Dog is in the Details

by Neil S. Plakcy

  Table of Contents

  Dog is in the Details (Golden Retriever Mysteries, #8)

  1 – Handsome Boy

  2 – Difficult Decisions

  3 – Close the Door

  4 – Ethnic Enclaves

  5 – Family Connections

  6 – Fog

  7 – Bad Times

  8 – Death Dog

  9 – Tough Day

  10 – Days of Awe

  11 – Rescue Mission

  12 – Se Habla Yiddish

  13 – Agitation

  14 – Man of Honor

  15 – Call Me Al

  16 – First Fruits

  17 – Relevant Information

  18 – Unusual Agency

  19 – Big Questions

  20 – Duty and Family

  21 – Who is Sylvia

  22 – Hardy Boys

  23 – A Place to Rest

  24 – Good Men

  25 – What’s in a Name

  26 – Everything Lost

  27 – Urban Myth

  28 – Three Shots

  29 – Dangerous Path

  Author’s Note

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  About the Author

  Dog is in the Details

  A golden retriever mystery

  By Neil S. Plakcy

  Copyright 2017 Neil S. Plakcy

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  1 – Handsome Boy

  The field beside the synagogue, used for overflow High Holy Day parking, was filled with enough dogs, cats, hamsters and other animals to populate an ark. My golden retriever Rochester strained at his leash to go play and I struggled to hold him back.

  “I had no idea there would be so many people and dogs here,” I said to Lili.

  “They all want their pets to be blessed.” She reached down and scratched behind the golden’s ears. “You want your blessing, don’t you, boy?”

  As Rochester woofed in agreement, I looked at Dr. Liliana Weinstock, chair of the Fine Arts department at Eastern College, where I worked as well, and marveled that she had chosen to share her life with me and Rochester. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, three years older than I was, and nearly as tall as my six feet, with luxuriant auburn curls and a Cupid’s bow mouth, one I was lucky to be able to kiss regularly.

  A few days before, I’d gone to Shomrei Torah’s website to check the times for the upcoming High Holy Day services. Sandwiched between the listings of bar and bat mitzvahs and information on the rabbi’s Talmud study group I spotted an announcement that the temple was sponsoring a blessing of the animals that Sunday, and decided to take Rochester. Since he had a tendency to get into trouble, digging up clues that led to bringing criminals to justice, I figured we could use all the blessings available.

  When I was growing up in Stewart’s Crossing, Pennsylvania, there were few Jews in our neighborhood and no synagogues on our side of the Delaware River, just Catholic, Methodist and Presbyterian churches. So we had to travel into Trenton to worship.

  Back then, our Reform congregation, Shomrei Torah, Guardians of the Torah, had been housed in a beautiful nineteenth-century stone building in central Trenton. Long after I’d had my bar mitzvah there, been confirmed and graduated from Hebrew High School, the congregation sold the building and moved out to this new temple on the Pennsylvania side of the river, in what had once been farmland alongside I-95, just a mile inland from the Scudder Falls bridge, and technically within the borough limits of Stewart’s Crossing.

  I had been to services there a couple of times before, on the Yahrzeit, or anniversary of the death, of my parents. The sanctuary was modern and lovely, with big glass windows that looked out on the nature preserve behind the building, but it wasn’t the temple I’d grown up with and so I still felt like a relative stranger.

  Lili, Rochester and I threaded our way toward the center of the field, where the rabbi stood with a beautiful female golden retriever by his side, past little girls cuddling hamsters, a woman with a Yorkie peeking out of a shoulder bag, families with cats in carriers and mixed-breed dogs on leashes.

  Rochester whimpered and tugged, and I assumed it was because he wanted to play with Rabbi Goldberg’s golden. The rabbi was in his late thirties, about a decade younger than I was, and he had a modern, welcoming demeanor, which I’d experienced those times I’d attended his services. That Sunday morning, he wore jeans and a polo shirt, with a white yarmulke and white sash around his shoulders.

  Before we could reach him and his dog, though, a tall, broad-shouldered man standing beside him picked up a microphone attached to a portable amplifier and said, “Shalom, and welcome to Shomrei Torah on this beautiful September morning.”

  Several people in the audience called out, “Shalom!” and a couple of dogs barked.

  The man laughed. He held a black miniature pinscher under his arm. “See, even our animal companions are glad to be here. And they’re our focus this morning. My name is Aaron Feinberg, and I’m the president of our congregation. I’m delighted that Rabbi Goldberg has initiated this event, and I know Buster here is looking forward to his blessing.”

  One of the traditions of Shomrei Torah was that the Men’s Club or the Sisterhood presented gifts to bar and bat mitzvah celebrants. Feinberg had been the president of the Men’s Club when I turned thirteen, and he’d come up on the bema after I read from the Torah to present me with a silver-plated Kiddush cup and a Bible and prayer book embossed with my name. I still had the cup, but the Bible had been lost somewhere along my journey. Shomrei Torah had long since replaced the prayer book with a more updated one that no longer referred to God with male pronouns, and added Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah to the prayer to our fathers.

