Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) (27 page)

They parked in front of McLean Hardware. “This store has two mottos,” she said. “The first is ‘if we don’t have it, you don’t need it’ and the second is ‘stop in for the things you need from the people you know.’ I tell my students about stores like this because many have nothing similar in their countries. Do you?” He shook his head.

“Here, I’ll introduce you to the manager.” A pleasant man greeted them as they came inside. “Hello, this is Mike Cannon. Ahmed wants to build two raised gardens like these.” She showed him a picture of the original two. “Could you please help him find what he needs to match them and maybe some construction advice?”

“Sure thing.” Mike studied the photo. “This looks easy enough.” He and Ahmed discussed dimensions and Mike assembled the needed materials.

“My family started shopping decades ago at your Old Dominion Drive store, but this new location is fabulous,” Khadija said.

Mike laughed, “After fifty years there we just needed more room.”

When they finished, Ahmed said to Mike, “You know what you are doing. I respect that.”

He laughed. “I’ve been with the company since 1982, so I’ve learned a few things. Here, I’ll get somebody to load it into your van.”

Back home, Khadija changed clothes to help with the construction project. “I looked out the window. You’ve been busy: the outline’s staked, grass removed and even some excavation.”

“Yes, but I’ll dig down another foot to get more old dirt to mix with the soil bags they sold us.” In fact, he dug down almost three feet on one garden, piling shovelfuls of dirt onto a tarp.

“If this one’s the experiment, maybe you won’t need to dig as deep for the second one. Didn’t Mike say some people put the bags of dirt into the framework with no digging at all?”

“You are right, Khadija. I learned from the first.” He put his shovel aside. “Now let’s assemble the wood sides and then I’ll mix the dirt. Let us fill this shallower garden first.” He poured, alternating contents of different bags and the tarp soil into the enclosure, mixing them together with a rake. “How does it look?” he asked.

“Good. Shall we finish the other one now?”

“No, I will finish it tomorrow. You could put some of the plants we bought in this one.” He thought for a moment: It would be nice to see them sprout and thrive in the spring.

When she finished planting, they sat on patio chairs to survey their work over glasses of iced tea.

“You haven’t been in this country very long, but is it what you expected?” she asked.

“No. They said to expect capitalistic greed in which the rich hurt the poor, a corrupt imperialist government that meddles uninvited with their armies in our homeland countries, vices like alcohol and wanton sex, women who dress immodestly and flaunt themselves in public and hordes of unbelievers in Islam, the one true religion. Worse, they are in league with our enemies, the Jews.”

“And do you still believe all you were told?”

“I am not sure now. You tell me to question what I was told, to think for myself. This is new and uncomfortable for me. I see appeal in this freedom idea but also danger. How do you know what is right or wrong without religion to make those decisions clear for you?”

“A person here could live a useful, moral or ethical life with no religion whatsoever—unless he chooses one.”

“You do not choose Islam, Islam chooses you and once chosen you are committed to it for life.”

She explained, “Here that happens only with your consent. Freedom of religion means nobody has the right to force you if you question and disagree.”

He thought about this, wishing he had freedom to choose something else instead of a desperate need to retrieve the diamonds at all costs. The powerful web maker who was their Great Leader, the impatient McLean cell members he was sent to unleash on Americans and the ruthless Russians—all exerted strangle-hold controls over his life. He must succeed. Failure meant only one outcome: a coward’s death, not the martyr’s death guaranteeing reward forever in Paradise. But was that even a guarantee?

Now that he questioned everything, what could he believe?

64

Sunday, 11:00 AM

Jennifer answered the ringing phone. “Hi, Mom. It’s Kaela. How are the children getting along?”

“They’re having a wonderful time and so are we. Would you like to speak with them?”

“Sure, but first we have a big favor to ask. Would you mind keeping them until Tuesday morning? We’re having a great time and it’s a beautiful place. We met some old friends who happened in at the same time. We’d like to stay a little longer, if that works for you.”

