by Gale Deitch
Hi, Zach. Just a note to let you know I’m here for you any time you need to talk.
I’d known Zach since we were kids and was pretty sure he wouldn’t respond, but I knew he would see the text and that was enough for now. I’d have to be patient and wait for him to come to terms with his feelings about Ally.
After showering and dressing, I called Charmaine to see if her dress shop was open. Yesterday’s bad dream had convinced me it was time to start shopping for my wedding dress. Since Daniel had suggested I try his friend’s shop last summer when I needed a dress for a formal affair, Charmaine’s had been the one place I could find clothes that flattered my zaftig body.
“Trudie, how wonderful to hear from you. Yes, this is perfect timing. Wedding season. I purchased several dresses on my last trip to New York.”
“Any that would fit me?” I ventured.
“Of course. I pick up styles that will work for you on all my shopping trips. Do you want to come in today? I’m open until two.”
“I’d love to. See you soon.”
Of course, wedding dress shopping meant one more call.
“Mom, what are you doing today? Want to help me choose a wedding dress?” Does a bear go in the woods? I thought. The dream of every Jewish mother is to marry off her daughter. To marry her off to a “nice Jewish boy” is the penultimate dream. Most of my adult life, experience taught me to doubt that any man would ever fall in love with a woman of my size, much less want to marry me. My mother, however, always believed it would happen. Her love for me blinded her to my appearance, and she couldn’t understand why any man wouldn’t feel the same.
“Oh Trudie, my shayna maidel. Of course, I want to go with you.”
When we arrived at eleven, Charmaine greeted me with a warm hug and another for my mother even before they’d been introduced. The ice blue knit dress she wore matched her amazing eyes and contrasted well with her silver hair, a silky blunt cut that reached just below her jawline.
Mom’s eyes were wide as she peered around the exclusive shop from the white leather sofa where we were seated with flutes of champagne. Mom wore one of her many polyester pants suits, this one printed with mint-colored palm fronds interspersed with hot pink tropical blossoms.
An upscale boutique, Charmaine’s was the kind that kept only a few dresses displayed in the show room. Typically, customers told Charmaine what they were looking for, and she or her assistant, Monet, would bring out several choices from the back.
In preparation for our visit, Charmaine had already placed several lovely wedding gowns on a rack in the front room. I thanked the kitchen gods that they were all white with no peacock feathers. “I’ve chosen a few for you to start with, Trudie,” she said, holding up the first one. “Shall we begin with these?”
Putting my glass down on the coffee table, I stood and slowly walked toward the dress. Was I actually going to try on wedding dresses? Was this a dream? One I never thought would come true. The satin fell in lovely drapes across the scooped neckline and skirt. Another that Monet held was covered with lace and adorned with tiny seed pearls. And still a third had rhinestone teardrops decorating the bodice and parts of the skirt.
Once in the dressing room, I hesitated among these beauties waiting to make sure they did not turn into purple feathers.
“Is everything okay?” Charmaine asked.
I exhaled my relief and smiled. “Everything is perfect.”
One by one, Charmaine helped me into the dresses, and I modeled each for my mother. “Lovely,” Mom said after each one. But I knew she wanted more than lovely, as did I.
The fourth dress I tried had a deep scoop neck that bared my shoulders and short sleeves to cover my upper arms. It hugged my torso to the waist, which was adorned with an intricately patterned silver belt. The skirt gently flared into an A-line and the sheer layer that overlaid the skirt held delicate silver patterns that matched the belt.
I peered into the mirror and gasped. This dress slimmed my waist. I was pretty. In all the years of shopping for clothes, I’d barely consult the mirror. If the item fit and looked halfway decent, I bought it.
But now, I couldn’t keep my eyes from my reflection. The dress was made for me in every way. I peered at Charmaine in the mirror to get her reaction. She clasped her hands below her chin and smiled. “You look exquisite,” she said. “Let’s show your mother.”
I walked out to the front room and peered at Mom. Her eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth. Then the tears came.
