A Fine Fix

by Gale Deitch

  “Let me ask you a question.” I wiped my mouth and fingers with the white cloth napkin, for a second wondering what laundry service the bar used, with all the barbeque sauce and red wine smears that must stain their linens. “Why did you tell me not to mention our meeting to Zach?”

  Her eyes shifted to the right, and I remembered seeing on a detective show that this gesture indicated the person was hiding something or lying.

  “Zach and I have a past, and he knows some things about me.”

  “Like what?” He’d told me about the pregnancy and abortion, but what else was there to tell?

  “We dated on and off,” she ran her fingers up and down the stem of the wine glass.

  “And?”

  “And there was some trouble.”

  “When?” Okay, now she was going to tell about the pregnancy and abortion.

  She inhaled and emitted a small, high-pitched sob. “Back in college. I visited Zach at UM. He’d asked me to the Homecoming game and a dance his dorm was having.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So you and Zach went out. Then what?”

  “Some people were bringing food to the party, so Zach and I decided to make these dessert bars. It was kind of fun cooking with him.” She smiled.

  “I know,” I said, feeling a little jealous again, thinking about that kiss last night. “I cook with him every day. He’s a great partner.”

  “We put everything in those bars but the kitchen sink—chocolate chips, oatmeal, marshmallows, coconut, caramels.” Her smile became a frown.

  “Sounds like a wonderful recipe to me,” I said.

  Ally’s face crumbled like a sugar cookie and her shoulders began to shake. “Someone died,” she cried.

  “At the party? Someone died?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded.

  “An allergy to peanuts?”

  She nodded again.

  I put my hands on her shoulders. “But Ally, you didn’t know these people. You had no idea someone was allergic to peanuts.”

  “Yes, I did know. Zach had told me not to use peanuts. Everyone in his dorm knew that this sophomore Emily was allergic. She carried around one of those EpiPens, just in case.”

  “But Emily had her EpiPen with her, didn’t she? That would have saved her, right?”

  “Yes, she had it with her. But it didn’t work. She couldn’t breathe, and the paramedics took too long. She died on the way to the hospital.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “The police investigated. When they checked the food, there they were—tons of peanuts in our cookie bars. We were all standing around, and Zach was stunned. I was stunned. He kept insisting that we had used absolutely no peanuts. But there they were in the bars. There was no denying it.”

  Ally was visibly shivering now, and I took off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. “I’ll never forget the disappointment in his eyes, believing that I put peanuts in those bars.”

  “Well, did you?” I asked. “Put peanuts in the bars?”

  Ally flinched as if I had slapped her across the face. “No. Of course not. My father is deathly allergic to peanuts. I know what happens to a person with anaphylactic shock. I would never do that.

  “When the police said that they would have to arrest us, Zach was the one who took the entire rap for it. He told them that I didn’t know anything about it. So they handcuffed him, took him down to the station and booked him.”

  “You just stood there and let them arrest Zach?”

  Ally’s head was down and her shoulders were shaking. “That’s what hurt the most. He really thought I defied him and put peanuts into those bars. Every time I tried to tell him I hadn’t done it, Zach would cut me off and shake his head. He couldn’t even face me.” She lifted her head, her eyes now red and streaming. “Trudie, please believe me. I didn’t do it, but Zach was so sure that I had that he turned himself in. He thought he was protecting me.”

  “Well, if he didn’t do it and you didn’t do it, then who put the peanuts in the dessert bars?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “After Zach was arrested, did you go to the police then to tell them that he didn’t do it?”

  “I—I was afraid. I didn’t want either of us to go to jail. I didn’t think they’d believe me. So I called Daddy, told him that Zach had been arrested for something he didn’t do and asked him to help.”

  “How could your father help Zach?”

  “He called his lawyer who was able to get Zach off on a technicality. But that arrest will be on his record forever.”

  The revelation dawned on me as if I’d opened the refrigerator and the light had come on. “Zach has a record! So that’s why they took him in for questioning. Detective Goldman suspects him of doing the exact same thing to your father. Now it all makes sense. I have to call him so they’ll take the suspicion off of Zach.”

