Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery)

by Suzi Weinert

  They approached the last room of the one-story house, the room where Ruger did his “important work.” He hadn’t let her clean this room but as the rest of his Spartan house revealed little about him, she surmised that he’d kept his secrets here. Police sealed that room, awaiting forensics, when she’d returned with them the night of her escape. Still curious, she looked in now with interest. The clean, freshly-painted corner room had two windows facing overgrown foliage outside. Noting scuffed floor boards along one wall, Jennifer remembered what police had said they found beneath them.

  “This will be our office, with two computer desks and some book shelves. As you know, we plan to buy gently-used furniture, but some pieces might also work temporarily in the new house we build until we can furnish it properly. Okay, that’s it for the upstairs. Ready for the basement?”

  Feeling a catch in her chest, Jennifer looked at her watch. “I’m getting short on time, maybe…”

  “Mom, this will only take a minute.”

  “Well…”

  Hannah led the way, opening the basement door, and Jennifer descended the stairs slowly behind her daughter. At the bottom of the stairs she realized the room had been transformed. Cream color paint brightened the walls and stairs. The six puny low-watt bulbs had been replaced with simple hoods over brighter bulbs. The grisliness gone, this room might serve a wholesome purpose.

  “Remarkable what you’ve accomplished, and so fast. Impressive, Hannah.”

  “Remember, Mom, this is only temporary until we subdivide the property and start construction of our very own house; we think a couple of months at most. But I’m starting a vegetable garden now, positioned so we can still use it near the new house. We’ll grow most of our own food and raise chickens to control the organic quality of the food we eat. As I told you before, it’s the new craze, Mom.”

  Returning to her car, Jennifer exchanged her garage-sale ad info for Hannah’s “look-for” list.

  “Forgot to add a mirrored medicine cabinet—you know, the over-the-sink kind. The old one has deteriorated, and a new one will help me get my makeup on straight.”

  “I’m on the alert. Love to you and Adam, too. Thanks for sharing your vision with me.”

  “Oh, Mom. You do understand.”

  Jennifer couldn’t push away her powerful intuition: Hannah might live here okay, but what about Adam? He grew up in this hellhole of misery and abuse. True, they’d dramatically altered the overall appearance, but would this also change his repressed childhood terrors? He’d avoided any recollections while living with his adoptive parents, but could he continue to do so in the very place where he’d endured the nightmarish treatment? Might some simple experience trigger a hideous memory allowing other memories to wash over the dam to engulf him?

  Jennifer started her car.

  “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” Hannah dashed into the house, emerging with a large framed item she carried to the car. “It’s the painting Ruger took away from you. We saved it, so you’re getting the last word again, Mom.” Putting a corner of the frame on the ground, she spun it around to reveal the finished side: a seated nude woman, her back facing the artist, her loose hair cascading from the top of her head down to her shoulders, below which arched the feminine curve of her back.

  Jennifer froze. Could she handle this last tangible evidence of her experience with a madman? Could she bring herself to hang the picture at home, a haunting reminder of this frightening episode in her life? Before she could protest, Hannah slid the painting into the back seat and closed the door.

  Robot-like, Jennifer shifted into reverse. To break the painting’s hypnotic spell, she made herself look out the window, smile at Hannah and mouth “thank you” since the glass muffled her voice. She looked at her watch. The Grands would arrive in fifteen minutes. She needed to hurry.

  27

  Friday, 4:03 PM

  Driving home purposefully, Jennifer rushed into the house to receive the arriving Grands, only minutes away if on time. What a busy Friday and hardly over yet.

  These particular Grands chose to sleep together in one room when visiting so she added a roll-away cot to their bedroom and placed a small stuffed animal on each bed as a welcome.

  Moving fast, she was setting places for five at the round wicker table in the sunroom when the bell chimed. The door opened, accompanied by squeals and scuffles of children.

  “We’re here!” they called.

  “Wonderful. Let’s have a hug.” She embraced the children and then Kaela and son-in-law Owain. “So, you’re off for a romantic long weekend?”

