The Shimmering Blond Sister

by David Handler

“I was going to say beat the crap out of you.”

  Very’s face lit up. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant, this is way too much information.”

  Maple Lane was cordoned off. A pair of cruisers were there to keep gawkers away. Also a mobile news van from one of the Connecticut TV stations.

  Mitch pulled up in front of the Captain Chadwick House and parked. “Augie’s apartment is around in back.”

  “We’ll brace Beth Breslauer first,” Very informed him.

  “She may not be home.”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “We could have called to let her know we were coming.”

  “Not how it’s done, dude. You always drop in unannounced. Question a suspect before she has a chance to prepare her responses.”

  “So Beth’s a suspect?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect.”

  Beth was home. And she could not have been more poised or polite when Mitch introduced her to Lieutenant Romaine Very of the NYPD. Not a trace of uneasiness. Not a frosted blond hair out of place. She was totally together. “This is such a nice surprise, Mitch,” she exclaimed as she showed them in. “But I’m afraid Kenny’s at the beach with Kimberly.”

  “Actually, we’re here to see you.”

  “I have a few questions, Mrs. Breslauer,” Very explained. “I’m not here in an official capacity. You’re totally free to decline.”

  Beth tilted her head at him. “Questions regarding . . . ?”

  “Augie Donatelli. He was like a father to me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant.”

  “I understand he’d taken a personal interest in you. I’d like to talk to you about that, if you don’t mind.”

  Beth glanced at the file folder that was tucked under Very’s arm. “Certainly. May I offer you gentlemen a glass of iced tea? I was just having some out on the porch with my neighbor Bertha Peck. I’ll ask her to excuse us.”

  “No need,” Very said. “In fact, it’d be great if she stayed.”

  Beth’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Whatever you say.”

  She fetched two tall glasses from the kitchen and led them out onto the porch. Bertha Peck sat on the white wicker love seat, wearing a trimly tailored linen summer dress and round, oversized glasses. She was a tiny, somewhat scary-looking old lady. Nearly ninety, but with glossy, coal black hair and big blue eyes that were slightly protuberant and more than slightly piercing. She sat very erect, hands folded in her lap. Her legs, as Bitsy Peck had advised Mitch, were still splendid indeed. Slender and finely shaped.

  “Bertha, this is Kenny’s friend, Mitch Berger,” Beth said as she filled their glasses from the pitcher on the table.

  “You’re that movie critic who lives out on Big Sister.” Bertha looked him over with keen-eyed disapproval. “The one who’s been sleeping with our resident trooper.”

  “We’re good friends.”

  “You’re a lot more than that, young man,” Bertha said sternly. “But I’d never make you two for a match. Not in a million years.” Now she turned her gaze on Very. “And who is this handsome devil?”

  “He’s Lieutenant Very of the NYPD,” Beth said. “A friend of Mr. Donatelli’s.”

  “What does he want?”

  “We’re about to find out, Bertha.”

  Beth handed them their iced teas. They sat in the wicker chairs facing the love seat. Beth settled next to Bertha, who took a thirsty gulp of her own iced tea, smacking her lips. Mitch suspected hers was high octane. She liked her vodka, word had it.

  Very jumped right in: “Mrs. Breslauer, has Sergeant Snipes questioned you yet about your whereabouts at the time of the murder?”

  Beth blinked at him. “Why, no. Why would she?”

  “Because she knows that you slipped out of here on foot shortly before it happened. You’re unaccounted for, ma’am.”

  Beth shot a sharp glance at Mitch before she turned back to Very, stiffening slightly. “You said you’re not here in an official capacity.”

  “Correct.”

  “So I’m under no obligation to answer you.”

  “Also correct. But if I were you, I’d be straight with me. It’s the smart move.”

  “Why is that, Lieutenant Very?”

  “Because whatever you say to her will become part of an official state police investigation. If you talk to me I may be able to keep it under wraps.”

  “You make it sound as if I have something to keep under wraps.”

  “Only because you do. You and I both know Dawgie wasn’t stalking you. He was tailing you.” Very opened the file folder and spread Augie’s surveillance photos out on the coffee table before her. “You and your boy Vinnie.”

