Now You See Me...

by Rochelle Krich

  Cheryl peeled a cucumber. “Anyway, Rabbi and Mrs. Bailor would never have allowed Hadassah to go out with someone they didn’t hand-pick. And not with a screenwriter. I’m sure they want her to marry someone who learns Torah every day. I don’t blame them.”

  An edge of anger in her voice said otherwise. Had Justin been angry, too? Was that why he’d done what he had—because he hadn’t felt good enough for the rabbi?

  “Anyway,” Cheryl said. “I’m so relieved Hadassah’s safe at home. I meant to ask you, did you tell the Bailors about the cutting?”

  “I did. They’re upset, but now they know to keep an eye on her. And of course, she’s going to continue therapy. It’s sad how many at-risk teens there are. You’re lucky that Justin wasn’t scarred by the divorce. I know you said he had a rough time, but he seems to be doing well.”

  “He’s a sensitive young man. I think I told you that? And so creative.” She put down the peeler and turned toward me. “Between us, Molly?”

  I nodded.

  “Justin tried to kill himself two years ago. He slit his wrist. Thank God I got him to the hospital in time. He had therapy, and he’s been on medication since. He hates being on meds, but I tell him thank God they’re available. His father tells him, too.” Cheryl set the cucumber on a wood cutting board and sliced it. “Don’t tell Justin, but that’s why I moved to Los Angeles. He was three thousand miles away, and I worried that he wouldn’t remember to take his meds. And I do like it here.”

  “I’m glad. By the way, how was dinner with the Stones?”

  “Lovely.” Cheryl flashed a smile. “They invited me for Thanksgiving dinner. And I’m planning to have them for lunch the following Shabbat.”

  “Did Justin enjoy it, too?” I hoped my tone was nonchalant.

  Everything indicated that Dassie had been with Justin. The get-well card, Irene’s comments. But if he had been with his mother and the Stones on Friday night, how had he seen Rabbi Bailor leaving the apartment?

  “Oh, Justin didn’t go for dinner,” Cheryl said. “He joined me for services at shul, but he had other plans. Young people are so secretive, aren’t they? But I’m glad he has friends, especially lately. He was doing so well until Greg was fired. He took it so personally.”

  So Justin had been at the apartment. Had he seen Rabbi Bailor leaving? Or was that a lie?

  Cheryl rinsed a tomato and set it on the cutting board. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I can defrost another steak. I’d love the company.”

  “I wish I could, but Zack is expecting me home. You mentioned the other day that Justin wasn’t going to continue studying with Rabbi Bailor. That’s too bad.”

  I wondered where Justin was right now. With Hadassah? Had she lied about going to Sara’s? Had he talked her into running away with him a second time?

  “Yes, well, he was terribly disillusioned when Rabbi Bailor didn’t support Greg,” Cheryl said. “And some of his anger toward the rabbi is my fault, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Maybe Justin had communicated with Dassie. I had seen her in the chat room last night. Maybe he’d IM’ed her: Come with me, or I tell the police about your father.

  Cheryl laughed, nervous. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re not going to think well of me.”

  “Try me,” I said, hating the fact that I was eliciting information under the promise of friendship.

  “God, I haven’t talked about this in years.” She cut the tomato and tossed the chunks into a glass bowl, along with the cucumbers. “Justin and I have always been close—probably too close. I was a single mom with an only son, and Justin is so empathetic. I talked to him about personal things as if he were an adult. I treated him like a friend. That was wrong. I regret it.”

  I nodded, my mind on Justin. What if he’d followed Dassie while she was walking to Sara’s? What if he’d snatched her?

  “You remember I told you about my first love?” Cheryl said. “Justin came across some love letters I’d kept, and some mementos. So I told him about it. It was a mistake. I must have sounded bitter—I was bitter. For a long time, really. And after the first time, it became easier to talk about it with Justin. And poor Justin.” Cheryl sighed. “He took on my hurt, and he decided this man had ruined my life. Justin believes that I never gave Simon a chance, that he and Simon and I could have been a happy family. And you know, he may be right.”