  “A two-fer,” Owain explained. “We’re parlaying my business trip into a personal vacation.”

  “Thanks, Mom, for taking on the children. Here’s our contingency info: where we’ll be and our pediatrician’s number. Bedtime’s nine but earlier if you can swing it. They can take their own suitcases upstairs if you tell them what room they’re in. Milo’s still having trouble saying his ‘r’s, but the speech therapist says he’ll outgrow it so just ignore.”

  “Have you any objection to my taking them to a few garage sales tomorrow?” Jennifer asked.

  “Not at all. They’d love it.” Her daughter looked around. “Where’s Dad?”

  Jennifer told them about Kirsten, or “Mrs.D” to them. “Dad’s helping Mr. D and the kids select photos for a slide show and finalizing other arrangements. He should be home soon.”

  Owain looked at his watch. “Well, we better get a move on. We need to drive across the mountains to The Greenbrier in time to settle in before the big dinner tonight.”

  After quick farewells, Jennifer showed the children to their room. “Could we play in the yard until dinner time?” one begged.

  “Yes, but stay inside the fence. If you see spider webs in the tree house, use a stick to poke them out before you play there,” Jennifer instructed as they swooshed past her down the stairs.

  Heading downstairs herself, she heard the front door open. Jason walked in looking grim. “How was it?” she asked.

  “What a struggle.” He sighed. “Tony and the children—we all had tears in our eyes going through family pictures. The service is Sunday afternoon at his church. Am I ever glad to come home to find you alive and feisty as ever.”

  “Missed me, did you?” she teased. “The Grands are in the back yard if you want to say hi. Adam and Hannah moved into the Yates house.” She described the home-inspection, the macabre house’s transformation with paint, and the garden-and-chicken plans. “You know I feel uneasy about Adam in that house.”

  “Yes, but let’s hope you’re wrong, Jen.” He laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it, how the pendulum swings? One generation moves away from farms to strike it rich in cities. Then the next, born in the city, thinks living from the land is the way to go.”

  “Becca phoned to say she’s coming home from Virginia Tech for Thanksgiving vacation this weekend. Hard to believe our youngest is a senior this year.”

  “With the last one nearly out of college and that financial drain almost over, maybe we can do some traveling?”

  “Fantastic idea. I’m all for it. Have you anything in mind?”

  “Maybe another cruise?”

  “I salute that idea.” She placed her hand to her forehead then swirled it away.

  The three Grands dashed into the kitchen, giggling. “We’re getting hungry,” announced eight-year-old Christine.

  “Is it almost dinner time?” asked six-year-old Alicia.

  “Look, I have a cut on my awm,” pouted four-year-old Milo, lifting his arm to flash the proof.

  Jennifer diagnosed the wound as a scratch. “Grandaddy can bandage it, Milo. He might even find one with Angry Bird pictures on it. Too early for dinner, but how about a snack of apple slices?”

  As the three followed Jason out of the kitchen for “doctoring,” Jennifer heard one ask him in a plaintive voice, “Do we need an actual cut to qualify for an Angry Bird bandage?”

  She couldn’t h
ear Jason’s reply but wasn’t surprised when they each returned sporting a bandage.

  28

  Friday, 5:06 PM

  With Ahmed’s instructions clear in his mind, Abdul checked the address as he drove north on Route 123 into Vienna. He must make no mistake about this destination.

  He didn’t like this assignment but knew someone must undertake it. Once Ali left their group, he became what Americans call a “loose cannon.” No choice but to eliminate him. Surely the man realized shunning their cell earned a death sentence to punish his unforgiveable disregard of the Great Leader’s mandate—and to ensure his silence about their imminent mission.

  Though he must kill Ali, Abdul respected the man’s courage in speaking up, explaining his decision and electing to withdraw. After all, the man might instead have gone through the motions, pretended to participate in their cause but deliberately fail at his role in their grand mission. What would Abdul himself do under similar circumstances? he wondered.

