“Dr. Brecht, are you all right?” Ness said. But he was staring at Merritt. He wore a muscle shirt and shorts and was wiping his neck with a towel. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir!”
“The hell you will!” Merritt said. “My mother, Davida Eversong, called me down here and I intend to speak to her!”
“Ms. Eversong isn’t in,” Ness said quietly. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
“Then I’ll wait for her…young man!” Merritt said.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea…sir!”
“Mike,” Marge broke in, “why don’t you take Dr. Brecht and give him some of your stress-reducing consommé. I’ll stay down here and chat with Dr. Merritt until Ms. Eversong returns. When is she due back?”
“I don’t know,” Brecht said. “In the meantime, this man is not welcome here.”
“You don’t own the spa, Freddy!” Merritt shouted. “Lilah does!”
“Lilah despises you!”
“Then let her tell me personally!”
“You are both creating quite a scene,” Marge said. She smiled and jerked her head toward a small crowd that had gathered near the marble hearth. The men followed the glance and said nothing.
Ness’s eyes darted between Brecht and Merritt. Then he turned to Ms. Purcel. “It’s okay, Fern, everything’s under control. You can go back to work.”
Ms. Purcel scurried back behind the protective shield of the reception desk.
Ness said, “Dr. Brecht, I have a couple of questions for you anyway. If you have a few minutes…”
Brecht brushed off his trousers, but didn’t speak.
Ness gave a passing glance to Merritt. Then he said, “You know the ladies, Dr. Brecht. They ask technical questions. I just can’t answer. Let’s talk in your office.”
Brecht nodded. Slowly, Ness led Brecht upstairs. Marge thought about the confrontation. What bothered her most was not Merritt and Brecht, but Merritt and Ness. They were addressing each other like strangers, yet Marge sensed that they knew each other.
“…detest that excuse of a man,” Merritt was saying.
“Pardon?” Marge said.
“Frederick,” Merritt muttered. “I don’t know how he has insinuated himself into Lilah’s heart. She always did have a spot for the downtrodden. Probably why she married the Jew.”
“The Jew?”
“Lilah’s ex-husband.”
“Is he a physician as well?”
“Perry? Good God, no!”
Marge smiled to herself. The one Semite in the bunch and he wasn’t a doctor. “Why don’t we sit down while you wait, Dr. Merritt?”
“Fine.”
Merritt parked himself in a wing chair; Marge sat in its mate. The two chairs were separated by a table piled high with VALCAN newsletters—the lead article entitled “Cellulite Reduction: Fact and Fiction.” Merritt picked one up, absently scanned it, then crumpled it with disgust and threw it several feet. “Quackery passed off as medicine! If the place wasn’t owned by my sister, I’d sic the Medical Board of Ethics on all of them.”
“If Perry’s not a doctor, what does he do?” Marge said.
“Pardon?”
“Perry. Lilah’s ex. What does he do?”
“Perry?” Merritt shifted in his seat. “He’s a bum—a bridge bum to be more precise. In actuality, he’s a top-ranking bridge player so I suppose there is native intelligence somewhere. He plays for hire at a club in Westwood and I guess he makes enough money so he doesn’t have to do honest work. Shame. Perry had a cunning mind, I’ll give him that. Then again, most Jews do.”
“Their break-up…” Marge took out her notebook. “Was it amicable?”
Merritt didn’t answer.
“Were there hard feelings between Lilah and Perry, Dr. Merritt?”
Merritt shrugged. “I suppose so. Why do you ask?”
Because Marge had just found a new suspect. Lots of disgruntled exes do lots of vicious things—if Merritt was at all credible. She asked, “How did Lilah meet him?”
“Ancient history.”
“Then how about a history lesson?”
“First, young lady, please inform me what’s going on with my sister!”
“You tell me, then I’ll tell you.”
“Quite an infantile approach, Detective. I really expected more from the LAPD.”
“Dr. Merritt, what was infantile was two supposedly mature, educated men—doctors no less—squaring off like adolescents.”
