Knot Ready for Murder

by Mary Marks

  “Well, how was Hadas back then?”

  “Wild and rebellious, considering the community we lived in.” He referred to the Jewish enclave in Brooklyn.

  “Was she pretty?” I watched his discomfort as he navigated through a minefield of possible wrong answers.

  He eyed me carefully and, from his expression, I guessed he was contemplating the wisdom of making comparisons. “She was . . . uh, attractive, yes. But,” he added hastily, “definitely not my type.”

  I laid out another minefield for him to walk through. “What is your type?”

  He closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hand. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  I smiled, taking pleasure in his discomfort. “You have only yourself to blame. So? What is your type?”

  “You’re my type. Smart, funny, and beautiful.” A slow grin curled his mouth. “And sexy. Very sexy.”

  I threw back my head and laughed. “Right answer. I guess we can still be friends. What did you do to the pancakes? They’re extra-good this morning.”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “I’ve only talked to Fanya over the phone. Tell me what to expect.”

  He sipped his coffee. “You can’t tell we’re siblings because she got all the good looks in the family. She’s smart and she’s tall. Us Levys tend to be tall.” He wasn’t kidding. At six feet six inches, he was the tallest person I’d ever known.

  “Is she religious?”

  He shook his head. “She is fiercely superstitious, but not religious. Contrary to our parents’ expectations, she chose not to marry. She loves her independence too much. Fanya’s a lot like you, in that respect.”

  I finished my breakfast and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Even though work was strictly forbidden on the Sabbath, we spent the bulk of the morning doing laundry, scouring the bathrooms, dusting, and vacuuming. I wanted Hadas to know she was up against a balabusta, a skilled Jewish homemaker. After an inventory of the inside of our refrigerator, I sent Crusher to the market. Buying and selling was also forbidden on the Sabbath, but this was an emergency. Fanya and Hadas didn’t have to know what day the food was purchased.

  By two in the afternoon, we’d finished our labors and I was about to take a shower when my sister, Giselle, called. “You know, Sissy, I’ve been waiting for hours. You were supposed to call me today, remember?”

  Oh crap. “The day isn’t over yet, G.” I’d been too focused on making my house sparkle to remember my promise to call my sister.

  “Well, I can’t handle the suspense any longer. You were antsy and distracted all evening. Yossi, too. Harold agrees. Something’s troubling both of you.”

  I told her about Crusher’s marriage to Hadas.

  “Shut the front door! He’s married?”

  “In name only. Yossi signed the papers and trusted his friend to do the legal stuff, but apparently that never happened. His sister, Fanya, is flying to LA as we speak, and she’s bringing Hadas.”

  “Why now?”

  “Excellent question, G. I won’t find out until they arrive. I think Yossi means for them to stay with us.”

  “Are you going to let that happen? Are you going to let his wife, for God’s sake, stay in your home?”

  “Actually, G, it’ll be easier for me to keep an eye on things if they do.”

  Little did I know how much I would grow to regret that decision.

  CHAPTER 3

  Crusher left Encino at three to meet the five o’clock arrival of Fanya’s flight from New York. In LA, one always hoped for the best traffic conditions, but the smart driver added extra time in case there was a major delay on the freeway. I calculated he wouldn’t return with our guests for another four hours.

  While he was gone, I ignored another Sabbath prohibition. According to the strict rules of Orthodoxy, kindling a fire (such as cooking or operating a vehicle) was one of the thirty-nine types of work forbidden on the day of rest. Food must be prepared before the Sabbath began at sundown on Friday. I chose to overlook many restrictions imposed by such a strict practice of Judaism. My personal observance fell somewhere between the traditional or moderate branch and the Reform or liberal branch. I had plenty of time to cook dinner and get dressed before Crusher returned with our two houseguests.

  Around seven, the sound of the automatic garage door opening indicated Crusher had arrived. Perfect timing. I’d finished dressing in an Eileen Fisher long-sleeved gray tunic and matching wide-legged trousers. I walked with measured steps toward the front door and waited until I heard their voices. I took a deep, calming yoga breath and plastered a pleasant smile on my face.

