Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) (37 page)

Exuberance united them upon learning they targeted a large shopping mall on Friday at 1:00. Abdul distributed maps, the kind available to any mall shopper, showing the basic layout of stores and restaurants. Until the wee hours last night, Ahmed had worked out who would carry what weapons to which locations and now conveyed this battle plan to them.

Friday morning they were to appear clean-shaven, wearing accurate watches. They would board the van at 9:00 and synchronize their timepieces. Abdul arranged with motel management for late departure, but they’d never pay for the rooms since they’d be dead by that checkout time.

They’d drive their twelve-person van to the weapon warehouse, eat breakfast there and assist each other in concealing their assigned guns and explosives under bulky winter coats brought with them. At noon the van would drive to the mall, dropping them off singly at entrances near their destinations. The last man would park the van, never to return, before also entering the mall. Each man would be given a newspaper and a magazine. At their target points they’d inconspicuously windowshop or sit down to read until one o’clock when the jihad would begin.

During their stay at the motel, at mealtime one man would bring the rest carryout food, which they’d eat in their rooms. They’d become virtually invisible at the motel, drawing no attention to themselves individually or as a group. Nothing could go wrong.

But for Ahmed, everything had gone wrong.  Stuck in this miserable motel, he couldn’t say goodbye to Khadija or the others at her house. He thought of the wife he would never hold, the children he would never love and the gentle old age he would never reach. He questioned the slaughter he planned, its purpose, its uncertain result and even its instant path to Paradise.

Why had Allah tortured him by throwing boulders across this path to righteousness? What had Ahmed’s questioning achieved? Was Maury Rosenblum right when he said after the Frisbee game that Jews and Arabs in America could live and work productively together? If that were true, had Ahmed exerted his life’s energy in exactly the wrong direction?

He wanted out of this nightmare but realized with a shudder that the walls inexorably tightening around him imprisoned him totally.

93

Tuesday, 2:04 PM

The Great Leader’s kill order for Jennifer Shannon weighed heavily on Ahmed’s mind. Did she deserve to die for innocently buying a doll at a garage sale with no idea about the treasure inside? Once she found it, she acted logically to protect it. On the other hand, her actions drastically impaired their grand mission by stealing its funds and reducing their manpower. Only the Great Leader’s ingenuity and resources restored their ability to attack.

He’d like to spare the woman but that defied a direct order. Who knew where the Great Leader positioned eyes to watch his every move? His choice: mercy for the woman or defiance of his mentor. Which path did Allah intend? In the end, with no way out of his cage, he saw no choice.

Ahmed knew Abdul’s car provided flexibility the rest didn’t have, so Abdul would carry out the order to kill Jennifer Shannon.

He did not question the assignment when Ahmed told him to eliminate her. From the start, Abdul thought her an insufferable, meddling woman. Her actions to destroy their original magnificent plans deserved punishment. Death after painful torture seemed best, but death in any form repaid her infidel wickedness.

“At your house you already have a pistol, a rifle, knives and grenades. Choose the method you think best to dispose of her, close or at a distance. Do it today and report to me when you finish.”

“It shall be as you say,” Abdul responded before driving home to get the equipment he’d need.

If Abdul were a passenger with a driver, killing her as she drove would be easy, but shooting accurately at someone while driving yourself was hard—he knew from experience. So, he would do the job at her house.

He parked near the tennis court in her residential neighborhood, hid his gun beneath his coat, threaded his way past the community tennis courts and crept into the parkland to reach her house as he had done before.  Hidden behind a tree at the edge of the woods, he watched for her to appear in front of any window. He waited. Half an hour passed. This, he knew, was one of his last three days on earth and he wished to spend the time differently than shivering in the woods. He waited. Another thirty minutes went by. Enough. Could he just tell Ahmed he’d done it? Would his leader learn the truth in the time left?

He stood up to leave. But wait. She had just walked into the kitchen.

He centered her head in his rifle scope, but she seemed constantly in motion. At last she stopped for a moment and he pulled the trigger just as she turned to do something else.

Three things happened at once: the crack of the rifle shot, the shattering of the windowpane and Jennifer falling like a rock to the floor.

He must leave quickly. Neighbors watched out for each other in these communities. After the recent police presence here pursuant to the kidnapping, they’d be alert for the unusual.

He hurried back through the woods to his car, drove to the motel and reported his success.

94

Tuesday, 2:43 PM

Typing at her computer upstairs, Becca heard a gunshot and shattering glass. She jumped to her feet. “Mom? Mom?” she shouted, rushing down the stairs two at a time. She glanced into each room as she hurried past: the study, living room and dining room. In the kitchen, she saw her mother sprawled face down on the floor with blood in her hair. A glance at the spider web cracking around the hole in the window confirmed her worst fears.

“My God,” she cried, kneeling beside her mother, trying to remember the first-aid mantra, “A-B-C: Airways, Breathing, Circulation.” As she rolled her mother over, Jennifer’s arm reached up weakly to pull her to the floor.

Her mother’s hoarse voice whispered, “…Down, Becca. Shooter outside...”

“Mom, there’s blood. You’re hurt. We need help.”

“Blood?”

“Yes,” Becca whipped out her cell phone. “I’m calling 911. We need medical help and there’s a sniper in our back yard.” She held her mother’s hand and dialed.

Becca gave the emergency operator the address. “My mother’s been shot in the head. She’s on the floor bleeding but alive. Her name is Jennifer Shannon. I’m her daughter, Becca. Please send help, hurry!”

“What phone number are you calling from?”

Becca told the operator.

“Is the shooter still there?”

“I don’t know. He shot through the window from our back yard or the woods behind.”

“Get down low yourself in case he’s still out there. Stay on the phone with me until help arrives.”

“All right. Please hurry.”

