Murder At The Mikvah (17 page)

“When did it happen? When did she put her paw through the glass?” John asked.

“The night of the storm.”

The night Peter was arrested
. The hairs on John's arms stood up. A primitive response, but one that had always served him well. “And you say it was an animal she saw?” John asked.

“Well, yes,” Father McCormick said. “I just assumed… Ever since the construction began on the old high school, we've had everything from groundhogs to rabbits to chipmunks hanging around. I suppose they want to get away from the ruckus. Peter spotted a red fox the size of a dog a couple of weeks ago; the rascal was having a grand old time, digging through our garbage cans.”

John furrowed his brow and examined the boarded up door. “But Samson's never gone after any of those other animals before?”

“Never.”

“Well, whatever it was, it’s not a good idea to leave it like that,” John said.

“Is it that much of an eyesore?” Father McCormick asked. “The patch job was supposed to be temporary. Peter was going to fix it the next day.”

“Wait a second,” John said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me this damage happened while Peter was still
here
in the rectory?” For some reason, perhaps because the priest didn’t suggest otherwise, John assumed it had occurred much later in the evening.

Father McCormick nodded. “Well, yes. I was in bed at the time. I came down when I heard some noise.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Mainly a crashing sound.”

“So you went downstairs to investigate?”

“That's right. Peter was pulling glass shards out of Samson's paw.”

“What time was that?”

“Hmm. Well, let's see… I headed up at 8:00, listened to one chapter of the new Andrew Greely book—He's terrific John, have you read him?”

“I think Patty has.”

The priest tapped his chin. “One chapter wouldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, so I'd estimate it was about 8:15 when I came down.”

“8:15,” John repeated. “And Peter was here, in the house with you the whole time?”

Father McCormick nodded. “He bandaged up Samson as best he could; unfortunately the phone lines were down so we couldn’t call Dr. Wentz… Peter said he would call him in the morning. Then he boarded up the door.”

“And where were you at this time?”

Father McCormick shrugged. “There was no reason for me to stay up. Peter had everything under control, so I went back to bed.”

“And that would have been what time?”

“Maybe 9:00, but I can't be certain.”

John stared at the door, processing this information. “I'd be happy to see that the door gets taken care of,” he said after a minute.

“Thank you, John, but that won’t be necessary,” Father McCormick said, lifting the coffee pot off its burner. “Peter will be home soon, and he'll see that it gets fixed.” He spoke casually, as if Peter was out of town on business.

John cringed as Father McCormick poured two mugs full of scalding hot coffee and handed one to John. Surprisingly, he didn’t spill a drop. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, indicating a retro chrome table and four chairs, each padded in red vinyl. “This is where Peter and I eat most of our meals.”

A small black and white TV perched unsteadily on a nearby tray table, its rabbit ears pointing like outstretched arms forming an
“L”.

They sat quietly drinking their coffee.

“Will I be able to see him soon?” Father McCormick asked after a minute.

“Probably not until his family is contacted,” John said.

Father McCormick nodded. He'd expected as much.

“Maybe it's best that you hold off on your visit anyway,” John added. “He's really not doing so well.”

“I thought a visit from a friend might help lift his spirits,” the priest said. Now he sounded as though Peter had just had his appendix removed. It was apparent that Father McCormick didn't have a clue how bad the situation with Peter was, though he would certainly find out soon enough.

“It might, but not until after his family is located,” John said again, “And who knows how they're going to want to handle all this? I'm sorry Father, but how can I say this politely? Don't hold your breath.”

 Twenty-two

The rabbi’s mother arrived on Shabbat three hours before
mincha
, the afternoon prayer service. Striking as usual in a tan pantsuit and white silk blouse, Judith Orenstein prided herself on being stylish without being over-the-top sexual in her presentation. Actually Judith pitied women who clung to youth like it was the last life raft off the
titanic
—women in their fifties, sixties and seventies who wore short skirts to work and strapless dresses to weddings. Didn’t they realize how ridiculous they looked? Judith thought they were pathetic; women with aged spots and sagging breasts trying to look like their daughters; women desperate to convince the world (or was it themselves?) of their eternal youth and desirability. Did they need a man's approval that badly? Did they really believe relinquishing their self-respect could somehow shelter them from adultery, sickness, even death?