I turned to Charmaine. “I think we’ve found the dress.”
“Coming for dinner tonight?” Mom asked when I dropped her off at home. Mom always made enough food on Sundays to feed her whole block.
“Daniel wasn’t sure how late he’d be working, so I don’t know if he can make it. But either way, I’ll be there.”
I’d seen Gwendolyn Chong’s obituary in the morning newspaper, which announced a visitation that afternoon at the residence where her husband, Albert Burger, was sitting Shiva. So, he was Jewish. I wondered if Gwen was Jewish as well.
I remembered how her husband had sobbed audibly at the conference and his anger when Ben Knight had attempted to console him. Had he really been distraught about his wife’s murder or was he putting on an act? He was the person closest to Gwen and the suspect the police would focus on first. Even Ben had agreed with me on that point. I needed to go the Shiva to see for myself.
I drove home and whipped up a batch of coconut macaroons. I didn’t do a lot of baking. That’s why Zach and I had hired Jennifer Hall to provide her sumptuous pastries, cakes, and breads for our catering jobs. But the macaroons were quick and easy to make and a perfect comfort food for those in mourning.
I changed into a gray dress with a coordinating navy, gray, and white scarf, then headed over to Albert Burger’s house in Potomac. Several vehicles were parked along the street, and an older man and woman were walking from their car to the house with a tray of offerings covered in tin foil.
At a Shiva house, the door is typically kept unlocked during visitation hours so that guests can enter without knocking or ringing the doorbell, so as not to disturb the mourners. I entered and navigated my way around small groups of people to find the kitchen where I could deposit the tray of macaroons. I poured myself a glass of Diet Coke and wandered through the dining room and living room looking for someone I knew.
A tap on my shoulder made me jump, and I turned to see Ben Knight. He wore a navy blazer over a light blue oxford shirt and smelled of musk and lime. A pleasant aroma.
“Trudie,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me. “I see you’ve begun your sleuthing.”
“And may I say the same about you, Mr. Knight.”
“No, you may not. I’m a friend of the family, paying my respects.”
“Hah. I’ll bet.” I took a sip of my drink and scanned the room to see who else was there. I spotted the grieving husband sitting on a chair against the wall as guests spoke to him in hushed tones.
“Excuse me,” I said to Ben. “I’d like to pay my respects.” As I headed away, I heard him mutter, “Hah. I’ll bet.”
I’d never seen Albert Burger’s face, but I recognized him from his hair, a receding dirty blond, as well as from his stooped posture. I set my drink down, sat in the empty chair beside him, and introduced myself.
His eyes widened. They were a pale, watery blue that barely stood out amid red-ringed lids and ash-colored brows and lashes. “You’re the caterer who made that incredible meal the other night. It was the only part of the evening that I actually enjoyed. At least until…” He drooped his head to the gray cat in his lap.
I hadn’t even noticed the cat was there, the way he blended with his owner’s trousers. He gazed up at me with his curious amber eyes, stretched his legs and then ventured a step onto my lap.
I froze.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like cats. I just have no experience with them. In fact, I was a little afra
id of them. I’d heard stories about cats being independent creatures who might lash out at any moment. A girl I knew in middle school often had scratches on her arms or legs and even little bite marks from her cat.
Cats were soft, and I suppose cuddly, but I wondered what the allure was among cat lovers.
“Pye likes you, Trudie,” Albert said as the cat laid down on my lap.
“Pie?” I asked. I certainly liked pie, and I guess pie liked me the way it would attach itself to my hips.
“P-Y-E,” he said. “That’s his name. Pyewacket. He was Gwen’s cat. Never cared for me. Usually hisses when I walk in the room. He likes women, though. Loved Gwen. Been so upset without her that he hasn’t left my side.” Albert started to cry silently, his shoulders heaving.
