by Mary Marks
“Hello, Mrs. Rose? This is Henry Oliver.”
“Nathan’s brother?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. I was on my way out of the country when I received your message about Harriet’s death. When I returned home to Rhode Island last night, I got a frantic phone call from my sister, Estella. She’d been contacted by the Los Angeles Police Department. They told her you found our brother’s body buried in his backyard. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”
I laid out the sequence of events: Harriet’s murder, the discovery of her body, my being named executor, and the discovery of Nathan’s grave. “I’m really sorry for these terrible losses to your family. I suppose you’ll be making arrangements for Nathan’s funeral?”
“Of course. Estella and I are his only family. I’m flying to Los Angeles next week. I wonder if we could meet and talk.” His voice turned silky. “Several items in Harriet’s possession were family heirlooms, and I should like to have them back.”
Wow. Not a word about Harriet’s death. Like his sister, Estella, Henry Oliver didn’t seem to care about poor Harriet.
“I’m certainly open to discussion, Mr. Oliver, but you have to realize Harriet made no provision for you in her will. She wanted everything she owned to be donated or sold for the purpose of financing the Jonah David Oliver wing of the Children’s Hospital.”
His voice tightened. “Not everything was hers. Several items have been in my family for generations.”
“And you don’t consider Harriet to be a part of your family?”
“The police say Harriet killed Nathan. She can’t gain from his death. As his closest relative, Nathan’s estate should come to me.”
What about Estella? I’d ask Abernathy if Henry Oliver was right about the laws of inheritance. If he filed a legitimate claim to the estate, Bunny Friedman, the fund-raiser, could kiss the Jonah David Oliver wing of Children’s Hospital good-bye. “I’ll have to clarify this matter with Harriet’s attorney before I can consider your request. I have a duty to fulfill Harriet’s last wishes, and I intend to do so.”
“I don’t know who you are,” he growled, “but you have no authority to dispose of items that are rightfully mine!”
“They may already have been disposed of, Mr. Oliver. I hate to break the news, but in preparing to liquidate Harriet’s estate, I discovered several things have vanished, presumably stolen by her killer. I suspect some of the family heirlooms you’re talking about are among those missing.”
After a long silence, he said in a clipped voice, “If anything is missing, I’ll hold you personally responsible. It’s the executor’s duty to protect the estate from theft. I’ll sue you. I’ll file a criminal complaint.”
“And I don’t know who you think you are, Mr. Oliver, but I don’t take kindly to threats and I don’t like bullies. I’ve been executor for less than two weeks. Those items went missing long before I came on the scene.”
“Some of those things are worth millions. Others have great historical and personal significance. They didn’t belong to Harriet.”
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt right now because you’ve just received some disturbing news, but don’t think you can intimidate me. Now, I am not unsympathetic to your desire to keep the heirlooms in the family. So, if you can be civil, I’d be willing to discuss this again once I’ve talked to the attorney.”
“I’ll call you next week,” he snapped, and hung up the phone.
What a jerk. Apparently the Oliver family spawned a generation of bullies. Yet, even though Henry Oliver insisted he owned those family heirlooms, why didn’t he step forward to claim those items after Nathan was declared legally dead? Why had he waited until now?
CHAPTER 21
I changed into my Shabbat clothes: a long black skirt and a white silk blouse with long sleeves ending in extravagant tiers of lace. A strand of large white pearls cascaded down my chest. Uncle Isaac and Crusher arrived at six.
My uncle wore his black embroidered Bukharin skullcap and a fresh white dress shirt. “Good Shabbos, faigela.” He kissed me on the cheek.
A line of black grease smeared Crusher’s forehead and the front of his blue bandana. He smelled like petroleum. “I drove straight from the shop to pick up your uncle.” He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom. “I need to shower and change.”
So much for hiding our intimate relationship from my uncle.
Uncle Isaac watched Crusher disappear down the hall, then turned to me. “I guess this means you’re practically married, anyway?”
