The Witch and the Borscht Pearl

by Angela Zeman

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, but he remained silent.

  “Rachel,” began Mrs. Risk again, patiently. “You’re right to be worried for Ilene, but more than you know is hovering in the balance. There is a chance of danger tonight. Ilene’s seriously unstable. Beneath her quiet behavior, she’s hysterical. You might even say terrified.”

  “Of what?” Michael asked.

  Mrs. Risk grimaced. “Of hell.”

  “She’s already in hell,” I stated flatly.

  Michael made another small scribble in his notebook and I slapped it from his hands, wishing I could bloody his nose and get away with it. Wishing we’d never come to Krasner’s. Wishing I’d never met Mrs. Risk. His ball-point pen went flying into the pool and settled on the bottom.

  Even though no flicker of emotion was revealed in his face, I knew suddenly that I’d hurt him. And even though I supposed I ought to be sorry, I couldn’t manage it. Nothing was simple anymore. Dislike, like. Loyalty, friendship. Love.

  Michael bent to retrieve the notebook, then turned and stalked away, his long-legged strides somehow expressing frustration. And dignity.

  Without thinking, I laid my arm around Charlie’s waist and shivered. He held me close. I soon drew back, but I felt immense gratitude for that moment and wished I could have shared it with Ilene.

  I felt numb. I despised that I knew about Ilene’s approaching destruction and that I didn’t know how to help her. If anything could help her. My voice grated on my ears as I said, “And I had the nerve to criticize Pearl’s friends. I guess we fit right in, after all.”

  Mrs. Risk’s black eyes gleamed strangely. “Rachel, I admit, Michael showed up inopportunely, but he would’ve had to be informed eventually. It’s not as if what he heard made any ultimate difference to his plans.”

  I looked at her oddly. “Are you trying to get me to feel okay about this? You want me to say, ‘yeah, I see how it is’?”

  “What else do you think she should have done?” Charlie asked me.

  I shook my head, too upset to think clearly.

  Mrs. Risk frowned. “I do wish Michael hadn’t arrived just then for another reason. I wanted to see that she got safely back to her room.” She stared at the atrium door for a moment. “Well. She’s probably okay for now.”

  “You mean Ilene? Why? You think she might harm herself?” asked Charlie.

  “Rachel said it. She’s crumbling. The pressures of a lifetime have finally overcome her control. I don’t know what she’ll do, but I can guess this: on this one crucial night, if Pearl experiences one more set-back, no matter how minor, Ilene will be very capable of murdering, then. Her present state is highly precarious. I pleaded with Michael to wait to make his arrest, not to disturb tonight’s show. I can only hope he’ll do it. We must do all we can to help Ilene get through her final performance.”

  “Her final performance?” he blurted.

  “And then we hand Ilene over to Michael like Judases.” My voice sounded harsh, even to me.

  Mrs. Risk looked at me with alarm, opened her mouth to speak.

  I twisted away from the two of them and ran from the pool atrium, away from the reminder of the evil that people do to each other, especially in the name of friendship, especially for their own good.

  Behind me I heard Mrs. Risk’s voice say, “Let her go, Charlie. She has upsetting things to think over, but she’ll be all right.”

  I fled the doting grandmother and the innocent baby girl.

  28

  AND THAT’S HOW I came to be out here. I’d had my belly-full of everyone explaining events to me, as if understanding things made them acceptable. That’s a cruel joke. People tell victims, ‘to understand is to forgive,’ but they really mean they want you to condone, to achieve more comfortable feelings about being victimized. More comfortable for who? For the ones who were guilty of being cruel, or vicious, or of violating innocence in some way, that’s who! The guilty ones want you to ‘get over it’ and get on with your life! It makes things easier for them!

  I forced myself to focus on the coming sunset.

  I was beyond Krasner’s parking lot, on a hill overlooking a valley. I’d run outdoors, striking whatever paths that’d seemed least populated, that offered the fewest reminders of ‘civilization’. Now there’s a word to contemplate.

