Knot Ready for Murder

by Mary Marks

  Hadas screamed, “I hate you! I’ll kill you!”

  I ignored her. “He and I don’t really need to be married. I think we’ll be more than fine living together as partners. In bed and in business. The cool thing is, while we’re in New York, we’ll enjoy a more luxurious lifestyle with money from the business. Thank you for helping me see the light, Hadas.”

  I enjoyed watching her as she struggled in vain to escape Beavers’s firm grasp.

  Her normally beautiful face became distorted and feral. “Show me those divorce papers,” she snarled. “I want to sign them. Right now!”

  CHAPTER 35

  Seven Months Later

  Tuesday morning, I stared at the official document in my hand, the one Crusher received from the lawyer the day before. It stated the marriage between Yosef Benyamin Levy and Hadas Uhrman Levy was now legally and forever dissolved. Crusher and I were free to marry, and I couldn’t wait to share the news with my best friends.

  Crusher’s very tall sister, Fanya, returned to LA for her second visit since Hadas’s arrest. She, Crusher, and I shared a bottle of champagne the night before to celebrate his hard-won freedom from Hadas.

  Fanya raised her glass. “I’m incredibly happy for you both. L’chaim.” To life.

  Crusher and I made our own private celebration afterward.

  The first quilters to arrive were Lucy and Birdie. Lucy’s orange hair had thinned a little with age but didn’t detract from her impeccable appearance. She wore a cerulean blue cotton knit sweater because, as Lucy said, blue made her hair look more “authentic.” She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a hearty “Hey, girlfriend.” Then she handed me a plate of oatmeal cookies. “This is the last of that frozen batch of cookie dough.”

  Birdie stepped forward and gave me a gentle hug. Pain from her arthritis prevented her from indulging in exuberant displays of affection. Well into her seventies, she was all about comfort. From her signature denim overalls and white T-shirt to her Birkenstock sandals, she projected a down-home warmth.

  Birdie had always been a free spirit. In addition to the turquoise and purple streaks in her hair, she recently added navy blue to the mix. “Good morning, Martha dear.” She handed me a square glass dish with an applesauce cake still warm from the oven. “I put in lots of raisins, just the way you like it.”

  Our friend Jazz Fletcher arrived with his little Maltese, Zsa Zsa Galore. Jazz and I were near the same age, both well into our fifties and sailing toward the next decade. But that was where the similarity ended. Jazz dyed his graying hair brown and worked hard to stay fit while I sometimes struggled to zip up my size sixteen stretch denim jeans. Today he and his dog Zsa Zsa wore matching navy-blue outfits. As soon as he removed her from her tote bag, she hurried to find her pal, my cat Bumper.

  Jazz gave everyone air-kisses and handed me a package of cut vegetables and a covered bowl of tzatziki, a yogurt and cucumber dip. “You should really stick to these, Martha. You want to fit into the wedding dress I’m creating.”

  Jazz started out his career sewing theatrical costumes. I’d requested a dress styled somewhere in between an Edwardian bustle and a Mary Quant mini. But he wouldn’t let me see the design sketches or the fabric he’d selected.

  Last to arrive was my sister, Giselle. She wore a white designer pantsuit and accented the look with diamonds. Lots of them. She kissed me on the cheek and handed me a pink box tied with white string. “Éclairs from Benesch.” She joined the others, working on their projects in the living room, and began sewing on her Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt.

  After I laid out all the goodies on the coffee table and settled everyone with fresh coffee, I cleared my throat to get their attention. “I have some good news.”

  Everyone stopped sewing and chatting.

  As soon as I gained their attention, I waved the paper in the air and grinned. “Yossi’s divorce is final.”

  The group erupted in clapping and whoops of joy.

  “Mozzle tahv,” said Giselle. “Now we can plan the wedding for real. Of course, we’ll use the Beverly Hills house.” She referred to the famous Eagan estate built by her grandfather with oil money. The main house could comfortably host five hundred people. “You can leave the catering details to me.”

  “Don’t I have a say in the details of my own wedding, G?” I teased my sister’s tendency to be the CEO of every situation.

  Giselle thought for a second. “Okay, you can choose the colors. But not black and white. It’s too cliché.”

