Something's Knot Kosher

by Mary Marks

  I was glad I’d brought my thick Aran cardigan. “I’m surprised at the cold.”

  Birdie pulled her sweater tighter around her body. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s July. Even though the nights are cool, daytime weather in these parts reaches the upper eighties.”

  Lucy looked around. “Where’s Earl?”

  Jazz rubbed his hands together. “It’s eight-fifteen. Shall we call that mortuary where he’s staying?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” I pointed to the long black vehicle driving slowly up to the curb. Earl parked and walked toward our group, limping a little more than usual. The circles under his eyes and sallow skin suggested he’d suffered a bad night. “Sorry I’m late, folks. My sciatica. Didn’t get to sleep until the wee hours. Overslept.”

  Birdie tilted her head. “You look a bit peaky this morning. Did you manage to have some breakfast?”

  He removed his cap and smoothed back his sparse white hair. “No time. But I stopped at Tony’s Tacos and got a breakfast burrito and large coffee to go.”

  I guess if you’d lost your sense of taste and smell, a breakfast burrito was as good as kippers, eggs, and mushrooms.

  Earl shifted his weight to one side and winced in pain. “You folks ready? The drive from here to McMinnville will take all day. If we don’t stop too many times, we’ll make it by late afternoon or early evening.”

  When we got back to LA, I’d give Towsley a piece of my mind for sticking us with a sick old man. “Earl, are you sure you’re up to the trip?”

  Instead of answering my question, he turned to Birdie and winked. “Don’t you worry, pretty lady. This old dog has a lot of life left, if ya know what I mean.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes.

  Jazz sidled up to Birdie and put a protective arm around her shoulder. “Lively old dog? Kudos to your veterinarian.”

  Back in the Caddy, Lucy continued to drive, Birdie brooded over the code in the diary, and I quilted my Double Wedding Ring.

  Jazz made a phone call. “What did Pradeep say about the missing shipment from Thailand? Omaha? As in Nebraska? They’re not even in the same zip code. Whatever. Just make sure we get them back before they get blown away in some tornado.”

  Jazz closed the phone and gazed out the window. “Everything’s so green. Rusty often talked about how beautiful it is up here. I think he missed it more than he’d admit.”

  Birdie turned sideways in her seat. “Wait until we get farther north. That’s where the really dense forests are. You can pick wild berries starting in late spring.”

  Jazz held Zsa Zsa to his chest and stroked her under her chin. “Rusty said his family came here in a covered wagon over the Oregon Trail. Where is that, exactly?”

  “Let me see.” Birdie ticked off her fingers. “The trail started in Independence, Missouri, and cut through Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, and Idaho before ending in Oregon City.”

  “Where’s that?” he asked.

  “Near Portland. Russell’s ancestors traveled due west from there and claimed farmland in the area around McMinnville. His roots go way back.”

  I put down my needle and snapped, “But not as far back as the Native Americans!” Arlo Beavers was half Native American. He had talked about how poorly his people were treated by the American government, even as late as the 1970s. He maintained that his people were the true owners of the land. “Russell’s family—along with every other settler, miner, and industrialist—stole from the Indians. That’s hardly something to be proud of.”

  Birdie sighed. “I know what you mean, Martha dear. How the pioneers treated the Native Americans was always a sore point between Russell and me. Basically, his ancestors stole their land.”

  Jazz nodded. “I agree. Plus, you could say that about every square inch of this country, couldn’t you? None of it rightfully belongs to us.”

  Oh my God. Jazz and Birdie were just alike. Russell Watson had a type!

  Lucy squirmed in her seat. “Good grief!” she exploded. “I’m stuck in a car with a bunch of bleeding hearts. Get over it! What do you want? To give this country back to the Indians? It’s far too late for that. You can’t take back the past. You just have to move on.”

  Whoa! Normally, my Republican friend avoided political conversations with Birdie and me. Her distress and worry over her son’s family had shortened her temper and fouled her mood. We sat in awkward silence following her angry outburst.

  We passed Medford and approached Grants Pass when the two-way radio crackled to life with Earl’s voice. “Do any of you folks need to stop? Roseburg is more than an hour ahead.”

  Birdie spoke gently. “Please tell him yes, Lucy. Better safe than sorry.”

