by Ellen Butler
“Rina, you still there?”
I came back to earth. “Yeah. It sounds great. It’s just . . . I’ve got some work to catch up on.”
“You are so full of it.”
My sister knew me too well. “Fine. I’m kind of in a funk over this thing with Mike and I don’t want to drag you down.”
“You sure?”
“Maybe next time.” I pushed to my feet and picked up the bucket of dirty water.
“All right. We’re leaving at eleven. Let me know if you change your mind before that.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for the invitation. We’ll talk later.”
After we hung up, I considered calling Mike, but once I started thinking about what he did, my blood pressure crept upward and I decided it would be best to wait. Jilly was probably right, I’d forgive him and be calling by Monday. Until then, he could stew. And, in the meantime, my bathroom floors were so clean you could serve high tea off them.
Chapter Two
JILLIAN
Jillian followed behind Sadira’s Jimmy Choo stilettos as the usher led them to a pair of seats right in front of the catwalk. A number of gazes followed their progress, which wasn’t surprising. Jillian was attractive in the “girl-next-door” way, with long brown hair hanging straight down her back. However, it was Sadira who garnered the most attention. Her hair hung loose in the au courant mode of tousled waves, but it wasn’t the style, rather the flame-red color from out of the bottle that was so striking against the black and blue designer dress she wore. Sadira was a bit of a fashionista, and besides working as a math teacher at the middle school with Jillian, she held a second job at a jewelry store to “feed her fashion habit,” as she once explained.
The usher handed the pair programs before retreating.
Jillian leaned toward Sadira. “How did you score tickets for these front row seats?”
“I have connections.” Sadira winked, sweeping a handful of hair over her shoulder. She crossed her legs and tucked the Coach clutch into her lap.
“I think I’m jealous. Can you introduce me?” Jillian quipped.
Sadira delivered a mysterious smile. A camera flashed and the two women shifted their gazes to a man holding a fancy camera.
“Hi, Jared Caddigan, I’m with the Ronald McDonald House marketing department, and we’re taking some pictures of the event to send to the local papers and for promotional purposes.” He handed Sadira a business card. “Would you two mind signing a release form?”
“Okay,” Jillian said.
He handed the girls a sheet of paper and pulled a small pad and pencil from his back pocket. “Can I get your names?”
Sadira smiled at the handsome photographer and leaned forward giving him a gander at her cleavage. “This is my friend Jillian Cardinal, and I’m Sadira Manon. That’s S-A-D-I-R-A M-A-N-O-N.”
“Sadira.” He scribbled on his pad. “That’s a pretty name.”
She smiled reaching into her purse for a pen. She signed her name on the document, without reading it, and handed the pen to Jillian. “My number’s at the bottom. In case you have any questions.” Sadira winked, holding her paper out.
“Th-thanks.” He blushed as he tucked the papers away. “One more?” he asked, holding up the camera.
Sadira put her arm around Jillian, the two smiled. Jared snapped a few more photos and moved on to get other shots.
“Coming on a little strong, don’t you think?” Jillian asked drily.
Sadira laughed and made a swishing motion with her hand. “Maybe. But you know what they say, ‘fortune favors the bold.’”
“I suppose.” Jillian handed the pen back to Sadira. “By the way, I keep meaning to ask about your name. It’s so exotic sounding. What does Sadira mean? How did your parents come up with it?”
“They didn’t,” Sadira grumbled. “I heard it somewhere and decided it would be a good name. I think it’s Arabic.”
Jillian’s brows drew together. “What do you mean, isn’t Sadira your real name?”
“Not the one my parents gave me.” She paused, flipping through the pamphlet. “Long story short, I got a scholarship to college and left the house at eighteen. Haven’t looked back. Let’s just say, I didn’t have an idyllic childhood. After graduating, I legally changed my name.”
“Um, wow. You got to pick out your own name?”
“That’s how it works.”
“What’s your original name?”
“Nope, no way.” She shook her head. “I don’t speak that name.”
