I sighed. It sure looked that way. "Well, maybe the diamonds were hidden up here, and then Reggie took them down when he purchased the box." I climbed down and stared at the fireplace with my arms crossed. "Wouldn't that make sense?"
"Once he had the box, he hid it somewhere else. Because it wouldn't have to be such an exact size to fit up on one of those shelves. Or he took it somewhere else or had it taken from him when he was murdered," George said almost to himself. "This whole thing is a crap shoot."
I nodded and checked the time. "The bat poop removers will be here in thirty minutes along with the rest of my crew. Any other ideas?" He sat down next to me on the raised hearth of the fireplace and tapped his fingers on the tiles.
I pushed off the fireplace and walked toward the windows, full of pent-up energy. I yanked at the first set of curtains until they came down with a dusty thud. Light poured into the room, illuminating the dust motes filling the air. I pulled down the second set of curtains, and the room was so bright you could pick a sewing needle off the floor.
"That really changes the look of this place," George said. "And good job not ending up under a pile of dusty curtains. You have a superior technique."
I stared at his hand still tapping on the tiles of the fireplace. From this angle I could tell that the nice straight lines of tiles were marred at the bottom. Several tiles were leaning crookedly under the bottom lip of the hearth. Completely invisible unless the room was bright and you were looking at the fireplace from this angle.
I walked toward George, asking, "What would you say those tiles measure?"
George looked down at the tiles. "About three inches across."
I pointed underneath him. "There are two loose on the bottom."
He stood up, and we both knelt down. Sure enough, two tiles had been removed from the mortar and replaced loosely in their slots. I pulled the tiles out, reached into the space behind, and found a small, smooth wooden box.
I met George's excited eyes as I unhooked the clasp.
"Here goes nothing," I whispered.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Well, you were right about that, Nora," George said wryly.
I stared into the empty box and uttered a curse. I slammed the lid down. "What the heck! Why put an empty box back in there?" I felt like I was being toyed with by an evil puppet master. And poor George.
"Obviously, Reggie emptied the box before he was killed," George said wryly. "Finding the diamonds inside was more or less a fantasy of mine. They're probably long gone by now."
"Or," I said, holding up a finger, "the killer made Reggie reveal the hiding place before he shot him. Of course," I added, looking around, "you'd think there'd be a few more footprints."
"If you're right," George said, "then we can assume the diamonds are in the killer's possession. So now all we have to do is find the killer and shake him down while avoiding being murdered ourselves, of course," he added.
Would it hurt to have a little more optimism? The sound of footsteps down the hall cut off my retort. We left the library and headed back to the front hall. I sat the box on the windowsill next to the door. Big Ron had opened both of the front doors and was helping the CleanPro guys bring in their equipment.
"Thanks for coming," I said, shaking hands all around.
"No problem," the head cleaner said. "We handled the B & B cleanup in the bathroom last week. Whatcha think of the job?" he asked.
"What's B & B cleanup?" George asked the man.
"Blood and brains," the man answered casually. "You'd be surprised at how many calls we get a week for that sort of thing."
"I'm sure," said George with a grimace. I felt a little sick myself, although it was good to know we could stop avoiding the upstairs bathroom.
"Whatcha have happen this time?" the man asked.
"We had bats in the attic, and there's a lot of bat poop up there."
The man looked a little green around the gills. "No one said nothin' about cleaning up bat feces."
"You cleaned up B & B earlier this week. What's the difference?" George asked. "Too hard of a job for your crew?"
"Whoa there, fella," the man said, holding up a hand. "Don't cast disparaging remarks about my crew. Let's take a look at this." The man nodded to me. I glared at George.
Big Ron led the way up to the attic. The smell was overpowering. I held the collar of my shirt against my nose and mouth.
"Holy hell!" the guy cried. "Whatcha have? A colony living in here?"
"Actually, yes," I replied.
"Where'd they all go?" he asked, like they might be lurking in every corner.
"I called in a specialist. They're gone. Now we need the mess cleaned up." I was getting tired of this back and forth. I needed to get these guys cleaning so my crew could go to work downstairs. "Are you able to handle it or not?"
The man looked around again. "We'll handle it, but I'm charging you time and a half for the hazardous work conditions."
I started to tell him what he could do with his time and a half, but Big Ron held up a hand to me, saying, "I think that'll be fine given the circumstances. We can't afford any more delays, and you are the only certified hazmat cleaners in town." Big Ron stared hard at me.
"Fine," I bit out, "just make sure you're done by tomorrow afternoon. We're going to have to work on replacing all of these floorboards."
"This were mine, I'd burn it down and start over," said the cleaner with a disgusted look.
I growled and turned on my heel. I stomped down the attic stairs and found three more of my crew members smoking and joking on the front porch.
"You guys here to socialize or work?" I barked. They'd been with me long enough to know I didn't play around when it was time to work.
"Ready, ma'am," the younger of the three said quietly.
I nodded. "Good. Get your sledgehammers. It's demo day!" They scrambled to their feet, grabbing their tools, and followed behind me.
I grabbed my smaller, although still powerful, sledgehammer and walked into the kitchen without another word.