  Fanya kissed the mezuzah on the door before entering. She towered over me by at least ten inches. Enormous golden hoop earrings about the size of a child’s bracelet dangled from her ears. Tortoiseshell combs kept her long chestnut curls from falling over her face. She wore a fisherman’s sweater, stonewashed blue jeans, and what appeared to be Doc Martens boots. She looked much younger than her forty-five years.

  “Martha!” Fanya crushed me in a bear hug, smashing my face against her boobs. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders, took a step backward, and appraised me from head to toe. She flashed a smile wide enough to see a gap between her two front teeth, just like Crusher’s. “I’m so glad to finally meet you in person. We always seemed to miss each other those few times you came to New York.” The grin vanished as she leaned toward me and whispered, “Be careful.”

  Oh no. Was Hadas going to be a problem? I nodded once to acknowledge her warning. “Wonderful to see you, too.”

  Fanya stepped aside, allowing me to greet the other woman. I sipped a quick breath when I saw Hadas. She reminded me of the exquisitely gorgeous Penélope Cruz; dark, luxurious hair and golden skin. Her blue, almost-violet eyes were made more intense by her purple sweater. Hadas definitely took care of herself in the intervening years. She raised her chin to literally look down her nose with a smile as real as a cobra’s. “You must be Martha.”

  I offered my hand to shake, which she ignored. The smile I returned was equally insincere as her own. “Not only must I be Martha, I insist on it.”

  En garde.

  Crusher stood in the doorway with two rolling suitcases and looked like he was about to throw up. The battle line had been drawn, and he knew it. “Martha’s prepared a nice dinner for us. I’ll take your bags into our guest room.”

  Hadas stepped over to Crusher and purred, “I’ll go with you, Yossi. A lady always likes to freshen up after a long journey.” Hadas placed a proprietary arm through his and tittered as he awkwardly rolled the luggage. “Are you nervous? Don’t be. After all, you’re still my husband.”

  I watched in disbelief as they disappeared together down the hallway.

  Fanya waited until they were out of earshot. “She means to get him back, Martha. I tried my best to discourage her, but gornisht helfen.” Nothing helps.

  “That’s not going to happen!” I growled through my teeth.

  Fanya wagged her head. “I’ve known Hadas since we were schoolgirls together. When she gets something in her head, she’s relentless. Believe me, she’s always shown such chutzpah.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m just as relentless. Anyway, I’m puzzled. Why is she coming after him now? And why didn’t she go through with the annulment?”

  “You’ll have to ask her about the annulment. As to the other, I believe she’s always had a crush on Yossi. Even before their so-called marriage.”

  “Still? Almost thirty years have passed since then.”

  Fanya shrugged. “Some people never get over their first love. She couldn’t stop talking about him. Believe me, she was hocking a chinek for five hours straight on the plane.” Fanya used the Yiddish expression for someone who rattled on and on like a boiling teakettle on top of a stove. Footsteps approached in the hallway from the bedrooms. “Shh,” Fanya warned.

  “You two must be hungry after all your traveling. Dinner’s prepared. Take a seat there.”
I gestured toward the dining room. “Yossi, honey, will you help me bring out the food?” I pulled him into the kitchen while our two guests sat on opposite sides of the table. “Did you ask her want she wants?” I hissed.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Something about a business proposition.”

  I wouldn’t let it pass. “You’d better set her straight about your divorce.” I turned on my heel and shoved a platter with slices of cold baked salmon in his hands to put on the table. I followed with the other dishes of deviled eggs, green salad, and slices of challah, while Crusher opened a bottle of Baron Herzog kosher white chardonnay.

  As Fanya reached for a deviled egg, I noticed a red string tied around her left wrist. It wasn’t uncommon to see people walking around Israel wearing a bracelet of red string, but one rarely saw them in the US. Those strings had been taken to Kever Rachel (the tomb of the matriarch Rachel) and consecrated with prayer. Once transformed by the holy place, the strings became an amulet to ward off the evil eye. Some strings made their way to the USA. Red was the color thought by Ashkenazi Jews to protect against the evil eye. Blue was more the color for Sephardi Jews.

