Knot My Sister's Keeper

by Mary Marks

  “But what about the quilt? Won’t removing the papers ruin it?”

  “No. Remember what I said? You can buy precut paper templates to replace the ones we take out of the quilt. We don’t have to worry about the part of the top that’s already sewn together, just the loose parts, the pieces that aren’t attached to anything else.” I smiled. “You’ll love Lucy and Jazz. They’ll help us sew everything back together again. Quilters coming to the aid of another quilter—an old American tradition.”

  Giselle looked at her watch. “Darn! I have a meeting in an hour. Harold finally brought the Saudis to the table. I hate to leave you with all this, but my office is on Wilshire in Santa Monica. I’d better go. Call you later.”

  As soon as she left, I called Quincy. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  “A little nauseated. Does it ever go away?”

  “You should feel better after the first trimester. Try eating saltine crackers or drinking seltzer.”

  “Have you recovered from the shock of finding out about the baby?”

  “Truthfully? I’m still processing the happy news. I’ve never seen you look this beautiful, and Noah seems to be overjoyed.”

  She laughed. “Totally. He went with Yossi and Zadie to visit the rabbi. We’ll get married as soon as the rabbi has space on his calendar.”

  I cringed at the mention of Kaplan in the same breath as the two most important men in my life. Accepting him as part of my inner circle wasn’t going to be easy. The two of us needed to have a heart-to-heart before that could happen.

  “Do you think Aunt Giselle was serious about hosting the wedding?”

  “I’m sure she was. And she’ll make it an event to remember.”

  “There’s one more thing, Mom.”

  I immediately picked up a caution in her voice. “What’s that, sweetie?”

  “Noah asked his partner to be his best man.”

  “Arlo?” My gut tightened at the mention of Detective Arlo Beavers. My ex-boyfriend and Crusher’s old rival. Only three months ago, Arlo had asked me to marry him and I turned him down. “Did he say yes?”

  “He said he’d be honored. Will you be okay with that?”

  The answer was a resounding NO, but, for my daughter’s sake, I’d have to suck it up. “We’re all grown-ups here, Quincy. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Just shoot me. Not only will my ex-husband be standing under the wedding chuppa with me, but so will my ex-boyfriend.

  “What did you think of Giselle?” I asked.

  “She’s different from you physically. No one would ever know you were related.”

  I could be so insulted.

  “But her personality is a lot like yours. She strikes me as being a very smart, independent, and generous woman. I admire that. In both of you.”

  Okay, I was no longer insulted.

  “Uh,” she hesitated. “Do you think your friend Jazz could make me a wedding dress on short notice?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’d jump at the chance.” And stop bugging me about making my gown. “Have you talked to your father?”

  My ex-husband, Aaron Rose, was a Beverly Hills psychiatrist and a blatant social climber. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news of his daughter marrying a cop, let alone having a baby with him.

  “Yes. When he learned the wedding would be at the Eagan estate, he insisted on inviting several of his friends. I think he wants to impress them. I really don’t want that to happen, Mom. Noah and I want to be surrounded by people who care about us, not strangers.”

  And thus it begins. The challenges of planning a wedding. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll handle your father.”

  Before we ended the call, I promised to call Jazz about the wedding dress.

  Detective Farkas called at five. “I’ve just been to Thanks for the Memories Assisted Living. What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “I forget.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Why are you working on a Saturday, Gabe? Don’t you ever take a day off?”

  “I was on my way back from a day at Universal Studios with the wife and kids. I figured since we were in the area, I’d make a short detour and save myself a long trip to Burbank during the week.”

  “What happened?”

  “Gomez’s son, Carlos, was visiting her, and he wasn’t happy about my being there. Did you know he does the weather on TV?”

  “Yes. Don’t keep me in suspense, Gabe. Did you interview Detective Gomez?”

  “If you can call it that.”

  “And?”

  “Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nobody was home.”

  “Maybe you should try in the morning. Miss Leathy, the administrator, said she’s sharper then.”

