Knot Ready for Murder

by Mary Marks

  Fanya returned to the sewing room to finish assembling her quilt top. It was almost one when I remembered to call Beavers.

  “Martha, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he chortled. “Your fiancé might think you still have feelings for me.”

  I ignored him. “Whatever. You know the missing person who ended up not being missing after all?”

  “You mean your fiancé’s wife?” I heard the smug grin in his voice.

  “Whatever. She’s missing again. I need your help to find her. I think she has a right to be frightened for her life.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “She’s being pursued by a Ukrainian mobster from New York. He says he wants to marry her, but I think he really intends to first marry her, then kill her and take over the business. He already seems to have made some inroads.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “He visited me yesterday.”

  “Who?”

  “Aren’t you listening? The mobster. Alexander Koslov.”

  Beavers laughed outright. “This story is getting to be so much better than I anticipated.”

  I did a mental eye roll. “Whatever! He’s the one responsible for the second break-in at my house, by the way. In case you’re still looking for the culprit.”

  “Oh, yeah. Apprehending your phantom culprit sat at the top of my list.”

  “Will you listen, please? I found a safe place for her to stay in Ojai. But she left after only twenty-four hours and landed in a beach house in Oxnard. She was there for two days when she left again. Nobody knows where she is. The downstairs neighbor said she called an Uber. We could look at their records and find out where they took her. Then we could go get her and put her into witness protection.”

  “We?”

  I was almost at the end of my rope with Beavers. “Jeez, Arlo. Can’t you call Uber? Find out where she went?”

  “Ah, Martha. You know, before you telephoned, I was feeling kind of depressed. Discouraged by the size of our homicide caseload and by an epidemic of daytime robberies. Especially worrying for me personally was the early-morning break-in at your house in which nobody was killed and nothing seemed to have been taken. Boy, that really stumped me. But now you’ve laid it out this neatly, I can see the situation was a whole lot worse than I thought. The Ukrainian mob. Witness protection. Wow. You sure managed to get yourself into another predicament.”

  “Arlo . . .”

  “No, no, let me finish. Witness protection is administered by the Department of Justice out of the federal marshal’s office. Mobsters are arrested by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and prosecuted by the United States Attorney’s Office in federal court. Do you see a pattern emerging here? We at the local level have too much to do without taking on cases out of our jurisdiction.”

  “Does this mean you won’t help me?”

  “I always said you were brilliant. We must chat like this more often. Thanks for calling.”

  Crap!

  I returned to the sewing room and poured out my frustration to Fanya. “Arlo Beavers drives me crazy! I won’t get help from the cops. They don’t take me seriously. Yossi is gone. He can’t help me. And Hadas keeps disappearing.” This whole mess was caused by Ze’ev Uhrman, who was now conveniently dead. His signing over the business, and his Mob connection, suggested to me there was much more to the story than either Koslov, Hadas, or even Ettie were willing to tell. “Do you think you can send one more text message to Hadas’s phone?”

  “Sure. I can always try. But as you know, she probably won’t respond.”

  “She will if she knows Alexander Koslov showed up yesterday looking for her. Ask her what she wants us to tell him if he calls again. Maybe she’ll respond.”

  Fanya reached into her pocket for her phone. She texted Hadas. “What if she doesn’t text me back?”

  I shrugged. “The next move is hers. Now we sit and wait.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Wednesday evening Fanya and I sat on the sofa eating Ben & Jerry’s chocolate ice cream and watching Jeopardy! During the break before double Jeopardy! her phone chirped. “Hadas answered my text.” She handed the phone to me so I could read the message.

  Tell A K I’ve gone back to NY

  I punched in a reply.

  We need to talk.

  I watched the little gray dots dance on the side of the screen, indicating she was writing a reply. After a few seconds, her response popped up on the screen.

  Why?

  Fanya shifted toward me to better read her phone. “What are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth.” I began to type an answer.

  New suspect in ur brother’s death. Told A K to take a hike. U need protection.