George followed behind us. "Now this I gotta see."
I took the hammer and gave a long arc swing right into the supporting bar of the wall cabinets. Thwack! Two cabinets fell to the floor. Thwack! Two more fell.
George gave a whistle. "I'm impressed."
I turned toward him with an evil grin. "Want to give it a try?"
My workers had paired off and were removing the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw them pause to watch the show.
George raised an eyebrow. "Why, I don't mind if I do," he said, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
"How about you go to work on that wall there?" I pointed to the wall dividing the kitchen from the pantry. I was opening up the kitchen and giving it sight lines into the dining and living spaces.
He ran a hand over the wall. "I thought you were into restoring these places to their natural state. Doesn't seem like knocking out walls would be on the punch list."
"That wall isn't original." I pointed to where the wall and ceiling met. "It was probably added in the '40s or '50s. Are you planning to use the sledgehammer or talk the wall down?" I asked sarcastically.
He gave me a salute, grasped the sledgehammer, and met the wall with a bone-jarring thud. To be fair, there was a dent in the plaster.
"You hit a stud," I said.
"I see that," he replied, getting a better grip on the handle.
"I would go toward—" But I didn't finish before he dealt the wall another blow. This time a white cloud of plaster flew up into the air.
George sputtered and rubbed at his eyes.
"I was going to tell you to focus on the seams. Like at the bottom or the side where it connects to the wall. A few good hits there, and the whole wall will come down."
George gave me a look. His dark hair contained bits of plaster, and his white shirt had turned a dirty gray. He changed positions and took a swing at th
e bottom of the wall. The wall moved an inch inward.
"Good!" I said. "Now hit the other side."
He did, and the wall moved inward a good three inches. I used one of my steel-toed boots and gave it a few good kicks along the frame. The bottom half of the wall fell away.
George held his arms up over his head. "Yes!"
I held up my hand for a high five. His eyes caught mine warmly as he touched my hand. It took us another twenty minutes to get the entire wall down. By the time we were finished, my efficient crew had completely demolished the kitchen.
"Good work!" I said. "Let's pull these old appliances out, but leave the sink."
I handed George a bottle of water from my cooler. There was sweat on his brow, his hair was covered in plaster, and his shirt, pants, and shoes were a dusty gray. "Sorry about your outfit. I guess you're going to need to change before you go back to work."
He shrugged. "I'm glad I got a chance to walk in your boots. Gives me an appreciation for manual labor. And confirms my chosen vocation. I really can't believe you work like this every day."
I laughed. "Demo days are hard," I agreed. "But after this it'll be a lot of detail work and a lot of juggling work crews and paperwork."
"So how long would it have taken you to knock that wall down yourself?" George asked.
One of my workers passing by said, "Her record is two hits for a non-load-bearing wall about that size."
I shrugged. "I've been doing this awhile. You look for the weak spots and don't waste energy on ineffective hits. That's how I keep up with my crew. Work smarter, not harder. Right guys?"
They gave me a thumbs-up from across the room.
George shook his head in wonder. He checked his watch. "Well, I'd better get going." He dusted off his slacks and pulled plaster out of his hair. He rolled down his sleeves, buttoned the cuffs, and pulled on his pristine linen jacket. He pulled his handkerchief from the jacket and wiped at the sweat on his brow.
I shook my head at the way he pulled his cuffs out at just the right angle. Unbelievably, his impromptu grooming session had him looking pretty close to his old self. "You are a fancy pants."
"Do I look presentable? Wouldn't want one of my fastidious customers seeing me at anything less than my best." He gave me a wide smile.
"I think you'll do." I walked him to the front door. We heard banging and yelling coming from upstairs.
"Do you need to check on that?" he asked.
"That's what I pay Ron for. Thanks for your help finding this." I picked up the box and turned it over in my hands. "I guess I should turn it over to the police."
"Perhaps," George said, gingerly taking the box from me and turning it over. "I wouldn't want them to put the crime scene tape back up, though. We're not even sure if this is the box. Maybe you should go to One Man's Trash and confirm it first. I could go with you after five. Grab some dinner?"
"I already have plans tonight," I said without meeting his eye. "But going back to Tucker's is a good idea. And I still want to track down Condor and see what he's up to today."
As if on cue, John walked through the front door. "How's it going?" he asked and gave me a big hug. "I had a great session with the psychologist. I think things are really starting to come back to me."
"That's great, John," I replied, very aware of the way George was watching us.
"Yeah, so I'm here to help as long as you need me. And I did a drive-by of the coolest little restaurant on my way here. Just want to make sure it's good enough for a first date." John gave George a wink.
George gave us both a nod. "Well, have a lovely afternoon." He handed me back the box.
Without a word, John took the box out of my hand. He opened the lid and stared inside as if in a trance. He looked up at me with wide eyes. "I know this box. I've seen it before," he said excitedly. "You found the box here?"
I nodded. George made a choking sound, but I didn't see what difference it made if he knew where we found it. I watched John's face closely. His reaction was similar to when he held the model I built in my workshop. It seemed to take him to another place and time. He closed his eyes and scrunched his forehead like he was trying to see into the past.
George stopped and turned back toward us.
