The Diamond Mistake Mystery

by Sylvia McNicoll

  DAY ONE, MISTAKE EIGHT

  “It’s a mistake everyone makes,” I explain after we return the dogs to the Bennetts’ house and head back for the Lebels’. “You were the one who made me think of it, actually, with the poop bags. You carry something to the door, say a backpack, or diamond ring in this case, you lay it down for a second so you can put on your shoes or boots. Then you accidentally leave it behind.”

  Pearl stares at me, fish-mouthed.

  “Worth checking out, I guess,” Renée says. She doesn’t sound like she believes my theory.

  Truth is, when the idea first came to me, I felt more confident. Now I’m starting to doubt. Diamonds, even rare pink ones, are small. Why would anyone put one on the floor? And if Pearl did lay it down, will we find it easily? Someone could have accidentally kicked it to the side. It might have rolled under the couch.

  I pull out the key that Harry Diamond gave us, unlock the door, and immediately drop to the floor to look for the ring. Renée checks the table where Harry Diamond left his business card.

  “Maybe we should sweep under all the chairs,” I suggest when no one finds any ring. Pearl shows me where the broom and dustpan are stored in the kitchen closet, and Renée and I lift the couch so that Pearl can sweep under. Nothing but dust bunnies.

  “Hmm.” Renée goes back to the table and picks up the business card. “When Harry dropped this, he took a long time picking it up.”

  “He seemed pretty happy when he left, too. You don’t suppose he picked up the diamond?”

  “I think that sounds like something he might do. Given that he took that money from Mrs. Bennett’s cookie jar.”

  Pearl’s lip pushes into a pout.

  Renée shakes her head and changes gear in time to avoid another meltdown. “You know what? Reuven mentioned Kijiji. Why don’t we try that out?”

  “Great idea. Let’s go back to my house. I’m starving. I can fix us peanut butter and bologna sandwiches.”

  “I’m ’lergic,” Pearl whines.

  “Okay, no peanut butter,” I say as we head out the door.

  “No. I like peanut butter. I’m ’lergic to glue guns.”

  “Glue guns?” I lock up behind us. “Who said anything about eating glue guns?”

  “No, glue-tons.” Pearl stamps her feet. “Gluetons.”

  Renée gives me scream-y eyes. “She means gluten.”

  “Ohhhh! Have you tried apples with peanut butter? No gluten in them and they’re my favourite.”

  “No. I like grapes.”

  “Don’t know if we have any of those. Let’s check, okay?” She follows me and Renée next door.

  Dad’s still out, but lucky us, he must have done some grocery shopping. I find some grapes in the fruit drawer and wash them for Pearl.

  Renée and I cut up a couple of apples and begin dipping the quarters in the peanut butter.

  Before she’s finished her grapes, Pearl sneaks an apple slice and dips it in, too.

  “You like that, don’t you?” Renée asks, and Pearl nods.

  Renée takes the last few grapes.

  “Okay. If we’re all done eating, let’s check Kijiji.” I put the peanut butter away.

  Renée wipes off Pearl’s hands and I wash and dry my own. We pile into Dad’s office, and I don’t say a word when Pearl picks up the Noble dog bobble head. I just sit down at the computer and search Kijiji lost and found.

  So many cats are missing. One blue budgie named Smurfie. Someone lost a hover board when it fell out of their truck. There is a ring-finder company advertising their services but no diamond rings, lost or found.

  “Should we put in an ad?” Renée asks.

  “We can’t. The diamond doesn’t belong to us. We’ll have to tell Mr. Lebel so he can put in his own ad.”

  “Tell Daddy? Nooo!” Pearl squeals, then starts twirling hair around her finger. I don’t blame her. I’d be nervous telling her dad, too.

  “Is there anywhere else you can think of where your pink diamond might be?” Renée asks.

  “Pirate,” she answers.

  “Pirate,” I repeat. My eyes just roll automatically all on their own. Does she really mean pirate or a word that sounds like pirate? Maybe she’s talking about our new custodian, Mr. Rogers. Or she’s just off on another unicorn story. Maybe the pink diamond is fairy dust from that imaginary world.

  The telephone rings, the landline. Which can only mean one of two things: either a telemarketer is calling or it’s Mom. She calls me every day when she’s in the right time zone to reach me. I run to pick up in the kitchen.

