by Mary Marks
He stared at Fanya. “I know you. From where?”
“At the Uhrman house. You came to pray with the minyan while Ettie and her family sat shiva for Ze’ev.”
A blanket of recognition settled on his face. “Ah yes. So it is. You’re Ettie’s friend.”
Fanya said, “Right. Ettie and Ze’ev. And Hadas.”
I crossed my arms. “You asked for this meeting, Mr. Koslov. What do you want?”
He glanced at Fanya and gave a small shake of the head as if to say he’d resigned himself to her presence. “I must find Hadas. I think you know where she is.”
I hoped Giselle was pointing her smartphone in his direction, recording his every word.
“Is that why you broke into my house two Mondays ago? To find her or find some clue about where she’d gone?”
Koslov paused before answering. “That was regrettable. Two of my loyal associates, they sometimes go too far. My apologies for any inconvenience.”
“Why do you need Hadas?”
He glanced again at Fanya. “A personal matter.”
I laughed once. “You’ve been stalking her. She obviously doesn’t want to be found. Especially, it seems, found by you. Is this a romantic obsession you have or something else?”
This time it was his turn to laugh. “Dear lady, you shoot straight to heart, don’t you? I have many reasons why I need to find her. As I said, they are personal.” He emphasized the last word, an indication he wasn’t about to reveal anything more.
“Hadas said you were following me. Were you?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Hadas has a way of, shall we say, stretching truth?”
I couldn’t argue with him. I’d caught her lying more than once.
“I don’t need to follow you. I have other ways to find her.”
“So you knew where she was each time she moved?”
He smiled pleasantly. “I can’t reveal all my secrets. We barely know each other.”
Tiny clicks on the hardwood floor signaled we were about to have a visitor. Jazz’s white Maltese Zsa Zsa Galore came prancing into the living room wearing her dotted Swiss pinafore and mint green ribbon in her topknot. She stopped suddenly when she saw Koslov and began snarling and showing her teeth.
His eyes widened. “What is this creature?” He made a movement toward the dog and she began to yip hysterically. He sat back. “You Americans and your animals!”
Afraid Jazz would come out of hiding to rescue her, I got out of the chair and scooped her up. “I’ll put her to bed and be right back.” I hurried into the sewing room and shoved Zsa Zsa into her father’s arms. “Hang on to her,” I whispered.
I returned to my chair in the living room. “You admitted to being at Ze’ev’s house during the week of shiva. How did you know him?”
“Ze’ev and I do business together.”
“What business was that?”
“Investments. Wagering.”
“You were Ze’ev’s bookie?”
“English is not my first language. But even I know bookie is crude word. I prefer to call myself ‘entertainment broker.’ Ze’ev Uhrman was one of my best customers.”
Hadas had told Fanya she found betting tickets shoved in the back of a drawer in Ze’ev’s desk—none of them less than one thousand dollars. “Yes, he left behind old betting tickets. Apparently, he liked to bet big.”
Koslov narrowed his eyes. “Big bets make big winners.”
“They also make big losers. Which kind was Ze’ev?”
“More on losing side.”
“Did you know he stole money from the Uhrman Company to make those losing wagers?”
“He did? We did not discuss where he got money as long as he paid.”
“When he died, did he owe you any money?”
“He was big loser. What do you think?”
“I think you had him killed.”
“I would be very foolish to kill him. Dead men do not pay.”
“Sometimes living men don’t pay, either. I think Ze’ev got cut off from his source of money. He could no longer bleed cash from Uhrman Company, so, in the end, he couldn’t pay. Maybe you killed him to set an example for the other big losers you entertain.”
Koslov didn’t answer. Instead, he steered the conversation back to Hadas. “I know about awkward situation with Hadas and Yossi Levy and you. Why do you help her?”
“Simple. If you know about my situation, then you know Hadas must give Yossi a divorce before he can marry me. Why do you want to find her?”
“We have shared interest, Hadas and me.”
