Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

“Now, Donald,” Aunt Weeby says. “You’ve had me check what’s come out on the newspaper in his cage from the start.”

That’s where I don’t want to go. “Gross.”

The chief frowns. “Police work isn’t pretty, Miss Andie. Not like they make it look like on TV.”

“Cleaning Rio’s cage isn’t pretty either,” Aunt Weeby counters, “but I’m not making a big ol’ federal case.”

The chief’s eyes narrow, focus on me. “I don’t have a choice. I have to go where the case takes me. I have me a dead body, and Interpol’s breathing hot and nasty down my neck.”

His shadow shoots him a stern look.

I give the chief the evil eye. “Then how come no one’s gone to talk to my former boss in New York? He’s known Mr. Pak for way longer than I have.”

“Maybe on account of it happened here, not New York.” “True, and I’m not saying he had anything to do with the murder, but with good interrogating techniques, who knows what he might remember from a conversation, something Mr. Pak might have said.”

Chief Clark’s shadow clears his throat.

The chief shrugs. “I’ll be doing the investigating, Miss Andie. There’s plenty suspicious to check out around here. Like how you took yourself off on that there trip to Myanmar. Sure can give an investigator something to chew on, you know?”

I square my shoulders. “No, I don’t know. I went on a buying trip with Miss Mona, my cohost Max, Allison from makeup, Hannah the camerawoman, and two other staff members. They can all tell you what I did blow by blow.

Or minute by minute, whichever you prefer. I was never alone.”

The chief’s shadow shifts his stance but never takes his gaze off me. I’m getting really sick of him . . . whoever he might be.

Chief Clark takes a step toward me.

I back away.

He comes closer again. “Then, Miss Andie, if you don’t think you’ve done anything suspicious, how do you explain spending your morning going through your co-workers’ pocketbooks?”

I hear jail bars slamming on me.

I know better than to listen to Aunt Weeby.

So I have to admit I wanted to snoop.

And it is time to pay the piper.

Hopefully, not with my freedom.

15 00

I’m stunned when Chief Clark lets me go without handcuffs on my wrists. True, it’s thanks to Aunt Weeby’s ride to my rescue.

“Donald Clark!” she says. “Tell me right now why you’re all bent on playing the idiot here.”

The look in the chief’s eyes gives me the willies. Only Aunt Weeby . . .

He takes a deep breath. “Because—”

“And you may as well know,” she adds, unaware or maybe just unafraid of potential consequences to her comments, “it was my idea for Andie to check ’em all out. And a mighty fine idea it was too. What if one of them had had the . . . whatcha call it? Oh yes! The smoking gun?”

Chief Clark looks ready to swallow his tongue. “Maybe you’re the one I need to lock up.”

Aunt Weeby tips up her nose. “Don’t you go sassing your elders, Donald.”

“Only by thirteen and a half years, Weeb. Not enough to make you an elder . . .”

To my relief, they go off to carry on their argument.

But then I still have to face the camera. With Max.

Shortly after our show starts, Max leans forward, studies the gem in my tweezers, and then scoffs. “Do you know what you’re talking about?”

“Who’s the gemologist here?”

“You, but even I know what bad jade looks like.”

“Shows how little you know, if you’re saying this is bad jade.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s cheap jade.”

“It’s top-quality prehnite, you dunce.”

“Dunce?” He faces the camera square on. “Who ever heard of this pre . . . pre-hen stuff?”

I look my customers in the—camera—eye. “Ladies and gentlemen, for those who don’t know, prehnite is an orthorhombic mineral, which is sometimes found as distinct crystals. More frequently, though, it’s found with volcanic rocks, and forms in aggregates with botryoidal habit. Prehnite is rarely clean enough for faceting but can be cut as cabochon. Sometimes it even displays a cat’s-eye effect.”

When I hear nothing from my cohost, I slant a glance his way. His smirk makes my blood boil.

“Care to share the joke with the viewers and me?”

His smirk widens. “Are you sure you want to hear my thoughts?”

Something tells me I should have ignored him in the first place, but it’s too late to back down now. “I’m sure I don’t want to, but I’m also sure you’re going to share.”

With a wink to the camera, he says, “Isn’t she cute when she’s being smart?”

Guffaws erupt around the studio. My face burns from ear to ear. And then the memory of my encounter with Danni raises its impish head.

“Ladies?” I say. “If he thinks I’m cute when I bring you information, don’t you think he’d look cuter still if he’d help Danni sell frilly pink panties or the spandex Capris we just got in?”

Now his jaw sags. His cheeks turn ruddy. The laughter in the studio reaches the outer heights of hysteria. I settle back into my chair and wait for the hilarity to subside.

But then, from somewhere out in the back of beyond, I hear a shriek, and it’s not Rio. Uh-oh. Danni must not have left the premises. I’m gonna have to pay for that zinger. One I probably took too far. Lord? Am I ever going to learn to keep this mouth of mine from leaping before my common sense? “Take note, folks,” Max says, an edge to his voice. “She thinks she’s a comic.” He pauses a moment, forces a grimace that probably is meant as a smile, and then goes on. “While I may not know as much as she does about gemstones, I’m willing to take the challenge. I’m ready to learn. I’m an athlete, and athletes are built for endurance. I can hang in there until the cows come home.”

Is that a dare or is that a dare? I know what it is, but I’m not ready to bite. I shove a loose lock of hair behind my ear. In the background, I hear Miss Mona and Danni arguing. I can also imagine what households across America are thinking, saying.

Time to take the reins of my show again and lead it back to where it should’ve been all along. “So, ladies and gentlemen, what do you think of this gorgeous, soft-green, glowing gem? It is prehnite, a lovely stone in its own right, and not related to jade in any way.”

At my side, Max fidgets in his chair but keeps his mouth shut. The show goes on smoothly for a while. Then . . .

I pick up a stone from the next tray of product. “I have another gorgeous green gem for you today. And while its soft green hue is similar to that of the prehnite, amazonite is a separate gem in its own right.”

“I’ll bet it comes from the Amazon,” the jock pipes in.

“You’d lose that bet. It comes from Colorado, the Minas Gerais state in Brazil, Canada, Italy, and the Ural Mountains in Russia.”

He points at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our resident encyclopedia.”

I choose to ignore the comment. “Some think the name comes from a reference to the Amazons, warrior women of Greek mythology. But no amazonite has been found anywhere near the river.”

Max leans back in his chair and stares at me. “Wonder if those Amazons had red hair.”

Not a word, not a word. I owe him the freebie jab, to say the least. “Amazonite is usually cut in cabochon. And sometimes it shows a schiller effect. That’s when you see shimmery, flakelike plates within the stone.”

“Really?” No one can miss the interest in Max’s voice, his eyes—not even me. Then he leans forward, and that excellent aftershave does its thing again. I feel the warmth of his bulk at my side, hear the soft in-and-out of his breath. How can he be so attractive and infuriate me at the same time?