Free Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) by Suzi Weinert Page B

No, she couldn’t abandon Heba.
    And what of this visitor? For years Mahmud told her if Middle-Eastern visitors arrived his culture expected him to open his home to them. But in twenty-four years no visitor came until now. Who was he and why was he here? And what about his obvious interest in Khadija?
    “Ummi, are you okay?” Safia asked her mommy.
    “Yes, fine, Safia. I’m just thinking about lots of things. I bet you do that sometimes, too.”
    “Yes.” The child bubbled with smiles. “Right now I’m thinking about garage sales tomorrow. See these signs on all the streets in our neighborhood? Could we give a garage sale at our house, too?”
    “Your father would not allow it.” They drove in silence as each considered this. Having no money of her own forced Zayneb to beg her husband for every household penny. Besides controlling her spending, he reveled in interrogating and humbling her in this way.
    Though she couldn’t conduct her own sale, Zayneb made a plan with Roshan who lived next door. Originally from India, Roshan and her husband had settled in this neighborhood thirty years earlier. Zayneb’s parents befriended them the first day and, over time, became close. When Roshan’s husband died suddenly a few years later, they encouraged her to stay in McLean, which she did. “Auntie Roshan” took then twelve-year-old Zayneb under her grandmotherly wing. Years later, she continued this loving role with Zayneb’s children—to Mahmud’s vocal consternation.
    In her British-Indian accent, Roshan told Zayneb, “For the garage sale you gather clothes that don’t fit, books and toys your children don’t want and household things you don’t use. Three-times good luck to get rid of things—to clean out the old, get money to buy new things and to recycle.” Zayneb smuggled over many items Auntie next door would sell for her tomorrow.
    “Could I also bake for the sale?” Zayneb asked. Roshan agreed with delight. So, while ostensibly baking for her family, she quintupled recipes, packaged cookies in Ziploc bags, tied each with ribbons from a spool Roshan gave her and spirited them next door.
    As she drove, Zayneb reflected on recent events. Ahmed arrived yesterday, on Thursday afternoon. At breakfast today, her husband said they would be gone much of the day. Her husband never told her when he’d return—to keep her waiting, ever anticipating his arrival. While she helped this morning at Safia’s school, she asked Heba to search through the house for saleable items no longer used. Back home at noon, she saw the woman had gathered a few more things, including the box of toys from Safia’s old room, now occupied by Ahmed. Zayneb priced the toys and hustled them to Roshan before her husband returned. The sale began tomorrow at 9:00.
    18
    Friday, 8:58 AM
    “We arrive in two minutes; prepare the door.” Mahmud spoke into a cell phone. As they approached the warehouse, the automatic garage door lifted to admit them. The others had parked elsewhere in the vicinity and walked to the meeting place.
    Embedded in the U.S. for so many years, the men Ahmed met today chafed for action. Mahmud opened the door into the office. “This is our honored guest, Ahmed, and I am Mahmud.” Abdul identified himself and welcomed them to his humble business facility.
    “Come,” Abdul bowed slightly and, with a graceful wave of an outstretched arm, indicated the direction they should go. Folding chairs formed a circle in the next room.
    Eight men stood respectfully as Ahmed entered the warehouse main room with Mahmud and Abdul. Shades covered all main-floor windows to insure privacy; industrial fluorescent lights bathed the room in harsh commercial light.
    “Salaam Alaikum.” Ahmed pronounced the traditional greeting.
    “Alaikum Salaam,” they responded.
    Abdul indicated the prominent chair for Ahmed. When he sat, so did the others. The group shared enough Arabic to read the Quran but due to their differing dialects,