Priced to Move (11 page)
Miss Mona plunks her fists on her hips and gives me a stern look. “Who invited you? Who’s ‘us’? And what’d we get invited to? And where?”
I keep blinking, but the words still read the same. I hold out the card. “Here. You read it. I’m afraid I’m dreaming or hallucinating or . . . or something.”
My boss takes the card and seconds later she’s spitting and spurting, as Aunt Weeby said, just like I did.
“Andie, honey! Is this real? The government of Myanmar is really inviting us to visit their mines? You do know what kind of politicking trouble’s been going on out there, don’t you?”
“Of course I know. Mr. Pak, Roger, and I talked about Myanmar more’n a million times. It’s awful the oppression going on there—you know, the government squashes political parties, there’s forced labor of adults and kids, human trafficking. It’s bad.”
“And now this . . .” She waves the card.
“It looks real, don’t you think?”
She studies the card again. “I wouldn’t know real from not, but it sure does look like it’s official, at least someone important must have put it together. But I reckon we can check to see if it’s real. We can call the embassy—oh, that’s right. No diplomatic relations. They don’t have an embassy in the U.S., do they?”
A scrap of info tickles the back of my memory. “You know . . . the last time Mr. Pak came to New York, he mentioned that Myanmar had begun to offer thirty-day visas for tourist travel inside the country. They might have an embassy now.” I wave the invitation. “Do you think this might be part of that effort to open things up?”
“Who knows? Who cares? All I know is that this invitation is a golden opportunity for us, for the S.T.U.D. Network.”
“Okay,” I say, still unconvinced. “Tourism or not, that military dictatorship’s not crazy about Americans and Brits—one of those sanction deals. And our government isn’t crazy about them—that communism and organized violence against their people—the whole human rights issues thing.”
A shrill whistle pierces my eardrums, my brain, total consciousness. It makes both Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona stumble.
Max, of course. His whistle’s almost as good as mine.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“Because from what you and Miss Mona have said so far, we can figure out you’ve been invited to something-or-other in Myanmar—something to do with mines, but you two haven’t let the rest of us in on the whole thing. ”
I give Aunt Weeby an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. But this is so exciting, I can’t get my brain to unscramble. It says it’s from the Myanmar government—Myanmar’s what most people know as Burma—and they’re inviting me, and the S.T.U.D. Network, to feature the Mogok Valley on the show. That’s where the world’s most fantastic rubies come from. But the deal is, they aren’t good buddies with our government.” “You’re still telling me you didn’t know the victim was coming here, Miss Andie? Or bringing this invite to you?”
Only now do I remember Chief Clark. And his silent shadow. “Of course I had no idea. I’ve told you over and over I didn’t know he was coming.”
The chief’s not about to let it go. “When was the last time you spoke to that there Mr. Pak?”
I think back. “About six months ago. He brought my boss in New York a small lot of Burma-ruby solitaires, a few good Ceylon sapphires, and some nice Cambodian blue zircons. We only bought the rubies, since the price has gone up so high. Besides, not many customers are willing to pay for the Burma material when they can get stones from Madagascar with almost the same quality, and for a fraction of the cost. We passed on the sapphires and the zircons.”
“I still smell me a skunk,” the chief says. “You come to town, and this dead guy follows.”
“Why, Donald! That poor man there didn’t follow Andie
dead
. Someone killed him once he got here. And that’s who you’d do better asking all these questions, don’t you think? Not Andie.”
“I mean to find me that someone, no matter who it turns out to be.”
I give him a leery look. “Do you
still
think I had something to do with it? After all I’ve told you?”
He shrugs. “I can’t arrest you since I have millions of witnesses.”
Talk about a non-answer.
Max laughs. “So that’s the perfect alibi—a TV show.”
I give him a crooked grin. “I guess I scored, huh?”
“With the show and that invite. Are you going?”
I shrug. “It’s up to Miss Mona. But I’ll tell you what. Because Mr. Pak is dead, and he did bring me that invitation, and fewer than few gemologists ever get to visit those amazing mines, I’m ready to jump at the chance.”
I don’t mention that I really want to look around, check out what’s up in Myanmar. For real. Mr. Pak’s problems must have started back there. And I want to wipe that suspicious look from the chief’s face. It doesn’t bode well for my future around here.
