Priced to Move

by Ginny Aiken

  “It’s not a battle, Andie,” Max says. “We all want what’s best for the show. You just happen to take yourself too seriously.”

  Eeuw! Who wants that? “Okay. Fine. Ya’ll think I’m the problem here. And maybe I do need to think about what you’ve said, but it’s so not fair. I can’t think while you’re all ganging up on me.”

  “Go home,” Miss Mona says, her voice gentle. “Think about the shows you’ve done. Think about what we’ve said. Think about what you really want—for the show and yourself, and pray. Then come back and we can talk it all through.”

  Do they think I can think about anything else? “You got it. It probably is for the best if I go. My head’s spinning and it’s all made me queasy—”

  “Out!” a man calls from the hall. “Gas company here. There’s a leak in the building. I need everybody out. And don’t go crazy on me and panic now.”

  I, of course, freeze.

  Aunt Weeby clump-clumps past me. “C’mon, sugarplum. Let’s get to getting.”

  Miss Mona hugs her small office safe to her chest, and hurries out.

  Max says, “Move, Andie.”

  But I can’t move. A gas leak. How can that be? Gas leaks don’t happen out of the blue.

  Then big hands clasp my shoulders. “Andie?” Max says. “Are you okay? Did you hear we have to leave?”

  I nod in slow motion, but still can’t make my feet work.

  So Max takes action.

  He scoops me up in his arms and heads out the door.

  I let out a weak excuse for a shriek. Worse, I can’t bring myself to fight him. Instead, I give up to the dizziness, lean my head against his shoulder, and let his strength work for both of us.

  You know I’m scared. More scared than even when bullets came flying at us in Myanmar. And let me tell you, that was scary.

  Even when we get out into the fresh air, I can’t shake the certainty that this is no accident. This gas leak is part of something bigger, part of everything that’s gone really wrong.

  It’s part of the murder.

  And the rubies sit front and center of it all.

  Not just any rubies either. It’s all about that missing parcel of multimillion-dollar Burmese rubies.

  No one’s had to tell me.

  It all adds up.

  1600

  When I open my eyes, all I see is putrid green walls. Something sharp and detergenty irritates my nostrils. And I feel so bad, I figure I must’ve lost a close encounter of the steamroller kind.

  Last thing I remember is fleeing from Miss Mona’s office in Max’s arms. Just the thought of it tears me in two. I mean, most girls dream of a knight in a shining business suit who swoops them into his arms and whisks them off into the sunset.

  On the other hand, it was Max who did the swooping.

  Not exactly the stuff of my dreams. No, really. He’s gorgeous, but . . . oh, I don’t know. Something about him makes me throw up an incoming missile defense shield. Know what I mean?

  I open my eyes again, wider this time. When they focus, I see I’m in a hospital. And then the memory of the gas leak thwaps me between the brows.

  That would explain why I’d felt lightheaded and queasy in Miss Mona’s office. I’d blamed it on the snarling fight on screen with Max followed by the gang-up-on-Andie moment, but now I know that wasn’t the cause. I’ve always been sensitive to smells and fumes. Nothing’s worse than gas fumes. They don’t just stink; they can kill.

  “Oh no!” Is everyone else okay? Did anyone succumb to the fumes?

  My heart begins to pound. I fight the sheet over my body. I realize I’m tethered to an IV fluids pump, which makes my efforts nearly futile. I wriggle. I twist. I find the nurses’ call button and give it a healthy push.

  I have to make sure everyone else at the studio got out okay.

  A middle-aged woman with dark hair in a ponytail walks in. “Well, hello there! I’m Wilma, your day nurse. It’s good to see you awake.”

  “Is—” My dry throat catches my question on its way out, but I push through the discomfort and make myself try again. “Are the others okay?”

  “Everyone’s fine.” She pushes a button on the side rail of the bed.

  My head goes up. The world takes a whirl. “Wow!”

  “You still woozy?”

  No joke. “How long will it last?”

