Knot Ready for Murder

by Mary Marks

  I felt guilty for abandoning Giselle, Fanya, and Hilda in the waiting room. “Three very concerned family members have been in the waiting room for hours without news. I’d like to let them know what’s going on, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back through those locked double doors. I also don’t want to take the chance of not being here when the doctor does come.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting at a smile hidden under her face mask. “Would you like me to go out there and talk to them?”

  I gave her the names of my “sisters” with profound thanks.

  Before she left, she checked Uncle Isaac’s vitals. “Looking good, Mr. Harris. Blood pressure’s within the normal range.” She entered something on her iPad and headed toward the double doors to the waiting room. Two minutes later, she reappeared though the doorway. When she saw me watching, she gave me the thumbs-up sign.

  Finally, a petite Asian woman, wearing green scrubs and carrying her own iPad, walked purposefully into the last bay, where we sat waiting, the young nurse by her side. The woman’s name tag with photo ID identified her as Dr. Yuen.

  She acknowledged my presence with a brief nod and smiled at Uncle Isaac. “I’ve got good news, Mr. Harris. Your scan came back clean. Whatever made you faint wasn’t in your brain. And your blood chemistry shows everything is within normal range.”

  While she talked, the nurse removed the IV needle from his left arm, swabbed the area with alcohol, and applied a small bandage.

  Thank you, God.

  “The note from the paramedics indicated your blood pressure was dangerously low when they got to your house. But I see your latest pressure check here shows improvement.”

  The muscles in his face eased and his shoulders relaxed. “So why did I faint?”

  “Let me check one thing.” The doctor slid her fingers on the iPad. “You’re being treated for Parkinson’s and hypertension, correct?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Some of the medications you’re taking can cause a sudden drop in blood pressure. Especially in combination. It’s very important you review your meds with your doctor as soon as possible. Otherwise, you appear to be in good shape for a man in his eighties. I’ve written your discharge instructions. Stop at the desk before you go. They’ll have some papers for you to sign.” She offered her hand for a shake. “Good luck.”

  He took her hand in both of his. “Thank you, doctor. A gesunt auf deine keppeleh.”

  She tilted her head like a small bird wanting a closer look. “What does that mean?”

  “You should have good health and blessings.”

  I stepped outside the bay and closed the curtains to give him privacy. Five minutes later, he opened the curtains, fully dressed. “I’m ready to go now.”

  A young man in yellow scrubs with a name tag identifying him as a patient escort, attempted to install Uncle Isaac in a wheelchair.

  “Thank you, young man, but I feel fine. I can walk.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, hospital rules. I have to wheel you safely out to your car.”

  We stopped at the nurses’ station for the paperwork, then the escort wheeled him through the double doors. As soon as we entered the waiting room, Giselle, Fanya, and Hilda hurried over to his chair. Everyone spoke at once.

  He raised his hand and patted the air in front of him. “Oy! Such a ruckus. I’m fine, keinehora. My noggin’s tough. The doc says it was probably my medicines making me faint. It’s an easy problem to fix.” He looked at Hilda. “And boy, am I hungry.”

  She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll warm some nice chicken soup when we get home. Giselle is going to drive us.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost nine. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you hold out or shall we go to the hospital cafeteria right now?”

  He rolled his head gently backward and laughed. “Let me think. Hilda’s delicious chicken soup with matzah balls and noodles in ten minutes or hospital food right now?” His good spirits had a calming effect on everyone.

  Uncle Isaac rode in the front of the Jag with Giselle. Fanya, Hilda, and I sat in the back. In the last two hours, I’d received texts from the quilty group asking about him.

  I texted them all the good news. Crisis over. Uncle okay. Quilting is a go. C U tomorrow morning.

  Quincy had left three voice mails. I hesitated to call her back at this hour. Normally, she’d still be awake. But with the baby still waking up at night, she grabbed her sleep when she could. I texted her not to worry, that he was fine. Crusher hadn’t responded, which indicated he was still undercover.

