by Lee Harris
“Nonsense, I’ve been up for hours. You must have something important to tell me.”
I told her quickly.
“Diamonds. Very interesting. I assume she hasn’t told the police.”
“She’s afraid to. She thinks it’ll look as though Gabe was involved in something illegal. She said he probably intended to use them to make a piece of jewelry for her.”
“That’s certainly a good possibility, although without seeing the gems we can’t know if they’re the kind you could use in a necklace or earrings, if there’s a pair in the group, or if they’re all different and meant to be held as an investment.”
“I see what you mean. I’ve told you everything she said. When I get home, which won’t be for another five or six days, I’ll call her. She wants to talk to me in person.”
“And she won’t talk to the police.”
“No. So I haven’t told Jack what she found. He might be obligated to pass it on.”
“Of course. I must say, I had no idea when I told you something might be put into the safe that this would happen. It’s as much a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you.”
I told her what Jack had learned yesterday about the arrest of the two “ambulance attendants” and what they had said. “And that’s about it. I think you know as much as I do today.”
“The answers have to be at home,” she said. “These people behind the murder knew Mr. Gross was going away—far away—for a week or so and planned this very carefully. What on earth did they put diamonds in that safe for, if indeed they did?” She was obviously asking herself the question. “Maybe they were hiding them there, Chris. Maybe someone was afraid the police were on to him and he didn’t want the diamonds on his person or his property.”
“Someone who worked for Gabe,” I suggested.
“Or someone who knew him well but wasn’t in the small group of best friends and relatives.”
“OK, I have something to think about while we’re touring this weekend.”
“Just take lots of pictures and keep good notes. I look forward to a long afternoon with you when you get back. And you’ll do the talking.”
“I look forward to it, too. Have a good day.” When I hung up, it was time to pick up Jack.
This time we drove west along the main east–west road from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. When we reached Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean Sea we would turn north. I could see it clearly on the map. We would pass the airport where Eddie and his grandparents had left for home this morning.
“Funny to cross a country in an hour,” Jack said as we drove.
“I can’t even get to Albany in an hour,” I said.
The beginning of the trip was more or less downhill from Jerusalem. When we eventually reached the point of turning north, we could see to our left the Mediterranean, a greenish sea with waves rolling onto the beach. I was surprised to find that most of the distance north was built up with apartment houses and businesses. For some reason I had thought the coast would be a continuous beach, but I could see how desirable it would be to live somewhere with a view of the sea, and I was not alone.
We reached Caesarea late in the afternoon and went in to see the ruins. I found I was very fond of ruins, and here we could walk among them, sit on them, touch them. We were even able to walk down to the sandy beach and pick up shells and small stones. I fulfilled my promise to Joseph by taking lots of pictures. In a shop I picked up some postcards to send home.
Mrs. Davidson had once again made hotel reservations for Jack and me farther north, and we reached the hotel happy and ready to eat. We had a fine dinner, took a long walk, and went up to our room to look at our maps and guidebook in preparation for tomorrow.
Saturday morning we continued our drive north. The Davidsons had told us there were several interesting things to see, one of them grottoes just at the Lebanese border, the northernmost point of our trip. We took a cable car down to the level of the grottoes and then started walking through them. We were right on the Mediterranean, the sea sweeping in, and as we began our walk a group of boys in their teens swam from the sea right into the grotto. We watched them from our walkway as they scrambled unsuccessfully to climb onto the slick steep rock across the inlet from us. I didn’t think they’d make it, but suddenly one did, and he braced himself and helped pull the other two up. They congratulated one another heartily and started walking barefoot on the rocks, having saved the entrance fee and earned themselves an appreciative audience.
We drove south from there and turned east at the city of Nahariya, eventually arriving at a kibbutz where Rachel Davidson had a cousin. The cousin was expecting us and greeted us very warmly, taking us around the kibbutz to see the houses the families lived in, the dining hall, the farm animals, and finally a little shop that sold clothing made from Chinese silk hand-painted by members of the kibbutz. The colors were extraordinary and I selected some scarves for myself and as gifts.
“Get this for Mom,” Jack said, holding up a scarf. “She loves reds and yellows.”
We left with a bagful of beautiful things, thanked Rachel’s cousin, and drove back to Nahariya, where we had a hotel reservation. In the evening we drove and walked through the city, admiring the homes that looked out on the sea.
“Too far for a vacation home,” Jack said. “But nice, huh?”
“Very nice. I didn’t know you had a vacation home in mind.”
“I didn’t till we came here. I like the smell of the sea.”
So did I. A very nice smell.
We managed to find a Catholic church in Accho the next morning, thanks to Rachel’s cousin’s research. After mass, we visited Capernaum, walking alongside the foundations of the village built over two thousand years ago. We could see the small, wall-less rooms, the entries to the houses, the streets, such as they were, all of this built before Columbus set sail for the New World, before Leif Eriksson. The United States was settled two to three hundred years ago; here there were people living in communities thousands of years ago and the houses were preserved enough that we could see dirt floors and parts of walls and many artifacts, things they had used in their daily lives, like olive presses.
