Page 38 of Gem Warfare

“I really need you to think about what else you might remember about this Joe Smithson,” said Garrett. His finger hovered over the photo. Mom had only just returned to the table and her information was now paramount. However, the way his finger hesitated, there was a small chance he might want to see Mom freak out again.

Obviously, I wouldnever.

“I can’t say I remember much. He lived there less than a year. It might have only been ten months or so at the most, and even then, he worked away a lot.”

“Did he say what he did?” I asked.

“Sales, I think.”

“Selling what?”

“I don’t know,” Mom snipped in exasperation.

“Hopes and dreams,” chipped in Dad.

I frowned, wondering for a moment if that was a brand I hadn’t heard of.

“I mean, Joe could sell water to the Atlantic Ocean. He was a charmer all right,” said Dad. “He could sell you your own house and you’d thank him and ask if he wanted cash or check. I remember him now.” His mouth turned down, apparently unimpressed.

“He was a contractor for some big firm and he liked the travel but he liked being at home too,” said Mom. She tapped a fingerto her chin thoughtfully. “He said he was looking to put down roots.”

“Was he from Montgomery?” I asked.

“I… don’t know.” Mom leaned over to look at the photo, not touching it and I wondered if she were thinking about the pair in the picture or deep cleaning the table. “The boy went to The Walsingham School.”

“So youdoremember him?”

“No, it’s the patch on his jacket. It’s a boarding school in Boston. Very expensive. I wonder if I have a photo of him.”

“The boy?” asked Garrett.

“No, Joe. I just thought, I’m sure he came to a birthday party we threw for your dad. We got him a new camera so I’m sure he took a lot of photos. Let me see if I can find them.” Mom picked up her sandwich and headed into the living room, leaving us with Dad.

“It was a fancy camera back then,” said Dad. “I think I still have it. I’ll get it.” He got up, grabbed a handful of chips, and headed after Mom.

“What do you make of all that?” asked Garrett. He scraped his chair back and walked over to the countertop, reaching for another roll.

“Joe Smithson is as close to John Smith as you can get without sounding one hundred percent like a made up name.”

“That’s what I thought too. And sales? Not a job people ask questions about. Too generic. Too boring.”

“The travel might have stirred up some questions,” I said.

“Not if he made up where he traveled to. If it were international, people would remember that. It would sound glamorous, but make it boring, say he’s got to go to nowheresville and it’s just a dull traveling sales job that no one wants to talk about.”

“So he’s absolutely charming and asks people aboutthemselves, listens to their stories, praises the men, flirts with the ladies, and everyone thinks he’s great, except Dad, but no one knows anything about him,” I surmised.

“That’s what I would do if I had an ounce of charisma and wanted to throw people off the scent. I just have to figure out what the scent is.”

“We,” I corrected him.

“The state is literally employing me to do this.” Garrett stuffed cheese into his roll, followed by a lettuce leaf and a dollop of mayo, then he took a large bite.

“The Dugans literally hired me to do this,” I countered.

“Fine. Whatever. Like I said before, I’m happy for the assistance. I’m overloaded with cases and the priority on this shifted up, thanks to those jewels. The chief has taken an interest.”

“Here it is,” said Mom, brandishing a thick photo album as she returned to the kitchen. She swept our plates out of the way and the album landed on the table with a thump, on an open page. “That’s Joe,” she said, pointing to a photo. My father was center, beer in hand, laughing at something. Off to the left, his face partially turned away was a man in jeans and an open-necked, checkered shirt, the sleeves rolled up, a beer also in his hand. “I thought there might be another but he’s not in any of the posed group shots. I did remember he offered to take a few of the photos. It was thoughtful of him.”

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