  We made it to their house in ten minutes, as Hilda predicted. Four women fussed over him all the way into the kitchen. Hilda removed a pot of soup from the refrigerator. The knob on the stove clicked twice and the gas burner came alive with a circle of blue flames.

  Uncle Isaac sat at the vintage kitchen table with its shiny chrome legs. I touched the gray Formica tabletop and remembered eating Cream of Wheat and coloring in my Wizard of Oz coloring book, eating peanut butter sandwiches and dressing my Barbie and, a few years later, using a compass and protractor for my geometry homework. We anchored our lives to that table, lured by mouthwatering smells from Bubbie’s cooking and baking. I was only ten when she died. From then on, Uncle Isaac did the cooking when my mother’s mental health became too erratic to count on for regular meals. I sighed. Both Bubbie and my mother were gone now. But I could still feel their presence around the table.

  “There’s enough soup for everyone,” Hilda said. “I’m hungry and know the three of you must be, too. We also have some nice twice-baked rye bread and chopped liver from the deli.”

  Who could argue?

  “I’m a vegetarian. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” Fanya sounded apologetic. “But some rye bread with butter sounds good. Do you have any cheese?”

  Hilda brightened. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t eat meat. I have some fresh egg salad made this morning. Will that do?”

  Fanya grinned. “Perfect.”

  The five of us crowded around the table in celebration mode. My uncle had dodged a bullet for now. I was willing to settle for one small mercy at a time.

  By the time we got back to Giselle’s house to get my car, it was eleven-thirty. “It’s been a very long day and awfully late to be driving back to the Valley. Why don’t the two of you spend the night?”

  “I’m tempted, G, but I can’t. We have quilting tomorrow. Remember? Thanks for driving. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  On the way home, I thought about the note Hadas left for me. How did she know I’d find her? She either had confidence in my sleuthing skills, or Hauer called her, despite my warning, and gave her a heads-up.

  I pulled into my driveway forty-five minutes later. Fanya had nodded off during the ride home.

  I tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re home, Fanya. Wake up.”

  She opened her eyes with a start. “Sorry, I slept. What time is it, anyway?”

  “After midnight.”

  She stretched and yawned. “Yeah. I must be still on New York time. It’s three in the morning there.”

  Fanya went straight to bed while I refilled Bumper’s food dish. The purring ball of fluff rubbed his jaw on my ankle as I poured the kibble.

  I hadn’t checked my phone since leaving Uncle Isaac’s. When I plugged it into the charger, the screen came alive and alerted me to a new voice mail.

  “This is Alexander Koslov. Call me.”

  I pressed the callback icon and he answered almost immediately. “Koslov.”

  “This is Martha Rose.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Tomorrow at two. Your house.”

  “Come alone.”

  The quilty group should still be at my house. He couldn’t overcome so many people, especially one who knew Krav Maga.

  “I’m sure you know my address since you brok
e in a week ago.”

  I needn’t have wasted my breath. He’d already ended the call.

  I gave Hadas grudging credit for telling the truth. She said Koslov had been following me.

  CHAPTER 26

  Tuesday morning I kept turning over in my head the odd conversation with Alexander Koslov the night before. What did he want with me? As Fanya and I made our way through a whole pot of coffee, I warned her about the visitor coming at two.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle him. Especially if he’s coming alone.” Her confidence reassured me about the wisdom of welcoming a stalker into my house. I witnessed her “handling” the bodybuilder Peter Hauer without breaking a sweat. I believed she could also handle Koslov.

  She offered to take care of the dirty dishes while I ran to Bea’s Bakery for two dozen each of mandelbrot—Jewish biscotti with almonds—and lace cookies dipped in chocolate. I also added a loaf of rye and a dozen rugelach. We were ready for visitors by ten.

  The first to arrive was Jazz, the only male member of our group. He wore a mint green shirt with ivory-colored trousers and tan espadrilles. Zsa Zsa barked once and stuck her little white head out of his green canvas tote bag. She wore a mint green bow in her topknot and a matching dotted Swiss skirt with a bib and shoulder straps to hold it in place. Jazz placed her on the floor and she ran to find her friend and playmate Bumper, my orange cat.

