Sara smiled and turned back to me. “You remember my friend Flo, I assume?”
“You mean the ganif? The burglar lady? How could I forget?” Perhaps you remember too, the lady who helped us out when Mrs. K’s matzoh ball soup came under suspicion. Anyway, it is a long story, but this Florence is really a very nice lady, even if she has this little character flaw of being a thief.
“Well, she was telling me this morning that she just got a new smartphone….”
“A smart what?”
“Phone. Telephone. You know…oh, maybe you don’t. A smartphone is just a cellphone that does a lot of other things, like take pictures, make recordings, connect to the Internet, stuff like that.”
“Okay, I understand. I’ve heard of this. My son Morty has one. So your friend Florence has this smarty telephone. And?”
“Well, she said she was replacing her older model—it’s hardly a year old, but she always likes to have the latest tech gadgets—and would I like it, as she was not trading it in. I told her I was satisfied with the one I had. But then it occurred to me that you might like to have it.”
“I? What do I need such a thing for? I have a perfectly good telephone in my room.”
She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure you do. But this is one you can carry in your pocket or purse, so you’re always connected, and…”
“Connected? To what should I be connected?”
“No, I mean you can make or take calls wherever you are. And send messages and take pictures. Let’s say you’re shopping by yourself and you see something that you think Rose here is looking for, but you aren’t sure. You can just pull out your cellphone and call her and ask. You can even take a picture of it and send it to her.”
I thought about this for a minute. I did not see that it was such a big deal—Mrs. K and I usually shop together anyway.
“You can also send your friends text messages or email with it. And with the camera you can do stuff like…like take selfies to share with your friends.”
“Take what-ies?”
“Pictures of yourself doing stuff, or with friends, or whatever. That’s why they’re called selfies.”
“Look, Sara, I am appreciating your thinking of me, really I am, but I need pictures of myself and telephones that are smart like a loch in kop, a hole in the head. You should find someone else who…”
But Mrs. K then stepped in. “You know, Ida, maybe you should consider what Sara is saying. At our age we might be a little late to join the party, but it might be worth our at least taking a look at the decorations. To be honest, I was thinking of getting one of those telephones myself sometime, although they are expensive and I will wait awhile yet. But if Sara is offering you this one for free…”
“That’s right,” Sara said. “And not only that, I want to pay for your provider for the first year, as a little present, so it won’t cost you anything at all.”
“Nu, what or who is a provider?” I asked. All these new words.
“That’s just the company that provides the cell service. You know, like the telephone company in the old days, the one we called Ma Bell, only now there are lots of different telephone companies. You might say Ma Bell had grandkids and they’ve all started families of their own.”
Well, as you can imagine, at this point I am getting tired of arguing, especially since Mrs. K seemed to be on Sara’s side, so I just said, “Enough. You have convinced me. I accept the telephone.
“But if it turns out to be smarter than I am, I am giving it back.”
—
Sara explained a few things about the phone, which was actually very cute and had a screen just like a little television set. Apparently it was actually more like a little computer, and about computers I know a little, as we have classes at the Home teaching us how to use them to send messages to our families. I thanked her and asked her to also thank her friend Flo. But then something occurred to Mrs. K.
“Uh, Sara, dear,” she said, sounding almost apologetic, “your friend Florence didn’t happen to…I mean, where she got this telephone…”
Sara laughed. “You mean was it stolen? No, of course not. In fact, I was with her when she bought it. Do you think I’d give my aunt hot merchandise?”
“Well, I only thought…”
“That’s okay. It was a reasonable question. No, in this case, no need to worry.”
I thanked her again and she went on her way.
“Gezunterhait!” Mrs. K said as soon as Sara had left the building. “You should use it in good health. I am quite jealous, you know. You are now one of the very few here at the Home with a smartphone.”
“Well, please feel free to use it whenever you like,” I said. “I am pretty sure I will not have much use for it. But it was very nice of Sara to think of me, and I shall make an effort to learn how it works.”
“I assume Mr. Perry, who teaches us the computers, will be able to give you some help with it,” Mrs. K said.
“Yes, I will ask him. Meanwhile, I hope it does not start to ring, because I have no idea how to answer it.”
Fortunately, it sat there quietly in my hand, and I put it away in the pocket of my dress in case it should at some later time come in handy.
And at some later time, it did.
—
Before we returned to our rooms, the receptionist handed Mrs. K a note. We sat down so she could read it better. After reading it, she looked up and there was a funny expression on her face, and I do not mean tell-a-joke funny.
“Ida, this is a note from Inspector Corcoran. It did not take him long to find out about Erik Weiss. Vera did help put him in prison, and he was indeed in Sing Sing.”
“What do you mean, ‘was’?”
“He was released two months ago. And one other thing Corcoran learned.”
“And that is…”
“Erik Weiss is definitely overweight.”
We added Erik to our list. In capital letters.
Chapter 16
When I met Mrs. K for breakfast the next morning, something seemed different about her, and it took me a minute to figure out what it was.
“Rose, you are wearing lipstick. That seems unusual when you are not going anywhere special. But it looks very nice.”
