Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) (21 page)

“When cleaning your room, I found my daughter’s old doll. I should have removed it when we prepared this room for you. My child no longer uses that doll and I knew a garage sale took place next door. Because charity is one of the five pillars of Islam I donated the doll to the sale so another child could have it.”

“Where is the doll now?” Ahmed bellowed.

She fought a sob as tears streaked her cheeks. “I do not know but I will find out. The information is next door. I will run there to learn the answer.”

“Go then. Hurry!”

Zayneb pivoted and rushed from the house. She knocked frantically on Roshan’s back door and nearly fell inside the kitchen when the door opened. “Roshan,” she sobbed, “the doll I brought this morning—what happened to it?”

“Why, I sold it and have all your money here. You did well.”

“Roshan, help me, please. My husband must never know you sold items for me. I said I donated them to you for charity. I wanted this garage-sale money for my children. Mahmud gives me so little, even when I beg him…even when he…” But she pushed other anxiety away to face the urgent problem at hand. “Our guest hid something valuable inside the doll. He’s desperate to get it back. I must produce the doll before they hurt me or my children.” Zayneb collapsed in sobs.

“Oh, no!” Roshan’s alarm at Zayneb’s plight triggered an instant desire to protect her. She hugged her god-daughter. “Let me think. So many visited my sale today. But who bought what? Here, sit down while I finish my tea and think about this. Would you like some?”

Tears spilled from Zayneb’s eyes, but she struggled to remain polite. Her future depended upon Roshan’s recall. “No tea, thank you. They’re furious next door and wait now for information about the doll. I am desperate for you to remember anything about who bought it.”

Roshan drank tea, deep in thought. Friendly encounters with neighbors when she walked her little dog, Izzy, had sharpened her memory for details. Zayneb twisted impatiently in her chair.

“I think…it was the older woman with several small children; maybe a grandmother because of her gentleness with them. She asked how I got to McLean from India and why I had the sale today. She liked my story and her interest in me gave me interest in her. Yes, the things they bought included the doll. They walked to the curb and got into…a white van.

Roshan drained her cup. “Something about that van…what was it?” She tapped a finger. “Ah, the license tag. When the woman turned her car around in my driveway, I read her license plate. Something catchy.  ‘Yard Sale, that’s it:  No numbers, just two words.”

“Praise Allah. Oh, Roshan, thank you. The finger points away from me. I may live ‘til tomorrow.”

“Zayneb, if you’re in danger let’s call the police? Do you want to stay here with me tonight?”

“No, thank you, but pray for me, Roshan,” she cried and rushed out the back door, across the lawn and into her own house where Mahmud and Ahmed glowered as she entered her kitchen.

She blurted out what she learned about the doll’s buyer.

“You stupid piece of camel dung,” her husband hissed. ”I’ll deal with you later.” He turned his back to her and faced Ahmed. “Come, let’s go to my computer.”

They entered his office and closed the doors.

47

Saturday, 5:32 PM

Mahmud sat before the computer, searching the internet in his home office to connect the license plate info with the name of the doll’s new owner.

“They block this information for most people, but I have special links to access what we want. Ah, here it comes: this tag belongs to a white Cadillac SRX, a crossover. The owner is Jennifer L. Shannon with an address in McLean.” He copied it and gave the note to Ahmed.

“Come, let’s see where she lives,” Ahmed led the way toward the garage.

Their GPS guided them to her subdivision. “Big houses,” Mahmud observed as they drove through the community to a T in the road. “This is her street.”

“Her car must be in the garage,” Ahmed speculated as they drove by her house.

“In cul-de-sacs like this anyone not a resident stands out and two other houses face the circle to see all that happens here.” Mahmud drove back down the street. “Shall I pull over?”

“Yes. Show me where we are on the book map.” Ahmed turned on his pen flashlight. “Does this green area indicate parkland behind the house?”

“Yes,” Mahmud brightened. “People in this country often protect the back door less than the front.” He tapped the map. “Our best access should be from the back, but it’s getting dark.”

Ahmed studied the map. “Drive to the other end of this street.”

The road ended in another cul-de-sac at the community’s pool and tennis court. Ahmed pointed. “There’s the path into the parkland. We must not walk through anyone’s yard to draw attention. Let’s circle her cul-de-sac once more and count the houses on this side of the street so when we approach through the woods we’ll know which one is the back of her house.”

“Should we risk parking in the neighborhood while we investigate?”

“No, we’ll park on the main street outside the community and walk back. Bring two flashlights.”

Twenty minutes later they crouched at the edge of the dark woods outside the Shannons’ wrought-iron back fence. Mahmud nudged his companion, “Perfect! No one but those inside the house will see us if we approach from these woods. Do we go in tonight?”

“No, we need a plan.” They worked their way out of the darkened parkland woods with difficulty, cursing the early dusks of fall. Back at their car, they plotted while driving home.

“We must get the doll back in a way that doesn’t endanger our primary mission. We cannot draw attention to ourselves as individuals or to our cell,” Ahmed reasoned.

“Perhaps you don’t know how police operate in America. If the one who breaks into the house to steal the doll is caught, police will question him in jail. Homeland Security might become involved if they question our names or Middle-Eastern looks. If we kill people in that house, the police will certainly hunt us down. Their 24/7 search for us would limit our movements at a time when we have much to accomplish.”

“Tell me about this woman who lives next to you, the one with the sale in her yard yesterday.”

“Roshan? She’s known Zayneb and her family since my wife was a little child. She is like a mother to Zayneb.”

“Could Zayneb ask her to go to this house to ask for the doll? She could say selling the doll was a mistake and the little girl it belongs to cries for her toy.”