  “Not much longer. The doctor gave you a mild sedative so you would rest. You had a little trouble breathing, but after you got some oxygen that was fine. You, on the other hand, weren’t taking this all too well.”

  Uh-oh. “What does that mean?”

  She chuckles. “Let’s just say you’re not the easiest of patients.”

  I blush. Half of me wants to know the ugly truth, while the other half wants to hide under the covers. The braver half wins. “What did I do?”

  “Oh, you just fought like a wildcat when we tried to start your IV, you didn’t want to have your pulse taken, you didn’t much care for the nasal cannulas the doctor put in your nostrils for that oxygen you needed, and you kept calling everyone a dunce.”

  Groan. “You were right. I really didn’t want to hear all that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Max says from the door.

  I groan again.

  He laughs. “It was all in character. You behaved just like you always do. You were stubborn, snippy, cranky, and you called everyone names.”

  I slink down in the bed but keep my eyes just above the edge of the crisp white sheet. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

  Smirking—again—he crosses his arms. “Would you if you were in my place?”

  The sheet I now pull over my head does nothing to block out his question. “I’d like to think I’d be . . . oh, magnani-mous—”

  His whooping laughs cut me off. “Yeah, right,” he says. “The woman who tried to get me fired because I’m not a gem geek like her now wants me to believe she’d be generous when catching me at my worst.”

  My cheeks burn hotter than jalapeños on nachos. Lord? Do I have to eat crow? Can’t I just let this blow by?

  God doesn’t answer, but I feel worse by the second. I guess I know the answer.

  “Okay, Max. You win. I’ve been a brat. I sorta knew it when

  I was giving you grief, but I didn’t want to see beyond my idea of what a gem show host should be.”

  He doesn’t respond. I peek out from under my sheet. And groan. Again.

  In my best, überpolite voice, I ask, “Do you think you could wipe off that smirk? I did give you what you wanted. My apology should work, plus I admitted I’ve been a pain . . . for too long.”

  He grins. “At the risk of raising your hackles again, you’re cute when your own behavior backs you into a corner.”

  “You really know how to kick a woman when she’s down.”

  A knock at the door keeps him from answering. In walks Chief Clark. Where’s that sedative when a girl can really use it? My day can’t get much worse. I hope.

  “Miss Andie.” That drawl is getting to me. “I’m right sorry you were hurt by the gas leak at the studio. How’re you feeling?”

  I blink. I don’t expect kindness from the chief. “I figure I’ll live so you can suspect me some more.”

  Max does the groaning this time. “I think we can safely assume she’s going to be fine. That mouth of hers is working overtime again.”

  The chief arches a brow. “And why should I be so suspicious of you, Miss Andie?”

  Remember my red hair? Well, my temper’s flaring just that bright. “Give me a break. I’m not dumb. You’ve had me in your crosshairs since Mr. Pak turned up dead in the vault.”

  He leans against the sickly green wall, sticks his hands in his pockets, and crosses one ankle over the other. “Can you look at it from my end? I have me a dead foreigner in my jurisdiction. He brought a fancy invite for a woman to visit a country our country doesn’t do business with, and then he dies when he gets to where she
works. Don’t you think I’m going to have a passel of questions for that woman?”

  “Questions are reasonable,” I say. “But suspicion? That’s a whole ’nother thing, sir.”

  “Not if you haven’t given me any good answers. You haven’t. And I’ve asked for ’em.”

  “Ahem!”

  The chief and I turn to Max.

  “I hate to have to agree with Andie, but on this one, sir, I think she has a point. She didn’t know this man was coming to see her. I believe her. Especially after we were shot at when we were in Myanmar.”

  “I heard all about that.” He eases upright, takes a few steps to the room’s window, then faces me again. “But that’s no evidence of innocence. There’s always trouble between crooks, you know. When one tries to rip off another . . . well, things go bad more often than not.”