  I had learned the other day that Cheryl liked to talk. I wanted to yell at her. Hurry up! Get to the point! I pictured Dassie walking to Sara’s, unsuspecting. I pictured Justin grabbing her and forcing her into his car. I couldn’t begin to imagine her terror.

  Cheryl took a handful of lettuce leaves, sealed the bag, and put it in the refrigerator. “But it’s too late, isn’t it? You can’t redo your life. I’ve tried to explain that to Justin, but he won’t listen to me. So I was surprised and a little nervous when he began studying with Rabbi Bailor. But Justin really liked him.” She tore a leaf and tossed the parts into the bowl.

  I was confused, not really focused. “Because . . . ?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “Oh, I thought you understood, Molly. Charlie Bailor was my first love. Chaim, now. We dated our senior year of high school.”

  I hoped my face didn’t reveal my shock. That was why Cheryl had looked familiar. I’d seen her photo in Rabbi Bailor’s yearbook. Her hair had been brown then, and she’d been decades younger.

  “We came from similar backgrounds,” Cheryl said. “Orthodox, but not heavy-duty. Charlie never said so, but I was sure we’d get married—maybe in our junior year of college. And on a school-sponsored weekend at the end of that May, we did get married, kind of.” She sounded wistful.

  “You had a ceremony,” I said. “With a ring.”

  She nodded. “All the rabbis and teachers were finally asleep. A group of us drank beer. And then we were outside, Charlie and me and the others. We were a little drunk, and someone put a lace kerchief on my head and a bouquet of flowers in my hands. And Charlie put a ring on my finger and said the blessing. And he kissed me, right there under the stars. It was silly and beautiful.” Her eyes glistened.

  I sensed that in her mind she was at that weekend gathering, standing under the stars.

  “We didn’t think we were married, of course. It was just a joke. But I kept the ring. I still have it, as a matter of fact. I don’t know why.”

  “I’d love to see it,” I said.

  “It’s nothing special.”

  She wiped her hands on a dish towel and left the room. While I waited, I pulled out my cell phone, called West L.A., and left another, urgent message for Jessie.

  Cheryl returned. She had an odd expression on her face—a mix of annoyance and bewilderment, maybe a little concern. I had probably worn the same expression when I saw the credit card charge for flowers that Ron had bought and I had never received.

  “I can’t find it,” she told me. “I saw it a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine where it is. I don’t think the housekeeper would have taken it. It’s not worth much.”

  “You were telling me about you and Rabbi Bailor?”

  She picked up the peeler and another cucumber. “Someone talked Charlie into going to Israel for the year, instead of straight to college. At first he wrote me all the time. He called me, too, but not as much. Phone calls from Israel were very expensive then. But after a few months the letters didn’t come as often, and the calls stopped. And then he wrote me a letter. He said he really liked me, but his life was taking a different direction, and he hoped I’d understand. And I heard from someone who was in touch with Charlie that Charlie went to a different yeshiva, a stricter one. And that he changed his name to Chaim.”

  I wondered if Cheryl was aware that bitterness had crept into her voice.

  “I phoned him. I told him whatever direction he was taking, I would take with him. But he said that wouldn’t work, that he wasn’t the same person, tha
t he knew I would find someone who would make me happy. I wasn’t going to beg, you know? The next letter came a year later. He was getting married and wanted to talk about the ceremony we’d had. The rabbi who was going to perform the wedding told Charlie that if we had two valid witnesses, we’d need a divorce. Charlie didn’t want to take any chances, so he wanted to give me a get, a divorce. A divorce!”

  Her voice shook. She slammed the peeler on the board. “I was so hurt. I didn’t answer his letter. Or his phone calls. But my parents said Charlie was right. What if I met someone? Without a divorce, I couldn’t get married. So I phoned Charlie, and he sent me a get, from Israel. And someone hand-delivered it. And that was it. And it hurt, Molly.” She wiped her eyes. “God, I thought I was over this, but it just doesn’t go away, does it?”

