Then Lana floated by, bringing me back to the day’s events.
“How dare you show your snout after what you did today,” I told her.
“Oh, get over it,” she replied. “How many times have you said you don’t want any romantic entanglements? I was only helping you.”
Okay, maybe she actually had done me a favor. Especially if Lior really was a killer.
The thought made me sick. I couldn’t deal with that possibility right now. Hey, even the justice system considered him innocent until proven guilty, so the least I could do was the same. And if he was proven guilty . . . well, I’d deal with that later.
I gave Lana the rundown on what had transpired that evening.
“So what do you think these two victims had in common, other that both being members of oppressed minority groups?” I asked her.
She stayed still, seemingly thinking it over.
Finally she said, “Well, you know that clergy members often serve together on various committees. Ecumenical councils, interfaith task forces, that kind of thing. So I’d look into that.”
Just then, a bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the little cabin. Apparently, nature was backing Lana’s suggestion big-time.
THE NEXT MORNING, The Rain had stopped. Leaves glistened in the sunlight, and the scent of renewal permeated the air.
I made coffee and called Lupe.
“Did you know that Rabbi Zelnik of Temple Beth Boca was killed yesterday?” I dove right in, dispensing with pleasantries.
“Yes, I’m just sitting here reading about it in the paper. And they arrested Lior Ben Yehuda? Isn’t that the guy you—”
“Yes, yes,” I interrupted. I didn’t want to get into another discussion about that relationship.
“Look, I think these murders are connected,” I said.
“I’m inclined to agree with you.”
“So I’m searching for similarities between the victims. Do you happen to know what community committees the Reverend Botay was on? If the rabbi was on one or more of the same ones, that could give us a lead to a motive.”
“Yes, let’s see . . . she was on the Coalition of Christians and Jews . . . the Islamic Support Network . . . the Domestic Violence Task Force . . . and the Citizens’ Ethics Advisory Committee of the city council. There might have been others, but I can’t think of any more right now.”
“That’s great, I’ll start with those.”
“They probably all have websites that list their membership and activities.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re right.” Who didn’t have a website these days? Except for me. ScamBusters was all about privacy, not publicity.
“Okay, thanks a lot, Lupe. I’ll keep you posted.” I hung up.
I PILOTED MY airboat through the gently swaying sawgrass to land. Then I rode my hog to town. With the roads dry, I was able to open up the throttle and fly.
At the office, I logged on to the Internet. I Googled the committees Lupe had named, and their websites readily came up. I found that both the reverend and the rabbi served on the Coalition of Christians and Jews and the Islamic Support Network. Several other clergy were on those, as well, although not Pastor Hollings. Figured. His particular brand of religion was hardly inclusive of others. Neither the rabbi nor Hollings were on the Domestic Violence Task Force.
I went to the city council website and clicked on the Citizens’ Ethics Advisory Committee. Both the reverend and the rabbi were on it, as was Hollings and another clergyperson, Father Murphy of Our Lady of the Fairways. There were also three laypeople: a bioethicist, a philosophy professor and, of all people, Dennis Pearlman, the vitamin magnate. How the hell did he get on there? Did he muscle his way in on account of his charitable contributions to the community? Or did he buy his way in? Could there be corruption in the city council? Perish the thought!
I scrolled down farther to look at what ethical issues were currently before the committee. I already knew that the same-sex marriage ordinance was one. Although that was a possible motive for the reverend’s killing, I had no idea where the rabbi stood on the issue.
Apart from that, there were two other ethical issues before the committee. One concerned a proposal to ban the wearing of furs on public property. That included all city streets, effectively meaning that the beavers would be booted and the rabbits run out of town. Mink would be maligned and sable would be stigmatized.
Now, I know some Northerners might think, What? People wear fur in Florida?
Yep. Remember, this is Boca, land of Boca Babes and Botox Babes. When the temperature drops to sixty, the furs come out in droves. The streets look like a herd of buffalo is passing through.
Okay, I knew that some animal-rights activists had staged some ugly attacks against fur wearers up north, but was this really the kind of thing people would kill over? Well, maybe in Boca. The Babes could care less about stripping the animals of their coats, but when it came to stripping them of theirs . . . I might have to check it out, but I put it on the back burner for now.
The remaining ethical issue concerned a company called EternaLife, specialists in cryonics. They were seeking approval from the city council to open up shop in Boca to freeze dead folks, putting them in a state of suspended animation with the possibility of being thawed out and brought back to life at some point in the future, providing that became scientifically feasible. The company already owned a subsidiary in Boca—Preserve-A-Pet—which offered the service to Boca’s bereaved who just couldn’t bear to part with little Fido or Fifi. The firm now wanted to expand that service to humans.
Reading further, I saw that on the same day that I’d attended the council hearing on the same-sex marriage ordinance, they’d also held a hearing on EternaLife. Based on the minutes, the issue was highly contentious. There was testimony from company officials, scientific experts, and the general public, weighing in on both sides.
