Sweetie's Diamonds (24 page)

Diane stormed into the dealership and didn't bother to say hello to the various salesmen and staff who could see and hear everything in the store.
 
She found David in one of the offices.
 

“Hi mom,” he said.
 

She saw the bruise on his face and immediately went to him.
 

“Honey, are you all right?
 
What happened?”
 
When she put her arms around him, David squirmed away.
 

“Nothing.
 
I'm okay.”
 

“What happened at school?” she demanded to know.

“Matt Shamrock and I got into a fight.
 
He hit me and I guess I got knocked out for a few seconds.
 
I hit him back good, though.”

“Oh, David.”
 
She looked up and saw Greg.
 
“
You
, mister, have got a lot of nerve!”

“Keep your voice down, Diane,” he said.
 
“Everyone is watching.”

“I don't give a damn what they see.
 
They should know what a
prick
you are!
 
You are
never
going to get custody of my son, Greg.
 
Never
.
 
I'll
kill
you if you go through with this, I swear it!
 
Let's go, David.”

David gathered his school things and left with his mother.
 
He and his father exchanged looks and Greg said, “We'll talk soon, son.”
 
The rest of the employees stood gawking and David couldn't blame them.
 
He had never seen his mother so angry before.
 

After the Honda drove away, Greg Boston apologized for his ex-wife's behavior and told his staff to get back to work.
 
He shut himself in his office and tried to finish the work he had to do.
 

He was the last one out of the dealership at nine-thirty, long after the place had closed.
 
Greg knew he wasn't about to get any more done that night so he might as well head home.
 
After locking up, he got into his Jaguar XK8—one of the perks of owning a Ford dealership—and drove the eight miles to the other side of Lincoln Grove, where he rented a small house.
 
When he moved out of the family home Greg spent a few nights with Tina, his secretary.
 
He had been seeing her before the separation, an on-again, off-again affair that had been going on for three years.
 
Tina's cousin owned the house and he was happy to rent it.
 
He had never been sure if Diane knew about the affair.
 

Greg pulled into the driveway, got out, and locked the Jaguar.
 
He walked in the moonlight to the front porch, jingling his set of keys.
 
Greg liked the fact that the house had a wooden porch with a railing.
 
There was also a porch swing, an item he thought would be nice to sit on with a new girlfriend.
 
To date that hadn't happened.
 
Tina had never come over since he was in the house and there certainly weren't any new girlfriends.

As he stepped onto the porch, Greg thought he smelled tobacco, the same odor that permeated the area behind the dealership where some of the salesmen had their cigarette breaks.
 

Odd
, he thought.
 
Who could have been smoking on my porch?

He put the key in the door, turned it, and was startled by the flick of a cigarette lighter over by the porch swing.
 
A man was sitting there in the dark.
 

“Hey!” Greg said.
 
“Who the fuck are you?
 
What are you doing on my porch?”

The man lit his cigarette and shut the lighter.
 
He stood and the swing creaked on its chains.
 

“Greg Boston?”

Greg attempted to peer through the darkness to see who it was.
 
“Yeah?
 
Who's there?”

Emo Tuff was a good six inches taller than Greg Boston was.
 
When the man with the eye patch moved closer, Greg could make out that this was one scary-looking dude.

“Where's your wife?” the man asked.

“My wife?”
 

“Diane Boston.”

Greg felt a shiver of fear but he managed to speak with bravado.
 
“Get out of here before I call the cops.”
 
He continued to unlock and open the front door, which was perhaps the biggest mistake of his life.
 
He stepped inside and said again, “Go on, get out of here.”

“Directory assistance said I could find Mrs. Greg Boston here,” the man said.
 

“Well it was wrong.
 
I live alone.
 
We're divorced.
 
Her number isn't listed,” Greg said.
 
“Good night.”
 

He started to close the door, but Emo Tuff's boot prevented him from doing so.
 

“What the—” Greg started to say but the man with the long blonde hair shoved the door open and stepped inside.

D
iane spent most of the next day alone with her thoughts while David was at school.
 
He had shown no ill effects from his encounter with Matt Shamrock and appeared to be fine at breakfast.
 
After he had left, Diane didn't really know what to do with herself.
 
She was a creature of habit and routine.
 

Who was taking over her classes
? she wondered.
 