  “And red is bad luck,” Fanya said. “I attended a wedding once with red as the theme. The bride fell overboard on the honeymoon cruise to Hawaii. By the time they realized she was missing, it was too late.”

  Jazz gazed into the distance and waved a hand from side to side, probably painting the picture he saw in his head. “Personally, I still like the idea of soft blues and greens, colors of the warm Caribbean waters. Plus, those colors will be most compatible with your wedding dress.”

  Lucy took a cookie from the plate she brought and dunked an edge into her coffee. “It’s nice to see you again, Fanya. What news do you bring from New York?”

  Fanya tugged on the hem of her Save the Whales T-shirt. “Hadas is still in custody and Zelig, Ettie’s oldest son, visits her occasionally. She’s in the process of signing over the business to him. The last I heard, Hadas worked a deal with the DA. She agreed to confess to voluntary manslaughter and serve a minimum sentence of five years in exchange for her testimony against Alexander Koslov.”

  “What about her baby?” Lucy asked.

  Fanya pursed her lips. “When they arrested her, they stripped her of all personal items, including the amulet I made for her. The one with the ruby to protect her against miscarriage.” Fanya shook her head slowly. “She lost the baby at twenty weeks. Like the first one thirty years ago. After her miscarriage, they put her on suicide watch. Pu, pu, pu.”

  Giselle clicked her tongue. “Her failed pregnancy was probably for the best. Her poor little child would’ve grown up with murderers for parents.”

  “Is the death of any innocent child ever ‘for the best?’ ” Fanya stirred in her seat. “Maybe the loss of both her pregnancies is punishment enough for Hadas.”

  I broke the silence, following Fanya’s statement. “I have one more piece of news. My uncle Isaac and his helper Hilda were married in a quiet ceremony last Thursday.”

  “How wonderful, Martha dear.” Birdie’s smile said it all.

  But Lucy’s face crinkled again with concern. “Did you know about this? Is she on the up-and-up?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I saw it coming. But I decided I had no right to stand in the way of his happiness. And he is happier than I’ve ever seen him. They’ll continue to live in the house as husband and wife. And when he passes, she’ll be able to continue living there.”

  Giselle said, “Wait. Isn’t it your house, too?”

  “Who needs two houses? You can only live in one at a time.” I glanced to see my sister’s wry smile. She owned and used five houses at last count. “He wanted to be sure Hilda never becomes homeless again.”

  Jazz dipped a carrot stick into the tzatziki. “Personally, I think it’s romantic. Imagine finding love for the first time in your eighties.”

  Giselle nodded. “I agree. Harold and I have driven the two of them every Friday night for Shabbat with the family. At first, they sat far apart in the back seat. Eventually they sat side by side, holding hands. Believe me, I can smell a con artist a mile away. She’s no gold digger.”

  Fanya was quilting a pattern of concentric circles in the Snail’s Trail quilt. She smiled broadly, showing the gap between her front teeth. “And now we get to witness another simcha. Martha and my brother are finally getting married.”

  CHAPTER 36

  I paced nervously between the sofa and the king-sized bed in a grand guest suite of the Eagan estate. Quincy, Giselle, Lucy, and Birdie decided they were all going to be my matrons of honor. The
y chatted amiably, wearing matching pale green dresses Jazz created.

  Since Fanya was going to stand with her brother during the ceremony, Jazz made her a black satin pantsuit with a low-cut jacket fitted tightly at the waist and a black lace bandeau underneath. She turned slowly as we admired her unusual wedding attire.

  It was five in the afternoon on a Sunday. “Where is Jazz with my dress?”

  My daughter, Quincy, belly swollen with her second child, stopped me in mid-stride and grabbed my hands. “Don’t worry, Mom. He probably got stuck in traffic.”

  I was as tightly wound as Giselle’s antique French ormolu clock on top of a gilded bombé chest. “The ceremony is supposed to start at six, and I don’t even know if the dress will fit me.” My voice sounded suspiciously close to a whine.

  “We took your measurements, Mom. Remember? Jazz knows what he’d doing.”

  “But what if I hate the style? Or the color? You guys wouldn’t even tell me that much. I’m the only one who hasn’t seen my dress.”