  “Not wasting my time. Gomez is in an advanced stage of dementia. We won’t get anything out of her.”

  Darn! Another dead end.

  I told him about the note Giselle and I discovered hidden in the quilt. “The dynamics in her family were complicated. Judging from what she told me, there could be more evidence buried in those pieces of paper Edith Eagan cut up.”

  “How many pieces are you talking about?”

  I groaned. “Almost three thousand.”

  “Good luck with that. Let me know if your hunch pays off.” He ended the call.

  CHAPTER 22

  “I can hardly wait.” Jazz’s voice rose an octave over the phone. “I’m thinking yards and yards of ivory silk. High waist to hide the baby bump. And I’ll make you a mother-of-the-bride dress. Green brocade to bring out your eyes.”

  “I don’t think we have time for both. They’re getting married as soon as the rabbi’s available. Just concentrate on Quincy. I’ll wear the Rachel Zoe I bought in New York.”

  “But don’t you want something nyew?”

  “I hate it when you whine, Jazz.”

  “Fine.” His voice returned to his normal baritone. “Just give me her phone number.”

  “See you tomorrow. Lucy’s coming, and you’ll finally get to meet my sister.” I ended the call and turned to the chore waiting for me on my cutting table.

  With a silent apology to Giselle’s grandmother, I began to undo all her hard work. A little tug on the knotted end of the thread was all it took to pull out the temporary stitches holding the fabric to the paper. I hunched in my chair as I worked. Less than thirty minutes later, a throbbing rose from the tightness in my neck and shoulders and landed with a thump in my right temple. I closed my eyes against the hammering in my head and rolled my neck in a circle. With a sigh, I realized that working on the quilt would have to wait until the following day.

  I stumbled toward my migraine meds and a cup of tea in the kitchen. Twenty minutes later the pounding in my head became fainter, but the cramping in my stomach got stronger. The only thing I’d eaten since breakfast was an apple fritter. As I pulled out the dish of leftover potato kugel from the refrigerator, Crusher’s Harley roared to a stop in the driveway.

  He bounced through the front door with a huge grin. For a six-foot-six-inch guy wearing size-fourteen boots, he was surprisingly light on his feet. “It’s all settled, babe. The rabbi will perform the ceremony at the end of August, right after Tisha B’Av.” Crusher referred to the end of a three-week period of religious mourning during the summer, in which Jewish marriages were prohibited.

  “That’s good news,” I said. “That’s more than a month away. That gives us a little extra time to plan things.” I placed the kugel in the microwave.

  “Uh, there’s just one thing.” He combed his fingertips through his beard and raised an eyebrow. “Noah brought his father to the meeting. The Kaplans want to invite three hundred of their closest friends. They’re members of Hillcrest and insist on having the wedding and reception there.” He referred to the country club in West LA formed in 1946 by wealthy Jews who had been barred from membership in the Gentile clubs of LA.

  “But I thought the kids agreed to let Giselle host the wedding at the Eagan estate
.”

  “Eli Kaplan’s exact words were, ‘My son deserves much more than a backyard wedding.’”

  Oy vey. “What kind of mishugas is that? Has he ever seen the Eagan estate? It’s magnificent.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Eli Kaplan is a jerk.”

  “Well, that explains a lot.” A twinge of pity sparked in my mind as I imagined a little boy growing up with a heavy-handed father like Eli. “What did Noah say?”

  “Not much. Mostly, he seemed disappointed the wedding couldn’t happen sooner. Like right away. I think Noah’s just anxious to close the deal with Quincy. He’s ass over teakettle in love. Says he hopes the baby is a little redheaded girl.”

  I thought sadly about my own father and how he—when he learned my mother was pregnant—ran in the opposite direction. Maybe Noah Kaplan wasn’t such a total loss after all.

  “Giselle and I found something important today.” I told him about the hidden papers on the back of the quilt. “Pulling everything apart, however, will take a lot of work. There are almost three thousand pieces. Everyone’s coming over tomorrow to help.”