  It came to me suddenly that I probably had few moments left to be alone. Charlie would worry and come looking, regardless of Mrs. Risk’s caution. How did I know? I guess I just knew Charlie. The realization surprised me, but I was sure of it. Just as sure as I was that he knew me well enough to look for me in a place just like this.

  Deep stands of evergreens dotted the craggy mountainsides that stretched to the very end of sight in every direction. To the east, a cool misty blue was settling. The countryside looked drowsy, like a scene in a fairy story. To the west, the sunset bathed the vistas with glowing pinks and corals. The deciduous trees hadn’t lost their leaves entirely and their brilliant golds and crimsons added vigor to the display. In the morning I knew it would all be exchanged, opposite. The east would burst into color while the west slept late. I hoped I would wake in time to see it.

  After one last longing stare, I made for the last place Charlie would think to look for me. The hotel bar.

  When I reached it, I was brought up short by the sight of Vivian—the only customer in the place at this hour. Head tilted back, she was tapping the bottom of her glass for its last drops of booze. Maybe she was too broke on Marvin’s legacy to buy herself another one.

  The bar had a cozy atmosphere: few windows and dim lights, dark paneling, brown leatherette padded swivel barstools, and behind the bar, shelves crammed with bottles stoppered with steel pouring spouts. Judging by the number of bottles, Krasner’s must stock every drink imaginable. Tiny tables were clustered in the room’s outer corners, arranged for both sociable groups and private conversations.

  She sat perched at the bar itself, wearing something black, cut low in both front and back (which by now I knew to expect) with sequined wing-like flaps tactfully covering her upper arms—a dangerously age-revealing area. Her legs were crossed beneath her mini-skirt, with one thigh outthrust. She swung one shapely leg back and forth like a forties pulp fiction covergirl, dangling the four-inch heeled pump from her big toe. She looked unaccountably cheerful.

  That irritated me, thwarting my original impulse, which was to leave her in peace. My peace.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked, sliding onto the stool next to her without waiting for an invitation. I’ve never been shy.

  The frown of displeasure that flashed across her immaculately, if heavily made-up face was gratifying. I settled in and ordered wine from the bartender, signaling him to fill up Vivian’s glass, which cheered her immediately.

  “Thanks,” she said. Then, I suppose as a reward for the drink, she answered me. “The entire fucking hotel is dressing, getting ready for the big night. I’m a quick change.”

  Quick out of your clothes as well as quick into them? I wondered to myself. Meouww, as Jezebel would say.

  Our drinks arrived. She took a sip, then a longer sip, then I suppose my welcome had worn out because she reverted to her earlier displeasure.

  “That the best you could come up with?” She flicked a disdainful glance at my jeans.

  “Well, my dead husband neglected to provide anything for me, so I won’t be dressing as well as you. But I do plan to shower and change.”

  “Listen, Marvy did all right. I can say what I want about him, he was my husband, and I kept him plenty happy. It’s just that he was worth more to me alive than dead, which I didn’t realize until he croaked.” She muttered that last under her breath, as if forgetting I was there to hear.

  “He was a lucky guy you’re such hot stuff.” I made my eyes widen in admiration, hoping she was too drunk to detect the mocking tone I’d let slip.

  Vivian’s expression turned suspicious. “Don’t give me that dewy eyed inno
cent crap. You might be a kid but you walk like a whore, swinging that black curly hair around. So I’m getting to where I have to work at it. Gimme a break.”

  I snapped my expression into contrite earnestness. “Hey, I meant it. Your legs alone are really Madison Avenue. You’re a terrific looking woman. Was even a great guy like Marvy enough to keep you happy?”

  “I run every day. It pays off,” she said, then sullenly buried her nose in her glass, sucking down the rest of her drink.

  I took a companionable sip of wine and hoped the passing seconds and liberal doses of alcohol and flattery would fade my mistake from her memory. Mrs. Risk was right. Tact was not my best talent.

  When I judged it to be worth the chance, I asked, “By the way, did Solly ever give you one of his beautiful little gold boxes?”

  She cast me a long cool look. “I was happily married to Marvy. I know about those boxes, but you won’t find any with my name on it.”