  Ten seconds later, Fanya’s phone rang. I quickly handed it back to her. She enabled the speaker. “Hadas? Martha’s here with me. You’re on speaker.”

  “Anyone else there?”

  “No. Just the two of us. Yossi’s away.”

  Hadas was silent for a moment. “Who’s the new suspect?”

  Fanya told her about Shelly Jacobs and her five-year-old child coming to Ettie’s house.

  Hadas’s voice softened. “Yeah, I knew about her. Shelly used to come by the business in hopes of catching Ze’ev for some child support. He wasn’t very responsible, as you already know. After he died, she came around to solicit money from me.”

  “Did you give her anything?” I asked.

  “Yeah. A few hundred at a time. I felt sorry for her.”

  Wow. Maybe Hadas has a heart after all.

  Hadas continued, “Shelly told me she was waiting for an inheritance to come through. But she was vague about the details; I only half believed her. I thought she was trying to save face. She’s really not very bright. Now you’re saying Ze’ev actually promised her a quarter of a million when he died? Hmm. I wasn’t aware of a second life insurance policy.”

  “Second policy?” My antennae stood at attention. “Was there a first life insurance policy?”

  “You didn’t know? The business carried a million-dollar policy for him. Even after he left, I paid the premiums for his family’s sake. Ettie was the beneficiary.”

  Fanya and I looked at each other in amazement. “Are you saying Ettie received a million dollars when Ze’ev was killed?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. I helped her file the claim myself.”

  “Oy va voy!” Fanya wagged her head. “And to think I gave Ettie a deep discount for hanging the wallpaper in her living room. She let me think she was destitute.”

  My mind raced with this new information. “You both know what this means, don’t you? In addition to the litany of complaints against Ze’ev, Ettie had a million reasons to wish her husband dead.”

  Hadas was slow to respond. “No. I can’t accept what you’re implying, Martha. Ettie’s a natural born kvetch, but she’s not a killer. Besides, my brother was deliberately run over and killed by a car. Ettie doesn’t drive.”

  “I know you both have sympathy for Ze’ev’s widow, but we can’t rule her out. Just because Ettie doesn’t drive doesn’t mean she can’t drive.”

  Hadas’s voice dripped with impatience. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Because I need to make a business call to China. It’s ten-thirty in the morning over there.”

  I leaned toward the phone in Fanya’s hand. I wanted Hadas to hear me loud and clear. “Actually, I have a much bigger question: Alexander Koslov. We know about the money Uhrman Company pays to his account every month.”

  Hadas gasped. “How do you know?”

  “Never mind how. We also know he was Ze’ev’s bookie. Koslov is a Ukrainian mobster. How did he manage to get a piece of your business? And why is he chasing you? What is really going on?”

  Hadas sighed audibly. “It’s all Ze’ev’s fault. And too complicated to explain over the phone.”

  “If using the phone is your only problem, Fanya and I will come to you. Then you can enlighten us in p
erson. Tell us where.”

  Fanya fingered the amulet hanging around her neck. “I don’t know why you’re moving every other day, Hadas, but sooner or later—whoever you’re running from—will catch up to you. And you’ll have nowhere else to go. We can help, but you need to trust us. Have you forgotten how Martha and I went to such trouble to sneak you out of the Hotel Delaware and take you to a safe place in the mountains?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then why did you leave there?”

  “Even though the three of us were careful, I was afraid we’d been followed. I waited until midnight Friday, when everyone was asleep, and called a friend. Then walked down the driveway to meet him on the road below. He drove me to a place by the beach I’d booked online.”

  “Yeah,” I scoffed. “We talked to your ‘friend’ Peter Hauer. Why did you leave the beach house in Oxnard?”

  “Peter called me. Told me all about your meeting. I knew if he told you where I was, he would probably tell Alexander Koslov. Especially if the price was right. So, I quickly found another place to hide where nobody knew about me.”

  Now I understood why she left a note for me with the neighbor. Even though we threatened him, Hauer ignored our warning and called Hadas after our meeting to give her a heads-up.