  During my years away from Stewart’s Crossing, Feinberg had kept up his involvement with Shomrei Torah, and was now in his third term as president of the congregation. He owned a furniture store with several outlets in the suburbs and busied himself with charitable works in the community as well.

  The audience clapped lightly, and Rabbi Rob Goldberg took the mic. “Thank you, Aaron. It’s a pleasure to have you all here. Before I get to the blessings, though, I’d like to tell you a little about their origin.”

  I heard the screech of air brakes as a big SEPTA bus pulled to a stop at the parking lot entrance. A rumpled-looking man with a backpack over his shoulder stepped down and looked around, then headed toward us. Because of his layers of clothing and his general air of dishabille, I had the impression he was homeless. As well, there was something vaguely menacing about the set of his shoulders.

  Rabbi Goldberg’s voice brought me back as he spoke about the first Chief Rabbi of the state of Israel, who envisioned our being able to share Torah with animals in the world to come. He spoke simply, as if he was particularly addressing the children in the audience.

  “In Judaism, we perform a ceremony called a hilula on the anniversary of the death of an important teacher. Since the Chief Rabbi’s hilula will be observed this Tuesday, my golden here, Sadie, and I thought it would be fitting to celebrate this blessing now.”

  A kitten in a little girl’s arms mewed softly as the rabbi spread his arms out to encompass all of us in the field and began to pray. “Baruch ata adonai. Blessed are You, Holy One, Maker of all living creatures.” He spoke in Hebrew and then in English, ending with, “Blessed are You, our God, whose spirit exists in
all your creatures!”

  He lowered his hands and said, “And let us all say, Amen.”

  The humans echoed him, and a couple of dogs barked. Then he began moving through the crowd, providing individual blessings to each animal. There was a happy, relaxed vibe in the field, so I was surprised when I heard raised voices coming from the parking lot.

  The bearded man I thought might be homeless was arguing with the security guard who had been directing traffic. As I watched, the man broke away from the guard and strode toward the field, shouting something that sounded like, “I know what’s going on!”

  My immediate reaction was that I’d been right, the man had mental problems. Aaron Feinberg handed his little dog to his wife and moved to intercept the intruder. A moment later, two of Feinberg’s elderly friends moved to join him.

  Feinberg tried to put his arm around the bearded man’s shoulder, presumably to steer him back to the street, and the man elbowed him hard in the stomach. Feinberg stumbled backward, and the other two men tried to strong-arm the man. The rest of the crowd seemed focused on the rabbi, and the security guard was out at the street entrance directing traffic.

  Rochester jumped and wiggled, then suddenly slipped free of his collar and rushed toward the group. In the past, Rochester had attacked anyone who tried to hurt me, but I’d never seen him take off like this against a stranger who posed no threat to me.

  I ran after him, calling his name, but his four legs moved faster than my two, and he was able to duck around people in a way I couldn’t. Ahead of me, the bearded man had broken away from Benesch and Namias and faced them defiantly, his fists up. Feinberg stood hunched over beside them.

  The crowd had cleared around the four of them, and Rochester galloped right into the mix. I assumed that he was going to try and knock down the bearded man, to protect Feinberg’s friends, but I was wrong.

  I was still a dozen feet away when Rochester raced to a stop in front of the bearded man, then sat on his hind legs. Instead of attacking the man, it looked like he was trying to protect him.

  What if the man struck out at him? Could he hurt my beloved dog? I wouldn’t stand for that.

  Then the man’s posture changed as he reached down and patted Rochester’s head. Feinberg and his cronies looked surprised as the homeless man began speaking quietly to Rochester and scratching him beneath his chin.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, apologizing to everyone for Rochester getting loose. “Rochester, come here!”

  “It’s all right,” the homeless man said. “I love dogs. My brother has a golden retriever.” He looked much calmer than he had when he arrived, though Feinberg and the others still looked skeptical.

  Rabbi Goldberg arrived beside me with Sadie, and Rochester left his place in front of the man to nose the female.

  “Joel,” the rabbi said. “What are you doing here?”

  Joel smiled, as if he wasn’t aware of the chaos he’d caused. “I came to see you.”

  The rabbi took a deep breath and turned to those of us gathered in a circle around Feinberg, his friends, and the man named Joel. “Everything’s fine,” the rabbi said. “This is my brother, Joel.”

  I managed to get Rochester’s collar around his neck again, and held tight to his leash. He was no longer straining to get away from me, though. The rabbi’s golden, Sadie, had taken his place in front of Joel.

  “I have to talk to you, Robbie,” Joel said. “I have something to show you. It’s about the Holocaust.” He began to pull his backpack from his shoulder.

  The rabbi held up his hand. “Why don’t you wait in my office and I’ll come join you as soon as I finish here.”

  Joel stopped, his backpack still on one shoulder. “Nana and Pop-Pop would want us to expose all the secrets. They didn’t survive the camps just to let the Germans win.”

  “The Germans didn’t win,” the rabbi said softly. “You know that, Joel.”

  “But they’re still here. They need to be punished!”

  “Joel.” The rabbi’s voice was stern. “Take Sadie and go to my office.”