  “Hello!” I call out, smiling.

  “Hello,” Mom calls back. In the background I can hear voices and shuffling, airport noises. I hate that my mom works on airplanes. Let’s face it, mistakes happen all the time. When they happen at 35,000 feet, it’s scary. Just ask my dad, who quit air traffic control because of the scariness. “How was your day?” she asks me.

  “Good, good, except that …”

  Both Renée and Pearl watch me, waiting for me to hurry through the call. But I don’t want to be quick. When Mom’s away, we only get to talk once a day. I cover the receiver. “It’s my mother,” I tell Renée. “Can you put on a cartoon for Pearl till I’m done?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Renée says and drags Pearl away.

  I continue telling Mom about bringing Pearl to school and finding her jacket for her and searching for the missing pink diamond.

  “A real pink diamond is rare,” Mom says.

  “No kidding.” I groan.

  “Don’t worry. Sounds like you’ve done everything you can to find it. Nobody can blame you.”

  I groan again thinking about how Mr. Van Ooute caught us in the hidden gem room. “Nobody but Mr. Lebel.”

  “Well, his own daughter lost it, so he’ll just have to get over it. Listen, should I tell you about our diamond adventure?”

  “Sure.” I grin. Mom and her airline friends always share strange customer stories in between flights. Lots of them are funny and she saves them to cheer me up. Or calm me when I’m nervous about something. Which is mostly when she’s away.

  “This woman coming into Pearson airport from Trinidad was acting suspicious, so Customs pulled her aside and did a full investigation. Turns out, she was carrying over ten thousand rough cut diamonds inside her body.”

  “Inside?” I repeat. “I can’t even imagine what ten thousand diamonds look like.”

  “Never mind what they look like. These diamonds are worth over four hundred thousand dollars. They think she smuggled them inside herself all the way from Venezuela.”

  “She swallowed them?”

  “The RCMP wouldn’t confirm that.”

  “Well, where else could she put them?” I ask. Suddenly, the answer comes into my head. “Ew, ew, ew. Never mind, don’t even tell me.”

  “I won’t. Rough cut. I imagine they could do some damage. What some people won’t do for money.”

  “When will you be home, Mom?”

  “Saturday night. Hopefully, early if the weather holds out. Is your dad there?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, well, tell him I called. And Stephen, make sure you look after Pearl. Not just hunt for her diamond.”

  I smile. “I will, Mom.”

  “That’s an awfully nice thing you’re doing for the Lebels. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.” I stay on the line after the click, feeling her voice hanging in the air for a little while after.

  Then I head to the family room where Renée and Pearl are watching pink and blue ponies on TV. “You think Mr. Van Ooute is done with his little emergency by now?”

  “Why don’t you just watch this for a while? He said he would text.”

  A unicorn strolls into the picture and Pearl neighs.

  “Is that what you’re going to be for Halloween?” I ask her, just to get her to stop making the stupid horse noises. But that turns out to be a mistake. Mistake number eight.

&
nbsp; Storm clouds gather on Pearl’s brow. “No,” she rumbles. Another fat pouty lip forms and tears stream down. “Daddy already bought my costume when we were in Disneyland. I have to be a princess.”

  DAY ONE, MISTAKE NINE

  “Well, you could be a princess, too,” Renée suggests. “You know, like on that show where the girls in school are really horses on the inside.”

  I’m confused but Pearl brightens. “Will you help me?”

  “Sure,” Renée says. “We just have to make a silver horn for your forehead.”

  “What about our costumes?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “What are we going to dress up as?” Last year I went as the Green Lantern with Jessie, the best friend who moved away. He dressed as Iron Man. Those were cool costumes; I wouldn’t mind being a superhero again. I certainly don’t want to be anything sparkly or cute to match a fairy unicorn.

  “We could trade costumes. Last year I went as a black cat …” Renée starts.

  “Neigh! Neigh!” Pearl snorts and stomps her foot.

  “No!” I start to breathe too fast. “I won’t go as a kitty!”

  “Not a kitty. I thought we could make something new from it.”

  “What could we possibly make from a cute fluffy …”

  “Demon cat costume? Maybe one of the X-Men. I’m thinking you can be Wolverine and use my cat claws — they’re really long — and I’ll be Storm.”

  I should never have doubted Renée.

  “I just heard a fairy bell,” Pearl says.

