I choked and Aaron laughed. ‘Why? Was he ugly or something?’
And the look she gave her grandson was so filled with love. ‘No, the opposite. Too good looking for his own good; he got away with murder. I’ve got some old photos of him I’ll pull out for you later.’
‘OK,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to tell me.’
‘Do you want to hear this, Lil?’
‘You know I do,’ I said. I had always been fascinated by the anomalies that Ada embodied. I was daily struck by the improbability of our friendship, how two such different people could find so much in common.
‘Let me be the Bubba Meiseh,’ she said, ladling broth into her good Rosenthal china.
‘Can we ask questions?’ I laughed.
‘Of course.’
‘What is a Bubba Meiseh?’ I asked.
‘An old woman who tells stories.’
‘This is great,’ said Aaron as he carried the fresh-baked challah bread that Ada had whipped up in the bread maker that she’d bought at Costco over a year ago, but had never taken out of its box before today.
‘First the blessings,’ she said as we settled around the linen-covered table.
Usually, Ada and I have Chinese takeout for our Friday meal, and while she does say the blessings, it’s always to herself. Today was different. She blessed the wine and the bread, and I sensed her listening to Aaron, to see if he knew the words.
‘Now,’ Ada began, ‘my mother – your Great-grandma Rose – was a little girl when she came to this country. It was her, your great-great-grandparents, and your Great-great-uncle Ben. My mother was five, but to this day, she’s not certain how old she really is. She has no birth certificate.’
Aaron and I quietly sipped soup and nibbled at the edges of the strange dumplings, which, while not “light as a feather”, did have an appealing dense texture that held the flavor of the rich oniony broth.
‘She could be ninety, maybe ninety-one, maybe older, maybe younger.’ She tore off a hunk of challah and dipped it in her soup. ‘They were the greenies, the last ones to come over. Which was how it was done. My Great-uncle Natie and his wife Esther came first, and one by one they sponsored the rest of the family. Not everyone came, and you should know this, Aaron, but there are whole lines of our family that were murdered by Hitler.’ Her voice caught. ‘I can’t believe your mother never told you these things. I have pictures of some of the relatives who were killed. I think it’s important that you see their faces. I used to look at them and wonder what were they like. How did they live? Why didn’t they leave?
‘Anyway, my grandparents, your great-great-grandparents Rachel and Morris came to New York, the Lower East Side. All of them crowded in with aunts and uncles, Grandma pregnant – again. So many cousins, and people who weren’t even related, but had come from the same village. They spoke Yiddish, and lived in two different worlds. There was Delancey and Orchard, and then there was the other world. They stuck together,’ she said, looking at Aaron. ‘It was important because family was everything. That’s how it worked back then. My grandfather got a job working in Uncle Natie’s store.’
‘What kind of store?’ Aaron asked.
‘Shmatehs.’
‘Excuse me?’ I said.
‘Shmatehs, rags. The clothing trade. It was Shmatehs. My uncle Natie had a good store, first on Orchard Street and then he opened a second with two floors of seamstresses on Eighth Avenue.’
‘So they were doing pretty well,’ Aaron commented.
‘Eventually, but not at first. Every cent they earned went into bringing over family and building the business. And almost every year my grandma had a new baby.’
‘How many?’ Aaron asked.
She stopped to think. ‘Nine.’ She counted on her fingers: ‘Ben, my mother Rose, Bette, Lewis, Abe, Mortie, Pearl, your Great-uncle Hector who died of influenza, and finally, Adele.’
‘Mom said Grandma Rose ended up raising them all.’
‘That comes later, and is part of why my Grandfather Morris was such a bastard. Was the soup OK?’ she asked, obviously pleased that both of our bowls had been emptied.
‘Excellent,’ Aaron said, and I heartily concurred.
‘Bet you didn’t think I had it in me,’ she quipped and winked at me while gathering our bowls.
We watched as she disappeared back into the kitchen.
‘She’s pretty amazing,’ Aaron said.
‘Agreed,’ I replied, finding myself inexplicably close to tears.
