Gone But Knot Forgotten (15 page)

C
HAPTER
21

I changed into my Shabbat clothes: a long black skirt and a white silk blouse with long sleeves ending in extravagant tiers of lace. A strand of large white pearls cascaded down my chest. Uncle Isaac and Crusher arrived at six.

My uncle wore his black embroidered Bukharin skullcap and a fresh white dress shirt. “Good
Shabbos, faigela.
” He kissed me on the cheek.

A line of black grease smeared Crusher's forehead and the front of his blue bandana. He smelled like petroleum. “I drove straight from the shop to pick up your uncle.” He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom. “I need to shower and change.”

Uncle Isaac watched Crusher disappear down the hall, then turned to me. “I guess this means you're practically married, anyway?”

“I don't know what this means. He still has his own place.” I focused on squeezing lemon juice over a chopped cucumber and tomato salad. “Can we please not talk about this?”

“I only want you to be happy. Yossi Levy could make you happy, and you'd never be alone.”

I lifted the top of the slow cooker. Drops of moisture hung from the inside of the glass lid. A cloud of savory steam fogged my glasses. “What's so terrible about being alone? You've managed to stay unmarried your whole life, and look at you. You're eighty, you do what you want, and you're happy.” I stabbed the tender brisket with a fork and unplugged the cooker.

I barely heard his soft response. “Getting married was never in the cards for me, but that doesn't mean you have to miss out.”

I always assumed my uncle could have married if he wanted to, but what if he didn't have a choice? What did he sacrifice to take care of my bubbie, my mother, and me? My heart squeezed with love for my uncle, and I hugged him. “Oh, Uncle Isaac, you gave up so much for us. I'm so grateful.”

He patted my back. “I've got you and Quincy girl. I'm not alone.”

Arthur appeared in the kitchen and stared at the slow cooker, wagging his tail.

“What's this?” Uncle Isaac patted the top of the dog's head.

“I'm babysitting Arlo's dog.”

“I don't understand. I thought you and the detective were through.”

“We are. But I love this dog. I don't mind taking care of him.”

My uncle shook his head in confusion as we moved to the dining room. The sun had set over an hour ago, so I hurriedly recited the blessing over the candles, poured wine into a polished silver kiddush cup, and placed a white cloth over the loaf of challah.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Uncle Isaac looked at me. “Who else is coming?”

“Nobody,” I shrugged. “Don't get up. I'll get the door.”

Julian Kessler, wearing brown Dockers and a green plaid shirt, stood in front of me, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked at me, blinking rapidly behind the heavy black frames of his eyeglasses. A large, reusable plastic bag from a big box store jiggled in his left hand and a gray plastic portfolio waved in his right.

“Julian! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to tell you in person what I found. It's huge.”

I moved aside. He stepped into the house and took a quick look around the living room. “Nice place.” He apparently didn't see Uncle Isaac seated at the dining room table. “You look nice.”

I pointed to the portfolio. “More bad news?”

He sat on the sofa without being asked and bounced on the cushion a couple of times. “I like it. It's comfortable.” He handed over the portfolio. “This time I've got good news.”

I sat next to him and opened the gray plastic envelope. Inside were several invoices from Safe-T-Construction dated 2005. The first invoice listed an air-purifying HVAC system with HEPA filter and humidity controls installed at Harriet's address. The second listed two fire doors and fireproof insulation. Others cataloged various construction materials and archival lights, whatever those were.

“Just what am I looking at?”

He smiled and leaned forward. “In 2005, your friend Mrs. Oliver built a safe room at her house.”

“Where? We searched every square foot of her place. We didn't find any safe room.”

Kessler's knee jiggled. “Maybe. But according to the financial records, these invoices were paid upon completion of the work. Safe-T-Construction is closed for the weekend, but I left a message for the owner. I'll ask him for the job specs and blueprints on Monday. We'll find out where the room is.”

Lucy would be thrilled to learn she was right after all. Harriet might have built an actual hidden room in her house. Did her killer know about it? “This is stunning news.”

Kessler smiled and thrust the bulky sack from the big box store into my hands. “Here, I bought something really cool to celebrate.”

“Oh, but I can't. . . .”

“Go ahead, open it.”

Several boxes of electronics sat inside. “What are these?”