  Beth studied the photos, swallowing. “So . . . ?”

  “So were you and Vinnie together last evening? Is that why you slipped out?”

  Beth took a dainty sip of her iced tea. A blue vein pulsed slightly in her forehead. Otherwise, she gave every outward appearance of being calm. “Vincent picked me up down the block at nine o’clock. We caught Linda Ronstadt’s second show at the Mohegan Sun. Ate a late supper at the Lobster Shack. Gambled a bit, then went up to our room. We left there at about four a.m. Vincent dropped me off here and kept on going so he could attend morning mass with his family in Great Neck.”

  Very flipped through some notes in the file. “According to Dawgie, Vinnie never spends the night here. He’s never even been here.”

  “That was at my suggestion,” Bertha interjected. “People in Dorset can be obsessively nosy when it comes to the love lives of their neighbors. Particularly when those neighbors are attractive single women. Maddee Farrell, for one, is a consummate busybody. I told Beth that if she wished to have any privacy, she would have to behave discreetly. So if you wish to blame anyone for her ‘slipping out,’ as you put it, then blame me.”

  “Why are we talking about ‘blame’ here, Bertha?” Beth’s voice had an edge of defiance in it now. “I don’t owe this man or anyone else an explanation for how I choose to live my life. Frankly, I resent the fact that we’re even having this conversation.”

  Very said nothing to that. Just barreled in. “Does Kenny know about Vinnie? Or have you been hiding your affair from him, too?”

  Beth stared at him coldly. “You’re not a very nice person, are you?”

  Very said nothing to that either. Just stared right back at her. The man was no lamb chop—not that Mitch had thought for one second that he was.

  “It so happens that Kenny doesn’t know about Vincent,” she conceded, exhaling slowly. “I was married to Irwin when we first became involved. I wasn’t particularly proud of myself. But I couldn’t help it. I was in love with Vincent. I still am. We’re incredibly happy together.”

  “Just to be clear about this—were you two an item back when Kenny’s father was in prison?”

  Beth lowered her eyes. “So you know about Sy.”

  “I know all about your grandfather, too.” Very turned his gaze on Bertha. “I believe you were acquainted with Saul Pincus, weren’t you, Mrs. Peck?”

  Bertha took another thirsty gulp of her iced tea. “You believe right, young man. I was all of nineteen years old. Still had stars in my eyes. And, God, I was mad for Saul,” she recalled, her small, wrinkled face glowing. “Our lovemaking was so intense I would nearly faint. It was never, ever like that with anyone else. Certainly not with my husband, Guy. But our love . . . Saul and I weren’t meant to be. He died so young. It was very sudden.”

  “Yeah, he got suddenly shot in Lindy’s.”

  “The poor dear was an innocent bystander to some awful gang squabble. He was just sitting there over a bowl of soup, minding his own business, when a stray bullet caught him right in the forehead.” Bertha shook her head sadly. “The city was a dangerous place in those days.”

  Very let out a laugh. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Mrs. Peck? Saul Pincus was rubbed out. The man was a big-time racketeer.
”

  “That is a load of hooey,” she said indignantly. “Saul was in the fur trade.”

  “I see. And what about the police case files and newspaper stories—are you telling me they’re nothing but lies?”

  “All lies. You shouldn’t go by what the police or the papers say, young man. They never know the real truth about anything. Remember that in the future—assuming you have a future. You’re awfully darned mouthy,” she pointed out, her big blue eyes glittering at him. “Although you’re obviously accustomed to getting away with it. You good lookers with your thick, wavy hair and bedroom eyes always do, don’t you?”

  Very shifted in his chair, looking slightly queasy. Evidently he wasn’t used to getting hit on by a babe who was pushing ninety. The man was new to Dorset, after all. He turned his attention back to Beth now. “Mrs. Breslauer, have you ever heard of the Seven Sisters?”

  Beth smiled at him indulgently. “Don’t tell me you came here to talk about that old fairy tale.”

  “So it’s a fairy tale?”

