The Case of the Missing Diamonds.

         It took Joe Thompson three long days to choose the dress to bury his wife in.

         Francine herself had chosen a rose colored chiffon dress from her closet, a closet that overflowed with dozens of beautiful dresses of every color, pattern, fabric, and style, though usually only the most expensive.

         Joe knew Francine's choice, he knew her favorite colors and styles, he knew which of the dresses suited her and which didn't, he knew the dress the children wanted their mother to be buried in, but Joe did not choose any of those dresses. Instead, he chose his own favorite of hers, a sequined, sky-blue number that she’d worn to go dancing with him on a number of occasions. He’d taken great care, as well, in selecting the jewelry that best suited the dress. None of it Francine’s favorite, of course, but rather, his favorite because of the memories attached. The bracelet, a diamond string he’d picked up in South Africa. The dress-watch, a fabulous silver piece he’d found in England. The earrings, only the most expensive she owned, with extensive memories clinging to every molecule of the diamonds. The final piece was a necklace, which he’d picked up in Ireland, a favorite country of Francine’s, but it had suddenly gone missing.
         Frantically searching the house, Joe rummaged through desk drawers, dressing table drawers, under beds and into closets until he finally found his way to the medicine cabinet for an aspirin.
         “It’s got to be somewhere!” he cried out, swallowing the pill with a mammoth drink of water. He closed his eyes, seeming to be listening for Francine’s footsteps and ever-nagging voice, leading him to “the most obvious place”, as though the cookie jar in the kitchen was the best place on earth to hide jewels.
         “But I’ve checked the cookie jar,” he mumbled to himself, opening his eyes and walking slowly down the stairs and into the wide dining room Francine had transformed for him into the perfect room for company parties. Sitting down at the table equipped for 25, he brought his notebook out of his breast pocket, and began writing down the places in which he’d looked.
         Bedroom
                   Dresser drawers—hers and mine.
                   Closet
                   Shoe rack, "One never knew with Frannie," he thought.
                   Jewelry box, "One never knew with Frannie," he thought again, chuckling.
                   Behind the head-board—the woman was always hiding things there. On the bright side, I found my long lost watch, the one with the quartz.
Guest room
         Dresser Drawers—Did find another splendid piece—a bracelet I’d bought for her in Madrid.
         Closet
                   Under the bed---another earring set found! The pearls she wore to Michael’s wedding.
                   Behind the mirror---The lei from Hawaii she was always causing to disappear. The magician’s secret is out.
         Kelly and Michael’s rooms— Nothing found. She always was big on privacy for the children.
         Kitchen—
                   Cookie Jar—Found the bank-book—finances are mine at last!
                   Sugar canister—Earrings from her mother.
                   Flour container—Bracelet from Canada.
                   Cabinets—miscellaneous watches, bracelets, rings, and a card for Kelly’s upcoming birthday.
                   I have looked everywhere and am unable to find it. The dress, lacking this piece of jewelry, seems incomplete, and as I am stumped by this mystery, I am forced to seek help via…other avenues. The children haven’t yet spotted the piece, but are looking out for it, yet strongly protesting burial of the piece with their mother. Do children ever grow up?
         Joe sighed wearily and got up to take a stroll around the gardens, all the while thinking of new hiding places in which to look for this favorite necklace of his.
         When he arrived at the center of the garden and the magnificently crafted snow-white stone bench that sat there, he closed his eyes again, remembering the times his Frannie and he had sat there together, sipping tea and munching cookies as an old English couple would do. It was, quite possibly her favorite activity to simply sit with her husband and have tea and cakes. Francine had certainly had a flair for the British. British detectives interested her immensely. Sherlock Holmes. Miss Marple. The great English detectives were never far from her mind. Upon this epiphany, Joe began to think as Francine would think. An English detective would go about questioning suspects, reflecting on the problem, collecting alibis, more reflecting and finally, the puzzle would fit and the murderer's indentity would be clearer than streak-free glass.
         Where else would a favorite necklace be besides her favorite place to be? Glancing fom side to side, he slowly leaned forward and looked underneath the bench. There, taped to the bottom of the bench, was the missing diamond necklace for which he'd been forever searching.
         Another mystery solved by my Frannie he thought, gently breaking the bond the tape had to the bench and taking the necklace in his large hands.
          He reached into his breast pocket for his cellular phone, chuckling at his new-found detective skills, dialed and when he heard a voice, replied with:
"Now that I've solved the Case of the Missing Diamonds, Frannie can be dressed and ready to officially go home to God..."



I want to dedicate this to people who grew up in the Great Depression---the ones that hide their valuables everywhere but the bank.