  With my unshackled fist, I shove myself up on the bed. I stare at the chief until he meets my gaze. Then, between gritted teeth, I say, “I didn’t steal anything. I don’t have anything of Mr. Pak’s—except that loudmouth bird. And even you say there’s no contraband in its innards. So what would I know about anything?”

  “Y’see, Miss Andie. It’s like this. I have no idea what you did with the bird’s . . . er . . . poop when you first got him. How am I supposed to know you didn’t find something . . . um . . . coming out that other end?”

  “Probably because I didn’t clean Rio’s cage. Aunt Weeby told you she’s fallen head over heels over that dumb fowl, and she’s taken care of him from day one. Are you going to suspect Aunt Weeby of international intrigue?”

  Even Chief Clark sees the idiocy in that idea. He smiles. “’Fraid you do have another point there. Miz Weeby’s the last woman I’d suspect of committing a crime. She’d be more’n likely to nab a crook and drag him by the ear to confess at church.”

  “And what makes you think I’d be any different?”

  “I can’t see you yanking anyone anywhere by the ear.”

  “Donald Clark!” the ear nabber herself chides as she walks in. “What are you thinking, badgering this poor child? Wait’ll I tell her daddy how you’re treating his little girl.”

  “She’s not a little girl, and this has nothing to do with your brother.”

  “Sure, it does. Your best buddy growing up’s not going to take it too well when I tell him what you’ve been up to.”

  I goggle. “No way. You mean my father likes him?”

  Max’s laugh snorts out.

  Aunt Weeby chuckles.

  Chief Clark frowns. “We swap letters at least once a month, Miss Andie, so I’d have to say he does like me. At least a little.”

  I plop back on my pillows. “How come I don’t remember ever meeting you before?”

  Another “ahem” draws everyone’s attention to Max. “Can we get back to what really matters here?”

  “And what would that be?” the chief asks.

  “I’d think the topic of the moment has to be the gas leak at the studio.”

  The chief juts his jaw. “What do you want to know about it?”

  “Everything,” I say.

  “How did it start?” Max asks.

  “Did anyone croak?” Aunt Weeby, of course.

  “Well . . .” The chief’s reluctance stinks like last week’s leftovers. “I think you can all figure out for yourselves that it’s no accident, since I’m here.”

  The breath whooshes out of me. I’d known it, but just like that gut feeling I’ve had for a while about the missing Burmese rubies, I hadn’t wanted to accept it. “Go on.”

  “Sally Thomas called the gas company. They called me and said she told ’em that something smelled funny, and that she didn’t know where Miss Mona was right then. They told me she was all apologetic about bothering them and all, but they thought it best to go check things out. And they did. So did I. Lucky for all you all.”

  “What did you learn?” Max asks.

  “There’s evidence of tampering with the gas line into the studio. And then someone messed with the valves that control the flow of the gas inside.”

  I shudder. “I guess we do need to ask Aunt Weeby’s gory question. Was anyone . . . killed because of the leak?”

  “No, but two other employees are here under observation. Just like you.”

  My curiosity raises its head. “Any reason why some are just fine and others of us aren’t?”

  “I’ve been listening to the three of you all this while,”

  Wilma, the nurse, says. “Y’all are fascinating. But I didn’t have anything to add to what you’ve said up to now. Now, I do. Have something to say, that is. Some folks are just more sensitive to any particular toxic substance than others. It seems you’re more sensitive to natural gas than these two here.”

  “Figures,” I mutter.

  “Is that all you learned?” Aunt Weeby asks. “In all this time? What were you and your boys doing, Donald? Playing Barbie’s gone to Malibu with those stupid Capri things Mona ordered for Danni’s show?”

  The chief, Barbie dolls, and Danni’s spandex Capris in one sentence is too much for me. I howl. And then my sore throat makes me hack.

  Chief Clark does not approve. “No, Miz Weeby, I weren’t playing dress-up and neither were my men. We went over that there building of Mona Latimer’s inch by inch. And, if you really want to know, we found plenty.”

  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 stol
e 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.”