What can I say? I suppose if I’m really pushed, I can’t say I blame the chief for trying to make a connection. Not only did I find the dead man, but I’m also the only one who knew him.
The chief doesn’t look half as thrilled with my prospects as I am. “I gotta say, I don’t cotton to this trip of yours. If I had my druthers, I’d lock you up. But you’re Miz Weeby’s niece, you work for Miss Mona, and I’d have a hard time arresting you.”
His stubbornness and that silent pal of his are really getting to me. “You also have those million viewers to deal with. Max is right”—did I just give him credit?—“I have an ironclad alibi.” I gotta grin at my TV cop line.
“Donald, dear,” Aunt Weeby says, “go on home or the station or the donut shop, you take your pick. Andie’s innocent.
And you know it. I know you’re hankering to have yourself a big ol’ case to break, but you’re not going to break it right on Andie’s back. Go do your job. Find yourself some real clues.
Catch us a real killer. We’re going to My . . . Mia . . .” She waves in defeat. “We’re going to that ruby place.”
“We?” I ask. “I don’t see where there’s a ‘you’ in the ‘we’ here.”
“Oh, indeed,” Miss Mona says. “
We’re
going to Burma. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to miss this trip, Livvy. You can’t be going with that cast—”
“You’re not leaving me behind, Mona Latimer!” Aunt Weeby’s frown scares even me.
Miss Mona counters with a bulldog look of her own. “You aren’t up to travel of this sort. You’ll go on our next trip. Besides. Who else am I going to trust to keep things going here at the network while I’m gone?”
Aunt Weeby running the network? Watch out, world!
But I’m going to Burma, the Mogok Valley, the home of the most incredible, perfect rubies on earth. Oh yeah. Life is good—sometimes.
If the first weeks of working for Miss Mona made me feel like the proverbial gerbil on the exercise wheel, then I can’t even begin to describe the next twelve days. We work our way through mountains of forms to apply for visas; we become pincushions for the multiple vaccine shots; we pack, unpack, then pack again, uncertain what we’ll really need; and then I’m forced to spend hours upon hours with Danni, because Danni of the super-duper panties becomes a happy camper when she learns she’ll be doing the gem and jewelry shows during my Myanmar odyssey. So I have to prepare her. All of that leaves me feeling like a wrung-out washrag.
You see, Miss Mona and I aren’t the only ones heading out for an unbelievable adventure.
Oh no. We have to travel with a complete entourage. Of course Miss Mona and I are going, but so is a behind-the-scenes delegation from S.T.U.D. A camerawoman, Allison from makeup, and a couple of others I don’t really know too well, all head out for Burma with us.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Our Ken doll comes too. But you’d figured that out already. Hadn’t you? You knew I wasn’t going to get to ditch him.
I just pray he doesn’t cause an international incident and get us all locked up in some gross Burmese jail.
After a three-hour delay, Thai Airlines finally calls our flight for boarding. I wrestle my carry-on roller suitcase into the overhead bin, slip my laptop under the seat in front of mine, and drop into my window seat. Again, excitement ripples right through me.
I’m going to Burma. I’m going to the Mogok Valley. For real.
There’s still that little corner of my mind, though, that true doubting Thomas. So to prove that I’m not dreaming or hallucinating, I pinch myself.
“Ouch!”
“What’d you do that for?” Max asks as he slips his laptop under the seat in front of the one next to mine.
No way! “
You’re
sitting here?”
“Looks that way.” He flashes me his devastating grin.
Don’t look, Andie. He’s a gem-dunce, remember?
He adds, “Miss Mona made all the reservations. I’m sure she gave you your boarding pass just as she gave me mine.” Is there any justice? Hours and hours hog-tied by a seat belt next to Max the Magnificent.
Groan.
I’m really going to have to do something about the Max situation. Hoping against hope, I ask him a very simple question.
“Do you know anything about rubies?”
“I know they’re red.”
Do I laugh or do I cry? I decide not to go there, so I try another question. “Have you ever seen a real, live ruby?”
“My mother has one. My father gave it to her for an anniversary or something. It’s pretty red.”
