The Witch and the Borscht Pearl

by Angela Zeman

  Before either of us could speak, Zoë entered the room and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of us. Heaving an indignant sigh, she strode forward until she stood between us and Bella.

  I felt my eyebrows lift. “Protecting Bella from us now, Zoë?”

  She asked plaintively, “What is it about us that attracts you?”

  “Where’s Pearl?” I asked.

  “She went to lay down,” said Zoë.

  “Zoë,” began Mrs. Risk. With an exaggerated sigh, Zoë transferred her attention pointedly from me to her. “Would you mind going with us to another room to talk? Obviously Bella isn’t eager for company.”

  “Me neither,” said Zoë.

  Mrs. Risk smiled. “But we don’t have to worry about you, do we dear? You’re stronger than all of us put together.”

  Zoë bristled. “You should be worrying about me all right. Only not about my health. I know a lawyer who’d love to sink his teeth into a harassment suit.”

  “Who, that single cell-brained Bruce Altman?” asked Mrs. Risk with a humph. “Never mind. If you talk with us now, we’ll leave you alone forever after,” said Mrs. Risk as if dangling a juicy worm in front of a fish.

  “Liar,” she said succinctly.

  “Takes one to know one,” I said, only just refraining from sticking out my tongue.

  “When did I ever lie to you?” she demanded, glaring at me.

  “Why? Have you lied so much you lost track?”

  Mrs. Risk said, “Come with us. Before we’re done I think you’ll regret your gratuitously insulting remark.” Taking Zoë’s arm, she led her through the connecting door to the dining room, which I closed behind us. We pulled out chairs and grouped ourselves at one end of the broad table.

  “I never lied to you,” protested Zoë. “Not that I care about you, but I don’t lie.”

  “Well, let’s say you let us believe some things that weren’t exactly true,” said Mrs. Risk.

  “Like?”

  “Like that Pearl was heartbroken to relinquish her romantic interest in Solly.”

  My eyes widened. But we now knew this was true. Didn’t we? I glanced nervously at Mrs. Risk.

  She continued, “You stated it in hopes of covering the fact that your outrage, which was genuine, was really for yourself.” Solly’s portrait loomed over us at my left. The twinkle in his pigmented eyes dared us to uncover his tangled relationships.

  Mrs. Risk gazed intently at Zoë. “If you loved Solly so much yourself, why were you promoting his alliance with Pearl? Even though Pearl is your good friend, friendship shouldn’t demand such a sacrifice.”

  Zoë flushed an unhealthy purple. Finally, she said, “Look at me, what chance did I have?” Her voice was hoarse with either fury or embarrassment. “Take a good look, although I got to tell you—I may be overweight now, but years ago, I was just flat obese. Pearl helped me get my weight more under control.

  “You probably won’t believe me when I tell you that I had Solly on his knees when I was twenty nine.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I was so in love with him that I—I gave him everything. And him? He hardly made space in his busy schedule for me. I thought he would marry me, in my stupidity. I thought—well, hell with what I thought. He wanted Pearl. Always Pearl, who never gave him a second look.”

  “Maybe that’s why he went after her so hard,” Mrs. Risk ventured. “Some men like the unattainable. It’s safer.”

  “Oh, stuff your pop psychology. What does it matter now, anyway? But back then,” said Zoë bitterly, “I was ten times the woman Pearl was. And twenty times as attractive. But even then she was my best friend. There’s nobody with a heart as generous, as good as hers. So if I had to lose Sol, hell, all right, I’d at least lose him to Pearl. That made it bearable.

  “A few years passed, I started putting on the pounds, and any hope I had for Solly …” Tears welled in eyes as crusted over with wrinkles as an old turtle’s. I felt answering tears threaten in my own.

  “Did you ever marry?” I asked.

  She glared at me. “What for?”

  Good point.

  Mrs. Risk said, “Pearl told me she really didn’t mind when Bella ‘took’ Solly away from her. She’d been feeling guilty. She worried she was being selfish because she didn’t love Solly romantically. She said she really only wanted somebody to share her life. A companion. She was lonely. When Bella showed up, she was much more eager to share her life with her sister instead. And when Bella and Solly fell in love—”

  “Solly fell, but not Bella,” snapped Zoë. “That woman’s got a heart as cold as a—” She looked at Mrs. Risk and actually chuckled. “You really a witch?” she asked.