“I don’t know what this means. He still has his own place.” I focused on squeezing lemon juice over a chopped cucumber and tomato salad. “Can we please not talk about this?”
“I only want you to be happy. Yossi Levy could make you happy, and you’d never be alone.”
I lifted the top of the slow cooker. Drops of moisture hung from the inside of the glass lid. A cloud of savory steam fogged my glasses. “What’s so terrible about being alone? You’ve managed to stay unmarried your whole life, and look at you. You’re eighty, you do what you want, and you’re happy.” I stabbed the tender brisket with a fork and unplugged the cooker.
I barely heard his soft response. “Getting married was never in the cards for me, but that doesn’t mean you have to miss out.”
I always assumed my uncle could have married if he wanted to, but what if he didn’t have a choice? What did he sacrifice to take care of my bubbie, my mother, and me? My heart squeezed with love for my uncle, and I hugged him. “Oh, Uncle Isaac, you gave up so much for us. I’m so grateful.”
He patted my back. “I’ve got you and Quincy girl. I’m not alone.”
Arthur appeared in the kitchen and stared at the slow cooker, wagging his tail.
“What’s this?” Uncle Isaac patted the top of the dog’s head.
“I’m babysitting Arlo’s dog.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you and the detective were through.”
“We are. But I love this dog. I don’t mind taking care of him.”
My uncle shook his head in confusion as we moved to the dining room. The sun had set over an hour ago, so I hurriedly recited the blessing over the candles, poured wine into a polished silver kiddush cup, and placed a white cloth over the loaf of challah.
A knock sounded on the front door.
Uncle Isaac looked at me. “Who else is coming?”
“Nobody,” I shrugged. “Don’t get up. I’ll get the door.”
Julian Kessler, wearing brown Dockers and a green plaid shirt, stood in front of me, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked at me, blinking rapidly behind the heavy black frames of his eyeglasses. A large, reusable plastic bag from a big box store jiggled in his left hand and a gray plastic portfolio waved in his right.
“Julian! What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to tell you in person what I found. It’s huge.”
I moved aside. He stepped into the house and took a quick look around the living room. “Nice place.” He apparently didn’t see Uncle Isaac seated at the dining room table. “You look nice.”
I pointed to the portfolio. “More bad news?”
He sat on the sofa without being asked and bounced on the cushion a couple of times. “I like it. It’s comfortable.” He handed over the portfolio. “This time I’ve got good news.”
I sat next to him and opened the gray plastic envelope. Inside were several invoices from Safe-T-Construction dated 2005. The first invoice listed an air-purifying HVAC system with HEPA filter and humidity controls installed at Harriet’s address. The second listed two fire doors and fireproof insulation. Others cataloged various construction materials and archival lights, whatever those were.
“Just what am I looking at?”
He smiled and leaned forward. “In 2005, your friend Mrs. Oliver built a safe room at her house.”
“Where? We searched every square foot of her place. We
didn’t find any safe room.”
Kessler’s knee jiggled. “Maybe. But according to the financial records, these invoices were paid upon completion of the work. Safe-T-Construction is closed for the weekend, but I left a message for the owner. I’ll ask him for the job specs and blueprints on Monday. We’ll find out where the room is.”
Lucy would be thrilled to learn she was right after all. Harriet might have built an actual hidden room in her house. Did her killer know about it? “This is stunning news.”
Kessler smiled and thrust the bulky sack from the big box store into my hands. “Here, I bought something really cool to celebrate.”
“Oh, but I can’t. . . .”
“Go ahead, open it.”
Several boxes of electronics sat inside. “What are these?”
“It’s the Sony PlayStation PS3!” Kessler’s grin stretched across his face. “I got two DualShock 3 wireless controllers and two headsets. I also got the newest Call of Duty Black Ops game. You have HDMI, right?”
My jaw dropped. “You bought me video games?”
“Don’t thank me.” He looked down shyly. “I just think you’re cool.” He stared at my pearls. “And, uh, you look really hot tonight.”
“Faigela?” Uncle Isaac, sounding mystified, had apparently listened quietly to our whole conversation from the dining room.