“I called Joseph before I picked you up Friday,” I said to Jack as we walked along a dusty lane back to where the car was parked.
“About your call from Marnie Gross?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really making me jealous, Chris. You know I want to know what she told you.”
“And you know I can’t let you go to the police too soon.”
“Somebody left something in the Gross safe.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see. Can’t be a bomb.”
“It isn’t.”
“Must be a letter. Somebody knew something or threatened something, maybe blackmail.” I could almost hear his wheels turning. “But since her husband is dead now, the whole thing’s moot.”
“Could be,” I said breezily.
“But it was important enough that you thought Sister Joseph should know.”
“What I wanted her to know is that her suggestion was right, that someone might have put something into the safe, not taken something out.”
“Seems like a very involved scheme to me. Why kill someone just to hide a letter in a safe five thousand miles away? It’s overkill.”
“Could be,” I said again, equally breezily.
“You’re a tough woman when you want to be.”
“Well, you know those nuns who taught you in school.”
“Don’t remind me.”
I just laughed.
We got back to Jerusalem in early evening. Jack had only two days left to work. Our long trip/vacation was nearing its end and I felt sad that we were leaving, disappointed that I hadn’t made more progress on the murder. Jack was afraid he would have to work late on Monday just to be sure he got everything done by Tuesday. We were having dinner with the Davidsons Tuesday night, so Jack had to finish everything off by then.
<
br /> “I keep thinking there’s something in that database of yours that would help us in the Gabe Gross homicide,” I said.
“There probably is. We just don’t know what to look under.”
“Simon Kaplan seems to have disappeared.”
“Means you made him nervous.”
“That works both ways,” I said.
23
Simon Kaplan didn’t show up again. On Monday morning I drove over to the hotel where the Gross family had stayed and walked around the lobby. I bought my Herald Tribune and planted myself in a visible spot, keeping the paper low enough that he would see my face if he walked through and glancing up frequently to look at passersby. No Mr. Kaplan. Finally I went to the front desk and asked the young man if he had seen someone of Kaplan’s description. He hadn’t. That didn’t mean Kaplan hadn’t been there, only that he hadn’t been noticed by this particular person.
When I had done justice to the paper, I folded it, went out to the car, and drove away.
I spent the last two days visiting places I had missed and returning for a second visit to places I had enjoyed the first time. I had a good feeling of knowing the city, at least the part of it that Mel and Jack and I had driven through and wandered through. On Monday night Mrs. Davidson called and asked if I had visited Mea Shearim, the Orthodox section of the city. I hadn’t gotten there and she offered to take me on my last morning.
She was an early bird, as I am, and at eight-thirty my phone rang and she said she was in the lobby. I went downstairs to find a young and very beautiful dark-haired woman waiting for me near the elevator. She introduced herself as Rachel and gave me a firm handshake. Then we went out to her car and drove.
She had warned me on the phone to wear something with long sleeves and no miniskirt. I had smiled at that. I am not a miniskirt person.
“You’re dressed exactly right,” she said as she pulled into a spot just vacated by a car the same size as hers. “The people here are very religious and the women are expected to cover up.”
“What about in summer?” I asked.
“In summer, too.”
“That must be very uncomfortable.”
“I’m sure it is. But they do it.”
We walked around and I saw young girls and women in their long sleeves and longish dresses in dark colors. Most of the men wore the little round caps that covered their heads. We passed a bakery where there was a line of women waiting to be served and a few feet from them a line of men. When I commented on it, Rachel said men and women did not touch each other and would not stand in the same line.
“This is really different from the rest of the city,” I said.
“That’s why I wanted you to see it.”
“That’s very kind of you. This is one of those places that shouldn’t be missed.”
“I have some time. If there’s somewhere you want to go, I’ll be glad to take you.”
“I’d like to buy a present for my husband,” I said. “But I don’t know what. He’s very hard to buy for.”
“How about a silver key ring? I could take you to a place where they’re handmade.”
“I gave him one when he graduated from law school,” I said.
“Your husband is a lawyer?”
“Yes. It took a long time, but he did it.”
“It sounds like we’re both married to very energetic men intent on moving upward.”
I smiled. “Jack thinks your husband is very good at his job.”
When she smiled back, I could see she was as proud of her husband as I was of mine. “Thank you,” she said. Then, matter-of-factly, “Now, what about the present?”
“I wish I could think of something. He doesn’t wear rings; he has a fairly new wallet; he loves the key ring I got him—”
“Something religious?”
“He wears a silver cross that he’s had most of his life.” I thought a moment. “And a religious medal he’s had for almost as long.”
“Also silver?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps a chain to wear them on.”
“They’re on a chain.”
“Come with me.”
We drove to an unfamiliar part of the city, leaving me disoriented, and finally she parked in a lot and we got out and walked.
“This is Ben Yehuda Street,” she said, “our walking street.”
“Yes, now I know where we are. That’s King George Street up there.”
