The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (44 page)

“She wouldn’t shoot us,” I scoffed, then flushed as Vivian laughed.

“Why wouldn’t she?” asked Mrs. Risk, looking at me in surprise. “She’s nothing to lose. She already killed Solly—”

I exclaimed, “You mean Ilene didn’t?”

Mrs. Risk eyed me in astonishment. “What?”

I merely looked back, too numbed to answer. Mentally, though, everything was falling into place. One of those, ‘well, duh,’ moments.

Still eyeing me, Mrs. Risk resumed, “Anyway, she effectively ruined Pearl’s career. And smeared Bella’s reputation. I have her future financial grubstake in my hand and we stand in the way of her escape. Why shouldn’t she shoot us?”

Oh. I cast a regretful look at my peacefully sleeping charge. We could so easily have stayed out of all this. I complained to Mrs. Risk, “Why’d you want Michael to take Ilene into custody, then?”

“So she wouldn’t kill somebody! Ilene has became dangerous, both to herself and to others. I was trying to prevent another murder. Poor dear, it sounded rough, I know. But it was easier to concentrate on Vivian if I knew Ilene was safely restrained somewhere.”

I huffed, keeping an eye on the gun. “You know, that was pretty stupid, leaving the door open like that. And you’re not stupid. You knew Vivian would walk in on us. You wanted her to. Didn’t you? You want to be the big hero, catching the nasty murderer first. Right?”

A grin hovered. “You know me well, Rachel.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Vivian demanded, waving the gun back and forth between us.

“Why? Or you’ll shoot?” I asked in disgust. “And what are you going to do anyway—shoot, right? What’s the difference, now or later?” I turned my back on her and propped my hands on my hips. “So why does she think she deserves Pearl’s necklace?”

“Because Vivian’s the type who always thinks she ‘deserves’ things she didn’t earn, and Pearl took Solly away from her,” explained Mrs. Risk. She bumped the suitcase lid shut and began swinging the necklace carelessly back and forth as she talked.

“Hey, be careful with that, it could break,” commanded Vivian nervously as she watched the necklace flip around Mrs. Risk’s finger. “We could end up with pearls all over the fucking room.”

As if Vivian hadn’t spoken, Mrs. Risk said to me, “I figure after Marvin died, Vivian had an affair with Solly. Maybe it started even before her husband died. Anyway, she wanted to marry him. He was rich, good looking, and eligible. Neither possessed the slightest scruples, and maybe even had an affinity in bed, both of them being highly sexed.”

“Damn right we did,” agreed Vivian, pride in her voice. “He promised Marvin he’d look after me, and he did. And loved it. We would’ve gotten married. But then—” Her expression darkened. “Solly found out that twit Marvin hired, Steve Graham, was too stupid to do things the way Marvin did them. Solly figured he was cooked. He knew it was a matter of time before Graham stumbled across the deal he’d been running with Marvin’s help. That’s when he thought of marrying Pearl to keep her from pressing charges.”

“Sounds like Marvin,” said Mrs. Risk, “overestimated the time he had left.”

“Yeah,” agreed Vivian sourly. “Jackass.”

Mrs. Risk continued, “So to save himself, Solly left you out in the cold. And in a fit of revenge, when you saw the necklace laying on Pearl’s dresser unprotected, unwatched—”

“She didn’t need it.”

“You were entitled to compensation, is that it?” asked Mrs. Risk.

Vivian nodded. “Why should Pearl have it all!”

“So why’d you kill Solly?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. “He fell in love,” she finally said, in a grudging tone.

Mrs. Risk said, “Marrying Pearl, that was self-protection. Business. Bella was another thing altogether. Solly thought he’d found the woman of his dreams at last. That left Vivian really out in the cold. She lost him sexually. What if he lost interest in continuing to augment Marvin’s modest estate, too?”

Vivian shrugged. Out came the bottom lip. “He said he’d make me an allowance.”

“But you didn’t trust him,” Mrs. Risk suggested.

“You were jealous,” I ventured.

“I hated her!”

I scoffed, “And if you couldn’t have him, even privately, you didn’t want anyone else to have him, huh?” A realization struck me. “You weren’t in the will, either. You must’ve expected to be left something. Mrs. Harmon told you what was in his will and that’s why you were so furious at the funeral!”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Risk. “She’d killed her source of income without realizing it. Rather stupid of you, Vivian.” She twirled the necklace more and more erratically.

“Stop that!” Vivian shifted nervously, following the necklace with her eyes.

