Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death

by Mark Reutlinger

  I could tell that Mrs. K wanted to give this shlemiel a piece of her mind, which believe me she could do. But she also did not want to embarrass Doreen here in public and perhaps cause more of a scene than there already was. So she quickly broke in and said to Doreen, ignoring the lout as best she could, “I can see you are busy, Doreen. We will drop by another time. It has been very nice to see you.”

  And with that, she bestowed on Eddie a look that would give the devil frostbite, took me by the arm, and we walked out of the store. We did not look back, but we both could imagine the scene we were leaving behind, and it was not a pleasant one.

  13

  It was now time for tea, and I assure you we both needed it. Mrs. K and I exchanged opinions about Doreen and her unfortunate situation as we made our way to the Garden Gate Café, which is about two blocks from the Emporium. We decided to let the matter rest for now, as we had more important things to discuss. We entered the café and found a table next to a nice potted palm tree and out of the draft from the front door. It was a little closer to the noise from the kitchen than we would have liked, but who can be choosy in a busy place like that?

  There were two extra chairs at the table and we used them to put down our packages and our purses. One thing we like about the Garden Gate Café is the comfortable chairs they have, nicely padded and with lots of room for those of us who are a bissel wider in the tuchis. We were soon approached by a nice young waitress—such a pleasant looking girl with curly blond hair done up with a red ribbon—who gave us the afternoon tea menus. It is another good thing about the Garden Gate Café that they have a wide selection of teas, and we each chose a tea that they do not serve at the Home. (It is strictly Mr. Lipton at the Home—and I don’t even think he was Jewish!) Mrs. K ordered an interesting green tea with ginger in it, and I ordered something called white tea. We also ordered two plates of fruit salad.

  While we were waiting, and before we were getting down to business, we spent a few minutes looking over the diners at the other tables and remarking on those who were in some way interesting or unusual. When you live most of the time with the same people of the same age around you day and night, it is a real treat to be among a different mixture of people than we are used to.

  After maybe five minutes, our tea arrived. Mrs. K’s made a very pretty color in the cup. My white tea turned out not to be white at all—so what is the big deal?

  When we had our tea and our fruit salad and the waitress with the curly blond hair had left, I said to Mrs. K, “So Rose, what is it that since yesterday you’ve been thinking about Bertha?”

  Mrs. K took out of her purse a notebook—she always carries a little notebook with her, in case she should want to write down something important, but this was a bigger one—and opened it up.

  “I made some notes,” she said. “Do you remember that we made a list of possible ways the earring could have gotten into a matzoh ball or into the soup?”

  “Certainly,” I replied, “and we didn’t come up with many possibilities.”

  “No, and I still do not have many. But now that we know there was a theft involved—or at least that is what we are told and the police believe—we need to make a new list, a list of who might have taken Daisy’s earrings and deposited one of them in the soup.”

  “I suppose so. And who is on this list?”

  “I was thinking we should begin with the other list, and see if anyone on it fits both lists—the picking up the earring list, and the dropping it in the soup list.”

  “That seems like a good idea.”

  “Then here is the first list, which I have written down on my pad.” And she looked down at the pad in her hand, making a small check mark next to the first line she had written. “First possibility, the earring was dropped into the matzoh balls while they were being made. Second possibility, the earring was already in the matzoh meal. We can assume it was not in the egg or the onion or the carrots or the chicken! Third possibility, it fell in while the soup was being cooked, or served, or after that. Am I correct so far?”

  “Yes, that is what we decided. And we also decided that you did not drop it into the soup or the matzoh ball mix, Daisy did not drop it into the matzoh meal box, and she also did not drop it while passing by as the soup was being served. So where does that leave us? Are we not worse off than before if we even have to eliminate Daisy because she no longer had the earrings?”

  “Ah, but maybe we are better off,” said Mrs. K. “Maybe now that we are assuming that the earring was stolen, there are many more persons who might possibly have dropped the earring into the soup.”