“If you say that one more time, I’m going to scream.”
“Are you going to tell me orange is the new red?”
“Are you going to quit with the spessartite stuff?”
“I’m still not so sure you weren’t pulling a fast one on me and the viewers.”
“I would
never
do that. I’m no fraud, I don’t lie, and besides, I’m a Christian. I answer to God for what I say and do. Trust me, I don’t want to do something so stupid as to fake people out. God’s not likely to let it slide if I do. I’ve learned the hard way that nothing’s worth getting on the wrong side of God’s blessing.”
He tips his head to the side. “Interesting way of seeing ethics.”
“I didn’t say anything earthshaking.”
“Okay. You’re right, I guess.” He clicks his seat belt on, then gives me another of his killer smiles. “Tell me about rubies, since you don’t think I know enough about them.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No. It’s like I’d love to tell you all about the perfect golf club.”
Boooring.
“That’s okay. I don’t have a burning desire to know about golf.”
“Too bad.”
No way. “You asked me to tell you, and I’m going to tell you. Rubies are corundum, the red variety. All the other colors of corundum are known as sapphire—”
“Are you kidding me? First the goofy garnets, then the dirty diamonds, and now you’re telling me that rubies equal sapphires? Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?” I clench my jaw. At the rate I’m going, my dentist is going to retire to his own private South Pacific island off my cracked teeth. “Yes, I’m sure I know what I’m talking about. I have a BS in geology, and a certificate from the Gemological Institute of America that tells all who care to know that I’m a master gemologist.”
“You’re pretty proud of your pedigree.”
“Aren’t you?”
He shrugs. “I have a BS in meteorology, and I played football for the Buckeyes.”
“For the who?”
He gapes. “You don’t know who the Buckeyes are?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”
“Ohio State has one of the best records in college football history.”
That’s his pedigree? Football?
Okey-dokey.
“I . . . see.” Better get back to business. “Anyway, I do know gemstones. And rubies and sapphires, both, are corundum, the second-hardest natural mineral known to science. The hardness of corundum comes in part from the strong and short oxygen-aluminum bonds. These bonds pull the oxygen and aluminum atoms close, and that makes the crystal not only hard but also very dense, even though it’s a mineral made up of two relatively light elements—”
I quit. He’s asleep. So much for wanting to know about rubies.
When the flight attendant comes around with earphones for the movie, I figure I might as well watch whatever they’re offering. Hopefully it won’t be football. Or golf.
Score! It’s a romantic comedy with Reese Witherspoon. I can use a good laugh.
But it seems all the upheaval of the last month and a half has really done me in, and I doze off soon after the movie starts . . .
“Now children,”
Max says,
“in my right hand is a football,
and in my left a golf club. They’re both for jocks, but the
football’s for the sweatier ones.”
“Mr. Magnificent?”
a little girl with red hair asks.
“Are you
one of the sweatier ones?”
Max blinks.
“Well, I’m one of the stronger ones.”
Her hand shoots up again.
“And do you hit the football
with the golf club?”
“You mean, you can’t tell that football and golf are two
different sports?”
She shrugs.
“I like rocks. . . .”
Something explodes in my ears.
“Aaack!”
“Are you okay?” Max asks.
“Rocks are fine . . . er . . . I mean, I’m fine. It’s the movie. Something happened, and it was loud.”
“I’m surprised anything startled you awake. You were out, and you sleep like . . . well, like a rock.”
“Takes one to know one. You were out pretty hard too. Did you watch the movie after you woke up?”
“No. I’d missed too much of it, and I brought reading material.”
I glance at the book in his hands—
Jewelry & Gems: The
Buying Guide
. “No way! You’re reading Antoinette Matlins? The world’s leading gem author?”
“I figured I’d better learn something about the stuff we’re selling. And you’re right. Rubies do equal red sapphires equal rubies.”
“Has anyone ever told you you have a weird way of saying things?”
“And this is coming from you?”
“Are you implying that I talk strange?” I woke up for this? “I’m tired. See you in Bangkok.”
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t doze off. My eyes want to open and watch Max the Magnificent read what’s known as the “Unofficial Bible” for diamonds, pearls, colored gemstones, gold, and jewelry.