Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery)

by Suzi Weinert

An hour later she heard the bedroom door open. Lying on the pillow under the covers, she stared into the room’s blackness, alert for every sound. She heard Mahmud shuffle across the room and approach the bed. Please, Allah, touch his heart with gentleness and love.

  Instead he hissed, “Your ugliness disgusted me for years and now your pig-brained stupidity brings shame and catastrophe upon my house. Not only does this terrible trouble you made humiliate me before my guest and other countrymen, but worse, your blundering affects the course of history.” Seconds later a punch thudded into her slight frame, but his words had bruised her as much as the blow. He pulled her from the bed, slapping her back and forth across the face and punching her body as she cowered away from his blows.

  He dragged her into the bathroom and slammed her against a wall. As she scrambled to gain her footing he punched her in the stomach. When she doubled over, he jerked her back, spun her around and twisted her arm up high behind her back until a cry escaped her lips. She knew he hated it when she cried out. Weakness, he called it. She tried to endure the hurt in silence, but the pain squeezed out sounds she couldn’t gulp back. Now he bent her backward over the sink. She stared bug-eyed at the ceiling as his fingers closed around her throat. She twisted and turned as her hands clawed ineffectively to loosen his. She couldn’t budge his grip on her neck. She grabbed something from the vanity to hit him back, a liquid soap dispenser, but he wrested it from her. Roaring his anger, he jetted a stream of the liquid into her eyes. The intense stinging beneath her eyelids produced involuntary thrashing to dispel the irritant.

  “My eyes,” she screamed. “Water, please…”

  “You want water,” he roared. “Try this.” He wrenched her away from the sink and forced her head into the toilet. He held her there until she writhed and gurgled. As he pulled her to her feet, wheezing and coughing up inhaled water, she knew he would kill her this time. In an act of primitive desperation she flailed her arms. The fingers of one hand closed over the scissors left earlier on the toilet tank. As he lurched to fling her into the empty bathtub, through a blur of soap-film she followed an instinctive desperation to survive, stabbing the sharp steel toward him again and again. Amid the grunting chaos of their struggle, she doubted it even touched him. Weak with pain and despair, realizing she couldn’t win against his strength and vicious determination, she crumpled toward the floor to welcome death. Her last thoughts were of her daughters.

  But he jarred her yet again, this time his entire weight pinning her to the tile. Then, as suddenly as his rage toward her began, the onslaught stopped. She could scarcely breathe with his weight upon her, compressing her lungs. Gasping for air, she finally pushed away this chest-crushing burden. Zayneb stared in confusion as he rolled aside and lay inert beside her. She made no sense of what she saw.

  Her husband lay immobile on the tile floor, a bloody scratch across his cheek, an oozing puncture above his left eye and more blood on his neck. But then she spied the unbelievable: the closed handles of the long, thin scissors stuck out of his ear.

  She sobbed, unable to believe she’d survived the terrible beating and unable to process the baffling scene before her.

  She dragged herself to the tub faucet to flush the burning soap from her eyes. She felt dazed. A sudden, overpowering wave of fatigue and pain swept over her, shutting her down. She crumpled to the bathroom floor and passed out.

  Zayneb wasn’t sure how long she lay in the bathroom. As lucidity returned, stabs of physical pain and emotional misery confirmed she still existed. She sat up with enormous effort. What had happened here? She put a reluctant hand on Mahmud’s arm and shook him. No response. She tried again without result. Staring at him and at the awful thing sticking out of his ear forced shocked recognition that her husband lay dead. Her face paled in terror.

  What…what had she done?

  55

  Saturday, 11:01 PM

  In another room of the house, Khadija lay under her covers, eyes open wide. She thought of Ahmed. Was her attraction to this older man genuine or only a way to infuriate her father? Or maybe both? Troubled, she tried to fall asleep.