I folded my arms, and started fiddling with my dress’s neckline. “So she used Pearl’s medicine to frame Pearl?” I asked Mrs. Risk, playing her game, hoping I was guessing correctly what the game was. After all, a bullet’s quicker than anybody’s airborne pearl necklace.

Mrs. Risk nodded. “She also planted the gold box as a pointer to the police that Pearl had been one of Solly’s lovers, and thus not as gracious a loser to her sister as she was trying to seem. But the box inscribed ‘To V.’ was Vivian’s.

“In her familiarity with the house and Solly’s habits, she knew where he kept old invoices she could use. Her own key got her into the house. Then we chased her through East Hampton.”

“That was you? In that hopped up old car?” I asked.

Vivian rolled her eyes sullenly. “You were ridiculous in that stupid truck. Jesus.”

“And Vivian knocked you down in the cemetery, too.”

“You bitch,” I exclaimed. “You’re lucky I didn’t catch you.”

“You wish!”

Mrs. Risk smiled. “You were lucky. Rachel was never taught proper female social behavior. She would’ve seriously damaged you, Vivian.”

“So?” I asked Mrs. Risk. “Why was she ripping up Solly’s grave? From resentment?” I dipped a finger into my bra as if adjusting it.

Mrs. Risk lifted her eyebrows quizzically at me. I smiled briefly. Mrs. Risk said, “No. Something more practical. At the funeral, she’d lost the box Solly had really given Pearl. It fell out of that ridiculous handbag she carries. It’s only a guess, but, the morning of the funeral, when Vivian joined Pearl, she discovered Pearl had a box of her own. Am I right?” Mrs. Risk snapped out the last three words.

Vivian flushed angrily. “She was sitting on her bed, reminiscing, the old bat, gazing at this stupid little box covered in little gold balls and pearls. The schmuck had slept with her! I never knew that. But it had to be true, or he wouldn’t’ve given her a box!”

“So you swiped it?” I asked.

“I had to. If anyone found it, they wouldn’t believe the other one was hers. Sure, she’d deny it anyway, but I figured the cops would just think she was trying to cover up.

“Unless she could produce the box that was really hers,” added Mrs. Risk.

Vivian agreed with a wordless snarl.

Mrs. Risk continued calmly, “You wasted your time in the cemetery. I figured it out without ever seeing Pearl’s real box. “Remember what Pearl said? Just before the show, she said he’d always called her ‘His Pearl’. The invoice was doctored to say ‘Velma’. Nice idea, Vivian, cleverly done. But still forgery. I had Michael send the form to a handwriting expert to verify.”

Enlightenment dawned. “That’s what’s in that envelope he’s carrying around?”

Mrs. Risk nodded. “Because it was a carbon copy, I thought it couldn’t have been altered. I belatedly realized that the invoice was one of those multi-paged ‘self-carbon’ types. She had only to doctor the top slip and throw it away, leaving the second sheet, which the customer uses as an appraisal for insurance.” She suddenly stopped flipping the necklace.

Vivian’s gaze, which had fearfully traced the necklace’s movements, relaxed. She thrust the gun at Mrs. Risk and stuck out her empty hand, upturned. “Give it over!”

Mrs. Risk, ignoring the command, turned to me. “Not to quibble, dear, but in reference to our agreement. The one made in your car?”

“Yes?”

She began twirling the necklace again. Vivian stamped her well-shod feet. “Damn you, stop that!”

Mrs. Risk said, “What if I should face the necessity, due only to greater experience,” she hastened to add, “to issue you an order?”

I considered. “Well, if you’d be telling it to an assistant or a partner and not to an ignorant kid, I could live with that.”

Then we heard an unexpected sound and turned in unison. Ilene had, unnoticed, wakened and was climbing to her knees on the bed. She stared wildly at Vivian. “You were Pearl’s friend. Pearl trusted you!”

Mrs. Risk bellowed, “Ike says GO!” She flung the pearls hard at Vivian’s face. I slipped Ike’s switchbladed scaling knife from my bra and lunged. Not fast enough.

Ilene beat me to it. Her frail body was a blur as she propelled it over the width of the twin beds. The gun fired once just before the two women toppled to the floor, landing hard with a grunt.

They grappled, rolling and twisting in the small space at the foot of the two beds left them by the stack of luggage. I shouted threats, brandishing the knife under Vivian’s nose, but was ignored. I pulled back, worried about cutting Ilene. They stood up, still entwined.

