A Persian Gem

by Jeff Isaacson

  It was Thad!

  There he was! I had been looking all over for him! And I found him! I was so excited that I even forgot that I was holding a fistful of stolen diamonds.

  I slung my arm around him, sat down so hard that I hurt my butt, pulled Thad toward me, said ouch, and giggled a slurred, gargling giggle before I asked Thad, “You hanging in there, big guy?” Like I was a white, suburban dad with a surprise trip to Dairy Queen up his sleeve for his son who gave up the deciding goal in a youth soccer game.

  “I’ve had better days,” Thad sighed. “What are you still doing up?”

  “Other than drinking,” Thad added.

  He looked at me, and I just opened up my hand. Those stunningly clear diamonds glowed luminous under the floodlights out front. It looked like I was holding a handful of stars.

  I didn’t realize until that moment that I carried around with me an idea of what was the proper facial expression to make when a drunk chick comes in out of the blue, throws her arm around you, and opens her hand to reveal a fistful of stolen diamonds of unusual clarity with facets that reflect every photon of light, but I definitely did carry around that idea. And Thad made that exact facial expression.

  “Wha…Are you…Are those real?” Thad finally said.

  So I told Thad the whole story. I told him about how the person at the wedding in the burqa was Farhad’s mom, Anahita, and she was the mastermind of the jewel theft. She was the woman that Key was in love with. I told him about Israel and Iran. I told him about the Ruby and the Egg. I told him everything.

  And then I said, “And I don’t know what’s true or what’s real anymore…other than these diamonds. I like Anahita. I really do. But I can’t just take her word for it. Maybe it’s just some cover story. Maybe she’s just a thief. I don’t know. Help me, Thad! I don’t know what to do.”

  Thad was quiet for a long time.

  Then he said, “I think that we need to go to the F.B.I.”

  “Then let’s go,” I nodded.

  Thad pulled out his phone. “West Palm Beach appears to be the closest field office. If we leave now, we’ll get there around the time they open up this morning.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for, Thad?” I demanded. “But wait! Have you been drinking? Oh-my-God, neither one of us is sober enough to drive.”

  “I have only had one sip of champagne all night,” Thad declared.

  “For real!” I rocked back.

  “Yes,” Thad nodded.

  “Why?” I laughed.

  “Because if I would have drank more I would have said something that I wouldn’t have regretted, but that probably would’ve burned the bridge between me and Farhad forever,” Thad grimaced.

  We were silent for a moment.

  “I’ll get the keys,” he said.

  Be careful what you wish for. Because for that whole drive to West Palm Beach, I was Thad’s shoulder to cry on over Farhad. He thought that maybe he should have objected to their being married when the person officiating the wedding asked. He thought that maybe he should’ve really revealed to Farhad the feelings that he still had for him. He thought that maybe he should’ve pushed on Farhad to really think about the fact that none of Farhad’s friends seemed to like Farhad’s new husband. That all of them liked Thad better.

  And of course it wasn’t so bad the first three times. It was actually pretty easy. I had a pat answer for everything. You did the right thing, Thad. I couldn’t stand a day with that jackass. Farhad’s going to last like a week tops. Then there’s going to be a divorce. And that’s the time when you need to go to him with your feelings.

  But that wisdom didn’t stop things.

  He was like a teenage girl with her favorite pop song. Guess what we’re listening to for the entire car ride.

  Maybe he should have objected to their marriage. Maybe he should’ve revealed his true feelings for Farhad. Maybe he should’ve really pointed out that all of Farhad’s friends hated Dana. Over and over again like a broken record.

  Seriously, after the seventh time I just felt like grabbing my purse and saying, “I do have an extra tampon in here…if you need one.”

  And I was still drunk, so due to alcohol induced time distortion, what might have been a two hour or so ride felt like eight hours. I was probably the only person who was ever happy to walk into the West Palm Beach F.B.I. field office with a fistful of stolen diamonds.

  Which brings me to my next drunken point. Literally, I was still so drunk that I honestly thought that I’d just go into the F.B.I. field office, drop off my fistful of stolen diamonds, basically tell them what I told Thad back on that front stoop an emotional eternity ago, and go home.

  That’s not what happened.

  They grilled Thad for four hours. After six hours, they finally decided to let me go.

  It turns out that the F.B.I. have a lot of questions for you when you walk in with a fistful of stolen diamonds from a jewel theft that may have been committed by an unheard of joint officially unofficial Israeli and Iranian operation to return a stolen Ruby to a member of the Knesset and a Turquoise Egg back to Iran.

  I told them everything again and again. And finally it was good enough.

  I could tell Thad was piiiiissed when I finally got out of there. But almost as soon as I got in the van, I passed out.

  Thad and Dave carried me to bed after Thad was unable to wake me up when we got back to Farhad’s.

  (Thad did check to see that I wasn’t dead first. He’s a good friend.)

  They just flopped me down on the bed I think. Because I woke on top of the covers in full wedding regalia including one of my heels.

  I woke with a pounding headache. It was six the next morning, and I had to get moving. Dave and Jace and their partners were leaving soon. And they were Thad and my ride to the airport.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I moaned.

  “Hey, you,” Thad smiled. “On the way here yesterday I got muffins and I made some cold press coffee for everyone. You love that don’t you? Come on down to the lounge and get some breakfast.”

  I smiled.

  “I’ll be down after I pack,” I said.

  Thad nodded.

  15

  Thad and I had flown out together. We caught the same flight back home, back to MSP.

  From there we got on the Blue Line light rail together. People cast occasional annoyed glances at the seat in front of us. Thad had to monopolize that seat too because he had brought three suitcases.

