by Mary Marks
Great. Now I’d found a new reason to dislike this woman. Once again, she thought only about herself and her latest drama. She used her marriage to Crusher as a way of controlling the latest man in her life, Alexander Koslov. She didn’t care about how her actions might affect Crusher or his life with me.
CHAPTER 32
I tried to hide my anger at the selfishness of the woman standing in the way of my happiness. “You can’t use your marriage to Yossi as a tactic to deal with Koslov anymore. We’re going to see a lawyer friend of mine. You’re getting a divorce, Hadas.”
Hadas sighed and closed her eyes. “I suppose that’s inevitable. And anyway, I’m tired of fighting.”
An actual tear slipped down her cheek.
Maybe she’s not heartless after all.
We sat in silence for a minute. I didn’t doubt Hadas had told us the truth about her situation. But I was still curious how the death of her brother connected to the story. “Tell me more about Ze’ev’s death. We know from a witness account that the car deliberately sped up and swerved toward him. Did the police tell you anything more about that?”
Hadas shrugged one shoulder. “They wouldn’t say.”
“As I see it, there are many people with motive to kill Ze’ev. The reasons for his killing all seem to point to money. Either money he owed, money he promised, or money from his life insurance. Plus, there’s also the issue of his sleeping around. Maybe his wife got plain tired of it. Which do you think is more likely?”
“I’m too fuzzy-headed to think about anything right now.” Hadas yawned. “I’m so tired I could sleep for a hundred years. And I’m hungry. We didn’t have lunch, remember?”
I listened with some amusement as Hadas described the early symptoms of pregnancy: fatigue, nausea, and hunger.
Fanya stood. “I’ll fix you something bland to eat. How about scrambled eggs and toast?”
Hadas drained the last of the ginger tea and handed her empty cup to Fanya. “Sure. And I could use more of this.”
I glanced quickly at Fanya to see if she resented being treated like a servant. I would’ve said something if Hadas dared speak to me like that, but Fanya only smiled indulgently and took the cup.
Thirty minutes later, we all sat down to eat breakfast for dinner.
Afterward, Hadas announced, “I’m turning in for the night.” She staggered to the guest room and closed the door.
I brewed a pot of PG Tips extra-strong black tea and sat at the kitchen table with my future sister-in-law. I added two teaspoons of sugar and a dollop of milk to my cup. “You know, Fanya, I had a horrible thought. We’ve assumed Hadas keeps hiding in new locations because she’s running from Koslov.”
Fanya raised the cup to her lips and blew on the steaming tea. “Isn’t that what she told us?”
“I know, but let’s assume there’s someone or something else she’s running from. I mean, I don’t believe her life is in danger from Koslov. When he catches up to her, the worst she has to do is face the inevitable confrontation over the child. But she won’t have to fear for her life.”
“Okay, I’ll go along with that. Who else is after her?”
“Suppose whoever killed Ze’ev wants Hadas dead, too. Her disappearing act may be the only thing keeping her alive. We have to wonder, who would benefit from her death?”
“As the will stands now, it would be Yossi. After him, Ettie.”
“And after the baby is born?” I asked.
Fanya placed her cup on the table. “Ahh. I see what you mean. Hadas would probably want to change her will and leave everything to her child.”
“Bingo! It’s possible someone may want to kill her before she brings an heir into the world. Who would benefit?”
Fanya looked perplexed. “According to the will, it’s still Yossi. Martha, you can’t think my brother’s involved.”
“No, of course not. But suppose whoever is after Hadas has plans to eliminate Yossi as well?”
“Oy!” She blew out her breath. “That’s a big if. Ettie would be next in line, but I honestly don’t think she’s capable of murder.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s the only thing making sense right now. I sure wish he would come home. He’s always been good about helping me get the information I need to figure stuff out.”
“What about Giselle? Doesn’t she have someone who can help? Unofficially, of course.”
