by Mary Marks
Smith paused. “Hmm. Did Mrs. Levy say anything else?”
“She’s concerned Alexander might be armed. She heard he can be violent, although she was vague about details.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“You already knew about him?”
“Yeah, we knew.”
“Can’t you arrest him?”
“On what grounds? Lusting after a pretty woman? We don’t have the evidence a case like this calls for. I’m satisfied Mrs. Levy is safe for now.”
“What about me? What if he comes back to my house?”
“Between Levy and his sister, an intruder wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Wait! Why did you say that about Yossi’s sister, Fanya?”
“I hear she’s very accomplished at Krav Maga.”
How in the world did FBI Director of Counterintelligence John Smith know so much detail about Fanya? “What do you know that I don’t?”
He did what he did best. He ignored me. “Speaking of knowing and not knowing, have you informed the local police Mrs. Levy has been found and is out of danger?”
Oh crap. Smith was right. “What should I say? Her kidnapping was just a silly mistake?”
“Levy is her next of kin. Ask him to call the LAPD. He’ll know what to say. Don’t delay. They won’t thank you for wasting more of their time.”
I ended the call and sent Crusher a text. Can you tell Det Beavers H is safe?
Almost immediately he sent an answer. Already done.
CHAPTER 20
At 5:30 Friday evening, Fanya and I, dressed in our Sabbath clothes, were in the kitchen seeing to last-minute food prep. Crusher’s Harley roared into the driveway, and a minute later he bounded in the house and handed me a bouquet of pink roses and kissed me softly.
Before heading for the bedroom to shower and change, he stopped and kissed the top of Fanya’s head. “Ah gutten Shabbos, Fanele.”
She smiled at her brother’s affectionate greeting and responded in the Yiddish they both grew up with. “Ah gutten Shabbos, Yossi. It’s been a long time since we’ve managed to be together on a Friday night.”
At six, my daughter, Quincy, and her little family were the first to arrive. As soon as my infant granddaughter Daisy saw me, she stretched her arms in my direction and smiled. “Baba!”
I pried her out of her father’s arms and swept her in circles around the living room. She rewarded me with giggles of delight.
I kissed her fat little cheek. “When I’m very old, you can pick me up and dance me around the room. Deal?”
“Baba!”
Next to arrive was the Friday foursome, as they called themselves: my sister, Giselle, in a little black dress; her fiancé Harold, still wearing a pinstriped business suit; Uncle Isaac with his embroidered Bukharan yarmulke nestled on top of his white curls, and Hilda in her beige pantsuit. Giselle hugged Fanya as if they were old friends and wished her a happy Sabbath.
Quincy seemed especially pleased to meet Crusher’s sister. “I grew up with no aunts or uncles on my mother’s side. I was thrilled when my mom discovered she had a half sister. I call her Aunt Giselle. What do I call you? Aunt Fanya?”
“Oh, I love the sound of that!”
I scrutinized Hilda as she helped my uncle step over the threshold into the house. She placed one arm around his shoulders while he steadied himself by grasping on to her other hand. Once inside, he navigated on his own to the living room and sat, with Hilda following close enough to catch him if he stumbled. During this time, I didn’t witness any inappropriate touching. Had I been mistaken about Hilda’s behavior yesterday?
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Shabbat shalom, Uncle.”
He returned the greeting. “So nu? What’s the latest with the wedding, faigela? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
I glanced around quickly at the others with a silent plea to keep from telling my uncle anything about Crusher’s marriage or Hadas’s disappearing act. Considering his frail state of health, I didn’t want to alarm my uncle or cause him distress. I smiled. “I think I’m going to ask my friend Jazz to make me a special dress for the occasion. And the cake definitely has to be chocolate with chocolate frosting.” I hastily changed the subject. “Uncle Isaac, you seem to be steadier on your feet.”
He sat straighter and made a mock bicep curl with his arm. “It’s the boxing lessons. I’m training to go a few rounds with Muhammad Ali.” He reached over and patted Hilda’s hand. “She’s a tough trainer, this one. But I’m glad to have her in my corner.”