  I looked at Mrs. Risk with interest. How would she answer?

  Mrs. Risk’s obsidian eyes narrowed. “That’s what some say.”

  I sighed in disappointment.

  “And you don’t discourage them, right?” Zoë snorted. “I don’t blame you. Why not? Touch of the theatrical in all of us.”

  I nearly laughed out loud. She’d definitely nailed Mrs. Risk on that one.

  “So you thought Solly really was in love,” Mrs. Risk said. “Yes, that’s what I thought, too.”

  I said to Mrs. Risk, “Maybe Bella wasn’t really cold, maybe she was just playing hard to get. If he liked going after what he couldn’t have, maybe that’s how she grabbed and then kept his attention.”

  Zoë shook her head. “You could be right about her effect on him. But there was nothing fake about her act—at least toward Solly. Her cool ‘don’t touch me’ shtick was for real.”

  “Did Solly sleep around?” asked Mrs. Risk.

  “Humph. Do cats scratch?”

  Reminded of Jezebel’s parting gift this morning, my thighs throbbed.

  “How could he be that horny?” I asked. “He was sixty.”

  Zoë gave me a scornful look. “So? Sixty, shmixty. Age has nothing to do with it. Went after every woman he could shtup.”

  “Oh? Like who?”

  “Like who not? Except me and the other old fat ones.”

  I leaned back. “Boy, you’re a hot blooded bunch.”

  “Look here. Don’t assume that just because a woman’s old she wouldn’t welcome a nice warm roll in the sack just as eagerly as you, with your young firm body. Do you like sex?”

  I squirmed, but didn’t reply.

  “Well, so do most of us, although a few would rather eat worms. But isn’t that true of people your age, too? Always a few ice cubes in the glass.”

  Late life sex. “Never gave it much thought,” I admitted.

  “Well, think it or not, you’ll be in my place before you know it.” She said this with ghoulish resentment as she stood up.

  “Wait. Tell me about Vivian Steiner?” asked Mrs. Risk. I noticed she’d been enjoying Zoë’s little lecture to me.

  “What about her?”

  “Can she be trusted?”

  Zoë gave a short laugh. “With what? Your husband? Nah.”

  “Is she a liar?”

  “I thought it took one to know one. She should know,” stated Zoë nastily, tipping her head my way. She stalked towards the kitchen, smacking the swinging door open hard with her palm as if she imagined my face on the other side of it.

  Mrs. Risk heaved a deep sigh. “Rachel, when you make friends, you make them for life.”

  She stood up, and so did I, stretching.

  “Still tired?” she asked.

  “No. Just stiff. I could use a little exercise.”

  “Then come upstairs with me to see Pearl.”

  “Oh, I see. You want to watch Zoë throw me out of here, right?”

  She didn’t bother to reply, but headed for the stairs, so, keeping a ready eye out for Zoë, I followed. Making straight for Solly’s—Bella’s—bedroom, she opened it and stepped in quietly.

  Pearl stood brooding before the window that overlooked the front yard.

  “Hi, girls,” she said without turning around. “What took y
ou so long to come up?” She must have seen our car sitting in the drive.

  “Zoë told us you were resting,” I said.

  Mrs. Risk went to the window and, putting her arm around Pearl’s broad shoulders, gave them a squeeze.

  “What’s new?” asked Pearl, morosely.

  “Well, Rachel’s discovering that people over the age of fifty still have that old devil stirring in their loins,” said Mrs. Risk.

  Pearl turned around and laughed. “No. And who opened your eyes for you, Rachel?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t have needed Zoë to tell me if I’d thought about it,” I said loftily.

  “Oh, I’m sure.” A grin lingered on Pearl’s face. “You heard about Sadie, didn’t you? After her husband passed away, she kept his ashes in a tall decorative urn on the mantelpiece. Once a week she’d lift down the jar and blow the dust off the lid. All their married life he’d begged and begged for blow jobs. She’d promised she’d do it but only over his dead body.”

  “Uh, huh,” I muttered.

