Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) (30 page)

Wendey

Choking with emotion, Adam folded the letter with trembling hands.

Hannah knew from their intimate talks he’d never understood his mother’s cruelty to him. How could he have angered her enough to cut off his little finger? Why did she hate him? Had she ever loved him? Was it his fault? Had he been an unlovable person from the start?

The letter’s wrenching words answered those questions, proving beyond any doubt she’d cherished him—until Tobias drove her mad.

Suddenly Adam threw his arms around Hannah, clutched her and sobbed. She’d never seen him like this and winced at the depth of festering repressed anguish at last unleashed. Her heart ached as she comforted the man she loved, grappling with such emotional chaos. Swept into his experience as if it were hers, Hannah choked back her own sobs and hugged him tightly as they wept healing tears together.

72

Monday, 8:17 AM

“Good morning,” Ahmed said to the women at the breakfast table as he came inside from the yard. “I wakened early to finish the second garden this morning so you can add more plants whenever you like,” he announced.

“Will you join us for breakfast?” Khadija invited.

“Yes, thank you.” He sat down at the dining room table.

“Shall I drop Safia at school on my way to work this morning?” Khadija asked her mother.

“Yes, please,” Zayneb answered.

Heba entered the dining room, poured coffee and brought breakfast. Did she seem more relaxed than in the past or was this only Ahmed’s imagination? Others at the table also appeared relieved at avoiding Mahmud’s overshadowing dark presence. Even Zayneb smiled and talked. Only little Safia seemed downcast, but the others cheered her until she seemed happy as she headed toward the car with her sister.

As they watched the car drive away, Zayneb said, “Thank you, Ahmed, for helping me.”

“We solved it together.” He purposefully changed the subject. “Abdul will drive me to my business appointments today. May I have a key to the house to use as needed, please?”

“I have an extra one in the office.”

“Also I might come and go at unusual hours, so do not expect me for meals.” Realizing he often saw Khadija when they ate, he added quickly, “On the other hand, if I chance to be here at mealtime, dining with your family is always a privilege.”

Ahmed’s cell phone rang. “Abdul here,” said the voice. “I am close to your house. Will you lift the garage door for my arrival?” Ahmed said he would.

“I must open the garage now. I also need to keep an opener with me if you have another.”

“Yes, we have three, one for Khadija, one for me and one for…” She looked away. “The third one is for you now. I will bring you the key and the garage door opener.”

As Heba refilled his coffee cup, he thought he saw the trace of a smile. Because she always looked away modestly, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t look forward to the emergency meeting he called for five members of his cell, but he needed help regaining the diamonds so crucial to their plot. As their leader, he must maintain his men’s respect without admitting he’d lost the source of the mission’s funding. He crafted a plausible story.

Abdul drove him to the nearby meeting place, and he joined the men inside.

“Thank you for coming today. We have an unexpected problem to solve. The Great Leader knew the risk of bringing a large amount of cash into this country to fund our operation. In his wisdom he sent me instead with valuable diamonds, untraceable and easily converted to cash for weapons through our special contacts. Upon arriving, I hid the diamonds for safety until the money exchange. In a serious misunderstanding, the item containing the stones accidentally fell into another person’s hands. Today we will get them back.”

Noticing quizzical looks on his comrade’s faces, Ahmed continued. “A woman in McLean had the item in which the diamonds were hidden. We know she removed the stones. We do not know where she put them. We will persuade her to tell us and then eliminate her as a witness. We will wear balaclava disguises to prevent her recognizing us.”

“Does she live alone?”

“No, but we surreptitiously installed tiny surveillance cameras on a lamppost and two trees across the street from her house. We know who lives at her house, thus we will know when she is alone and the time is right. Stay close in McLean today and when I call you on our special cell phones, immediately stop other activity and assemble here. I will have masks and weapons. Here is the plan.”

He unfolded a hand-drawn sketch showing a house with cul-de-sac in front and parkland in back and along one side. “We arrive through these woods, break into the house, torture her and leave with the diamonds. Any questions?” Nobody spoke. “Then may Allah be with us, peace be upon Him.”

The others murmured assent and left.

73

Monday, 11:46 AM

“I’ll be at Serbian Crown if you need me, Becca. Back around two o’clock. You’ll find lunch for you and the Grands in the fridge. Have fun and remember to keep the doors locked. Probably overcautious, but why not?”

On impulse, Jennifer tucked into her pocket one of the diamonds she and Jason found two days ago during their basement search. She drove toward her lunch date with Adam’s mysterious contact. The woman had sounded normal enough on the phone when Jen suggested lunch today, but who knew what lay ahead?

Driving along Route 7, Jennifer turned onto Colvin Mill Run, glancing as she drove past at the historic old Colvin Mill stone building with the large wooden waterwheel. Built circa 1811, the grain mill seemed a water-powered wonder then. She’d toured the restored mill with her own kids and made a mental note to bring the Grands soon. Those owners from two hundred years ago would marvel at the unimaginable changes since to McLean, Tyson Corner and environ. The original agricultural, dirt-road countryside with a few modest country stores had morphed into upscale residential communities and glass high-rises at Tyson Corner.

She turned at the restaurant and parked. Jennifer’s natural spontaneity had led her to rich friendships but also—she drew a nervous breath at the memory—into terrifying danger. Following Adam’s cautionary police advice, she’d meet with Veronika in this public place. Were legit psychics possible? She had her doubts.

When a woman matching Adam’s description of Veronika stepped from a car, Jennifer hustled toward the entrance and introduced herself outside the front door.

Entering Serbian Crown, Jennifer felt like Dorothy going from Kansas to Oz, but in this case from McLean to Europe. The old-world décor and artifacts provided the convincing backdrop for their well-known Russian and continental cuisine. The host knew both Veronika and Jennifer but seemed surprised they knew each other. He showed them to a window table.