  Better love me a little, Bubbie G says, but love me long. “Did Rabbi Bailor know that Justin was your son?”

  “No.” Cheryl came to the table and sat down. “Wexner is Simon’s last name. Charlie—Chaim—doesn’t know who I am. I never heard from him after I received the get, but I kept tabs on him. I was kind of obsessed with him.” She blushed. “It was stupid, and unhealthy. I knew he’d moved to L.A. I knew he was a principal at Torat Tzion. I saw him when I first moved here, the day I went to meet with the secular studies principal, Dr. Mendes. I think I told you? Charlie passed me in the hall. He didn’t even recognize me. I recognized him, even with the beard. I was going to say something, but then I didn’t.”

  “But Justin knew.”

  She nodded. “That’s why I was surprised that he agreed to study with him. Greg convinced him. He told Justin that Chaim was a great guy. I think Justin was curious, you know? And then Greg was fired— and well, here we are.”

  I didn’t know where to begin. “Cheryl, I have to tell you something.”

  She frowned. “Something’s wrong? Is it Hadassah? Did she . . . ?”

  I took her hands. “Cheryl, you know what they’re saying on the news, that Dassie ran away with Greg? It’s not true.”

  Her eyes widened. “But Greg is dead. Someone killed him.”

  “Cheryl, Thursday night Dassie was at Yamashiro with the man she met in the chat room. She was with Justin.”

  She yanked her hands free. “That’s crazy!” She got to her feet. “Why would you say something so awful?”

  I took the blue get-well card from my purse and handed it to her. “Justin sent this to Hadassah.”

  She looked at the envelope as if it were tainted. Then she took it, pulled out the card, opened it, read it.

  Her face had turned the color of putty. She dropped the card on the floor and moaned. She started to sway. I stood to help her, but she sank back onto the chair and buried her head in her hands.

  “My God,” she whispered.

  “Cheryl, did Justin know that Greg was going away?”

  She looked up. “Greg asked him to water the plants and take in the paper. Justin was disappointed that Greg didn’t want him to use the car, but it’s new. My God,” she said again. “But Justin would never hurt Greg. He loved Greg.”

  “I know he did. Cheryl, Dassie is missing.”

  She stared at me.

  “She left her house to walk over to a friend’s, but she never showed up. Do you have any idea where Justin is right now?”

  “You don’t know that Hadassah is with Justin.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded. “But we don’t know that she isn’t. I’m very concerned about what they might do. I’m concerned about both of them, Cheryl.”

  “He takes medication, Molly. I make sure he does.”

  “Where is he, Cheryl?”

  “He wouldn’t hurt Dassie.” She bit her lip. “Are you going to call the police?”

  “I have to. You know that.”

  “Justin will panic. The last time, after he was in the hospital? They sent him somewhere for a few months. He told me then he would never let anyone do that to him again.”

  “Where is he, Cheryl?”

  “I don’t want him hurt. I can’t believe he did anything to Greg. You heard him, Molly. You heard how upset he was about what happened to Greg, about what those kids were doing.”

  I didn’t answer. I could see her torment.

  “He’s been making extra money painting apartments,” she said. “He finished a job yesterday, but he said he had to do some touch-ups.”

  “Do you know the address?”

  “I can find out. The apartment building belongs to one of my clients. That’s how Justin got the job.”

  Chapter 50

  Paint, Hadassah realized. That’s what she smelled.

  She told him it made her feel ill. “Can we go somewhere else?” she said.

  Outside, she could run. She could scream. She could draw attention to herself.

  “There’s nowhere else,” he said. “But we won’t be disturbed.” He scowled. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Greg said he would be gone until Wednesday, and then he was going to Seattle, to be with Kaitlin. If he hadn’t come home earlier, everything would be different.”

  Kaitlin, Hadassah said silently. Now she had a name for the blond-haired little girl. Tears stung her eyes.

  “Why did you stab him, Dassie?” he said, mournful. “If you hadn’t stabbed him . . . Why would you try to kill him?”