  “More of an urban legend, like those stories you hear about werewolves living in the subway tunnels.”

  “In that case, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your family?”

  “Certainly. My mom and dad were fabric wholesalers in the garment district for more than thirty years. They’re both gone now, I’m sorry to say. Mom’s sister, Sadie, was a seamstress. And her husband, my Uncle Izzy, repaired transmissions at a garage in Long Island City. Dad’s brother, my Uncle Nathan, drove a cab. . . .”

  “Are you having a good time with this, Mrs. Breslauer?” Very glowered across the coffee table at her. “Your mother, Estelle, served two separate sentences for receiving stolen property. And your father, Sam, was a bookmaker. Not a big-time operator like his father, Saul, but he served time. So did your Uncle Nathan, your Uncle Izzy and your Aunt Sadie. I have their criminal histories right here. So stop disrespecting me, will you?”

  Beth sat quite still for a moment, her plump lips pursed, manicured hands folded primly in her lap. Then she glanced at Mitch, smiling faintly, before she said, “They didn’t want that life for me. I was the pretty princess. Special. And so smart. I graduated magna cum laude from Hunter College. Went to work at an ad agency on Madison Avenue. Married a reputable, hardworking young man. Sy was holding down a nine-to-five job in an office supplies store and going to accounting school at night. He got his accounting degree, too. We had plans. We had dreams. We had such a wonderful future all . . .” She broke off, her dark eyes puddling with tears. “Except it turned out I wasn’t so smart. It wasn’t until months after Kenny was born that I found out Sy was mixed up in my Uncle Izzy’s bookmaking operation. I can’t begin to tell you what a body blow that was. I was so ashamed. When Sy got arrested I hid the truth from Kenny. I didn’t want him to know. I was terrified that he’d get drawn into that life himself. It has its allure, believe me. Particularly when you’re young.” Beth reached for her iced tea and took a sip. “I married Irwin to get Kenny away from it once and for all. Irwin never knew a thing about it. And Kenny still doesn’t have a clue.” She gazed down into her glass, breathing in and out. “But I must say, Lieutenant Very, that you’re making my family out to be much more diabolical than they actually were. All of that fanciful nonsense about an organized underworld cabal called the Seven Sisters. It wasn’t like that.”

  “So what was it like?”

  “My people were Jewish immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They struggled and fought and did whatever they had to do to get by—even if that meant skirting the law now and then.”

  “Times were hard in those days,” Bertha chimed in. “Believe me, I know. My father was a dumb Polack who worked himself to death in the steel mills before he was forty. You’re talking about poor people. Uneducated people who barely spoke the language. You’re talking about the Great Depression and two world wars. Rough neighborhoods. Rough justice. Nobody looking out for you but your own kind. Everybody’s family had to fight to survive.”

  “Mine ran small neighborhood businesses on the Lower East Side,” Beth said. “Did they buy merchandise off of the black market? Yes. They did business with thieves of the lowest sort. Did they take bets and run numbers? Sure they did. If you owned any kind of a business—a candy store, a corner bar—that was expected of you. Did they get involved with loan sharks? You bet. There was no such thing as a fancy savings and loan for those people. Just an underground economy that operated by its own rules. Same as it still does to this day. You’ve been in one of those neighborhood bodegas in Harlem, haven’t you, Lieutenant?”

  “A million,” Very grunted.

  “Where do you think they get their cigarettes and razor blades—from reputable wholesalers? They buy them on the cheap from people who steal them for a living. Does that make them a part of a vast criminal conspiracy? No. They’re just trying to get by—and hoping for a better life for their children. Just like I wanted for Kenny. After Sy got sent to prison I filed for a divorce. Went to work at Bloomingdale’s because it paid better than the ad agency did. I met Irwin on a blind date. We used to joke about that—meeting an eye doctor on a blind date. Irwin was no George Clooney. But he was kind and decent and he came home every night. We were happy together.”

  “Meanwhile,” Very put in, “you were shtupping Vinnie behind his back.”