Taken aback by the repugnance and antipathy in which Sadira supplied that statement, Jillian didn’t know how to respond. The awkward moment hung in the air as Sadira perused the program.
“Oh, look at that adorable Lily Pulitzer dress. That would look fab on you.” Sadira pointed at a picture of a pink and green sheath dress.
Before Jillian could answer, music blasted out of the two enormous speakers at the foot of the catwalk, and a man wearing skinny red pants, a blue button down, and highly polished black shoes with thick white soles strolled to center stage. The song faded, and his nasal voice welcomed everyone to the fashion show. He thanked a number of the stores sponsoring the event and then explained that a percentage of each piece of clothing purchased today would go toward the charity. Additionally, at the end of the show, a dozen designer handbags would be auctioned off to the highest bidder. The designer purses could be found on the last two pages of their programs, along with a paddle for bidding.
The show began with local school children of all shapes and sizes trotting along the stage. Their hair and makeup had been done by one of the salons in the mall and made them look very mature. A girl with Down’s Syndrome strutted her stuff, wearing a pair of pink jeans, red ballet flats, a flowy yellow top, and jaunty hat. Her sunny smile and excited attitude had the audience applauding. The girl stopped mid-strut to wave excitedly at Jillian and Sadira.
“Woohoo, looking good up there, Marissa!” Jillian cheered at the eighth-grader from her school.
The adult clothes were modeled by college students from nearby George Mason University. No professionally paid models walked on the runway today. Sadira madly scribbled on her program, taking note of interesting outfits. Finally, the show wound to its end and the models filled the platform for one last round of applause. After they left the stage, the emcee announced the auction would start in ten minutes. About two-thirds of the audience departed, while those left behind filled in the gaps in the front rows.
Jillian pulled her little cardboard paddle out of the back of her booklet. There was a Coach and a Kate Spade handbag she wanted to bid on. The auctioneer took his place at the podium and a college girl walked out with the first item, a handbag by Cole Haan. Jillian’s enthusiasm for the auction deflated as the price for the purse quickly rose to $600. She tucked her paddle beneath her leg.
“You better get that out. Your Kate Spade is up next,” Sadira whispered.
Jillian shook her head. “Too rich for my blood. I figured I’d go as high as $200. There’s no way I can compete.”
Sadira shrugged. “Well, you never know.”
Jillian got in the first bid at fifty dollars, but the Kate Spade continued up and up, ending at $575.
“Tough luck,” Sadira murmured.
The next handbag, a Dooney and Burke, came out on the shoulder of a lively blonde. Sadira raised her paddle over and over, until she came out the victor at $485.
“Yay! You won!” Jillian high-fived her friend as one of the auction assistants maneuvered her way to Sadira to give her a chit for claiming the purse. “Should we go pay for your prize?”
“Yes, let’s. There are a few outfits I’m interested in purchasing too.”
An hour later the girls trotted away from the dwindling mass of bodies. Jillian scored a silk Ralph Lauren scarf. She paid $120 for it. Since it was for charity, Jillian didn’t mind the splurge. Sadira, on the other hand, carried away almost a thousand-dollars-worth of items.
Jillian enviously eyed the designer bag in her friend’s hand. “How much do you make an hour at that jewelry store?”
“Oh, not much.”
Jillian figured Sadira would have racked up credit card debt, except she’d seen her pay for the merchandise in cash. “How can you afford all that? Family money?”
“Family money, ha! Not. I . . . uh . . . make a commission on each piece of jewelry I sell,” Sadira explained as she took a selfie with the new Dooney and Burke satchel.
“Maybe I should get a job there.”
Sadira didn’t answer as she posted on her Instagram account.
“Sadira?”
“Hm?” Her friend’s big blue eyes stared blankly at Jillian.
“Do you know if the jewelry store is hiring?”
“Oh. No, I’m sorry, they aren’t, but I’ll let you know if that changes. Actually, I have to run over there to get my paycheck. Do you mind? You don’t have to be anywhere immediately, do you?” Sadira asked. Jillian had left her car parked at Sadira’s condo, while Sadira had driven them both to the fashion show.