“Of course. I’d forgotten all about Shadow the hacker.” Something about Fanya’s expression intrigued me. Her face remained neutral, but her eyes said something else. She definitely possessed hidden layers. “I’ll call Giselle now.”
My sister answered on the first ring. “Hi, Sissy. How are things going with Yossi’s wife?”
I told her about driving Hadas back to Encino from the hotel in Oxnard.
When I finished bringing her up to date, she said, “Wow! She must like living dangerously. Personally, I’d stay miles away from the Mob. And if they ever tried to muscle in on my company, I’d march straight to the FBI. Why didn’t she?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I imagine she felt trapped. At any rate, I’d like to know more about her brother’s death. If Ze’ev’s killer is after control of the Uhrman Company, he may want to kill Hadas and Yossi, too. She claims the police haven’t made any progress on the investigation. But Hadas is a manipulator. I don’t know how much of what she says is the truth. Is there any way your IT guy Shadow can access the police file?”
My sister laughed. “For someone who was opposed to hacking, you appear to have come over to the dark side.”
I didn’t respond at first, because my sister was right. “Okay, I’ve capitulated. But it’s for a good cause.”
“Isn’t it always?” She chuckled. “I’ll put him on it tomorrow. Anything else?”
“Yeah. You and Harold still coming for Shabbat dinner tomorrow?”
“Is Hadas going to be there? I can’t wait to meet her after all this high drama.”
“She’ll be here unless she runs away again.”
* * *
Friday morning I got an early start and shopped for the food we’d have in the evening. My first stop was Bea’s Bakery. I didn’t have to wait in line because at seven-thirty I’d beat the Friday crowd preparing for the Sabbath. I breezed in, bought two loaves of twisted challah—one plain, the other raisin—a generous roll of poppy seed strudel, and cinnamon babka. I also bought two dozen mandelbrot, Jewish biscotti, to help Hadas with her morning sickness. At eight, I called the attorney who’d helped me out before.
Deacon “Deke” Abernathy’s greeting boomed over the phone. “Hey, Martha. Long time no see. How are you?”
I told him about my engagement and the obstacle course we were running on the way to the chuppah, the wedding canopy. “Hadas needs to give Yossi a divorce. Can you draw up the papers? I can bring her in today if you’re going to be around.”
Deke’s laugh was as robust as his greeting. “First of all, congratulations on your engagement. You’re bringing me your fiancé’s wife?” More laughter. “You never disappoint. You manage to get in the most interesting situations.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“As it happens, I do have a free half hour at eleven-thirty.”
“Great. We’ll be there.”
I notified Hadas to be ready by ten-thirty for the drive to Deke’s office in West LA.
She wasn’t happy. “I don’t feel well, Martha. What if I throw up in the car?”
“Bring a lemon.”
I swapped my jeans and T-shirt for black linen trousers and a white cotton sweater. I asked Fanya if she wanted to come with us.
“I think I’ll stay here and get the house ready for tonight. I’ll also get a head start on the cooking.”
If Fanya were so inclined, she’d make someone an excellent wife. She certainly was turning out to be an excellent sister-in-law and friend.
I hugged her. “Thanks.”
Hadas wore a whi
te silk blouse tucked into a gray skirt that appeared to be a little tight around her waist. She slumped in her seat and sulked all the way into West LA. I paid no attention to her attempt to manipulate me into feeling guilty. The beautiful Penélope Cruz look-alike held no power over me.
I parked in the underground garage of Deke’s building on the corner of Federal and Wilshire.
Hadas finally spoke in the elevator ride to Deke’s tenth-floor offices. “How do you know this attorney?”
“A couple of years ago a girlhood friend died and named me executor of her estate. Deacon Abernathy was her lawyer. We worked together to fulfill the mandates of her will.”
The elevator door opened to a plush, glassed-in waiting room with a commanding view of the Pacific Ocean to the west and Westwood Village to the east. I approached the receptionist, a young man with latte-colored skin and hair the color of bleached straw. The last time I’d been in this office, he wore dark eyeliner. Today he’d added shimmering gold eye shadow.
