Thirteen Diamonds

secretly, that you reversed yourself by saying that there might not have been a murder after all.”
    “I didn't want Dora to get her guard up,” I said. “Isn't that what real detectives do—disarm their suspects? But it does sound suspicious, doesn't it?”
    “Yes, but Dora isn't really a suspect, is she? She did try to save Gerald. And she told us she didn't know about Gerald's problem or the shellfish.”
    “That's true. But she is a member of the lunch committee.  As far as I'm concerned, they're all guilty until proven innocent. And you have to overcome your gullibility, Tess. Don't believe everything you hear.”
    “Then we need to talk to the other members of the lunch committee.”
    “Now you're getting the hang of it. I seem to remember that you're on another committee with Harriet—the Housekeeping Committee, isn't it?”
    “Your memory isn't as bad as you let on.”
    “Don't be too sure. They say that that giant bird, the emu has such a small brain that it can't remember from one day to the next what the world is like. Each morning is a surprise to it.  Lately, each morning has been a surprise to me, too.”
    Tess didn't comment, so I said, “Since you know Harriet better than I do, invite her to have dinner with us some night.”
    “And what are you going to do—if you can remember.”
    “Well, I'm in the croquet tournament. And Ellen is on the team we play next. I need to schedule a match with her, anyway, so I'll work on that. Although scheduling these matches, even with only four people involved is so difficult, we might as well live at the far corners of the earth, instead of just around the corner from each other. You wouldn't think retired people would be so busy.”
    “And when are we going to talk to Ida?”
    “She walks her dog each morning, just as I do. Sometimes I run into her.”
     
                       *    *    *
     
    It was traditional to have a memorial service in the Silver Acres auditorium for a resident who had died. Gerald's was Monday afternoon. Tess and I went, as did all the other members of the bridge club, as nearly as I could tell. Quite a few people were there.  Several got up and said kind words about the deceased, which I'm sure made Gerald's spirit happy. Harriet and Ida were not among them. Those two sat at some distance from each other, in black dresses, and silently observed the proceedings. I didn't learn anything of value at the service.

CHAPTER 5
     
    On Tuesday, I drove a mile to the local shopping center to buy groceries for the week. Although I ate dinners in the Silver Acres dining room, I prepared my own breakfast and lunch. As I pushed my cart through the aisles of the supermarket I passed the seafood counter. I checked for shellfish, and sure enough, crab legs were on sale. If the sale had been in effect the week before, the murderer must have gotten a deal.
    After I returned to my apartment and put my groceries away I walked to the main building to collect my mail from my mailbox. I stopped at the Silver Acres library, which volunteers had stocked with donations from the residents.
    Out of curiosity, I checked the primitive card catalog and soon found a listing for Gerald's book , Fiat Money Madness , subtitled, Government Printing Presses and World Financial Chaos . I pulled the book off the shelf and went over to the desk where Sylvia, the volunteer director of the library was busily doing whatever librarians do.
    After saying hello to her, I said, “Have you read this book by Gerald Weiss?”
    Sylvia took the book from me and said, “Oh, he's the man who just died, isn't he? I heard he choked to death or something like that. It sounds grisly.” She looked at the book cover. “I'm afraid this sort of thing isn't up my alley. Give me a good mystery, anytime.”
    I considered saying something about grisly mysteries, but decided against it. I checked Gerald's book out, along with a book about food allergies. I wondered whether I would be able to understand Gerald's book, but when I started to read it I found the concepts not difficult, especially with my mathematical background. The premise seemed to be that currencies backed by nothing but government promises became worthless when those promises weren't kept. That certainly had been the case in half-a-dozen third-world countries, recently.
    Could that sort of thing happen in the United States? I remembered the late 1970s when inflation had soared out of control,