  In the basement Heba curled in her bed, stifling sobs, for Mahmud had visited her earlier that night with lust on his mind. She knew not to protest when he attacked her. Those men the human traffickers forced her to endure had no affection in mind during those endless, repulsive encounters. Neither did he. These physical and emotional torments began when her innocent childhood changed forever at age eight. Mahmud had shared her with his friends when he first owned her, as had the Turk, but those liaisons stopped when he married Zayneb. For twenty-four years, only Mahmud pushed his way, uninvited, into her room.

  But from the start Zayneb showed Heba kindness. First she changed Heba’s sleeping place from the dirty, blanket-covered mattress Mahmud tossed in the basement room to a comfortable bed. Thanks to Zayneb, her few belongings no longer lay in cardboard boxes, but now in a bureau beside a night stand, a lamp, a small desk, a chair, a television and books. Zayneb taught her literacy. Heba learned to trust and care about this gentle woman. Heba thought if this were a Middle-Eastern Muslim household where a man could marry four women, as sister-wives she and Zayneb would share a very similar relationship as they did now but with one notable exception: Zayneb knew nothing of Mahmud’s carnal visits to the basement.

  Ahmed lay awake also, his panic at the diamonds’ loss slightly assuaged by finding the doll buyer’s house. But the police car parked in front signaled new problems. Had she given police the treasure or merely told them how she got it? Had she asked for police protection? Needing to produce the gems for the Russians, he must get the stones very soon. He pondered how to do this. He’d likely get only one chance.

  Ahmed winced at sounds from the next room, aware of Mahmud’s temper and knowing his own accusations triggered the man’s anger toward Zayneb tonight. But what choice had he? Their mission’s success hinged upon retrieving the diamonds.

  The comfort of blaming others for one’s mistakes appealed to Ahmed as it did to everyone. His culture’s logic simplified this justification. A woman’s stupidity had lost his diamonds, derailing a plan grander than anything her mind could grasp. Her mistake earned retribution, which her husband correctly meted out to teach her a lesson and regain control over his household.

  But truthfully, he thought, she wasn’t guilty. He chose the diamonds’ poor hiding place, ironically thinking using the doll was a positive sign from his god. What purpose could Allah intend by twisting the rope of events to destroy the funding for Ahmed’s mission to glorify Him?

  And now gentle Zayneb endured punishment he earned instead. He wanted to find a way to make this up, but how was that possible in the short time they had left?

  Guilt about Zayneb’s situation and frustration over his love for Khadija forced his focus back to the doll. He lay in the dark, wracking his brain for a scheme to get the diamonds back from this Jennifer Shannon tomorrow. But how?

  A rap on his door snapped him back to reality. Might it be Khadija? He opened his door. But it wasn’t Khadija. For a moment he didn’t recognize this battered specter as his host’s wife.

  “Zayneb? What…what is wrong?”

  He could scarcely make out her frail voice speaking through damaged lips. “Please help me.”

  He hesitated. “A moment while I get my jacket.” He owned no robe but could not emerge in his nightclothes. He reappeared wearing shoes and his overcoat.

  She led him through her bedroom and into the bathroom, where an unnerving scene lay before him. Ahmed gaped in astonishment. In a million years, he did not expect what he saw.

  “It was an accident. He smeared soap in my eyes. I couldn’t see where the scissors went.

  Ahmed knelt to take Mahmud’s pulse but the staring eyes, open mouth and blood oozing from the impaled ear confirmed his condition. Ahmed had killed men himself and seen many corpses, but this bizarre accident with the scissors caused him pause. If she’d tried deli
berately to stab her attacker in the ear, she couldn’t have. Only a freakish twist of fate explained such violation.

  “I will call the police now to tell what I have done,” she mumbled.

  Ahmed stood quickly, his voice firm. “No, Zayneb. Thank you for offering this but it is not...it is not a good idea. I will take care of everything. I…I have a plan.”

  But he did not.

  56

  Saturday, 11:37 PM

  Ahmed could not allow police into this house to investigate a murder. Identifying and interrogating them all as witnesses or suspects would destroy his carefully crafted anonymity and, perhaps, their plot. No, he must deflect this unnerving development as if it had never happened.

  His mind raced, exploring and rejecting possible solutions.

  “Have you another one of these, Zayneb?” He pointed to the shower curtain liner.

