“Maybe somebody on the search committee, another hidden hater, recommended him. So the committee interviews him and checks the impeccable references on his website. Then, cued in by the hidden hater on the search committee, he slightly underbids everybody else, which seals the deal.”
Harry had removed his glasses and was rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Then he stared at her as if she had just alighted from a UFO. “I honestly don’t know whether you’re a lunatic or a genius or maybe both, Miranda. We’ve been so out of touch that I had no idea that you were still involved in this mess.” He ran his hand through his every-which-way hair.
“But maybe I can help. Friday night, come to Shabbat services and bring the shofar… if it actually arrives.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t even unwrap it. I’ll have it checked out ASAP at a private lab, and if their techs find enough blood on it to get uncontaminated DNA, I’ll have them contact the sheriff who can see if it’s Isaac’s. And maybe the sheriff can make a deal with the witness that’ll get her to testify. But with or without DNA, I’ll have the lab send the shofar to the sheriff.” He stopped for breath. “This way, Miranda, if and when the cops finally do charge the art restorer with homicide and defacing public property and maybe even with the intention to commit a hate crime, you won’t be forced to extinguish flames on a cross his buddies plant in front of your B & B. ”
Miranda hugged herself to control the shaking this nightmarish scenario evoked. It was not one she’d ever envisioned. And there would be another consequence of convicting Steve Galen of Isaac’s murder that she’d not thought about either, her own collateral damage. “It’ll become known that this ghoul stayed at Breitner’s. For weeks.” Miranda was surprised that she hadn’t thought of this before. “I guess I’ll have to live with that.”
“You can capitalize on it by hosting mystery weekends.”
Ignoring his attempt at levity, she sat quietly for a moment absorbing Harry’s proposal. Maybe she’d get the investigation expanded without exposing herself. Isaac’s murder had become a voracious vacuum sucking her hard-won hope right out of her and she’d be glad to be out of its path, to have it solved. “So once again, after I fill out the Crime Stoppers forms, I just go about my business and pretend I don’t know anything about anything?”
“Right. But instead of filling out one Crime Stoppers form, do three. In the first, accuse the art restorer of tagging the murals himself. In the next, accuse him of hitting Isaac with the shofar and killing him when Isaac interrupted him trying to poison the juice. And in the third, accuse him of attempting a hate crime. Three crimes attributed to one person will get Sheriff Carson’s attention. Also e-mail me copies of the photos of Galen and the shofar, a copy of the flyer, and a copy of the inscription in the Bible. I’ll snail-mail them to Carson anonymously from Seattle where I’ll be tomorrow.” He paused. “Have you already talked about your suspicions to friends or family?”
“No. One friend got me the name and address of the witness, but he doesn’t know why I wanted to know. ”
“Good. Once the sheriff’s people get your tips, things may happen fast. There may be press. You’ll have to be vigilant and discreet so no one knows you’ve had anything to do with exposing any of the people you suspect of being involved in any aspect of these matters.” He paused and fiddled with his empty coffee cup. “You do realize, Miranda, that nobody wants Isaac’s murder to be called a hate crime except you and Rabbi Golden, and she doesn’t even live in the Valley. So many small businesses are incubating here now, the orchards are thriving, and the new vineyards have brought a flood of new tourists. Hate crimes are bad for business.”
“Unsolved murders are worse,” she retorted. “Denial is worse. Rabbi Alinsky has always feared Isaac’s murder was a hate crime, but he tried to deny it even to himself. It’s like when some European Jews didn’t leave even after they saw what the Nazis were up to.” She got off her soapbox long enough to look across the table where Harry was paying the check.
“You know, Harry, I can’t let you drive back up to Yakima tonight. You’re too exhausted.” She was rewarded when he looked up with a twinkle in his bloodshot eye.
“Miranda, if you’d gotten out more, you’d know about make-up sex.”
“Huh?”
“But don’t worry. I’m going to follow you back to your place and bring you up to speed.”
She didn’t protest.
