“Here. See if you recognize the writing.”
The block printing doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before. But I’m not surprised. It’s clear someone tried to disguise their handwriting. And the words? They’re just disgusting and disturbing.
“Well?” the chief says.
Max comes closer. “Could I take a look?”
“Sugarplum?”
“Never seen it before,” I say. “How about you?”
Aunt Weeby shakes her head. “So what do you think?”
“It’s all about the rubies,” Max says.
My aunt gives one of her trademark sniffs. “That’s what
Knock me over with a feather. “You have, have you?”
“Why, sure, ever since you and Mona told me about that mine, the market, the shooting, and them missing stones. I reckon your friend knew about the multimillion-dollar stolen rubies. It just works, don’t you think?”
If someone like Aunt Weeby, who has no knowledge of the gem world, never met Mr. Pak, and didn’t get shot at in Myanmar feels this way, then I know my gut’s been right all along.
“What’s this about multimillion dollars?” Chief Clark asks. The shadow comes within inches of where I stand. I glare and he backs off. I definitely feel stalked right now.
I turn back to the chief. “There’s a parcel of multimillion-dollar rubies out there somewhere. That’s what killed Mr. Pak—well, not the rubies themselves, but someone involved with the theft, or someone who knew Mr. Pak. Mr. Pak must have known what happened to the stones. And I’m sure there’s more than one person out there who wants them. The man most desperate to find them is the one you have to find.”
He narrows his eyes. “Or woman, Miss Andie. Women kill too.”
Why do I feel he’d like nothing more than to lock me up?
1800
After two days filled with flurries of shows and hospital visits, I bring Aunt Weeby home. Her head’s fine. Well, there’s no concussion, just normal nuttiness. And although Miss Mona shows no sign of intracranial bleeding, the doctors want her to stay a bit longer, since she was out for so long.
Every time I look at her, see her hooked up to machines that blink and beep, I get angrier by the minute. You know about my temper, right?
Why did Mr. Pak come see me? That’s what started it all. After more thinking than my mush-for-brain wants to handle, I’m so confused that I can’t tell what’s what. I decide to revisit all that’s happened and in the order it happened. After helping Aunt Weeby to bed, I sit at the kitchen table. Armed with notebook and pen, I list events, observations, feelings, anything and everything that comes to mind about the last few weeks.
At eight thirty, the doorbell rings. I’m so involved with my lists that I’m tempted to ignore it, but in the end, I can’t let it go. It could be important.
But guess what? It’s Mr. Magnificent. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Wow! Is that a welcome or what?”
Or what. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m kind of busy. Is there anything you need?”
He stares at my Pooh slippers. “I see you weren’t ready for a state visit. What’s kept you so busy?”
Wouldn’t you want to know? “Stuff.”
“Hmm . . . conclusive.” He shifts his weight and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I come in? I couldn’t stop thinking about the death, the shooting, the gas leak, and the accident. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind doing some brainstorming. Maybe we can make some sense of the situation.”
Something fishy going on? “Ah . . . sure. Go ahead. I was in the kitchen, doing just that.”
“Really? Did you come up with anything interesting?”
Is he here to brainstorm? To check out what I know? Or worse, am I in his crosshairs?
I gesture for him to go ahead. Right on cue, Rio lets out his “
”
Max stumbles, trips over his feet. “Whoa!”
I fight the urge to laugh. “Just ignore him. He’s saying hi. It turns out Aunt Weeby’s cage cover really works. He’ll be quiet now after that first blast.”
“Lucky you!”
“I won’t dignify that comment with an answer. Why don’t you sit? Want some coffee? Or maybe iced tea? Water? Soda?”
“Tea sounds great—as long as it’s sweet.”
