Thirteen Diamonds

CHAPTER 14

“Lillian, when are we going to play some nim?” Mark asked as we ate breakfast at a cafe.

He and Sandra were both very jovial this morning, so I guessed their date had gone well the night before. Winston was jovial too, banging his hands on the tray of his highchair.

“What's nim?” I asked, eating a spoonful of oatmeal flavored with brown sugar.

“That's the game you beat me at in the bar. Remind me never to try to put anything over on you again.”

I laughed. “I saw it played in a movie long ago, but I didn't know the name of it. Listen, if you two will drop me off at the house of Gerald's grandniece, then you can take the car and do some sightseeing.”

Unspoken was that they also had to take Winston. It wouldn't hurt to see up front how Mark reacted to having a baby around. That might determine whether he and Sandra would have more than just a holiday romance.

“I'd like to take Sandy and Winston to the San Diego Zoo,” Mark said. “It's one of the best zoos in the country, and I think Winston will like the animals. I lived in Los Angeles when I was young and I loved to come here.”

April Snow, Gerald's grandniece, lived in a house near the ocean in Pacific Beach, north of Mission Bay. When I had talked to her on the phone from home she said she worked a flexible schedule that enabled her to take every other Friday off. This was one of the off Fridays.

Pacific Beach is a typical beach community, with a mixture of apartment buildings and small houses, sometimes on the same block. Many of the houses date back to post-World War II days and look like boxes. Overgrown with shrubbery, including birds of paradise and bougainvillea, the yards could use a good trimming. Ancient palm trees tower over everything, casting off fronds on windy days, to add to the feeling of clutter.

April opened her door a few seconds after I rang the bell. I introduced myself and Mark, who had come up the walk with me from the car to see for himself that she wasn't an ogre. Satisfied in that regard, he excused himself and left to take Sandra and Winston to the zoo.

April invited me in with a quick smile. She must be in her mid-twenties, with the kind of petite body that most women would kill for. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with an inscription proclaiming, “Southpaws do it left-handed.”

“Have a seat, Mrs. Morgan,” April said, pointing to a faded blue sofa. “I'm making some herb tea; would you like a cup?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said. I usually drink coffee but I figured herb tea wouldn't kill me. April disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen while I looked around at older furniture, suitable for someone at least twice April's age. On a coffee table sat an issue of a surfing magazine; this led me to believe that she didn't live alone and that the other resident might be male.

I was surprised that a young woman like April could afford to live in a house so close to the ocean, however small. As one got closer to the water, real estate values rose on an ever-steepening curve, which became vertical at the beach. Which led me to wonder just who her roommate was.

If she supported the place herself she must have a good job. What did she do? A personal computer sat on what was probably the dinner table, with some fish swimming across the screen, but since everybody owned computers that didn't help.

April returned, carrying a tray with two cups filled with hot water and an assortment of tea bags. I glanced at her hands as she put down the tray; she wasn't wearing any rings. I picked a container labeled peppermint, extracted the tea bag and dunked it in my cup.

“The last time I saw Uncle Gerry was two years ago,” April said, offering me milk and sugar, which I declined. She continually brushed her red hair back from her freckled face. Was her complexion suited to suntan country? “After I finished college,” she continued, “I flew to the east coast for some job interviews and visited him at Silver Acres. He seemed to be quite happy there.”

“I believe he was,” I said. “I know this is a personal question, but were you surprised that you were included in his will?”

“I was zapped. I had never given it a thought. It was…very nice of him.”

“You are the only person in his will.”

“I believe my older brother and I are Uncle Gerry's only living relatives. He is ten years older than I am and lives in Boston.”

“Your parents…?”

“They're both dead. My mother died when I was young. My father died four years ago when I was in college. I inherited this house from them. Uncle Gerry's money will help me do some much-needed maintenance. And maybe bring the furniture up to date.” She waved her arm to encompass the room.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm a computer programmer; actually, I'm called a software engineer, but it's the same thing.”

“I've read that those jobs pay very well.”

April smiled an infectious smile. “They do. Listen.” She bounced up from where she had been sitting on the edge of a chair. “I need to run some errands. Would you like to come with me? We can talk about Uncle Gerry on the way.”

Why not? I didn't bother to point out that I hadn't finished my tea yet. The one-car garage held that enigma, a sport utility vehicle. Why everybody liked them I didn't know since most of them were driven primarily to work and they got poor gas mileage. I was good, however, and didn't ask her whether she had actually used the four-wheel-drive or driven it off a paved road.