Mahmud chuckled. “If they give her the doll, they solve our problem. If not, we find another way. If Roshan goes, no one identifies any of us. You are shrewd as any Bedouin, Ahmed.”

At home, the men ordered Zayneb into Mahmud’s office and closed the door. Her frantic, wild-eyed expression reflected fear for her life.

“Go to Roshan. Say she must help you. Tell her to go to this address to get the doll back because it was sold by mistake and a child mourns for it. Find a new doll at a store, one that Roshan can offer to substitute for the old one she brings to us. Do you understand?”

She trembled. “Yes…yes, I understand.”

“Here is $20 for the new doll,” Mahmud said. “Toy stores are still open Saturday night. Go with her to buy one quickly. If the family won’t accept the trade, return the new doll to the store and bring me the money. Do you know exactly what to do or must I tell you again?”

“I do…I know what to do.”

“Then go,” Mahmud bellowed.

She fled.

48

Saturday, 6:00 PM

Zayneb pounded on Roshan’s back door and when it opened, fell sobbing into her neighbor’s arms. She begged Roshan to help her get the doll back, repeating what they told her.

“What have I done?” she wailed. “I just wanted to make life better for my girls by earning a little money. How could I know our guest hid something inside a doll I thought nobody wanted?”

“Oh, my beloved child. You’re the daughter I wish fate had given me. I’ve watched you blossom and grow next door since you were tiny. Your girls have become my grandchildren. I am old now, but my fondest dream is to see you safe and happy before I die. You haven’t felt happiness for years. Now you’re not even safe with your dreadful husband. Yes, I’ll help any way I can.”

“Thank you a thousand times, dear Roshan.”

“And now we’ll play a small trick on your cruel husband. I have an unusual doll from India, one I played with as a child. We’ll substitute my doll for the one we get and you keep the $20 to do something nice for your girls.”

Zayneb smiled through her tears at her precious god-mother’s love and understanding.

“I’ll show you my doll to see if you agree. If you do, we’ll be on our way.”

Not a baby doll, Roshan’s toy looked more like a teen dressed in brocade clothes with tiny mirrors sewn into the fabric. This was a doll any child would cherish with wonder.

“How beautiful she is,” Zayneb marveled. “You’re sure you’re willing to give her up?”

“Absolutely. This good cause becomes my doll’s destiny, one much more interesting than the bedroom closet.” Roshan wrapped the doll in tissue paper and placed her in an empty shoebox before hugging her surrogate daughter.

“Now, off we go.” They got in the car and studied the address. “I think I know this neighborhood but to be sure, my portable GPS will zero us in.” She plugged the device into the outlet.

“I didn’t know you had one. Is it new?”

Roshan laughed. “Very new. I bought it this morning at a neighbor’s garage sale. She showed me how to use it and this is my first chance to try.”

The GPS worked well. Twenty minutes later they arrived at the Shannons’ house. “Good, lights in the windows mean someone is at home and the porch light is on also. Shall we go together?”

“Mahmud didn’t say if I should. I don’t dare make a mistake.”

“Then stay in the car. I’ll get you if I need you. Wish me luck.”

Zayneb smiled. “Better than that, I wish Allah’s blessings upon you for success because,” she sobered, “…because success is critical.”

Roshan patted Zayneb’s hand for reassurance, climbed out of the car, carried the shoebox to the porch and rang the bell.

49

Saturday, 6:30 PM

“Where’s Becca?” Jason asked his wife as they sat down to supper with the three Grands.

“Off to dinner and a movie with Nathan Sommer.”

“His idea or hers?” Jason asked.  Jennifer shrugged. “Well, let’s hope he’s a step up.”

He sat down with the children and Jennifer served their dinner plates. They’d eaten only half their food when the doorbell chimed.

Jennifer excused herself and peered out one of the glass sidelights to the porch. Their afternoon discussion about caution left Jennifer wary. The woman outside looked vaguely familiar but not someone she knew. On the safe side, she called, “Jay, could you please come here a minute?”

When he stood beside her she pointed outside. “We don’t know her. What should we do?”

“Well, we’re here together and my cell phone’s in my pocket. Let’s find out what she wants.”

Cautiously Jennifer opened the door half way. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello. My name is Roshan Witherspoon. You visited my garage sale this morning. You may remember we chatted and I told you I was born in India but married an Englishman in London and we moved to America.”

Jennifer smiled recognition, pulled the door wide and said, “I do remember you, Roshan. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you, yes, but only for a minute because I’m here with a task. My next-door neighbor asked me to sell some things for her this morning at my yard sale, including a doll bought by a little girl with you. Turns out my neighbor made a big mistake; the doll wasn’t for sale after all, and now the owner is very upset. If you’re willing to return it, may I offer to substitute this doll which the little girl might consider in exchange?” She indicated the box in her hands.

Jennifer and Jason exchanged quick looks. Had answers to their questions about the diamonds walked right in their front door? Would they learn what they wanted to know?

“Please, let’s sit in the living room while we talk.” Jennifer led the way. “You say this doll belongs to your next door neighbors? Have you known them long?”

“I’ve known the wife since she was a little child and now her two daughters are like my own grandchildren. The doll belongs to her youngest daughter, a first-grader.”

Roshan didn’t mention the diamonds. Perhaps this woman knew nothing about them, unlike the neighbor who owned the doll. “Was the toy valuable?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just a plaything their little girl loves and wants back.”

“How did you know how to find us?”

Roshan recalled her pleasant conversation with Jennifer and noticing her unusual license plate as she drove away. “The men next door used that information to find your name and address.”

Jason frowned. Once public information, this personal data was privileged now. His suspicion grew. “Do you know anything more about the doll?”

“What more do you need to know?”

“Well, I think we’d like to meet the owner,” he suggested.