Fool's Puzzle (3 page)

“Sex.” She gave a low growl of a laugh that probably doubled her tips at Trigger’s.

“What is it with people today? Everyone’s mind is in the gutter. Besides, from a scientific point of view that’s not a need. That’s a want.”

“And where did you hear that lie?”

I looked in the bag and pulled out a large jelly doughnut. “I’d rather have money, but this’ll do.” I took a bite. “Tell me your needs. Your artistic ones, that is.”

“Well, if you can’t get me a good man, I’ll take the next best thing, time at the wheel.” She ran long, jagged-nailed fingers through her wet hair. “I’ve been behind in my pots since I got walking pneumonia last month.”

“Let me look at the schedule.” I reached over, pulled out a battered notebook with a tooth-marked pencil attached and flipped through. “One of the wheels is down and we don’t have money to pay a repairman.” I showed her the filled pages. “Sorry, it’s booked solid for five days.”

“What am I going to do?” She frowned as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “My car insurance is due and my mom’s got a thousand-dollar medical bill she needs to pay or the doctor won’t see her again.” She groaned and shook her hair again. “And I’ve got tons of people who have ordered pots for delivery by Christmas. I’d hate to get a flaky reputation. My pottery is the only good thing I have in my life right now.”

I chewed on the pencil and studied the filled pages. I wished she’d told me she needed more time sooner, but one of the earliest lessons I’d learned on this job was that failing to plan ahead was a foible of most creative people.

“You can use it after closing hours,” I said, making a quick executive decision I hoped I wouldn’t regret. “But only if you can find someone to stay up here with you. I don’t want you here alone. It’s against the rules, but we didn’t count on one of the wheels being down so long.”

Her face brightened. “Great! Why don’t you stay with me? We’ll dish the dirt on the other co-op members. The things I could tell you ...”

“Sounds tempting but I can’t. I have to be at Elvia’s bookstore at seven-thirty tonight for an author’s talk.”

“Anybody I’d know?”

“Not unless you’re a bird fancier. Elvia’s booked some guy who’s written about vultures or condors or some bird. According to Elvia, he’s very respected in his field, but she’s afraid no one will show up. She’s a real softie about her authors.”

“So why are you going? Are you into birds?”

I grinned, pulled some three-by-five cards out of my top drawer and waved them. “I’m a shill.”

“Like in Vegas?” She chuckled. “What are those?”

“My spontaneous questions.”

“You’re a better friend than me, Benni.” Shaking her head, she stood up. “I’ll check around and see if any of the others want to stick around tonight.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said, walking her to the door. “I’m breaking the rules letting you come up here after scheduled hours so we’d better not make it too obvious. Can you get someone outside the co-op to come with you?”

“I’ll see what Rita’s doing,” she said. “I think she’s off tonight.”

“That reminds me. Where is my dear cousin anyway? Her grandmother is in town and wants to see her.”

Marla dug into her large canvas bag, found a rubber band and pulled her hair back into a thick ponytail. “You know Rita, here and there. Our shifts haven’t overlapped for a week. She hasn’t been home for a couple of days, so I assume she found herself a cowboy and is shacking up for a while.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll hunt her down and tell her to give you a call.”

“Thanks.” I stood up and walked over to the door. “I don’t know how you stand living with her. It about drove me nuts.”

Marla pointed a long finger at me. “You got to live and let live, Benni. You were an old married lady for too long. Forgot what it was like to go weak in the knees at the sight of a man in a pair of tight jeans.”

Shaking my head, I gave my office door a push as someone from the other side pulled. I fell into a pair of strong, tanned arms.

“Whoa, darlin‘,” a deep, raspy voice drawled. “Always knew you’d eventually fall for me.” I smiled up into amused brown eyes, blue-shadowed with fatigue. Though five years older, two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, my brother-in-law, Wade, reminded me enough of Jack to make my heart beat faster.

“Hey, Marla.” He ran a calloused hand through his gray-streaked chestnut hair. “Lookin‘ good.”

Her face stiffened as she squeezed past him. “You smell like a cattle lot.”

“That’s the smell of money, darlin‘.”