“You’ve learned our geography, I see. Come. There’s a shop with a million chains.”
She was right and I found one that I liked very much, just the right length and handmade. After I asked the price, Rachel began to talk to the owner in Hebrew. It sounded slightly like an argument, but when she was done, the price of the chain had come down substantially and I realized she had been bargaining on my behalf. I kept quiet, paying for it in traveler’s checks and thanking the man very much.
Outside I said, “What was that all about?”
“Oh, in that shop you must never pay the first price he asks. Only tourists pay.”
“Well, thank you. I’ll remember that on our next trip. I’m really glad you suggested this. It’s a beautiful chain and I think Jack will like it very much.”
She took me back to the hotel then. She was cooking dinner for us and had to get started. We were expected at seven, and while she cooked I had to pack my clothes and all the wonderful things we had gathered on the trip.
That evening was surely the best we had had on the whole trip. I wore the necklace of beads Jack had gotten me a week earlier and loved the way it looked. Jack insisted that Joshua call him by his first name, and reluctant as he was, he finally did. I felt better not hearing the respectful “Lieutenant” and “sir” every minute or so, and Rachel and I were already on a first-name basis.
Her cooking was wonderful. She was a Sabra, a native Israeli, she told us, born of parents whose parents had survived the Holocaust in Europe. She had recipes from her European grandmother and others from her Israeli mother. And she offered us hummus as an appetizer before we sat down.
“I’m looking for a service that’ll ship Chris a supply of that once a month,” Jack said.
“Well, if Joshua gets his trip to the States next year, we’ll take some along.”
“Maybe Jack can pull some strings to make sure the trip happens,” I said.
“Hey, why not? There have to be some perks to being a lieutenant.”
It was a marvelous evening and we would have stayed later, but tomorrow was our flight home and Jack hadn’t packed yet. Our farewells were warm and our invitations to them to visit very sincere.
Back in the hotel I decided I should give Jack his present, as we would have to declare our purchases when we arrived in New York. I didn’t want any unpleasant surprises.
“I have something for you,” I said when we got to our room.
“For me?”
I told him Rachel had taken me to a shop after our visit to Mea Shearim. The little box was in my purse and I handed it to him.
The result was more than I expected. “It’s beautiful,” he said, holding the chain across his palm and admiring the links. “I’ve always wanted a nice chain.”
“You did? You never said a word.”
“Well, you know me.”
“It’s handmade, Jack. Rachel insisted I not get one that was machine-made.”
“It’s great.” He gave me a kiss, then another. “Really great. Would you believe I have something for you?”
“You mean you bought something while my back was turned?”
“Better than that. Take a look.” He went to his suitcase and took a box out of the pocket along the side. “I hope it’s what you want.”
I couldn’t imagine what it would be. The box was familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen it. I opened it, took away the soft cotton covering the contents, and gasped. Inside was the cross of Roman glass and silver Mel and I had seen at the wonderful jeweler at H
utzot Hayotzer. “Jack.” I was stunned. “How—? I can’t believe this. It really is what I want.”
“I figured. I knew you wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then how—?”
“I gave Mel carte blanche. I said, ‘Get whatever you think Chris wants most.’ ”
“Oh.” I sat on the bed and just stared at it, feeling moisture in my eyes. “Thank you. Thank Mel. I am just speechless.”
“There’s a chain, too, by the way. It’s in another box. I wanted you to see that first.” He gave me the second box and I found what was obviously also a handmade chain.
“I guess we really were made for each other,” I said. “We gave each other almost the same gift.”
“Yeah. Is this O. Henry’s ‘The Gift of the Magi’ or something?”
“Something like that, but with a happier ending. How literary. How nice. How wonderful.”
“Nice trip,” Jack said. “Let’s do it again.”
In the morning, while Jack finished packing, I drove the car back to the car rental agency. It didn’t take long to return it, and we saved Joshua the hassle. When it was done, I went outside and found a taxi.
“The American Colony Hotel,” I said. “Please.”
The driver took off and I realized the meter wasn’t running. “Would you turn on the meter, please?” I said.
“I’ll give you a good price. Twenty-five shekels.”
“I don’t want your price. Just turn on the meter.”
“It’s too late. We already went a kilometer. Twenty-four shekels.”
I felt my heart pounding. “Turn on the meter,” I said very sternly.
He flipped a hand at me in anger, an insulting gesture. I was fuming. I could feel my own anger mounting. I hated being treated this way, as though I were stupid, as though I were completely naive and he could put anything over on me that he wanted. I didn’t know how to get him to turn on the meter, and I refused to ask him again.
He stopped at a traffic light, honked his horn at the car ahead of him for no reason I could determine, and muttered something in Hebrew. That’s when I decided to do the only thing I could. I opened the door of the taxi, got out, and shut the door behind me. I crossed through traffic to the sidewalk, my hands trembling, my skin breaking into a sweat. I could hear him shout after me. Then the light turned green and he gunned the motor, still shouting, and continued down the street.