April drove briskly and I was glad I had my seatbelt fastened. When another car cut in front of her, forcing her to slam on her brakes, she swore at the driver and then apologized to me.

“You should thank him,” I said. “He's paying you a compliment.”

“Huh?”

“Look at it this way. When he made you take action to avoid him he put his life in your hands. So in effect he's saying that he trusts that you are a good driver.”

April laughed. “I'll remember that next time I feel like plowing into somebody.”

Between stops at the dry cleaners, the bank, the supermarket and assorted other places, we carried on a running conversation about Gerald. I told her all I knew about Gerald's life at Silver Acres.

April said, “I was 20 when Uncle Gerry moved to North Carolina. Before that, I had lived close to him all my life. My mother was his niece. Although I don't have much memory of her I suspect that he looked at her as the daughter he never had. When she died he transferred his affection to me. He was always doing things for me, buying me things. He even helped pay for my college education. I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised about his will.

“I wanted to go back for his memorial service, but the company I work for didn't consider him a close enough relative to give me time off and the airlines weren't too keen on giving me a bereavement fare, either.”

April parked and dashed into a store. She did everything at top speed, including talking. When she returned I asked, “Do you play bridge?”

“Yes. In fact Uncle Gerry taught me how to play.” She giggled. “I played a lot in college-when I should have been studying.”

I told her about the hand Gerald held when he died.

“Thirteen diamonds! Wow, that's fantastic. I never had a hand like that.”

“Neither have I.”

I was about to tell her that the hand had been a fraud and lead in to the possibility that Gerald had been murdered-she seemed to have a level head on her shoulders and I thought she could take it-when she said, “You know, Uncle Gerry was dealt a hand like that once before.”

I was immediately all ears. “Thirteen diamonds?”

“Yes. It was a long time ago, before I was born. But he used to talk about it all the time. And the strange thing was, he considered it to be bad luck, not good luck.”

“Why was that?”

“Because the man who was his partner when he got the hand was killed in an auto accident two days later.”

“Did he ever tell you the name of the man who was killed?”

“If he ever mentioned it, I have forgotten it.”

“How about any of the other people he was playing with that night.”

April shook her head as she drove through a light that had turned pink.

I told her about my theory concerning Gerald's death, hoping that it wouldn't make her driving any more exciting than it already was. The news naturally upset her and she asked questions. This led to a discussion of the shellfish and I asked if she knew about his allergy.

“It doesn't ring a bell. I guess it wasn't something he talked about every day.”

“Have you heard of a professor named Maxwell Harrington?”

“No.”

I decided not to tell April about the possibility that Gerald had appropriated Dr. Harrington's work as his own. Instead, I asked, “Do you know of anybody-associates, friends, acquaintances-who had a reason to dislike him?”

She thought about this for a while but couldn't come up with any names.

Before we returned to her house she drove me to the beach where we took a stroll near the pier. A hotel there featured bungalows on the pier, sitting directly above the water. Various types of people walked, ran or biked on the path by the beach, including a man with a dark tan wearing a long, flowing Indian headdress and little else, especially in back.

April laughed when I did a double-take at his retreating backside and said, “So you still look at buns.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

We returned to her house; I helped her carry in groceries and told her that I was expecting a call from Sandra at noon to confirm when the touring trio should pick me up. April asked where they were and I told her.

“I love the San Diego Zoo!” she gushed. “And I haven't been there for ages. Have you ever been to the Zoo?”

“Yes, but not for a long time.” I had gone with my husband, Milt, and Albert, when Albert was young.

“It's been greatly improved. You've got to see it again. Why don't we go right now?”

“We'll miss Sandra's call. And there's no guarantee we'll run into them there. It's a big place.”

“I'll put a message on my answering machine telling them where we are and to meet us at the entrance at four. It will take them that long to see it all, anyway.”

Modern technology is wonderful when you use it properly. April changed the message and then decided she had to change her clothes. She put on another T-shirt that was too short; it didn't reach her navel. When she came close to me I saw that the reason her navel looked funny was because she had a ring in it. Ouch! I'd heard of other places where girls wore rings that would have shocked my friends at Silver Acres. April also had on a red miniskirt with a slit. As if it needed that.

However, I caught her enthusiasm. Suddenly I wanted to go to the zoo more than anything else.

We ran into the others beside the mountain goat exhibit. Mountain goats rank high among my favorite creatures; they exemplify freedom to me by being able to bound effortlessly up and down the steepest cliffs. I, myself, have acrophobia and prefer to stay in the valleys.