  “Yes, I will bring it.”

  “Tonight we wrap him tight in this plastic and tomorrow we will bury him. We tell family and friends he returned to his homeland. You make no missing person report requiring police investigation because he told you he was going overseas, just not when he will return.”

  Hearing this, her bloodshot eyes widened. Ahmed methodically checked the dead man’s pockets, removing all identification and jewelry. “Turn your head away,” Ahmed directed as he extracted the scissors and dropped them in the wastebasket. “No evidence if the body’s ever found.”

  Together they wrapped him in the shower curtain, sealed it with adhesive tape from the medicine cabinet and dragged the resulting bundle to one side of the bathroom.

  “Very little blood spilled on the floor. Clean it so the grout between these tiles looks the same as the rest.”

  “Who will run his painting company when he doesn’t go to work?”

  Ahmed considered this. “Has he a foreman? A good one?”

  “I think so, but he speaks little to me of his business.”

  “Don’t worry. I will find out and tell that man to take charge for the immediate future until Mahmud returns. You think how you will convince your family tomorrow. Our stories must be identical. Meantime, lock this bathroom door and allow no one in but yourself until we move him.”

  “Would it be safer to do it tonight in darkness when most are asleep?”

  She didn’t realize he must think of a safe place to dispose of a body and at the moment had no idea where that might be.

  “Your idea is correct, but tomorrow night instead of tonight. I go now for sleep. You also. We will talk again tomorrow.”

  As she closed her bedroom door, he moved along the hall, past his room, down the stairs and out the back door for fresh air. He sat on the porch steps, his mind on overload, and pulled his coat tighter against the chilly fall night. He thought of his dead host: this had been his home, his family, his business, his life. Now the man was gone forever. He certainly hadn’t died a hero’s death, but was he in Paradise anyway? What would happen to his family when Ahmed and the rest of the cell died martyrs’ deaths in a few days? What would happen to beautiful, bright Khadija? Who would hold her and love her? What fortunate man would create children with her?

  He pulled his heart away from Khadija to focus his mind on urgent problems. He must recruit another driver from the cell tomorrow. He must decide on a plan to wrest back the diamonds. He must plan their sensitive mission and, absent this dead co-conspirator, accomplish it with only nine men. He must finalize negotiations with the Russians and put in place the inventory and cash they’d provide in exchange for the Great Leader’s treasure.

  Now, if all that weren’t enough, he must figure out where to bury the body lying upstairs.

  He stared around the pleasant yard. The few homes he’d seen in his country weren’t like this one, but his narrow life experience—school, camps and classes—allowed little time in residential areas. Mahmud had lived an enviable life compared to his. His own life could unfold differently with Khadija in it, but that was impossible for a martyr. The Great Leader would counsel material joys of the flesh paled against the honor of glorifying Allah and changing history. He’d counsel only a selfish, small-minded donkey preferred a temporal wife and family to the keys to Paradise and the lasting fame of a martyr furthering the noblest cause.

  Ahmed gazed at the lush grass, the six-foot wooden fence surrounding the property, the swing set with slide and tree house, the numerous trees and even some flowers still blooming in the raised gardens. And then, something clicked in his mind.

  DAY FOUR

  Sunday

  57

  Sunday, 6:30 AM

  Jennifer wakened early after a good night’s sleep and stretched lazily in the king-size bed. She rose quietly, without disturbing Jason, peeked in at the sleeping Grands down the hall and padded downstairs to collect the fat Sunday newspapers from the front yard.

  She brewed coffee and nuked bacon in the microwave. As delicious hickory aromas filled the kitchen, she poured a coffee, slid the newspapers from their plastic bags, located the classified section and turned to garage, moving and estate sales.

  Most sales were Saturday only. The Sat/Sun combos would be well picked over and very few in her area were Sunday only. One in Vienna looked promising but of no interest to children. A no-go today. She turned to another section, got a pencil and started the crossword puzzle but found concentrating difficult. The diamond dilemma intruded upon her thoughts.

