Something's Knot Kosher (20 page)

I began to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Was I turning to Arlo Beavers merely out of loneliness? Did I really want him back in my life? I sat up in bed and regarded the man grinning beside me. What had Kay warned me?
People don't fundamentally change
.

I swallowed hard. “We have to talk.”

“I thought that's what we were just doing.” He ran his fingers up and down my arm.

“No. I mean about what just happened.” I swept my hand around the bedroom. “This was fantastic, but I think it was a mistake.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Look, I know you might be a little gun-shy, especially after what happened with Kerry and me. But that's completely over.”

What happened
was he cheated on me with Arthur's vet, Kerry Andreason, and I doubted I could ever trust him again. “I don't know what got into me tonight, Arlo.” Well, I did know, actually. Sonia's giggle weed, but I wasn't going to tell him that. “Obviously I'm still attracted to you. Who wouldn't be? But we have serious issues.”

He sat up and gently cupped my face in his hands. “I think we can make this work. If you're uncomfortable, I'm okay with taking it slow.”

With tremendous relief, I watched him get dressed, gather Russell's diary and his dog, and head toward the front door. After I hugged the shepherd in an elaborate good-bye, Beavers kissed me and said, “I'll call you tomorrow.”

C
HAPTER
34

Beavers and Arthur left around nine. I stepped into the shower for a relaxing five minutes, toweled off, put on my cotton jammies, and tumbled into bed. Between the marijuana, the romp with Beavers, and the hot shower, I fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

In the middle of the night, Bumper had a running fit and woke me. Cats could build up kinetic energy that normally got disbursed by outdoor exercise, like stalking birds, leaping toward grasshoppers, and climbing trees. But cats who lived primarily indoors didn't have the same opportunities for those behaviors. Being nocturnal creatures, the urge to release the buildup of stored energy often burst forth in the wee hours. Tonight was one of those nights.

His four feet thumped as he raced down the hallway toward my bedroom. He jumped up on my bed, landing with a thud.

I groaned and snuggled deeper under my Ohio Star quilt. “Go to sleep, Bumper!”

He leapt off the bed and thundered down the hallway toward the living room. Five seconds later, broken glass tinkled to the floor.

Crap! He must've jumped up on the kitchen counter and knocked a glass to the floor.
Unfortunately, I couldn't wait until morning to clean the broken shards. That crazy cat might cut his paws.

Still groggy, I sat up and swung my bare feet to the cold floor.
Darn that cat!
In the dimness of the blue LED night-light plugged into the wall socket, I managed to locate a pair of Crocs with hard soles to protect my feet from the broken glass. I shuffled down the dark hallway toward the open-plan kitchen, dining, and living rooms. Soft moonlight illuminated the mullioned windows in the kitchen and adjacent dining area.

Something about the dining room window looked odd. One of the panes wasn't reflecting the moonlight in the same way as the others. Was it broken? How did Bumper manage to break a windowpane? I narrowed my eyes and peered harder. Something else was wrong. The window seemed to be open. I flipped the switch at the end of the hallway, and the overhead pot lights in the kitchen instantly sprang to life.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move to my left. I turned to look. Ivo Van Otten, president of First Encino Bank and Russell Watson's protégé, stepped out of the shadows in the living room and pointed a gun straight at me. My heart stopped beating for a second then resumed at warp speed.

Van Otten was dressed for black ops. His hands were covered with latex gloves, and his silver hair was encased in a black stocking cap. He intended to leave no trace evidence behind. And no witness. He had closed the living room drapes so nobody could see inside my house. If something happened to me, my neighbors would never know. It seemed like he had thought of everything.

Adrenaline coursed through my body like water through a fire hose. Every instinct screamed to run for my life, but my knees had turned to water, and my feet wouldn't move. Even if I could find the strength to run, a six-foot-tall man with a gun now stood between me and my front door.

My voice shook. “What do you want with me?”

His voice was silky as he spun a spider's web of false security. “Just give me the diary and I'll be on my way.”

Panic squeezed my throat so I could barely breathe. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He took a menacing step toward me. “Let's not waste time. I know all about the diary, so hand it over.”

I held up my hand to stop him. “Okay. Okay. How did you find out I had it?”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Gail called me after your meeting.”

