Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

“I know what I want.”

It’s gotta be Danni.

Feeling a bit more confident, I push open the door, step into the ladies’ room, praying Julie’s at her post, and when I catch a glimpse in the mirror, get the shock of a lifetime.

“ TIFFANY! ”

At the same time she mutters a curse, my former boss’s trophy wife jabs me harder with her stupid gun. Mad? D’you think you’ve seen mad? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

“What do you think you’re doing?” I yell. “Are you crazy?” She tosses her bottle-blond, extension-boosted mane. “Are you forgetting who’s holding the gun?”

Yeah, you guessed it. Julie’s not at her post. Why should she be? If she were, I wouldn’t be in trouble. And you know how it goes with me and . . . well, trouble.

“Fine. You’re holding the gun, and if poor Mr. Pak’s anything to go by, you know how to use it. My question’s why?” “Why?” Her blue-contact-enhanced eyes narrow. “Why not? Why shouldn’t I have the nice things I want?”

Huh? “For one, because they’re not yours!”

She shrugs. “They’re only pre-mine. I make sure they become mine when I decide I want them.”

“Like Roger?”

“He was a mistake.”

“What does that mean?”

Another flurry of faux fur . . . er . . . hair. “I thought he wanted the same things I do. All those years he’s been wheeling and dealing, and now he gets cold feet!”

“Cold feet?” Try ice in my veins. And Roger? Roger? “What does that mean?”

“He chickened out at the last minute. Pak had told him about the stolen rubies awhile back. Roger made sure Pak knew he wanted the stones—if Pak ever got his hands on them.”

I feel sick to my stomach. “Are you saying Mr. Pak stole the stones?”

She waves her gun. “Are you kidding? He didn’t have the guts to do something like that. He had nothing to do with it, but since he traveled to . . . ah . . . Magoo? Magone? That place they get the rubies. Anyway, he traveled there a lot, and he was scared the government would think he stole the stones.”

That’s better—but not all good. Not yet. “Roger wanted to sell stolen goods?”

“How ’bout that safe, Andie? Your rent-a-cop’s going to be back soon, and I’m not sticking around long enough for her to see me.”

Another stomach lurch. “What did you do to Julie?”

“Nothing. She got a call saying her kiddies were throwing up. She went to her day care to get them.”

“And she’s going to find out no one from the day care called her, right?”

She shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“And that means killing a nice man who . . . what did he do for you to think you needed to kill him?”

“What’s it to you? Open up the safe. Mr. Pak knew how to break safe codes, but I don’t. And I know you know the combination, so don’t try to play that game. I’m not dumb.”

But you’re not smart either. No one with an ounce of sense kills to get a bunch of rubies. “How do you know the rubies are in the vault?”

“I don’t. Not for sure. But he didn’t have them on him when I got here, and he did tell Roger he’d found them.”

“Really? How’d he find them?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Do you?”

“Don’t get smart, Andie. I’m holding the gun.”

“You’ll be holding cell bars sooner or later,” I mutter as I head for the wooden panel. “How do you intend to find a parcel of rubies in our vault? Do you have any idea how large it is? How many thousands of parcels we store there?”

“I only got a quick look that other day before you barged in.”

“That’s right. You checked it out when you rubbed out Mr. Pak.”

Tiffany rolls her eyes. “That’s nasty, Andie. Mr. Pak was just a problem I had to deal with. Now let’s find the rubies.”

Certain I have no other alternative, at least not right now, I open the vault door. “Knock yourself out, Tiff. Tell me how one parcel looks different from another—unless you know exactly where he put them, what he put them in . . . you get my drift.”

“I know where he was when I found him.”

“Show me.”

“I plan to. You’re going to be the one doing the touching. Not me. I know about fingerprints. I watch CSI.”

But you haven’t figured out they always, one way or the other, catch the crook.

Inside the vault, I flick on the light, and gaze down the length of the vast, shelf-lined room. Multiple millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry and gemstones fill the trays on the shelves.

I gesture for her to come inside. “What do you plan to do with the rubies?”

She motions with the gun for me to go farther in, then pulls the vault door behind her. “Sell them.”

Great. She’s not dumb enough to let me get between her and freedom. I’ll have to keep her talking until I think of something else. “You have a buyer?”

“Roger does. But he chickened out, Roger did. Suddenly he doesn’t want to have anything to do with stolen stuff.”

“And Mr. Pak was bringing the stones for Roger to fence them?”

“Not hardly. There was a bunch of other people after him. Everyone wants those rubies. But he had some crazy idea that you could take them back to Myanmar. He didn’t want the government to say he’d stolen them, and then ban him from the country. His business would shrivel up if they did that.” “Me? Why me?”

Tiffany shrugs. “I guess he figured no one would ever think you’re smart enough to pull off something like this.”

And you’re a rocket scientist, right?

“How did Mr. Pak wind up with the rubies?”

“I’m not sure, but I think they went from the guy who took them, to another guy—a couple more, really—then they went to a cutter in Thailand. Somehow, Mr. Pak got hold of them, and Roger’s wanted them since Mr. Pak first told him about the stones.”

The longer I keep her babbling about how smart she is, the better my chances of Julie getting back here.

“So I was supposed to return them. Because I’m too dumb to steal them. That makes a whole lot of sense.”

Tiffany shrugs. “I never said Mr. Pak was smart. He should have sold the rubies. They’re worth a lot of money.”

“So’s Roger. Why do you want more?”

Her eyes bug out. “Are you serious? There’s lots and lots more stuff I want.”

“So it’s all about what you want.”

“Isn’t that what life’s all about?”

“No. Not really. Life’s about meaning and service and God’s plan.” Where’s my copy of The Purpose-Driven Life when I need it?

“You can do the God thing. I’ll stick to what I can touch and see. And right now, I’m not touching or seeing those rubies. Find them!”

I wave. “See all those racks? They’re full of gemstones. Why don’t you take a bunch? They’ll sell for plenty.”

That was the wrong thing to say. She jabs the gun my way. “Get going, Andie. You know what’s in the parcels. You know they won’t bring as much as the rubies. Find them. I already have that buyer.”

I act helpless—not a stretch right now. “Where do you want me to look?”

She points to a spot on a shelf right by where Mr. Pak died. “There. And don’t waste any more time.”

Things can’t get any worse, right?

Wrong.

The bathroom door opens. Clump-clump, clump-clump.

“Back,” Tiffany says, checking the door. It hasn’t clicked, but to an uninformed onlooker, like Aunt Weeby, it would looked closed.

The cast clumps closer. “You did say she came to put away the pretties she had on the show, right, Max?” Aunt Weeby yells.