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“I saw you pick up Gerald's hand and I was going to ask you for his cards, but then I saw the 13 diamonds and realized their significance. And when I saw them on his memorial I thought it was appropriate. For a bridge player to die with a perfect hand, that is the ultimate. I will always envy Gerald.”
    “Just don't imitate him,” Angie said.
    “May I see the other cards?” I asked. Wesley handed me the box.  It was one of those standard playing card boxes that had the geometric design of the backs of the cards reproduced on the box. I compared the design on the box to that on one of the 13 diamonds. It was close but not quite the same. I compared more cards from Gerald's hand with the box. Same result. I pulled the rest of the deck out of the box. Those cards had the same design on their backs as did the diamonds, so together they made up a complete deck.
    Is this the box these cards originally came in?” I asked.
    Yes. I buy all the cards and keep track of them all.”
    He was one of those fastidious people and I was sure he did.
    “Look at this.” I showed Wesley the differences between the backs of the cards and the design on the box.
    He said, “I can’t understand it. All the decks are the same.  I bought them all at the same time.”
    He lumbered into the other room and returned with several more decks.
    We inspected those decks. Their designs matched their boxes, which matched the box that contained Gerald's deck. Only the design on the cards that had produced Gerald's perfect hand was different from that of any of the other decks or boxes.
    Wesley kept saying, “I can't understand it,” as we became convinced of the difference.
    “What if this deck has been switched with the original deck?” I asked him.
    “But who would do a thing like that?” Wesley asked, his face becoming almost purple. “And how?”
    “Who? The person who wanted Gerald...to get a hand of 13 diamonds.” I had almost used the word “murdered.” “How—or when—I’m not sure.”
    “But...but,” he sputtered, “do you mean it was all a joke? That the hand wasn't real?”
    “It looks that way.”
    “But I don't think that's funny. Especially, in view of the consequences.”
    “No, it isn't funny. However, I think we, the bridge club, should do something as a sort of permanent memorial to Gerald. What if we had the 13 diamonds framed and hung in the recreation room?”
    “Well...I don't know,” said Wesley.
    “We don't have to tell anyone else that the hand isn't real. Then only we and the perpetrator will know.”
    “Who do you think did it?”
    “One of the three women at Gerald's table, most likely, but what does it matter? It's over and done with now. It was just a joke.”
    “I'll bring it up at the bridge club this afternoon,” Wesley said. “We'll take a vote on it.”
    “And would you save the rest of the deck, along with the original box? Just in case there is ever any question regarding the legitimacy of Gerald's hand.” I knew that if it was ever needed, Wesley's testimony at a trial would be believed.
     
                       *    *    *
     
    The bridge club did not eat lunch before play started. The lunch committee had been disbanded by common consent. Instead, Wesley conducted a short business meeting. The members voted to have the 13 diamonds framed as a permanent memorial to Gerald. We also had a minute of silence in his memory.
    Then we played bridge, as usual. We played shuffle-and-deal instead of duplicate bridge because some of the members didn't want the cutthroat competition that duplicate engenders. I noticed that Ida and Ellen were still partners. Harriet, whose partner had usually been Gerald, was playing with a woman whose name I didn't remember.
    Our custom was to have each partnership play a certain number of hands against every other partnership. When Ida and Harriet played at the same table I watched them from my table out of the corner of my eye, but I