Darn! I told her not to tell anyone
. “Why did she call
you?
”

“Gail and I are . . . special friends. She was only too eager to tell me everything.”

“You were having an affair? Was she in on this with you?”

“Obviously not, otherwise she wouldn't have been stupid enough to refer anyone to Five Star Packaging.”

“I don't have the diary,” I said.

He opened and closed his fists. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”

I didn't even want to know what he meant by “the hard way.”
How can I escape? Think. Delay
. I took a deep breath. “I'm surprised you're the one who embezzled four and a half million from your own bank. I must say, your scheme was very clever. You managed to go undetected for several years. Unfortunately for you, Russell was just as clever, because he figured out what you were doing.”

“Actually it was five million. Russell missed one. It's too bad, really. Another couple mill and I would've been long gone.”

I frowned. “Russell Watson was your mentor and your friend. How could you have had him killed?”

“Well, aren't you the curious cat.” He sneered. “I gave him a chance. I even called him one night and offered to cut him in. But Watson was a stubborn old fool.”

That must have been the phone call where Birdie overheard Russell say, “When hell freezes over.” With those words, poor Russell had sealed his fate.

I took another shaky breath. “I gather assassinating people was Levesque's real specialty. Why go to all the trouble of staging a bank robbery?”

Van Otten's laugh was cold. “To obfuscate the real reason for Russell's death. Also, the robbery money provided Levesque with an easy bonus.”

I'd never heard anyone use the word
obfuscate
in a real sentence before. Clearly, Van Otten liked to show off. If I could keep him talking, maybe I could figure out how to stay alive. “What made you decide to kill Levesque?”

His eyes darkened. “What do you care? Just give me the diary. We both know how this is going to end.”

I shivered.
Appeal to his ego
. “Your scheme was brilliant. You've completely stumped the FBI. I just want to know how you did it, that's all.”

He smiled, visibly pleased with the flattery. “Okay, I'll indulge your interest. You'll never be able to repeat it to anyone else anyway.”

“The FBI showed me the video of the robbery, hoping I might recognize the guy. I realized Levesque could be identified by the tattoo on his neck. I couldn't risk him talking if he were ever caught.”

“How'd you get into the mortuary?”

“I never left. After the viewing, I slipped into an unused room and waited until the place was empty. Then I unlocked the back door, walked down the street to where I'd parked my car, and drove around to the back. I took Levesque's body out of the trunk and carried it inside. The rest was easy.”

I recalled with sadness Birdie's lovely Baltimore Album quilt that had been removed from the casket to make room for the other body. “What did you do with the quilt?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “What?”

“The Baltimore Album quilt Russell was wrapped in. What did you do with it?”

“There was no quilt. Just his corpse.”

For a moment my fear was replaced with outrage. “Towsley the mortician stole Russell's quilt? What is wrong with you people?”

Van Otten didn't reply. He looked at his watch and slowly closed the distance between us. “Time's up. I've got a plane to catch. The diary. Now.”

If I told him the book was already in the hands of the authorities, he'd kill me on the spot. Then I got a blinding flash of insight. Something he said about never leaving the mortuary, being there all the time. Sitting on the hall table was the pile of mail Sonia had sorted for me, my purse, my cell phone, and a heavy brass dish where I tossed my house keys each day.
How can I get over there?

I backed away from him and kept talking as I inched in the direction of the table. “I'll give it to you if you just let me live. Please. I don't want to die. I'll tell the authorities the diary was stolen in the middle of the night. I won't say a word about you to anyone. I promise.”

His smile was cruel and insincere. “Of course. All I want is the book and then I'll leave. That is, if you really promise not to tell.”

I knew he was just playing with me, but I went along with the charade. “I promise. Ask anyone who knows me. I never lie.”

I managed to maneuver all the way over. Next, for my plan to work, I had to trick him into turning away long enough for me to make my move. I pointed to the bookcase on the other side of the living room. “It's over there. See the small book with the blue cover on the top shelf? I've hidden it up there. I had to use a stepladder, but you're tall enough to reach it.”

He pointed his gun at my head. I'd seen enough cop shows to know the funny-looking thing on the barrel was a silencer. “You better be telling me the truth.”

My heart was beating like a hummingbird and my mouth felt like the Namibian desert.
Oh please, God, don't let him shoot me.