‘Did you know all that stuff about my family?’ he asked, fixing me with his intelligent eyes. The bruise around his right eye and cheek had faded, mostly yellow now. I found myself thinking about my own grandchildren. How far away they were, how seldom I saw them. I realized that part of what I was feeling had to do with the ease with which Aaron had found his way to Ada. I was jealous, and wondered if in a time of need my grandchildren would look to me as a safe harbor. And is that it, Lil? Are you also jealous of Aaron? Of how she so easily loves him. What is wrong with you? ‘She doesn’t talk much about her past,’ I said.
‘It’s cool, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
When Ada reappeared she held a white ironstone platter with a steaming roast surrounded by small white potatoes and slices of carrots. From her pleased expression, I knew that whatever it was, it had turned out close to her goal.
‘It’s brisket,’ she declared proudly. ‘I haven’t had this in years.’
‘What’s brisket?’ Aaron asked.
‘I’m not entirely certain,’ she replied, slicing the steaming roast and giving us each a potato, two carrots and a ladle full of juice. ‘It has to be some part of the cow, and because it’s kosher we know it’s from the front half. But it’s cured. It’s really good, though.’ She popped a bit of end-piece into her mouth. ‘Just scrumptious.’
It was delicious. ‘A regular Julia Child,’ I commented, enjoying the melt-away meat with its savory flavors. ‘I had no idea you could do this.’
‘Hidden talents, Lil. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how it would come out. I did this once before and got distracted with something for the business; the whole thing came out like shoe leather with a side of burnt potatoes. It’s funny, all this talk about family, but as I was cooking I kept picturing Mama, and my Aunt Esther in the kitchen. Oh, the things we would make. The Sabbath was very special, but the holidays, now that’s when you saw cooking.’
‘Were you very religious?’ Aaron asked.
‘We were observant, but everyone was. There was none of this Orthodox, Conservative and Reform. We were all observant, everyone went to shul; the women up behind the screens and the men downstairs carrying the Torahs and davening.
Aaron and I shot each other looks.
‘This is terrible,’ Ada said, catching our confused expressions. ‘Lil, you have an excuse, you’re not Jewish. But Aaron don’t you know what davening is?’
‘That would be a no.’
‘Oh my. It’s the style of praying, where the men wrap themselves in their tallisim and sing the prayers and the responses to the scripture. While upstairs, we’d look through the screens and follow along. I was always jealous of the boys, who every day after school went to study with the rabbi. That was just for boys. And unlike your sister Mona, who had a bat mitzvah, there was none of that when I turned thirteen.’
‘Kind of a rip-off,’ Aaron commented.
‘It was disappointing. But you wanted to know about your great-great-grandfather.’ She bit down on a flavorful morsel. ‘Hmm,’ she said, letting the taste of another time send her back. ‘They moved to Queens, to a big three story house, and that’s when things started to fall apart. My grandmother got sick with cancer and Morris apparently had a roving eye.’
‘Really?’ Aaron’s expression lit at that scurrilous bit of history.
‘It’s true. Growing up I’d catch snippets from the aunts and the uncles. It was always, “Poor Rachel” this and “Poor Rach
el” that. I just assumed they were talking about how hard it must have been to have nine children. She died before I was born, leaving my mother to raise her brothers and sisters. She was probably twelve or thirteen, had a huge house to run and a father who would disappear for days at a time. Adele and Hector weren’t even toilet trained when my grandmother died.’
‘This is like TV,’ Aaron offered, while helping himself to seconds.
‘And then Morris moved out altogether,’ Ada said.
‘How could he do that?’ I asked. ‘He abandoned his family?’
‘Yes, he had another woman, one of the seamstresses. She was an Irish girl who wanted nothing to do with a house full of children. She was supposedly quite pretty, and he gave her expensive gifts, while his own children wore hand-me-downs from the cousins. Things got very bad. There were no child-support laws in those days. Morris had no obligation, other than the ethical one, to care for his children. The family tried to pressure him to make sure there was at least coal for the furnace. My mother would tell me how she and her brother Ben would go scrounging among the neighbors. Or how she’d dress the little ones in rags and take them down to the welfare office to try and get some money. I also think – no, I know – that’s why she married so young.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, trying to reconcile this history of Ida’s mother with Rose Rimmelman, the cantankerous nona-genarian who’d stayed here last year.