Kessler whipped his head toward the old man approaching us. “Oh, I thought we were alone.”
“Julian Kessler, this is my uncle, Isaac Harris.”
Kessler jumped up, swallowed, and shook hands.
Uncle Isaac smiled. “Kessler? That’s Jewish?”
Kessler nodded.
“You’ll stay for Shabbos dinner?” Uncle Isaac’s eyebrows were raised in two big question marks.
Oh no! What are you doing?
Kessler tapped the fingers of his left hand against the side of his leg. “Yeah. Okay. Smells good in here.”
We stood, talking in the dining room, while I laid another place setting on the table. Crusher came out of the bedroom with a freshly combed beard, a white dress shirt, slacks, and a white crocheted skull cap. He approached us, a towering presence. He smelled all lemony and bent to kiss me on the mouth. “Shabbat shalom.”
Kessler’s face fell.
I said, “Julian Kessler, meet Yossi Levy.”
Crusher shook Kessler’s hand and gave him a hearty potch on the back. Kessler lurched forward a little.
I put my hand on Crusher’s arm. “Julian is the forensic accountant who’s auditing Harriet’s estate. He kindly came in person this evening to show me something important. Uncle Isaac invited him to join us for dinner.”
“Must be really important for you to make a special trip to see Martha.” Crusher puffed out his chest a little and adjusted the waistband on his slacks.
“Julian found evidence indicating there’s a hidden room somewhere in Harriet’s house. If her killer didn’t get there already, we might still find her missing items inside. We have to wait until Monday to learn the exact location of the room.”
“What’s all that?” Crusher pointed to the boxes of electronics piled on the sofa where I’d dumped them.
Kessler’s Adam’s apple jumped. He stepped a little closer to Uncle Isaac.
“Julian brought over a video thing.” I looked at him. “Tell me the name again?”
“PS3.”
Crusher nodded his approval. “What games you into, dude?”
“Call of Duty. I bought Martha the latest version. Black Ops.”
“Sweet.” Crusher lifted his thumb. “Let’s take it for a ride after dinner.”
Kessler’s shoulders relaxed.
During the meal, Uncle Isaac and Crusher discussed the Torah portion for the week, the story of how the Jewish people were enslaved by the Egyptian Pharaoh and how Moses committed a violent act and became a fugitive.
“Normally,” said Uncle Isaac, “we Jews are a nonviolent people.”
“Yeah, that’s how Hitler could kill so many of us. We weren’t conditioned to fight back.” Crusher made a fist. “Never again.”
Uncle Isaac rubbed his chin. “Has v’halilah!” God forbid. “But we shouldn’t become bullies ourselves. Otherwise, the good things which set us apart as a people will become lost. God forced Moses into exile so he could teach him to govern his violent behavior.”
“But sometimes a situation calls for violent action in order to protect the innocent.”
After finishing generous slices of apple strudel, Kessler and Crusher hooked up the PlayStation while Uncle Isaac and I cleared off the table and loaded the dishwasher. Mercifully, the sounds from the video game flowed only through the headsets, not the television speakers. I could see the TV screen from the kitchen. Guns blasted as soldiers ran through passageways and climbed steps. The only thing I heard coming from the living room were: “Urf!” “Dude.” “He’s toast.”
Uncle Isaac wandered over to Crusher and watched his fingers fly rapidly over the keys of the controller. “So, nu? What’s this?”
Crusher got up and gave Uncle Isaac the seat next to Kessler on the sofa. Then he put the earphones over my uncle’s skullcap and handed him the DualShock 3 wireless controller. Kessler showed Uncle Isaac how to work the joystick and buttons. Soon the two of them were focused on the TV screen playing Call of Duty.
“Oy!” came from the living room as the enemy surrounded a lone soldier. Uncle Isaac pressed a button on his DualShock 3 and bright flashes leaped from the mouth of the soldier’s rifle. “Gevalt!”