  On impulse she grabbed the phone book, looked for Mahmud Hussein but found nothing in McLean, despite trying different spellings for the last name. Roshan Witherspoon wasn’t listed either. She wanted the location of Roshan’s house because, if what the two women said was true, Zayneb and “the two Middle-Eastern men” lived next door. Jennifer remembered the name of the community where the sale took place, but it included hundreds of houses.

  She’d sipped coffee when an idea popped into her head. At that very moment, the Grands appeared, hungry for breakfast.

  Serving waffles and juice plus the bacon, she said, “Children, we went to so many sales yesterday I can’t remember where Alicia bought her doll. Can any of you remember that house?”

  The children looked thoughtful as they munched breakfast. Milo said, “They all looked alike.”

  “He’s right,” Christine said. “They did because we thought about the toys, not the houses.”

  Alicia agreed.

  “Well, if you remember anything about that house, please be sure to tell me. Okay?”

  They all nodded.

  “This is your last day visiting us. Your parents pick you up tonight. How would you like to have two learning surprises today instead of one?” She smiled at their eager response. “Then after breakfast,” she said with enthusiasm, “we’ll do the first one early today. Who’d like to take a walk in the woods with me?”

  “We would,” they cheered and Christine added, “We love to do ‘woods walk,’ Gran.”

  “Where are our collection buckets?” asked Alicia.

  “In the garage. Who knows what nature study we’ll find today to show Granddaddy?”

  Christine danced around her chair. “Do we have to go home when Mommy and Daddy get back from their trip?”

  Jennifer laughed. “Haven’t you missed them?”

  “I don’t miss them,” Milo announced over his juice glass.

  “No,” Alicia said, “because we don’t get under-the-pillow-gifts at home the way we do here.”

  Jason shuffled in stifling a yawn, “Did someone say under-the-pillow gifts? Do I get one, too?”

  The three children giggled at this preposterous suggestion. Christine chided, “Granddaddy, you know only grandchildren get them when we spend the night at your house.”

  “Oh, no. I want one, too!” Jason feigned disappointment, extracting fits of laughter from the children. “Can’t a grown-up qualify?”

  “No, no!” the Grands shouted gleefully.

  “Besides,” Jennifer added slyly, “you must be ve
ry, very good to get an under-the-pillow gift.”

  Jason caught his wife’s amused eyes, “Well, that probably counts me out!” He winked at her.

  After breakfast, Jennifer carried plates to the sink then turned back to the kids. “Now run upstairs to change into play clothes for our woods walk.”

  “Is Gwandaddy coming, too?” asked Milo.

  “No,” Jason answered. “But I want to see what you find. And be careful. You might see a snake.”

  They giggled nervously at this possibility before hurrying toward the stairs.

  To Jennifer he added, “…and that includes the human kind as well. I’ll watch after you from the sun porch. Take your cell phone and call if anything seems suspicious.”

  58

  Sunday, 7:05 AM

  The Grands scampered upstairs and Jennifer followed to get dressed also. When they met again in the kitchen, each child held the handle of a plastic bucket before they headed across the yard, out the back gate and down the partially overgrown path leading into the woodsy Fairfax County parkland. An active stream coursed beneath huge, spreading trees. Clinging fall leaves and bushy evergreen foliage muted the nearby traffic sounds enough to hear melodic birdcalls.

  In only a hundred steps from their back door they transitioned from the fenced yard of their residential world into a natural one. As they trooped along a downhill path, pushing back branches to make way, Jennifer thought she saw and heard movement in the bushes—as if something or someone were running away. Probably retreating wildlife: a red fox, possum, raccoon or even coyote.

  They knew deer lived in these woods, having seen them grazing often just outside their back fence in the grassy strip before the woodland’s tree line began. Surprising a wary deer on a walk with three boisterous children to spook it away seemed unlikely; yet as they walked together along an area of dense thicket, a deer exploded out of the bushes, rocketed past them and disappeared into foliage on the other side of their path.

  “Wow, did you see that?” Christine exclaimed.

  “Wait ‘til I tell Mommy and Daddy,” Milo marveled.