure she wasn't too upset. I wondered if she would tell her husband.

  I went back to the kitchen. "Is Jenn's guy the same Frank Bascomb?" I asked Zorn.

  Zorn leaned against the door frame. "Probably. The guy in your alley had a criminal record. Small-time, but that could mean he just never got caught. Those kinds of cons rarely get reported. Case in point, your Ms. Carroll never told anyone."

  "So was he a con man?" I asked.

  Zorn shrugged. "Most likely."

  "Does he have other victims?" I asked. So many of my customers were women. Vulnerable women.

  "None that I've met so far," he said.

  "Anyone see him before he died?"

  Zorn nodded. "He was seen in the general vicinity that day."

  "What about his family?" I asked. Somebody must be worried about this guy.

  "Nothing so far. There is no missing persons report that fits his description. We put his picture up on Crimestopppers, and we placed an ad in the paper looking for relatives."

  "What if no one claims him?"

  "After sixty days, he's cremated and his remains are stored," he said.

  "Stored?" I didn't like the idea that this man, even if he was a crook, would be stashed away without anyone knowing who he was.