Skip to main content

1740 Tsavorite Lane

Upon our return from India we spent a few days unraveling the sapphire mystery at Peridot’s home in Los Angeles.

Not long after I was hired to teach at the school of Gemology, Hercule Peridot completed his sabbatical there and resumed his duties at the University. He had long since retired from his teaching as a tenured professor of Geological Sciences. The son of a wealthy businessman, he never wanted for money. He had moved west to earn his Ph.D. from Stanford.

The access road was a narrow winding climb. What emerged was a low profile bungalow nestled in the Hollywood hills. Peridot’s home at 1740 Tsavorite Lane was rather spartan on the outside but would prove quite comfortable inside.

“Thank you for the kind invitation.” I said as we entered through the large turquoise door, the feeling of spaciousness was overwhelming. The entryway contained Amethyst geodes, sentinels guarding the front entrance. Large skylights filled the space with soft light.

“Welcome to my humble abode Adamas,” said Peridot with a sly grin.

It was a three-story, three-bedroom home built into the hillside; we entered on the second level, hardwood floors, and a spiral staircase near the fireplace. Books festooned the shelves, meticulously organized and carefully labeled.

“So this is your Petite Versailles,” I remarked with a smile.

Peridot nodded, “Why yes . . . I find it very comfortable.”

Peridot appreciated technology, nonetheless relished the smell and feel of bound leather books, his entire house a library. “During the planning my specific instructions to the architect - built in bookshelves throughout the house,” said Peridot. “This will be your room Adamas, make yourself comfortable, we will chat later this evening over dinner, to review our findings in Mumbai.”

My room was on the third level adjacent to Peridot’s study – I stopped to admire the panoramic view of the City of Angels.

Once unpacked, I couldn’t help but wander into his study out of sheer curiosity. On the shelves were mineral specimens, gemstones, and carvings. One piece in particular caught my eye. It was a rather large ring with an intense yellowish green stone. I examined it carefully. This is a spectacular gem, I must ask about it later.

During our many video chats in recent years I could now see how he was able to always stay within the frame of the video as he moved around his office. Mounted on the walls were three webcams that appeared to use face detection technology, “Voilà . . . so that’s how he does it,” I muttered to myself.

It was a large comfortable room well illuminated with diffused light from a skylight. There were four large flat screens above an imposing oak desk. As I stood examining the room my hand caressed the office chair; it was supple chocolate brown leather exhibiting a luster much like his shoes. There was a full bar with stools in the corner, a group of matching leather chairs surrounding a round table in front of a fireplace. The west wall was a large sliding glass door that exited to an inviting deck . . . in all the most luxurious room in the house, so it seemed.

Our trip had been a long one; rather fatigued, I withdrew to my room to get in a nap . . .

Bing – bong – bing – bong, the Westminster clock chimed, it must have been about five o’clock when I awoke. Built into the nightstand was an intercom, there was a message light glowing. The text message, “Dinner at 6:00, join me in the kitchen on the first floor – Peridot.” I glanced at my phone and the same text alert was there. My phone was synchronized with the intercom system. Incredible. I tapped it to engage the digital assistant, “See you then.”

Dinner was on the table when I arrived and Peridot was seated with book in hand.

“What are you working on?”

“Just a little recreational reading, Sir Conan Doyle. I find the adventures of Mr. Holmes very enlightening. They certainly exercise the mind,” said Peridot.

"Professor, in your office I noticed a ring. It was an intense yellowish green. I suspect it was a garnet.”

"You are correct Adamas, allow me to provide you a clue. The refractive index (R.I.) of that garnet is 1.740," said Peridot. He smiled, "When we approached the house did you happen to observe the street sign and address just above the doorway.”

"Of course - 1740 Tsavorite Lane." I broke into a hearty laugh, "That's a superb Tsavorite garnet specimen of you have there professor.”

"Thank you, would you like a little wine with dinner?”

Oui, s'il vous plait - have you heard from our client in India, Mr. Kaniyar?”

