The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (37 page)

Roselle bristled and stepped bravely towards us again. “I am her friend. For years.”

“How many years?” I asked curiously.

She blinked confusedly at me. She said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were members of the same temple, growing up. Our parents were friends. Pearl introduced me to Simon.” Her sharp features softened. “Pearlie always did for her friends. And now it’s time we did for her.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Risk gently. “You’re right, dear. It is time that her friends ‘did’ for her.” She tilted her head toward the backstage area. “What are you all doing back there now?”

“Arranging her makeup in the dressing room, pressing her costume. Laying in fruit, drinks, ice.” Roselle’s tone was strangely subdued, as if her bluster had been overcome by this tall gaunt woman in black.

“That’s very nice of you all to gather around her tonight. If you’ll take a little advice, continue doing just that. Be sure to keep strangers away. Is Ilene back there with you?”

After a pause, Roselle let out a shaky, “N-no. Only Vivian and Leeann.”

Mrs. Risk nodded, thought a moment, then asked, “May I speak to Vivian, then?”

Roselle hesitated, then raised her voice in a hoarse, “Viv! C’mere!” She spun around on her heels and clattered backstage, making her escape. In a few seconds, Vivian hurried out to us, swathed in a rust colored wrap-around sheath, her bosom once again threatening to spill out of the low neckline. She also tottered on four inch heels.

Breathlessly, she began, “Whaddya want, I’m busy,” then recognized us, although her gaze lingered for a puzzled moment on Charlie. With one hand she smoothed her dress over her abdomen as she said haughtily. “So you showed up. I expected it.” To my surprise, she leaned towards us and mouthed, “Coffee shop, five minutes.” She shooed us away and hurried back behind the curtain.

Mrs. Risk serenely led us out the way we’d come. As the padded door gently thudded shut behind us, I blinked in the glare of sunlight and asked, “What happened in there?”

Mrs. Risk shook her head. We found an isolated corner table in the coffee shop, far enough from the gaping entrance to avoid being easily seen.

In ten minutes, through the doors rushed Vivian, her exposed flesh quivering with agitation. “God, I could use a drink. I’d have met you in the bar, but I have to get back fast.” She squirmed herself into a comfortable position in the chair and crossed her legs. She pressed a beringed hand on Charlie’s knee. “Get me a caff, would you, sweetie?”

He rose amiably. “A caff. Coffee, anyone else?” No one responded, so he wandered off in search of a waiter.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the longest time,” she said breathily, leaning towards Mrs. Risk.

“Indeed.”

“Yes.” She pulled the tiny sausage-shaped handbag that hung from her shoulder around to her lap and began digging in it. A handkerchief and a lipstick dropped to the floor, but she ignored them as she retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a pink plastic lighter. She snapped her bag shut. The lid promptly popped open again, but she paid no attention. It was, like the others bags I’d seen her carry, covered with material that matched her dress. Maybe she made them herself. “I’ve been reading the most godawful trash about Bella in the papers, it couldn’t possibly be true! Could it?” Her face was a picture of avid expectation.

“The facts are accurate, yes. The conclusions drawn are the tabloids’ own.”

Vivian lit her cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke.

Charlie returned and as he folded himself down to fit into the little chair, he picked up the handkerchief and lipstick from the floor and handed them to Vivian.

“Thanks, sweetie.” She jammed them into her bag without looking and snapped it shut. It popped open again. “I wonder if the police have been paying attention to the papers. Do you think?”

“I think you’d be surprised just what they do pay attention to,” I said dryly.

She glanced coolly at me. “And you’d know, hmm?”

“Are you referring to the rumor about us being police spies?” I asked, just as coolly.

“I think you know we’re not spies,” said Mrs. Risk firmly.

Vivian shrugged, as if to say, maybe. “I just think all the stuff about Bella is highly suggestive. I mean, we all thought she killed Stanley years ago. Why couldn’t she be the one who killed Solly?”

“Why would she kill either of them?” asked Mrs. Risk patiently.

Vivian took another drag on her cigarette. “To dump an encumbrance.”

“There’s always divorce,” I said dryly.

She gave me a long pointed look. “In some cases, divorce costs too much, and I don’t mean just financially. You should know what I mean.”

At the sight of my face, Charlie coughed suddenly with earnest intention, a regular whooping cough/retching sound that almost made me laugh. He needn’t have worried. To attack her physically would’ve been beneath me. All that well-placed flesh was just expensively supported flab. I pride myself on my fairness.