  “Pearl had one,” I said, tossing it away.

  “So. Lots of ’em did. You mean Velma,” she said, enunciating carefully through the gin. “He called her Velma privately.”

  “Ah,” I said, my heart sinking. Pearl had lied about the box, too.

  Vivian slapped her glass down sharply on the bar. I realized suddenly that it was empty again.

  “What are you drinking, water?”

  “Double gin tonics, what’s it to you?”

  “Isn’t there a cocktail party in a few minutes? Before dinner?”

  She snorted and waved a hand. “Yeah. But I hate standing in lines. And they all know I’m connected with Pearl, so they swarm.” Her haughtiness was laced with pride. She obviously liked her association with fame.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You on Pearl’s payroll?”

  “Hell, no. I’m just here ’cause we’re friends. All us friends are rallying around, you know. ’Round the old flag.” She giggled.

  “Want another drink?”

  “Hell, yes. You know, you’re not so bad.”

  As what? I wondered sourly as I signaled the bartender, nodding at Vivian’s empty glass. He raised his eyebrows, but snagged the empty away and sloshed it full again. I wondered how many free drinks Vivian could put away and still answer questions.

  She received her full glass with a complacent smile. “Y’know, you and that black crow you pal with. Both a couple o’ spooks. Nice looking guy you got, though.”

  “He’s not my guy. You’re welcome to him.” Somehow, looking at the cracks in Vivian’s makeup and personality, I felt secure in that statement, to no credit to myself.

  “Yeah? Might take you up on that,” she said slyly. A silence settled for a while, during which we tended to our drinks.

  “What kind of car you drive, Viv?” I asked suddenly, the thought popping out at me from nowhere.

  “Marvin’s ‘generous’ insurance settlement doesn’t allow for one. I borrow from a friend when I need to.” Her tone had slid deeply into sarcasm.

  “What kind do you borrow?” I pressed.

  “What are you, a traffic cop?”

  Another silence. Then I thought, what’s the difference, and went for her heavily sedated throat to see what color her blood might be—gin colored or true blue.

  “That why you can’t afford your own drinks, either? Hey, did Pearl’s stolen earnings pay for that cute little dress you’re wearing?”

  “This shmatte?” Then as if she suddenly realized what I’d said, she bridled and snapped, “Watch it.”

  “Well, you said Marvin left you hard-up. That doesn’t look cheap to me, and it looks new. Great matching shoes, too. And bag.” Her little sausage shaped creation lay on the bar counter.

  “Thanks,” she said, pleased in spite of herself.

  “C’mon. You knew all about Solly and Marvy’s little setup, didn’t you, Viv?” I leaned towards her confidingly.

  She pushed her glass against her lips and looked like she was concentrating. Maybe she was—it was the third double I’d seen her drink.

  “You knew Marvin had to have something extra filling up the cracks. A CPA does well, but you were his little heart’s desire. He wanted to keep you happy.”

  She smiled a small secret smile into the bottom of her glass.

  “You figured it out, but you figured what the hell, he did something illegal it was his problem. I’ve been told that if anything happens, Vivian knows about it.”

  “’Bout right. I knew about you and your husband, didn’t I?”

  I waved that away. “But I’m surprised at you. Isn’t Pearl a friend of yours?”

  She pushed her now empty glass hopefully towards the bartender, but I had no intention of having to drag her lifeless body back to her room, so I overlooked the hint.

  Vivian spat out her words, maybe irritated at the cut off of free booze, maybe irritated at my statement—it was hard to tell which.

  “Pearl has gobs of talent. She c’n always make more money. She’ll never die bork—uh, broke.”

  And as I was frowning my refusal at the bartender’s tentative gesture toward her glass—his outstretched hand drew me a picture. Of last August, of Vivian’s hand stretched towards a bright shiny necklace lying purposely untended on Pearl’s dresser while Bella kept the rest of the party enthralled outside on the lawn. Vivian herself had told Mrs. Risk and me how she’d stalked up to the house alone, upset. Thirsty, was more like it, now that I knew her better. And under her snooping magpie nose, lay a glittering enticing object, small enough to be tucked inside one of those overstuffed tubular handbags that constantly dangled from her shoulder. An object representing thousands and thousands of dollars to a financially frustrated, unscrupulous widow all too aware of her rapidly fading assets, which were her looks. And Pearl could always get more.

