Grave Endings (24 page)

thirty-seven

ISAAC HAD LEFT A YELLOW POST-IT ON MY DOOR, telling me he'd taken in the packages UPS had delivered this afternoon. I hadn't talked to my landlord in days and knew he was probably hurt. I knocked on his door and thanked him.

“Wait right here,” he said, and disappeared. A moment later he was back.

“What do you think?”

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking at. He was wearing his usual outfit, a plaid shirt and dark slacks pulled up well past his skinny waist.

“Here.” He pointed to the black suede yarmulke on his almost bald head. “I bought it on Fairfax for the wedding.”

I told him it looked great.

He grinned. “I have a white satin one from my grand-daughter's bat mitzvah, but I wanted one like your dad wears, and Zack, so I'd fit in. Anyway, I'm breaking it in.”

He helped me take the packages to my apartment, and we made a coffee date for tomorrow morning.

I would have loved to soak in a hot tub, but Zack would be here in less than half an hour, so I settled for a shower and let the water beat against the back of my neck and my shoulders, which were beginning to feel stiff. Whiplash, I realized.

I had just stepped out of the shower when Trina phoned.

“I was beginning to worry,” I told her. “I left several messages. Where are you?”

“I told you, a hotel.” She sounded edgy. “Did you find out anything from the list I gave you?”

“I spent the day talking to people who knew Randy. He was selling fake red threads at Rachel's Tent.”

“That's it?”

“So far.” You get what you pay for, I thought, a little miffed. “You said Randy was interested in someone after Aggie. Did he tell you her name?”

“That was six
years
ago. Why?”

“I'm wondering if she's the redhead I told you about. She's not Doreen.”

“Randy didn't want to tell me her name. I remember that. Let me think. It was with a Dee,” she said a moment later. “Donna? Dina? No,
Diana.
I teased him about her. ‘How's Princess Di?' ”

Diana Warfield? “Thanks. Are you okay, Trina?” I had the feeling she was upset with me.

“No, I'm not okay! I feel like a prisoner. I want to go home. Look, I know I asked you to help, but I changed my mind. Forget the list. Forget everything.”

“I don't understand. Did you hear from Jim again?”

“He called today. I hung up on him.”

“If you went to the police—”

“How will they find him? He'll wait until they stop looking and then . . . I have to figure out what this package is and where Randy hid it. I have to figure out who killed Randy.”

“The police can help you, Trina.”

“I don't need their help. A friend is helping me.”

“You have no idea what the package could be? Did Randy have a bank safe-deposit box?”

“I wish everybody would stop asking me! He didn't have a safe-deposit box. The only
things
he left me were his laptop and journal. Those aren't packages.”

“Trina—”

She had hung up.

I was upset by the phone call, but I couldn't blame her for being agitated. I would be, too. I finished toweling myself and put on a long-sleeved V-necked cream cashmere sweater and a flared black wool skirt that stopped an inch above my knee (my compromise length). After eating a few Hershey's Kisses, I swallowed three Advil tablets, which you're not supposed to do on an empty stomach, hence the chocolate. I was applying lipstick when Zack arrived.

“You're all right,” he said with relief as he helped me on with my coat.

It felt good to be cared for. “Didn't you believe me?” I had phoned him on the way home and told him I'd been in a traffic accident but was unharmed.

“I thought you didn't want to worry me. You're sure you're up to this, Molly?”

“I'm sure.”

I was exhausted and achy, but I'd canceled too many dates and appointments in the past week. Tonight was the last time we'd see each other until the wedding, and I wanted the evening to be special.

On the way to his car we stopped to look at my Acura.

“It doesn't look too bad,” he said when we were in his Honda. He buckled his seat belt. “How did you get the front and side damaged at the same time?”

I told him what had happened and saw his lips tighten, the way they had when I'd narrated my run-in with the redhead.

“You must have been terrified,” he said quietly.