“Why should Bella think of Stanley as an encumbrance?” asked Mrs. Risk, her eyebrows high. “She’d fled to France with him with romantic intentions.”

“There’s such a thing as second thoughts. I knew him, you didn’t. Booorring. The looks of a bookkeeper and the earning power of a caterpillar. Not enough balls to be his own boss, like my Marvin was. Not that I’m exactly rolling in what he left behind.”

“You don’t have enough money to live on?” asked Mrs. Risk, diverted.

Vivian snorted smoke through her nostrils. “How much is enough?”

“Wasn’t Marvin a bookkeeper, too?” I asked oh so innocently.

“A CPA. Not the same thing. Marvin had his faults, but he knew it and made sure his assets outweighed them.” She made a sharp clicking sound with her tongue and cast an appraising glance over Charlie.

“Have you met Charlie?” I asked. “He’s a milkman.”

She smiled dreamily at him, as if she’d added up Charlie’s assets and they outweighed being a milkman.

“And her motive for killing Solly?” pressed Mrs. Risk.

“His money, what else? She wanted the money without the nuisance of marriage. I mean, it’s giving up a lot, having to accommodate a man after years of freedom like she’d had. Making him happy twenty four hours a day, doing things the way he likes instead of suiting yourself. An independent woman.” She shrugged again. “Or maybe Solly just wasn’t to her taste. You wouldn’t believe what attracts some women. Especially women of a certain age. Their hormones get them crazy.” She shuddered at the thought, obviously feeling far from that tricky age, with her hormones in perfect order.

“Solly had his share of enemies, I imagine,” said Mrs. Risk.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Enemies?”

“Well, someone, whether or not it was Bella, did kill him,” I reminded her.

She flicked a stray ash from her thigh with a manicured nail. “I have a hard time thinking Sol had enemies.”

“Solly was handsome, a man to whom women succumbed sexually with regularity,” said Mrs. Risk. “He was respected and successful in his profession. And we mustn’t forget how wealthy he was—all enviable traits. Envy can breed dark passions.”

Vivian continued to pluck at the material on her thigh as if trying to remove the last dregs of that lonely ash. “I see what you’re saying.”

“His financial success alone would be enough to inspire greed,” Mrs. Risk continued. “It seems he was a talented investor, as well as an inspired manager. His estate will make Bella independently wealthy for life … if she’s innocent of his murder.”

Vivian glanced up. “A big if.”

“It’s amazing, actually, that he was able to do so well while managing only one entertainer. Isn’t that unusual?”

“Well, Pearl had TV and movie deals. Lots of money there.”

“Not for Pearl,” I said. Mrs. Risk’s eyelids lowered warningly at me.

“What do you mean, not for Pearl?” asked Vivian.

After a look of exasperation at me, Mrs. Risk replied offhandedly, “Pearl’s nearly bankrupt.”

Vivian drew back, her eyes widening. “Broke? You mean, she hasn’t any—any investments to keep her in old age or anything? What if she doesn’t do great tonight? Her career …?” She seemed unable to frame the idea of Pearl’s dilemma into words. Her green eyes sparkled moistly. “I had no idea,” she finished.

“Oh, I think you did,” said Mrs. Risk. I blinked in surprise. With no apparent rancor, she continued, “Solly robbed Pearl methodically and continually for the last twelve years. He had to have help from Pearl’s accountant. Her present accountant discovered discrepancies almost immediately after your husband died, so the facts were obviously unconcealed. The only explanations for your husband’s lack of diligence are twofold: either he was a partner in Solly’s crime, or he was incompetent. As sole owner of his own business, he would’ve had no one to hide things from. Your expensive tastes proclaim Marvin’s expertise as a businessman, so therefore, he must’ve been competent. So it’s obvious. He abetted Solly’s thefts and died unexpectedly, which left him no time to fix the books to look innocent.”

Now Vivian’s eyes grew enormous. “You’re crazy. My Marv would never do anything like that!” She gasped.

We waited and I thought the idea was to let her stew before nailing down the facts. But when she suddenly uncrossed her legs and bolted, Mrs. Risk made no move to stop her. As we watched her twitching behind exit the premises, Charlie said, “Well, well, well.” An eloquent talker, that Charlie.

“He was in on it?” I asked Mrs. Risk.