  “Then what? Fitting together a puzzle with thousands of pieces will take time. Is all this work worth it?”

  I twirled one of my curls around my finger. “I hope so, because according to Gabe Farkas, Meredith Gomez is too far gone to be any help, and we’ve interviewed everyone else.”

  The microwave dinged. I removed the steaming kugel and divided it into two servings.

  Crusher loaded his fork, closed his eyes, and made contented noises while he chewed. “I’ve got confidence in you, babe. If anything’s hiding in all those little papers, you’ll find it.”

  * * *

  By one on Sunday, the summer temperature had soared to the mid-nineties. Lucy and Jazz were the first to arrive. They settled at the dining room table, which I’d expanded with two leaves to increase the working surface.

  Giselle waltzed through the front door dressed casually in gray linen pants that hugged her slender hips and thighs. A white silk tank top showed off her firm shoulders and arms. How fair was it that she got all the slim genes?

  “This heat is atrocious! I hate the Valley, especially this time of year.” She stopped speaking when she noticed Lucy and Jazz sitting like bookends on either side of the table. She marched toward them, smiled, and stuck out her hand. “Don’t tell me. You must be Martha’s best friend, Lucy. And you’ve got to be Jazz. The gay one.”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open, but Jazz merely regarded Giselle with a cool eye. “Only on Sundays and holidays.”

  My sister tossed her head back and laughed. “I’ve heard so much about you both, I feel like we’re friends already. Thank you for volunteering to work on my grandmother’s quilt.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lucy seemed to recover from her initial shock. “Martha’s told us a lot about you, too.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  From the look on her face, I could tell Lucy hadn’t expected to be pinned down to specifics. I jumped in. “Like the fact you can appear a little abrasive at times but you mean well.”

  Giselle’s face fell. “Is that all?”

  I put my arm around her waist and gently led her to a dining room chair at the far end of the table. “I also told them how smart, generous, and capable you are. And how glad I am we found each other.”

  A shy smile played on her lips. “Me, too.”

  I handed her a red and peach “flower” and showed her how to carefully remove the basting threads without tearing the paper. Then I poured everyone a cup of coffee, set out a plate of cookies, and sat down.

  A curious Zsa Zsa pranced into the dining room followed by Bumper, who sauntered at a more regal feline pace. The Maltese sported a lavender pinafore that matched the lavender shirt Jazz wore today.

  “Well, aren’t you the cutest thing!” Giselle reached down to pet the dog.

  Zsa Zsa licked her hand, signaling that the newcomer was now an acceptable member of the pack.

  The four of us worked more than three hours to liberate all the paper templates. The partially finished quilt top, the loose flowers, and the extra hexagons had all once been stiff with paper that crinkled when handled. Now they fell limp and soft and silent. We placed the fabric back in the plastic bag. Then we spread the thousands of paper pieces across the tabletop. Each hexagon had tiny puncture marks around the edges, where Edith Eagan’s needle had pierced them decades before.

  “Now what?” Jazz gave me an I can’t believe you’re serious look.

  Without hesitation, Giselle went into CEO mode and took charge. “First, we divide them into obvious categories—newspaper, lined paper, plain white paper, paper with typing, paper with handwriting—that sort of thing.” She pointed at me. “It would help if we had some sort of containers to put them in.”

  I hurried to the closet in my guest room and emptied the shoes out of six plastic shoe boxes with lids. I placed them on top of the dining table. “There’s more if we need them.”

  The sorting took over an hour. Halfway through, I had to retrieve another shoe box to hold all the pieces cut from a ledger and what looked like bank statements. “There are two whole boxes of these accounting pages. That’s too much. Numbers aren’t like words. How will we know we’re matching them correctly? We should put them aside for now.” When nobody objected, I snapped the plastic lids on the boxes and set them on the sideboard. Then I gestured to the four containers remaining on the table, some of them less full than others. “These look more promising.”