He backed up to the bookcase, training the gun on my head the whole time. Finally, he lowered the weapon, turned, and reached for the top shelf.

Now!
I reached for my purse and groped inside until I felt something cold and heavy. Lucy's Browning semiautomatic pistol. It had been sitting there all this time. Thank God I'd forgotten to give it back to her. With trembling hands, I removed the gun and flipped the safety.

He opened the blue book and frowned. It was an old edition of Dorothy Parker poems. Turning back toward me with rage blazing in his eyes, he raised his gun again.

I fired first.

Van Otten screamed in pain, grabbed his crotch, and crumpled to the floor. His face had gone white, and the floor beneath him turned red.

I stared in horror until I found my voice. “Oh my God. I didn't mean to hit you
there
. But you're so tall and I'm so short and my hands were shaking. . . .”

He groaned and turned his head away from me. The gun with the silencer had fallen out of his hand and skittered across the floor in my direction. I scooped it up and placed it on the hall table behind me.

Pulse pounding in my ears, I could hardly breathe. This man tried to kill me and now he lay bleeding on my living room floor. I couldn't think straight. What should I do next? I heard myself say, “I've just done the laundry. I'll go get you a clean towel.”

Van Otten gritted his teeth and squeaked. “Ambulance.”

“Oh. Right.” I picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. Then I called Beavers.

C
HAPTER
35

I wouldn't be able to occupy my house again until a cleanup crew removed Van Otten's blood from the living room floor. So, after giving my statement to the LAPD, I gathered Bumper and a suitcase full of clothes. Beavers promised to look into the theft of Birdie's quilt from Pearly Gates Mortuary. Then he asked me to stay at his place, but I politely declined. By seven that morning, Bumper and I had moved into Lucy and Ray Mondello's guest bedroom.

At nine, Lucy brewed a second pot of strong, French roast. “Jazz will be here at ten. He says he's got a lot of questions about last night. He's also bringing a bunch of Russell's old shirts to cut up for a memory quilt.” My tall friend looked stylish in lemon yellow slacks, a white blouse, and green shoes. Thanks to Jazz's tutoring, gone forever were the days when everything she wore had to match.

I gulped the hot caffeine to combat the lack of sleep from the night before. “Did you call Birdie and let her know about Van Otten?”

“I did. She was shocked and sad to hear he was behind Russell's murder. There was a time, especially in the beginning, when Van Otten had been like a son to them.”

“I hope you didn't tell her about her missing quilt, yet. If Towsley still has it, maybe the police can recover it for her.”

“I didn't mention that part,” Lucy said. “I didn't see any reason to add to her sorrow. She'll be disappointed when she finds out Russell went in the ground without it.”

“Did she say anything more about her plans?”

Lucy added some cream and sugar to her coffee and stirred. “She and Denver are leaving tomorrow for LA. They're traveling in his motor home. She said if you want privacy, you can go across the street and stay at her place. They aren't scheduled to arrive for four days. But Ray and I really don't want you to go, hon. We want you to stay with us.”

At exactly ten, Jazz knocked on Lucy's door. He carried the yellow tote with Zsa Zsa inside, a bag of apple fritters from Western Donuts, and several sacks of fabric. Once we got settled in the living room, I reached for a plate-sized fritter and repeated the story of last night's terrifying encounter with the man responsible for Russell's murder.

“You shot him where?” Jazz covered his mouth with his hand.

I closed my eyes and sank back into the blue wool upholstery of the easy chair. “I know, I know. Believe me, I didn't plan it that way. I just aimed in his direction and pulled the trigger.” I opened my eyes and looked at Lucy. “By the way, the police said they'll eventually return your Browning.”

She waved her hand. “You've used that gun before, remember? I think I'm going to just let you keep it. You know, girlfriend, I've heard from Richie. He said the news of your capturing Van Otten has already gone viral.”

“How could it? Nobody was there to take a video.”

“Remember when you caught that other killer seven months ago? Well, Richie used a picture of you with a gun from that video. He made a meme with a funny caption. It seems with this newest incident, you've developed a cult following.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Richie was Lucy's middle son, who worked in the tech industry. They spoke or texted every day. She must have told him about last night.