  “I’m not sure that I am following you,” I admitted. Sometimes Mrs. K jumps ahead faster than I can keep up.

  “Look,” she said patiently, “if the earrings were not stolen, then Daisy must have dropped one of them into the soup, or into the makings. And if it was not Daisy, it must have been me, because I made the soup and no one else was in the kitchen. And if we eliminate Daisy, we don’t have any suspects, other than me, and maybe even I will start to believe I must have done it. But if the earrings were stolen, then the number of people who could have dropped one of them into the soup is as many as could have stolen it and were at the seder. Do you see?”

  “Now I see.” I am sometimes a bit slow, but I get there eventually. “So now let us make the next list, of who could have stolen the earrings.”

  “That’s just what I want to do,” said Mrs. K. “Let us begin with the obvious—with me. I could have stolen the earrings and then dropped one into the soup, just like the police seem to think I did.”

  “But we know you didn’t…” I began to protest, but Mrs. K waved her hand at me and continued. “Nevertheless, we must start with the obvious and proceed to the less likely. So I am, how do they put it, ‘suspect number one.’ ”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but didn’t protest again. “And I suppose,” I added, “we have to eliminate Daisy from the list. Too bad, because she was both number two and number three on the old list.”

  “Not at all,” said Mrs. K to my surprise. “Daisy is very much on the list.”

  “How is that? I mean, if we assume the earrings were stolen?”

  “Now ordinarily I would not say this,” Mrs. K answered, “because I like Daisy and she is a very respectable lady. But as you know, those earrings were given to her by her son Barry. And you also know that Barry Goldfarb is a regular ganif, a thief, or at least a shady character. You remember when he was in jail for some kind of insurance fraud several years ago? And Daisy has told me that it was not the first time.”

  I was beginning to see where Mrs. K was driving to. “So you think Daisy’s son Barry might have put her up to something like stealing her own earrings for the insurance money? The earrings he originally gave to her?”

  “Let us just say it is a possibility. Even a respectable woman like Daisy might give in to her son if he is maybe telling her he is in trouble and needs the money to pay off a debt to some bad people. I’m just saying it is possible.”

  “All right, we will leave Daisy on the list,” I said reluctantly. But I could not imagine Daisy Goldfarb as a thief. “So now we have you, who we know did not do it, and Daisy, who most likely did not do it either. Is there on your list someone at least who is maybe more likely?”

  14

  Mrs. K took a sip of her tea and looked into the cup for a moment, where perhaps she saw the answer in the tea leaves. Then she picked up her pencil and said, “Are there any other of the residents whom we should put on the list?”

  “Well,” I replied, “no one I can think of who has a better opportunity than anyone else. We cannot put them all on the list.”

  “No. It would be different if someone had been sitting at Bertha’s table with her. They would have had a much better opportunity to put something in her soup. But she was sitting alone, was she not?”

  I was about to agree, but then I said, “Wait a minute. What about that priest or w
hatever he was who sat down by her briefly?”

  “I did not see a priest at the seder, and I certainly did not see one sitting next to Bertha Finkelstein,” Mrs. K replied.

  “He sat down next to her for only a minute or two and then he left, I assume to talk with other residents.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “No. He was not one of the goyim I am used to seeing at the Home.”

  “Well,” Mrs. K said, “that is strange, since we are usually told ahead of time when Gentiles are to visit our seder, so we know to welcome them, and I do not recall this being mentioned. But since we do not know who he was, and he was apparently sitting there for only a minute, and a priest would be unlikely to steal a pair of earrings, we will have to leave him off the list for now. I will try to remember to ask about him at the Home.”

  On this we agreed. She now consulted her list again and said, “So we are down to suspect number three, all of the help.”

  “What do you mean, ‘all of the help’?”

  “I mean everyone who helped to serve dinner could have stolen the earrings and then accidentally dropped one into the soup. Maybe out of a pocket of an apron where they were hidden.”

  “That is possible, but it too seems to me unlikely,” I told Mrs. K.