  “Martha, it’s never too early to start planning for your wedding. Let’s discuss your dress. Then I’ll need to take measurements.” He walked over to the sofa and took his usual place at the end. “And, Fanya, I assume you’re going to attend the wedding, too. Would you like me to do your gown as well?” He smiled. “I’d be more than happy to make something bougie, designed exclusively for you. You’re thin and you’re tall. You’ll be much easier to fit.” He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, Martha. You know I love designing for all body types.”

  Fanya barked a laugh. “Frankly, Jazz, I don’t see myself in a ball gown. Ever. Maybe something a little more demure? Like a cocktail dress with sleeves?”

  His mouth formed an exaggerated “O.” “I’ve got it! How about black satin trousers to show off those long legs of yours and a matching tuxedo jacket with just a whiff of a lace bandeau underneath? You’d look stunning!”

  “If she doesn’t want it, I do.” Giselle walked in on the middle of the conversation. She took her usual place in the other easy chair. “How about hot pink satin with a black lace bandeau? Very Frederick’s of Hollywood.”

  The three of them tried to top each other with outlandish color combinations until they howled with laughter. Lime green with orange got the biggest hoot.

  “What’s all the hilarity about?” Lucy and Birdie arrived amid the laughter.

  “They were discussing what to wear for my wedding—if it ever happens, that is.”

  Lucy sat at her end of the sofa and Birdie took the seat in the middle.

  Lucy asked, “Why do you say, ‘if it ever happens?’ Is there something we should know about?” Lucy took out her Robbing Peter to Pay Paul blocks.

  Birdie offered to sew another “flower” for Giselle’s endless project, a Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt made with little two-inch hexagons. Birdie gave some of the hexagons to Fanya and taught her how to whipstitch them together with tiny, hidden sutures. Fanya handed each of us pieces of thread to chew on. God forbid we should lose our wits.

  I broke the news about how the missing Hadas managed to elude us once again. “Darn that woman! If we don’t find her, Yossi can’t get a divorce and we can’t get married.”

  The seventy-something Birdie tugged on the end of her long white braid with one purple and one turquoise streak. “Why is she on the lam?” Birdie was a fan of crime dramas and liked to use cop speak, even if it was outdated.

  “She believes someone named Alexander Koslov is stalking her.”

  “Who is he?” Birdie stopped stitching and peered at me over her wire-rimmed glasses.

  “He’s a missing link in the story of Hadas and the Uhrman Company. He’s also behind the second break-in two Mondays ago, I’m almost sure of it. Hadas says he’s stalking her. She says it’s about unrequited love, but she lied. Her company is somehow involved with him financially. He’s probably pursuing her because of money.

  “Anyway, I’m pretty pissed off she disappeared for the third time. And I’m exhausted chasing her.” I paused for breath. “And now everybody’s here, I can tell you Koslov is coming here at two this afternoon. Hadas hinted he could be violent, so I’ll understand if you want to leave before he gets here.”

  I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence. The four of them spoke at once while Fanya and I listened.

  Giselle pushed her eyebrows together. “Are you kidding, Sissy? Of course I want to be here. After all, it was my IT guy who discovered the financial connection between the Uhrman Company and Koslov Associates. I’ll secretly record the conversation with my smartphone.”

  “Unfortunately, Birdie and I have to leave at one,” said Lucy. “Wish we could stay, but I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”

  Jazz sat up straighter. “You always forget, Martha, I took jujitsu classes years ago. I’ll stay in case he tries anything funny.”

  “Okay, okay.” I tried to regain their attention. “Koslov must know Fanya is staying here. There’s no need for her to hide. Jazz, you and Giselle will disappear in the sewing room out of sight before he comes. I’m pretty sure you can hear everything from there. I don’t want to scare Koslov away with too many witnesses.”