“It's the Sony PlayStation PS3!” Kessler's grin stretched across his face. “I got two DualShock 3 wireless controllers and two headsets. I also got the newest
Call of Duty Black Ops
game. You have HDMI, right?”

My jaw dropped. “You bought me video games?”

“Don't thank me.” He looked down shyly. “I just think you're cool.” He stared at my pearls. “And, uh, you look really hot tonight.”

“Faigela?”
Uncle Isaac, sounding mystified, had apparently listened quietly to our whole conversation from the dining room.

Kessler whipped his head toward the old man approaching us. “Oh, I thought we were alone.”

“Julian Kessler, this is my uncle, Isaac Harris.”

Kessler jumped up, swallowed, and shook hands.

Uncle Isaac smiled. “Kessler? That's Jewish?”

Kessler nodded.

“You'll stay for
Shabbos
dinner?” Uncle Isaac's eyebrows were raised in two big question marks.

Kessler tapped the fingers of his left hand against the side of his leg. “Yeah. Okay. Smells good in here.”

We stood, talking in the dining room, while I laid another place setting on the table. Crusher came out of the bedroom with a freshly combed beard, a white dress shirt, slacks, and a white crocheted skull cap. He approached us, a towering presence. He smelled all lemony and bent to kiss me on the mouth. “Shabbat shalom.”

Kessler's face fell.

I said, “Julian Kessler, meet Yossi Levy.”

Crusher shook Kessler's hand and gave him a hearty
potch
on the back. Kessler lurched forward a little.

I put my hand on Crusher's arm. “Julian is the forensic accountant who's auditing Harriet's estate. He kindly came in person this evening to show me something important. Uncle Isaac invited him to join us for dinner.”

“Must be really important for you to make a special trip to see Martha.” Crusher puffed out his chest a little and adjusted the waistband on his slacks.

“Julian found evidence indicating there's a hidden room somewhere in Harriet's house. If her killer didn't get there already, we might still find her missing items inside. We have to wait until Monday to learn the exact location of the room.”

“What's all that?” Crusher pointed to the boxes of electronics piled on the sofa where I'd dumped them.

Kessler's Adam's apple jumped. He stepped a little closer to Uncle Isaac.

“Julian brought over a video thing.” I looked at him. “Tell me the name again?”

“PS3.”

Crusher nodded his approval. “What games you into, dude?”

“
Call of Duty.
I bought Martha the latest version. Black Ops.”

“Sweet.” Crusher lifted his thumb. “Let's take it for a ride after dinner.”

Kessler's shoulders relaxed.

During the meal, Uncle Isaac and Crusher discussed the Torah portion for the week, the story of how the Jewish people were enslaved by the Egyptian Pharaoh and how Moses committed a violent act and became a fugitive.

“Normally,” said Uncle Isaac, “we Jews are a nonviolent people.”

“Yeah, that's how Hitler could kill so many of us. We weren't conditioned to fight back.” Crusher made a fist. “Never again.”

Uncle Isaac rubbed his chin.
“Has v'halilah!”
God forbid. “But we shouldn't become bullies ourselves. Otherwise, the good things which set us apart as a people will become lost. God forced Moses into exile so he could teach him to govern his violent behavior.”

“But sometimes a situation calls for violent action in order to protect the innocent.”

After finishing generous slices of apple strudel, Kessler and Crusher hooked up the PlayStation while Uncle Isaac and I cleared off the table and loaded the dishwasher. Mercifully, the sounds from the video game flowed only through the headsets, not the television speakers. I could see the TV screen from the kitchen. Guns blasted as soldiers ran through passageways and climbed steps. The only thing I heard coming from the living room were: “Urf!” “Dude.” “He's toast.”

Uncle Isaac wandered over to Crusher and watched his fingers fly rapidly over the keys of the controller. “So,
nu
? What's this?”

Crusher got up and gave Uncle Isaac the seat next to Kessler on the sofa. Then he put the earphones over my uncle's skullcap and handed him the DualShock 3 wireless controller. Kessler showed Uncle Isaac how to work the joystick and buttons. Soon the two of them were focused on the TV screen playing
Call of Duty.

“Oy!”
came from the living room as the enemy surrounded a lone soldier. Uncle Isaac pressed a button on his DualShock 3 and bright flashes leaped from the mouth of the soldier's rifle.
“Gevalt!”