“Help is on the way, Becca. Is your mom awake?”

“Yes.”

“Is she breathing?”

“Yes.”

“Has the bleeding stopped?

“I think so but it’s hard to tell. The wound’s in her hair.”

“Is she talking?”

“Yes.” Becca began to cry. “Oh, Mom, this can’t be happening.” Into the phone she said, “I think I hear sirens. Yes, they’re getting louder.”

“Good. Stay on the phone until help has arrived. Has her condition changed in any way?”

“I don’t think so. The sirens are loud now. Hold on. I’ll crawl to the front door.”

She stood at the door to open it. “Hurry, she’s in here,” she directed the first responder. And into the phone, “Thank you for sending help fast.” She barely heard the operator’s “You’re welcome” as she hurried to the kitchen.

The medics went straight to work, blocking Becca’s view as they evaluated and treated her mother. When a deep voice said, “We can’t go on meeting like this,” she spun around to look into Lt. Nathan Sommer’s face. She nodded agreement.

Becca knew to stay out of their way as the EMTs worked on their patient but smiled with relief at her mother’s lucid responses to their questions.

Ten minutes later, Nathan took Becca aside. “Your mother is one lucky lady. She faced away from the window when the pane shattered, propelling some glass fragments into her hair and skin. Miraculously, the bullet only grazed her scalp with a superficial flesh wound. Because head wounds tend to bleed a lot, it looked worse than it was. She didn’t lose consciousness and she’s talking normally. So far so good.”

Becca’s relief showed on her face. “Thank you, Nathan.”

“We’ve done our job.” He looked at the broken window. “Police will arrive any minute to deal with this. Meantime, where’s a couch for your mother to rest? She’s okay physically but pretty shaken up.”

“There’s a couch in the study.” They helped Jennifer stretch out there. “Feeling better, Mom?” she asked, holding her mother’s hand.

“Much better, Dear.” Jennifer’s voice was thin but steady.

When Becca and Nathan reached the foyer, he asked with concern, “Do you think you’re safe here?”

“I did until yesterday and today,” she said wryly.

“Wouldn’t want anything to…to interfere with that Thanksgiving meal you invited me to attend. That’s in just two days. Can you and your family stay afloat that long?”

“Not if today’s an example. Seriously, Nathan, I hope we’ll be okay. Mom looks forward to this event every year. It would take more than a shot in the head for her to cancel it.” Her sarcastic laugh at this absurdity covered her anxiety. “See you Thursday at one o’clock.” As he turned to go, she touched his arm. “Nathan, thanks for being here to help us through this.”

He squeezed her hand. “I hope you’ll get used to having me around. Until Thursday then?”

As he and the other firefighters and medics gathered their equipment and trooped out the front door, two policemen passed them on the way in.

Becca explained the situation, made a chalk outline showing where her mother had fallen and answered their questions.

“First we want to defuse any immediate danger. Then a detective will come out to investigate further. Is your mother up to talking with us about this?”

“Let’s find out.” She led the way to the couch.

By the time Jennifer explained the bank and kidnapping arrests followed by today’s incident, they advised police protection. She agreed.

“We want to check the back yard before dark. We’ll do that now. Then one of us will stay until the detective arrives. A patrolman will park his cruiser in front of your house during the time you need protection.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Now I think I’ll rest a few minutes because Becca and I need to visit someone at the hospital tonight.”

The policemen gave her a quizzical look.

“My dad,” Becca explained in the foyer. “He was injured in an auto accident earlier today.”

“Sounds like your family better start taking life a whole lot easier.”

95

Tuesday, 6:04 PM

After the detective came and went, Becca and Jennifer drove to the hospital. “Honey, let’s not tell Dad about the gunshot,” Jennifer suggested before they entered Jason’s room. “He’ll just worry while stuck here in the hospital, and we know I’m fine and the situation is under control until he returns. Okay?”

Under control? Still, Becca agreed reluctantly, led the way to her father’s room and hugged him.

Jennifer gave him a kiss. “You seem much livelier now. Do you feel as good as you look?”

“No more dizziness, my balance is back, the headache’s gone and my vision’s normal. I feel great. Don’t know why they won’t let me out right now.”

“Your impatience is good but we want you strong and steady for Thanksgiving.  After all, you’re our trusty wine steward.”

“I’ll be more than ready then. Heck, I’m ready now. Any news about Tony?”

Was there ever! She scarcely comprehended Tony’s murderous tale herself, never mind telling anyone else. “No, we just got here but I…I’ll check with the nurse while you and Becca visit.”

The Neuro station nurse made a phone call. “He’s still in ICU,” she told Jennifer.

At ICU Jennifer identified herself to a nurse and explained her relationship to Tony. “One of his children is with him. He’s a very sick man. We allow two visitors at a time, so I’ll take you in.”

They started down the hall of curtained cubicles but stopped when a flurry of activity ahead sent medical personnel scurrying to one of the patients. “Code Blue,” one shouted and the nurse accompanying Jennifer hurried to help, leaving her standing awkwardly in the corridor.

As the others rushed into the cubicle, one woman stepped out and stood frozen while activity and commands punctuated the air from the curtained room. The woman looked familiar, but at this distance Jennifer couldn’t be sure so she waited, uncertain what to do next. Then a nurse came from behind the curtain, put her arm around the woman and spoke to her.

Suddenly the woman collapsed in sobs and Jennifer hurried toward her. Approaching close enough to recognize Tony’s grown daughter, she said, “Catherine? Honey, what is it?”

“He’s dead,” she sobbed. “Dad’s dead. First Mom, then Dad—all in one week. I can’t believe this. It’s just too much.” She buried her face against Jennifer’s shoulder and wept as Jennifer tried to comfort her. When the crying lessened, Jennifer found a place for them to sit.