CHAPTER 21
Guest book: “Todd and I bunked here while some work was being done at our place because the rates here are low. We got more than we paid for. A clean, pleasant, quiet room and a really tasty breakfast. I’m referring all my husband’s relatives here when they visit next summer!” local gal
The shofar arrived as promised. Per Harry’s instructions, Miranda didn’t unwrap it, and late Friday afternoon she schlepped the large package to Temple Shalom. She felt protective of the instrument, the last object poor Isaac had touched. Rather than bring the bulky bundle into the service with her and answer a lot of questions about it, she locked it in the cab of her truck under an old blanket. She entered the little house-turned-synagogue and glanced around in search of Harry. The sooner she transferred the shofar to the trunk of his car, the better.
Julia found her before Miranda spotted the child and her dad heading for the kitchen. She knelt to hug the little girl. “Hi, Julia. I’m so glad to see you.” Julia wrapped her scrawny arms around Miranda’s neck and hung on. Miranda held her and bit her own lip so as to stem the tears the child’s wordless greeting, a claim really, evoked. Hunkered down with her chin on Julias’ small bony shoulder, Miranda just kept on hugging until Harry said, “Julia, please take our challah to the kitchen and give it to Emily. She’ll put it on the table when they bring out the food.”
“Wanna come, Miranda?” The child’s voice was soft and tentative, her red-rimmed eyes imploring.
“I’ll be right here when you get back. I promise. It’s your dad’s turn to get a hug.” She stood and Harry opened his arms. She walked into them and, again, held on for a few seconds. Miranda and Harry waited hand in hand until Julia returned from the kitchen when the three trooped outside to transfer the shofar to the trunk of Harry’s car. Julia eyed the large package which acted on her as a kind of Rosetta Stone. “Is that a present for Daddy? Or for me? Is it a Hanukah present? Are you a Christmas person or a Hanukah person, Miranda?”
“No, Julia it’s not a present for anybody. It’s something related to a legal matter your dad is advising me on. He’s my lawyer. And I’m a Hanukah person, but we haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet. Do you like turkey?”
“Nana’s turkey. I like Nana’s turkey.” Her soft voice got even softer.
“I bet your nana was a good cook. My grandma was too. She made the best chicken soup in the world. And when she died she left me the recipe so I can make it.”
“Your grandma died too?” Julia’s eyes widened.
“Uh-huh. A long time ago. And I still miss her.”
The child nodded and hugged herself against the cold air and the coldness of death. Having stashed the shofar, Harry joined them as they reentered the synagogue where the wine had already been blessed and the service was about to begin. Julia didn’t join the children’s service but sat between Harry and Miranda.
Rabbi Golden’s sermon focused on how to counter anti-Semitism in the guise of anti-Zionism, but Miranda, usually keen on anything to do with her perennially-embattled ancestral homeland, sat there with Julia’s hand in hers. The child slumped against her, sound asleep, oblivious to both college students’ calling for sanctions and divestment and Middle Easterners calling for the total annihilation of the only country Miranda knew for sure would take her in if she ever had to go there.
When it was time to mourn the dead, Harry gently extricated his hand from Julia’s and stood with the rest of the congregation to say the Mourners’ Prayer for his mom. For the first time since her own mom died, Miranda remained seat
ed so as not to disturb the little one nestled against her. After the service, Harry gently scooped up the sleeping child. “We won’t stay for the potluck. She hasn’t gone to sleep quietly like this in weeks. She’s exhausted. And she’s staying at my place tonight. So would you join us there for supper?”
Miranda nodded, grabbed all three jackets, draped hers over Julia, strode to the front door, opened it, and held it for father and daughter. Julia merely stirred and grunted softly when Harry fastened her into the car seat. “Her mother’s got papers due Monday, so I’ve got Julia for the entire weekend. We’ll go to Seattle tomorrow to see my dad and relieve my sister.” He got into the car.
“Tell me about your sister.”