  He was only riding to 50th Street. I was on for the long haul. I was on until the Warehouse District downtown. Almost the end of the line.

  Thad started talking almost as soon as we got on the train. And I was a little worried that this would be another sob story until I realized that I wouldn’t have to listen to it very long even if it was.

  But it was not a sob story.

  Instead, Thad said, “You know, if this were a storybook, Key would’ve showed up for you at the last minute before the wedding. Farhad would’ve left Dana at the altar and come back to me. And everything would have been right.

  Unfortunately, life isn’t like a storybook. But at least we got a vacation filled with mystery, international intrigue, beaches, booze, bar trivia, good friends, and good times. And that’s pretty good. And best of all, I think that you and I became besties.”

  I looked at him with a smile. My bestie is Alyssa and the plural of that is the other girls from the East Wing of Territorial Hall. But Thad certainly was my best male friend. Who else would it be? Dave?

  “A little bit,” Thad pinched his fingers together.

  “I have to admit that I never had much international intrigue before I started vacationing with you, Thad,” I laughed.

  “See we’re good for one another,” Thad beamed.

  “Indeed,” I agreed.

  We parted with a hug just before 50th Street. I watched him walk away out the train window. Thad is surprisingly coordinat
ed when it comes to walking with three roller bags. Even on the unforgiving curbs.

  I eventually made it to my stop and wheeled my one bag over the Hennepin Avenue Bridge, stopping to marvel at it once. When I made it home, I thought about checking my work email.

  But this was my last day off. It was still time to party.

  So I did what may become a tradition every time it’s a party. I walked to a grocery store, bought a medium sized bag of dill pickle chips, and I made that my dinner.

  And for the first time all day, I felt free from a hangover, even in my stomach. It was back to the salt mines tomorrow. But tonight was my night to catch up on the Jeopardies that I recorded while I was down in Florida.

  Got to stay in bar trivia shape.

  …

  Thad has this theory that if the F.B.I. takes no action that means that Anahita, Farhad’s mom, was telling the truth. And that the F.B.I. was grateful to know what had happened, but they wouldn’t interfere.

  For my part, I try not to look at anything about it. I don’t want to know anything. Six hours of questioning is enough. I’m out.

  But people won’t let me stay out.

  Including me. I saw a newspaper article with the headline, “Stolen Ruby Might Have Been Stolen by the Nazis First”. Of course I read it, and it confirmed a number of the details in Anahita’s story.

  Then there was Thad. Thad asked Farhad if Farhad or anyone else at the wedding had been interviewed by the F.B.I. No one had. Thad had said that one of the guests at his wedding might have been involved in a theft.

  Of course Farhad wanted to know which one. Thad just said he didn’t know, but that they had contacted him and me about someone who they wouldn’t name.

  Also, Key hasn’t been contacted by the F.B.I.

  Key!

  I know because he actually got in touch with me. He plans to be in town, my town, for business soon, and we’re going to go out once he gets here.

  I felt terrible. I told him about going to the F.B.I. And I told him that I told the F.B.I. everything, including everything about him.

  He said that’s fine. That was what I should have done.

  He asked me about Anahita. I told him everything that I could think of. I told him that she still has those eyes. That was how I immediately knew it was her.

  He was overjoyed to finally know her name.

  So far everything that I’ve written makes it seem like Anahita was telling the truth. And I believe that she mostly was. But there’s something I haven’t shared yet. I have omitted part of the conversation that I had with her until now.

  After she put those diamonds in my hand, it got awkward. And for some reason I said that I was planning on writing a book about this whole affair.

  I remember that Anahita startled at that, but recovered and said, “And how soon would this book come out?”

  I said, “I don’t know exactly. It’ll probably take me at least a couple of months to write it. Plus, work starts up soon. So it’ll probably take me at least a good four or five months.”

  Anahita looked straight at me and said, “I think you should write and publish that book.”

  I remember staggering out of there, stunned.

  It was strange behavior for someone on a super-secret mission. Too strange.

  I can’t help but believe that she had something that she wanted to achieve with the publication of this book. That I’m being used as a pawn on the international stage.

  And maybe I am the young ingénue. The Jenny Come Lately to this triad of me, her, and Key. And maybe I’m just another in a long line of people who have seen those bewitching eyes and fallen under her spell.

  But, and I know that this term is as loaded as it is ambiguous, but I believe that if I am being used by Anahita…

  I believe that I’m being used for good.

  More Mysteries!

  If you liked this book, please review it on amazon.com, and check out these other mysteries by Jeff Isaacson!

  For Adults (starring Angie)

  Bridge over Icy Water

  For Kids (starring Sarah and Emma):

  It’s a Royal Mess (kindle version only)

  As Much an Art as a Science

  A Music Mystery

  A Championship Mystery

  A Tale of Two Emmas

  About the Author

  Jeff Isaacson is the author of both the Sinister Span Mysteries for adults starring Angie and the Science Mysteries for kids starring Sarah and Emma. He’s also the founder of FS Books. FS Books publishes fun and thoughtful mysteries for readers of all ages with a focus on multicultural mysteries and female sleuths who use their STE(A)M knowledge to crack the case. Ten percent of all profits from the sale of FS Books go to a non-profit supporting girls and women in STE(A)M and in life. You can learn more about the press and view Jeff’s other books at FS Books. Jeff has a B.A. in Psychology from the University of Minnesota and an M.A. in Human Development from Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota. Jeff has worked in social work for the past decade, and he cares deeply about the people that he serves. He enjoys spending time with family and friends, reading, walking, yoga, meditation, and is a huge Gopher sports fan, especially hockey.