Jillian shook her head. “No, I don’t have any plans. Where is it?”
“Across the street in Tyson’s Corner Center. We’ll drive over, so we don’t have to dodge traffic.” Sadira rolled her eyes.
“Good idea, getting across can be a bit of a shit-show. Hey, are you thirsty? Let’s stop at the Smoothie Shack first. My treat.”
The Tyson’s Corner Mall complex was basically two malls across a ten-lane road from each other, with few cross walks, constant construction, and an overly aggressive driving population. Right off the Capitol Beltway in McLean, Virginia, the Galleria, where the fashion show had been held, housed expensive designer retailers with two upscale department stores, Saks Fifth Avenue and Nieman Marcus at either end. Tyson’s Corner Center had more moderately priced shops—a Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, and Bloomingdale’s. The entire complex was enormous and could be very confusing if you didn’t understand the layout, and getting from one mall to the other by foot was akin to chumming shark infested waters, then jumping in without a cage.
Half an hour later, smoothies in hand and their new purchases in the trunk, the girls finally made it over to the other mall and headed to the jewelry store. Sadira’s new Dooney & Burke hung jauntily at her elbow. She’d asked Jillian to drive her Audi A4 so she could transfer her stuff into the new bag. She and Jillian had taken another selfie with their drinks, and Sadira was uploading it to Instagram when she came to a sudden halt.
“This is strange,” Sadira murmured. The metal security gate at the front of the jewelry store was closed down to knee height. Sadira pulled it up about halfway and ducked under, waving Jillian to follow. “Tazim, what’s going on?”
In the back corner, a short, balding middle-eastern man in a peach button-down with a bright white cast on his left arm spoke animatedly to a pair of Fairfax County police officers.
The balding man turned toward them as Sadira led the way to where he stood. He pointed and, with a deep guttural accent, exclaimed, “There she is. That is the woman who stole from me!”
Jillian’s stomach dropped, and a sense of foreboding settled there.
“What? What on earth are you talking about, Tazim? What happened to your arm?” Sadira’s voice heightened with confusion.
“That is her. Arrest her.” Tazim’s bushy brows practically met in the middle as he made a shooing motion at the police.
“Miss, is your name Sadira Manon?” one of the police officers asked. His uniform top fit snugly over the bulletproof vest he wore beneath it, and by the wrinkles around his eyes, Jillian guessed his age at late thirties. His partner, a short guy with a buzz cut and young enough he looked like he’d just graduated high school, stared admiringly at Sadira. The name plates on the officers’ chests read TORGERSON and CONNELLY.
“Yes. What’s the problem, officer?” Sadira responded.
Torgerson cleared his throat. “Mr. Bakir has accused you of stealing.”
Sadira laid a hand to her chest. “Stealing! That’s—that’s ridiculous. Tazim, there must be some mistake.”
Tazim blanched but held his ground. “No mistake, girlie. You want to see? I show you.” He made an abrupt turn and headed through the open doorway to the back rooms. Sadira followed Tazim, Jillian followed her, and the two cops trooped in line behind Jillian to an office with a couple of monitors that showed the jewelry store’s camera feeds. Tazim grabbed the computer mouse and clicked a few times, and then the center monitor displayed a feed that started at 10:17 Thursday night. Sadira could be seen tapping in a code and then opening the door to the store’s walk-in safe. She wheeled out an empty cart and, a few minutes later, returned with the cart full of jewelry. She entered the safe and a few minutes later came back out with the cart empty. She performed this task half a dozen more times. The other monitor screens were broken into fourths, and you could see different angles of the salesfloor as she gathered up the jewelry from the different cases and gently laid the rings, necklaces, watches, and the rest on the cart. Finally, she came out of the safe without the cart, emptyhanded. Sadira closed the safe door, pressed a button on the keypad, and pulled the handle once, as if checking to make sure the door was shut tight. A few seconds later, the lights turned off.
Jillian glanced at her friend, who stood with crossed arms, her normally pale features glowing with a distinct blush.