“Yes, I know about the money from the Uhrman Company being deposited every month in an account called ‘Koslov Associates.’ ”
Koslov regarded me with a new look I couldn’t quite read. Was it surprise? Admiration? He sneered. “I won’t ask how you know. But I warn you—be careful with what you think you know. False accusations have way of coming back to hurt.”
“Are you threatening me?” I turned to my future sister-in-law. “Fanya, I think he’s threatening me.”
Fanya moved her body as if getting ready to spring and disable Koslov.
He shifted almost imperceptibly away from the sofa as if he, too, could read her intentions. Then he raised both hands, palms outward in a gesture of submission, and half-laughed. “I wouldn’t dare to threaten such a brilliant lady and her bodyguard.”
Fanya remained on alert, body prepared for an offensive action.
“Don’t look surprised, Fanya.” Koslov addressed her directly. “Everyone knows you are expert in Krav Maga. You are famous. They still talk about what you did to the man who dared to touch you.”
Fanya said, “And everyone knows you’re a mamzer, a bookie, a loan shark and basic shtick dreck. I’ve got one question. How could someone like you show up at Ze’ev’s house to pray? May he rest in peace. Do you even believe in God?”
“I show respect for my friend Ze’ev. I am sorry he is killed. For many reasons. One you already know. Dead men don’t pay. Another reason I go to my friend Ze’ev’s house is for his sister, Hadas. She is beautiful woman. I want to know better.”
“Her being married to someone else didn’t bother you?” Fanya asked.
“I know all about her so-called marriage and how it happened.” He stuck out his chin.
“Who told you?” Fanya frowned.
“Ze’ev was my friend. We talk about many things. I want to find Hadas. Maybe after she divorce Yossi Levy, she marry me.”
Oh no! Did Hadas know Koslov’s intentions? If so, she might never give Yossi a divorce. “You’ll excuse me if I say I don’t believe a word of it. I think your connection with the Uhrmans is deeper. Especially because of the monthly transfers of money into your account. Ze’ev was murdered and right afterward, you got a piece of the business. It looks to me like cause and effect.”
Koslov moved to the edge of the seat and stood. Fanya did the same, ready to pounce if necessary.
He put his sunglasses on and turned to me. “Does this mean you will not tell me where Hadas is?”
I took my time standing and stepped once toward the man hiding behind his mirrored glasses. “I don’t know where she is. I wish I did. But you are correct. Even if I did know where she ran off to, I wouldn’t tell you.”
I walked Koslov to the front door. He left without another word. He got into the back seat of a black Rolls-Royce limousine and rolled open the window. As they pulled away from the curb, he touched his forehead with one finger in mock salute. I didn’t need to turn around to know Fanya was dropping salt into the corners of the room.
Giselle and Jazz emerged from hiding.
“Could you hear?” I asked.
They both shook their heads. Giselle tapped something on the screen of her smartphone and held it for all to listen. We could only hear an occasional word. “I’m afraid we were too far away.”
Jazz sniffed. “I told you so. You should’ve left the phone in the living room, where it
was close enough to record everything.”
Giselle patted his arm. “Live and learn. We’ll do it next time Martha invites a mobster into the house.”
I filled them in on the conversation.
Giselle gasped. “So Koslov was Ze’ev’s Mobbed-up bookie!”
I nodded. “Looks that way. And here’s something else to think about. My FBI contact John Smith said he knew who Koslov was.”
“Makes sense,” Giselle said, “given the FBI is the agency responsible for catching mobsters.”
“Andre Polinskaya warned me there were forces at work I knew nothing about. I dismissed his concerns because he gets all his information from the spirit of his dead grandmother or the tarot cards.
“But John Smith told me the same thing. And now I know what they both meant. Koslov is a mobster. Thanks to Giselle’s guy Shadow, we know Koslov gets money every month from the Uhrman Company. What I’d like to know is who opened the door to the Mob?”