She frowned and turned to me. “Thanks for letting me come in tonight. I owe you.”

“You find Rita and we’re even,” I said. I gestured for Wade to come into my office. He pulled off his wet jacket and flopped down in my chair, propping his dirty boots on my desk. I smacked the side of his jean-clad legs. “That better just be mud on those boots.” I sat down across from him.

“Take a whiff,” he said, winking. “I’m not sure.”

“What’s going on with you and Marla?”

He crossed his legs and shrugged. “Nothing. I’m always giving her a hard time over at Trigger’s.” He laughed and locked his fingers behind his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How can you still go there?” I asked.

“I’ve been going to Trigger’s for twenty years. Jack and I had some good times there.”

I stared at the floor.

“I did go after him,” Wade said bitterly. “I can’t help it if he left before I got there. He shoulda never got in that jeep after drinking that much.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “You and Jack argued a dozen times a week. He was a big boy. No one made him go to town.”

I said the words he expected, but part of me did blame him for causing Jack to go to Trigger’s as well as everyone who let Jack drive away. Maybe most of all, I blamed Jack himself, for not calling me at my dad’s ranch to pick him up.

He cleared his throat and looked around. “You got a cup?”

“That’s a disgusting habit.” I took a last gulp of coffee and poured the rest into my fern before handing him the empty cup. “Have you ever seen a picture of someone who has cancer of the mouth?”

He spit a brown stream of tobacco juice into the cup and pulled at his droopy mustache. “I love ya, Benni, but I believe I got myself a wife already.”

“All right.” I held up my hands. “It’s just that I worry about you. How’s everyone doing?”

“We’re all fine,” he said. “That’s why I came by. Brought you those baby quilts Ma made for this shindig you’re putting on. And she sent Grandma’s old quilt. Rings or something.”

“The Wedding Ring quilt,” I said. “Great! It’ll be a perfect addition to the exhibit. Tell her I’ll take good care of it. Is she coming to the festival?”

He picked up my brass letter opener and started flipping it up and catching it by the handle. “Who knows? Since Jack ... well, you know she’s been kinda down. Sandra and the kids are coming, though.”

“Tell Mom I’ll come out when the festival’s over and bring her the money for the baby quilts. They’ll sell like crazy the first day, I’m sure. Seems like everywhere I look there’s a pregnant woman waddling around.”

He threw the letter opener up again, missed, and it clattered down on the desk.

I reached over and grabbed it. “You’re worse than one of your kids.”

“That’s what Sandra’s always saying,” he said, grinning. He spit in the cup again, then tossed it into my trash can.

I wrinkled my nose, thankful I’d put a plastic liner in the can earlier.

“How’s she doing with the computer?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said, too quickly.

“Is she having problems with the calf weights again? I could give her a hand when I come out next week.”

He ignored my offer, pulled out a small pocket knife and started cleaning his nails.

I pointed the letter opener at him. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to learn to use it.”

“Far as I’m concerned, writing stuff down in Dad’s old record books is good enough. That computer business was purely Jack’s doing.” He wiped the blade of the knife on his jeans.

“Computers are here to stay whether you like it or not. Jack proved you saved money using the PC.”

“About enough to pay off his college loans,” he snapped. Deep lines of resentment bracketed his lips. He swung his legs down and worked damp jeans back over his boots.

I didn’t answer, not wanting to go into the subject that Jack and Wade had argued about since their father died twenty years ago. Anger and frustration over Wade’s refusal to acknowledge the changes in ranch management and his stubbornness against trying new methods was what drove Jack into town that night nine months ago.

He stood for a moment glaring at me; then his face softened. “Ma wanted me to check on you and tell her how you’re doing. What do you want me to tell her?” he asked in a subdued voice. Like all the Harper men, his temper erupted as unpredictably as a teenage boy’s, and dissipated just as quickly.

I stood up and slipped an arm around his slightly thickening waist. “Well, how do I look to you?”

He tugged on my braid and smiled. “You look just fine, blondie.” My throat constricted at Jack’s old nickname for me.