“Holly’s two years older than I am. She’s a Seattle city planner. She’s been working on a critical project for years now and it’s almost happening. This is her first time trying to get a project of her own approved. So Mom’s death rocked Holly’s world logistically as well as emotionally.”
“You’re proud of Holly. Your mom would be proud of her.”
“You got that.” He used the red light to look her way. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. But this is beginning to sound like a first date, not me paying a condolence call.”
“Actually, it’s our fourth date, but who’s counting? Our first was a lawyer-client conference at the Canyon. Our second was a kind of surprise party at my house. Our third was a client-attorney dinner, with the attorney getting client privileges, so this shiva visit is our fourth.”
After Harry put his sleeping child to bed, he came downstairs and poured them each a glass of red wine. “Shabbat shalom.” They clicked their glasses and the host opened his freezer. “We sat shiva for a few days in Seattle at Holly’s, but she’s a vegan who’s into grains I can’t even pronounce. So she gave me all this stuff. What’ll it be? Frozen lasagna? Beecher’s Mac & Cheese? Noodle kugel? Beef stew? Kung bo chicken, chicken enchiladas, or Costco’s chicken pot pie?”
“Beef stew or chicken pot pie.”
“The pot pie will get done faster. I’m starving.”
“Me too.” Harry turned on the oven and unwrapped the enormous pie. “Holly gave me a lot of cheese and crackers too, so we can graze while we wait.”
Miranda arranged a Dutch goat cheese and a wedge of Brie on a plate with some crackers. “If this is a shiva call, I wish I’d contributed something.”
“You did.” Harry sat down next to her.
Miranda flushed and smiled. “So now, tell me how’s Julia doing?” She had relished the grieving child’s hug and the way she had snuggled herself to sleep beside her during the sermon.
Harry put his arm around her. “She’s a little livelier. She’s been up so much at night. But at Temple she just corked off. And she actually talked about her nana to you. Maybe she’s at some kind of tipping point. I have an appointment to talk with the grief counselor next Tuesday.”
“I hope he gives you good news.” Miranda squeezed Harry’s hand. “And how are you doing? You look a lot better. The haircut helped.” She ran her hand over his fuzzy head.
“You helped. I didn’t realize how much I missed you or cared about seeing you. I’m sleeping a lot better too.” But then he spoke louder, as if to force himself to hear the truth of what he was saying. “But the thing now is that my dad’s situation isn’t going to go away. Finding him an affordable and acceptable place to live is a worry and a huge time-suck. Moving him there will be a nightmare too.”
“I know. Before my mom got it through her head that her magna-cum-laude college grad daughter couldn’t get work, she tried to find a place for my grandma. It’s very difficult. If I can help in any way, let me know.”
“Do you still babysit? Sometimes I have to go to Seattle to look over a place or to interview a home health aide if Holly can’t do it… and Julia’s mom’s got a lot of papers to write… and an internship…”
Miranda was stunned. There was nothing Harry could have offered her that would have pleased her more. He knew about her arrest and the charge of baby killing and he still considered leaving his precious child in her care. Who knew? Maybe he had other innocent clients falsely accused. She was stammering with excitement when she answered. “I’d be happy to. Julia could stay with me.” Then Miranda remembered the armed sexual predator stalking her and the kosherer’s killer still at large. She felt the blood leave her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Remember I told you I decided to have sex with you partly because I felt safe with you?”
“Uh-huh. Probably because I know how to deal with rattlers.”
Miranda shivered. “Could be. But, I used to feel safe in this valley, too. I came here because I thought I’d be safe from my past out here. Then Isaac Markowitz was murdered right across the street from me and now I don’t feel safe here anymore. Not to mention there’s an armed sexual predator stalking me and threatening to expose me as an accused baby killer.”
“You’re helping to bring down Isaac’s killer. And you have it in your power to expose that detective and get him locked up where he belongs. But if you’re not willing to press charges…”
“Speaking of bringing down Isaac’s killer, I mailed off the stuff you sent me from Seattle as I promised. But that inscription in the Bible about the weary traveler is so odd. What do you make of it?” Miranda was glad to deflect the conversation from her unwillingness to have her sad history brought to the attention of her new friends, neighbors, and guests. “I thought it was odd, but when I reread it, it seemed familiar, so I checked the index of that book I told you about, American Swastika.”