Zsa Zsa popped her head out of the yellow tote bag and yawned. She wore a red gingham sundress matching Jazz's shirt. He picked her up and set her on the floor. She sniffed the air and bolted off on her tiny Maltese legs straight for the guest room, where Bumper rested on the bed, still exhausted from all the nocturnal drama. We heard a lot of yipping and hissing.

Lucy pointed to the bulging bags Jazz had brought with him. “Let's see what you've got.”

He removed dozens of colorful shirts. “I sewed all these for Rusty. Some of them go back twenty years. Not all of them are cotton. Can I still use them together in a quilt?”

“The great thing about quilting,” said Lucy, “is that there are no rules. You can do whatever you want. You just have to be aware that different kinds of materials will react differently to the process. Cotton and linen will be easier to cut and quilt, but silk will be tricky. As you already know, it's more slippery and unravels easier.”

She handed Jazz a thick encyclopedia of quilt block patterns. “Before we cut into those shirts, you need to decide what pattern you want to use. Then we'll draft the design. Take some time to look through these.”

I finished my apple fritter at the same time FBI Agent Kay Lancet showed up at Lucy's front door. She breezed into the living room and sat in a chair facing me. “Well, Martha. Seems as if you managed to deliver not just the proof of his crimes, but the archcriminal himself. I've gotta say, nicely done.”

“How is he?”

“Van Otten's out of surgery. Don't worry, he'll live. But he'll never be a father. He confessed to everything.” Her voice softened. “Are you okay? You've been through a lot lately.”

Tears stung my eyes as I recalled for the millionth time how I almost died last night. “I'm still as shaky as heck and really tired. But I guess I'll live too.”

She stood. “Can I borrow you for a little bit outside?”

“Sure.” I mouthed an apology at Lucy and Jazz and followed her out the front door.

She turned to face me and placed her hand softly on my shoulder. “You should've handed over that diary as soon as you and Mrs. Watson found it, Martha. We have people and software that could've decoded it and traced those accounts in an hour. Your decision to hide the evidence almost cost you your life.”

I shifted on my feet. “We really didn't know what we had at first. And then when I deciphered the code and realized what it was, I just had to make sure Russell wasn't guilty before I handed over the diary.”

“What difference would that have made? He was already dead.”

I looked at the agent and sighed. “If Russell had stolen the money, there would've been dire consequences for Birdie and Jazz. The bank could've sued his estate to recover the missing funds. The two of them could've lost everything. I thought if Russell was guilty and I found the money and returned it, Birdie and Jazz would be safe. But after talking to Gail Deukmejian, I was convinced Russell was innocent. That's when I called you.” I lowered my eyes and stared at the ground.

Lancet gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You're lucky everything worked out the way it did.” Her next words took me totally by surprise. “So you slept with him again?”

I jerked my head up and stared at her. “How'd you know?”

“I didn't know for sure.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “It was something in the way Arlo told me about being with you until nine last night that led me to suspect as much. You're confident enough to try a relationship with him again?”

I sighed. “He's attractive. I had a vulnerable moment. It just happened.”

“Well, you know Arlo. He doesn't do well with indecision. He'll want to wrap you up and stake a claim as soon as possible.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “He's going to be disappointed then. I'm certainly not ready to admit that what happened between us last night was anything more than a moment of weakness.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Let me know how long that lasts.”

I hugged Agent Lancet good-bye and went back inside Lucy's house. We sorted Russell's old shirts into lights and darks while Jazz chose a pattern.

He held up the book and pointed to an eight-pointed Lemoyne Star. “I'm crazy about this pattern. It's
très jolie
.”

“Mazel Tov,” said my orange-haired Catholic friend. “This block is usually not for beginners, because it requires sewing set-in seams. But since you're already a pro, you shouldn't have any problem with it.”

I held up a pile of Russell's shirts. “You can use different fabrics for each ray of the star. And if you use a dark fabric for the background, the finished quilt will look like a colorful constellation.”

“
Parfait!
” Jazz clasped his hands. “What do we do next?”

Lucy printed pattern pieces for ten-inch blocks using Quilt Block software and cut templates for each piece from a sheet of Mylar plastic. We spent the rest of the day cutting Russell's shirts into diamond shapes that would become individual rays in the Lemoyne Stars. Jazz finally left at three and air kissed us on both cheeks in the European style. “I'll be back next week.
Au revoir
.”

Lucy closed the door behind him and said, “I think we've just gained a new member for our group.”