Crusher walked into the kitchen as I finished wiping off the countertop. He leaned over to kiss my neck and mumbled in my ear. “Why is this guy bringing you presents? And why couldn't he just call you with the big news about the safe room? Is this the dude who's been asking you out on dates?”

I didn't want Crusher to alienate Kessler or scare him off. “Listen, Yossi. Julian is doing a brilliant job. He's already uncovered embezzlement and now this. So what if he has a little crush on me? I'd appreciate it if you'd let me handle this in my own way.”

“Okay, but you're keeping the PlayStation, right?”

I squinted my eyes. “I'm sending all the game stuff back home with Julian tonight.”

“Yeah, you're right. No use encouraging the dude.”

I reached under the sink and pulled out a clean white trash bag. “You're also going to pack all your clothes and take them home with you tonight. Including the dirty ones.”

His forehead wrinkled. “But I thought . . .”

“I know what you thought, but until I decide what I want, you have to back off. I need to take a break for a couple of weeks.”

“Babe, you're killin' me.”

C
HAPTER
22

Saturday morning I woke up glad to be alone in my bed. Well, almost alone. Bumper stood next to my head, willing me to open my eyes. I scratched him under his jaw while he purred. “Okay, I'm getting up.” Twinges of stiffness grabbed at my back and shoulders as I stood. Even the bottoms of my feet hurt—a sure sign of rain.

I threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and thick woolen socks. While the animals ate their breakfast, I brewed a pot of Italian roast coffee and called my best friend. “You were right, Lucy.” I told her about Kessler's revelation last night. “There is a secret room in Harriet's house.”

“I knew it! I told you I had one of my feelings. Too bad you have to wait until Monday for the blueprints. Did you get any clue from the file about where the room might be?”

“Not really.”

“Well, her house has a tall, pointy roof, so there must be an attic. Maybe the room's up there.”

“I already looked in the attic when I searched Harriet's closet. It's as empty as a politician's promise. But I've been thinking. When we searched the house, we didn't measure the actual dimensions of each room against the outside dimensions of the house. Maybe there's a pocket of space behind a wall somewhere.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, girlfriend?” Lucy's voice rose with excitement. ”We've got to go back one more time. Now we know what to look for.”

“First, I've got to drive over the hill today to talk to Harriet's last housekeeper.”

“I'd like to come along. We could go measure the house afterward. I'll bring the tape measure.”

I smiled. Lucy could always be trusted to help me out. “Sure. I'll call you back as soon as I can set something up.”

 

 

Delia Pitcher agreed to meet at her house at noon. “I'll have my husband take the kids to the park down the street so we can talk.”

For the next couple of hours, I sat in my sewing room planning a new quilt top with pencil, paper, and calculator. Since my daughter announced she had a serious boyfriend, I should begin making her a wedding quilt—just in case. I chose the traditional Double Wedding Ring design, which required a pattern for all the curved pieces. Constructing a quilt top always involved a little engineering, a little math, and a sense of adventure.

The Double Wedding Ring looked like a complicated Olympic flag with rows of interlocking rings against a plain background. I especially loved this pattern because each ring contained dozens of small wedges of fabric, a perfect opportunity to use hundreds of different prints in the quilt top. I planned to make each ring out of a different color family: all green fabrics in one ring, all yellow fabrics in another, all blue—the possibilities were endless.

Piecing the rings together would be the easy part. Sewing them to the curvy background shapes would be more tricky. Rather than drafting templates of the background sections on my own, I found a commercial pattern online and bought it with one keystroke of the computer.

I left my house at eleven. Dark gray clouds hung in the overcast sky toward the west, indicating a rainstorm approaching from the Pacific. I buttoned my bulky, hand-knit fisherman's sweater and jumped in the car. Once I pulled up in front of Lucy's house, I tapped the horn. Today, Lucy's clothing theme was A Day in the Pasture: grass green jeans (where does anyone find denim that color?) and a matching green pullover sweater and green tote bag.

“Is Birdie coming?” I asked.

Lucy put her large bag in the backseat and buckled her seat belt. “She wanted to, but she's got a garden club meeting.”

“It's probably just as well. If all three of us descend on Delia Pitcher, she might not talk freely.”

On the way south through the Sepulveda Pass, I told Lucy about Henry Oliver's call. “He acted like such a bully.”

“Do you think he's right about being entitled to inherit Harriet's estate?”