  “No, Trudie. You can’t do that.” Ally’s tears had dried a little too quickly. “Then I’ll be arrested for Emily’s murder. They’ll think I did it.”

  “Ally, don’t you want to help Zach? After all he’s done for you. Every time you need his help, he comes running.” I glared at her, hoping she would realize I knew about the abortion.

  She slid back from me on the vinyl bench seat. “What did he tell you?”

  “Enough to know that Zach was not the father of your baby, even though you convinced him he was.”

  The waiter approached our table. “Anything else, ladies?”

  “No, not another thing.” I grabbed my jacket from Allison’s shoulders and stalked out of the bar.

  THE STEAK TASTED wonderful, but after meeting with Ally, I couldn’t enjoy it. I was furious with her for the way she had treated Zach. But I was angry with him as well for allowing her to knead him like bread dough, let him rise and then punch him down again and roll him flat. Not just once, but over and over again.

  What should I do? What could I do? I didn’t want to get Ally in trouble with the law, but I would not stay silent and let Zach go to jail. For now, there were no decisions to make. The autopsy results had not come back yet, and until then, no one would know the cause of death. I would take it one step at a time.

  In the past few days, my life had turned upside down. I needed to feel grounded, to get a dose of normal everyday reality. I picked up the phone and punched in my mother’s number. The voice mail recording answered instead. I’d forgotten my parents were still on their cruise, somewhere in Alaska. I wanted to scream.

  The phone rang. What now? I wondered. After a day of confrontations with Zach, with Barbara Lewis, with Detective Goldman and Ally, who else wanted a piece of me? I took a deep breath and pushed the talk button.

  “Hi, Trudie.” I heard the smile in Bradley’s voice. “I just wanted to see how you were doing? Saturday night was pretty traumatic for you. Have you had a chance to blow off some steam?”

  “Bradley. So nice to hear a friendly voice. It’s sweet of you to call.” Phone to my ear, I sank back against the sofa pillows and put my feet up.

  “So have you?”

  “Have I what?” I asked.

  “Blown off some steam?”

  “I was just trying to find a way to do that, but there was no one left to call.”

  “Well, here I am,” he said. “Go right ahead. Blow.”

  I giggled. “What are you doing right now?”

  “I’m talking to you,” he said, chuckling.

  “No, I mean are you standing in your kitchen or walking from room to room, or watching TV? What?”

  “I’m lying in bed watching the classic movie station. Cary Grant and Doris Day.”

  I could picture debonair Cary Grant and Bradley, both so at ease in their tuxedos.

  “What are you doing?” he asked me.

  “I’m talking to you.” I giggled again.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m on my sofa watching some CSI episodes I missed.”
<
br />   “And what are you wearing? I’m picturing a slinky black cat suit. Right?”

  “Close,” I said, thoroughly enjoying this easy, playful banter. “How about pink leopard PJ’s?”

  “Mmmm.” His voice was soothing. “Let me savor that vision for a moment.”

  “How about you—what are you wearing?” I held my breath, not believing this whole conversation.

  “Boxers.”

  “And?” I’d never had a phone call like this before, verging a little on the naughty side. But it was fun and liberating. After a day like today, why not?

  “Just…boxers.”

  “Ooooh, nice.” I bit my lower lip, picturing his bare chest, his muscular arms—around me. The tenseness in my neck and shoulders eased, and I stretched luxuriously. I began to laugh, and so did he. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For saving the day. For chasing away the bad vibes. For just being there for me. I needed that. I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

  “It was good for me, too. Good night, Trudie.”

  “Good night, Bradley.”

  I got into bed and nestled into my pillow and comforter as if he’d just tucked me in and bent down to kiss my forehead. His call had given me the comfort and peace I’d needed. I fell right to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  My two-inch heels poked through the soggy ground with each step as I made my way across the grass at the King David Cemetery. I could have chosen flats to attend Mr. Schwartz’s funeral, but with my charcoal gray A-line dress, they just made me look short and dumpy. The black strappy pumps I wore showed off my calves, which weren’t half bad. My left heel sunk into the sodden earth, and I grabbed Zach’s arm to catch my balance.