  You … stole … Pearl’s … necklace. The silent accusation slid through my mind. What was this woman? How had Pearl borne with her for so many years? I felt my shock and disgust etch itself across my face.

  A sidelong glance at me must have squelched any hope she’d had that I’d spring for another drink, because she slid off her stool. Without another word and balancing herself on widespread legs, she stalked remarkably gracefully from the room, to disappear around the corner.

  I followed discreetly, which was easy, the condition she was in. When I noted the location of her room, I darted to my own, which was only eight doors back down the same hall.

  Mrs. Risk and Charlie were there. If either was amazed at my transformed mood, neither showed it. I recounted my conversation with Vivian. I waited, breathless, to hear them agree with my conclusion that Vivian stole Pearl’s necklace.

  Instead of commenting, however, Mrs. Risk only began pacing the room. I noticed her outfit. She wore black, as I’d expected, but a fragile, shimmering column gown that left her back and chest bare, exposing smooth brown skin as rich and silky as the material that skimmed her figure. The hem was finished in a curly upturned edge that flicked daintily around slim ankles. Black jet earrings clung glittering to tidy earlobes and matched a chunk of a black stone set in gold on one long forefinger. Each wrist, cuffed in heavy beaten gold, emerged from sheer clinging sleeves. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face at the sides to display her earrings, and gleamed like her dress. It was the first time I’d ever seen it so tamed and tidy. I was suddenly awed by her new guise. How did she manage to be so much all at once?

  I dashed for the bathroom while she remained deep in thought. A shower did wonders, and my freshly washed hair curled softly down my back. I grinned and fluffed it even more, remembering Vivian’s comment. One of the better insults I’d ever had.

  My dress—a loan from Jennifer Harrington—was a deep peacock blue, strapless and tight to just below my hips, then frothed wide in layered ruffles to my knees. I fastened her rhinestone earrings and matching bracelet, applied a little makeup, and emerged in a cloud of steam.

  Charlie obediently zipped me. I vibrated with impatience until he managed
the hook at the top.

  His sudden inhale as I turned around was gratifying for a fleeting second, then forgotten as I bolted to Mrs. Risk’s side. “Ready,” I said, flopping graceless arms awkwardly at my sides. I was used to pockets. After some thought, I stowed some necessary articles like room key and so on, into my bra.

  Her bemused expression hadn’t changed, as if she’d frozen for the time it took me to get ready.

  “You know …” she began, then stopped. And unaccountably, reached past me for the phone. She asked the operator to connect her to Michael’s room.

  “What? You can’t make a move without the cops?”

  “Since when have you gone undercover?” Charlie growled at me. I whirled to do him damage, but found him as pale with anxiety as I felt, and relented.

  “I’m still upset. And tense. Sorry,” I said. “I’ll try really hard to be helpful, honest.”

  He reached out to touch me, but I stepped away. I regretted the pain I saw flash across his face, but was still unable to let myself be touched. But in the next second, his expression changed back to normal—sardonic and warm-eyed. That one eyebrow jacked up again, and he gave me his quirky grin. I noticed his sartorial splendor.

  “Wow. Some outfit. I thought you were born in a white jacket and pants.”

  “I own a few things,” he said archly.

  I returned my attention to Mrs. Risk. She’d reached Michael and was grimly dictating some action for him to take. After hanging up the phone, she vanished into the bedroom of our suite and returned with something she inserted into a hotel stationery envelope.

  Michael showed up in a few short seconds and took possession of it.

  She told him, “It’s one of those two part invoices, and this is the carbon, which I suppose is what kept me from suspecting anything.” She sounded disgusted with herself.

  “No problem. I’ll let you know. My friend in Albany should be willing to lend us a hand,” he flashed me an impersonal look, “regardless of my lack of jurisdiction.” I felt myself flush, but resolutely shoved away my remorse.