“Hello. I’m—”
He interrupted with a huge smile traveling from his mouth straight to those eyes. “I know.” He stood and extended his hand across the desk. “Mrs. Rose. How nice to see you again.”
For a moment, I panicked because I couldn’t remember his name. I shook his offered hand. “Great to see you, too.”
“He’s expecting you. Do you remember how to get to his office? Straight down the hallway to the end.”
I walked with Hadas along a corridor dotted with original paintings and lithographs of athletes in action. Deke was a big-deal football player at UCLA during the same years I studied anthropology there. Our academic paths crossed only once when we enrolled in the same geography class.
Deke’s door was open, and we entered without knocking. A thickset man with a receding hairline stood and came round his desk, with his shirtsleeves rolled up. His forearms were thick and beefy. But the former star athlete had gone soft around the middle, probably thanks to decades of steak dinners and martini lunches.
“Hi, Deke.” I grinned and offered my hand.
He gently pushed it aside and gave me a warm hug. “Let me see that ring of yours.”
I held out my left hand with the three-karat diamond.
He gave a low whistle. “Very nice.”
I introduced Hadas. She acknowledged him with one nod but didn’t offer her hand, a clear indication she wasn’t through with her sulk.
He gestured toward a conference table and sat facing the two of us. He directed his first question to Hadas. “Are you a resident of California?”
“No.”
He shifted his gaze to me. “A nonresident can’t file in California.”
My stomach dropped. If Hadas left LA, we might never get her to sign. “But Yossi’s a resident. He can file, right?”
“Yes. He could file for divorce as the petitioner, and Hadas would be the respondent.”
I wasn’t going to leave his office without the papers in hand. “Okay, then. Make out the papers with Yossi as petitioner.” I turned to Hadas. “Do you have any issues about being the respondent?”
“No.”
Deke clicked open his pen and prepared to write on a yellow legal pad. “Okay. I’ll still need some information from you, Hadas.” He wrote down all her contact information. “Is this divorce amicable? By that, I mean, do you have any issues you can’t resolve? In addition to the petition for divorce, we will file a settlement agreement. Are there any assets you’re disputing?”
“No.”
I jumped in. “Hadas owns a business in New York. Yossi wants nothing from her and she wants nothing from him.” I reached over and gently squeezed her arm. “Am I right, Hadas?”
“Yes.”
Deke wrote something on the legal pad. “Then the settlement agreement should pose no problem. Do you have any minor children?”
“No.” Hadas glanced at me and touched her belly.
I jumped in. “Hadas is expecting a child, but it’s not Yossi’s. They were in a sham marriage over thirty years ago and haven’t seen each other since.” I glanced at Hadas. “She was supposed to get an annulment, but, for reasons of her own, she didn’t. This is the first time they’ve even been in the same room together. They both agree. What’s his is his and what’s hers is hers. Am I right, Hadas?”
“Yes.” Hadas snapped back her answer.
“She lives in New York,” I continued. “So, whatever papers she needs to sign should be done ASAP, while she’s still in LA. Is it possible to get them prepared this morning?”
Deke sat back and tapped the legal pad with the end of the pen. “This divorce is as simple as they get, Martha. Boilerplate, really. I can get one of the clerks to draft a no-contest petition for dissolution and settlement agreement today. But nothing can be done until Yossi signs the papers. Once he does, we can file and serve Hadas.” He smiled at her. “Does that sound like something you can live with?”
“I guess.”
Deke wrote down her address and phone number and briefly spoke to someone on his phone. Less than thirty seconds later, a young woman in a navy-blue skirt suit entered the office. He tore off the page from his legal pad and handed it to her. “Drop everything else you’re doing and draw up a no-contest petition for dissolution and a marital settlement agreement using this information.”
He turned back to us. “We’ll messenger these papers to you by tomorrow.”
I blew out my breath, the one I’d been holding for two weeks since Crusher first dropped the bombshell about his marriage. “How long does it take for the divorce to become final and he can remarry?”