  Quincy’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. “You’re going to love the dress, Mom. You’ll look beautiful. We all agree.”

  Giselle rose from the blue velvet sofa and walked across an Aubusson carpet to hand me a flute of Dom Pérignon. “Don’t you love the way Antoine did your hair? It’s elegant.” My gray curls were artfully arranged in an updo, leaving my neck bare; a perfect backdrop for the dangling earrings Giselle loaned me. Studded generously with diamonds and emeralds, I was sure they cost as much as a new Lamborghini.

  My sister’s Beverly Hills hair stylist came to the estate and did all our hair earlier in the day. Giselle also brought in a specialist to do our makeup. The lithe Italian with slender fingers applied hot wax to the fine hairs underneath and between my brows.

  Apparently, he was used to insulting his clients and getting away with it. “How can you live with this jungle on your face?”

  “Well,” I said, “every six months I send in a safari with machetes to hack through the undergrowth. One time they found the lost city of Atlantis.”

  He roared with laughter. “Sei molto divertente. You’re very funny.”

  Five more minutes passed and still no Jazz. “If he doesn’t get here on time, I’ll have to wear the clothes I came in.” I’d arrived in the morning in jeans and a T-shirt and brought a small overnight bag with the underclothes Quincy told me I’d need, including XXL Spanx. I wore them now underneath a cotton robe. I’d also slipped my feet into the silver Jimmy Choo four-inch heels embellished with hundreds of crystals Giselle insisted I buy. The only thing missing was the dress.

  The chattering and laughter of the guests in the first-floor ballroom increased in volume as more and more people arrived. The sound bubbled its way up the stairs and slid under the door into the bedroom.

  My stomach did a nervous flip. This is really happening! I wrung my hands. “Where is he?”

  Lucy fished a small tin pill holder out of her purse. She extracted a yellow tablet and handed it to me. “Take this, girlfriend.” She put it in my hand.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a chill pill. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  I swallowed the pill with a mouthful of champagne. As the minutes ticked by, I could feel my tight muscles relaxing. While we continued to wait, Giselle refilled everyone’s glass, including mine. Finally, Jazz hurried into the room, carrying a garment bag. He wore a light-green suit designed to match the matrons of honor.

  “Where have you been?” Giselle asked. “The ceremony starts in ten minutes.”

  He hung the bag over the top of the closet door and unzipped it. “I got waylaid behind a road accident. I tried to call Martha on my phone, but it ran out of juice.”

  The first glimpse I got of the dress was the color: sparkling greens and blues, like the warm waters of the Caribbean. Jazz carefully slid the dress off the hanger and brought it to me, which was amazing because there were now two of him. I blinked hard to bring him in focus, but he kept sliding in and out of my vision.

  “Well?” He wore a huge grin on both of his faces. “What do you think?”

  “Of what?” I could barely concentrate on his words.

  “The dress!” He peered closely at me. “Martha? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, silly. I’m getting married in a few minutes.”

  “Stand!” he commanded.

  I grabbed his hand and stood, wobbling on the four-inch heels. He helped me step into the garment, a floor-length sheath with a slit in the back. He zipped up the back and the dress settled around my curves like a gentle glove, falling over my shoes to just above the floor. My bubbie’s pearls hung above the demure neckline of the bodice. The bare skin of my arms was covered by sleeves made of turquoise chiffon.

  I looked at my reflection in a cheval mirror with an ornate gold frame and turned from side to side. The shimmering fabric changed from blue to green and back again with each movement of my body. A wave of deep gratitude pushed up from my chest and into my throat. “I’m beautiful.”

  I turned to Jazz with tears and tried to hug him.

  “No, no!” he said. “You’ll wrinkle the fabric. And for God’s sake, do not cry!”

  Giselle hurried over to me with a Kleenex and dabbed at my cheeks. “Stop it, Sissy. Your mascara is running.”

  My gratitude attached itself to my sister. “You’re so good to me, G. I can’t imagine my life without you. I love my little sister.” I fell against her and began to weep.

  Giselle turned to Quincy. “Your mother is drunk. She’ll never be able to go downstairs like this. I’ll call the kitchen for coffee. We’ll force it down her throat if we have to.” Giselle headed for the door. “I’ll go downstairs and announce a delay. There should be enough hors d’oeuvres and booze to keep everyone happy for a while.”

