The Persian Helmet
Chapter 16: Debriefing
Afterward Clare picked up a bottle of wine and went over to Roxy’s apartment.
“So how was your day?” Roxy asked.
Clare told her.
“But don’t write anything about this. I have a feeling there might be more of a story in the future, but meanwhile, Jennifer Ebrahim just wants to be left alone.”
“All right.”
“I’d like to talk to her again before I go back to Greenline tomorrow, but I don’t suppose she’d want to. I did give her my phone number and e-mail and so on. Hope Ali doesn’t get a hold of it. She sounds like she’s pretty careful around him, though.”
“Maybe she’ll call you.”
“I was just about to ask her how her husband died when Ali came roaring in.”
“Yeah, I wonder. He couldn’t have been very old. I mean, he could have been, but they went to college together, right?”
“Yes. There must have been an obit in the Beacon-Journal when he died. He was a businessman here.”
“Let’s look online.”
They did find Mohammed Ebrahim’s obituary, but it was very brief, merely reporting that he had died on a business trip to Iran, where he was born and where he still had family.
“Huh. Doesn’t say if he was sick or anything. Of course they might not have gotten a full report from Iran, but it looks like Mrs. E didn’t want to put much info in the paper.”
“I really want to talk to her again, but I’ll wait. If I don’t hear from her in a couple of weeks, I’ll write to her again. Apparently she gets the mail before Ali does. Maybe he’s not home much. He might intercept her mail, especially from Greenline.”
“Do you think he recognized you at Starbucks?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe when he saw me in the helmet in Greenline he was mesmerized by the candles and didn’t look at my face. And he always seems to be running away. In this case he was running toward me, toward both of us actually, but probably he just saw his mom, and that man grabbed him pretty quick. It was all so fast.”
“Well, just be careful. Make sure you get that alarm system installed in your house.”
“Sure. By the way, isn’t Monday big item trash pickup day again?”
“Oh come on! Are you kidding?”
“Come on, let’s ride around town and check it out, before the sun goes down and before we drink this wine. My mom’s going to give me some things to take home tomorrow for The Cellar.”
“Oh, nice. I’ll ask my parents too. Tell yours I said hi.”
“A pre-emptive hi back at you.”
“OK, I’ll drive.”
“I’ve got a truck.”
“Oh, that’s right. You drive.”
They cruised around for a while in the neighborhoods where the city was collecting large items that week, but found little of interest.
“Why do people throw out so much junk?” Clare asked querulously.
“You’ve been spoiled. Look, there’s a perfectly nice wood box, looks like an old hand-made toolbox.”
Clare grunted but pulled the truck over. Roxy got out, picked up the old box with fading paint, and put it in the back of the truck.
“It’s empty, in case you were hoping for a magic hammer or something. Now you’re only going to want treasure chests and magic lamps,” she said. “Don’t forget, to make money, you have to have lots and lots of lesser treasures. Or have you lost interest in making money?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I guess it’s just the letdown after that huge adrenalin rush today. I think I’ll just drive by the Ebrahims’ house.”
“Oh no you don’t!”
“If they have anything on the curb I won’t stop to get it.”
“Then why drive by? Do you think you’re going to see them sitting out on the porch drinking iced tea and waving you in? Or are you just hoping for an adrenalin flashback? Give it a rest.”
“You’re right. I’m not going to get anywhere doing this. Oh, look at that lamp!”
“Not a magic lamp.”
Another acquisition for The Cellar. They headed back.
As they relaxed over wine and cold pizza from Roxy’s father’s restaurant, Clare said, “You know, Clench is a linguist. Maybe he can do some online research in Persian and find out something about Mohammed Ebrahim.”
“That’s a thought.”
“I’ll ask him tomorrow. My parents asked him to dinner.”
“Oh yeah? They like him, huh?”
“They just met him.”
“You like him?”
“Sure.”
“What about Jackson?”
“I like him too. But of course he’s never around.”
“That’s a drawback. Sometimes I think about that album you found and the picture of your Aunt Del and her husband Albert, and what he wrote: Be mine and I promise to give you everything your heart desires. You’re getting everything you desire that’s in the Sears catalogue.”
“Yeah. And I wanted a good business, it makes money and it’s interesting and it even helps people, at least with the Sears kit houses. And I have it. But you know, as soon as you get what you want, you want something else. Or you have to think of something else to want. I mean, there’s nothing I really need right now.”
“There’s always true love.”
“Yes, but it’s not in the catalogue.” Clare poured herself more wine. “It’s not in my mental catalogue. I can’t picture it. Or him.”
“If you could, you’d never be surprised. What a bore.”
“Did Jim surprise you?”
“Um, yes. I’m not looking for emotional drama. Just … well, goodness, I suppose. I feel like a better person because of him. What if … you wanted to be your ideal self. Could you picture that?”
“Oh boy. Absolutely not. Some things you can’t run after.”
“Whoa, we’re getting deep here.”
Clare laughed. “Oh well, I’m content.”
Sunday dinner at her parents, with Clench facing off Nicole and Bill, was a little tense for Clare, but not unpleasant. Everyone else seemed quite comfortable. She gave her parents an abbreviated account of the incident at Starbucks.
Her father, astute as always, asked, “Where do you go from here?”
“Well, I’d like to meet with Mrs. Ebrahim again and find out more about her husband, I guess. Not yet, though. But other than that, there’s no place to go. Back to Greenline.”
“Do you think that boy will try again to get the helmet?”
“I doubt it. The police talked to him and he knows they’re not going to let him get away with anything else. I don’t know that he exactly intended to attack his mother but that’s what it amounted to. He also knows the helmet is locked in the bank vault and I can’t imagine he’d really try to blow up the bank.”
“Watch out for pressure cookers,” her dad joked.
Everyone was quiet.
“Well, I guess that’s what you could call an explosive silence,” her mother said. “Who wants coffee and pie?”