“You get some rest, Wade.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “Wish you’d come out and visit more often. Ma and Sandra really miss you.”

I studied the tiled floor. “It’s hard, Wade.”

“I know.” His hand rubbed a small circle on my back, the roughness catching on the nubby flannel of his brother’s shirt. “Sorry to bring it up, but I promised Ma I’d ask.”

“Tell her I’ll be out to visit next week.”

“Sure thing. Want me to throw that out for you?” He gestured at the trash can.

“A true Western gentleman,” I teased. “Don’t worry about it. You just watch your back.”

“Only way to live,” he said, pulling on his jacket.

After he left, I sat at my desk for a long time staring at the keyboard of my word processor. I had plenty of work to do—quilt histories to type and frame, grant applications to fill out, Elvia’s condor questions to study, but Wade’s visit left me unsettled and fidgety.

I picked up the index cards with the condor questions and shuffled them in irritation. Memorizing things had never been my strong suit, so I tossed them down and decided to live dangerously and fake it. What I needed was to do something physical, something that took no thought. Eric certainly needed the help and he seemed to get more done when I worked with him, so I went out to the main hall of the museum.

When I walked in, Eric and Marla were deep in conversation. He stared at the ground while she poked his shoulder with her forefinger.

“That’s all you’re getting,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “And stay out of it.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. Startled by my voice, she jerked her head around.

“Nothing,” she said, with an impatient wave of her hand. Eric continued studying the floor with a nervous smile on his face. Tossing an irritated glance at him, she pushed through the heavy Spanish door, slamming it behind her.

“What did you do?” I asked as he strapped a worn leather tool belt around his slim hips.

“Could you hand me that box of nails?” he asked, climbing the aluminum ladder. I slapped the box in his outstretched hand.

“You haven’t conned money out of her for one of your schemes, have you? I’ve told you I don’t want you asking any of the co-op members for money.” Eric’s get-rich-quick schemes and the money he’d talked various members of the co-op into “investing” in them were another bone of contention between us.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” He pulled a hammer from his belt and started banging a nail into the wall.

“Marla wouldn’t be that mad over nothing. What did you do?”

He climbed down the ladder, walked over to the radio and flipped it on. A rock-and-roll scream exploded from the crackly speakers.

“Eric,” I said in my most strident tone.

He ignored me and twisted the dial on the radio.

“This had better be done today,” I snapped when I realized he wasn’t going to tell me anything. Maybe I’d ask Marla the next time I saw her, if she was in a better mood. Then again, maybe it wasn’t any of my business.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I walked back to my office. Sometimes the juggling of the personalities in the co-op, as well as the day-to-day problems of just keeping our head above water financially, seemed like it was more trouble than it was worth. I’d convinced Constance when I applied for the job that looking after a bunch of artists couldn’t be any more difficult than seeing to a herd of cattle, something I could do blindfolded. I’d discovered in the last three months that not only were cattle more predictable, they were also more cooperative, even on their worst days.

This was the first time in my life I’d been on my own, and for some reason, it seemed important to make it, even if I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. There were times, though I never voiced them to anyone, when I’d contemplated going back to the Harper Ranch; it had been my life for fifteen years. I missed the rhythm of animal time, the repetitive pace of life ruled by their needs and the capriciousness of weather. Though I went home tired from the museum every night, it wasn’t the heavy, satisfying tiredness that soaked my shoulders and back after long hours doing calf checks or fixing fence.

But I couldn’t get past the feeling that it wasn’t right to move back; technically, I wasn’t family anymore, and though Daddy would love it, going back to live with him and Dove at the Ramsey Ranch seemed like going backwards.

Throw yourself a pity-party and you’ll be the only guest is what Dove would say and she’d be right. I was relatively young, healthy and had an interesting, although low-paying, job. What more could a person ask for these days? With that echoing in my mind, I buckled down and cranked out paperwork the rest of the day, arranging for the use of the San Celina High School gym in case of rain and trying to convince the one repairman who would hear me out to fix our kiln and wheel, then bill us. The minute he heard we were an artists co-op, he made a rude remark somewhere between “Right” and a grunt before he hung up.