Would her students miss her?
 

Perhaps it was time to begin thinking about something else to do with her life.
 
She really didn't want to leave Illinois.
 
She couldn't abandon her sister.
 
There was no one else who could take care of her and keep her alive.
 

That was the other question…
should
she keep her sister alive?
 
After all this time her sister had shown no sign of gaining consciousness.
 
Diane couldn't bear the thought of giving an order to kill her but perhaps it was time to do so.
 
She just didn't know.
 
It went against everything she stood for.
 

By mid afternoon, David had come home and was busy with his homework.
 
Diane decided to take the drive downtown and get rid of the three diamonds she had in her possession.
 
She also needed to ask Mr. Rabinowitz about the possibility of doing business long-distance in case she had to leave the state.
 

Diane took the Edens Expressway, merged into the Kennedy, and slowly made her way into northwest Chicago.
 
Traffic was always dense, especially as the day approached rush hour.
 
Diane cursed herself for not going sooner—the round trip was going to take longer than she had planned.
 

After exiting at Diversey, Diane went a few blocks east until she came to Lincoln Avenue.
 
She got lucky and found a metered parking space a block down from A-1 Fine Jewelry.
 
Diane locked the Honda, walked toward the shop, and noticed that a police car was parked in front.
 
When she got closer she saw the yellow tape across the storefront.
 

Full of apprehension, Diane peered through the display windows to see inside.
 
There were three men—a uniformed policeman, a fellow who appeared to be a plainclothes detective, and another man who looked like a hippie.
 
This third man was very hirsute with long Christ-like hair and a beard.
 
He was dressed in shabby clothing that might have been recently picked up at a flea market.
 
He looked clean, though, so that eliminated the possibility that he was a street person.
 
So far the men hadn't noticed her in the window.
 
Should she knock?
 
What had happened here?

A fourth person came out of the back room and joined the others.
 
He was younger, a man in his twenties.
 
He wore a suit and a
yarmulke
.
 
Possibly a relative?
 

The young man saw her and said something to the others.
 
The uniformed policeman turned and came outside.
 

“Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked.

“Is Mister Rabinowitz here?” Diane asked.
 

“Are you a relative?” the policeman inquired.

“No.”

“A friend?”

“Well, sort of.
 
I've known him a long time.
 
I'm a regular customer.”

“I see.
 
I'm afraid I have some bad news.
 
Mister Rabinowitz was found dead this morning.”

“Oh dear!”
 
Diane suddenly wanted to cry.
 
She really liked the old guy.
 
“What happened?”

“Would you like to talk to his nephew?
 
He just got here from New York.”

“Well, sure.”

The policeman went back inside and after a moment the young man with the
yarmulke
came out.

“Hello, I'm Julius Rabinowitz.”

“Hi.”
 
She suddenly realized that she had never given the old man her real name.
 
“I'm Suzie Thomas,” she said.
 
It was the first thing that popped into her head.
 

“Can I help you?”

“The officer just told me about… your uncle, was he?”

“Yes.”
 
The young man seemed to be in a quiet state of shock but he had his wits about him.
 

“I guess you could say I'm a long time customer.
 
What happened?”

“My uncle was murdered last night,” the young Rabinowitz said.
 

“Oh my God!”
 
She took a moment to compose herself and asked, “Was it a robbery?”

“No.
 
It doesn't appear so.
 
The killer didn't take a thing.
 
He just slit my uncle's throat and left.”

Slit his throat
?
 

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Diane said.
 

“The killer killed him just like he did my father a few days ago.”

“Your father?”

“He ran the jewelry shop in Manhattan,” Rabinowitz said.
 

“Oh, yes.
 
You mean, they were both murdered?”

The young man nodded grimly.
 
“By the same person or persons, so it seems.
 
I can't understand who would do something like this.
 
Two old men who wouldn't hurt a fly.
 
The police think they may have made a bad business deal.”

A slit throat?
 
That reminded Diane of something from the past.
 
It couldn't be him, could it?
 
Had he found her?

“I'm so sorry to hear this, I really am,” she said.
 
“Is there any other family besides you?”

The young man shrugged.
 
“Just me and my sisters.
 
My uncle didn't have children.
 
None of us are in the same trade as my father and uncle.
 
I'm a banker.”