“I don't have a clue. I'm going to have to ask Abernathy, even though I'm royally ticked off at him right now. Someone in his office embezzled nearly two hundred thousand dollars from Harriet over a period of twenty months.”

“Have you gone to the police?”

“Not yet. I still need Abernathy to help me figure out Henry Oliver's claim. Maybe after Harriet's estate is settled.”

Lucy shifted in her seat to look at me. “Good grief. Every time you turn around, you run into another complication.”

“Isn't that the naked truth!”

Harriet had allotted a $10,000 per month stipend for my efforts as executor. Did she anticipate just how much trouble settling her estate would turn out to be?

Lucy shifted in her seat. “So, what do you know about the housekeeper?”

“Shortly before she was killed, Harriet let Delia and Paulina go. I don't even know if Delia still has a key to Harriet's house.”

We transitioned to the 10 Freeway heading east, got off at Robertson Boulevard, and headed north to Hargis Street. Delia Pitcher lived in an area a lot like the one where I grew up. Small, 1920s Spanish-style bungalows with red tile roofs lined the street. In front of her house, two boxwood bushes trimmed into neat squares flanked the front steps, and a small dog barked at the window. I rang the bell. A little peephole guarded by an iron grate slid open in the front door, and a pair of curious brown eyes stared at me.

“Hello, I'm Martha Rose, and this is my friend Lucy.”

The dead bolt slid back and the door swung open. A woman in her forties with a large gold cross around her neck beckoned us inside. Rows of braids on her head were threaded with bright glass beads. “I'm Delia. Come on in.”

The smell of cinnamon filled the air of Delia's small and comfortable living room. Three West African wooden animal masks hung in a group along one wall. Someone very short had taped a picture crookedly to the opposite wall. Scribbled smoke poured out of a red chimney on a brown house. Behind Delia's legs stood a small terrier mix yipping loudly. She picked him up, and he wiggled in her arms and licked the air.

I smiled. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, Mrs. Pitcher. I promise not to take up too much of your time.”

She gestured toward the red leather sofa and smiled. “Go ahead, sit down.”

Lucy and I sat on the sofa, sinking into the marshmallow texture of the seats.

“I won't be a minute.” She put the terrier on the floor and disappeared through a small dining area.

The dog immediately came sniffing at my feet and legs, no doubt picking up trace scents of Arthur and Bumper.

Two minutes later Delia carried a tray with three mugs of steaming coffee and a plate of snicker doodles. She set the tray on top of a carved wooden stool and pulled over a Parsons chair from the dining area to sit on. The dog settled at her feet, eying the plate of cookies. “Now, how can I help you?”

“Well, first of all”—Lucy chewed—“you can give me the recipe for these cookies.”

Delia smiled briefly and clutched her coffee mug with both hands. “Please tell me about Miss Harriet.”

I took a deep breath. “She died around the end of January, beginning of February this year and lay in the house for ten months before the police discovered her body. Several items are missing, so the police think it was a robbery gone wrong.”

Delia reached up and grabbed the cross hanging from her neck. “Lord! The detective told me the same thing. Someone must have broke in. Miss Harriet would never open the door to no stranger. What did he take?”

So Farkas got here before me. I should have known. “Some valuable old books, an antique quilt, an old watch, and her good diamond jewelry. Do you remember where she kept those things?” Maybe Delia knew about the secret room.

Delia frowned and thought for a while. “She always wore a gold locket. Once she showed me pictures of two little boys inside. One was her dead brother, David, the other was her baby boy, Jonah. She kept a few other pieces of jewelry in a drawer in her closet. She also kept a show box with several watches inside. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. Did you ever see any fancy jewelry, like a diamond ring or bracelet?”

“Miss Harriet wasn't fond of bling like some of the ladies I worked for. Plus, where would she wear it? She never left the house. If she owned anything like that, I never saw none of it.” Delia frowned and sat up straighter. “Anybody say different?”

I raised a reassuring hand. “No, no. Not at all. What about the other things I mentioned? The books. The quilt. Did you ever see them?”

Delia relaxed a little and studied the ceiling.

“A year ago, maybe, I helped Miss Harriet take a picture of a raggedy old quilt. I remember there was a circle of stars in the middle.”

My pulse sped up. Delia actually saw the Declaration Quilt. “Do you know where she kept it?”