  A fairy bell, sure.

  Renée actually stops and looks around. “Check your phone. Maybe Mr. Van Ooute’s back by now.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” I tell them but take my cell out, anyway. What do you know? There’s a text from my dad: Everything okay? On my way home now.

  I text back: Harry, the drywall dude, went through bathroom window & rescued Pearl.

  Ding! The guy who stole Mrs. Bennett’s cookie jar money?

  More like helped himself to his pay; the Bennetts are just never around enough to pay people on time. We needed someone quick, I text back. Still, the back of my neck prickles again. Harry Diamond acted so cheery when he left.

  Then I actually do hear something. Not a fairy bell. A siren. It warbles in the distance, then sounds closer. “It could be Mr. Van Ooute’s phone,” I suggest.

  “Let’s go upstairs and check,” Renée answers.

  The siren gets really loud and then stops.

  “Fire, fire!” Pearl calls, still sounding a little like a horse.

  We run to the living room picture window. “Can’t see a thing,” Renée says. “Let’s go outside.”

  “Take your coat,” I tell Pearl, hoping we can finally get rid of her. We all grab our jackets.

  Before I can open the door, there’s a hard knock. Through the window, we can see someone in a uniform and cap.

  “It’s the police,” I tell Renée.

  “Uh-oh,” she says.

  I take a breath and open the door. “Hi, Constable Wilson.” She’s usually a smiley woman who tucks all her hair up into her cap. She interviewed us when Mrs. Bennett’s cookie jar money went missing.

  Today, some hair is falling down around her face and she frowns.

  “Have you seen Pearl Lebel?” she asks.

  Pearl instantly tucks behind Renée. “Sure,” Renée answers. “We’re watching her till Mr. Van Ooute comes back from his emergency.”

  “Well, her mother is home and frantic. There’s been a break-in.”

  “Mommy?” Pearl peeks out.

  “Come with me,” Constable Wilson says.

  Pearl tucks back and it’s clear we’re going to have to take her by the hand. All three of us walk with Constable Wilson toward the Lebels’ house.

  “Doggie!” Pearl calls and points.

  “It’s Troy,” I tell her. “He’s a police dog.” The gold-and-black-coloured German shepherd rushes over from the Lebel backyard, frantically sniffing.

  Constable Jurgensen, his human partner, jogs after Troy. The squad car sits in the driveway at the Lebels’ house.

  Then I notice Ruby, Pearl’s sister, and Mrs. Lebel, hugging each other and crying.

  “Found her!” Constable Wilson calls.

  Mrs. Lebel shrieks and opens her arms toward us.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Pearl calls and runs to Mrs. Lebel.

  “Thank God.” Mrs. Lebel drops and Pearl falls into her arms. She wraps her tightly to her chest. “You’re okay! Where were you all?”

  “I walked doggies,” Pearl answers, muffled into Mrs. Lebel’s coat. “One licked my face all over,” she complains.

  “Mr. Van Ooute needed to take care of an emergency at the store. And we walked dogs, as Pearl said,” Renée explains.

  “Then waited at my house for Mr. Van Ooute,” I add.

  “I am so grateful you took her away. If you had stayed at the house, you might have been hurt.”

  “What happened?” Renée asks Constable Wilson.

  “Someone smashed a basement window and entered the house.”

  Basement window … Harry mentioned the basement window as an easy way to get in. My neck prickles again.

  “Nothing was missing, but we didn’t know whether you three were safe,” Constable Wilson continues.

  “We thought you’d been kidnapped,” Ruby says, her voice dropping almost as though she is disappointed.

  At that moment we spot the sleek black SUV that belongs to Mr. Van Ooute turning onto our street. He slides into the spot beside the squad car and leaps from the seat.

  “Qu’est-ce qui est arrivé?” he asks. “What happened?”

  “There’s been a home invasion,” Constable Wilson answers.

  “But nothing was taken,” Ruby quickly adds.

  “No jewels?” Mr. Van Ooute asks.

  “Nothing that we could see,” Mrs. Lebel repeats.

  Renée’s eyes narrow.

  I know what she’s thinking. There’s a pink diamond missing. They wouldn’t know that Pearl had lost it earlier. Mrs. Lebel couldn’t have looked inside her jewellery box or she would have noticed.