  “Maybe you’ll like this one better. Henny Youngman’s joke: An elderly couple went to the doctor. The man says, ‘We want to know if we’re making love the right way. Would you look at us?’ The doc says, sure, so they make love on his examining table. The doc says, ‘You’re making love perfectly. That’ll be fifty dollars.’

  “They come back six weeks in a row and do the same thing. The seventh visit, the doc said, ‘Why do you keep coming back? I already said you’re making love properly.’ The man says, ‘She can’t come to my house and I can’t go to her house. A motel would charge us eighty bucks, but you only charge us fifty and we get thirty back from Medicare.’

  Mrs. Risk laughed. “It’s nice to see you flexing your muscles, Pearl.”

  “Going to stick around all day?” I asked, anxious to change the subject.

  “I want to. People will be showing up again about five to make a minyan. Besides, I feel funny about leaving Bella alone in this big house. She keeps telling me to go, but I keep hanging around,” she looked wistful. “Like some big old bone nobody wants.”

  “She still won’t talk to you?” Mrs. Risk asked.

  Pearl’s face drooped even more at the question. “Sure. Like, ‘do you want coffee?’ And ‘you can use my room if you want.’ Her room. She sure got used to saying that fast.” Pearl wrung her hands. “I didn’t mean that. What’s the matter with me?”

  “You’re still upset, that’s natural,” I said.

  “She hasn’t talked, really talked to me since he died. Well, that’s not quite true. It’s been since she agreed to marry him.” Pearl’s big features crumpled. She put her hands to her face.

  “Why then?” asked Mrs. Risk.

  “I don’t know,” came Pearl’s muffled voice. “I thought the engagement was okay with her. She knew she didn’t have to marry him if she didn’t want to. She had a home with me.”

  “Pearl, did she stay with you at your house after the party?”

  Pearl shook her head, then walked across to the bedside table and took a tissue from a box. She started wiping at her eyes. “No. I wanted her to. It was that necklace business. She stayed at Bart Peacock’s hotel, the Wyndham Bay Inn, instead. Until she moved in here three days ago.”

  She turned to us and looked at us strangely. “She insisted that they keep their relationship strictly platonic until they married. She was probably worried what I’d think. But I didn’t care. I never could convince her that I didn’t care. If she wanted to sleep with Solly, that was her business. Women have needs, I know that only too well.” Her voice sounded bitter. “I slept with him myself a few times. Got me through some really nasty nights after Bernie passed on. I wouldn’t mind if you kept that to yourself, Rachel.”

  I eyed Mrs. Risk, worrying. “No problem,” I said faintly. She’d been here, having torrid sex with Solly, just like we figured.

  Mrs. Risk smiled wryly at me. “Something bothering you, dear?”

  “Oh, surely you didn’t think I was some kind of sterile saint, did you, Rachel?” asked Pearl with a mischievous glint.

  “What else did Bella inherit besides this house?” asked Mrs. Risk.

  Pearl shrugged. “I asked her if she got the money, too, but she didn’t know. Will won’t be read until tomorrow. Mrs. Harmon told me about her pension, bless her heart. Said she’d stay through the week, then that’s it for her. She’s off to Florida. Too old to take care of this huge place, anyway. If Bella doesn’t get some kind of income to cover the upkeep, she’ll have to sell it. But that’ll get her a nice piece of investment money, and then she can move in with me. If—if she wants.” She cast an anxious glance at me.

  “You don’t need to pretend in front of Rachel. I told her, dear. I hope you don’t mind,” said Mrs. Risk.

  “That’s okay. It’s a relief not to have to pretend, actually.” She gave a short laugh. “I was about to say, she can move in with me if I still have a house when Thanksgiving’s over.”

  I rushed to reassure her. “You’ll do well, Pearl. I know you will. You’re incredible, and two years off hasn’t changed that.”

  “You never know, Rachel. It’s like a magic touch—do I still have it? Or did it die with Bernie? I might be moving in with her. Then again, maybe she won’t want me. I don’t know what she’s thinking these days.” She blinked furiously, then controlled herself.

  She continued brightly, “If she sells the house, I’ll put her on to the same money funds or whatever they’re called, that Solly bought for himself, they did well for him.”