  “Maybe I agree with you it is unlikely,” she responded. “But we are making a list of who could have dropped the earring, and at this point, because we have no likely suspects, it must include even the unlikely. Besides, if Daisy did leave her door open, as we both know she has done many times, almost anyone in the building could have taken those earrings, including most of those who later were serving. So let us think about who was serving.”

  I did think, but I was not noticing such things at the time. Why should I? I did not know that I had reason to be noticing them until now.

  Nevertheless, I took a stab at it. “Well, we know of course that up front was Mary, who caused all the commotion. I am sure that if she had tried to drop anything in the soup, it would have fallen on the floor instead.”

  Mrs. K laughed. “Yes, she is perhaps least likely. Now, who was serving us?”

  “I think we were served by either Jerry Anderson, the night watchman’s boy—he was filling in because of the extra guests—or by Frank—I always forget his last name—you know, one of the regular waiters. I am pretty certain it was not a woman.”

  “Yes, I agree, and now that you mention him, I think it was Frank,” Mrs. K said. “I believe his last name is Neilson or Nelson or something like that. No, it is Nelson, I’m sure.” She made an entry in her notebook.

  Just then I remembered something: “Wasn’t it Frank whose wife was so sick last year that he had to miss work to take care of her? It must have cost him a lot of lost wages, not to mention her being out of work as well.”

  “I think you are right, Ida.” Another scribble in her notebook.

  “I also remember,” she said, “hearing that Adele, who usually serves at dinner, has been ill, so she was not there for the seder. I distinctly recall that Betsy, the plump woman with the unruly hair she always has to keep pinned down under her cap, was serving at the table across from us. I remember thinking that a woman of that size should not be bending over quite so far; it is not a pretty sight. That leaves one more server, whoever replaced Adele.”

  We both were silent for a few minutes while we tried to think of the fifth server.

  “I have it,” Mrs. K said finally. “I remember now that there was a middle-aged man, whom I did not recognize, serving at breakfast, and I am almost certain he was there again for the seder. I don’t know his name, but he had a dark complexion and wore a somewhat shabby blue suit. Did you notice him too?”

  I did not notice, but then Mrs. K always notices a lot more things than I do. I sometimes think she and I are living in two different but parallel worlds, hers being filled with many more interesting details than mine.

  “Is not the one who was serving Bertha Finkelstein, and so might have dropped the earring into her soup, the only one who counts?” I asked.

  “Well, that would be the most likely,” she replied, “but not the only possibility. The servers moved around quite a bit—they did not all stay in the place where they were serving. And now that I think of it, when I finished making the soup, Mrs. Catelli, the cook, who had been supervising the preparation of the rest of the dinner, came and got the soup and personally ladled it out into bowls that were already on trays for the servers to take out to the dining room. So she also has to be on the list.” More writing in the notebook.

  “Wait!” I said. “Something just occurred to me. It is true you were the only one in the kitchen while you were making the soup. But of course Mrs. Catelli and her helpers were there later, making the rest of the dinner. Where was your soup while they were cooking dinner?”

  “That is a good question, but I am not sure it will help us. Remember that most of the dinner was made earlier and just heated up before the meal, and I was not allowed to use the kitchen until Mrs. Catelli was finished. So there was not much time at all between when I was finished with the soup and when it was served, and I was there in the kitchen with it until they shooed me out to go sit down so I could be served with everyone else. That’s when I came to sit with you, Ida. Remember how I got there just before they served?”

  “Yes, I remember. Which makes Mrs. Catelli an even better suspect. There definitely was an opportunity there if someone was looking for one. So what does your notebook now say?”

  “Well, it now lists the staff—though not all by name, unfortunately—that were serving, plus Mrs. Catelli the cook. And of course Mr. Pupik was there, but we will assume he did not steal Daisy’s earrings and leave him off the list.”

  “Too bad. I would like for him to be the thief. But I guess you’re right.”

  Just then Mrs. K’s eyes widened and she looked over my shoulder, like she was seeing something very interesting behind me. I turned around, but I did not see anything unusual; just the front of the café and the street outside. “What are you looking at?” I asked.

