Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 01 - A Brilliant Plan by Alex Ames Page A

hard?” Mundy was asking with mouth full. Jennifer playfully hit him in the ribs.
    “Some eighteenth century jewelry got stolen, nothing spectacular, around 500K value.”
    “In the news, they said that they are baffled how the murderer had gotten into the safe.”
    “Yeah, it is an impressive construction. A whole floor turned into a safe, plenty of electronics.”

    The most chaotic moment of the Thanksgiving dinner was the moment when Mom declared the choices for desert. Jennifer and Keith had been under the impression that the salad and vegetables were a mere starter and that the turkey entree was about to come. The wailing and crying were so loud that Mom gave in, went over to the Kozlowski’s and begged for some slices of leftover meat.  
    Mom sat through the rest of the dinner with arms folded, looking disapprovingly at the children wolfing down cold roasted turkey.
    “Mom, look at it from the light side. At least the meat is kosher,” I said to cheer her up.
    Mundy got Sunny into a discussion about law ethics in America and Dad and I played a round of softball with Keith while Jen and Mom did the kitchen. Almost a real family. And for the first time on this trip, I felt content.  
    The calm before the storm.

Chapter 11

    SATURDAY I GOT up early to burn some of the extra calories I had collected over the Thanksgiving holiday. I ran three miles in the nearby park, did some stretches to keep me elastic and ended with some fast kickboxing moves against an innocent tree.  
    During the final run back to my car, I made a stop at a non-descript phone booth. Using an anonymous long distance calling card that was only used once and for this call only, I made a call to Philadelphia. With three hours ahead, Yehova Feingold had just opened his shop on Philly’s jewelers’ row, near the old town district. His creaky old voice took the call and I said, “Hello Uncle Yehova, it is Sarah speaking.”
    He didn’t hesitate. “Sarah, my good child, how are you? Happy Thanksgiving.”
    After a few non-relevant pleasantries, I said, “By the way, Uncle Yehova, I came across some silver chandeliers with engravings. Would you be interested?” Anything to do with light was our code name for diamonds and any latter modification like ‘engraved’ meant ‘cut.’  
    I immediately knew that something was wrong because he didn’t ask me how many chandeliers I had to offer. Instead, there was a second of silence.
    “Yehova?”
    “Dear child, dear Sarah.” Yehova was stalling, trying to find a way to say ‘no.’ A complete novelty. “Are they a recent acquisition of yours?”
    “I got them a few days ago and I immediately thought of you.”
    “My child, I am afraid I have no use for them at the moment.”
    “Uncle, what is the matter? Is family coming over from Europe?” ‘Family’ was the code word for police.
    Stalling, Yehova blew his nose. “You know… my mother told me not to buy any new stuff right now.”
    His mother, who was his mother? That code didn’t exist. I decided to blow the spy talk. “Whose mother? Not yours, Uncle, you are close to 75.”
    “No, the mother of the, eh, East. In a literal sense.”
    Mother of the East? What did he mean? Who the heck? A mother was an authority figure, some kind of politician? Uh… oh… things were beginning to dawn on me. I dropped the handset of the phone, did a few steps back and began to kick a nearby trashcan with all my might. It fell over and spilled paper, trash and a fat rat that took off toward the next rain gutter. I picked up the phone again.  
    “Nothing you could do? Make an exception for a little girl?”
    There was another silence, and then he hung up, kind of an apologetic gesture.  
    Shit. I kicked the trashcan again. Hurt my big toe. Did a little scream and dance. Everything coming down on me. Continued to jog back home.
    Yehova Feingold was my main contact for getting rid of my stolen goods. To this point, we had always had a good and