Suddenly I elbowed in, got a grip on Vivian’s neck and smacked her head back hard against the wall. Another shot rang wild. Dazed, she slid to her knees, toppling the empty dresser onto herself. It bashed Vivian’s shoulder and its drawers dropped out. She paused, dizzy, then caught my stare. I thought for sure she’d quit. But her eyes flashed hatred, her expression nastily triumphant. “Got one of you, anyway.”

I thought she meant Ilene, but Ilene pushed me aside and clambered on top of Vivian, clawing for the gun still gripped in Vivian’s outstretched hand.

I whirled, then let out an involuntary cry. Mrs. Risk sat on the floor, crumpled against the foot of the second bed. She gripped the bedspread tight in her fist to stay upright, and pressed her other hand against her chest. Blood spattered the wall behind her, and more oozed between the fingers of her hand. I must have moved towards her because she quickly shook her head. I could see the movement caused her pain.

“Help Ilene! I can wait!” She smiled. “Another order, I’m afraid.”

After only a second’s hesitation, I returned to the fray on the floor. Vivian had rolled on top of Ilene. Ilene clutched Vivian’s gun hand tight with both hands. Ilene braced it between them, against her chest, but Vivian was working the gun around. In a second she’d have it shoved hard into Ilene’s throat.

I straddled the writhing bodies, pulled Vivian’s head up by the hair, and laid my husband’s knife beneath her chin, pressing lightly so she could feel its sharpness.

“Please don’t drop that gun ’cause I’d love to slit your throat.”

Vivian froze. She must have believed me because, shaking with rage, her fingers went limp. The gun hit the carpet with a thud. Ilene released Vivian’s wrist with a sigh. As pounding footsteps began to converge at the door, Ilene dragged herself from beneath Vivian, then lay gasping. I scooped up the gun, returned Ike’s knife to its nest, then released Vivian’s hair. She rolled onto her back, chest heaving for air.

Fists battered the door, but I ignored them. I rushed to Mrs. Risk. After dropping to my knees beside her, I stared helplessly. “Tell me what to do.”

“We must add a first aid course to your education,” she murmured. “A pillowcase,” she added calmly. Her voice was thin, as if she couldn’t take in enough air. I stripped a case from a pillow and folded it four times, then pressed it where her hand was. Slipping her hand slowly away, I pressed for her.

“You always worry about the wrong things,” she said, smiling.

I suddenly discovered I’d been holding my breath. Now I released it. I reached to support her body, but she shook her head.

“Now the door. Tell them one moment. Then give me the knife. We wouldn’t want to confuse our dear rescuers.”

“One moment,” I called out loudly. I gave her the re-sheathed blade. She wriggled briefly, painfully, concealing it beneath her dress.

“Open the door,” she whispered. “Wait!” Reaching up, she gave one of my hands a quick squeeze.

I went to open the door, fumbling a little from blurred vision. Michael and Charlie vied gratifyingly for first place on entering the room. Mrs. Risk greeted them with a gracious smile, as if welcoming the local quilting club for tea.

Ignoring the chaos and noise that followed, I led Ilene back to her original place on the bed, then wedged myself immovably between her and Mrs. Risk, who’d stayed on the floor. I wanted to be right there in case my two very good friends needed help.

Things became boringly official.

E
DDIE MILLER, STANDING IN
for the distressed Pearl, had performed as magnificently as Mrs. Risk had expected. A mensch, according to Zoë.

Mixing old material with some new observations he’d lately compiled, he’d launched into a philosophical, very funny male/female comparison in various stages of life. The material might expand well, he’d declared thoughtfully afterwards, into a new Broadway show.

To my delight, I learned he hadn’t finished the show alone. Plunging out onto the stage about midway through his routine, interrupting an outrageous chauvinistic statement about females, Pearl took up the defense of her sex. She brought down the house. Together, they made comedy history. Pearl’s career is assured.

Ilene was interrogated, but under the supervision of a very kind female psychiatrist. She was then checked into a bucolic, highly regarded convalescent care home near Wyndham. Under the wings of Pearl, Mrs. Risk, and myself, she’s emerging. Slowly, not without pain and setbacks, but emerging. Once in a while she sings for me. I bring her flowers.

Vivian’s playing court roulette, filing appeals and other judicial detritus like every other criminal in New York State, costing taxpayers unbelievable amounts of money. She’s also selling her life story in installments to various TV shlock shows and movie producers. New York is currently debating whether she’ll be allowed to keep her profits from these enterprises since she hasn’t yet been convicted. She’s gambling on a favorable ruling.