by Mike Befeler
No one came.
I burst through the back door into an adjoining small office. A woman sat at a desk.
“Call an ambulance,” I screamed. “A man is hurt in the vestibule.”
Her eyes widened. “What happened?”
“He fell over and isn’t breathing.”
She reached for the phone and punched in the three digits.
While she spoke on the telephone, I raced out as fast as my old legs would take me. I entered the congregation room where thirty people were seated. “Is there a doctor here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice firm but calm.
A man in a dark suit near the back stood up and approached me. “I’m a pediatrician.”
“That’s going to have to do. There’s an injured man in the vestibule. Come with me.”
Inside the small room, the doctor bent down to examine the fallen man. He began administering CPR.
Moments later I heard a siren. Then two men burst into the room. One placed an oxygen mask over the face of the injured man.
“He’s not responding,” one of the paramedics said.
“That’s because he’s dead,” the doctor replied.
Then a police officer strode into the room. “I received a report of an accident.” He bent down to examine the body. “Strange head wound.”
“He fell,” I said to be helpful.
The paramedics placed the body on a stretcher and took it off to their waiting vehicle. The policeman surveyed the room and then noticed the candleholder which he stooped over to examine without touching it.
He reached for a cell phone on his belt and placed a call. Then he turned toward me. “You’re the one who witnessed what happened?”
“That’s right. I came into the room, surprised the man, and he fell over, hitting his head.”
The policeman regarded me carefully, his gray eyes boring in on me. “Was anyone else in the room?”
“No, just him and me.”
“Do you know him?”
“No, never saw him before.”
“I’ll need to ask you to remain here until the detective arrives.”
“I’ll be happy to stay at the church, but I’m getting married in a few minutes.”
He looked at me again. “Show me some identification.”
I pulled out my wallet and handed over my ID card.
“This has an address in Hawaii.”
“I’ve just moved to Venice and will be living with my wife who is expecting me to show up for a ceremony momentarily.”
He wrote some notes on a pad and handed my ID card back.
“Just don’t leave after the ceremony.”
“We’re having a reception here, so I’ll be around.”
I hustled out to take my place at the front of the church. Denny stood beside me.
“What was the delay?” he asked.
“I’ll explain afterwards,” I said with a gasp. I was breathing heavily, both from the accident I had just witnessed and the ceremony I was about to undertake.
As Marion had mentioned to me, her son-in-law George and grandson Austin also stood with us. George was in his early fifties, tan from the California sun and approximately Denny’s height at six foot even. Austin was a little older than Jennifer, with the sulky look of a new teenager.
Then down the aisle came Jennifer followed by an older girl, who I guessed was Marion’s granddaughter, and finally Marion’s daughter Andrea.
Jennifer winked at me as she took her place.
Marion was accompanied by the minister who “gave her away” and then assumed his place for the ceremony.
She looked radiant in her simple pale-blue dress and matching blue netted hat.
The minister began. I half expected him to say, “Do you two old goats take each other . . . ?” But the service proceeded with him describing the bond between a man and a woman. I agreed with this. Then he launched into the importance of the marriage vow to love, honor and cherish. Again I heard nothing to object to. When we reached the part of in sickness and in health, ’til death do us part, I flinched, wondering how long that might be for an over-the-hill guy like me. It could be minutes or years. Oh, well. If Marion was prepared to sign up for it, so was I.
I kissed the bride and felt her warm lips against mine. My old ticker started thumping lickety-split. Here I was, hitched again. It felt right even though she was almost a stranger to me. The music played and we marched up the aisle and out of the church. Outside, I realized that in my panic, I hadn’t even noticed what the inside of the church looked like. At least I knew what the bride looked like. Damn attractive.
As we gathered in the courtyard to be congratulated, I spotted Detective Quintana who I had met by the canal that morning. He worked his way up to me and said, “I need to speak with you, Mr. Jacobson.”
“This isn’t a very convenient time, Detective. My bride deserves my attention.”
His dark eyes bore in on me. “I won’t take much of your time. Come with me.”
I sensed that I didn’t really have a choice, so I followed him to a Sunday school room adjoining the courtyard.
We found two adult-sized chairs and sat down. He pulled his chair up to face me with our knees practically touching.
“I understand you were in the room when Harold Koenig died.”
“I don’t know Harold Koenig, but if that was the man who fell and hit his head, yes, I was there.”
“Describe exactly what happened.”
I went through the whole rigmarole again.
Just then Marion entered the room. “I’ve been looking for you, Paul. Our guests are waiting for us.”
“See, Detective, I told you this wasn’t a convenient time.”
“Mrs. Jacobson, I need to speak with your husband for just a few more minutes.”
“Is this about the man he found in the canal this morning?” she asked.
“No, this is a different matter. It concerns Harold Koenig.”
“What about Harold?” she asked.
Quintana regarded Marion. “Do you know him?”
