Howard Engel - A City Called July

“But she was at Ruth’s side right through the worst of it,” Pia said.

“That’s right,” echoed Saul Tepperman. “I never saw the like. They were the picture of dedication.”

“I don’t think that was an act,” I said. “I think that Debbie was honestly devoted to Ruth. She wasn’t playing a part. But that wasn’t all there was to Debbie. There was this whole buried part, hidden in shadow and full of envy and guilt and blame. There were more than half the original deadly sins walking arm in arm with the loyal, leave-it-to-Debbie side of her. She makes me wish I knew more about this kind of thing.”

“What about all that money?” Pete asked. “You say Larry converted it into diamonds, two point six million dollars’ worth. What happened to the diamonds, Benny?”

“Like the fellow in the hot seat says, I’m glad you asked me that. I figured that they were hidden someplace here in the house. I knew that the original bag had been buried in Larry’s hideaway. Diamonds are fairly easy to hide. She could have planted them in the hems of some of the curtains in this room or upstairs. She could have put them in holes behind pictures. She could have done two point six million different things with them. I thought that maybe, Pete, you’d have to get a team of demolition experts over here and take the place apart stone by stone, board by board.”

“But you don’t think that any more?” Pete was great at noticing tenses. And he could tell from mine that I had found out something very recently.

“While I was talking, my ankle began bothering me. Now Pia went to a lot of trouble to put together an ice pack for my poor sprained foot, so I was reluctant to complain. A few minutes ago I opened up the dishtowel to see why the ice was not cooling my foot any better than it was. What I found was ice of a different kind. She must have got the idea from a movie. Diamonds in an ice-tray are invisible. Dissolved in a foot basin, they have limited cold-producing qualities. But a fortune in diamonds is nothing to trouble a sprained ankle about.”

Everybody got up and came over to see the hard particles in the melt-waters and in the dishtowel. “Remember how Debbie insisted that we get ice from the fridge under the bar. She didn’t want to give away a fortune with a couple of free drinks. I’ve heard of crooks hiding single diamonds in ice, but this takes the Nobel prize for hiding places.” I turned to Pia: “Pia, I think you’ll find some real ice-cubes left under the bar. This stuff might look lovely on you, but on my foot it leaves a lot to be desired.” She looked at me as though she had completely forgotten the fact that my ankle had swollen to twice its normal size. Some people just can’t keep their perspectives straight.