Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out (29 page)

Normally; he would have said there was no point in delivering it until he’d had a chance to correct it, that it would infuriate the old man even more than if it came in late.”

“Yeah,” Lanigan admitted. “Come to think of it –”

“So it occurred to me that Gore might not have objected to Molly’s delivering it, knowing it was safe because Jordon was dead.”

Rabbi Reuben Levy had put on weight since Rabbi Small had last seen him, he remembered him as tall and almost painfully thin, but in the intervening years, he had filled out and was even beginning to show a paunch.

When Rabbi Small remarked on it. Rabbi Levy said ruefully, “I know, I know. But we’ve got over a thousand families in our congregation and hardly a day goes by when there isn’t a Bar Mitzvah or an engagement party or a wedding, and we’re invited to all of them. It makes it hard to keep your weight down.”

His fine baritone voice was even richer and more resonant now, and he had the presence and self-assurance to go with it, they were seated in the cocktail lounge of the elegant – and expensive – Hotel Lafayette in Cambridge, and Rabbi Small and Miriam were impressed by his ability to summon a waiter by a mere lift of the head and a jut of the chin.

Mrs. Lew, as the wife of an eminently successful rabbi, also had poise and certainty, she was not actually patronizing or condescending, but she did manifest the sophistication of the big city.

The two rabbis talked of their former classmates, and Rabbi Levy, by reason of being from the New York area, hence in the center of things, knew what most of them were now doing, the congregations they were serving and what problems they were having with them.

“And how are you managing with your congregation. David?” he asked.

“Oh, I have my problems, too.” Rabbi Small replied. “You’re on a life contract, aren’t you?”

Miriam spoke up. “He was offered one some years ago, and he refused it, he’d rather be on a year-to-year basis.”

Rabbi Levy’s eyes opened wide. “But why: David?” Rabbi Small shrugged. “I prefer it. I feel freer.”

“But isn’t there a hassle every year when your contract has to be renewed?”

“Occasionally;” Rabbi Small admitted.

“There’s one right now.” said Miriam, “for the coming year, and David refuses to do a thing about it.”

“Now that’s a mistake. David.” said Levy portentously. “We must never forget that while the rabbi serves the congregation, he serves them by leading them like the conductor of a great symphony orchestra, and just as the conductor controls the orchestra by having the first-desk men absolutely loyal to him, the rabbi has to have a hard core” – he made a fist to suggest the hard core – “of faithful friends among the leaders of the congregation, who will push his policies, further his plans and, yes, rally to his cause when he gets into trouble.”

It crossed Rabbi Small’s mind that Levy was quoting from a sermon, or perhaps from an address he had given to a group of rabbinical students. Or, he reflected, maybe his mind just works that way.

“I’ll have to remember that. Reuben,” he said.

It was after midnight when the party broke up, and the Smalls made their way to their car for the long drive home to Barnard’s Crossing. Rabbi Small fumbled with the lock and then handed the keys to his wife and said. “I think you had better drive. Miriam. I think I may have had a little more than I intended to.”

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh, quite all right, but I expect I’ll have a headache in the morning.”

He did have a headache the next morning and woke up too late to attend the morning services. In fact, when Lanigan came by just before noon, he was still in bathrobe and slippers. Though quite recovered, he looked wan.

Lanigan surveyed him critically. “You got a touch of the grippe, or did you have a big night last night?”

“I’m afraid I celebrated my reunion with my old classmate a bit more than the occasion warranted. God, how do you Gentiles do it?”

“The first time?” asked Lanigan sympathetically.

“Well, no, not really. On Passover we are required to drink four cups of wine, and a couple of times it’s got to me, and then on Simchas Torah, that’s when we finish the reading of the Scroll and start all over again, there’s a tendency to express our joy and happiness with strong drink, sometimes too enthusiastically. Oh yes, and on the Feast of Purim, excess is practically ordained.”

“Isn’t it terrible?” said Miriam.

Lanigan chuckled. “They say tomato juice is good for it. I dropped in to tell you how things are going. I felt you had a right to know, we took Gore into custody last night, and it made the news broadcast this morning. Did you hear it?”

The rabbi shook his head. “I slept until ten.”

“I’ve no doubt.” said Lanigan with a grin. “Well, all it said was that Lawrence Gore has been taken into custody in connection with the Jordon murder, we expect to have further information on the noon broadcast.”

“How did he react when –”

“I led our little party myself. I didn’t want any mistakes, you know, like forgetting to read him his rights, then I told him what we had on him, and do you know what he said? He said. ‘That was pretty good shooting, wasn’t it?’ What do you think of that?”

“Well, I suppose there are all kinds of things people are proud of.”

“He was quite open with us, seeing we had him dead to rights, he did get upset once though, over something Jennings said about Billy, he insisted that he’d never intended to make it appear that the boy had done it. Said it several times.”

The rabbi nodded. “I imagine it bothered him, he must have been aware that it was likely. Did he say that he would have come forward and confessed if Billy had been charged?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“And Billy?”

“I went out to the island to see him this morning.”

“To tell him he was free to leave?”

“Aw cummon. David, we never charged him, he was free to leave any time he wanted to.”

“If he could swim the distance or hire a rowboat?”

Lanigan looked sheepish. “I’ll admit there were impediments, you might say –”

“And how did he take the news about Gore?”

“Well, now, that’s interesting, he said he wasn’t surprised, he thought it must have been Gore who did it. Because when he went out the window. Gore was the only person there with the old man, and also because he was killed by a perfect shot right between the eyes. So I told him about the other shots and Gore’s alibi, and all he said was. ‘Oh, well.’ as if none of it made any difference. What do you think of that?”

The rabbi smiled. “I suppose it shows that it takes age and experience and the wisdom of maturity to be fooled. What’s he going to do now? Go back to New York?”

“No, he likes it on the island and wants to stay until Thanksgiving when the job will be about finished. His mother is due back about then, and he thought he’d wait until she got back to the States. By the way, he asked to he remembered to you, he’s coming in with the Hegertys for the weekend and wondered if you’d be willing to see him.”

“I’d like to very much, he’s coming in Friday? Saturday?”

“Friday afternoon, Tom Hegerty said.”

“Maybe he’d like to come to Friday night dinner.” suggested Miriam.

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that.” said Lanigan. “I’ll tell him.”

“It was Ben Segal who put me on to him.” said the rabbi. “How about inviting the Segals, too. Miriam?”

“Fine. I’ll call them,” she said. “I’m sure they’d appreciate a home-cooked meal.”

The letter came in tuesday’s mail. The rabbi opened it and read “Dear Rabbi Small: This is to notify you that the board of directors have voted to renew –”

Miriam, having heard the postman’s ring, came in from the kitchen. “Anything?” she asked.

“Nothing much.” And he held the letter out to her.

She tried not to show her relief and pleasure as she read, she even managed to sound cross as she said. “They certainly took their time about it.” Then she laughed. “Oh, David. I’m so glad.”

He grinned at her. “See, and I didn’t have to do a darn thing either.”

About the Author

Born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1908, Harry Kemelman was the creator of perhaps one of the most famous religious sleuths: Rabbi David Small. His writing career began with short stories for Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine featuring New England college professor Nicky Welt, the first of which, “The Nine Mile Walk,” is considered to be a classic (the Welt stories were later grouped into a collection with the same title). The Rabbi Small series began in 1964, with Friday the Rabbi Slept Late. It went on to become a bestseller, and won Kemelman an Edgar for “Best First Novel” in 1965. Kemelman died in 1996.

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