Of course, the company’s representatives and their experts lauded the venture as a major scientific advancement that would position Boca as a technological epicenter and stimulate an influx of other biotech companies, creating hundreds of high-paying jobs. Naturally, a tax incentive and city funds were requested in exchange for this promise of prosperity. And, of course, there was the unstated but obvious threat that if Boca didn’t comply, the company would take its business and high-paying jobs elsewhere.
On the other side were scientists who testified that the idea of suspended animation was a hoax. The public opined on both sides, but the majority was in favor. As with the marriage ordinance, the council was now seeking a recommendation from the Ethics Committee.
As a ScamBuster, I immediately saw the EternaLife scheme for what it was. As far as I was concerned, the company might as well take its business to Disney World, since their so-called technology belonged in fantasyland. But as with all scams, I could understand its appeal to the gullible. After all, Boca, with its beaches, year-round sunshine, palatial homes, golf courses, lakes, and Babes, was a paradise. If you had the possibility of spending eternity here, why not? Why take your chances in the great beyond? I mean, who knew what kind of shopping malls they had over there?
I sat back in my chair and rubbed my neck. All this was giving me a major headache. This town might be paradise, but with its iguana bridge, fur fight, and frozen dead pets, Boca was driving me bonkers.
Chapter 16
I NEEDED TO clear my mind of all the Boca bizarreness. And, of course, there was only one way to do that. Hog riding.
I decided to ride up to the county jail to see Lior. I knew he’d still be there since he’d been booked on Friday night and there wouldn’t be a hearing until Monday. I also knew what the visiting hours were, since it was the same jail I’d been in after offing my husband. Not that I’d had many visitors. Only one, in fact. The con
tessa. For some reason, she had believed in me. But apart from her, I had suddenly had no friends. The ones I have now have come along in my post-Babe phase.
I locked up the office, got on my hog, and headed up the turnpike to West Palm Beach. As I rode, I felt my heartbeat synchronize with the thump-thump-thump of the bike’s engine. When I left the Boca city limits, I left my headache behind.
I was in control and uninhibited. I noted the envious glances cast at me by women passengers riding in cages—biker terminology for cars—that were driven by men. As Susan B. Anthony said over a hundred years ago, a woman on two wheels is the picture of free, untrammeled womanhood.
So by the time I arrived at the jail, my mind was indeed clearer. I knew I had to clear the air with Lior.
After passing through multiple security checks and three sets of locked steel doors, I was ushered into the meeting room with its glass partition and phones on either side. Shortly thereafter, Lior was brought in.
His characteristic bravado was gone, replaced with a look of resignation. Despite his bulk, he looked shrunken in his oversize, jail-issued orange jumpsuit.
We sat on the two sides of the window and picked up the phones.
“Hi,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Look, I’m going to get you out of here. First of all, I’m going to call the contessa. I think there’s a connection between the rabbi’s murder and a case I’m working on, the Reverend Botay’s murder. You’ve heard about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Once I explain this to the contessa I’m sure she’ll bail you out. That woman has a keen sense of justice and puts her money where her mouth is.”
“Forget about it. I’m sure they’ll deny me bail. Since I’ve only been in this country for a few years, they’ll consider me a flight risk.”
“Well . . . at least the contessa can hook you up with S. Lee Dailey. He’s the top defense lawyer in the county, and he’s working on the other case.”
“Thanks. But I think I’m toast.”
“Look, help me out here. Do you know anyone who may have had a motive to kill the rabbi?”
“Well, there was a lot of dissension within the congregation, but I can’t imagine anyone who would take it that far.”
“What about outside the congregation? Are you aware that the rabbi served on several community committees?”
“Sure. But again, it’s hard to imagine anyone from those killing him.”
“Do you happen to know where the rabbi stood on gay rights issues?”
“Gay rights? No, I don’t know. He never brought it up, not to the congregation, nor to me, either.”
I took a deep breath. What about you?”
I had to know where he stood, too. Not just because of the murders, but because of our . . . our . . . okay, our relationship. If Lior was opposed to gays, and my best friends were gay, how could we ever be compatible?
“Me? Why?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Okay. I’m a member of a religious minority. I know what it means to be persecuted. The Nazis persecuted gays as well as Jews. So as far as I’m concerned, we’re brothers and sisters in arms.”
I let out my breath, which I wasn’t even aware I’d been holding. If he was telling the truth, then there just might be a future for us.
What the hell was I thinking? I needed to delve into the deaths, not fantasize about a future that I wasn’t even sure I wanted. I had to get back on track.
“Okay,” I told Lior. “Don’t lose hope. I will spring you, you can count on that.”
He didn’t reply. We didn’t do that sappy thing you see in the movies, where the people hold their hands up to each other across the glass. We just hung up and left.
I RODE HOME for my nightly conferral with Lana.
“So what did you find the victims had in common?” she demanded as soon as I sat down with my Hennessy.
“Quite a lot. Three committees. That just broadens the scope of the investigation, instead of narrowing it.”
I filled her in.