Harold Zimmerman, Giselle’s fiancé, removed his black-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “On the way over here, Isaac told us what he’s been doing.” He casually wiped the lenses with the end of his tie and slipped them back on. “I boxed a little myself during my squandered youth. It’s a great sport.”
Fanya nodded. “Boxing is wonderful for balance and toning. Just let me know when you’re ready to graduate to Krav Maga, Isaac. I can teach you a trick or two.”
I studied Hilda during this exchange. She appeared to be delighted with the casual banter, smiling in all the right places and laughing at Fanya’s offer. I resolved to take a more charitable wait-and-see attitude before confronting her.
My bubbie’s two silver candleholders with pure white candles sat on the sideboard in the dining room. Joining me there for the blessing were all the other females in the house: Fanya, Giselle, Quincy, holding her baby Daisy; and even Hilda. I scraped a wooden match over the rough strip on the box and held the flame to the candlewicks until they blazed on their own. Together, we recited in Hebrew what Jewish women all over the world recited to welcome the Sabbath. “Blessed art Thou, oh Lord our God, King of the universe who sanctifies us by Thy commandments and commands us to kindle the Sabbath lights.”
Everyone said, “Amen.”
I sat at the table next to Uncle Isaac as he recited the kiddush welcoming the Sabbath and blessed the wine and the challah. When he finished, Fanya and I brought the food from the kitchen. I remained standing to get everyone’s attention. “Tonight’s meal is dairy. I’ve baked salmon in a creamy hollandaise sauce. In addition, Fanya prepared a special vegetarian entrée with potatoes, beans, couscous, and yogurt.”
The table erupted in a flurry of oohs and aahs as serving spoons clinked against the dishes and plates.
Giselle filled her fork with the savory mixture from Fanya’s recipe. “Have they found the body of Yossi’s wife yet? Hadas?”
I could’ve kicked her for mentioning anything about Hadas in front of my uncle. He knew nothing about the break-ins. He didn’t even know about the complication of Crusher’s marriage. I clenched my jaw and spoke through my teeth. “You know, G, this really isn’t the place to discuss such things.”
Quincy scooped a little bit of soft potato on her fingertip and fed it to an enthusiastic Daisy, who sat on her lap. “What’s the big deal? Noah told me all about it, Mom.” She looked at Crusher. “I think it’s hilarious you’re still married to someone else.”
I sat back and closed my eyes to avoid seeing my uncle’s reaction. I didn’t have to wait long. His fork clanked as it dropped on his plate.
I opened my eyes in time to watch tremors ripple through his hand. “Yossi? This is true? You’re married?”
Crusher slowly raked his fingers through his short beard and nodded. “I thought it had been taken care of years ago, Isaac. An annulment. I even signed the papers, but they were never filed. Now she’s dealing with a personal crisis. When it’s resolved, she’ll finally be able to give me the divorce we agreed on thirty years ago.”
“So what’s this talk about finding her body? Is she alive or is she dead, God forbid?”
“I promise you she’s very much alive, Uncle.” I reached over and grabbed his hand, which continued to shake inside mine. I hated the way Parkinson’s was robbing him of a tranquil old age. “She’s keeping a low profile until her crisis is resolved.”
&nb
sp; “Crisis, shmisis. I may be old, faigela, but I’m no shmendrik. I want the truth. Tell me the truth.”
Giselle spoke again. “Wait. I’m confused. I thought Hadas was kidnapped from this house by a couple of bad guys who chloroformed her and broke in a second time the next day. Now you’re saying she’s alive, like you know it for a fact. Is she? Alive?”
I took a deep breath before telling another lie. “I spoke to Hadas on the phone yesterday. She wanted to apologize for any misunderstanding. She wasn’t kidnapped. She left willingly with a couple of friends. As soon as she can straighten out a few problems back at her New York office, she’ll give Yossi a divorce.” The words slipped out of my mouth as smooth as butter. I must admit I was proud of my growing ability to massage the facts at the drop of a hat.
