Thirteen Diamonds

formation.
    I saw her purse on an end table by her couch; it was an obvious place to look but my pass through its contents produced nothing. April headed for the bedroom; Mark checked the closets. Fortunately, the apartments are small enough so they don't have a lot of hiding places. In ten minutes we had pretty much eliminated all of them.
    We met back in the living room, having even covered the kitchen and bathroom. “I guess that's it,” I said, nervously. “We'd better leave.” I went to the door and surveyed the neighborhood; it was still clear.
    “What's that?” April asked, pointing to a trap door in the ceiling.
    “There's a crawl space between the roof and the ceiling,” I explained.
    “Can it be used for storage?” Mark asked.
    “Well, yes, I guess so, but it's difficult to get to, especially for us old folks.”
    “I can reach it standing on this chair,” Mark said, dragging one of the wood-frame dining chairs to a spot underneath the door.
    “No, Mark,” I said, “don't stand on the chair. It looks wobbly. You'll break your neck, or the chair, or both. Besides, you won't be high enough to look into the crawl space.”
    “But the chair is stable enough for Mark to sit on,” April said. “With him providing a solid base I can safely climb onto his shoulders.”
    “What?” I cried. “April, don't!”
    But Mark had already sat in the chair and April took off her shoes and stepped up onto his thighs, with her hands on his shoulders. The bottom of her skirt was about at Mark's eye-level and inches from his face. Didn't girls have any modesty anymore? I hoped she was at least wearing underwear.
    “It's okay,” April said. “I was a cheerleader in high school.”
    That explained some things.
    “Grab my ankles,” April said to Mark, who had already done so, partly in self-defense. “When I count to three lift me up onto your shoulders.”
    Just like that. But Mark was big and strong and April probably didn't weigh more than 110 pounds. April helped by simultaneously pushing off with her feet against Mark's thighs and her hands against his shoulders. Of course Mark had to look up as he raised her above his head and I didn't want to know what he saw.
    April couldn't stand up all the way because the ceiling intervened, but she managed to raise the door to the crawl space and then stand up, with her head above the ceiling.
    As she stood in this precarious position, she lowered her head and said, “It's dark up there. I saw a flashlight in the headboard of the bed.”
    There's nothing like planning ahead. “I'll get it,” I said, moving as fast as I could toward the bedroom. I didn't want this gymnastics exhibition to continue any longer than necessary. I returned and handed the flashlight to April, whose head disappeared into the crawl space.
    Mark looked as if he was enjoying the situation; he adjusted his body to April's weight changes as she turned to look around her, and glanced up to check her...uh, stability.
    After far too long a time for my mental and physical health, April lowered her head and said in a disappointed voice, “There's nothing up here except dust.”
    She handed me the flashlight and replaced the door. When she ducked her head below the ceiling she slipped and came down off Mark's shoulders. Mark lost his grip on her ankles and his hands slid up her legs and underneath her skirt as he tried to get a hold, while she fell into his lap.
    Her momentum carried them both off the chair and onto the floor, with Mark on top. April hit with a resounding thud. I gasped and feared the worst for her, but after the shock of the impact wore off, she laughed! Mark seemed to be all right, too. He slowly disentangled himself from her.
    April was wearing panties, but they were so skimpy that I wondered why she bothered. She had a tattoo on her upper thigh; I couldn't make out what it was.
    As she raised her head to get up, she said, “There's something under the couch.” She crawled over to it, reached out her hand and retrieved a deck of cards. She triumphantly handed it to me and said, “See, it was worth it.”
    “Is that the deck?” Mark asked.
    “It looks like the ones we play with,” I said, after a quick inspection. “I'll check with Wesley to make sure.”
    “But even if it is, that's only circumstantial evidence. She might have bought those cards herself.”
    “But Wesley buys his at a mail-order house, and I suspect the odds of anybody else doing that here at