‘She was fifteen when she got married; my father Isaac was twice her age, and was managing his family’s store. I think the idea of having someone to support all those children and that house must have been hugely attractive. And then, just like her mother, the babies started coming.’
‘Sort of like you,’ Aaron interjected. ‘Weren’t you married super young?’
‘Eighteen, and yes, I also married back into the business. Although Harry had his own store. Oh my—’ She stopped short. ‘What time is it?’
I looked at my watch. ‘Nearly seven.’
‘Where has the time gone? Services start in half an hour.’
‘Services?’ Aaron asked warily.
‘Yes,’ said Ada, in a tone that made it clear attendance was mandatory. Even though more often than not – depending on what we saw at the preview – we’d typically end up at McElroy’s auction instead of Grenville’s tiny synagogue.
‘Are you going?’ he asked me.
‘Yes,’ I said with a smile.
‘But you’re not Jewish.’
‘Episcopalian.’
‘Then why?’
‘I like to,’ I said.
‘She goes out of pity,’ Ada responded.
‘I do not. I like going.’
‘You just don’t want me to be taking cabs everywhere.’
‘Ada, sometimes you say the meanest things.’
‘You’re right, that was unfair of me.’
‘Yes, it was,’ I said, feeling a little hurt. ‘I go because it’s different from what I’m used to. It’s small and everyone seems interested in trying to keep it going. And besides . . . you come with me to church.’
‘Grandma!’ Aaron sounded shocked. ‘You go to church?’
‘So what if I do? God is God. Besides, we go to The Greenery afterwards for lunch.’ As though eating in the two hundred-year-old inn was justification for her religious infidelity.
‘You two are kind of like a married couple,’ he offered, while helping to clear the dishes.
Ada looked at me; I felt the room start to spin.
‘And what if we were?’ she asked. ‘Would that bother you?’
I was mildly shocked at what she’d just said, and apparently so was Aaron. An uncomfortable silence followed. I needed to say something, but my mouth was dry and a vein pulsed on my forehead. Does she know what I feel for her? Could she possibly feel the same?
Instead, it was Aaron that broke the silence. ‘You’re just saying that because of what Mom told you. Although –’ and a smile crept across his face – ‘it would be pretty cool to have a lesbian grandmother. It would just kill dad.’
‘Seriously?’ Ada flashed a wicked grin. ‘Then Lil, it’s definitely something to consider.’
I knew that she was making a joke and it bothered me. Because deep down, and there was no getting around it, I wished she weren’t.
FOURTEEN
Carl McElroy looked over the night’s auction receipts, and took a much-needed swig of whiskey. All said and done, not too shabby. Although, spotting that woman detective in the audience gave him pause. Nosy bitch. Who the hell does she think she is? Conroy got what he deserved and Mildred was robbed, tough break, but it happens.
He thought about Hank’s warning, and felt an uneasy tingle. He listened hard to the creak and whisper of the ancient floorboards and weathered wood siding that comprised the shell of his auction house, which stood alone on the country road a couple miles from the center of Grenville. It’s nothing, he thought, and he reached down for the new bottle of CC, and filled the tumbler. You deserve it, long night.
At least he’d been able to warn off Pete and Sal. It wouldn’t have been smart to have them buying back any of their furniture with that detective nosing around. Years back that’s what caused the trouble with the Williams bitch. Although if her son hadn’t made such a stink no one would have known.