  “This is delicious, Martha.” Fanya took three more eggs but declined a serving of fish.

  Hadas moved the leaves of lettuce around on her salad plate. “This would have been perfect if it hadn’t been for a piece of overripe tomato.”

  I ground my teeth. “No problem.” I reached over, grabbed her salad plate, and put it in the kitchen. When I came back to the table, I caught her batting those blue eyes and aiming a triumphant smile at Crusher.

  I waited until my pulse rate slowed to normal before I dared to speak. “You know, Hadas, I’m concerned about your comfort. Fanya will sleep in the double bed in our guest bedroom. The only other place to sleep is on the sofa. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in a nearby hotel.”

  “How sweet of you to be concerned, Martha, but I’m happy to sleep on the sofa.” Her eyes flicked in the direction of my chair. “You may find it a tad too narrow, but I’ll fit without a problem.”

  A red haze closed in on my vision, and my heart rate soared once more in response to her insult about my being overweight. Fanya’s eyes grew wide.

  Crusher drained his wineglass and poured himself another full glass of Baron Herzog chardonnay. “Martha’s right about couch surfing, Hadas.”

  She reached over and rested her fingertips lightly on his hand. “Remember after our wedding how you insisted on sleeping on the sofa? It’s the least I can do to return the favor.”

  “It’s okay.” Fanya dabbed the corner of her mouth with the napkin. “Hadas and I can share the double bed.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Sunday, I woke at six. Crusher’s side of the bed was empty. I threw on a bathrobe and headed toward the laughter coming from the living room. I yawned. “Everyone’s up early.”

  Hadas waved a dismissive hand. “We’re still on New York time. It’s nine for us.”

  Crusher wore jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. He had tied a blue bandanna on his head, his preferred religious head covering. He brought a cup of coffee and cream from the kitchen and handed it to me. “We were reminiscing about the old days, babe.”

  Hadas flinched when he called me by such an affectionate term. She refused to make eye contact with me and made a big deal out of smoothing the pleats on the skirt of a pink linen dress.

  “What about the old days?” I thanked him for the coffee.

  This morning my future sister-in-law wore stylish jeans torn at the knees and a blue Save the Whales T-shirt. “Oh, you know. People, family, the sequestered life of the Orthodox community. We’ve each managed to break away.”

  “It’s obvious you no longer adhere to the strict dress code for women, Fanya, but in what other ways have you forsaken tradition?” I asked.

  “For one, I’ve solved the kosher thing by becoming a vegetarian.”

  So that’s why she didn’t eat the fish last night.

  “I’ve also made the choice not to pru urvu.” Fanya referred to the first of the 613 commandments in Torah to be fruitful and multiply—a mandate many Jews took very seriously, especially after the decimation of the Holocaust. “I make a nice living hanging wallpaper. Flocked, metallic, plain, grass cloth, and even fabric; homes, businesses; uptown, downtown—I do it all. And before you ask, yes. As tall as I am, I can sometimes reach the ceiling without a ladder. Owning my own small business gives me the freedom and the means to travel when I want to.”

  “I suppose all those things are a lot easier when you don’t have to take care of a family.”

  She smiled. “I love the life I’ve chosen. I’ve never really felt the need to have a traditional family of my own.” She held coffee in one hand and made a grand gesture with the other. “The world is my family.” She glanced around the living room. “You know, I bet I could transform this room into something sensational. If you want, I could easily paper this living room in a day. I recommend using an understated geometric. Like stripes. Or you could totally go in the opposite direction. Like a very detailed William Morris nineteenth-century leaf and bird print.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.” I eyed my rival over the rim of my cup. “What about you, Hadas? How have you broken from tradition?”

  “Parts of the tradition I keep.” She sniffed and looked at Crusher. “Some of them have been very useful. For example, being a divorcée or widow would’ve automatically invited interest from single men. My father would’ve forced me to marry one of them. But being an agunah created a boundary against such annoying attention.”