  Lucy checked her watch. “I wish I could stay longer to help, but I’m already late. Richie’s bringing over my newest grandchild tonight.”

  “Me, too.” Jazz picked up Zsa Zsa. “I’ve got a hot date on Skype in about an hour.”

  “Thank you for your help!” Giselle gave first Jazz then Lucy a strong hug.

  Lucy hugged her back. “Don’t worry, hon. We’ll help you sew everything back together again.”

  When we were alone, Giselle said, “Lucy and Jazz are so nice. You’re lucky. I’ve never been able to find close friends like that. Everybody I meet has an agenda. They’re either after my business or want a favor—usually involving money. I always have to be on my guard where people are concerned.”

  “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places, G.”

  A strand of red hair had fallen in her face and she tossed her head slightly. “I wouldn’t know where to begin looking. Besides”—she smiled— “I have you now. Shall we get started with the puzzle pieces?”

  “Frankly, I’m cooked. It’s after five. We can pick this up again tomorrow. Besides, we have to talk.”

  “About?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the money Quinn carried on May twenty-fifth, the day he disappeared. We know he was paid sixty thousand in cash the day before. That money came from a commission to paint the portrait of Chief Nelson’s wife. Where does a cop get that kind of cash? Especially in nineteen-eighties money? If there were notes in the missing-persons file about the sixty thou or where it came from, we have to assume they were removed, along with Detective Rohrbacher’s notes on gambling debts.”

  “But neither Captain Farkas or Detective Rohrbacher mentioned any of that. Shouldn’t we talk to them again?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “And there’s one more thing. I’m also wondering just how much more information Figgy might still be hiding.”

  Giselle pressed her lips together. “Hiding? Why would you think that?”

  “Hear me out. Figgy admitted to listening in on your mother’s telephone conversations. It occurred to me that she might’ve spied on other family members, too. For instance, did she ever monitor Quinn’s calls? It would’ve been easy to do back then, before the age of cell phones. She could’ve overheard everything just by picking up one of the landline extensions and listening in. We really should go back and ask her.”

  “That never occurred to me, but you might be right. You know, Sis
sy, Figgy’s old. We have to be gentle with her. I don’t want her to think she’s in trouble or anything.” Giselle consulted her cell phone. “I have appointments all day tomorrow, but I’m free Tuesday afternoon. If you can meet me at my office at one, we can drive to Beverly Hills together.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m afraid there’s no ‘we’ this time, G. I should talk to Figgy alone.”

  She frowned. “She won’t talk if I’m not there.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true. It’s obvious she’s still fiercely loyal to you and your family. Figgy sees herself as your protector. The thing is, she may not feel comfortable talking about certain things in front of you. She might be more forthcoming if you’re not around.”

  Giselle hesitated. I reached out and grasped her hand. “I understand how protective you feel about Figgy and how much you need to feel in control. But you have to trust my judgment on this. I promise to be gentle with her. Please call her now and set up the interview.”

  CHAPTER 23

  By the time I woke up Monday morning, Crusher had already gone and left a note propped against the coffeemaker. Don’t wait up for me tonight. Working late.

  I sighed. At least he hadn’t been called out of town again. I took my coffee to the dining room and sat in front of the four containers full of paper hexes we’d removed from the quilt the day before. I started with the shoe box holding the ones with handwriting, spreading them out on the table before me. I sorted them according to color: white, cream, gray. The largest of those piles was white and would take a lot of effort to sort through. So I pushed them aside and focused on the smaller piles of the cream and gray.

  The gray hexes appeared to be cut from a note like the blue one Giselle and I had reconstructed. I matched the six pieces. It read:

  Quinn,

  When are you going to leave your wife??? Maybe I should tell her about our son. Maybe she’ll do me a favor and throw you out.

  I need more cash. Do you doubt I’ll go straight to your in-laws? I’m sure they’ll pay to keep me from going public.