  “Are you going to tell us where?” I asked.

  The phone was silent.

  “Hadas? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m staying at the Marina Vista Hotel, not far from the beach house in Oxnard.”

  “Under what name?”

  “Jane Smith.”

  How original.

  The clock read 7:45. “We can leave now. We should be there by nine.”

  “No. Not tonight. I have to call China. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Fanya’s voice carried a skeptical edge. “You’re not planning to slip away from us again, are you?”

  Hadas’s sigh traveled wearily over the phone. “I’ll be here. Unless Alexander finds me before you do.”

  * * *

  True to her word, Hadas called us back on Thursday morning at nine. She sounded upbeat. “Meet me for lunch at one in the hotel lobby. I want to try a nice little Italian restaurant nearby. I’m sure you’ll find vegetarian choices on their menu. And if you promise to buy me dessert, I’ll tell you everything I know.” Her laughter tinkled over the phone like wind chimes made of glass.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something seemed off. “Why wait? If Fanya and I leave now, we can easily be there before ten-thirty.”

  “I won’t be back before one. If you leave now, you’d have to sit around the hotel lobby and wait for a couple of hours until I return.”

  Was she planning another getaway? “You’re leaving the hotel? Isn’t it risky?”

  “Nobody but you knows where I am. Besides, I made a very favorable deal with the Chinese last night. To celebrate, I’m going to the mall next door for a little retail therapy and to get my nails done. Don’t you love the fact there’s a nail salon on every block? The Vietnamese have made a good life in America with fingernails and doughnut shops.”

  Oh my God. Does she even realize how racist she sounds?

  She continued, “The Filipinos have done the same thing with home health care and paid parking lots. This is a wonderful country for immigrants.”

  “What about the Ukrainians?” I snapped. “Are they all attracted to the clothing industry, or is that just Koslov’s special interest?”

  Hadas remained silent for a moment, then sniffed. “I’ll see you at one.” She ended the call.

  Fanya drew back and regarded me. “You seem awfully peeved.”

  “Where to begin?” I blew out my breath. “She’s such a narcissist and drama queen. Not to mention a bigot. She believes everything in life revolves around her. And she’s always in crisis. I imagine being her friend is exhausting. How do you do it?”

  “In small doses.” She smiled. “I only see Hadas occasionally and when I do, I make sure ahead of time to have an exit strategy.”

  “What was your exit strategy when you were on the plane listening to her for five hours straight?”

  Her wide grin revealed once more the gap between her two front teeth. “Parachute.”

  My mood lifted with our laughter. “The only thing I want from Hadas is her divorce from Yossi. She’s welcome to keep everything else in her world.”

  “Halevai.” Fanya punctuated my words.

  Fanya and I left Encino before noon. The traffic north on the 101 was light, and we pulled into the Marina Vista Hotel parking lot in Oxnard almost exactly at one. The outside of the hotel looked like a huge waffle, completely devoid of style or art. A vast outdoor mall built to mimic a Mexican hacienda sprawled over several acres adjacent to the hotel. Fanya, who was nearly six feet tall, seemed to unfold as she got out of the car and stood. We ambled through the glass doors and into the lobby. A quick scan of the area revealed Hadas wasn’t there.

  “If she’s skipped again, I’ll personally throttle her myself,” I growled through my teeth.

  We approached the desk and asked if Jane Smith was still registered.

  The eager young man in a dark blue jacket typed rapidly on the keyboard and stared at the computer screen. “She hasn’t checked out. Would you like me to call the room to tell her you’re here?”

  “Please,” I said.

  He lifted the phone to his ear and punched in her room number. After fifteen seconds, he replaced the phone. “She’s not answering.” He gestured toward the chairs in the lobby. “Would you care to wait or leave a message?”

  Smoke must’ve been coming out of my ears because Fanya took one look at me and responded, “We’ll wait.” She took my elbow and steered me toward the upholstered chairs in the lobby.

  I clenched my teeth. “Crap! She’s done it again!”