CHAPTER 28
Early Wednesday morning I moved to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee in the day. Usually Fanya had a pot going, but today the kitchen was the same as we’d left it the night before. She must’ve finally adjusted to Pacific Time. I brewed a pot of strong dark roast and drank half of it while she slept.
I kept thinking about the elusive Hadas leaving the beach house in Oxnard on Monday. Where did she go from there? If Koslov could track her as he claimed, why didn’t he know where she landed this time?
Hadas expected me to appear at the beach house in Oxnard; otherwise, why would she have left a note addressed to me? Hauer must’ve warned her we were coming. The woman in the ground floor apartment said Hadas got a ride from Uber. If I could access the same resources as law enforcement, I could find the Uber driver who picked her up from Oxnard and learn where they drove to.
Unfortunately, Crusher was still on assignment. He couldn’t help. John Smith at the FBI would never share that information. My son-in-law, LAPD Detective Noah Kaplan, would have a severe anxiety attack if I asked him. Maybe I’d try my ex-boyfriend, LAPD Detective Arlo Beavers. All he could do was say, “No.”
Eventually, Fanya strolled into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower.
I poured a cup for her. “Today it’s my turn to say, ‘Good morning, sleepyhead.’ ”
Fanya stretched and yawned. “Yeah. I’m used to rising at six to be at the builders store for supplies by seven, then on to my job by eight.” She looked at the clock. “Sleeping in until seven-thirty feels like a huge indulgence.” She poured Cheerios into a bowl and added almond milk.
She ate in silence until her bowl was nearly empty. She rested her spoon and sat back. “Boy! I feel like we’ve been running a marathon this week.” She grinned. “Hanging around with you is exciting, but also exhausting.”
After we cleared the breakfast dishes, Fanya announced she was ready to sew all the Snail’s Trail blocks together and baste her quilt. I showed her how to orient the blocks to create the overall design. Eyes dancing with enthusiasm, she sat at the Bernina and began to assemble her very first quilt top.
I left her in the sewing room as she hummed a tune I thought I recognized as “Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones. Two items filled today’s agenda. First, check on my uncle and second, call Beavers. My uncle’s welfare took priority over everything else. I called him first. “How are you feeling today?”
“Strong. Like a junger mensch.” He called himself a young man. “Hilda made a doctor’s appointment for this afternoon. We’ll take a taxi as usual, but this could be the last time. She’s studying for her driver’s license. When she gets it, we’ll go out and buy a nice car. A new one. She likes the little BMWs.”
My stomach did a flip. What are they thinking? He’s not a rich man. “Aren’t they a little pricey for you?”
“Well, Hilda tells me cars are much more expensive nowadays, and I believe her. After all, it’s been ten years since I’ve owned a car. Anyway, I’m thinking maybe an SUV would be more useful. We saw a dandy one at the Cadillac place.”
Does she really have so much influence over him? “I think you’d have difficulty getting onto the seat of an SUV because they’re too high off the ground. And you’d have the opposite problem with a sporty car like a BMW. The seat is too low; you’d have trouble getting out of the car and standing. You’d be better off looking at a practical sedan like a Prius or a Civic.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see.”
How can I derail this runaway train? “Do you think I can talk to Hilda for a minute?”
“Sure.”
I heard him move toward the loud humming of a vacuum cleaner. He said something I couldn’t hear over the thundering motor.
The noise stopped abruptly and Hilda spoke. “Hi. You want to speak to me?”
“Just checking in. He’s seeing the doctor today?”
“Right. To adjust his meds. Do you want me to call you afterward?”
I heard my uncle in the background. “Ach. She worries too much.”
Hilda spoke away from the phone. “That’s because she loves you, Isaac.”
“Yes, please,” I said. “Call me and let me know what the doctor says.”
“Will do. By the way, Isaac bought me a smartphone and put me on his plan. Let me give you the number. Now you can reach me directly whenever you want.”
“He also tells me he’s going to buy a car to get around in.”
“Yes. He spends a lot of money on taxis. I think he figured it wouldn’t be any more expensive to buy a car.”