Crusher walked into the kitchen as I finished wiping off the countertop. He leaned over to kiss my neck and mumbled in my ear. “Why is this guy bringing you presents? And why couldn’t he just call you with the big news about the safe room? Is this the dude who’s been asking you out on dates?”
I didn’t want Crusher to alienate Kessler or scare him off. “Listen, Yossi. Julian is doing a brilliant job. He’s already uncovered embezzlement and now this. So what if he has a little crush on me? I’d appreciate it if you’d let me handle this in my own way.”
“Okay, but you’re keeping the PlayStation, right?”
I squinted my eyes. “I’m sending all the game stuff back home with Julian tonight.”
“Yeah, you’re right. No use encouraging the dude.”
I reached under the sink and pulled out a clean white trash bag. “You’re also going to pack all your clothes and take them home with you tonight. Including the dirty ones.”
His forehead wrinkled. “But I thought . . .”
“I know what you thought, but until I decide what I want, you have to back off. I need to take a break for a couple of weeks.”
“Babe, you’re killin’ me.”
CHAPTER 22
Saturday morning I woke up glad to be alone in my bed. Well, almost alone. Bumper stood next to my head, willing me to open my eyes. I scratched him under his jaw while he purred. “Okay, I’m getting up.” Twinges of stiffness grabbed at my back and shoulders as I stood. Even the bottoms of my feet hurt—a sure sign of rain.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and thick woolen socks. While the animals ate their breakfast, I brewed a pot of Italian roast coffee and called my best friend. “You were right, Lucy.” I told her about Kessler’s revelation last night. “There is a secret room in Harriet’s house.”
“I knew it! I told you I had one of my feelings. Too bad you have to wait until Monday for the blueprints. Did you get any clue from the file about where the room might be?”
“Not really.”
“Well, her house has a tall, pointy roof, so there must be an attic. Maybe the room’s up there.”
“I already looked in the attic when I searched Harriet’s closet. It’s as empty as a politician’s promise. But I’ve been thinking. When we searched the house, we didn’t measure the actual dimensions of each room against the outside dimensions of the house. Maybe there’s a pocket of space behind a wall somewh
ere.”
“Well, what are we waiting for, girlfriend?” Lucy’s voice rose with excitement. ”We’ve got to go back one more time. Now we know what to look for.”
“First, I’ve got to drive over the hill today to talk to Harriet’s last housekeeper.”
“I’d like to come along. We could go measure the house afterward. I’ll bring the tape measure.”
I smiled. Lucy could always be trusted to help me out. “Sure. I’ll call you back as soon as I can set something up.”
Delia Pitcher agreed to meet at her house at noon. “I’ll have my husband take the kids to the park down the street so we can talk.”
For the next couple of hours, I sat in my sewing room planning a new quilt top with pencil, paper, and calculator. Since my daughter announced she had a serious boyfriend, I should begin making her a wedding quilt—just in case. I chose the traditional Double Wedding Ring design, which required a pattern for all the curved pieces. Constructing a quilt top always involved a little engineering, a little math, and a sense of adventure.
The Double Wedding Ring looked like a complicated Olympic flag with rows of interlocking rings against a plain background. I especially loved this pattern because each ring contained dozens of small wedges of fabric, a perfect opportunity to use hundreds of different prints in the quilt top. I planned to make each ring out of a different color family: all green fabrics in one ring, all yellow fabrics in another, all blue—the possibilities were endless.
Piecing the rings together would be the easy part. Sewing them to the curvy background shapes would be more tricky. Rather than drafting templates of the background sections on my own, I found a commercial pattern online and bought it with one keystroke of the computer.
I left my house at eleven. Dark gray clouds hung in the overcast sky toward the west, indicating a rainstorm approaching from the Pacific. I buttoned my bulky, hand-knit fisherman’s sweater and jumped in the car. Once I pulled up in front of Lucy’s house, I tapped the horn. Today, Lucy’s clothing theme was A Day in the Pasture: grass green jeans (where does anyone find denim that color?) and a matching green pullover sweater and green tote bag.