Merritt looked at her and smiled. “Touché, Detective, a most astute observation. Anger does turn even the most rational of men to savagery. Even those of us in the healing profession are not immune to emotion.”
Marge didn’t answer.
“All right,” Merritt said with newfound resolve. “How did Lilah meet Perry? Unfortunately, I was the one who brought him into the house. Mother wanted to hone her skills at bridge and when I asked around, Perry’s name kept coming up over and over. He was everything Lilah was taught to avoid in a man—brash, left-wing, uncontrolled, unrestrained in his opinions. A pushy Jew if you might permit me a bit of stereotype. He took pride in not caring about his appearance; his clothes were always old and out-of-date. Perry wasn’t an evil boy, just not suitable for Lilah. And of course, having flirted with rebellion in her own adolescence, Lilah instantly became infatuated with him—in love with him. It was maddening. My beautiful, brilliant sister trailing after him. As if she were a starved mutt and his silly, do-gooder words were food. Every time he smiled at her, she swooned like a clay-eating Victorian gentlewoman. Later on in their so-called courtship, she would corner him in some quiet room and they’d talk for hours. I’d hear whispering, stifled giggling. Like children. God knows what they actually talked about. They had nothing in common.”
Merritt sighed deeply.
“Mother blamed me, of course. Mother has to blame someone when things don’t go according to her plan. Up until Perry, I’d always had a good relationship with Lilah. More than good, we’d been very close. We are not a demonstrative family, but you’d have to be an idiot not to see how much I cared about my baby sister. I was her father as well as her big brother. There’s a sixteen-year difference between us. Who do you think took care of that child while Mother gallivanted around? I nurtured that little girl despite the fact that I had a full university course load. I remember teaching her to ride a bike, holding the handlebars with one hand and my biochemistry book in the other. She learned to ride a two-wheeler while I learned the Krebs cycle. How’s that for dedication? When she wanted to marry Perry, I had the audacity to side with Mother, and things between Lilah and me have never been the same since.
“Of course the union was a disaster. Giggling does not a marriage make. It lasted two years. But Lilah would never admit that I was right and she was wrong. She somehow viewed her doomed relationship as my doing. Maybe Mother gave her those ideas, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Mother has a way of turning everyone against everyone else.” His eyes met Marge’s. “So that’s the saga of Lilah and Perry. Now it’s your turn. What’s going on with my sister? Whom I still care for very much despite her rejection of me.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Dr. Merritt. Lilah was attacked yesterday—”
Merritt bolted upright. “Good God, no!”
Marge stood. “She’ll be all right, Doctor.”
“No!” Merritt began to pace. “No, it can’t…that’s impossible! What in God’s name happened?”
“I don’t know—”
“Who hurt her? Do you suspect Perry? Is that why you were questioning me about him? I’ll kill him—”
“Doctor—”
“I’ll kill him!”
“I don’t know anything about this guy, Doctor,” Marge said. “Just what you told me—”
“But you suspect—”
“No, I don’t suspect—!”
“Where is my sister?” Merritt interrupted.
“Last I heard she was at S
un Valley Memorial.”
“I must go see her right away.”
“Be my guest.” Marge paused then said, “What about your mother?”
“What about my mother?” Merritt orated. “My mother can damn well wait—that’s what about my mother!”
Decker knew he shouldn’t make the call under time pressure. Davida had given him twenty minutes. But the pay phone in the hospital hallway was unoccupied, begging for use. And if past be indicative of the future, the conversation wouldn’t last more than a few minutes, anyway.
Go ahead, Deck. Live dangerously.
Using his phone card, he dialed the New York number by rote. As luck would have it, she was in. Her hello was breathless.
“Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Oh, hi, Dad. I’ve got a final in an hour. I was just doing some last-minute cramming.”
“Good luck. I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She sounded preoccupied. Whenever she spoke to him, she was preoccupied.
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Uh, Dad?”