In the end, it didn’t make a difference. Tonight had been a good night, although lately, they’d all been good, especially for the high-end stuff and precious metals. The influx of fresh dealers and the increasing desperation among the old-timers had pushed prices to exhilarating highs. All the smaller lots were now simultaneously posted on eBay, so if someone in the audience didn’t feel like coughing up thirty grand for a Tiffany tea service, you could bet there’d be some fool in Tokyo who just had to have it. New phrases had seeped into his tried-and-true auction patter; he fed on their fears. ‘Aren’t going to see another one like this,’ he’d warn, whipping them into a frenzy over a tiger-maple Connecticut highboy. ‘Stuff’s really drying up.’ Or: ‘Stocks crash . . . Chippendale never does,’ he’d commiserate, while bumping up the bid and inciting all the petty rivalries that got dealers and collectors, particularly the newbies, to bid with their hearts and not with their heads.
He’d listen to the dealers as they’d bitch. ‘There’s nothing out there anymore,’ one had said, echoing the general belief. Yes and no, Carl thought. Sure, he had to look a little further, and make deals he had never done before, but every Friday night, like clockwork, he auctioned off over three hundred lots of quality goods.
But in truth, it was drying up. He looked at his ledger, at how incredibly complicated it had become, what with the finder’s fees and other costs that had to be massaged into the figures.
It made him nervous the way the detective had so blatantly recorded the selling price of every item that crossed the block. What was her game?
Hank at least turned a blind eye. Hell, why not? It wasn’t like anyone got hurt, and by and large the deals he cut kept the merchandise flowing. If you thought about it, the auction house was a public service, part of Grenville’s lifeblood. It amused Carl to walk though the shops and see how much had passed across his auction block.
He eyed the locked cabinets where he kept the second set of ledgers. ‘Tomorrow,’ he muttered, emptied half his glass and pushed back from his desk; a floorboard groaned loudly behind him.
His head whipped around at the sound; his eyes bulged. ‘You! What are you . . .’
‘Surprise!’ the gloved assassin whispered, while squeezing a single shot from the delicately etched 22mm Beretta.
A small dark hole, like a third eye, appeared in the center of Carl’s forehead. His mouth continued to move, but no sound came. Blood slowly blossomed around the entry wound as the dying auctioneer recognized his fate, and, with a final angry surge, he lunged from his chair, spilled his drink and crumpled to the ground.
A gloved hand moved to Carl’s carotid. Beneath the thin latex glove
, the killer felt the last few spurts from the dying heart grind to a sluggish halt.
With an efficiency of movement the killer found Carl’s keys next to his bottle of whiskey and unlocked the filing cabinet. Out came the ledgers and McElroy’s fiercely guarded address book. Everything was just where it was supposed to be, and working fast, the shooter set about their intended tasks.
FIFTEEN
News of McElroy’s murder spread fast, and with it hysteria. Ada and I overheard whispered rumors and speculation in our Sunday morning pew at St Luke’s Episcopal:
‘Who’s next?’
‘Who’s behind it?’
‘I won’t go out at night.’
‘For the first time in my life I’m locking the door and checking the windows.’
Hattie Cavanaugh, the police chief’s sister, leaned over to let me know. ‘Lil, Hank said McElroy’s body had been mutilated. We’ve got a serial killer in Grenville. Although,’ she continued, keeping her voice low, ‘I’ve always thought a lot of the dealers are just out-and-out thieves.’
Ada, in a stunning green pantsuit with an ice-blue blouse, cut her a look.
‘Well,’ Hattie persisted, ‘they are.’
‘I didn’t say a thing,’ Ada whispered, although I knew she was dying for the details, and sickly, so was I.
After church, we walked across Town Plot to The Greenery, one of the oldest continuously operating inns in the United States. Like most after-church diners we had standing reservations. Frieda Auchinstrasse, the proprietress, led us straight to our table with a mullioned window that overlooked High Street.
‘Isn’t it terrible,’ she commented, handing us our menus, while shooting a glance at the Channel Eight news truck parked across the street.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, knowing that she wasn’t referring to the notoriously leathery rack of lamb on today’s handwritten special board.
‘It’s all people are talking about,’ she continued, puffing up her tightly curled Lucille Ball perm. ‘You just never think it could happen here.’
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