Thirteen Diamonds

the row of two, leaving 1, 3, 1.
    Now my formula didn't work anymore. Had I blown it? Then I remembered. The formula allowed me to remove the last toothpick, not force my opponent to do it. There was a twist at the end. I had to use pure logic now. I removed two from the three row, leaving 1, 1, 1. I had Mark beaten and he knew it. He looked crestfallen.
    “I forgot to tell you that my grandmother used to be a mathematics professor,” Sandra said, not unkindly.
    “That explains it,” Mark said, perking up. “I owe you a round.”
    “And an answer to my question,” I said, quickly.
    “Okay, shoot.”
    “Actually, two questions. What did you take to Silver Acres and who did you deliver it to?”
    I was surprising him all over the place. He started to say something, stopped, then said, “It was an order of Maine lobster—we have it flown in. And...I don't know the name of the woman I delivered it to. I had an extension to call...”
    “Do you remember it?”
    Mark shrugged.  “No.”
    “Would there be a record of it here?”
    He shook his head. “Our phone order-taking system is pretty haphazard.”
    “Where did you deliver it?”
    “In the front parking lot. The woman came out from one of the side doors, not the main entrance. She wore dark glasses and a sun hat. She gave me a nice tip.”
    “Would you know her if you saw her again?”
    “I'm afraid not.”
    “What if I showed you pictures?”
    “I'm sorry. All of you...” he chuckled, “look alike to me.”
    “Thanks a lot.” I was discouraged, but tried one more time. “No distinguishing characteristics: height, weight?”
    Mark shook his head repeatedly. “What is this all about?”
    “There is a clause in the Silver Acres contract that restricts residency to people who don't eat Maine lobster. My job is to ferret out the violators.”
    Before Mark could react to that, Sandra said, “How about that other round of beer you owe us?”

CHAPTER 9
     
    Saturday morning I got a call from a woman named Hazel. She was a member of the bridge club, but she didn't come all the time. I had a vague association of a face with that name. My memory wasn't good enough to connect names with the faces of all the people I saw occasionally.
    Hazel said she had some information for me and that she couldn't tell me about it over the phone. She sounded very mysterious. She didn't want to meet at her apartment or my apartment, either, so I agreed to meet her outdoors beside the duck pond. Didn't Howard Hughes used to meet people at midnight in cemeteries? At least this meeting wasn't that clandestine. The duck pond had one permanent resident, named Louie, who couldn't fly. The other ducks summered somewhere north of us, but in the fall and spring flocks would stop here for a few hours or a few days on their way to wherever it is that ducks migrate.
    Wooden benches with metal frames faced the duck pond, where residents could sit and wait for the ducks to come. I recognized Hazel when I saw her; she was already seated on one of the benches. I sat down on the same bench, but not too close to her, as she had instructed me over the phone. She looked small and furtive.
    She looked around before she spoke, apparently checking for spies. The only potential spy I saw, other than Louie, was a squirrel who might be wired for sound, but I didn't voice this thought, fearing that Hazel might take it seriously.
    Finally, she said, “It's about Ida Wilson.”
    “What about Ida?” I asked when she lapsed into silence.
    “I take a walk every morning when the weather's good. I pass Ida's apartment.”
    Hazel looked at me as if that had great significance. I didn't remember passing her in the morning. She must be one of the clockwise walkers, also. I said, “Ida goes for a walk every morning too. She walks her dog.”
    “But I start before she does. When I pass her place her light is on, but she's still there.”
    She became silent again. I wanted to tell her to spit out whatever she was trying to tell me, but she was busy looking over her shoulder.
    Satisfied that nobody threatened our privacy, she said, “Several weeks ago I saw somebody else through her kitchen window on two different days.”
    “Who did you see?”
    “I saw a man, but I didn't recognize him for sure. I was surprised, of course, but I figured that Ida could have whoever she wanted in her apartment, so I didn't think anything more of it.” She gave me a crafty look.
    I said, “I think who she has in