Grave Endings

by Rochelle Krich

  Zack usually walks over on Friday nights, but he had a house full of company. After dinner Noah took a stack of texts to the breakfast room, and my dad fell asleep on the family room sectional sofa reading the local Jewish paper. Bubbie dozed next to him, snoring lightly, while my mom, Liora, and I ate sunflower seeds and played Rummy Q with Joey at a game table in the corner. Joey almost always wins, unless Edie plays, but tonight he was distracted and Liora won.

  “I was just kidding, Molly,” he said when everyone else had gone upstairs and we were putting away the tiles. “About Dad spending too much for the wedding.”

  I smiled. “I know that.”

  “Zack’s a cool guy.”

  “Very cool,” I agreed. Something was on Joey’s mind. I wondered what it was.

  “Ron phoned the other day,” he said a moment later. “He knows I’ve been looking for a programming job, and he wants to set up an interview for me at a company he deals with. Would that be a problem for you?”

  “Ron and I aren’t enemies, Joey. If he can help you, that’s great. But I thought you liked the construction business.”

  “I do. I love working with Dad, and I have ideas about expanding the business. But I’d like to give computer programming a try. It’s why I got the BS. I told Dad, and he’s fine with it.”

  I nodded, and wondered if that was so.

  “Ron asked about you, by the way. He sounded sad, Molly. I think he’s sorry he blew it.”

  A year ago that might have given me pleasure. “Divorce is sad, Joey. Ron’s dating several women, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

  I kissed my brother’s cheek and said good night.

  I didn’t think about Aggie or Randy and the packets of red thread until I was lying in my bed in what used to be my bedroom. Staring into the dark, I wondered what Barbara Anik had interrupted when she entered Aggie’s office unannounced, wondered about the client Aggie had encouraged to go to the police, wondered why Aggie had been so nervous at a party she had told me nothing about.

  I thought about her again when I awoke in the morning. How much I missed her and wished she were with me today, how happy she would have been for me, how senseless and tragic her death was. Now I was in the front pew in the high-ceilinged sanctuary, surrounded by my family and Zack’s, and I was focused on the man on the other side of the wood-panel mechitza that separated the women’s and men’s sections, the man who had stolen my heart twice.

  The morning service was over, and the Torah reading was about to start. I opened my text to this week’s portion. Mishpatim. Laws.

  “ ‘And these are the ordinances. . . ,’ ” the shul’s official reader, Simon, began.

  I paged ahead, calculating how long before Zack would be called up. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother watching me, amusement in her warm brown eyes. I’m always amazed at how easily she can read me.

  “Lost my place,” I mouthed.

  She smiled and pointed to the line Simon was reading. I ran my index finger right to left beneath the Hebrew words to anchor my attention, but I was still only half listening when a verse jolted me into awareness.

  “One who strikes a man, so that he dies, shall surely be put to death. . . .”

  I had a name for Aggie’s killer, but no clear motive. Had she rebuffed Randy’s advances? Had she discovered that he’d been blackmailing her clients, and possibly those of other social workers? That he’d been selling drugs?

  “If a man shall act intentionally against his fellow to kill him with guile,” Simon continued in the ancient traditional cantillation, “from My Altar shall you take him to die.”

  Had Randy followed her from her house that night? Had he planned to talk her out of reporting him to Bramer? Or had he left his apartment intending to kill her? And if I had been there with her . . . ?

  In a large, close-knit family like mine, a sigh is never just a sigh. Mine had drawn the attention of half the pew except for Bubbie G, who probably hadn’t heard me, and Liora, who was absorbed in the reading. Mindy and Gitty flashed me sympathetic smiles. Edie was frowning at me.

  Zack’s mother, Sandy, was gazing at me, a question in her blue eyes, which were hooded by the brim of her black velvet pillbox.

  “I’m just a little emotional, because of the day,” I told her, though she didn’t ask. I felt a little guilty when she hugged me and said, “Me, too.”

