Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

I lean forward. “What kind of plenty did you find?”

“It wasn’t just the tampered gas line we found. We found a rummaged mess everywhere else. Whoever trashed the place knew what he or she was doing, and worked mighty fast, since he only had the time while we got everyone out and settled with the EMTs and ambulances.”

Rummaged. “Come again?”

“It’s not so hard, Miss Andie,” the lawman says. “Someone ransacked the studio. And they didn’t miss a room.”

Great. He might not know what the intruder wanted, but I do.

It’s all about the rubies. The missing Burmese rubies.

After the chief dropped his bombshell, I didn’t say much more. What could I say? And even now, hours later, I still don’t have much to say; I don’t have a clue how to go about this business of figuring out who, what (well, I know what), when, where (know that too . . . sorta), and why. And that last one, the why of it all, is the real doozy.

Why did anyone do any of this? Well, stealing a fortune in legendary rubies is a no-brainer for the shadier element among humankind. But nothing else is.

At least, nothing else is easy for me or the chief or Aunt Weeby. Not for Miss Mona either, and forget about Max.

I do know who knows what it’s all about, but he’s not talking, not loud enough for any of us to hear, at any rate. As I always do when I’m in a mess, I reach for my faith, and give him a ring on my prayer line. But as usual, God’s keeping his peace.

When too much thinking makes my head hurt, I doze off. Later, beats me how much later, the phone rings. Even in the hospital, and half dopey from sleep, a call-deprived woman like me can’t let a call go by. “Hello?”

“It’s Peggy. How are you? Is everyone okay? The gas leak’s all over the papers and the evening news.”

“I never aspired to fifteen minutes of this kind of fame.” I crank up the bed, and this time only wince at the slight dizziness. “Everyone’s okay. There are three of us still in the hospital, but mostly for observation.”

“I hope they keep a good eye on you, woman. You’re a magnet.”

“Don’t you start with that. I do a good enough job of beating myself up.”

“What do you mean? Why would you beat yourself up?” “Look at all the trouble that follows me.”

Peggy doesn’t answer right away, and I realize I haven’t talked to her since I got back from Myanmar. “You know what? You’re at a disadvantage here. You don’t know what happened on our trip.”

She chuckles. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

I do. Once I’m done, she says, “Who do you think stole the rubies?”

“So you agree that’s the key to everything.”

“Hello! Two plus two still equals four.”

I sigh. “I don’t know what all’s going on. And I don’t know who stole the rubies. I can’t see Mr. Pak taking them. He always struck me as the most honest man. But . . . who knows? Maybe he did. And if he did, why? Why would he do something so unlike him?”

“Could he have stumbled on them? You say he travels all over the world. It’s not impossible that he . . . I don’t know. Saw them, identified them, and snagged them.”

“I suppose he could’ve found them somewhere where they shouldn’t have been. Maybe he was trying to return them to the rightful owner—I suppose that would be the government of Myanmar. But then, why did he come here? Why didn’t he just take them back to Myanmar?”

“How about this? What if Mr. Pak was killed by mistake? Could someone have fought him for the stones, bashed his head in to get the stones from him but killed him instead, and then taken off to avoid getting caught?”

“Are you saying someone followed him? Or do you think some garden-variety thief found out he carried gemstones with him and pulled off a plain old robbery?”

“Either one could work.”

“Aaarrrgh!” I don’t do frustration well, as I’m sure you know by now. “Okay, okay. How about this? If Mr. Pak did have the rubies, and if he was bringing them to . . . I don’t know, maybe sell them, who was he supposed to meet? You know it wasn’t me. No matter what that dopey cop thinks.” Peggy giggles. “Chief Clark’s okay. He catches his crooks, and he does a great Santa for the kids down at the police station.”

“I can’t see him being all that jolly. And Aunt Weeby says he was my dad’s best friend growing up. The guy even says he gets a letter from Dad every month. I can’t see how he could ever be my father’s friend. Dad’s a serious man, totally sold out to God and the ministry he feels called to. Plus he loves our family, and he’s not the kind to jump on an impulse. Dad wouldn’t have much patience for this good ol’ boy who jumps to conclusions like frogs hop across lily pads.”

Now Peggy hoots. “Can’t see Chief Clark on lily pads. Let’s just say he’s a little . . . um . . . hefty for that.”

I chuckle at the image, silly as it is.

Then, “There’s one thing, Andie. And I don’t want to upset you, but I can’t shake it, no matter how hard I try.”

“What is it? You won’t upset me.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that . . . Max showed up at a very . . . interesting time?”

I suck in a breath. “He did, didn’t he?”

“The same day your vendor turned up dead.”

“But he was on-screen with me. He has the same alibi I do. If I couldn’t have done it because millions were watching me, they were watching him too.”

“Who’s to say he worked alone?”

It had occurred to me the minute she mentioned his name. “You’re right. He could have had a partner.”

“Has he done anything strange?”

My laugh has more than a little hysteria. “You don’t know the guy. There’s not much he does that isn’t strange.”

“But could it be suspicious?”

My brain channel surfs through the events of the past few weeks. “You know? Now that you mention it, it’s more than a little strange that he wants to stay on this show with me so much. Especially since he’s a big-time jock.”

“Maybe he’s keeping an eye on you. Mr. Pak did come to see you.”

“Swell. Another thing to worry about around him.”

Peggy doesn’t say anything right away. Then, “Have you prayed, Andie?”

“Practically nonstop.”

“Have you stopped to listen?”

I pause. “I think so.”

“You don’t sound all that sure.”

“Well, there’s been so much going on, and every time I pray lately, I wonder if God’s still out there listening to me. I’ve always thought he was, but I’m kinda getting my prayers bounced back by the ceiling here. At least, that’s how I feel. Can he hear me? In the middle of all the craziness going on? All this has happened, I’ve prayed and prayed, and I have no answers for any of it!”

“Don’t give up. Sometimes God’s answer is just to hang on. That the solution’s just around the next corner.”

“I’m hanging, but my nails are ripping off, if you know what I mean.”

“Duct tape! Do whatever it takes, but don’t let doubts steal your faith. Remember. Faith’s our spiritual duct tape. Tell you what. Let’s pray. Right now.”

We do, and then hang up. Pain creeps up my neck from my tense shoulders. My head hurts from thinking too hard, and the gas episode has left me with some crummy symptoms of its own. But there’s still one question I have to ask.

“Why, Lord?”

The heavenly silence is deafening.

But deep in my heart, I know that question is the one that needs answering. And I don’t know where to go dig up the answer. Or the answer to any of my other million questions.

Again, it comes down to God. And trust. Which leads to patience. Something I missed back when God was giving it out. Trust is the key.