“Pretty much.” In my mind I saw the SUV barreling toward me, pressing the Acura against the rails. I heard the screech of metal against metal. “I haven't told my family, so don't say anything.”

“You should probably
bentch gomel,
” Zack said, referring to the special prayer you say to thank God when you've survived a dangerous situation or journey. “It's ridiculous how many lunatics there are on the road,” he added, with a surge of anger that shook his voice.

I could have left it at that. “I'm not sure it
was
road rage. Last night at the deli, Randy's sponsor, Max, thought someone was watching me. When I turned around to see who it was, the person was walking out the door.”

“The person?”

He sounded calmer than I'd expected. “Max couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. He or she was wearing a hat.”

“And you think this person may have followed you to Pasadena today?”

I shrugged. “It sounds crazy when you say it, doesn't it? That's why I didn't mention it to the cop. I don't think he believed there
was
an SUV. I plan to tell Connors tomorrow, though.”

Zack nodded. “Good.”

“It
could
be road rage.”

He inserted the key into the ignition slot but didn't turn it. “Suppose someone
did
follow you and try to run you off the road. Why would anyone do that?”

“I was thinking about Bramer, the director of Rachel's Tent. Or Randy's mother. Her name is Richardson now. I met her today.” I told Zack how I'd found her. “She has a dark green SUV. I didn't notice the make, because the son's car was parked in front of it, and I was watching him.”

Zack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So she tried to kill you to keep her ex-husband from finding out she's been living half an hour away all these years? I can't see that as a motive, Molly. It's not that big a deal. And if
you
found her, someone else could.”

“But no one else is looking. And maybe she's not worried about her ex-husband. Maybe she doesn't want Richardson to find out that she walked out on her first husband and two kids.”

“It's more of a motive,” Zack agreed. “
If
the new husband doesn't know about her past. But would she kill you for that?” He shrugged. “What about Bramer?”

I explained about Charlie and her new red thread and my theory. “Maybe Bramer is worried that I'll discover the truth and make it public.”

“You could say the same about Horton. From what you said, Rachel's Tent is very important to him.”

“His baby.” It was a valid point. “But Horton has a hundred businesses, Zack. Bramer has only Rachel's Tent and his reputation.”

“Talk to Connors. Let him check it out.” Zack turned on the ignition.

“I found out Brian's last name, by the way,” I said as we pulled away from the curb. “From San Diego? It's Warfield. I Googled him last night and got a business address for a real estate company. But I have no way of knowing whether he's the right Brian Warfield. And I still don't know his connection to the redhead or how she had his phone.”

“Maybe they're married, and she borrowed it that day you met her.”

“Why would she do that?”

Zack shrugged. “Because hers wasn't working, and she was driving up to L.A.? Because she didn't want to be traced? You said she was terrified that someone was following her.”

I thought about that on the way to the restaurant.

“You know what I can't figure out?” I said when Zack was parking the car. “Even at thirty-six dollars each, Randy would have had to sell an awful lot of threads to afford the Porsche and everything else I saw in his apartment.”

He looked at me. “Meaning?”

“He was getting money from something else.”

“So we're back to drugs?”

“Or something else. But I have no idea what.”

We didn't talk about anything connected to Randy or Aggie during dinner, and I welcomed the respite. A number of people we'd invited to the wedding came over to wish us mazel tov, but for the most part we were left alone in a corner booth that gave us privacy and a sense of intimacy. The steak-for-two topped with caramelized onions was delicious, and my mood was mellow, enhanced by the soft glow of the candles and the chocolate torte I had for dessert and two glasses of champagne that flushed my face—or maybe it was the way Zack kept looking at me all night and the things we said.

But by ten-thirty, when we were standing in front of my apartment door, the Advil was wearing off and I craved a hot bath and sleep.

“It's just as well,” Zack said. “I promised I'd help my parents with the seating arrangements.”

“The
S
word.” I yawned. “I can't imagine not seeing you for seven days. Who made up this rule?”