  She referred to the laws of divorce in Judaism. A man could divorce a wife, but a woman couldn’t divorce a husband. An agunah was a woman who had been abandoned by her husband but was chained to a marriage because he hadn’t given her a Get, a bill of divorcement.

  “Of course, a lot of men have wanted me,” Hadas boasted. “More than one married man promised me the world if I became his mistress. But I’m no nafke.” She used the Yiddish word for “whore.”

  “Has v’halilah!” Fanya cried. God forbid!

  Crusher shook his head. “Ze’ev promised me he’d make sure we got an annulment. When Fanya asked, you led her to believe you’d taken care of it. Why did you lie?”

  An enigmatic smile softened her lips. “Don’t blame poor Ze’ev. I didn’t want an annulment from you, Yossi. As an agunah, it was easy to justify working in my father’s business. I was quite happy and fulfilled there.”

  What I wanted to say was monkey business. What I actually said was, “What business is that?”

  “Shmatas. Garment manufacturing. I started with supervising the workers in the pit, the place where all the machine sewing goes on. I reorganized the workspace to make it more efficient. I modernized and digitized the business records next. When I saw how much money we could save by sending the work overseas, I negotiated great deals with our Mexican, Vietnamese, and Chinese suppliers.”

  With every statement, Hadas became more adamant, speaking to Crusher as if he were the only one in the room. “I’ve increased sales every year. I must say, I’m as good as any man at making hard decisions.”

  “Pu, pu, pu.” Fanya pantomimed spitting three times behind her hand, to ensure Hadas’s boasting wouldn’t attract the attention of the evil eye.

  Hadas continued: “You can’t be afraid of making people angry if you want to be successful. I couldn’t have achieved everything I’ve done if I’d remarried and raised a family.”

  “What about your brother?” I asked.

  “After my father died, may he rest in peace, the business went equally to me and my brother, Ze’ev. We ran the company together. Ze’ev was the numbers guy. I was the salesperson. We worked well as a team. Unfortunately, Ze’ev was killed six months ago. I’ve been running the company alone ever since.”

  “Killed?” Crusher carried a pained look. “How?”

  “Hit-and-run dri
ver. Never caught.” She paused for maximum effect. “I’ve written a new will. In the event of my death, Yossi, ownership of the business will revert to my closest next of kin. You.”

  Fanya erupted with another fresh bout of spitting. “You should live a long life, halevai.”

  And there it was. The whole reason for her visit. She wanted to lure Crusher back to New York, using a thriving business as bait. It didn’t take a genius to see she also wanted to live as husband and wife.

  Fanya clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap.

  Crusher’s jaw dropped. “I don’t think you understand, Hadas.” He pointed to the floor. “I live here. In this house. I’m in love with Martha. We’re getting married. We’re happy.”

  Hadas’s eyes narrowed. She reminded me of a snake getting ready to strike and kill. “Think about how much easier your life can be, Yossi. I’d continue to run the business and you could either join me or pursue something else you enjoy.”

  I knew my fiancé well enough to be alarmed at his continued silence. Why didn’t he stop her? Dear God, was he taking her proposal seriously?

  He finally broke the silence. “I am doing what I enjoy, Hadas. I’m a federal agent.” Yossi Levy, aka Crusher, worked for the ATF. His job sometimes required him to operate undercover. Those were dangerous assignments, but he loved the work and was good at it.

  “Yes, but how much longer before you’re too old?” She briefly glanced at me. “There are millions of dollars involved. We could have a beautiful life.”

  I placed my empty cup on the coffee table. “I’ve got another idea, Hadas. Once you and Yossi get a divorce, you’ll be free to look for a more suitable man to help you run your business.”

  “I don’t need help!” she snapped. “I’m more than capable of running the business by myself.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then why did you fly all the way to LA?”

  Hadas continued to ignore me and spoke as if I weren’t in the same room. “I’m thinking of moving our headquarters to Los Angeles, Yossi. Even if you want to continue in your present job out here, we can still be together while I run the business. Trust me. I’ve thought of everything.”