“Let me check my calendar.” Jennifer took a look. “No problem. What time Tuesday morning?”

“How about ten? We’ll have an early breakfast before we drive back.”

“Do you think the children want to stay longer?”

“Mom, I haven’t a doubt in the world, but I’ll ask to be sure. But before you get them, thanks for being such an understanding mom.”

“You’re welcome, Honey. I well remember those hectic years with demanding little ones day and night. You need a break once in awhile. Hang on, I’ll get them.”

Jen listened to enough of the Grands’ phone chatter to learn they’d like to stay. Later she’d prepare extra under-the-pillow gifts. This “tradition” created work for her, but garage sales supplied most surprises. Relishing their anticipation and delight justified her efforts.

The doorbell rang. Cautious, she first peeked out the front door’s sidelights and, seeing Tony, opened the door wide. They hugged and she gave him a concerned look. “How are you?”

He sighed. “Okay. The funeral this afternoon is small, just for family.” His expression took on a different intensity. “But I wanted to come by to see you, to thank you and Jay for all your help, to tell you how much I value you…” he reached for her hand and looked into her eyes, “…as marvelous neighbors and precious friends.” This emotional outpouring left him near tears. Jennifer gave him a reassuring hug.

“We’re here for you just as you would be for us, dear Tony.”

“You can count on me. If Jason’s here, I’d like to work out details for our deer hunt Tuesday.”

“Oh?” Jennifer looked surprised. “That’s news to me, but I know you two venture out every fall and it’s that time of year. Think you’ll bring venison for Thanksgiving dinner? You’re joining us, I hope, plus your children if they’re still here. It’s only a few days away.”

“The kids will be gone by then. Thanksgiving with them seemed awkward under the circumstances, but sharing time with you and your family sounds great, Jen.”

Jason wandered in. “Thought I heard you, Tony. Did someone mention deer hunting?”

“Yes, we’re all set for Tuesday. No shooting before the light of dawn, but it’s at least an hour’s drive so we should leave at 5:30 to see the sun rise from our stands.”

“Count me in. I’ll bring coffee for the drive. Can you stay awhile?”

“No. We’re getting ready for the funeral. I just took a minute to escape the black cloud at home.”

Tony left. They waved and closed the door. Jason locked it. “Why take chances?”

65

Sunday, Noon

Celeste didn’t normally work weekends, but a real estate company offered double pay to clean a house new on the market and she jumped at the chance. Fred’s janitorial team worked 10:00 to 6:00 night shifts after stores and offices closed for the business day. He’d have dinner waiting.

She loved Fred, an improbable development considering she met him while she was the girlfriend of his older brother Ralph. She remembered the day she met dashing Ralph Forbes at a McLean garage sale. Their instant attraction fanned her heart—and his whim to add her to his household. And his burglary team.

In those days, Fred lived in the shadow of the flamboyant older brother he idolized. Shrinking from independent thought or action to avoid Ralph’s biting criticism, Fred followed Ralph’s orders, vainly hoping to please his brother. From the outset he worked the residential thefts Ralph masterminded, obediently but without enthusiasm until the addition of sixteen-year-old Celeste to their criminal web.

In Ralph’s clever plan, he and Celeste attended estate or indoor garage sales, afterward making blueprint sketches of the interiors. Using these layouts, Ralph returned days or weeks later to burglarize the houses. Fred drove the get-away car.

Too intimidated by low self-esteem to date, Fred found constant fascination in Celeste’s sharing their house. She thought his intense stares “creepy,” not realizing they reflected adoration of this dream woman he’d never have. Never, that is, until their traumatizing arrests for what the media dubbed “Blueprint Burglaries.”

Guilt at ruining their lives prompted Ralph Forbes to make the first selfless decision of his life. “I’ll take the rap,” he told his inventive court-appointed attorney, “if you can get them off.” Ralph testified convincingly that he terrorized Celeste and Fred with threats of disfigurement and death if they failed to comply. Only the horror of his retaliation forced them to cooperate. For this lie, he received a harsher sentence while a cringing Fred and frightened Celeste drew probation. He’d caused their downfall but balanced the scale.