  Sadie jumped up at the mention of her name, and the rabbi handed Joel her leash. “Okay,” Joel said, docile now. “Come with me, girl.”

  With typical golden retriever joy, Sadie accompanied Joel as he turned to walk toward the synagogue building. “It’s around the back,” the rabbi called after his brother. “There’s an outside door that says Rabbi’s Study. Sadie will lead you there.”

  After Joel was gone, the rabbi turned to Feinberg and the elderly men with him. All three men looked angry.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t even know that my brother was in the area,” Rabbi Goldberg said. “He has schizophrenia, and it’s been very difficult to keep track of him. We mostly communicate through email.”

  “He shouldn’t have come here like this,” one of the men said. His name was Saul Benesch, and he had recently commemorated his eightieth birthday by purchasing a Torah salvaged from a congregation in Poland, paying for its restoration, and donating it to Shomrei Torah.

  The other man was Henry Namias, and he and Benesch had been friends of Feinberg’s father. They, and the elder Feinberg, had run Shomrei Torah all my life. “Is this the brother you had the problem with in Milwaukee?” Namias asked. “We asked you about him when we interviewed you.”

  “He wasn’t a problem then and it won’t be one now,” Rabbi Goldberg said. “Joel just gets excited. He’s not a danger to anyone.”

  “He certainly sounded like he was trouble,” Benesch said, his voice quavering with age.

  “My dog is a very good judge of character,” I said, as Rochester sat at my side. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have been so friendly toward Joel if he wasn’t a good person.”

  Feinberg peered at me. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “Steve Levitan. I was a bar mitzvah here.”

  He nodded. “I remember you. Weren’t you the president of our youth group at one point?”

  “Vice president. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Well, nice to have you back in the fold.” Feinberg shook my hand, and I was pleased to have dissipated some of the tension in the group by speaking up.

  Feinberg, Benesch and Namias walked away, their heads together and their voices low. The rabbi looked around us at the group of people and animals and said, “Well, I should get back to blessings. Who is this handsome boy?”

  “Rochester.”

  “Thank you for coming today, and for helping out with my brother.” It took me a second to realize he was speaking to the dog, not to me. Then he looked up. “Is there any special blessing you’d like for Rochester?”

  I hesitated but then plunged in. “He has a nose for detection. He’s gotten us in trouble a couple of times because he’s found clues in murder cases.”

  The rabbi’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t say anything.

  “So a blessing to keep him safe would be nice,” I said.

  He leaned down and placed his hand flat on the top of Rochester’s golden head. “Adonai yiverecheka v’yishmerecha. May the Holy One bless you and protect you.” He stood up. “For a little extra blessing you can always bring him with you to my Talmud study group on Wednesday mornings. Sadie comes along, and I’m sure she’d welcome the company.”

  “I can bring a dog into the temple?”

  “We meet in my study, and Rochester’s always welcome there. And so are you. If you were a bar mitzvah here, I’m sure you already have a pretty good foundation in religious thought.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago, but I have been looking for something more spiritual in my life. Perhaps we’ll join you one day.”

  Rabbi Goldberg shook my hand, petted Rochester, and then moved on to a huge St. Bernard. Rochester looked up at me, his mouth open in a doggy grin. He’d be happy to join the Talmud study group if he got to play with Sadie.

  As we walked back toward where Lili waited for us, I saw Sadie leading Joel round the corner of the sanctuary building.
The poor guy – he seemed to have lost his way. I had, too, though I hadn’t been a victim of mental illness, and I’d been able to find my way back to happiness. There were a lot of ways to be lost.

  I wondered what Joel Goldberg was so upset about. What did the Holocaust have to do with anything in the present day? And why had Feinberg and his cronies been so quick to intercept him?

  2 – Difficult Decisions

  When Rochester and I returned home from our walk that evening, I heard Lili’s voice floating down from the second floor of the townhouse, and realized that she was speaking rapid, almost angry Spanish. While I knew that she’d grown up with the language, and that it still flavored her speech, I rarely heard her speak it with such fluency.

  Her voice grew louder as she descended the stairs. “Adiós, mamá. Te hablaré mañana.”

  “Your mother?” I asked as she walked into the kitchen, her cell phone in her hand. I had taken out a big eggplant from the refrigerator and was ready to start preparing the eggplant parmigiana I’d learned to make from a vegetarian friend in college.

  Lili sat on one of the Windsor-style kitchen chairs and nodded. “She’s mad at my sister-in-law for the eighteenth time this week. I can’t wait to hear Fedi’s side of this one. They’re really pressuring my mother to move in with them.”

  Lili’s brother, his wife, and two children lived in Parkland, Florida, which I understood was about as far west of Fort Lauderdale as you could get without falling into the Everglades. Fedi had added a mother-in-law unit to his house, but their mother refused to leave her oceanfront apartment, even though she was having more and more difficulty living on her own.

  “I can see why she doesn’t want to move. It would be a big change for her,” I said. “No more independence, no more living by the beach. She’d have to have someone drive her everywhere.”

  “I know. But change is inevitable and at some point she’s going to have to get with the program.” She sighed. “I have a feeling that the only way I’m going to make any impact with her is to see her in person.”