  Impossible, Abdul decided, for he understood Allah’s plan for him and saluted this honor with every fiber of his being. What explained Ali’s confusion when Islam made it so clear? Allah is the legislator. Allah makes laws. Men must obey Allah’s laws only, no other rules. This is the opposite of democracy, where people make the laws. One day Sharia Law would bring all men together, accomplishing Allah’s will as revealed by his Prophet Muhammad, blessings upon him.

  Abdul patted his concealed pistol and felt for the switchblade but liked best the thin garroting rope if circumstances allowed its use. His problem: controlling where the execution took place.

  Ali would know the reason for Abdul’s visit the moment he saw him. Would Ali try to escape his fate? Perhaps carry a concealed weapon himself? Abdul suddenly realized a risk of this assignment was wasting his own life before their jihad. But what choice had he?

  Once he identified Ali’s house, he’d park elsewhere to case the place from a safe distance. If Ali left his house, Abdul might follow in the car to do the job elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d ring Ali’s doorbell; when he came to the door, Abdul would persuade the man to leave with him to protect his family from further danger. To save them, he’d probably agree.

  But if not, least desirable was gunning down Ali in his own home while his family watched, for then he must shoot them all. At least the silencer wouldn’t alert neighbors to the carnage taking place. But discovery of the bodies created its own problem if investigating police figured the terrorist connection. But could they? Their careful precautions should prevent such a link.

  Prompted by the GPS voice, Abdul made another turn onto Ali’s street. He drove by once to see how the man’s house fit the neighborhood grid. Almost there. It should be in the next block.

  But even before the house numbers verified his conclusion, Abdul’s mouth opened in disbelief.

  He stared at the charred remnants of a house burned to the ground! He drove past, checking the house numbers on either side of the scorched remains for absolute certainty it belonged to Ali.

  Parking a block away, he sat still, absorbing this new information. Had Ali killed his family, committed suicide and burned the evidence rather than face the assassin he knew would come? Or did this distraction disguise their departure? He needed more information. But how to get it?

  A youth walking a dog made his way down the block, pausing as the animal sniffed a hydrant. Abdul lowered his driver side window as the boy approached. “Hey, young fella, is that a burned out house in the next block?”

  “Yeah,” said the boy. “Terrible thing. Whole family burned to death. Two of the daughters were my age. We rode the same school bus. The whole neighborhood watched it happen this morning.”

  “Do they know how the fire started?”

  “Yeah. We all heard the explosion and the house burned so fast it was mostly gone when the fire trucks arrived. They blamed a gas leak and checked every other house in the neighborhood, but the rest are all okay.”

  “Any survivors?”

  “No, they carried out five body bags. Wiped out the whole family. An awful thing.” The impatient dog jerked his leash. “Gotta go, Mister.”

  “Thanks, Kid.”

  Abdul turned his car around, retraced his way back to the house, parked by a neighbor’s curb and snapped a cell phone picture of Ali’s destroyed home. With his untraceable phone, he’d inform Ahmed. Tomorrow’s newspaper would surely feature its own photo story of this local disaster.

  But one kid’s story wasn’t enough. He called to a woman raking leaves in her yard along the sidewalk and then a man repairing his curbside mailbox. Both told close versions of the same story, right down to the five body bags.

  Driving from the housing area, Abdul felt considerable relief. He’d accomplished his unwelcome task without risk, exposure or firing a single shot. He thanked Allah for smiling on him this day.

  29

  Friday, 9:03 PM

  At dinner with Mahmud’s family, Ahmed could scarcely stifle his longing glances toward Khadija. Her charming smile, her graceful movements, her delicate hands—she fascinated him. Because of his bleak future, this woman could never belong to him, yet his attraction to her intensified every time he saw her. Did the way she smiled back acknowledge his interest? Under other circumstances, he would speak to her father about a marriage contract, but with his death a week away, he struggled to push away her alluring distraction.

  As Ahmed excused himself after dinner, bidding polite farewells to those at the table, Khadija touched her napkin to her lips and stood also.

  “I must work on my lesson plan for Saturday’s class,” she announced, gliding gracefully out the door. Mahmud glared as the two left. Zayneb studied her plate, hoping their attraction would not point Khadija toward the same wrong path she’d chosen. Worse, what if her daughter should emotionally substitute this attentive foreigner for the father whose love she could never win?