“I would look into that Ethics Committee,” she said. “Those issues they’re considering are of significant interest to me. You know, we in the animal kingdom have to stick together. If they don’t ban the furs, they’ll keep on raising those poor creatures just for their hides. You can see what would happen next, can’t you?”
“No.”
“They’d come after me, trying to turn me into ten purses for your Boca Babe friends.”
“Hey, they aren’t my friends anymore. Never were, actually. Anyway, I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”
She gazed at me with what looked suspiciously like affection. If she could have batted her eyelashes, she would have, but, of course, she didn’t have any.
“Aw, shucks,” she said. “And if I should go before you, will you put me in suspended animation at Preserve-A-Pet?”
Now I stared at her. “Yeah, right, so you can come back to life again and keep on tormenting me? I don’t think so.”
“Fine, be that way,” she said, and turned away with a flip of her tail, sending the swamp water right into my face again.
Jeez, we sounded just like an old married couple. Albeit a pretty happy one. Okay, maybe not all marriages were like the one I’d had.
Oh, hell, my mind sure had been wandering in the romance direction a lot lately. It was time to give it a rest. But before I did, I thought about Gitta and her problems with romance, or lack thereof. A part of me identified with her. That had been me once, unable to imagine life without a man. That was the mental prison that Boca Babes lived in. I’d managed to break out; maybe I could help her do the same. Plus, I knew that any kind of recovery had to include sharing your insights with others. Otherwise, relapse was imminent.
I went inside the cabin, found the napkin with her phone number that I’d put in a drawer, and called.
“Gitta, it’s Harriet Horowitz,” I said when she answered. “Just calling to see how you’re doing.”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s so thoughtful of you,” she said in her babyish voice. “Actually, I’m doing better. I’ve joined one of those exclusive matchmaking services.”
I cringed.
“This isn’t anything like the clubs, the speed dating, or the Internet,” she went on. “This service selects only the highest quality people. And it’s not cheap, so you know the men they select have money. Harriet, I think this is exactly what I need. I haven’t been matched with anyone yet, but I feel better already since I signed up. It gives me hope.”
Great. She’d asked for my advice, then hadn’t taken a word of it. I was sure she hadn’t done anything about the coke habit, either. In fact, her almost elated tone led me to suspect that she’d just snorted some.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I lied. At least this time I didn’t have anything in my mouth to choke on.
“Thank you, sweetie. You’re a doll. Call me again sometime, will you?”
“Yeah, sure. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and looked at the napkin with her number on it. I had no intention of calling her again. She’d made her choices. She’d have to find her own way. Really, in the end, that was the only way.
I AWOKE struggling for breath, tangled in wet sheets. Oh, no. Not again. Another nightmare. Not the shooting this time. A replay of one of Bruce’s assaults. This one I hadn’t remembered in years. They came like this from time to time, fighting their way up from the depths of my subconscious where I’d shoved them and, I’d thought, locked them away.
As I lay there trying to even out my breathing, the fragments of the memory came together.
I’m in my old home, setting the table with sterling, crystal, and candlelight for an intimate dinner with my husband. I’v
e picked up an order of veal marsala from La Cucina Toscana, our favorite Italian gourmet market. I hear Bruce come in the door. I wait for the signs that will tell me what kind of mood he’s in. Our shih tzu, Diva Dog, scampers to the door to greet him.
“Hi, poochie,” I hear him say. “Come on, give Daddy a big kiss. Daddy had a great day. Where’s Mommy? Let’s go tell her all about it.”
My shoulders relax, my jaw unclenches. He’s in a good mood tonight. Everything’s okay. We’ll have a nice evening.
I go to the foyer, where he’s holding Diva as she licks his face. He sets her down and kisses me. I smell his breath for alcohol. None. I relax more and lengthen the kiss. He pulls me closer and slaps my ass playfully.
“Who’s the hottest lawyer in town?” he asks.
“Oh, gosh, let me think about that,” I say, playing along. “Old ‘Barracuda’ Bartholomew?”
“Nope. You’re lookin’ at him.” He grins. “You know that woman who sued her obstetrician for letting her labor go on too long and depriving the baby of oxygen?”
“Yeah.”
“Her lawyers finally caved. Said she can’t take the stress of the lawsuit together with caring for this special-needs kid anymore. So they’re accepting an out-of-court settlement for a pittance, with a gag order to boot. So am I hot or am I hot?”
I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to hear about the morally questionable source of the income that fuels our lifestyle.
But he doesn’t want an answer, anyway. He already has his own.
“How about a glass of champagne to celebrate?” he asks.
I hesitate but don’t want to ruin his mood. I know he can switch in the blink of an eye.
“Sure,” I say.
We walk into the living room, and he and Diva sit on the white leather couch while I go to the temperature-controlled wine room. I get a bottle of Cristal and take it to him along with two flute glasses. I sit down beside him as he pops the cork. He pours, and we clink our glasses.
“By the way, honey, did you pick up my dry cleaning like I asked you to this morning?” he asks.
Dirty Harriet Rides Again Page 10