  My mother’s look said she knew better. She squeezed my hand and held it. I forced myself to return my attention to the Torah portion and safer ground: laws dealing with lesser crimes and civil torts; the commandment to extend free loans and show sensitivity to the helpless and abandoned; instructions for maintaining the integrity of the judicial process and dispensing justice.

  I supposed justice had been dispensed. Creeley was dead. But why had Doreen disguised herself? Who were the people she feared? And what, if anything, did they have to do with Aggie and with Randy Creeley?

  Edie was watching me. Pushing Randy from my mind, I concentrated on the reading. At one point Mindy left the pew to help her two little girls, who were staggering under the weight of an enormous, beribboned wicker basket as they tottered up the aisle and handed out the blue voile bags Zack’s mom had filled with Jordan almonds and fruit gems and other candy. The candy symbolizes the wish for a sweet life. The almonds represent fertility, although if the Torah reading didn’t conclude soon, I thought, I’d probably be too old to conceive.

  Ten long minutes later Simon finished.

  “Let’s go.” Edie stood.

  With a swishing of clothes we all filed out of the pew and crowded in front of the five-foot-high mechitza. Parting the panels of the ivory lace curtain at the top, I stole a glance at Zack, sitting on his high-backed chair on the platform at the front of the room. I was hoping he’d look my way, but he was facing the congregation.

  Ron was staring at me. He winked when we made eye contact. In spite of what he’d told Joey, I wasn’t surprised by the wink, or by his presence. As I mentioned, he’s on the shul board. Plus his ego probably hadn’t let him stay away. Look at me, see how cool I am even though my ex-wife is marrying my high school pal. I cast a quick glance behind me and was relieved to see that my ex-mother-in-law wasn’t there.

  I was reflecting on how difficult this day must be for Ron’s parents, who have always been pleasant to me even after the divorce, and for Ron, too, despite his bravado, when the cantor bellowed Zack’s Hebrew name with the pomp you’d use to introduce a Vegas headliner.

  My heart racing, I watched as Zack, looking oh so debonair and sexy in a navy suit and Zegna tie I’d helped him pick, made his way to the center of the room and the bima, the elevated table where the Torah scroll is read. Once there, he turned toward me. Our eyes met. For one moment it was as though the world had stopped and we were alone in the large sanctuary. Then he unfolded the fringed white tallit I’d bought him, draped it around his broad shoulders, and recited the blessing.

  A minute or so later, he recited another blessing. The room reverberated with cries of “Mazel tov!” and the rapid-fire thunks of the voile bags we all hurled over the mechitza at Zack, who had ducked and taken cover behind the tallit to deflect the sweets-filled missiles, much to the shrieking delight of the kids who swooped down like locusts to claim them. He didn’t escape completely. I’m pretty sure I got him, and Edie did, too. Bubbie G landed one on Ron. I think he was her target all along.

  Zack was dancing around the bima with his father and mine and other men, including my brothers and brothers-in-law. I was flushed with exhilaration, grinning and kissing family and friends and some people I didn’t even know, when I turned to accept a hug and was startled to see Aggie’s mother in the entrance to the women’s section.

  We exchanged smiles. I don’t know if mine showed my sudden awkwardness. Hers looked fragile, and I was touched that she’d come to share in Zack’s and my happiness. I was also saddened by the ghost of Aggie that she’d brought with her, and embarrassed
by the conspicuousness of celebration. The white roses along the walls and at the four corners of the bima, the vines draped along the top of the mechitza. The squeals of the children, the laughter, the jubilant singing and dancing.

  I’d tried phoning the Lashers during the past few days. The line had been constantly busy, and I’d assumed they’d left the receiver off the hook. On Thursday I’d passed their Mansfield Avenue house on the way to Edie’s, but I didn’t stop. I’m not sure why.

  In the months after Aggie was murdered, I’d visited her parents at least once a week, usually more often. When my family expressed concern that my involvement in their lives wasn’t healthy for them or me, I was defensive: Aggie was an only child. I had spent countless hours and many nights in the Lashers’ home. It was a mitzvah to comfort those who have lost loved ones, and what better comfort could I provide than filling some of their lonely hours and telling them stories about Aggie that would preserve her memory and lighten their pain?