“He had to be. It was obvious. Not so obvious is whether his charming widow knew about it too.” She gazed after the vanished Vivian, then sighed. “We must try now to find Ilene.”

We stood and filed out, after I signed the check, ‘Vivian Steiner.’ After all, it had been her caff.

I
T SEEMED SILLY NOT
to start with the most obvious way to find someone in a hotel, so, using a house phone, I called the front desk and asked to be connected to Ilene Fox’s room. No one answered. However, as it worked out, Charlie found her.

As we strolled down the broad walkway—yet again—discussing places to check, he ducked into one of the little shops lining the passage to buy toothpaste. While he counted out change at the cash register, two women behind him gossiped excitedly about how they’d seen ‘the singer’ minutes before at the indoor pool. Guessing ‘the singer’s’ identity, he scooped up his purchase and sprinted towards us, hissing, “The pool,” and hustled us in that direction.

We almost didn’t find her. She wore a modest navy blue bathing suit beneath a white terrycloth robe, and was reclining on a chaise lounge in the farthest, most quiet and isolated corner of the sun-drenched atrium. She looked faintly damp from an earlier swim. Her short silky hair clung darkly, outlining her delicate skull. Sunken circles ringed her closed eyes and her cheekbones jutted with unhealthy starkness. Even asleep she looked exhausted.

Children’s splashes and shrieks echoed from to the vaulted ceiling but, amazingly, the racket didn’t wake her. The air was swampy, full of enough chlorine to sting my eyes and nose. In my sweater and jeans, I’d begun sweating the second the door swung shut behind me.

Ten feet away, an immense old woman in a cotton housedress with swollen ankles wrapped in stretch bandages sat in a chair positioned at the very edge of the pool. Hunched forward at the waist, she scolded in a foreign language (Yiddish?) a small tearful girl bobbing below her who was supported on the water’s surface by a colorful plastic inner tube. The antics of other children made waves that bumped her repeatedly against the pool’s side, but she clutched the inflated circle to her chest and kept her trusting gaze on the old woman.

I looked again down at Ilene’s worn face as her breaths came almost imperceptibly, trying to imagine her as a vulnerable, attacked sixteen year old. It wasn’t hard. Her blue-veined lids, thin as tissue paper, barely concealed the decades of anguish she must’ve carried around with her as she associated, over and over, for love of Pearl, with her rapist.

I could have cried for her.

Mrs. Risk, crouching, bent close and breathed out, “Ilene.” Ilene’s lids sprang open. She glanced without speaking at me, at Charlie without recognition, and then at Mrs. Risk.

“Don’t disturb yourself,” said Mrs. Risk, but at the words, Ilene struggled to sit upright. She swayed as if lightheaded and pressed her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

At a flick of Mrs. Risk’s glance, Charlie strolled off to where some teenagers were cannonballing into the pool at its deep end. Mrs. Risk pulled up a chair and sat down at Ilene’s side. I squatted on the damp tiles.

“Dear, we know what Solly did to you.”

I flinched at Ilene’s silent response. As immediately as if Mrs. Risk had just brutally struck her, the purple deepened around her eyes. She sat perfectly still.

Abruptly she said, “Not Solly.” She tilted her head to meet Mrs. Risk’s gaze.

“We know it was Solly, dear. Don’t worry. Pearl will never learn the truth from us.”

Tears began to well and spill over in Ilene’s eyes. And mine, too. Her hands trembled where they lay balled in her lap, with fingers tightly curled and thumbs tucked in like a child’s.

Mrs. Risk said softly, “You kept your secret bravely.”

“I had to.”

“To spare Pearl, I know. She needed Solly, and you swallowed all your pain for her. All these years you’ve continually swallowed all your pain for her.”

As screams and violent splashing exploded into gales of raucous laughter from the teenagers, tears streamed down Ilene’s pale cheeks. Her mouth looked like a long thin bruise across her face.

“But do you realize the harm you’ve done yourself? Your life has been like a bud that never opened, never bloomed. You cut off your feelings at age sixteen, which kept those terrible wounds from healing.” She picked up Ilene’s bloodless fists, and, opening the fingers, flattened and held them gently within her warm ones.

“You love Pearl, but Pearl loves you, too. I think she’d be horrified at how badly you’ve hurt yourself on her behalf. She never wanted such sacrifice from you.”

For some moments, Ilene didn’t say anything. Then she said softly, “My family was Roman Catholic.”