“Jennifer, I thank you for coming today.” Veronika smiled. “Curious?”

Jennifer chuckled at the woman’s candor. She liked this direct approach. “Curious for sure,” she agreed. “What’s this all about, Veronika? You must think it important.”

The older woman frowned. “Important, yes, and together we may understand why. First let’s order vodka. They serve it frozen almost to slush. Do you like flavored or plain?”

“Not my normal drink but today with you it is vodka at noon.” She selected a flavor. Imbedded in a bucket-size chunk of ice, the vodka bottle lay heavily on the waiter’s arm. He poured the chilled liquid expertly, filling the small glasses to the very top where surface tension created a slight bulge above the rim of the glass.

“The challenge is to spill not a drop as you bring the drink to your lips. ‘Za zdorovye.’ To your health.” They lifted their glasses together and she demonstrated a perfect first sip.

“To your health also.” Jennifer spilled a drop en route to her lips and, after swallowing, made a face as the powerful liquid stung her mouth. They savored and Jennifer said, “Why do you want to talk with me?”

“As a child,” Veronika began, “I often knew about events happening elsewhere or anticipated happenings before they did. In Russia they call me ‘yasnovidyaschaya.’ You would say ‘clairvoyant.’ I don’t understand it. I don’t even like it, but we play the cards fate hands us.”

“That we do.” Jennifer nodded, wondering if she could handle another sip of the fiery vodka.

“Shall we study the menu? The wild boar is very good but a little heavy for lunch.” They discussed the merits of several choices and ordered.

“When you saw my picture at the police station…” Jennifer coaxed again.

“Why did I insist upon talking with you? Because I sense this growing danger includes you in a special way. Before we met, I didn’t know if you were part of the danger, but now I think you fell into it by accident.”

“Danger?”

“Yes, in my first vision of ten angry men, I realized they used certain foreign words that spell trouble. When the visions became more frequent and stronger, I vacillated between doing nothing and warning authorities. In past experience, telling someone about a vision could postpone or stop what will happen if different choices are made than those leading to what I saw. After 9/11’s horror, the chance to defuse another terrorist mission drove me to tell the police. Even if they thought me a lunatic, at least they know what I fear comes this way.”

“And…”

“And I believe terrorists very soon plan a terrible attack close by.”

Jennifer stared disbelieving at her companion, but Veronika’s serious expression told her this was no joke to her. But did that make it true?

“When?”

“I don’t know yet. More information may come to me any time. But I think soon—maybe only days or a week. So,” she gave a wry laugh, “think about taking your family on a quick trip away from here to avoid the coming calamity.”

Jennifer studied Veronika’s serious expression. No question she believed what she said. Jennifer took a small sip of vodka. An imminent terrorist threat seemed harder to swallow than this burning drink, yet this woman’s compelling sincerity coupled with her own bizarre diamond discovery…

“You also could escape the danger with a journey, Veronika. Will you?”

Veronika’s appealing laugh animated most of her wrinkled face. “My life nears the end one way or another. Which way matters, but I’d as soon face the finale in the home I love than traveling in a strange place.”

A sudden idea popped into Jennifer’s mind. She groped in her pocket and found it. “Veronika, if you close your eyes, I’d like to put something in your hand. This may be another piece of information.”

“That’s called psychometrics: receiving psychic information by touching an object.”

“How would you know that?” Jennifer hid an edge of suspicion.

“If psychic messages bombarded you, wouldn’t you try to understand the phenomenon? The study of parapsychology suggests some individuals interact with the environment in ways not yet explained by science. For some, psychometry is a tool for remote viewing, of seeking impressions about a distant or unseen target using paranormal means—ESP—or sensing with the mind.”

“What are others you’ve studied?”

“Psychic information through tasting is called clairgustance, through smelling is called clairalience, via hearing or listening is clairaudience, via feeling or touching is clairsentience or psychometry. Psychometry is not my way, but I will try it if you like.” She closed her eyes, extended a hand and Jennifer placed the item in her palm.

What happened next baffled them both. When Veronika’s fingers closed on the diamond, she uttered a sharp cry and flung it away. The gem skittered across the table, hit the wooden floor and rolled ten feet away before coming to rest at a baseboard.

“My God, what was it? Look, it seared my hand.” But as she opened her fingers, they saw no mark. “I could have sworn it left a blister.”

“Maybe you felt it in your mind.”

Veronika looked up. “You do understand. But what was that hot ingot you gave me?”

Was Veronika’s display bonafide or was it skillful theatrics? Jennifer retrieved the stone and showed it to her.

“A piece of glass? No, cut like a gem. A diamond? No, please don’t give it to me. I’ll look at it in your hand. Yes,” she nodded with certainly, “this is part of the problem, but how does it fit? Maybe it belongs to the terrorists, but why? What could they do with one diamond, even a big one like this? And if it’s theirs, how could you have it?”

Jennifer downed another sip of vodka and decided to share the truth. “Sewn inside the body of a cloth doll bought at a garage sale we discovered 289 high-quality diamonds like this one. When a jeweler appraised them at about $3 million, I hustled them to a bank lockbox until we understood the situation. The next day, two women arrived asking to trade a nicer doll for the original. They seemed happy enough to take it, apparently knowing nothing about the treasure sewn inside. But we knew when whoever sent them to me got the empty doll, that person would know they were missing. Next, in the woods behind my house I found a folder, dropped in haste, with a paper showing my name, address and car license letters. Obviously, someone studied the back of my house as they surely must have studied the front. And they know my car. If your visions are right and the diamonds are related to them, doesn’t this confirm that the people knowing I have their gems are terrorists?”