Tazim tapped the computer and all of the feeds froze in place. “What were you doing in there? You don’t have access. You signed in with Monika’s code.”
“I can explain.” Sadira licked her lips. “Monika and I were working that night. She got called away on a family emergency. She couldn’t get ahold of you, and I was making an engagement ring sale to a young couple. I’ve closed with her many times. I told her I could handle it. She gave me her code and left.” Sadira spoke in a calm, firm tone.
“So, you admit you were working with a client to sell them a diamond engagement ring.” Tazim stuck his head forward as he spoke like an angry turtle with a bad combover.
“Yes, of course.”
“And did they buy one?” Tazim asked.
Sadira’s face reddened even more. “They ended up not making the purchase, but they said they’d come back this weekend. Pull up the earlier feeds. You’ll see them.”
“It doesn’t matter. You are not authorized to have a code for the safe,” Tazim argued, shaking his finger at her.
“Well,” Jillian said as she stepped forward, “if anything, I think that tape clears Sadira. I only see her putting jewelry into the safe. Not taking any out. You can even see it on the showroom floor.”
“Who are you?” Tazim demanded, and his beady black eyes glared at Jillian..
“I’m her friend,” Jillian replied sternly. “What was stolen, anyway?”
“$100,000 worth of loose diamonds.”
Jillian and Sadira jointly sucked wind.
“Do you have any cameras in the safe?” Connelly, the younger officer, asked.
“No!” Tazim said sharply, then pointed his casted arm at Sadira. “You had them out while you were showing the couple the engagement rings. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course. It’s standard to show them different choices of loose diamonds in their price range.”
“Wait a minute,” Jillian chimed in, “was that the green box with all those tiny cubbies? I saw that go on the cart and into the safe. Rewind the tape.”
Tazim made a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes, little girl. We all saw that. What you didn’t see—she dropped a dozen practically flawless stones into her pocket while she was in the safe.” He delivered the charge vehemently, but his eyes darted all over the room—at the cops, Jillian, the monitors, everywhere but at Sadira, whom he accused.
Sadira drew in a breath and screwed her mouth up tightly. “How dare you!”
“You have no evidence of that!” Jillian cried. “Where is the recording?”
�
��There are no cameras in the safe,” Sadira and Tazim said as one.
“You were the last one to handle the diamonds,” Tazim alleged. “And the diamonds are so small.” He held up his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate the tininess of the jewels. “‘Who would notice?’ you probably said to yourself. Tazim, that’s who.” He thumped his chest and stuck his hand in his pocket.
“It’s Saturday,” Sadira uttered. “Surely someone handled the loose diamond box between Thursday and now.”
“Monika called in sick on Friday. I worked, by myself, all day. Your couple returned today. When I opened the box—I discovered they were missing.”
Sadira swallowed.
Torgerson stepped forward. “I’m afraid, ma’am, we need to take you in for questioning.”
Sadira spun around. “What? Take me in? Are you joking?”
“I’m afraid not.” He hooked his thumbs in his utility belt.
Her eyes widened in panic. “What if I said right now is not convenient?”
The cop ran a hand through his short locks. “It would be best if you cooperated.”
“You have absolutely no proof I took those diamonds. Only what he says.” Sadira made a derisive gesture toward Tazim.
“She has them! Check her purse! Check her purse!” Tazim pulled his hand out of his pocket and, with a sweeping gesture, knocked Sadira’s purse off the table. The new bag fell to the floor on its side, spilling contents willy-nilly.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, that’s my new bag,” Sadira said irritably, and bent to pick up her belongings.
Jillian started to come around the desk to help but was halted by Torgerson’s authoritative voice. “Miss, stop what you’re doing and step back from the purse.”
Sadira rose up. The officer, pulling a rubber glove from his pocket, leaned past Sadira to pick something off the floor at her feet.
“That’s not mine!” Sadira exclaimed.
“Mr. Bakir, is this one of the diamonds you’re missing?” Torgerson held the sparkling jewel between his thumb and forefinger.