“Uh-uh. The quilt appeared one day and disappeared the next. I just figured she tucked it away in a drawer somewhere.”

“How long did you work for Harriet?”

“About three years. Five days a week unless one of my kids got sick. Miss Harriet, she lost her own baby, so she was very understanding.”

“The death of her boy must have affected her deeply.”

“Oh, yes. Poor Miss Harriet always looked so sad, and she got worse over the years. She didn't trust no one. And like I said, she hardly ever left the house. She spent a lot of time in her baby's room by herself. Sometimes I heard her talking and singing to him. Like he was still alive. You know?”

I pictured Harriet sitting in that blue room folding and unfolding Jonah's little socks and smoothing the blanket on his bed. Tears filled my eyes. “Did you ever go in that room?”

“Not often. Miss Harriet didn't want nothing disturbed. I had to be real careful when I dusted in there. She told me she fired her last housekeeper because she messed up her baby's things. She said, ‘Delia, you're the only other person I trust in here besides myself.'”

“Did she ever have visitors?” I bit into a cookie and a small piece fell on the floor. The dog had been waiting for just such an opportunity and quickly scarfed it up.

“Not very many. Her lawyer, Mr. Abernathy. He'd bring papers for her to sign. And sometimes he just came to check on her. He'd try to take her out to dinner, but Miss Harriet, she always made an excuse.”

Harriet didn't want to spend time with Abernathy. Did she suspect him of embezzling her money? “What about other visitors?”

“Miss Friedman from the Children's Hospital came a few times with Mr. Abernathy. She always stuck her hand out for money.”

There it was again. Abernathy the lawyer and Bunny Friedman the fund-raiser. Just how connected were they? Did Abernathy cultivate a friendship with Harriet just to get her money?

Delia counted on her fingers. “A neighbor lady visited occasionally, but she died. The insurance man stopped by a few times. Mr. Oliver's brother also called on Miss Harriet when he visited LA. And then there was Miss Isabel.”

I pricked up my ears. “Tell me about her.”

Delia's voice dripped with disgust. “When I first worked for Miss Harriet, that woman hung around all the time. I mean,
all
the time. One day, about two years ago, I heard them arguing and Miss Harriet told her, ‘Just leave me alone, Isabel. Just go away.' Afterward, Miss Harriet told me to say she was sleeping whenever Miss Isabel called.”

Two years ago. That was around the time Harriet named me executor of her will instead of Isabel. What caused their falling out?

I grabbed another cookie. The dog sat looking at me, waiting for the next crumb to fall. “What about other visitors?”

Delia's demeanor darkened. “Miss Harriet started seeing that Paulina woman right around the time she sent Miss Isabel away. Miss Paulina came by at least twice a week and they'd sit in the library. She gave me the willies. She always brought those picture cards and sacks of some kind of tea leaves. I'd have to brew a pot so she could read Miss Harriet's fortune.”

“When I called you before, you mentioned something about ghosts.”

“Yeah. Sometimes the two of them'd hold hands on top of the table and Miss Paulina would close her eyes.” Delia lowered her voice. “She talked to ghosts.”

Lucy perked up. Talking to ghosts was right up her ESP alley. She leaned toward Delia. “How do you know she talked to ghosts?”

“I pretended to dust the living room so I could listen in on them. I didn't want nobody to take advantage of poor Miss Harriet. Miss Paulina's voice changed from high to low, depending on which ghost was speaking. I tell you, the woman scared me!” She shivered and reached up to grasp the cross around her neck again.

I drank the last of my coffee. “I guess you heard about Nathan Oliver's grave in the backyard. Rudy, the gardener, told me Harriet sometimes asked you to weed the flower bed where the body turned out to be. Weeding seems like an odd thing to ask a housekeeper to do.”

Delia stood, went to the kitchen, and brought back the coffeepot to refill our cups. “I didn't mind. I felt sorry for her. She told me she buried her baby's pet dog there and didn't want the gardeners to mess up the grave. A few times she asked me to use a hand shovel and pull up some of the uglier weeds. She said, ‘Don't go too deep. I don't want to disturb the dog.' Then she'd stand right there and watch me 'til I was done.”

Well, I could no longer deny Harriet knew about Nathan's grave. How could I ask the next question? “Harriet seemed to really trust you. Do you mind telling me why she let you go?”