“What?”
“You happen to speak to Mom recently?”
“No. Why?”
“Uh, nothing. I just wondered if she…it’s not important.”
“What’s not important?”
“I’d really rather not get into it right now. Regards to your family.”
“Cindy, first of all, you’re my family, too. Secondly, if you’re going to bring things up, I’d appreciate it if you’d carry the conversation to a natural conclusion.”
“Oh, that’s really great, Dad. Push me right before a final. Thanks a heap!”
Decker exhaled forcefully. “You’re right. My timing stinks. I’m sorry.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“I’m sorry, too, Daddy. I know I’ve been difficult, lately. I’m not without insight.”
“You’ve been fine.”
“No, I haven’t, but thanks for saying it anyway. Can I call you back in a few days? I’m really nervous.”
“Princess, you can call me anytime you want, twenty-four hours a day. I’ll be waiting.”
Her voice became small. “Thank you.”
“You sure you’re okay, Cindy?”
“I’m fine.”
Then she burst into tears.
“Is there anything I can do for you, honey?”
“No.” She sniffed. “I should get going. I really should.”
“Love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy. Bye.”
The line went dead, the only thing to show for his effort, a knot in his gut. He looked at his watch. The conversation had lasted forty-eight seconds. Business as usual.
11
Decker was about to reach for the door when it swung open, almost clipping him in the ribs. He took a quick shuffle backward, then a seductive voice beckoned him to enter. He slid into the backseat of the limo and closed the door. Davida had removed her veil. Guess the mourning period had passed.
“May I call you Peter?” Davida asked. “Isn’t that what Lilah calls you?”
Straining to keep his eyeballs from rolling back, Decker answered yes.
“Peter.” Davida placed her hand on his knee. “I see you more as a Pete.”
Whatever she called him, he was sorely tempted to drop her hand back in her lap. But at her age, she was harmless. Why ruin the rapport before the interview even began?
“A Pete?”
“Yes, definitely a Pete,” she said. “Not in those clothes of course. What exactly are you wearing? Standard detective garb? I’d never cast you as a policeman. Yes, you’re big and all that crap, but your coloring is all wrong. Redheads do not connote ‘tough guy.’ And your skin—too smooth and too fair. You’re not sinister enough for a cop…except in the eyes. You have very piercing eyes.”
Decker thought: That’s ’cause you’re looking in the mirror, lady. Talk about hard eyes. Hers could scratch diamonds. She’d been lifted by an excellent cosmetic surgeon. Tightened in all the right spots, yet the skin didn’t look as though it would crack if she smiled. The knife work emphasized her strongest points—the great bone structure, the angular chin, the wide mouth. Her lips were still full and sensual, probably been helped along by collagen injections. Up close, she was still a nice-looking woman—discounting the eyes. There wasn’t a scalpel sharp enough to excise the titanium lodged inside those irises.
“Now if I were to cast you,” she went on, “I’d put you in some blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ten-gallon hat.” She cocked her face. “Your face isn’t weatherbeaten, but makeup would take care of that.” She squeezed his knee. “What do you think?”
Decker laughed. “I think it’s a good idea I never went into pictures. Can I ask you a few questions? I know your time is limited.”
Davida patted his leg and withdrew her hand. “I like a man who can cut to the chase. I want my jewels back, Peter.”
“And I want you to get them back. Want to tell me about them?”
“You bet your derriere, I do. The first is an emerald brooch—five-carat table-cut Colombian emerald surrounded by round-cut diamonds—twenty points each—maybe four carats’ worth. Three pairs of mabe-pearl earrings—one teardrop-shaped surrounded by emeralds, the other two pairs round, one surrounded by diamonds, the other surrounded by rubies—in case I was in my red mood.”
“What are mabe pearls?”
“The big round ones that are flat on one side.”
“I always thought they were costume jewelry.”
“No, dear man, they are indeed pearls.”
“Total value per pair?”