Sandra and Mark held hands. With his free hand Mark pushed a sleeping Winston in a rented stroller. I introduced April to Sandra and we joined forces. It was one of those beautiful sunny days, for which Southern California is famous. Fortunately, the dry air kept the heat in check and the tree-lined paths and roads provided some shade.

I walked much farther than I usually do, even negotiating the hills without much trouble. When I got tired we took the bus tour and saw even more. The animals were well cared for and the zoo was clean. Some of the rarer animals no longer existed in the wild and the San Diego Zoo played an important part in preserving them.

When I absolutely couldn't walk any more I suggested that we all eat dinner together. April asked if she could bring her boyfriend and I let her call him on my cell phone. We met him at a pizza place. Pizza wasn't served at Silver Acres and my mouth watered for some pepperoni.

April's boyfriend was named Ron. He looked like a beach boy, with his long blond hair and deep tan. A surfboard fastened to the top of his old car completed the picture. He wore cut-off jeans and a shirt with the sleeves also cut off. It's a good thing we weren't dining at Tres Chic. He did not emanate the aura of a job. It appeared that he had a sugar mama in April.

We hadn't left the animals at the zoo. The pizza place was full of screaming young humans; apparently a birthday party was in progress. In order to have a prayer of hearing any conversation I insisted we sit in the corner farthest from the ordering counter.

When the pizzas came, everybody dug in with youthful appetites. Even Winston ate small pieces fed to him by Sandra and made it clear he wanted more. He gravely watched the children racing around but didn't take part in the noise-making. He was a cut above that sort of nonsense. As a doting great-grandmother, I predicted a bright future for him.

The other four adults also drank beer, in addition to eating pizza, but Sandra just sipped hers, as she attended to her motherly duties.

When the pace of eating slowed down, Mark said, “Lillian, Sandy filled me in a bit on what you're doing here. When you took advantage of me in the bar you didn't tell me you were investigating a murder.”

“I didn't know whether it was a murder,” I said. “In fact I still don't.”

“From what you've told me,” April said, “it looks very suspicious. Since I'm almost the only surviving member of Uncle Gerry's family, I owe it to him to get to the bottom of this. I'll help you in any way I can.”

And because Uncle Gerry was very kind to you in his will, I thought. I thanked her.

Mark said, “I was a little flip when you asked me whether I could recognize the lady who bought the lobster. I didn't take your question seriously. I've thought more about it; if I could get a good look at her and perhaps hear her speak, I might be able to identify her.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” I said. “Maybe we can work something out when we get back home.” With a little help from my friends, I might be able to put together a case yet.

“Have a police lineup,” April said. “Put those old ladies up against the wall. Excuse me, Mrs. Morgan, no offense intended. I don't consider you to be old.”

“No offense taken.” Her eyesight must be poor. She showed more enthusiasm for this detective business than Sandra did. Too bad she lived in California.

The conversation moved on to other subjects, including women's fashions. although Mark and Ron didn't seem to have much in common, they agreed that miniskirts were a good thing.

“In addition to my other questionable skills,” Mark said, “I write a bit of verse once in a while, when a subject moves me enough. Does anybody know who Mary Quant is?”

To my surprise, I was the only one with an answer. I said, “Mary Quant invented-or designed, if you will-the first miniskirts.”

“Right! Anyway, I wrote a poem about her, which I will now recite.”

Sandra was feeding Winston, apparently ignoring the conversation. I wondered how she was taking this, since April was the one wearing a miniskirt, not her. I tried to flash Mark a warning with my eyes, but he was looking at April.

“Let's give three cheers for Mary Quant who knows just what the people want.

What's that? You don't remember her?

Well, she created quite a stir, and controversy-yes, a binful, with fashions that some thought were sinful.

'Twas nineteen-hundred-sixty-eight; her minis stormed the Golden Gate.

For she designed the miniskirt, with which each coed soon was girt.

It took America by storm and made us all feel really warm.

It brought elation to the eye of every woman-loving guy, and was the swinging, swaying pal of every freedom-loving gal.

For garterbelts and crinolines, sometimes held up by safety pins, had been replaced by pantyhose, or just a suntan, heaven knows.

For guys the mini left revealed the wonders skirts had long concealed.

For gals the mini marked the hour of breaking out and taking power.

It helped to foster new relations between the sexes in all nations.

It brought world peace; it was a star!

What's that? You think I've gone too far?

Well, anyway, it doesn't hurt, so lets enjoy the miniskirt.”