“Thank you, Ida,” she said. “I just thought I would put some on this morning. I’m surprised you noticed.”
When we got to our table, Karen Friedlander and Isaac Taubman were already seated. Taubman, always the gentleman, got up and pulled out a chair for Mrs. K. He then did the same for me.
I noticed that Karen was unusually quiet. Now, Karen is always a quiet one, like a little mouse, but even a mouse squeaks now and then. From Karen hardly a squeak all through breakfast, and looking so unhappy, whereas she is usually quite cheerful. I wondered whether something might be bothering her, and I asked her after breakfast if anything was wrong, but she just waved her hand and said everything was fine. It sounded like one of those uses of “fine” that really means “everything is not fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mrs. K had an appointment to keep after breakfast, and Karen walked away right after she told me she was fine, so that left only me and Taubman sitting and relaxing, sipping the last of our tea. (Well, he was having coffee, but it is the same idea.)
“Isaac,” I said, “did you notice that something seemed to be bothering Karen? I mean, she hardly said a word and was looking really depressed. It isn’t like her. Have you some idea what might be bothering her?”
“No, not at all,” Taubman said. “In fact, we were having a very nice discussion before you and Rose got here, and she seemed her usual self.” But look who I was asking! Men never notice anything about other people unless you point it out to them.
“What were you discussing?”
“Oh, nothing much, certainly nothing to cause Karen any stress. You know, about Pupik trying to cut back on the food budget, my son’s recent trip to Europe, that sort of thing.” He stopped and looked thoughtful f
or a moment, then continued, “Oh, and I was telling her that I had asked Rose to accompany me to that new play at the Palace Theater downtown.”
Oy gevalt, men can be such shlemiels when it comes to ladies! I mean, Isaac Taubman is a real mensch, always a gentleman, and very smart. He was married many years before his wife, Myra, passed away. And yet he seemed, as they say, to have not a clue what might be bothering Karen.
It was not my place to tell him. But I did need a little more information.
“You say you were having a pleasant discussion with Karen?”
“Yes, absolutely. She seemed in quite good spirits.”
“And did you notice a change in these spirits at any time during your conversation?”
Taubman thought about that for a moment before answering. “Hmm. Now that you mention it, her demeanor did seem to change just at the end of our conversation, just before you and Rose showed up.”
“Is that when you were telling her about asking Rose to attend the play with you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t see…”
“No, of course not. Do not worry about it, Isaac. It is nothing.”
“If you say so, Ida. Perhaps Karen just had a bit of indigestion.”
“Yes, perhaps. Well, I shall see you at lunch.”
—
I went back to my room to rest and make a few telephone calls—using my old-fashioned telephone without the TV set in the middle. About an hour later, Mrs. K called and suggested we meet in the lounge and go over some of the information we had regarding Vera’s death, so we could decide what to do next.
We walked over together and found a nice sofa in a quiet corner where we could talk without being overheard.
“Before we talk about Vera,” I said when we were seated, “I wanted to ask you about something else.” I fluffed up a pillow behind my back, because some of these sofas they make so deep, only one of those basketball players who look like they are standing on stilts could sit up straight without one.
“What is that?”
“First, is there some particular reason you are wearing lipstick this morning? I mean, usually you do not dress up for breakfast.”
Mrs. K looked just a bissel embarrassed, and even might have blushed slightly, or maybe it was my imagination. But she did not answer directly.
“Can’t I decide to put on a little lipstick without it being made into a whole megillah? A federal case?”
“Of course. Well, maybe I should explain why I ask. Did you notice this morning at breakfast that Karen was not…was not looking very happy?”
Mrs. K thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, now that you mention it, she did look a bit farklempt. Upset, like she was going to cry. Why? Did you learn something was wrong? Is it something about her family? Someone close to her?”
“No, no, nothing like that, I’m pretty sure. In fact, in a way it might be just the opposite. Someone not close enough.”
Mrs. K looked at me as if trying to figure out what I was talking about. I explained.
“Taubman and I were talking after you and Karen both left the table.” I repeated my conversation with Taubman. “Do you now see what I am getting at?”
Mrs. K does not generally have to have things spelled out for her, and this was no exception. Now she definitely did blush.
“You are suggesting,” she said, “that Karen was upset because Isaac asked me to go to a play with him?”
“Does that not seem logical?”
“Well, perhaps. But that would mean Karen has…has her eye on Isaac, and thinks I am…what is the expression? Cutting her out?”
“It seems like it, does it not? Perhaps she was hoping he would ask her to accompany him to the play. Or perhaps she was planning to make her own move in his direction.”
Here I should mention, if it is not obvious, that eligible men are a relatively scarce commodity in a retirement home like ours. Because we ladies tend to live longer than the gentlemen, which I am sure is all part of God’s plan, once we pass the age of seventy or so there are many more of us than there are of them. That makes the ladies-to-gentlemen ratio here, where most of us are well over seventy, heavily in favor of the ladies. And several of the men who are living here are already married, like Sol Lipman. As a result, the competition for those relatively few eligible gentlemen, at least those who are most desirable because they have all their marbles and no disturbing physical or mental deficiencies, can be, shall we say, intense. Now neither I nor Mrs. K has felt the need to enter this competition, at least not in the past; but I wondered whether perhaps that had changed on her part.