  “Don’t give up yet, Martha.” She patted my hand. “Maybe Hadas lost track of time. Easy to do when you’re shopping.”

  “Or maybe she was kidnapped for real this time,” I growled. “It would serve her right.”

  Fanya pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. “I’ll give her a call now.” She tapped the screen of her smartphone and listened. Suddenly her face brightened. She looked my way and smiled. “We’re here, Hadas. In the hotel lobby. Where are you?” Fanya listened and nodded. “Shall we come and get you? No? Okay. See you in ten.”

  She replaced her phone in her pocket. “I was right. Hadas lost track of time. But she promised to be here in ten minutes. She’s in a mall near the hotel.”

  Twenty minutes later, Hadas walked through the glass doors, laden with several paper shopping bags. Her beautiful Penélope Cruz look-alike face glistened with the effort. The crimson tips of her freshly manicured fingernails clutched purchases from Nordstrom, Swarovski, Coach, and Victoria’s Secret. “Hello, everyone. Sorry I kept you waiting. But when you called, I was paying for my items from Victoria’s Secret.” She spoke directly to me and winked. “Actually, I took some pictures of myself in the dressing room and texted them to my husband.”

  What? She sent photos of lingerie—or worse—to her husband? My Yossi?

  I didn’t even try to hide my rage. I wanted to pull her hair. Rip out her eyes. Build a fire right there in the hotel lobby and throw her in it.

  Hadas giggled at my reaction. “I’m kidding, Martha.” She rattled the packages in her hands. “I’ll put these in my room and be back in a jiffy. Then we can go for lunch at Pagliacci’s Pasta. My treat. All this running around has made me very hungry.”

  Fanya smiled at Hadas. “I can hardly wait. By the way, what’s your room number? In case we have to come looking for you.”

  “You worry too much,” Hadas said. “But to convince you I’m not running away again, I’m on the fifth floor. Room five-twelve.”

  We watched her disappear into one of the twin elevators.

  Fanya made a face. “I must say, I admire your self-control, Martha. H
adas can be a real witch sometimes.”

  I hardly heard Fanya. I was too busy inventing ways in my head to get rid of Hadas. I took a deep breath and exhaled in one loud sigh. “I wonder what it will take for her to give Yossi a divorce and go away forever.”

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. I looked at the clock on the wall above the reception desk. “She’s taking her sweet time. What’s that difficult about putting a few packages in the room?”

  “Maybe she needed to use the ladies’ room,” Fanya said.

  When Hadas didn’t return after fifteen minutes, my gut began to churn. “Something’s wrong.”

  Fanya took one look at my face and nodded. “I feel it, too. Shall I text her?”

  “No time.”

  We hurried to the elevators.

  CHAPTER 30

  We poked number five on the elevator keypad. When the bell dinged at our destination, we stepped into a dimly-lit lobby with brown carpet and yellow-and-brown–striped wallpaper.

  Fanya made a face. “Look.” She pointed to an edge of the wallpaper peeling back slightly. “There’s nothing hard about hanging stripes. They either used cheap glue, or they didn’t roll it all the way to the edges of the paper. Either way, there’s no excuse for such a sloppy job.”

  A sign with an arrow indicated room 512 was to our right.

  We knocked. “Hadas?”

  No answer.

  Fanya pounded on the door with the side of her fist. “Hadas, if you don’t open the door, we’re going to get the manager to open it for us!”

  Fanya shifted her weight and tensed. “If someone besides Hadas opens the door,” she whispered, “jump out of the way.”

  I didn’t have to ask why. My future sister-in-law was preparing to defend us.

  I heard the squeak of hinges as a door behind us opened slowly. I turned around to see the curious face of a teenaged girl peeking at us from room 511 across the hall.

  I forced my face into a smile. “Sorry if we disturbed you. Our friend is sick. We’re trying to see if she’s okay.”

  “’kay.” The girl lifted one shoulder in a desultory shrug and closed her door.

  Fanya knocked again. “Come on. Open the door.”