“Fifteen dollars,” Mother said in awe. “In a day! My, my, my. And this sack of potatoes only cost three cents,” she said looking at the ten-pound bag. “Of course, it was on sale.”
“Fifteen bucks a day can buy a lot of potatoes.” Percy pressed her advantage. “And I plan to parlay this into a few days, at least. Oliver could use a new pair of shoes soon. He’s almost outgrown his last pair. Where is he, anyway?” She looked around the kitchen.
“He’s at his cub scout meeting. Then you promised he could spend the afternoon at little Freddy’s house making teepees out of popsicle sticks and working on their Halloween costumes. The boys are going to walk straight there after the meeting. I think Oliver wants to be the Green Lantern.”
“Maybe I can talk him into going as the Sheik of Araby. That’s only a headband around your face on an old white sheet. Unless you’re willing to make his costume, Mother. You sew so beautifully. I love that new robe you made me.”
“You can save your sweet talk, Persephone Cole. I already told the boy I would make it for him.”
“Thanks. And in return I promise to take care of the refrigerator, scout’s honor.” She held up two fingers. “I’ll give Sylvia a call later just to make sure everything’s okay with Oliver.” She tapped her forehead. “I’ve got her number somewhere around here.”
“The phone number is on the side of the refrigerator.” Mother pointed with the paring knife.
“Well there, you see? I was wrong.” Percy raised her hands to the ceiling in praise. “This broken-down piece of crap still has a purpose.” She went to the myriad of papers taped or held to the surface by magnets on the side of the fridge and started searching. “Got it! Murray Hill four-seven-seven-three.”
“What is her last name?” Mother, closed her eyes and concentrated. “Rendell. Sylvia Rendell. Such a lovely young woman. She asked for my recipe for split pea soup. Her mother was one of the Pipsmeyers over in Great Neck. No one ever asked me for a recipe before. She’s gone now.”
“Sylvia’s mother, right? Not Sylvia.”
“Sylvia couldn’t ask for my split pea recipe if she had passed over, now could she? And you a detective with a certificate and everything,” Mother chided.
“Just trying to keep it clear.”
“Sylvia’s husband is overseas somewhere in the Pacific. They can never tell you exactly where, can they? I think her father lives with them. Here, not the Pacific. He used to be in plumbing --”
“Hold that thought, Mother,” Percy interrupted. “You can fill me in later. I’ve got to go change into work clothes and hop on the BMT. I told this guy I’d be there in an hour.”
Percy bumped the kitchen door with the side of her shoulder, setting it on an outward swing, and passed through. She stopped, held the door open, and wheeled around to face her mother.
“And remember, mum’s the word to Pop on what I’m doing for now. I’ll call you later. I’ll try to get some decent fruit when I’m in midtown, something that doesn’t have as many wrinkles as Winston Churchill’s face. They’ve got a few good farmers’ markets in Hell’s Kitchen. And thanks for pointing me in the right direction for the phone number; Murray Hill four-seven-seven-three,” she repeated, trying to memorize the number. “And tell Pop I’m taking his number two fedora.” Her mind flashed to his thick, silver hair, often covered by one of two favored hats.
“Did you lose your hairbrush, again, Persephone?”
“Yes, ma’am, and no time to search for it.” The doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door, Mother. I’ll get it.”
Percy ran down the hallway, looked out the peephole, and swung the door wide open for the downstairs neighbor and friend, Rachel Goldberg.
“Mrs. Goldberg.” Percy’s tone was warm but hurried. “Come on in. Mother’s in the kitchen. I need to get dressed and go see a new client.”
“A client, Persela?” Short and tubby, head topped with salt and pepper-hair, good-hearted Mrs. Goldberg spoke with a heavy Yiddish accent. She was the only person in the world to call Percy ‘Persela’. It was a term of endearment from a family friend that had known Percy since she was a small child. She clapped her hands together in delight.
“So go! Who’s stopping you? Get on those clothes and see if you can make somebody happy with your detecting business, such a thing for a young lady to do, but if someone has to do it, Persela, it might as well be you, because you are such a clever girl, always with the thinking and the looking at things like nobody else does and who found my wallet, which I accidentally threw down the laundry chute all those years ago.” Mrs. Goldberg finally stopped talking in her run-on sentence and took a deep breath.
“I am here to try to teach your mother to make latkes like I promised, but she doesn’t want to make them with potatoes. She says parsnips because they are in the larder and they are going bad! Did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“Well, you know Mother, Mrs. Goldberg.” Percy laughed lightly, as she turned and opened the door to her bedroom. “You’ve been trying to teach her to cook for years and you see where it’s got you.”
“Oy! Not years, bubala, decades.” Mrs. Goldberg hollered to her. “Decades I’ve been trying to teach that woman to cook, as if I have nothing better to do with my time and my Henny wasn’t a man waiting for his own dinner, God bless him for waiting and never saying a word --”
“Mother’s in the kitchen. Go on in,” Percy interrupted, pointing down the hall, as she closed the door to her room behind her.
“Oy!” Percy leaned against the door, sounding a little like Mrs. Goldberg. “Sometimes it’s hard to get out of this place.”
Chapter Four
It’s working, Evelyn, just like you said. The show is coming to a halt. I’ve been practicing throwing the knife when no one is around. I’ll try to throw one during the show, if I can get away with it. Even if it doesn’t strike Sir Anthony, someone else will be hit. There are so many of them onstage, someone’s bound to see the blade of Macbeth’s dagger coming at them. I know I mustn’t feel so wicked. We’re only doing what needs to be done. Right is on our side. I miss you, too, so very much.
Elsie
How to reach Heather Haven. Hope to hear from you!
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http://www.amazon.com/Heather-Haven/e/B004QL22UK/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1372537066&sr=1-2-ent
Email me at: [email protected]
About Heather Haven
After studying drama at the University of Miami in Miami, Florida, Heather went to Manhattan to pursue a career. There she wrote short stories, novels, comedy acts, television treatments, ad copy, commercials, and two one-act plays, produced at several places, such as Playwrights Horizon. Once she even ghostwrote a book on how to run an employment agency. She was unemployed at the time.
One of her first paying jobs was writing a love story for a book published by Bantam called Moments of Love. She had a deadline of one week but promptly came down with the flu. Heather wrote "The Sands of Time" with a raging temperature, and delivered some pretty hot stuff because of it. Her stint at New York City’s No Soap Radio - where she wrote comedic ad copy – help develop her long-time love affair with comedy.
Books and Awards
by Heather Haven
The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries
Murder is a Family Business, Single Titles Reviewers’ Choice Award 2011
A Wedding to Die For, finalist Global and EPIC Best eBook Mystery 2012
Death Runs in the Family, Global Gold for Best Mystery Fiction 2013.
DEAD….If Only, October 2014.
The CEO Came DOA, Coming soon!
The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries
The Dagger Before Me, Amazon’s Best Historical Mystery October, 2014
The Chocolate Kiss-Off, Coming soon!
Death of a Clown, Silver Independent Publishers Award (IPPY) for Best Mystery/Thriller 2014
Corliss and Other Award Winning Stories, May, 2015
The Wives of Bath Press
The Wife of Bath was a woman of a certain age, with opinions, who’s on a journey. Heather Haven and Baird Nuckolls are modern day Wives of Bath.
www.thewivesofbath.com
Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries) Page 73