I was afraid to move with this cat on my lap. I held on to the sides of my chair, keeping my arms and shoulders rigid. “Please, Mr. Burger. Can you take him off me? I--I’m…”
“Allergic, huh? Just push him off, like this.” With one swipe of his arm, he shoved the cat onto the floor. Pye hunched down and disappeared under the line of chairs.
“No, not allergic. At least I don’t think so. I’m a little uncomfortable around cats.”
“Oh, no. Pye would never hurt you. He’s been declawed and really is very sweet to everyone…except me.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to find a new home for him. Every time I see him, I expect Gwen to appear.”
I stood, brushed a few cat hairs from my skirt, and turned to Mr. Burger. “Well, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss.”
He touched my hand and nodded then began sobbing again quietly and waved me away.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I sauntered into the kitchen for a snack. Someone had sent in a platter of bagels, lox, cream cheese and smoked white fish. I made myself a plate, but as I took my first bite and turned from the table, I found myself eye to eye with none other than Myra Keating.
“Well, well, well. Trudie Fine. We meet again. Have they arrested that blonde floozy yet? The one who murdered Gwendolyn?”
I almost spat out the hunk of sesame bagel in my mouth along with the choice words I had for Ms. Keating. But first I chewed what was in my mouth, which gave me time to quell my angry impulse and to observe her. Myra wore a pale lilac cardigan sweater over a beige non-descript shirtwaist dress, a bland match to her unadorned face and hair. Again, I could see her potential good looks if only she would put a little effort into her appearance.
“As far as I know,” I said after I’d swallowed, “there hasn’t been an arrest yet.”
“You mean to say the police have not acted on what you and I both witnessed?” She asked the question loudly so that others in the kitchen turned to listen, just as she’d done the other night after the police had arrived.
“You and I witnessed nothing,” I hissed at her. “An argument and nothing else.”
She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at me. “An argument, yes. But also a threat, might I remind you. A threat by that woman that was indeed carried out only minutes after.”
“Ms. Keating.” I tried to keep my voice even. “Let’s leave it up to the professionals to solve the murder, all right?”
“Well, they certainly are taking their good time, aren’t they?” She humphed and left the kitchen.
I glanced around, noticing that the stares from others in the kitchen had now become whispers. I felt something rub against my ankles and almost flipped my plate onto the floor when I realized it was Pye.
“Go away.” I swiped my hand through the air as a signal to the cat, who lifted his chin and his tail in indignation and left the kitchen.
“Looks like you have an admirer,” Ben said, popping a cinnamon and sugar rugelach into his mouth, something I had planned to do after I finished my bagel.
“Myra Keating or the cat?” I asked.
He laughed. “Both.”
I shook my head and dumped the remains of my food into the plastic trash bag hanging from a cabinet knob. “I think I’m done here.” I headed for the front door where Pye sat peering up at me as if he were ready to go, too.
Before I could open the door, Ben reached down and scooped up the cat. “Just making sure he doesn’t run out. He’s an indoor cat.”
“Really?” I asked. “And how do you know that?”
“I told you. I’m a friend of the family.” He deposited Pye in the arms of a woman standing nearby then opened the door. “After you,” he said.
As I walked toward my car, I felt Ben right at my heels. When I swung around, he bumped right into me. “Why are you following me?” I asked.
“Thought I could bum a ride back to my hotel.”
I felt heat rise to my face at his arrogance. “Oh, you did, did you? Well I’ll have you know I am not going anywhere near your hotel. I’m on my way to my parents’ house for dinner.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll join you for dinner and afterwards you can drive me to my hotel.”
“Arrrrgh!” I tightened my fists as my adrenaline surged. “I cannot believe your impertinence, inviting yourself to dinner when you don’t even know the hosts.”
“You’re a good person, Trudie. So, I’m assuming your parents are the same.”
“Isn’t there someone else who can drive you?” I asked. “How did you get here anyway?”
“Uber.”
I held out my hands to him. “So why don’t you contact Uber to take you back to your hotel?”
