Thirteen Diamonds

desk. So did a picture of a woman, who looked wife-like. I looked around for more pictures, but didn't see any.
    Dr. Harrington came bustling in, looking somewhat agitated, sat down on the edge of the desk and said, “Where did you say you were from...Lillian?”
    I hadn't said. “North Carolina.”
    “Is that where you knew Dr. Weiss?”
    “Yes.”
    “I heard that he died. From something very strange. A food allergy, I think.”
    “He was allergic to shellfish. It was a long-time problem. I don't suppose your parents ever mentioned it.”
    “No. But I remember meeting him a few times. I was a teenager when Fiat Money Madness was published. Dad had been working on a book, but I never heard a title. He suffered a stroke just before Fiat Money Madness was published. I dimly remember my mother being very upset about something—not just my Dad's condition—but I was fuzzy about the details at the time. Thinking back, it probably had to do with the book.”
    “What is your mother's name?”
    “Ellen.  Maybe you know her. Do you live at the Silver Acres Retirement Community?”
    “Yes.” There was no point in denying it. “I know an
    Ellen Tooner.”
    “That's her. That's my mom. She remarried after Dad died. Now my stepdad's dead, too, of course.” Dr. Harrington became lost in thought for a minute. “What are you planning to do with the information you found out about my father?”
    “Nothing. I'm just a retired mathematics professor, not an economist. When Benny—Dr. Tokamatsu—told me you were living here in La Jolla I thought you ought to know, if you didn't already. He seemed reluctant to tell you, himself. I guess he was afraid you'd stir up ghosts.”
    Dr. Harrington fingered his mustache. “I suppose I could stir up something. My mother didn't because she was too busy taking care of my father, and probably because she didn't like to cause trouble. But if I brought it up now half the economists in the country would vilify me. I guess I'm like my mother in that respect; I'm living a pretty good life and I don't want it to change.”
    “Dr. Harrington, I'd like to ask you a question that's a little bit off the subject. Do you play bridge?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Did your parents play bridge?”
    “They taught me how to play.”
    “Did they ever play bridge with Gerald Weiss and his wife?”
    “There was a faculty bridge group; they met at our house from time to time. I'm sure Dr. and Mrs. Weiss were part of it.”
    “Gerald—Dr. Weiss—was playing bridge when he died. In fact, now I remember that your mother was sitting at his table. He had just been dealt a very unusual hand—13 diamonds.”
    “Wow! I never had a hand like that.” His surprise seemed genuine.
    “Somebody told me that Dr. Weiss had been dealt 13 diamonds once before. Do you remember your parents ever mentioning that?”
    “No, I don't.”
    I decided to shut up; I was beginning to sound like an interrogator. I thanked Dr. Harrington for his time. He thanked me for telling him about the book. I gathered that this may have supplied a missing piece to his perception of his father's life.
    As I walked out of his office I wondered if his good life was about to change. I liked him and didn't wish him any ill fortune. It occurred to me that I could help to keep it from changing by doing nothing. Perhaps justice had already been served. An eye for an eye.
    Nobody wanted me to be involved, anyway. Albert didn't. Tess didn't. Carol Grant didn't. The ladies of the lunch committee—the former lunch committee—didn’t.  Why not just forget the whole thing?
    Sandra, Winston and Mark impatiently waited for me in the parking lot. We had the rest of the day to enjoy ourselves in Southern California since we weren't flying home until the next day. I resolved to have some fun.

CHAPTER 16
     
    “Okay, Tess, are you ready to review the evidence to date?”
    “Ready when you are.”
    Tess sat on my couch with her yellow pad, her pen poised for writing. We had just returned from our Monday morning water aerobics class and the endorphins flowed in our bodies. Or maybe acid flowed in our stomachs. Tess had decided that I was incorrigible and would never drop the case, so she saw her job as trying to keep me out of trouble. I poured her a cup of coffee, which she promptly smothered with cream and sugar. I poured myself a cup and left it black.
    “Let's start with Gerald's will. First, he left $500,000 to Silver Acres.”
    “A goodly