“He’s not a rich man, Hilda. He cannot afford a BMW or a Cadillac. I’d appreciate your not encouraging him in that direction. The gas, insurance, and maintenance alone would be prohibitive. Not to mention monthly car payments.”
Hilda paused for a moment. “I understand. Nothing’s going to happen until I get a driver’s license anyway. When I do, I promise to involve you in any decision-making.”
We ended the call on a very cordial note, but something began eating at me once more. My uncle was spending more money since Hilda moved in: new drapes for the living room, a smartphone for Hilda, and soon the biggest purchase—a new car for her to drive. I tried telling myself it was his money to do with as he pleased, but the queasiness still rose in my gut. I should watch them carefully; pay surprise visits to see if things were as tranquil as he claimed.
The sudden worry about my uncle on top of stress from the last two days caused a migraine to claw at my head. First, my scalp tingled, followed by a pounding in my right temple and forehead. Lights amplified the pounding. I closed my eyes to a narrow squint and stumbled into my bathroom for my headache meds. Then I closed the curtains against the daylight and lay on my bed.
Please, God, make this headache go away.
I didn’t remember falling asleep. When I woke two hours later, the headache was gone, but I felt slightly dizzy and disoriented. The sewing machine sat silent. Did Fanya finish assembling her quilt top? I rolled out of bed and peeked in the sewing room. It was empty. I continued to the living room. Fanya held a phone to her ear and was frowning.
She acknowledged me with a nod and a wave but continued to talk on the phone. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ettie. If the lawyer says everything was kosher, I don’t see how you can fight it. Of course, I’m no lawyer. Have you thought about getting a second opinion?”
She paused to listen to Ettie’s response, then spoke again. “Well, it’s been difficult to keep up with Hadas because she’s staying with friends. But the next time I hear from her, I’ll definitely ask her to call you.” Another pause. “Okay. Zei gesunt, Ettie.” Be well.
Fanya ended the call and shook her head. “I hate to lie to Ettie. She called me with more bad news. Apparently, the lawyer she and her son Zelig hired said they no longer have a legal right to half the business because of something stupid Ze’ev did. Legally, Uhrman Company belongs only to Hadas.”
“Did Ettie say why they no longer h
ave a legal claim? What stupid thing did Ze’ev do?”
Fanya shrugged. “He signed the business over. Didn’t say why. But the way Uhrman Company is structured now, Hadas is the sole owner. She fixed it so if she dies, Yossi will inherit as her next of kin. If he dies before she does, the company would revert to the Uhrman family upon her death.”
John Smith of the FBI told me the same thing: If both Hadas and Crusher were out of the picture, the business would stay in the Uhrman family. “I wonder what would happen to the order of inheritance if Hadas and Yossi get a divorce. He would no longer be her next of kin, right? Under those conditions, if a divorced Hadas died, wouldn’t the company go straightaway to Ettie?”
“That’s what the lawyer said.”
“Did she say what would happen if Hadas remarried?”
“Good question,” said Fanya.
“I’m thinking Hadas would make her new husband next in line to inherit the business.” Is that what Koslov hoped for? I began to develop a bit of sympathy for Hadas. Who could she trust? No wonder she wanted Crusher. He was the only man in her life who ever treated her with respect.
“Ettie told me one more thing. She said a woman came to her door and demanded money. It seems Ze’ev fathered her child, a five-year-old girl. The woman said Ze’ev hadn’t been very good at giving her money every month, but he promised her a lump sum of two-hundred-fifty thousand dollars upon his death. She wasn’t very bright. She thought the money would be automatically paid to her. But after waiting six months for the check that never came from a life insurance policy that never existed, she went to Ettie and demanded the money Ze’ev pledged.”
“Did Ettie tell you her name?”
“Yes. Shelly Jacobs. Ettie called her a gold digger.”
“Maybe she’s the one who killed Ze’ev. Shelly Jacobs had a quarter of a million reasons to see him dead. Poor Ettie. Her husband left behind nothing but trouble, trouble still reaching out from the grave.”