  I didn’t tell the Lashers everything. I didn’t tell them that on that fateful July night, Aggie had asked me to accompany her to the prayer vigil. I didn’t tell them that I’d been too lazy to change out of my shorts; that I’d had little interest in prayers, or faith in their power; that I’d preferred staying home and watching a rerun of Will & Grace. I didn’t tell them that at the time Aggie’s lifeless body was being tossed like garbage into a Dumpster miles from where she was last seen, I was flirting on the phone with a guy whose last name I can’t recall.

  I made my way through the throng of women and children toward Mrs. Lasher. I didn’t know what to say, how to juggle grief and joy. When I reached her, she hugged me and kissed my cheeks. Without lipstick or blusher her face looked pale against the dark brown of the wavy, shoulder-length wig she had left in her closet for a year or so after Aggie died. She had always reminded me of a butterfly—pretty in a delicate way, sunny, a little restless as she flitted from room to room. She was subdued now, dormant, her color hidden inside her folded wings.

  She clasped my hands. “Mazel tov, Molly. Binyomin and I are so happy for you.”

  There was something brave about her tremulous smile, something wistful and painful and hopeful. Her smile said that she saw Aggie when she looked at me, that she was struck again with the realization that she would never walk her daughter to the chuppa, would never see grandchildren, that despite her heartache she genuinely wished me well in this second chance at joy.

  Tears filled my eyes. “Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Lasher. I wish . . .”

  “I know.” Her brown eyes glistened. “We almost didn’t come. We didn’t want to make you sad, Molly. But how could we not come? You’re like a daughter to us. You were a sister to Aggie.”

  She leaned closer. “The detective told us he talked to you,” she said in an undertone, although with the noise in the room no one could have heard her. “Knowing won’t bring Aggie back, the pain will always be there. But now we can move on. We have to move on, Molly.”

  Someone grabbed me by the waist and spun me around. Lola, one of my grandmother’s Amazonian friends. She pressed me into her pillowy chest and kissed me with gusto, and when I turned back, Mrs. Lasher was gone.

  I thought about her as I recited the blessings for the month of Adar that would begin on Sunday—a month distinguished by great rejoicing, which was why Zack and I had chosen it for our wedding. I thought about her and her husband as I prayed that the month would be filled with goodness and sustenance, with “peace, joy and gladness, salvation and consolation.”

  I didn’t see Mrs. Lasher or her husband at the buffet kiddush Zack’s parents hosted in the shul’s reception hall. To be honest, I tried not to think about them or Aggie during the kiddush and the family lunch that followed.

  Later, in my apartment, at the end of a wonderful day of celebration, I thought about them and wondered again why Binyomin Lasher had attended the funeral of the man who killed his daughter. I wondered how they had reacted to news of the letter Creeley had written.

  I had changed into a skirt and sweater and was freshening my makeup when my cell phone rang. Zack, I thought, telling me he was on the way to pick me up for our appointment with the calligrapher.

  It was Trina Creeley.

  “He trashed my apartment,” she said, her words a crescendo of wailing, like an approaching siren. “The front-door lock is broken. Everything’s a mess. I can’t stay there tonight.”

  I put down my lipstick. “You know who did this?”

  “A man phoned a day after Randy died. He said his name was Jim. I don’t know if that’s his real name. And his voice sounded funny, like he was using something to change it. He said Randy had a package that belonged to him. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he didn’t believe me.”

  “Maybe it was burglars,” I said, leaning against the sink.

  “He phoned tonight right after I got home, so I know he’s watching my apartment. He said he wouldn’t have had to do that if I’d looked for the package. I told him again I didn’t have any package. He said I’d better find it. He killed Randy, and now he’s going to kill me!”

  My heart beat faster. “Did you call the police?”

  “He said no police. He said he’d know if I called them. I need to get some things from my apartment and find a place to stay until I figure this out. I can’t call my father. He—I just can’t. Can you help me?”

  “Trina—”

  “I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t blame you for being angry. I thought maybe he sent you.”

  “Where are you now, Trina?”