“Nana?”

Yitzi shuffled hesitantly past Lauren, then bounded at once into his grandmother’s arms, nuzzling his face into her silver hair. Styled in a sleek chin length bob, it gave her an air of friendly credibility, a presence not unlike the distinguished look of an evening news anchor.

“Yitzi! I can’t believe it! Look how big you are! Growing like a little weed!” She squeezed him tightly, yet still managed to hold on to her suede clutch. Yitzi arched his back and stared at her in disbelief. If she hadn't just visited a mere six weeks earlier, chances were, he would not have recognized her.

“Nana? How come you came?”

It was a reasonable question since Judith always planned her visits well in advance. Never before had she dropped by unexpectedly, not even when Hannah had gone into premature labor with Nehama last summer. Judith tried to visit at least once every few months or so; but her schedule was so full that despite good intentions, her plans didn’t always work out.

“It’s a surprise Yitzi,” she told him. “Your Abba doesn’t even know I’m here.” She lowered him to the ground and stood up quickly, extending her hand. “You must be Lauren. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.” Her smile dropped away as she studied Lauren's face.

“Uh, thank you,” Lauren said, nervously tugging on her two braids. “We’ve actually met—in September—when the baby was born.”

“Ah, that must be why you look so familiar to me,” Judith said. She pursed her lips and tapped her chin trying to remember the cases she was working on back in September. She found that her recall of events was much sharper when she used this technique. “Oh, yes. Now I remember! I could only stay for a few hours in the morning. I had to be in court at 2 PM.” She winked at Lauren. “But my son told me not to worry. He said the new babysitter had everything under control.”

Yitzi beamed. “You’re face is all wed Lawen!”

Lauren patted him on the head, knocking his baseball-patterned
kippa
slightly askew. “Yitz, go tell Rachel and your brothers that your Nana is here.”

The two women watched silently as Yitzi shuffled down the hall. “Wachel… Eli… David…!”

Rosie bounded around the corner and flew up the steps in a flash of orange at the sound of Yitzi’s voice.

“What in God's name was that?” Judith shouted, her hand flying over her chest.

“Oh, sorry… that’s just Rosie, my cat,” Lauren said. “I couldn’t leave her home alone.”

“Well, I certainly hope you found a suitable place for its litter box! The last thing this family needs right now is the stench of a cat.”

Lauren's face dropped, but Judith didn’t seem to notice. Her attention had shifted to the mantle where several picture frames were prominently displayed. Hannah updated them frequently, so chances were, there were some new ones she hadn't seen before. She slipped on her reading glasses and carefully examined each one.
The entire family in their Purim costumes—Rachel as Queen Esther… Yehuda accepting a community award… Hannah in the hospital with newborn Nehama
…
Hannah's father in the nursing home in Israel, looking frailer than ever.

“Mrs. Orenstein, do you have any bags I can help you with?” Lauren asked.

Judith ignored her and leaned in toward the final picture. It was Lauren playing
Connect Four
with David and Eli, her long braids spun in two buns on top of her head like Princess Leah.

“Mrs. Orenstein?”

Judith turned around and removed her reading glasses. “Bags? No, I just have the one. I’ll have Yehuda carry it upstairs after Shabbat.”

“
Motzei
Shabbat,” Lauren said, smiling.

Judith shrugged. “If you say so dear.”

“It means
after Shabbat
,” Lauren said. “It has a pretty sound to it doesn’t it? Hebrew is such a beautiful language.”

Judith tossed her clutch on to the couch but continued standing, gazing around the room like she was sizing it up. “If you ask me, the best thing about those two words
—Moochie Shabbat
—or whatever it was you just said, is their meaning…
after, the end, kaput!
Our lives are our own once again!”