“In certain cases, as soon as thirty days, plus one from the date the papers are served. Otherwise, it’s six months.”
Unfortunately, Crusher wasn’t around to sign the papers. He would only be available when his undercover assignment ended, and I never knew how long that would be. More than ever, I wished he were here.
We chatted amiably for the next five minutes. I showed Deke a picture of my baby granddaughter, Daisy, and he reciprocated with a photo of his grandson wearing a Pop Warner uniform and a lopsided grin. “The game is in our blood. Tyler wants to play football in college like his grandpa.”
At twelve-thirty, we said our goodbyes and drove on the 405 Freeway back to Encino. I was glad Hadas wasn’t the petitioner. Who knew if she’d have another change of heart? Thirty years ago, she failed to follow through with an annulment. I didn’t want to give her a second chance to “lose” these documents.
We’d crested the Sepulveda Pass when Hadas said, “I feel sick.”
Oh, no. “Where’s the lemon?” I pressed a button and opened the passenger window. “Fresh air might help. There will be no puking in my car!”
Hadas reached in her purse and fished out the lemon. She scratched the rind with a perfectly manicured scarlet fingernail to release the sharp smell and pressed the lemon against her nose. A moan barely escaped her mouth before she heaved all over the front of her silk blouse and into her lap. “I told you I was sick.”
“We’re almost home. When we get there, stay seated as you are and I will help you get out of the car.”
Ten minutes later, I parked in my driveway, ran around the car, and opened the passenger door. The portion of the passenger seat belt where it crossed her chest would need to be washed, but the rest of the car’s interior was mercifully spared. I helped Hadas roll out of the car, took her hand, and led her through the wooden gate at the side of my house and into the backyard. I turned on the garden hose until water flowed out in a soft stream. “Wash the worst of it off with this while I go inside and get you a towel.”
Hadas drank some water out of the hose, then squirted it over the slime on her blouse and skirt. “It’s cold.” She shivered.
“Hang in there. I’ll be back in less than a minute.” I somehow managed to get Hadas out of her soaking wet clothes and into a hot shower.
Fanya must’ve worked hard while we were gone
because the house smelled like furniture polish and something savory cooking in the oven. “Welcome back. How did the lawyer visit go?”
“He was very encouraging. The papers will arrive tomorrow. We only need to add Yossi’s signature and the lawyer will file them in court. Then Hadas will be served and we wait for the divorce to be final. About six months.”
I cracked open a can of Coke Zero when music from my phone alerted me to an incoming call from Giselle.
“Shadow was able to get some information for you.”
“Good. What did he find out?”
“Apparently the police haven’t spent much effort investigating this murder. There weren’t many notes in the file.”
“Well, Yossi did say the feds took over the investigation, which might explain the lack of paperwork in the police file. Does it say anything about the eyewitness’s account of the hit-and-run? Didn’t that trigger a more aggressive investigation?”
“Apparently not much. The witness came forward three months after the incident. He couldn’t give the police a description of the driver. But he was able to provide enough of a partial plate, which eventually led to a rental car company. The name on the rental contract was Ze’ev Uhrman, and it was dated the day before his death. He used a company credit card to pay.”
“That’s odd. Hadas told us he was terminated two weeks before his death for stealing money from the company. Why did he still have a valid company credit card? And what about the car? Did it ever show up?”
“Let me see.” I heard the sound of papers rustling. “Hold on to those questions. I’ll bring the whole file with me tonight and we can study it together.”
CHAPTER 33
Friday night, all the usual family arrived for Shabbat: Quincy and her family and the Friday foursome of Giselle, Harold, Uncle Isaac, and Hilda. Our special guests were Fanya and Hadas. Crusher was still undercover.
I presented Hadas to the family one by one. She stood stiff-necked and acted like royalty granting an audience. Even though she was Crusher’s wife, almost everyone responded to her graciously. I watched as her defensive posture softened with each warm greeting. Then I caught Giselle studying her with narrowed eyes. Not a good sign.