“Perhaps five to six thousand per. I also had a ruby choker—alternating rubies and diamonds, actually. A sapphire and yellow-diamond necklace—that one’s worth about fifty thousand. Five strands of rose-colored pearls of varying lengths with matching pearl studs surrounded by diamond jackets. A diamond bowknot clip—antique Tiffany.”
She sighed.
“God, this makes me sick! You’re probably thinking the old bitch is insured anyway. What’s her problem? It’s not the money, it’s the pieces. Each one told a different story in my life. My history…just ripped away. I’m furious!”
Decker nodded. Davida waved her hand in the air. “What do you care?”
“Believe it or not, Ms. Eversong, I understand what you’re saying.”
She studied him. “Maybe you do. You seem…sensitive.”
“What else was taken from you, Ms. Eversong?”
“I also had cluster-pearl earrings woven with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. My Christmas earrings. It makes me nauseated to think of my precious babies in the hands of some snotbucket who wouldn’t know a diamond from quartz crystal.”
Suddenly, the old lady’s eyes moistened. She pulled out a lacy black handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I’m simply devastated.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Decker said. “I’m sure Lilah is devastated as well.”
“Why? She didn’t lose any jewelry.” There was a momentary pause. “Oh…yes, that was terrible. Poor dear. But she’s young, Peter. Youth is resilient. She’ll get over it. It’s so much harder for people like me.”
“I think it would have been very difficult if you had been beaten,” Decker said. “But you weren’t, Ms. Eversong. Lilah was. And I’m going to find the perpetrator.”
Davida looked up and caught his eyes. “Tell me something, Peter. Are you going to look for my jewels with as much zest as you have for Lilah’s attacker?”
“We’ll get to the bottom of all of it.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Let’s talk some more about your jewels, Ms. Eversong. Who, besides Lilah, knew you kept your jewelry in Lilah’s safe?”
“Every single one of my children. And I wouldn’t put it past any of them to try to rob me blind.”
The comment sparked a circuit in Decker’s brain. Just as Freddy
Brecht was pointing an accusing finger at Kingston Merritt, old Mom was blaming family. Made him awfully curious about the whole bunch.
“You think your children would steal from you?”
“No, not really. I’m just talking.”
But Decker wasn’t so sure. Her words sounded as if she were covering a slip of the tongue. But her manner was so casual. Then again, the woman was an actress.
“Does Dr. Brecht have the combination to the safe?”
“I don’t think so. He’s my little messenger boy. Brings my pieces to Lilah to lock up.”
So he knew what was stored in the safe, Decker thought. He remembered how Brecht had vehemently denied knowing the contents of Lilah’s safe. He jotted the inconsistency down in his notes. Family was getting more and more interesting. He decided to focus in on them.
“Do you think your children could mastermind a robbery like this one, Ms. Eversong?”
Davida laughed wickedly. “I doubt it. Not that they wouldn’t mind my money. I pad their wallets from time to time, but it never seems to be enough…the carrion eaters.”
“How much padding are we talking about?”
“A thousand or two, here and there.”
“Including Lilah?”
“No, she has her own money. And why would she steal from me, knowing she’s going to get the whole kit and caboodle after I move on to the next world?”
“She inherits everything?”
“Oh, I haven’t given her everything. I’ve remembered my boys, but not as much as my little girl and that’s just tough titties if they don’t like it. Men have it easy in society. No one looks askance when an old frog is hooked up with a princess fifty years his junior. Women—aging women—need an extra boost and that boost is money. Lilah doesn’t understand that now. She thinks her looks will last forever. Someday, when she’s old and gray, she’ll realize what I’ve done for her. Despite my admitted self-obsession, I do have her interests at heart.”
Decker didn’t answer.
Davida picked up an emery board and began to file her nails. “Not that I’m claiming to be Mother Teresa. Yes, I’m selfish. So what? Why shouldn’t I take care of myself? Didn’t some ancient philosopher say, ‘If I’m not for myself, who’ll be for me?’”
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