Pelican Cove Cozy Mystery Series Box Set 1

by Leena Clover

  “What about his religion?”

  “He didn’t talk much about it. He just wanted to be left alone. He worked hard to build a good life for himself and his family. Work was his religion.”

  “What did you think about all this?”

  “I had a crush on Asher since I was fourteen. I fell madly in love with him.”

  Jenny remembered a time when she had been besotted with someone.

  “You couldn’t care less about religion, I suppose?”

  “That’s right. When he asked my Daddy’s permission to marry me, I couldn’t be happier.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “Olga was a devout Jew,” Linda explained. “She observed all the traditions. She raised the kids in the Jewish faith. Asher let her do what she wanted.”

  “And your own kids?”

  “When Ryan came along, we had been married for a while. I took him to church sometimes. When he got older, I told him his father was Jewish.”

  “Your family may not have been very religious,” Jenny conceded. “But they still had the Cohen name. Did your kids ever face any discrimination because of it?”

  Linda looked perturbed.

  “I never gave it much thought. You will have to ask Dawn.”

  “Was Asher a member of any special organizations or societies?” Jenny asked.

  “He was in the Rotary,” Linda replied.

  “I mean, any groups from his old country, or war survivors.”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Linda said. “A couple of groups up north tried to woo him. They wanted him to come and talk about his experiences. One of them sent some kind of annual letter every year.”

  “Letter?” Jenny asked immediately. “What sort of letter? Do you have a copy?”

  Linda shook her head.

  “Asher threw them out. I think they provided updates on members. Births, deaths, bar mitzvahs, that kind of thing.”

  “Asher wasn’t interested in socializing with other Jews, then.”

  “I guess you could say that,” Linda shrugged. “I never gave it much thought.”

  Jenny wished Jason had accompanied her that day. She really felt like taking a dip in the big pool.

  “Say you survive something terrible,” Jenny asked Star over dinner. “You come out of an impossible situation. Would that make you believe in God or not?”

  Star shrugged.

  “You are assuming staying alive is a gift,” Star said. “What if you lost everything that was dear to you? Every living hour would be a curse, then.”

  Chapter 16

  Linda Cohen was called in for questioning again. Neither Jason nor Jenny could do anything about it. Jenny knew she needed to do more research to explore her own theory. She did something unprecedented and took a day off from the café.

  Jenny shut herself in Star’s cottage and switched off her phone. Her intense research on the Internet produced more questions than answers. But she knew what she needed to do.

  “We are going to the city,” she told Molly. “Plan to spend the whole day there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Molly assured her. “I can call in sick. The library will survive without me for one day.”

  “Grandma knows I am going with you,” Heather told her.

  “What are you planning to do exactly?” Molly asked.

  “I am going to track down Asher Cohen,” Jenny said resolutely.

  The girls started off early, with Jenny anxious to spend as much time in the city as she could.

  “So what is this place we are going to?” Heather asked.

  “It’s like a museum,” Jenny admitted. “I am interested in their archives. I have an appointment with one of their experts.”

  “What does Adam say about all this?” Molly wondered.

  “He doesn’t know anything about our trip,” Jenny fumed. “I prefer it that way.”

  “Why?”

  “He shot my theory down the other day. I’d rather confront him with something concrete.”

  “Fingers crossed, then,” Molly said.

  “Don’t get your hopes up though, Jenny,” Heather warned. “It’s still just a theory.”

  The building Jenny pulled up outside turned out to be much bigger than any of them had anticipated. They were directed to an usher who led them to a small office.

  “Are you here for a family member?” the cheery young girl asked.

  “Kind of,” Jenny said. “Does it have to be anyone related to me?”

  The girl shook her head and Jenny heaved a sigh of relief. She had debated getting some kind of letter from Linda but she wanted to get her hands on some actual information first.

  “I see you requested some special help,” the girl said. “Have you checked our online resources yet?”

  “I ran some searches,” Jenny nodded. “But I wasn’t too successful.”

  “Okay. Please walk me through what you are looking for and what you have done so far.”

  Jenny explained her actions to the girl.

  “The survivors’ database is pretty accurate,” the girl said. “Let me try a search again on my computer.”

  She looked up a couple of minutes later.

  “You are sure Asher Cohen is the name? Do you know who might have added it here?”

  Jenny didn’t have an answer for that.

  “Let me try something,” the girl said. “Aha!” she exclaimed. “I was right. I guess there’s always room for human error.”

  “What happened?” Jenny asked eagerly.

  “Asher Cohen is in the victims’ database. It looks like a data entry error.”

  “Can I find more information about him?” Jenny asked eagerly. “Where he is from, his family, or anything else you can find, really.”

  “We do that all the time,” the girl smiled. “I can cross reference this name with our archives and see what I can come up with. Why don’t you take a break? Have a coffee or something?”

  Jenny thanked the girl and stepped outside, deep in thought. Molly and Heather were looking at the posters that hung in the hallway.

  “Done already?” Molly asked.

  Jenny explained what had happened.