I interpreted the expression blossoming on Fanya’s face as admiration. She knew more than anyone else at the table what really happened. Her lips quivered as though she was trying to suppress a smile.
“I’m glad someone’s amused,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.
She quickly covered her face with her napkin and coughed. I heard the yip of laughter underneath and poked her arm.
Later in the evening, after everyone had gone home and Crusher was busy washing dishes, Fanya and I sat in the living room enjoying our second helping of my favorite dessert—key lime cheesecake.
I eyed my empty plate with regret and licked the fork. “You know, I don’t trust Hadas as far as I can throw her. She’s done nothing but lie. She lied to Yossi thirty years ago, and she lied about her abduction. I think she’s still lying.”
Fanya wrinkled her forehead. “You don’t believe anything she said?”
“Hadas is a master manipulator. I have a strong feeling she’s holding back on us. I mean, look how she lied about her marriage to Yossi all these years. She led people to believe she’d been abandoned. And remember when she talked about Alexander? Well, something about her story seemed contrived. The more questions I asked, the vaguer her answers became. Like she was making up things on the fly.”
Fanya cut a petite bite of cheesecake. “Why do you think she came to LA in the first place?”
“I wish I knew. I think she spoke the truth when she said Ze’ev ruined her life. What I want to know is how do you make a leap between her good-for-nothing brother and a creepy guy who’s stalking her? I think we should take a closer look at Ze’ev. Who nursed a grudge powerful enough to kill him? We know he gambled and stole from the business. That certainly gives Hadas a motive.”
Fanya took one last bite of her cheesecake and placed her empty plate next to mine. “True. But Hadas told me he owed money to some Mobbed-up guys. Maybe they killed him.”
“Maybe. But dead men don’t pay their debts. Ze’ev was more valuable to them alive.” I paused for a moment. “On the other hand, Hadas could’ve uncovered his thieving and cut her brother out of the business. If so, Ze’ev would no longer have the means to pay off his gambling debts.”
Fanya finished the thought. “The Mob could’ve wasted him to set an example for anyone else tempted to stop paying.” Her voice shifted slightly. She sounded less like a perplexed observer and more like professional law enforcement.
I briefly studied my future sister-in-law. She had depth. How much of her flighty, superstitious persona was real? I pushed the thought out of my mind. “Right. Which would explain why the business suddenly operated in the black again once Ze’ev was out of the picture and couldn’t steal the business profits anymore. It also might explain why not one penny of the business went to Ze’ev’s family when he died.”
Fanya nodded. “Ettie said Hadas did ‘something sneaky’ and now they had to take her to court to get reinstated as half owners of the Uhrman Company. I hate to say it, but this doesn’t look good for Hadas.”
“No, it doesn’t. But Hadas wasn’t the only one with motive. We know Ze’ev was habitually unfaithful. That would give his wife, Ettie, a reason to kill him.”
Fanya fished for the amulet she wore around her neck and closed her fist around it. “No. That doesn’t sound like the Ettie I know. It’s more likely the crazy woman Gita killed him. Didn’t Hadas say she heard Gita threaten to kill Ze’ev?”
“Yes, but how do we know Hadas is telling the truth? We only have her word that Gita made threats. We should double-check her story. See what Ettie has to say.” I inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, contemplating all the possible motives for wanting Ze’ev dead. “And then there’s Alexander. Who is he? What does he do? Is he that obsessed with Hadas he killed Ze’ev as part of a strategy to get closer to her? He certainly wasted no time zeroing in on her, starting the day of Ze’ev’s funeral.”
Fanya counted on her fingers. “How many people had a motive to murder? Hadas, the Mob, Ettie, Gita, and Alexander. Any one of them could’ve done it.”
“We need to find a way to stop Alexander from bothering Hadas. I want her to come out of hiding and give Yossi a divorce.”
Crusher, carrying a plate with the last slice of cheesecake, joined us in the living room. “I’ve been listening from the kitchen. I agree we should keep digging. I’ll focus on Alexander. Check NCIC for any priors.”