As Lauren watched in astonishment, Judith raised her arms and looked up toward the ceiling. “Hallelujah! Thank you Lord!” she shouted, sounding more like an evangelical preacher, than a rabbi's mother. She dropped her arms, pushed aside a couple of children’s books and plopped down on the couch with a sigh. “Honestly, I couldn't survive being so restricted! Don't get me wrong; I can understand wanting a day of rest. I see the value of turning off the TV, even the computer for a few hours; but to say I can’t cook for twenty-four hours? I can’t make a phone call? Write a letter? It makes absolutely no sense!” She made a
tsking
sound and shook her head. “And to think they impose this on themselves every single week! I’m sorry, but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Yes… well… I suppose it
does
take some getting used to,” Lauren said. It was a neutral enough response to an obviously opinionated woman.

Judith ignored her. Her attention had shifted and she was scanning the room with a critical eye. “When Yehuda and Hannah first looked at this house, this room was much more formal. The previous owners had a breakfront right here and a baby grand piano in that corner,” she said, gesturing with her hands. Suddenly she paused, shifted slightly, and examined the couch she was sitting on. “Would you believe they've had this couch for over ten years!” She leaned back, crossed her legs and extended her arms across the cushions on either side. “I said 'why not donate it to charity and let me buy you a new one?' I must have told them a million times I'd be happy to help them redecorate. All they have to do is give me the go ahead,”—she snapped her fingers—“and it'll be done.”

“I think the furniture is fine,” Lauren said, “I mean, they do have young children, so I don’t know how practical redecorating would be right now.”

Judith shrugged. “That's what Yehuda says also. Maybe he's right. Well, I'm not one to interfere with any of my son's choices, including his religious ones. I try to respect his beliefs…
usually
. Of course, there are exceptions—like today.” She sighed. “Visiting on the Sabbath is a big no-no!—mainly because Yehuda doesn’t like me driving. Apparently it's another prohibition!” She rolled her eyes. “There are so many, I can't keep track! Well, Sabbath or no Sabbath, today, there was no room for debate, I had to come!”

“Yes, of course.”

“I flew in from London this morning… made a slight change in my plans and landed in Philadelphia instead of Newark,” Judith said. “I had the cab drop me off around the corner so the kids wouldn’t see that I rode in a car.”

“But won’t they wonder how you got here?” Lauren asked, immediately regretting the question since it had a sarcastic ring to it.

But Judith was busy adjusting a small pillow behind her back and showed no sign of being offended. “Well, I’m sure Rachel will figure it out. That girl does not miss a beat…. She’s intuitive too, obviously takes after her Nana!”

Judith smoothed her hair. “I’ve always been perceptive—especially when it comes to people. It’s a gift, really—keeps me from getting burned.” For a moment her gaze lingered on Lauren's face.

Lauren smiled politely and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Uh, I'm sure you're wondering where Yehuda is…”

Judith snapped out of her trance. “What? Oh Yehuda… I just assumed he was at shul.”

“No, he’s making a
shiva
call at Estelle Ginsberg’s brother’s home.”

Judith sighed. “How could I forget? The funeral was Wednesday, wasn’t it?”

Lauren nodded.

“That poor dear. Her life was so difficult… Well, at least they have the bastard! I hope he hangs!”

Lauren swallowed. “Well, as far as Yehuda goes… I'm sure if he had known you were coming…”

Judith waved her off. “I'll have plenty of time with him tonight.”

“Actually, he mentioned that he'll be going to the hospital tonight,” Lauren said gently. “And I don't think Hannah's allowed any other visitors.”

“Oh, there's no need for that.”

“No need for
what
?”

“No need for him to go to the hospital,” Judith said. “I'm sorry to report there’s been no change in Hannah's condition since yesterday.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes. “How can you know that?” she asked.

“I spoke to her doctor—Doctor Patel—as soon as I landed,” Judith said, pulling a compact out of her bag.

“But… I thought doctors were only allowed to speak to immediate family,” Lauren said.

Judith didn’t answer until she had powdered her nose and closed her compact. “Oh they are, but I convinced him to bend the rules. Did I mention that I can be quite persuasive when I want to be?”

“See! I told you it was Nana!” Yitzi's excited words were followed by a thundering of approaching feet. Lauren leaned back as the rabbi’s mother plastered a smile on her face and embraced her grandchildren.