Peridot looked up from his book, “Why yes, received an e-mail just this afternoon. It seems our friend, Mr. Davies, did return for the stone. He could be anywhere in the world by now. We may see his carefully-crafted doublet again I'm afraid.”

“Let’s not concern ourselves with that matter right now, enjoy your dinner . . .”

to be continued.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

A Game for the Ages

Game One: Yankees 3 vs. Dodgers 6 - A Game for the Ages 120th World Series –  Forty-three years of anticipation culminated in a clash of titans, a World Series showdown between two baseball dynasties. And what a way to kick off this historic series! The stage was set: bottom of the tenth, bases loaded, two outs. The hero? A hobbled Freddie Freeman, his ankle injury a testament to his grit and determination. The pitch soared, a moment suspended in time. Then, a thunderous crack of the bat. The ball arced skyward, a breathtaking flight toward rightfield. A collective gasp, a hush, then a roar. The ball cleared the fence, a grand slam of epic proportions: a walk-off masterpiece, the first in World Series history! As the echoes of the crowd’s jubilation filled the stadium, Vin Scully’s iconic voice rang out in the minds of Dodger fans: “High fly ball into right field, she is gone!” It was a fitting tribute to a moment that defied all expectations. Yankees 3—Dodgers 6. In a year of the unex

Dawn's Embrace

In this episode - Dawn’s Embrace . . .   In the quiet hours before dawn breaks, The darkness whispers, and my spirit wakes. For in my hands, tomorrow lies— A chance to reach, to strive, to rise. With steady focus, I find my way, Turning each task into light for the day. Not every path is smooth or clear, Yet I push forward, shedding fear. Life may bring disappointments, it's true. My dreams are mine, and I'll see them through. My attitude is my own to steer, and No One else shapes the hope I hold dear. So I start each morning with a heart alight, Embracing dawn’s gentle, hopeful sight. For love, for dreams, I’ll build and grow, Sharing this warmth with all I know. In each sunrise, I find the key— The dawn of hope that lives in me.  . . . Welcome to this week's episode of On The Fly . The previous poem was written the day after the election results. Yes, we’ve made it through another presidential election cycle. Everyone at work was gloomy, angry, frustrated, and could not

The Power of a Thank-You Note

In this episode, The Power of a Thank-You Note . . . Halloween night is a time for spooky fun and neighborhood camaraderie. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets, neighbors emerged from their homes, transforming their driveways into festive candy stations. A familiar face caught my eye as I strolled around the neighborhood, taking in the sights and chitchatting with the neighbors. It was a neighbor I hadn't spoken to in years, a young mother whose daughter had interviewed me for a school project on gemstones and the GIA in 2014. As I approached her, a spark of nostalgia ignited. "So, how old is your daughter now?" I asked, curious about her journey. "She's 23," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "She's studying architecture now." I was taken aback. "That can't be possible," I exclaimed. "It feels like she interviewed me for her school project just yesterday." Time had s

GridBot & Gramps

In this episode, GridBot and Gramps . . .   – Meanwhile, back in Greenwood, Dr. Jon Gellborn, Ph.D., sat at his cluttered desk, the dim glow of his ancient desktop flickering as he pecked at the keyboard. His workspace, a chaotic mix of handwritten notes, old newspapers, and dog-eared magazines, mirrored his frustration. Marvin’s grandfather was a relic of an analog world, though he tried to keep up with the times. For the past week, he’d been baffled as to why Marvin had hurriedly left town, disappearing to the High Sierras without much explanation. “Mary, have you heard from Marvin?” he called out, frowning at his inbox. “He isn’t answering my emails.” From the kitchen, his daughter Mary poked her head around the corner. “Dad, remember? Marvin’s off-grid on that fishing trip. There is no service out there in the mountains. He’ll be back soon.” Dr. Jon sighed, fiddling with his outdated oversized flip phone. “This old PC . . . I can’t get my blog post sent to my friends on Facebook.