  “Whoa, Nellie,” he said, holding me upright so I could pull my foot out of the mud. “Am I going to have to carry you?”

  “I wish you could, but I guess it wouldn’t be appropriate.” And he’d probably fall over from the sheer weight, I thought. “I’ll just hang onto you the rest of the way.”

  The morning rain had stopped, and the sun was beginning to emerge from behind a cloud. A tented shelter had been erected alongside the gravesite with three rows of folding chairs set on top of a sturdy sheet of canvas. A large group of people had already gathered for the service, and unfortunately, all the seats were occupied. I spotted Mrs. Schwartz and Ally seated in the front row, both shrouded in black, both wearing dark sunglasses, the mother clinging to her daughter’s arm.

  I walked over to them and gave Mrs. Schwartz a hug.

  “Trudie, how sweet of you to come.” She let go of Ally’s hand and leaned forward to whisper in my ear, her breath smelling like she’d had a Jack Daniels omelet for breakfast. “The autopsy results are finally in. They think someone m-m-murdered my Melvin.”

  “Oh,” I gasped. Thoughts swirled through my head as if it were a food processor. Mr. Schwartz had in fact been murdered, just as everyone had suspected. I wanted to ask how he’d died, but this was not the time or place. “I’m so sorry,” I said, patting her hand. Maybe later I’d call Goldman to see what I could find out.

  I turned to Ally, but she tossed her hair off her shoulder and turned to speak to the woman seated beside her. Obviously, she wasn’t ready to forgive me for the way I’d spoken to her the other day. I was the one who should have been holding a grudge after what she’d admitted to me, the way she’d made Zach the fall guy back in college. Because of her, Zach had a criminal record that he didn’t deserve. Honestly, I wouldn’t care if she never spoke to me again.

  I NOTICED BARBARA Lewis sitting beside Mrs. Schwartz and wearing a black wide-brimmed hat with a veil that covered her eyes. We nodded to each other, and then I joined Zach where he stood to the side of the shelter. I leaned against him for support. He wrapped his arm around my waist, his long, thin fingers spread wide on the front of my torso, almost touching my breasts. What the Hellman’s was he thinking? I grabbed his hand and pushed it away, worried that any of my current or future clients might be watching. I certainly didn’t want anyone to think he was more than just my business partner, but the service was about to begin, and it was too late to move.

  I shifted from one leg to the other. My feet, moist from the walk through the grass, were now sliding down in my shoes and squeezing my toes against the straps. There would surely be blisters tomorrow.

  The rabbi spoke about Mr. Schwartz, who had been a generous donor to the synagogue. He’d also been a hands-on volunteer, serving meals at a D.C. soup kitchen and delivering toys and books to a women’s shelter.

  Who would want to murder such a wonderful man? I pulled a wad of tissues out of my purse and dabbed at my eyes, trying to keep my mascara from running.

  As the rabbi began to chant prayers in Hebrew, I scanned the crowd, recognizing some of the Schwartzes’ friends from the party. There must have been close to a hundred fifty people who’d come to say farewell to Mr. Schwartz. Turning to get a better look, I was surprised to see Bradley. What was he doing here? He had no connection with Mr. Schwartz except that he might have been one of the last people to speak to the man. Bradley grinned at me, his teeth sparkling white against his tanned skin. Always the fashion model, he wore a black blazer, gray trousers and a black and gray striped tie. His broad shoulders filled out the jacket, and I flushed at the thought of our provocative phone call the other night. I turned away and fanned myself with the program.

  Looking in another direction, I spotted Detective Goldman standing in a military style at-ease position. I wondered for a moment if he had indeed been in the service or if this was part of his police academy training. He nodded my way, the expression on his face all business. He still wore the same disheveled navy blazer and khakis. Did he have a closet full of them? The man needed someone to take him shopping, I decided, assigning myself to the task.