  “Solly was good at investing?” I asked.

  “Better than any broker. He used a discount broker because he called his own shots. He used to do it for me until I lost it all trying to expand my career. But I guess the lawyer’ll take care of those things for Bella. God, what am I babbling about.” She bent her head.

  Presently she looked up. “The cops are coming.” She glanced at her wrist-watch. “In a few minutes. They want to talk to me again. And Bella, too.” Her eyes searched Mrs. Risk’s. “Has anything new been discovered?”

  Mrs. Risk shook her head. “By them? I wouldn’t know.”

  “Would you mind staying? Maybe with you here, they’ll tell me things about their investigation that they wouldn’t ordinarily—”

  Mrs. Risk started edging backwards towards the door. “In a few minutes? Oh, dear, I really can’t stay. Come Rachel.” She gestured for me to follow her. “By the way, did you follow my suggestion and hire my friend Robert Blume?”

  “Yes. I realized you were right. Bruce Altman really isn’t up to cases harder than accident injury suits and shoplifting.”

  “Then I urge you to contact Bob now. An attorney should be with you whenever you talk to the police.”

  “You think so? Mr. Blume said that if things get too heated up, he’ll call in a top criminal lawyer he knows from the city. We shouldn’t be needing anyone like that, though, should we?” Her fingers were twisting themselves about each other like a bundle of worms.

  I stood there helplessly, prevented from responding with a wholehearted YES, because of Mrs. Risk’s determined faith in her friend’s innocence.

  Mrs. Risk stopped in mid-room and said briskly, “You can trust Bob. He’s the best.”

  Pearl went on. “Poor Bruce. After years of chasing ambulances, a chance finally arrives to defend a big name, get a bit of glory, and I heartlessly turn him down. At least, that’s the way he took it.”

  “Well, I suggest you let him practice on somebody else first. Bob’s the man for you. Call him immediately to help you with the police. We’d better go. Just dropped by to say hello,” said Mrs. Risk.

  Oh, really? I thought we were here to ‘sit’ with her, but I followed obediently.

  “By the way,” added Mrs. Risk. She stopped at the door. “The police will probably ask if you’re missing any of your prescription for digoxin.”

  “Missing?” Pearl echoed the word faintly. She frow
ned. “I keep so many bottles stashed everywhere.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m always afraid to be caught unexpectedly without it. Solly had a habit of keeping track of things for me, said I was scatterbrained.” Suddenly her eyes glistened a little too brightly.

  “I see. Well, call your housekeeper and have her collect what she can find. And then get a count of filled prescriptions from your pharmacy. Together we might figure out if you’re missing any.” She paused, closing her eyes in frustration, “And then again, maybe we won’t. See you later, dear.” Mrs. Risk sighed as she left the room. As she marched down the hall towards the staircase I heard her mutter in disgust, “… perfectly available to anybody.”

  I descended the stairs after her.

  Mrs. Harmon materialized and handed our wraps to us.

  “Are you leaving to avoid Detective Hahn?” I demanded as soon as Mrs. Harmon vanished again.

  “Avoid Michael?” She seemed deep in thought. “No. I just want to avoid any further gossip that we’re police spies. Zoë’s here, she’ll undoubtedly put the wrong interpretation on anything we do.”

  She didn’t speak again until we were in my car and I was pulling out of the driveway. As I put the engine into a higher gear, she said, like a battle order, “To the cemetery, Rachel. God helps those who have friends who do every blessed thing for them, lucky souls.”

  At the cemetery, the resident we sought was a live one, so I drove until I found the only building with windows. No space had been allotted for parking, so I left my car in the middle of the narrow, path-like road.

  Mr. Pollak, the grounds attendant, turned out to be a cheerful man edging comfortably toward retirement. He was eating a sandwich, a brown paper bag spread protectively over the papers littering his desk. Mrs. Risk waited impatiently until the poor man could swallow his corned beef. I examined maps pinned to the walls. This place was far larger than I’d supposed.

  He confirmed Solly’s grave had been the one disturbed. He was willing to let us see the mess, as he called it, but told us he’d already taken care of the worst of it. No real damage, just broken up sod and some displacement of dirt—well, mud, in this weather.