“Why, yes. We were friends. We even went on a few dates. That is, until Paul and I got engaged.” She squeezed my hand. “Paul, you met Harold at the party we went to last night.”
Quintana eyed me. “I thought you said you didn’t know him, Mr. Jacobson.”
“I don’t recall meeting him.”
Marion smiled. “Paul wouldn’t remember because of his short-term memory loss. I need to rejoin the reception. Don’t take too long, Paul.”
With that she left the room.
Quintana pulled out a small box. “I need to collect your fingerprints.”
“Something you’re concerned about, Detective?”
“Just part of my investigation into Mr. Koenig’s death.”
I volunteered my fingertips and Detective Quintana soon had ten neat prints on a card.
“I look like I’ve been playing with finger paints.” I admired my fingers.
“It’ll wash off. Now, I need to ask you not to leave the state in the near future.”
“But I have a honeymoon coming up in two weeks.”
He raised his eyebrows. “If you have short-term memory loss, how do you know that?”
“Because I discussed it with Marion earlier and I remember things fine during the day.”
Quintana stood up. “One other thing. The man who you found this morning in the canal has been identified as Frederick Vansworthy. Name mean anything to you?”
“Nope. Never heard it before.”
“Any speculation on how his body ended up in the canal?”
“None whatsoever.”
He stared at me with his keen eyes. “We suspect he was murdered.”
I blinked. “Murdered?”
“Yes. Anything you care to say?”
“Who do you think killed him?”
“I was hoping you might shed some light on that, Mr. Jacobson.”
“No. I have nothing to add.”
He eyed me again. “We’ll be speaking again, Mr. Jacobson.”
“You know where to find me, at least until my honeymoon cruise.”
With that, Quintana departed.
I sat there thinking. Quintana had dropped some hints, but I couldn’t have had anything to do with Vansworthy’s death. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember one way or the other.
Returning to the festivities, I noticed both Jennifer and Austin, Marion’s grandson, grazing at a table full of food.
“Save something for me to eat,” I said.
“Hi, Grandpa. Have some cheese.” Jennifer reached for a yellow slab and cut off a piece and plopped it into her mouth. “Ewww.” Her face scrunched up in disgust.
I laughed. “That wasn’t cheese. You just ate a big bite of butter.”
I filled up a plate with goodies as Jennifer skipped off with Austin trailing behind her, still looking sullen. What a contrast. Jennifer bounced around like a pogo stick. Austin had his hands thrust into his pockets and slunk off like he was my age and had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Marion was speaking with a man when I approached her. “Paul, meet Clint Brock. He’s an art dealer here in Venice.”
I stared at the Cary Grant look-alike and held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.” I received a firm handshake.
Clint Brock was in his forties, dapper dresser with neatly trimmed hair.
“I was just mentioning to Clint that there was an accident just before the ceremony. I never did hear the particulars, Paul.”
“Really a strange event. When I entered the room, I seemed to startle your friend Harold Koenig. Then it was all like a slow-motion movie. I can picture it vividly. He fell and two candleholders toppled over. I grabbed one of them to steady it, and the other fell on Mr. Koenig. I moved that one off him. Apparently he hit his head. The combination of the fall and shock must have done him in.”
“That’s a shame,” Brock said. He looked truly worried. “And for you with your ceremony about to take place.”
“Not the kind of thing to calm the nerves of an old geezer like me.”
“Marion was telling me that you have memory problems, but you seem to recall the details of Koenig’s accident very clearly,” Brock said.
“Yeah. I have this strange type of short-term memory loss. I remember things fine during the day, but once I fall asleep, I forget everything that happened to me before going to sleep. But I can still recall events from my more-distant past.”
“Interesting. So if we had met yesterday, you wouldn’t remember me.”
“Not one iota. You’d be a complete stranger to me.”
“That makes things difficult.”
“You can say that again. That’s why I’m very privileged that Marion agreed to hitch up with me.”
She patted my arm and smiled. “I consider it an honor.”
Brock excused himself and disappeared into the building.
I turned to Marion. “Does the name Frederick Vansworthy mean anything to you?”
“Why, yes. He’s an art dealer and an acquaintance of my son-in-law, George. He attended the party last night. You even spoke with him. Why do you ask?”
“Detective Quintana informed me that Vansworthy was the man I saw in the canal this morning.”
Marion put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear. You and Frederick Vansworthy had a very heated argument at the party last night.”
Chapter 4
I flinched at hearing that I had argued with Vansworthy the night before he turned up dead. “When Detective Quintana hears that, he’ll be all over me like sweat on a marathon runner. I’ll be his number-one suspect. He can’t be thinking too highly of me anyway, since I appeared at the scene of two deaths within one day.”
“But you didn’t have anything to do with either,” Marion said. “I was with you all last night, so you couldn’t have done anything to Frederick Vansworthy between the time he was alive at the party and when his body showed up in the canal.”