“And?”
“Well, the first part, For the next weary traveler to lay his head here, is just an excuse Galen made up for the second part. Rest At Home O Wanderer Alone.” The first letters of each word are upper case and they spell RA HO WA which is short for Racial Holy War, which is their motto.”
“Did you mention that on your Crime Stoppers form?”
“Yup.”
“Good work. That info will go a long way towards convincing Carson to pay attention to your claim. How about we talk more over the chicken pot pie?”
Miranda stood and pulled Harry to his feet. “I want to know more about your mom.”
“She would have loved you.” He ran his hands up and down her torso. Their kiss, sweetened by pity and spiced with promise, lasted a long time.
Miranda finally pulled away. “Let’s turn the oven off. The pot pie will stay warm.”
Crime Stoppers #44016
Question: Do you know why the suspect boarded in Sunnyvale, not Toppenish where he was working?
#44016: Maybe because from that B & B it looks like he could easily and inconspicuously observe and access the processing plant across the street.
Someone in the sheriff’s office, possibly even Detective Alex Ladin, began e-mailing her questions about her tips, and Miranda answered them as best she could without revealing her own identity. According to Crime Stoppers protocol, she deleted both questions and answers.
She followed local news, eager to see if the press had gotten wind of the turn the investigation into the murder of Isaac Markowitz had taken. There was no mention of it at all, but Rosemarie stopped by one morning. “Listen Miranda, I know that like me you want this murderer caught. It’s scary to think he’s still out there.” She threw up her hands. “It’s sad for that boy’s people in New York and it’s bad for business here. I’m hurting and that means you’re hurting too, right?”
Miranda nodded. “Bookings are down and there have been cancellations. But your referral,Tom Buler, is so faithful. I really appreciate his business.”
“He sure likes this place. But listen. I’ve been bugging my brother, the one who works with the sheriff, not the orchardist, to share anything he knows about the investigation, because all of a sudden, he’s pulling overtime. He lives with me, and I know when he s
tarts missing meals that something’s up. I was right. You didn’t hear it from me, but that fish club doesn’t match what the autopsy report said about the wound. It said that club couldn’t have delivered the blow the kosherer died from.”
“Wow, Rosemarie. That’s important, because it means they might have to widen the investigation now that they can’t blame the Indians anymore.” Miranda pulled some warm cheese biscuits out of the oven. “Help yourself. There’s fresh coffee in the pot.”
“Thanks. I’ll take it with me. I’m showing a house in the area, and I don’t want to be late. But after everything you invested in this place, I know you’re worried, so I wanted to stop by…”
Miranda provided a recyclable coffee cup with a lid and a few napkins and sent Rosemarie on her way. “Thanks. Keep me posted. And don’t worry. I’ll keep this news to myself.” The realtor was barely out the door when Miranda had Harry on the phone.
“This should force Sheriff Carson to at least consider your pricey shofar as the murder weapon. The timing is good. I wonder if the sheriff heard yet from my lab guy.”
“Beats me. But I mentioned that shofar on an earlier Crime Stoppers’ form I sent in. I forgot to mention it to you.”
“I’ll forgive you. Maybe they’ve got more people working this case now.” She heard a doorbell. “Gotta go. Talk to you later.”
Miranda appreciated Harry’s frequent calls, his interest in her daily life, her baking and laundering, her occasionally idiosyncratic guests, even her bookkeeping. She in turn relished his updates on his grieving family and his work. Their calls connected them in ways that were novel to a woman who had never had an ongoing romantic relationship before. If this gradual meshing of their worlds was what having a boyfriend was like, Miranda loved it. She was very pleased when Harry suggested getting together at her place during Thanksgiving weekend. “This time I insist on the tour.”
Murder in the Melting Pot Page 24