  The rabbi asked if anyone wanted to speak about Mr. Schwartz. After an awkward moment in which everyone glanced around to see who would be the first to speak, a well-dressed man with a charcoal gray pin-striped suit and neatly-coiffed dark hair that was silvered at the temples, stood and walked to the front, facing the guests.

  “I’m Bob Lewis,” he said in a confident tone.

  So that was Mr. Lewis. Now I recognized him from the party, arguing with Mr. Schwartz until his wife settled them down.

  “Mel and I did quite a bit of business together over the years,” he continued. “I remember him as a young buck right out of college. I took him under my wing and taught him everything I knew about commercial real estate. We bought office buildings together, strip shopping centers. Each time Mel insisted the tenants get their first month’s rent free. Always a bone of contention between the two of us.” Mr. Lewis chuckled and shook his head. “He was a good man, fair in his dealings, a man of great integrity—almost to a fault.” He put a curled fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I, for one, will miss him.”

  Barbara Lewis nodded and smiled at her husband as he resumed his seat behind her.

  Almost to a fault. I wondered what that meant. How could someone have too much integrity? Had Mr. Schwartz been too honest to go along with some deal? Was there something he’d wanted to expose? Or was I letting my imagination run wild listening to Mr. Lewis’ innocent words? This whole situation was making me paranoid. Even so, I would keep my eyes and ears open at the Lewis dinner.

  Mr. Schwartz’s brother, followed by a friend from their Embassy Row neighborhood, spoke glowing words about him. Then the rabbi asked everyone to stand and recite the Mourner’s Kaddish. I opened my program to follow along. Yit’gadal v’yit kadash sh’mei raba. “May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified,” the English translation explained.

  Like most Jewish children, I had gone to Hebrew school for several years until my Bat Mitzvah at age thirteen, where I had recited my Haftorah portion with perfection. Since then, however, my Hebrew had become rusty, and I found it easier to read the transliteration on the left side of the
page.

  Behind me, I heard Zach chanting the prayer perfectly and knew he had no need to refer to the words in front of him. Yit’barakh v’yish’tabach v’yit’pa’ar v’yit’romam v’yit’nasei. Although he and I had been in the same Hebrew school class, there was no question as to who had spent more time on the lessons. …aleinu v’al kol Yis’ra’eil v’im’ru. Amen.

  When the Kaddish was finished, the mourners filed out. As is tradition, each took a shovelful of dirt and tossed it onto the casket, which now had been lowered a bit into the ground. When the shovel was handed to Ally, she began to cry in high-pitched shrieks, “Daddy! Daddy! No!” Bent with wracking sobs, she jammed the shovel into the mound of dirt and hurled a pile onto the casket, then stood, her shoulders heaving.

  Mrs. Schwartz reached out to her daughter yelling, “Ally, baby. Don’t do this. Please. Please baby, don’t.” She stumbled forward, almost plunging onto the casket herself, just as Mr. Schwartz’s brother caught her.

  Zach rushed to Ally’s side, brushed the tear-soaked hair out of her face, and escorted her away.

  With everything that woman had done to him, how could Zach be so tender and caring? What was I, chopped liver? Beholding the great expanse I would have to traverse by myself in my heels and wondering if I should walk barefoot, I felt someone take my arm.

  Bradley. Be still my heart.

  “Keep me company?” he asked, looping his arm through mine. He had the uncanny knack of knowing how to make me feel good. And now he’d done it again by pretending he was the one who needed me.

  “Of course,” I answered, my smile feeling much too big and toothy. As we walked, I tried to put my weight on my toes so that the heels wouldn’t get stuck again. Still, a thought kept gnawing at the back of my mind. What was Bradley doing at Mr. Schwartz’s funeral?

  “Where are you off to now?” he asked when we arrived at my car.

  I noticed Zach was busy helping Ally into a black stretch limo.

  “To the Shiva house. I’m catering the reception.”

  “The what house?”