  “You still have a lot to learn about life, young man,” Bertha said reproachfully. “It’s much, much more of a trade-off than you realize. Just look at my situation. I was married to the dullest man on earth for forty-four years. Guy Peck was also a perfectly dreadful lover. He had zero appreciation of my needs. The Human Broomstick, I used to call him. And yet he gave me everything else I could ever want. So I was a good, dutiful wife to him—even though not a day went by when I didn’t think about Saul. I still do. I still remember the cologne Saul wore. If I get the slightest whiff of anything even remotely like it I get weak in the knees. And that man has been dead for seventy years.”

  Beth studied Romaine Very curiously. “Why are you here, Lieutenant?”

  “Augie Donatelli was my friend. I told you.”

  “So you did. But there’s more to it than that. Why are you so interested in my family’s history?”

  “I have a long-standing personal interest in the Seven Sisters. That’s why Dawgie kept me filled in about you.”

  “What sort of a long-standing personal interest?”

  The lieutenant cleared his throat. “It has to do with my dad, okay? He shortened his last name when he struck out on his own. That’s how it came to be Very.”

  “What was it originally?”

  “Verichenko,” he answered, gazing at her.

  Beth’s eyes widened. “Thelma Kudlach married a Verichenko. Manny, I believe. So that makes you . . .”

  “Thelma’s great-great-grandson. You and I are cousins, Mrs. Breslauer. I’m one of the family. And I know the real deal. I know that my grandmother started working the boardwalk in Atlantic City when she was five years old. And my grandfather picked pockets for a living—when he wasn’t in jail. So don’t try to tell me your family was just like everyone else’s. And don’t tell me the Seven Sisters is some urban legend. I know better, got it?”

  Beth didn’t say a word. No one did. There was only stunned silence.

  Until Mitch said, “Beth, how did you and Bertha happen to hook up?”

  Beth didn’t respond. Just reached for her iced tea and took a sip, her hand trembling slightly.

  “It was my idea,” Bertha spoke up. “My attorney tracked her down for me. I wanted to meet her. Her grandfather was the great love of my life, after all. We got together for lunch in the city one day and became friends. Went shopping together. Took in the occasional matinee. I still enjoy a good musical—not that these girls today can dance. They’re as graceful as Clydesdales. After Beth sold her place in Scarsdale she was looking to buy a condo out this way.
I let her know when a unit became available here.”

  Very leafed through Augie’s file once more. “Before he died, Mrs. Breslauer, your late husband lost a ton of money in the subprime housing meltdown. You were forced to sell that house in Scarsdale for significantly less than what it had been assessed at two years earlier.”

  “I wasn’t forced to sell it.” Beth was growing testy now. “I chose to. I got nearly two million dollars for the place, free and clear. And Irwin’s investment portfolio still amounted to more than a half-million in good, solid stocks and bonds. And he’d taken out a substantial life insurance policy. My investment advisor has set me up so that I can live very comfortably without touching so much as one penny of the principal. Take it from me, Lieutenant. I don’t need to pick anyone’s pockets.”

  “Would it surprise you if I said Dawgie thought otherwise?”

  “Nothing you can say about that man would surprise me.”

  “He tailed you and Vinnie to the Mohegan Sun. Were you aware of that?”

  Beth made a face. “Of course. I spotted him right off.”

  “And how did you feel about it?”

  “I was annoyed, naturally. But Augie liked to annoy me. Took delight in it, in fact.”

  “He thought you and Vinnie were working the place,” Very explained. “Lifting handbags, jewelry and the like.”

  “Don’t be absurd. We frequent the Mohegan Sun because Vincent enjoys the blackjack tables. Gambling happens to be legal there, you know. I get a spa treatment. We have a nice meal together. Go upstairs to our room and make love. He likes to keep the lights on. I like to be on top. Would you care for any more dirty details, Lieutenant Very?”

  “No,” he answered abruptly. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then kindly tell me why my personal life is any of your damned business.”

  “Because Dawgie was following you and now he’s dead.”

  “You sound as if you believe there’s a connection.”

  “Maybe there is. Vinnie does know people.”

  “You’re thinking he put out a contract on Augie? Don’t make me laugh. Vincent runs a hair salon. He’s a family man.”