  I heard someone say, “She’ll never be able to walk in those shoes in her condition.” They sat me on the sofa, removed my four-inch heels, and slid my feet into my navy-blue rubber Crocs.

  Jazz said, “Now stand, Martha.”

  “I juss wanna go to sleep.”

  Several sets of hands grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet.

  Jazz scowled. “Rats! Her hem is dragging on the floor. She won’t be able to walk without tripping.”

  When Giselle returned, they told her about the hem. She called the kitchen and three minutes later someone appeared at the door with a roll of silver duct tape. “We can fold the hem up and tape it underneath.”

  They sat me on the sofa again. I could feel them tugging on the bottom of the dress. After some ripping and tearing noises, they made me stand. “Okay. She should be able to walk now.”

  Supported on both sides by two sets of strong arms, they shuffled me back and forth across the floor. The toe of my bulky rubber shoes caught on the edge of the Aubusson carpet and caused me to stumble. After forty-five minutes of coffee and walking, I sobered enough to stand on my own.

  I headed for the bathroom. “Gotta go.”

  Jazz pointed to Giselle. “Go in there and help her with the dress. Make sure she doesn’t pee on it.”

  I walked back into the bedroom on my own.

  Lucy looked at her watch. “The wedding was supposed to start at six. It’s now seven fifteen. Oh God. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have given you the Valium.”

  I hated to see my best friend wretched. “No, Lucy. Don’t blame yourself. You’ve been my BFF for more years than I can remember. We’ve had some great adventures, don’t you think? I don’t know if I’ve ever said ‘I love you,’ but I feel it in my heart all the time.”

  She lifted a Kleenex out of the box and dabbed her perfect makeup. “I love you too, hon.”

  Still brimming with deep emotion, I looked at my daughter. “Quincy, my darling, you have brought me such nachas over the years. And now you have a growing family of your own.” I ran my hand over her belly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. Let me give you a hug.” I crushed h
er against my bosom.

  “And I couldn’t have asked for a better mom. I’m really happy for you today. You have no idea.”

  Birdie dabbed at her eyes. “I was never blessed with children. But if I were, I’d want them to be exactly like you, Quincy.”

  I regarded Birdie’s glittering eyes and gentle face. “Birdie, you have become a mother to so many people through your many kindnesses. You’re a goddess in the kitchen and a master quilter. You’re always willing to try something new. Thank you for being such a good friend over the years. I love you.”

  Fanya stood quietly, watching us from the corner of the room.

  I waved her over. “Fanya, I love your brother soooo much. And in the few months I’ve known you, I’ve grown to love you, too. I’m so glad we’re family.”

  “I love you, too, Martha. You’re a perfect match for Yossi, keinehora.”

  Jazz cleared his throat. “When is it going to be my turn?”

  I laughed. “My life would be a lot duller without you, Jazz. You’re like the brother I never had, and I truly love you. Did I say thank-you for the dress? It’s beautiful. I can feel all the love you put into it.”

  I was still a little foggy but ready to go downstairs. Before we left the guest suite, I took one last glance in the mirror. Tear tracks made black mascara smudges around my eyes. Several curls fell rebelliously from the top of my head. Duct tape scratched my ankles every time I took a step.

  Crusher had been warned about my condition. He met me at the back of the ballroom, looking handsome in his kittel, a ceremonial white robe worn over clothing for special occasions. I was sure it was custom-made because at six feet six inches and three hundred pounds of muscle, nothing about him was ordinary. He’d draped his tallit, or prayer shawl, over his shoulders like a blanket and wore a festive white kippah dotted with sequins. Concern for me was written in every crease of his brow. “Babe. What happened up there?” He pointed upstairs to the guest suite.

  A surge of love for him hit me like a tidal wave. “I’m so sorry, Yossi.” I told him about the Valium mixed with champagne. “Jazz was so late and I panicked. I’m afraid I made a terrible mess of things.” My eyes filled with tears. “You don’t deserve this. You deserve to have a beautiful wedding and a bride who isn’t still a little tipsy. And you look wonderful.”