  She was amazed he hadn’t figured it out. How was that possible? She realized with a wave of relief that he didn’t know that she’d been hiding from him, that in the dark she had thought she was stabbing the person who had imprisoned her for a week.

  “I was frightened,” she said. “It was dark. I thought he was a burglar.” Lying wasn’t so difficult, she found, and she was telling him what he wanted to hear.

  “There was so much blood,” he said. “All over his shirt. There was a gash in his throat, Dassie. Here.”

  He traced a line across her throat, pressed his thumb into the hollow of her neck, against her windpipe. She found it hard to breathe, but forced herself to relax.

  He moved his thumb. “What did you stab him with, Dassie?”

  She almost said a knife, but he would know she was lying. She decided he was testing her.

  “A piece of glass. It was cold, and I wanted a blanket,” she told him. “The box fell, and a frame broke.”

  He nodded. “You saw the photo. Why didn’t you trust me, Dassie? Why didn’t you wait and let me explain?”

  “I was scared. I heard the key in the lock. I knew it was too soon for you to be back. I picked up a piece of glass from the floor, from the photo. He came into the apartment. He grabbed my hand. I was terrified.” She didn’t have to pretend about that.

  “So you stabbed him.” He was watching her, nodding. “And you called your father for help, with my phone. Does your father have it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She had phoned home, but had hung up without leaving a message. She had hung up on 911, too, because all she had was seconds, and what if they didn’t believe her? So she had phoned Dr. McIntyre. She knew his number by heart. But she didn’t know whether Dr. McIntyre had contacted her father. That had tormented her. And she didn’t know whether her father had been in the apartment.

  “He fell,” she said. “I thought I’d killed him. There was so much blood, and his scream . . .” In the dark, before she fell asleep, she could still hear it.

  “Greg said it was my fault. You were the one who stabbed him, Dassie, but he blamed me.” His voice trembled with indignation.

  The significance of what he had said struck her. She almost wept.

  “He didn’t recognize you in the dark, Dassie. He found your purse. He saw the Shabbat candles. ‘What’s going on, Justin?’ ”

  He was rubbing his fingers together, starting to rock.

  She had left him alive. Her heart was pounding. “It was my fault,” she said. “I should have stayed.”

  “He saw your clothes in his closet. He yelled at me. ‘What have you done, Justi
n? Where are the phones, Justin? Are you crazy, Justin?’ ”

  Two cordless phones and their stations had been in the box, along with the toys and the puzzles, and the letters from a woman named Melissa, the woman in the photos with the little girl. Kaitlin.

  “I’m not crazy, Dassie.”

  “No, of course not,” she said.

  “His cell phone was in his hand. He was going to call my mother, or the police. I begged him not to, but he said I needed help, I was sick. He turned away from me. He wouldn’t look at me. So I took that stupid owl and hit him.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Dassie. I wanted him to put down the phone. If you hadn’t stabbed him, if you hadn’t run away . . .”

  “It’s my fault,” she said when he paused, because it was her cue to sing the refrain to this sad, sad song. She wasn’t really listening. Her hands were bound, but she felt freer than she had in days.

  “And my father?” She held her breath.

  “I heard the door open and hid on the balcony. I didn’t see him, but I heard him walking through the apartment. He took all your things. He wanted the police to blame me for everything, Dassie.” His voice shook. “Even though it was your fault, and Greg’s. Greg was supposed to come back Wednesday, not Friday. So I had to move his body to the car. I had to crash the car. What else could I do?”

  “I should have waited for you,” she said.

  His rocking slowed.

  “I shouldn’t have let you take the blame.”

  “The important thing is that we’re together, that we love each other.” He stopped. “You were scared, so you tried to protect yourself. Is that how you cut your palm? With the glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Poor Dassie.” He spread her hands apart and kissed her lacerated palm. He frowned. “What did you do with it? With the piece of glass? I didn’t find it.”

  His elbow was pressing against her thigh. “I threw it away.”

  “Good.” He wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger. “My mother said it wouldn’t work. ‘She’s not for you, Justin.’ Your father didn’t think my mother was good enough for him, either. Did you know that?”