  Next, Dad’s car, the Grape-mobile, rolls down the street and into our driveway. Finally. Dad leaps out and rushes over.

  “Everything’s okay,” I tell him.

  “No one’s been hurt,” Renée says.

  “And nothing’s been taken,” I add. Probably, the secret room wasn’t disturbed in any way. Otherwise, Mrs. Lebel would have checked for that ring and realized it was gone.

  “But the basement window was smashed in,” Ruby says almost hopefully. She seems to want the excitement to go on.

  “It appears Mrs. Lebel may have interrupted the burglar,” Constable Wilson says. “Troy and my partner are just securing the perimeter.”

  Troy gallops around the house from the back again, panting in a grin. He runs to our group and sniffs at Pearl, who cries, then at Mr. Van Ooute. Then he looks over at Constable Jurgensen and sits.

  “Good dog.” Constable Jurgensen gives him a pat and a treat. He’s much nicer to dogs than people, I think. “Troy lost the scent. We didn’t find anybody,” he says to Constable Wilson.

  “Too bad. You three didn’t see or hear anything?” Constable Wilson asks, looking my way.

  “We were in the basement,” I answer, “with the television on.”

  “Pearl heard a fairy bell,” Renée chimes in.

  Constable Jurgensen frowns. “Could have been the window smashing.”

  Drat. My mistake. Mistake number nine. I should have listened to my princess unicorn reading buddy and rushed up the stairs the moment she mentioned that bell. Maybe we could have identified the criminal.

  “Here, take my card,” Constable Wilson says. “Call me if you think of anything we should know.”

  DAY ONE, MISTAKE TEN

  Instantly, I feel guilty. There’s so much we could tell those two police officers. Maybe we should suggest they check the hidden room f
or missing jewels. Or interview Harry Diamond, because he told us the basement windows made for an easy way to break-in to the house. At this time, it might be nice for Pearl to confess she’s lost her mom’s ring before Mrs. Lebel reports that it’s been taken in this break-in. We could tell the officers for her. I watch Pearl twist a strand of her pale hair around her finger. She’s awfully tiny for her age, and isn’t she too old to be sucking her thumb? Maybe she is that scared of telling her father. Not for us to tattle, I think. It’s up to her to tell her parents.

  We watch as Constables Jurgensen and Wilson split up to knock on other neighbours’ doors to interview them. Renée and I say goodbye to Pearl and Mrs. Lebel and Ruby.

  “So, are you good to come and pick up Pearl tomorrow for school again?” Mrs. Lebel asks. “We really appreciate you looking after her.”

  Renée blurts out what I am thinking. “But Mr. Lebel is in the hospital!”

  “Yes. But Ruby needs to be on set tomorrow for the sake of the Girl Power production. People are depending on us.”

  “Sure,” Renée answers and then we walk back to my house with Dad.

  Inside, Dad kicks off his shoes and heads for the living room. “Ahhh. Home.” He picks up his knitting and sits back on the recliner, raising up the footrest. The more tense Dad is, the faster he knits. Seeing the police car after he rushed home must have scared him because he’s clicking in at about a six out of ten today on the anxiety scale. “Give me ten minutes and we’ll start supper.”

  “What are you making?” Renée asks.

  “It’s Taco Thursday,” Dad answers. “Want to eat with us?”

  “Sure, I love tacos. Just have to call my mom. But I meant what are you knitting?” Dad knit a bunch of sweaters for some Yorkie clients recently, but he’s working on something bigger now, something in royal blue.

  “It’s a sweater for Stephen’s mom,” he tells Renée. “She gets cold sometimes in hotel rooms.”

  Before Renée can call her own mom, Dad’s cell phone rings and he picks up. “Hello … You need me to sit with Tiger? Really. But I thought that cat loved dogs. Didn’t you get her so Bailey would have company?” Dad nods as he listens, and his eyes grow big. “She rides him around the house? Yes, too much. Uh-huh, uh-huh. And Bailey’s strong enough to push open the door? Whaddaya know. You think he wouldn’t want to with her claws digging into his back.” Dad shakes his head. “Sorry, this is family time for me. I can’t give you any discounts.” He rolls his eyes at us. It’s Mr. Mason and he’s a bit of a cheapskate; he never hires Dad if he can get someone to walk his dog for free. “I’ll see what I can do. Yes, I’ll call you back.”