“Not me.” He leaned in close enough to kiss me, close enough so that I could smell the musk of his aftershave and see flecks of gold in his gray-blue eyes. “We can still see each other tomorrow.”

“Until four-something tomorrow, right?” I felt like Cinderella at the ball. “Can you get away for lunch?”

“I have a noon meeting. How about breakfast?”

“I'm seeing another man.” I told him about my date with Isaac. “You're sure you don't want to come in?” Suddenly I wasn't so tired.

“I should let you sleep. We'll figure out something for tomorrow.”

Inside my apartment, I locked the door and slid the dead bolt. The packages UPS had delivered were on the living room sofa, where I'd left them. I picked them up and was about to take them to the guest room when the doorbell rang.

Zack, I thought. I dropped the packages and opened the door and saw Ron slouching in the doorway. My ex-husband is tall and blond and handsome—an Adonis, according to his parents. They probably told him that often enough so that he believes it, which I think accounts for his assumption that the world revolves around him and that he can do no wrong.

“So are you going to let me in, babe?”

I never particularly liked being called “babe” when we were married and had told him so. I like it less now.

“It's kind of late, Ron. I've had a rough day.”

“I won't stay long. I was in the neighborhood and saw Zack leave. I wanted to drop off the response card.”

That's why there are mailboxes.
I stepped out of the way and let him into the apartment we had shared for fourteen months, some of them happy. I'm sure he was thinking the same thing as he glanced around.

“Everything looks pretty much the same,” he said. “We had good times here, didn't we, babe?”

“Ron—”

“I didn't fill this out yet.” He removed an envelope from a pocket of his black leather jacket. “I figured I'd let you do it.” He extended the card toward me.

I shook my head. “It's your decision, Ron. I can understand that you might feel uncomfortable. But if you want to come, we're happy to have you.”

“What about you, Molly? What do
you
want?” He put the card back in his pocket. “Remember in
The
Graduate,
when Katharine Ross is about to tie the knot, and Dustin Hoffman yells, ‘Elaine! Elaine!' And she leaves Mr. Perfect at the altar and runs out of the church with Dustin Hoffman. Dustin stopped her from making the biggest mistake of her life, Molly.”

His speech sounded a little slurred, and I wondered if he'd had a few drinks. “You're not the Dustin Hoffman character, Ron. I'm not Elaine.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “You don't want to be a rabbi's wife, Molly.”

“It comes with the package, Ron. I want to marry Zack. I
am
marrying Zack.” I moved his hand away. “I think you should go home.”

“I've changed, you know. I realize I blew it big-time. I hurt you badly, and I'm very sorry about that. You don't know
how
sorry.”

I nodded. I was sure he meant what he was saying. He'd said it often in the past, and had meant it then, too, every time. But as Bubbie G says, you can't put sorry in your pocket.

“The point is, Molly, I'm not that guy anymore. I could make it work this time.”

“I'm sure you will, Ron. You'll find someone special and make her very happy,” I said, though I wasn't sure at all.

He moved closer, until his face was inches from mine. “Are you saying you never think about me, Molly? Don't you miss what we had?”

I could have told him that my memories were mostly sad and painful, that what we had was probably an illusion from the start, that I had fallen for his looks and his quick humor and a zest for life that had temporarily filled the void left by Aggie's murder. I don't know what Ron had fallen for. Whatever it was, it hadn't been enough to hold his interest.

“I'm moving on, Ron. You should, too.” I walked to the door and opened it. “Let me know what you decide about the wedding.”

He nodded slowly and followed me to the door. “Hey,
I'm
moving on, babe. I moved on long ago.” He put his hand on the doorknob and smiled. “I was just kidding around, Molly. You knew that, right?”

“Right.” For the first time in years I felt sorry for him.

“I'm glad you're happy. I really am.” Before I could protest, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “So if I come to the wedding, can I bring a date?”