  “Guess who I just saw coming out of the shop across the street?”

  “How should I know? Give me at least a hint.”

  “Here is a big hint,” she said. “It is Frank, who is on our list of people who might have dropped the earring.”

  “So what is unusual about that? Should he not be downtown like we are?”

  “All that is unusual is the shop he was in,” Mrs. K said.

  I looked again and I saw only three shops across the street: the ABC Bookstore, Farraday’s Ladies’ Intimate Wear, and the Coin Exchange. “It would only be worth mentioning if he was coming out of Farraday’s Ladies’ Intimate Wear,” I said, “but if that is what he likes to do in his spare time, it is not our business. I have a cousin who used to like to put on ladies’ shoes—”

  “No, no, no,” Mrs. K interrupted. “He was not coming out of the Ladies’ Wear shop. He was coming out of the Coin Exchange. Now do you see?”

  But now I still did not see, and I said as much to Mrs. K. So she explained: “Don’t you remember that the Coin Exchange is Isaac Rosenkrantz’s fancy-schmancy pawnshop? The only coins he exchanges are the few cents on the dollar he gives to people selling their trinkets to raise cash.”

  “Yes, I recall that. But why should Frank not be dealing with Rosenkrantz? He is a perfectly respectable businessman, even if he is only a pawnbroker.”

  “The question,” replied Mrs. K, “is not whether Frank should be dealing with Rosenkrantz, but why he should be dealing with Rosenkrantz. What is it he has to sell?”

  I had no answer for that. Suddenly Mrs. K got a look on her face like she had just had an idea, and she said excitedly to me, “We have finished our tea and we have still an hour before Andy picks us up. Let’s go across the street and visit Rosenkrantz’s shop.”

  I was not sure I liked this idea. What were we to do in Rosenkrantz’s shop? I asked Mrs. K this,
and she just shrugged her shoulders. “All I know is that we will learn nothing more by sitting here.” She started to get up, leaving money on the table for the check and tip. “Are you coming with me?”

  Of course I was coming. I should miss the excitement?

  15

  It was the first time I was in a pawnshop, or whatever fancy name it is called by Mr. Rosenkrantz, and I was both interested and nervous. Mrs. K opened the door, which had a little bell that tinkled when it moved, so we were not able to enter without being noticed. There were two or three other people in the shop, and all turned around and looked as we walked through the door. I imagine they were wondering what two old ladies are doing in such a place, and I would not blame them. All around me, I was seeing things like guns, knives, musical instruments—what would Mrs. K or I be wanting with a shotgun, a hunting knife, or a trombone? Mrs. K, however, looked like she knew just what she was doing—like she was maybe thinking of buying a tuba and joining a band. But she passed by the musical instruments and made her way over to a cabinet that contained rings and other jewelry, as if she knew exactly where it was located and was interested in purchasing something from it. I was now wondering myself if Mrs. K had been here before.

  Rosenkrantz’s shop is quite remarkable. It is as old-fashioned as the Emporium, with fancy trim around the walls and ceiling and fine wood cabinets of polished mahogany. I saw now that in addition to the guns and instruments, there were items of all kinds stacked on the counters, hanging from the walls, even from the ceiling! All this time I was looking around to see if Frank, the server we were discussing, was one of the people in the shop. I did not see him, and I joined Mrs. K at the jewelry cabinet. I did see Mr. Rosenkrantz, whom I knew to look at but have seldom said “boo” to. He was helping another customer and was not yet looking our way.

  I assumed that Mrs. K, who knew Rosenkrantz better than I did—there are very few yiddisher shopkeepers she does not know—was waiting to have a word with him, maybe to ask him whether Frank sold him a diamond earring. So we were bending over the cabinet and pretending to be interested in the many wedding rings in it. I was sad to see so many examples of people who once had dreams of a wonderful marriage and now had only a bad memory and a few dollars for which they sold their ring.