After the trial, the judge warned Celeste and Fred, “I’m giving you each fifty hours of community service. You must report to a parole officer once a month. Stay out of trouble. If you’re brought before me again, you’ll show a pattern of criminal behavior pointing you straight to jail.”

Narrowly escaping prison frightened the two enough to turn their lives around, find honest jobs and go straight. Having no other friends, they hung together by default.

When she’d fled her mountain home on the first bus out, Celeste met Amanda Rochester. This sympathetic older woman took pity on the vulnerable young runaway in the seat beside her, inviting Celeste to stay at her Arlington house until the girl “landed on her feet.” But Celeste never thought Amanda’s home her final destination. When she met Ralph three weeks later, her path forked in a new direction. “Come back if it doesn’t work out,” Amanda offered.

After the arrest with nowhere else to turn, Celeste brought Fred to Amanda. Concerned over Celeste’s new predicament, Amanda said, “You could rent my basement apartment: two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, bathroom and separate entrance.” This solved the “acceptable” address for their parole officers. But they needed jobs. Penniless, with high school educations and crime their only skill, what could they offer employers? After trying menial restaurant jobs, they applied as maids at a Tyson Corner motel, using public transportation in lieu of a car.

Omitting the arrest, Celeste told the motel manager, “Look, we don’t have work references ‘cause we’re just out of high school, but we’re hard workers and really need the job.”

“At least let us show you what we can do,” Fred pleaded.

The manager eyed them warily but liked their determination and energy. And the girl had that cute West Virginia drawl…. He rubbed his chin; three of his housekeeping staff had quit yesterday for better jobs without two weeks’ notice. This put him on the spot since his motel rooms needed daily cleaning. Hiring these two saved running an ad and interviewing prospects. And if they worked out… He made a snap decision.

“Okay, I’ll try you. Work is 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM. Half an hour per room means eight rooms in the morning and eight in the afternoon. Here’s the checklist showing what to do in each room. The first day you train with one of our regular maids. The second day you’re on your own. More hours are possible if we have a full house but that’ll be at the usual rate, no overtime pay. One hour lunch. Wear black slacks and black shirt. We issue you a blazer with the motel name on the pocket. Friday is payday.” He then described the hourly wage—without benefits.

A month later as they ate a meager dinner in Amanda’s basement apartment, Celeste said, “You know, Fred, the motel pays basic wage less federal deductions. What if we cleaned houses on our own? We could charge more per hour than we’re getting now and keep what we earn.”

Fred considered. “The motel taught us how to clean rooms, but how do we find these other jobs?”

“We could try those fancy neighborhoods near Tyson Corner and charge less than their current help. If we prove ourselves in one home, we’d ask for referrals to others.”

“I like it, working the same hours for better pay. But what about supplies? The motel provides everything we use now.”

Celeste thought. “We’d start out using the customer’s mops, Windex and so on, just providing muscle. Once we buy a car, we bring equipment and supplies and charge more.”

After work, they walked to single-family neighborhoods fanning around Tyson Corner to ask if owners needed domestic help or knew someone who did.  “We’re a team. We clean faster and better than anyone. It’s the American dream: have a good idea, work hard and live a decent life. We learned our skills at a Tyson Corner hotel. Just try us. You’ll see.”

Most residents in these neighborhoods used domestic help, often hiring a housekeeper via a friend’s referral. The sincerity of these two young people gleaned two job offers the first day. Enthusiastic referrals followed their conscientious work at those homes. A month later the pair worked ten jobs a week, two houses a day. They used public transportation, paid their rent and began saving money. Soon they hired others to help them and bought a used van to ferry their crews. Celeste concentrated on residential cleaning while Fred branched out to commercial janitorial service, where he quickly rose to crew foreman. Besides the labor side, his new position exposed him to management, where he learned much they’d used to grow their own operation.