I tried not to stare as he lifted a forkful to his mouth. “Does anyone know his last name? I feel like an idiot. I forgot to ask her that one simple question.” I snuck another quick look at his plate, hoping he’d offer me a bite. “And I’ll check with Giselle to see if Shadow uncovered more information on the finances of the Uhrman Company.”
“What can I do?” Fanya asked.
As the last bite on Crusher’s plate disappeared, I sighed and turned to my future sister-in-law. “I’ll call Hadas and get Alexander’s last name for Yossi. Then we should call Ettie again. We need to confirm Hadas’s story about Gita. Between the three of us, we might get lucky enough to uncover a clue pointing to Ze’ev’s killer.”
Fanya pointed to the ceiling. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
I hoped God was paying attention.
CHAPTER 21
Saturday morning I woke determined to make it a true day of rest. I needed a break from our investigation. I entertained visions of the three of us lounging around all day, eating leftovers and enjoying each other’s company. Maybe we’d play Scrabble and munch on popcorn. I tied my blue chenille bathrobe around my waist and moved to the kitchen in matching blue slippers. Crusher sat at the table with a steaming mug of coffee. Fanya hummed as she deftly whipped some kind of batter.
“For pancakes.” Fanya poured little rounds in a hot skillet and turned them over as they formed bubbles around the edges. Obviously, she didn’t observe another one of the thirty-nine kinds of work prohibited on the Sabbath: lighting a fire and cooking. “I hope you’re hungry. There’s also fresh coffee and some cut-up strawberries.”
My first disappointment came when Crusher’s cell phone chirped. He read the text and grunted. “Sorry, ladies, but duty calls. Excellent breakfast, Fan. Thanks.” He headed toward the bedroom to get his gun and badge and reappeared a few minutes later, wearing a shoulder holster.
“Text me Alexander’s last name and I’ll look for him when I have time.” He kissed me, shrugged into his black leather jacket, and hurried out the doorway.
My second disappointment came when I tried to reach Hadas. My call went to voice mail. I waited for an hour before calling again. When she still didn’t answer, my gut told me something wasn’t right. I called Andre at ten.
“I haven’t seen her today. She didn’t show for breakfast. I’ll go see if she’s okay and call you back.”
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. I touched the green phone icon when Andre’s name appeared on the screen. “Did you find her?”
“No. I even went to the bookstore, but she seems to have disappeared.”
What? Again? My stomach plummeted. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last night at dinner.”
“Are her things still i
n her room? Phone, laptop, clothes?”
“Everything’s gone.”
Anger boiled in my brain. I wanted to scream, especially after all the trouble we went through to help her. It took every bit of my self-control to speak again. “Was there any sign of a struggle? Any indication she might not’ve gone willingly?”
“Not that I could see,” Andre’s voice softened. “But then I’m not a professional.”
What a witch! Did she ever intend to give Crusher a divorce?
“Well, what does your famous dead grandmother have to say about it? Can’t she tell us where Hadas is?” I immediately regretted my outburst. “Sorry, Andre. I’m just frustrated and angry.”
“I understand. Do you want me to do a tarot reading over the phone? It might give you some guidance.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll skip it this time.”
I ended the call and went straight to my sewing room, where Fanya worked on her green-and-yellow Snail’s Trail blocks—another indication she’d left behind the Orthodox way of life. Sewing together (and ripping apart) were types of work forbidden on the Sabbath.
I stood with my fists resting on my hip bones and spat out my frustration. “Guess what our little Miss Hadas has done now?”
Fanya stopped sewing and cocked her head to the side like a wren eyeing a worm. “Whatever it is, I can tell you’re not happy.”
“Not happy? I’m beyond pissed off. Hadas lied to us again. She left Mystical Feather sometime between dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Took all her things and snuck off under the cover of darkness. And she’s not answering her cell phone.”
Still seated in front of my Bernina sewing machine, Fanya turned it off and swiveled on the chair until she faced me. “Oy! I wonder what she’s playing at.”
I sat in the other chair and crossed my arms. “I wish I knew. You were on the mountain. You saw. She couldn’t have pulled off her disappearing act without help.”