  “It’s time for lunch anyway,” Heather said, patting her stomach. “I saw a sign for a cafeteria.”

  The cafeteria surpassed their expectations. The girls all ordered side salads and a large veggie pizza.

  “What are you thinking?” Molly asked Jenny, pouring creamy Caesar dressing over her salad.

  “I feel numb. I am hoping that young girl finds something worthwhile.”

  Jenny knocked on the office door an hour later. Molly and Heather had decided to visit some of the exhibits.

  “Come in,” the girl called out eagerly. “You are in luck. I found a veritable treasure trove.”

  Jenny folded her hands in her lap and tried to sit still.

  A small cardboard box lay on the table between them. The girl pulled out a faded book and a packet of old photos.

  “This is an old journal depicting daily life,” the girl told Jenny. “I’m afraid it’s in German though. Can you read German?”

  Jenny told her she could not.

  “There are some news clippings leading up to the war,” the girl went on. “There’s a travel diary which is in English. And something you might appreciate most – photographs.”

  “Is Asher in those photos?” Jenny asked eagerly.

  “I couldn’t say,” the girl grimaced. “But you can stay here and go through this material.”

  Jenny touched the papers gingerly, afraid she might damage them. She read the travel diary, her eyes filling up as she tried to imagine the plight of the writer. The photos intrigued her the most but she kept them for the last. She was almost reluctant to look at them. Her instincts told her she couldn’t undo the information she found in them. She couldn’t have been more right.

  There were some group photos of people of different ages huddled together. Men, women and children with sordi
d expressions stared back at Jenny. Names were scrawled below the photos, identifying some of the people in the picture. Jenny marveled at the wealth of information available to her. She was holding history in her hands. A lot of that history was painful. Jenny couldn’t help but wonder about the perseverance of the people who had overcome the worst kind of atrocities.

  A curly haired stocky man of medium height could be seen in many of the photos. He had dark eyes and Jenny guessed them to be black or dark brown. Jenny’s jaw dropped when she saw the name written below one of the photos. Asher Cohen. Jenny sat back, stunned.

  Jenny was still trying to process what she had found when the girl got back.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  “How long have you had this box?” she asked the girl.

  “Let me check,” the girl said. She tapped a few keys on the computer. “The material in this box has been donated over time, by more than one person. The earliest donation was in 1965.”

  “Do you know who did that?” Jenny asked.

  “It’s given right here at the bottom,” the girl pointed out. “You are in luck. Not every donor leaves their information.”

  “Can I contact this person?” Jenny asked.

  “No one’s stopping you, I guess,” the girl said. “Let’s see, this address is in a suburb about twenty miles from here. And there’s a phone number too.”

  Jenny felt her excitement ramp up.

  “So I can call them and get an appointment if I want to meet them.”

  “Sure,” the girl shrugged.

  “How many people can access this information?” Jenny asked urgently.

  “Anyone can access it,” the girl explained. “Like you did.”

  “Can you tell me who saw this box before me?”

  “Sorry. That’s private.”

  Jenny rubbed the charm hanging around her neck and thought hard.

  “Do you want to look at anything else?” the girl asked. “We close in half an hour but you can come back tomorrow.”

  Jenny thanked the girl for her help.

  “I think I’m good for now.”

  She walked out in a daze and headed toward the parking lot. Heather and Molly were waiting for her by the car.

  “Ready for some margaritas?” Heather squealed.

  “Lead me on, girl!” Jenny muttered. “I need a giant frozen cocktail, something cold enough to give me brain freeze.”

  “Are you okay, Jenny?” Molly asked worriedly. “You look a bit weird.”

  “Wait till you hear what I found.”

  Jenny took them to her favorite Mexican restaurant in town. Piping hot tortilla chips arrived at their table along with a trio of salsas. They were followed by tall, generously salted frozen margaritas. Jenny munched some chips and drained half her drink, refusing to say much. Molly and Heather made small talk.

  “What exactly did you find out, Jenny?” Heather asked finally.

  Jenny told them about the box and all the photos and documents contained in it.

  “None of this makes sense,” Molly said, her eyes wide.

  “You think?” Jenny scoffed. “If you ask me, we are dealing with a case of false identity.”

  “Huh?” Heather mumbled.

  “Asher Cohen, our Asher, I mean, must have come across the actual Asher Cohen somewhere. He stole his papers and took his name.”

  “But why?” Molly and Heather chorused.

  “Who knows?” Jenny flung her hands in the air.

  “You’ve opened a can of worms,” Molly said slowly.

  “If our Asher is not Asher Cohen,” Heather said, “then who is he? What is his name? Where did he come from? And why did he come to Pelican Cove?”

  “I need to talk to Linda again,” Jenny muttered.

  “You think the Cohens know about this?” Heather asked.

  “Hard to say,” Jenny shrugged.

  “What about Olga?” Molly asked. “His wife?”

  “There is no account of an Olga Cohen,” Jenny said flatly.

  “But how can you be sure he’s not our Asher?” Heather asked.

  “I saw photos,” Jenny said, leaning forward to pick up her drink. “He wasn’t the same man.”