He paused and dipped his head then peered up at me like a little lost boy. “Listen, I’m stuck in this town for who knows how long, and I’m tired of sitting in bars and restaurants by myself taking solo meals.”
He was playing the sympathy card, but I understood there was a lot of truth in what he’d said. Eating alone all the time couldn’t be pleasant.
I knew my mother wouldn’t mind a bit if Ben came to dinner. She always made so much food on Sundays, anticipating whatever strays she could entice to partake. I also knew she would be thrilled to have the renowned author, Ben Knight, at her table. A fan like me, she’d read every one of his books.
I wasn’t so sure how Daniel would react to Ben’s presence considering he didn’t want me around any of the possible suspects. But I took one more look at Ben’s hang-dog expression and sighed, pointing to my car. “Okay, get in.”
“Oh, my,” Mom said, her eyes wide. “Oh, my.”
Ben took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fine.”
“Oh, my,” she said again. She patted her hair, a gesture unnecessary since the spray her hairdresser used at her weekly appointments rendered her bleached blonde coiffure motionless. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Knight.”
“Ben. Please call me Ben.”
She giggled. “And you can call me Helen.”
Oh, brother, I thought, rolling my eyes. “Mom, why don’t you bring Ben into the family room, so he can meet Dad.”
Their departure afforded me a moment to check on Daniel.
“Hi, babe,” he said. “Not sure how long I’ll be. Will and I have a few more people to interview. And we’re expecting the DNA report from the tech any time now.”
“Oh.” I figured they most likely were testing the prints on the murder weapon, the hammer. Although I was sure, well 99.9% sure that Ally was not the murderer, somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to have her DNA all over it. Ben had been so certain about her arrest that he’d planted a seed of doubt into my head.
“Tell your mom not to hold dinner for me. I’ll try to get there when I can.”
“Oh, and Daniel…,” I started as he hung up the phone. I’d wanted to let him know that Ben was here and explain why. I knew he wouldn’t be pleased that I’d gone to the Shiva house where the murderer might be lurking. Or that I’d invited Ben to dinner at my parents’ house, or rather that he had invited himself.
Mom was already grilling Ben about his newest b
ook when I joined them in the family room. Leaning toward him, riveted on his every word, she didn’t even notice I’d come into the room.
“Daniel said not to hold dinner for him,” I said, startling Mom out of her trance.
She blinked at me then smiled. “Trudie, come sit with us. Have a glass of wine. Mr. Knight is fascinating.”
“Ben. Please call me Ben,” he repeated to Mom. Then he grinned at me and held out his glass as if asking me to join him.
Dad, who had evidently been keeping himself busy picking through the assortment of cheese and crackers, poured me a glass of cabernet. He knew better than to interrupt when Mom was so engaged with a guest.
Eventually, we all made our way into the dining room where Mom served us her home-made mushroom and barley soup and a basket of fresh challah bread.
“Delicious,” Ben murmured as he savored his soup. “Thank you, Mrs. Fine, for including me at your table.”
“Helen,” Mom giggled. “Please call me Helen.”
They laughed together at their little joke. Then, after Dad brought the empty bowls into the kitchen, Mom emerged with a huge platter of rosemary chicken with roasted potatoes and carrots.
Ben closed his eyes in mock ecstasy as he inhaled the wonderful aroma. He turned to Mom. “I travel so much, I don’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. Thank you again, Helen.” He put his hand over his heart.
Mom blushed and ducked her head to pick up her fork and knife.
The doorbell rang and I rushed from my seat to open the door for Daniel. In the foyer, he pulled me close for a kiss, his lips warm and inviting. Enraptured by Daniel’s embrace, I closed my eyes much in the same way Ben had moments before as he anticipated Mom’s cooking.
“Before we go in,” I whispered, “I need to tell you that Ben Knight is here.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “What’s he doing here?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.” I took his hand and led him into the dining room. “Ben,” I said. “You remember Detective Goldman, don’t you?”
Ben rose to shake Daniel’s hand. “Sure. Ben Knight.”