“Yeah, but you’re my wife now so Quintana won’t believe you.”
“And poor Harold. That was obviously an accident. He had a bad heart so I’m sure surprise at seeing you and the fall could have led to a heart attack.”
“Some medical types will be inspecting his body to find out what happened.”
Just then the wedding photographer approached and asked Marion to join him in the garden for a few bride pictures. I excused myself and wandered off to have another snack. Had to keep the old body nourished. I’d need all my strength to be able to perform on my wedding night.
After stuffing my face with some meatballs, baby hot dogs in thick brown syrup and a strawberry or two, I noticed Marion’s grandson Austin off in the corner sulking. I ambled toward him and saw a black eye.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I ran into a hard object.” He avoided eye contact and slunk away.
I wondered what was going on. A few minutes later I spotted Jennifer. Her perky demeanor had changed. She had a scowl on her puss.
“What’s up,” I said. “I saw Austin has a black eye.”
“That jerk.” Her eyes flared.
“Uh-oh. I detect some altercation between the two of you.”
“That little toad tried to paw me. I let him have it. Pow.” She punched her right fist into her left hand.
“I think you taught him a lesson,” I said. “I need to have a little chat with him concerning his behavior.”
“He should be locked up.” Jennifer stomped off.
This was serious misconduct and required swift action. I wandered through the crowd until I caught a glimpse of Austin sitting on a cement bench by himself. I stood in front of him.
“You’re going to receive more than black eyes if you don’t learn to treat women right.”
He scowled at me. “She was asking for it.”
“I don’t think so. The evidence on your face would indicate you weren’t invited to touch her.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No. You need to apologize. We’re one family now, and your behavior is unacceptable.”
“You going to make me?” He still didn’t make eye contact.
“Yes.” I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up.
He let out a yelp.
“I may be an old codger, but in our family we treat people with respect.” I steered him back toward the reception.
He flailed his arms, but I had him off balance and kept moving.
We found Jennifer, and I called out to her. “Austin has something to say to you.”
He tried to slink away, but I pulled him back.
Jennifer came up six inches from his face. “You looking for another black eye?”
“Jennifer, the violence is over. Austin?”
They glared at each other.
Finally, Austin averted his gaze. When he looked up again he said, “I’m sorry.”
“See, that wasn’t so tough,” I said.
“I’m only forgiving you because of my grandpa’s wedding,” Jennifer said.
He let out a sigh of relief. “It won’t happen again.”
I think he was convinced that Jennifer had been ready to pop him in the eye again.
“Now why don’t you two try to get along for the rest of the reception?”
“Okay,” Jennifer said. She waved her fist at Austin. “But no more funny business.”
He flinched, but stood up straighter. “Okay.”
They headed off to graze some more at the snack table.
I rejoined my bride who had been immortalized in dozens of photographs while I was trying to render family unity.
“Where have you been?” Marion asked.
“I had a peacekeeping mission. I had to prevent bloodshed between our two families.”
“It was something to do with Austin, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“He’s been a handful lately. Andrea doesn
’t know what to do with him.”
“A little tanning on the backside wouldn’t hurt.”
“She doesn’t believe in that.”
“I don’t know. There’s something to be said for old-fashioned corporal punishment.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
I smiled. “I go along with a good threat, though. Austin needs to understand the simple cause and effect of actions he takes. Between a black eye and a little friendly persuasion I think he got the message.”
The band struck up a slow number, and I took Marion’s hand to lead her out to dance. We made several passes around the patio, and I managed not to mangle her feet. Several other couples joined us. I held her close and felt proud that she had agreed to be my wife.
Later, suffering from too much liquid refreshment, I two-stepped off to the little boys’ room and then felt much better. On my way back to the festivities, I spied Austin off in a corner of the courtyard smashing baby tomatoes against the church wall.
“What the heck are you doing?” I asked.
His head jerked up. “Playing a game.” He scowled at me.
“Well, it isn’t improving the value of church property. Go into the bathroom and get some wet paper towels to wipe this mess up.”
He didn’t move. “You gonna make me?”
The kid had obviously forgotten what had happened the last time he used that line. “Maybe I should ask Jennifer to come persuade you.”
His eyes widened and he looked around wildly.
“Now, get cracking,” I said.
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Okay.”
He disappeared inside the restroom. Moments later he reappeared with a handful of towels and scuffed his feet as he returned to the scene of the damage he’d inflicted on the wall. As I stood over him with my arms crossed, he began scrubbing.
“What are you so unhappy about today?” I asked.
He sneered at me. “I want to be at the beach with my friends. My mom made me come here.”
“Your friends can wait. This is an important event for your grandmother. She’s pleased that you’re here.”
He looked surprised. “But I’m stuck with a bunch of old people.”
I laughed. “I know how you feel. I hate being around old people.”
“But you are one.”