Mrs. K shook her head slowly. “It is hard to believe. We have been eating at the same table for…for what? Two years? Now she decides she will get cozy with Taubman?”
“It happens. But look at it the other way. Only now does Taubman decide to ask you out. I am sure there were reasons he did not before, but…”
“Yes, I see. Nu, so how do we make Karen feel better without my telling Taubman he should take her to the play instead of me?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I think it is wonderful you two are…are getting better acquainted. At least it is not with someone like Moishe Klein, with whom as I told you I am not interested in relating.”
Mrs. K laughed. “Yes, you had given me that impression. No, I think we both like Isaac Taubman and it could be very…very pleasant to go to a play with him.”
“And afterward,” I added, maybe raising my eyebrows just a little bit, “who knows?”
Now Mrs. K really did blush, so unusual for her. “Do not be silly, Ida. Act your age. Anyway, I shall give the matter of Karen some thought. But first we really must get back to saving Daniel from his terrible situation. That is far more important than how Karen—or I, for that matter—might feel about Isaac Taubman.”
I had to agree with this. Karen would have to wait.
—
It was at this point that I suddenly got the feeling someone was watching us. You know, nothing specific, just a feeling. I looked around, thinking maybe Mrs. Bissela was snooping as she tends to do, but I didn’t see anyone at all within snooping distance. My imagination playing tricks.
“You know, Ida,” Mrs. K said, nicely shifting the gears, “we probably should be trying to figure out who it was who was seen to enter Vera’s room in the late afternoon. If the bad medicine had to be given to her shortly before the good medicine, that pretty much lets out everyone who visited her, or gave her anything, in the morning or early afternoon.”
“Yes, that does seem to narrow it down.”
“Which is either a good thing or a bad thing, is it not? It narrows down the possible suspects, which is good, but it leaves us fewer alternatives to Daniel, which of course is bad.”
“So are there any other suspects at all?” I asked.
“Of course there are. We just haven’t identified all of them yet. So as I say, we should begin with the woman Corcoran mentioned.”
“He did not seem to have many details.”
“No, all we know is that it was a woman resident. An older woman of slight build.”
“And wearing a gray dress, was she not?”
“Yes, that is what I remember as well.”
“Nu, this fits maybe half of the residents of the Home. How do we find the right one?”
She sighed. “Yes, we must find a way to narrow it down further.”
We both sat for a few minutes, thinking. Of course, Mrs. K can do a lot more thinking in that time than I can, so I was not surprised that she was the first to speak up.
“Ida,” she said, “I think there is a way we can narrow it maybe to one person.”
“And how is that?”
“Remember that it was on Yom Kippur that Vera was killed, or at least she died right after it ended. So where was almost everyone all that day?”
“In shul, of course,” I said. On Yom Kippur, almost every Jew attends services at least in the morning. Most are at services the
entire day. And we are supposed to fast all day as well, eat nothing from sundown to sundown, which is how Jewish holidays are counted. It is not easy for us older people to fast, it requires willpower and discipline, but most of us try. At least at the Home there is a chapel right there next to the lounge, so we do not have to go anywhere else, like to a local synagogue, for services either on holidays or on Friday nights for Shabbos services.
“Yes, and you’ll recall that we were sitting near the door, because it makes it easy to go out to the bathroom or to stretch our legs.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, think about who was there, those we could see. Karen Friedlander and Isaac Taubman were sitting to our right, were they not?”
“Yes, I think so.” I wondered whether Karen had arranged it that way. “And Fannie was at the end of our row, as was Big Wasserman.” That is tall Mr. Jacob Wasserman, which is to distinguish him from short and round Abe Wasserman, whom we call “Little Wasserman.” It is a little joke we have, and it also avoids confusion.
We went through a list of the other people we saw at the service and tried to remember which of them stayed until the end of the day. That would be at what is called the Neilah service, at which we pray for forgiveness for our sins as, we are told, “the gates of Heaven are closing.” At the very end, there is sounded a long, loud note on the shofar, the ram’s horn that has been used to announce important events and days since biblical times.
“It had to be about the time of the Neilah service that someone gave Vera that medicine,” Mrs. K said. “And shortly after the service, Daniel arrived. So I think it is likely that anyone who was there through Neilah can be crossed off the list of suspects. At least for the present.”
I agreed, and we tried to remember who was there when we finally stood up and stretched at the end of the service.
“Well,” I said, “we certainly hugged several people and wished them l’shanah tova” (which is like “Happy New Year”). “Taubman and Fannie and…”
“Wait a minute,” Mrs. K said, interrupting. “Now I remember. Sometime during the Neilah service, Rena Shapiro left the chapel. I remember because she passed right by us and I noticed she had a strange look on her face. I thought maybe she was not feeling well, from the fasting, you know. And yes, I am sure she was wearing a gray dress.”
A Pain in the Tuchis Page 12