  Giselle said, “If you need our help, just say the word banana.”

  Lucy stopped sewing and rested her hands in her lap. “What about your uncle? I felt awful getting your text last night. How’s he doing?”

  Every face turned in my direction. I told them about his trip to the ER at Cedars-Sinai. “Turns out the fainting was probably due to his medications. He’s going to get them adjusted. As for his Parkinson’s, he’s taking boxing lessons to improve his symptoms. Hilda says it’s working.”

  Giselle removed a pad of paper from her Gucci tote bag. “Let’s continue to talk about your wedding, Sissy. Tell me, what theme do you want? It’s never too early to plan the event with the caterers.” She clasped a Mont-blanc pen in her right hand, ready to take notes.

  Birdie raised her hand. “I think we should have an Agatha Christie theme. After all, Martha has solved several murders. We could decorate the setting like an English garden.”

  “True . . .” Jazz drew out the word. “But here’s the thing. Aggie was an old spinster. And she was a knitter, not a quilter.”

  “Hmm.” Lucy tapped her lips with her finger. “Along those lines, how about a Sherlock Holmes theme? Martha is just as clever as he was, and he had the advantage of being a fictional character.”

  Jazz shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. Holmes was addicted to cocaine. We need to think of a more romantic theme. Something like Rose and Jack’s love story in the film Titanic.” He sighed and gazed into the distance. “We could do a whole nautical theme in luscious tones of blue, green, and turquoise, like the waters of the Caribbean.”

  “I vote no on the Titanic theme,” Giselle said.

  Jazz sniffed. “Why? I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Jack went down with the ship.”

  Jazz pursed his lips. “Okay. How about a Pirates of the Caribbean theme? We could still decorate with blues and greens, and we could all dress up like pirates and wenches.”

  Giselle rolled her eyes. “I suppose you’d wear a black patch over one eye and attach a rubber parrot to your shoulder.”

  Jazz leaned forward. “And I suppose you’d wear a leather bodice and carry a whip.”

  I chuckled. “Okay, you two. Give me a break. I’m not a starry-eyed girl. Plus, I’ve been married once before. Themes are for the young and idealistic. I want a simple wedding with my nearest and dearest.”

  We took a break at noon
and Fanya made grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone. Jazz bit into his sandwich and closed his eyes. “So good.” He opened his eyes. “I remember eating these as a kid with Campbell’s tomato soup.”

  “You’re right,” Lucy said. “I’d forgotten how good they are together.”

  At one, Lucy and Birdie went home.

  At one fifty-five Giselle and Jazz disappeared into my sewing room. “Remember,” Giselle said, “say the word banana if you need us.”

  At precisely two, someone knocked on my door. I looked through the peephole. A handsome man in his forties stood alone on the porch. His gray suit looked perfectly tailored and expensive. A yellow pocket square over his left chest matched the silk tie with yellow and lavender stripes. His perfectly barbered thick brown hair showed gray at the temples. The dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes caused me to hold my breath.

  “Who’s there?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

  “Alexander Koslov.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “My driver waits in car.” He spoke with a heavy accent.

  I opened the door to let him in.

  CHAPTER 27

  I led Koslov to the living room and gestured for him to take a seat. He lowered himself into one of the easy chairs and I claimed the other one. Fanya sat facing us on the cream-colored sofa.

  Koslov spoke in a soft but controlled voice. “When you asked me to come alone, I assumed you also are alone. Was I mistaken?”

  I couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored black lenses. “I’ll answer as soon as you remove your glasses. It’s very rude to hide behind them, especially when you’re in someone’s home.”

  He stiffened briefly at my rebuke, then removed his glasses, revealing penetrating blue eyes. His mouth formed an empty smile.

  I gazed at those eyes and tried not to blink. “You know what they say about the word assume. It makes an ass out of u and me.’” I pointed to my future sister-in-law. “Fanya flew to LA with Hadas. She’s family. If she makes you too uncomfortable, you can leave. You’re the one who wanted to talk, not me.”