"Something isn't right though. Something used to be in the box," John said.
"Was this your box?" I asked and then held my breath waiting for his answer.
He shook his head no. "But I know what was inside." He stared directly at me. "Diamonds."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Diamonds?" George and I both said in unison. Our eyes locked. He shook his head in warning.
John said, "But they weren't sparkly like regular diamonds."
"Uncut," George murmured. "That's interesting."
I grabbed John's arm. "Do you remember anything else?"
He looked up at me, and I could see the confusion in his eyes. "I feel like it's all right there close to the surface, but I can't remember," he said, the growing frustration clear in his voice.
I patted his arm and took the box from him. "Don't try too hard. It'll come to you."
I turned to George. "I'll take him over to Tucker's and see if he recognizes anything there or if Tucker recognizes him."
"Worth a try," George replied, never taking his eyes off of John. "Well, I'd better be off."
John said good-bye in a slightly dazed voice.
I walked George down the front steps. He turned to me with a serious look. "He knows about the diamonds. He was definitely involved with the dead fence. You need to be careful with him."
I rolled my eyes. "You can't really believe he's still faking amnesia," I said. "Why would he admit knowing there were diamonds in the box?"
George shook his head. "No, I'm starting to think he really does have amnesia. And that's far scarier to me."
"That makes no sense." I crossed my arms in front of me.
"It's simple," George said in a low voice. "We know my diamonds started all this. So we have a thief, who presumably hired an out-of-town fence, who held on to the diamonds until someone came along and murdered him. That's a lot of bad guys wandering around town, and Amnesia John showed up right in the middle of it all. He's part of this, so what do you think is going to happen when he gets his memory back?"
I knew George was right, but I couldn't think of John as a stone-cold killer. "Should I go to the police with this?"
George paused and took a deep breath. He looked indecisive and then said, "No. See if Tucker recognizes him first, and try to track down Condor. Right now those are our only unexplored leads."
I nodded, feeling shook up by all of the revelations of the afternoon.
John went with me to check on the cleaners. The smell wasn't as strong, and the large piles of poop were slowly disappearing. Big Ron was in a hazmat suit he'd borrowed from the CleanPro crew. He waved me over.
"Cleanup's going quickly, but this flooring and a lot of the beams are done."
I looked down at the hollowed out, brittle support beams. "Jeez! This looks like termite damage."
Big Ron nodded. "Very similar. The acid has just eaten out the wood over the years. It's full of holes and brittle as hell."
"How long is it going to take to replace these beams, and what effect will it have on the work we're doing downstairs?" I asked.
"At least three days with a full crew. We're going to need to rent a crane and bring the beams through the window." Oh my god. The budget was spiraling out of control. He continued, "I think we can keep working on the interior, but no messing with structural walls. The main thing is, I need to hire another crew to work downstairs until this is done."
I nodded. "Do it. I have to get this house on the market next month."
"Will do," he said.
As we walked back downstairs, I said to John, "You doing okay? Did the bat fumes get to you?"
"No," he said with a sad smile. "I just keep thinking about the box and what it means that I know about it." He tu
rned to me with a worried expression. "Was I involved with the murder?"
I sighed. "Let's go talk to the owner of the shop where the tourist bought the box. He's a really nice guy. Maybe he'll recognize you or can shed some more light on things. Let me check in with my crew, and then we'll go."
"Okay," John said numbly.
The kitchen was down to the wall studs. "All the flooring needs to come up," I said.
One of the guys nodded. "Got a surprise for you, Boss. Check these out." He peeled back a corner of ancient linoleum, revealing pristine, unstained hardwood floors.
"Wow," I gasped. "Gorgeous. If they're in that condition across the whole kitchen, we'll save a lot on the flooring budget. Make sure you treat these floors like glass, guys. I don't want to see a bunch of scratches. By the way, I think you've set a kitchen demo record. Great work!"
John, with the box grasped tightly in his hand, opened the door for me. "Let's drive my truck in case I find something for the house," I said.
John nodded like he was in a trance. I was worried he was going to have a breakdown trying to remember everything. I knew it was likely he'd had some involvement with the dead guy, but the funny thing was, I didn't feel afraid of him. Maybe I just had no self-preservation instincts.
One Man's Trash was busy for a Tuesday afternoon. I recognized several contractors from the area. Tucker Sloan greeted me, saying, "It's Twenty-Percent Off Tuesday. How's that for a mad marketing idea?" He gave me a big smile.
"Looks like it worked."
Tucker nodded proudly. "Doubled my business so far. Whatcha looking for today, Alex?" He glanced over at John.
"Well, I'm going to do some browsing, but first I was hoping you could tell us if this is the box the tourist bought from you."
John handed over the box.
Tucker turned it over a couple of times and opened the lid. He nodded. "That's the one. Guess it must be fate that you two ended up together."
"What are you talking about, Tucker? I just met John," I asked in confusion.
It was Tucker's turn to look confused. "I might've been off on a little trip, but I'm pretty sure you came in asking about the box the day after the tourist bought it at my shop." He peered to get a closer look at John. Tucker nodded. "Yeah, you the man. But you weren't calling yourself John."
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