  “The Asher you saw was a hundred years old,” Heather argued. “People look different as they age.”

  “You think I haven’t considered that?” Jenny scoffed. “A man might lose height as he ages but he doesn’t grow taller with age. And the man in the photo had a broken nose.”

  Heather opened her mouth.

  “Don’t tell me our Asher got plastic surgery! I’m sure it’s not the same man.”

  “Isn’t Asher Cohen a common name?” Molly asked.

  “It is,” Jenny agreed reluctantly.

  “I have heard people added information about fellow prisoners or refugees,” Molly said. “You think one of those people brought in those photos?”

  “I am going to find out,” Jenny told them. “Luckily, there’s an address and phone number. We might have to make one more trip to the city.”

  “We can do that,” Molly reassured her. “For now, just give it a rest, Jenny. Sleep on it.”

  “I’m getting the chicken fajitas,” Heather nodded. “That’s what you need. Some cheesy, spicy Mexican food that will stick to your ribs and put you in a food coma.”

  Jenny gave in.

  The girls were so stuffed they could barely walk out of the restaurant.

  “Told you that flan was too much,” Jenny griped.

  Molly and Heather coaxed her into watching a movie. Jenny admitted she had missed the whole movie theatre experience. Pelican Cove didn’t have a cinema hall. Six months ago, she couldn’t have imagined herself living in a place like that.

  “Did you get that chimichanga recipe?” Heather asked her.

  “I sure did,” Jenny gloated. “I mean, I know how to make chimichangas. But the secret ingredient makes all the difference.”

  Molly and Heather kept their word. They didn’t mention Asher Cohen at all. Jenny humored them and tried to have a good time.

  Jimmy Parsons was sitting on the porch with Star when they got back home. His eyes were red and Jenny smelt a whiff of alcohol in the air.

  “Jimmy had a drink today,” Star told her later. “He was beating himself up about it.”

  “Does that mean he’s out of the program?” Jenny asked.

  Star shook her head.

  “He’s still committed. But he’s only human. He has to take it one step at a time, one day at a time, for the rest of his life. It’s times such as these when he needs a friend.”

  “I’m glad you are there for him, Auntie,” Jenny said, giving Star a hug.

  Chapter 17

  Jenny went to meet Linda. Even though Linda could get up and walk a few steps, Jenny guessed she wasn’t capable of driving a car to come meet her.

  The constant questioning by the police had taken a toll on Linda. Jenny found her seated in her wheelchair again, in her favorite spot by the windows.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Jenny asked with concern.

  “I’m fine,” Linda dismissed. “Just tired. I need to build up my strength.”

  Jenny decided against mentioning the wheelchair.

  “My legs feel shaky,” Linda volunteered. “My therapist has advised me to use the wheelchair for a while.”

  A maid served them lemonade and cookies.

  “Do you have any fresh information?” Linda asked Jenny. “I could do with some good news.”

  “Did Asher have any other names?” she asked.

  “I called him Ash sometimes,” Linda said shyly. “But he preferred Asher.”

  “What about a middle name, maybe?”

  Linda shook her head.

  “What about Olga? Surely Cohen was her married name? What about before she met Asher?”

  “We rarely talked about Olga.”

  “Who named your kids?” Jenny asked.

  “
Ryan’s named after my grandfather. Scott was popular at the time. Dawn was my mother’s name.”

  “What about the older kids?”

  “I guess Olga named them,” Linda said.

  “So one or more of them could have been named after Asher’s ancestors?”

  “What’s this sudden fascination with names?” Linda asked, leaning forward in her chair. “Are you hiding something from me?”

  Jenny clasped her hands together and pursed her lips.

  “I found something strange.”

  “Go on…”

  “Asher Cohen may have been an assumed name.”

  “What?” Linda burst out. “How is that possible? I have known Asher ever since he came to Pelican Cove.”

  “He may have taken the name before he came here,” Jenny said softly.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hoping to find something that may lead us to his real identity.”

  “I know you have built up a reputation,” Linda said solicitously. “But you are wrong this time.”

  “Do you mind if I talk to Walter about this?”

  “The older kids aren’t too crazy about you,” Linda confessed. “Who knows what they will say about this.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Jenny said.

  Walt was lounging in a cabana by the pool, wearing his usual uniform of khaki shorts and floral shirt. Emma and Heidi were in the pool.

  “Do you have a minute?” Jenny asked Walter.

  “I was about to take a nap,” Walt grumbled.

  “This won’t take long,” Jenny promised. “Do you remember anything about your life in Switzerland, or your journey here to the United States?”

  Walt rolled his eyes.

  “I was two, so the answer is no.”

  “There must have been stories about the voyage? Your mother must have talked about their life over in Switzerland?”

  “If she did, I don’t remember. But my mother wasn’t much of a talker.”

  “Weren’t you curious? Did you ask Asher about where you came from?”

  “No. My father never talked about his family. Neither did my mother.”

  “You never wondered why?”

  “I may have done as a child. But as I got older, I understood it was taboo.”