  “In the ladies’ room at Grauman’s Chinese. You said you wanted to help. Will you come? Please? Because I don’t know who else to call.”

  twenty-two

  ZACK PARKED IN A LOADING-ONLY ZONE AROUND THE corner from the theater.

  “I don’t want you going inside,” he said again. “What if it’s a setup? Why doesn’t she want you to phone Connors?”

  I had relayed Trina’s explanation when I’d phoned him, and again when he’d picked me up. I repeated it now. “She’s waiting in the restroom for a change of clothes, Zack. Obviously, you can’t go in there.”

  “Well, come right back. Then I’ll go and bring her to the car.” He didn’t look happy. “Buy a ticket, Molly. If this Jim followed her, he’ll be looking for anything unusual. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  I nodded. “Why don’t I just wait for her to change, Zack? She’s terrified. At least she knows me.”

  “If this guy was at the funeral, he may have seen you and may recognize you if you walk out with her. He won’t be looking for a woman leaving with a guy wearing a yarmulke. Tell her who I am, what I’m wearing. Tell her I’ll meet her at the concession counter.”

  I got out of the car and rounded the corner. The sidewalk was packed with people waiting in line for one of several new films, including the new Hugh Grant romantic comedy. The forecourt was crowded, too. Crowds are good, I decided. Then I wondered if Jim was hiding among them, watching.

  I imagined eyes on me as I bought a ticket and handed it to a man inside the lobby. He tore it in half and glanced at my large tote, probably suspecting that I was trying to sneak snacks inside. I kept smiling and he waved me through.

  Trina had told me she would be in the women’s restroom to my left. I found the restroom but didn’t see her. Stood up again, I thought with a surge of anger. Or maybe she was playing games. I phoned her on my cell and was surprised when she answered on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” she whispered.

  Her fear made me shiver. “In the restroom. Where are you?”

  The door to a stall squeaked open and out she came. I gave her my tote and reached for her black vinyl one. She hesitated, then handed it to me. It was heavy.

  “Don’t lose that,” she said.

  “My fiancé’s wearing navy Dockers and a gray sweater over a white T-shirt.” I kept my voice lo
w, though I doubted that any of the other women in the restroom were interested in our conversation, or that they could hear us over the sonata of flushing toilets and groaning faucets. “Phone me when you’re ready. He’ll meet you at the concession stand.”

  “Why can’t you wait?” Her tone was plaintive.

  I told her. She blanched, then nodded and disappeared into a stall.

  A minute later I was back in the forecourt. I sauntered along the sidewalk, rounded the corner, and got into the car.

  “She’s there,” I told Zack. “She’ll phone me when she’s ready.” I put Trina’s bag at my feet and resisted the temptation to unzip it and peek inside. “Thanks for not being upset about all this.”

  “She needed help, Molly. Why would I be upset?”

  “I forgot to cancel Galit,” I said, just now remembering.

  “I phoned her on my way to your place. We’re tentative for tomorrow afternoon, assuming you can leave Trina. If not, I told Galit we’ll figure something out.”

  I wished I could kiss him. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

  “Twice in the last hour. But keep it coming.” He smiled.

  Ten minutes passed. I wanted to phone Trina, but Zack said to wait. A minute or so later my phone sang “Für Elise.” I flipped it open and handed it to Zack.

  “So she’ll know your voice,” I said.

  He put the phone to his ear. “Trina? This is Zack. I’m with Molly. Are you ready? Okay, I’m on my way.” He shut the phone and handed it to me.

  “Keep it,” I said. “In case she needs to reach you.”

  Zack gave me his phone and left. I maneuvered myself around the gear stick on the center console into the driver’s seat in case the driver from Parking Enforcement who had been circling the block ordered me to move the car.

  With my hands on the steering wheel, I waited and checked my watch for seven minutes that seemed like a hundred before Zack appeared with Trina. They were walking close together and looked like a couple. She had switched her black leggings for my denim skirt and wrapped my Burberry shawl around her neck. The street-lamp gleamed on the European hairs of my straight blond wig.