  Ahmed placed a hand on the stair’s newel post, motioning Khadija to precede him up the flight. In a friendly gesture, she placed her graceful palm atop his hand and asked, “Did you read any part of the book I gave you?”

  Electric currents shot up his arm from the feel of her hand on his. The powerful, strict taboo forbidding touching between men and women not of the same family seemed impossible to shake. Amazed that his voice sounded normal instead of the strangled words he expected, he answered, “I read half and will finish the rest tonight.” He needed to say more to lengthen the time they stood together. “How…how do you summarize this American culture you teach, this freedom?”

  She thought a moment and gave him a beautiful smile as the answer came to her. “Question everything—everything you’ve been told or taught. Don’t let anybody do your thinking for you. Use your own mind. Discover your own conclusions and, when you do, act on what you have learned. If not, you’re just somebody else’s robot.”

  Intrigued by her words, with a boldness he hardly believed, he placed his other hand gently atop hers. She didn’t pull away. “Could…could you please give me an example?”

  Several possibilities crossed her mind before she picked one. “Okay. You know about the 9/11 events in this country. Their handlers brainwashed those terrorists into thinking they’d earn the world’s respect while glorifying their god. In fact, the world sees them as maniacal radicals murdering innocent, unprotected men, women and children with no chance to fight back and in the name of an equally crazed religion. In war, armed soldiers can defend themselves in a fair fight. But in terrorist attacks, victims have no chance, so killing them is easy. Not brave but cowardly. Men allowing others to use them to accomplish such awful acts aren’t thinking for themselves; they are slaves to manipulators who waste their lives in this shameful way.”

  Stung by her words, Ahmed recoiled. She saw this change immediately, wondering how a simple truth produced this unexpected effect. To soften her words she focused her hazel eyes upon his. “If we think for ourselves, we will know what to do wh
en the time comes, and it may be very different from what we thought was right when others manipulated us.”

  At that moment Mahmud lurched into the room. They disengaged their hands on the banister just in time. “What’s the delay?” he growled. “Why are you lingering here?”

  “I have a stone in my shoe.” Ahmed fumbled with his foot, allowing Khadija to reach the top step before he followed at a respectful distance. Mahmud snorted unmistakable anger.

  Moments later, Ahmed closed his bedroom door and clutched his head in his hands as if to prevent his brain from exploding out through his fingers. He’d arrived in McLean crystal clear about his life’s mission and confident about commanding this assignment with skill for the sole glorification of his god. But this delicate, intelligent woman threw open the door to a hornet’s nest of new thinking. He sat heavily on his bed, logically and emotionally disoriented. His head swam. The last of the structured world he thought he knew had changed at the bottom of those stairs.

  As he hung his clothes in the closet to prepare for sleep he double-checked the doll, right where he left it behind the suitcase. He lay down on his bed, forearm covering his eyes, trying to put it all together, but the enormity overwhelmed him. He felt a wave of fatigue. He’d face those problems tomorrow. Sitting up in bed, he opened Khadija’s book to read the second half, as he’d promised her. But after the first few pages, the open book fell aside as his eyes closed and he drifted into a fitful sleep spawning a disturbing dream.

  He and Khadija smiled on their wedding day, pledging themselves to each other before their friends and their god. Next they were alone together in their home. Nothing stood in the way of their hungry love and its long-awaited expression. But as they kissed, men from the terrorist cell pounded on the door. Ahmed and Khadija dashed up the stairs to escape as the men splintered the door and burst into the house. Mahmud led the men as they thundered up the stairs after the newlyweds. Ahmed and his bride rushed into the upstairs room, locked the door and hid in the wardrobe. They heard the room’s door smash open, feet shuffling, voices shouting and furniture banged about. Mahmud said, “We’re leaving explosives for you to strap to your body. You know your duty. We’re ready to complete our task. Come downstairs wearing the bombs or we’ll kill you both and finish the job without you.”