  Just as we pulled off the road into a gas station, a red sports car sped past and disappeared around the corner. We stepped out of the car and I tugged on Jazz’s suede jacket sleeve. “Was that you-know-who?”

  He attached a lavender leash to Zsa Zsa’s collar and put her on the ground. “I couldn’t tell. Shouldn’t we contact the FBI agent?”

  I shook my head. “And tell her what? If it is Li’l Ape Man, he’s playing a stalker’s game. He’s showing just enough of himself to make you afraid but not enough to be identified. Keeping you in the dark is all part of the psychological torture. On the other hand, it could be a coincidence that a red sports car passed us just now. If we’re going to contact Agent Lancet, we need more than flashes of red.”

  During our break, Lucy walked away from us for a private conversation on the phone. Then she walked past us and sat in the car by herself.

  I whispered to Birdie, “I don’t know what’s upset her more. Our conversation, or Ray Junior’s missing wife and children.”

  Birdie adjusted the strap on her overalls. “Best to just let her work it out on her own right now. She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

  Ten minutes later, we headed north again on Interstate 5. The air in the Caddy was thick with resentment. My hopes for a pleasant ride to McMinnville vanished. Birdie appeared to be writing something, and I resumed my quilting. Jazz produced a sketch pad from his tote bag and drew jackets with wide lapels and baggy slacks with pleats.

  Lucy finally broke the silence. “My bad feeling is coming back. Did anyone get a close look at Earl back at the gas station? He seemed sick to me.”

  I knew what she meant. The old man’s appearance hadn’t improved, despite the breakfast burrito and coffee. His hands seemed a little shaky, and beads of sweat had peppered his upper lip.

  Birdie raised her hand. “Yes, I saw the same thing. I asked him if he was all right, and he assured me he felt fine.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the hearse started to drift toward the left-hand lane in front of us.

  I gasped. “Holy crap! What’s he doing?”

  Lucy honked her horn, and the hearse jerked to the right in a sudden corrective move. “Something’s not right.”

  I sat at the edge of my seat on high alert, straining forward against the seat belt. Jazz and Birdie did the same thing. After another minute, Lucy slammed on her brakes as the hearse in front of us veered to the right and shuddered to a stop on the side of the highway.

  Lucy steered the Caddy off the road and parked in front of the black hearse. “I told you I had a bad feeling.”

  We all jumped out of the car and rushed to the driver’s side of the hearse. Earl opened the door and stood. The skin on his face had turned an ugly color of green. He removed his cap and loosened the skinny black tie around his neck. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  The four of us immediately jumped backward. Earl staggered on shaky legs toward the brush on the side of the road, leaning on the car for support. He clutched his stomach, bent forward, and puked into the bushes. He stood, spat a few times, and pointed to the driver’s seat. “Water.”

  Lucy, Birdie, and Jazz stood still, unwilling to breach the inside of a decedent vehicle. Who could blame them? I took a deep breath and walked to the open dr
iver’s door. The inside of the hearse smelled like a mixture of beans, coffee, stale cigarette smoke, and something else. I retrieved a bottle of water from the console and handed it to Earl.

  He rinsed his mouth, spat again, then drank a few sips. With shaking hands, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped the sweat from his face.

  Birdie responded with her customary concern. “Do you think it was the burrito?”

  Earl clutched his left shoulder and slumped against the fender. “Pain. Can’t breathe.”

  Jazz covered his mouth. “Oh my God. He’s having a heart attack. I’ll call 9-1-1.”

  Lucy ran over to the old man and put her arm around his shoulders. “You have to tell them where we are.” She looked around frantically. “Where is that, anyway?”

  Birdie scowled in concentration. “I think we’re about fifteen miles outside of Roseburg. By the time the paramedics figure out where we are and respond, we could already be at the hospital. It’ll be faster if we take him ourselves.”

  Lucy opened the passenger door of the hearse and settled Earl into the seat. She slammed the door shut and stood back and scowled at me. “Martha, you have to transport him.” All eyes turned in my direction.

  I shuddered. “Seriously? Why me?”

  Lucy put her hands on her hips. “I have my own car to drive. Besides, hanging out with dead bodies is your specialty.”

  Jazz and Birdie both looked at the ground, avoiding my gaze. Lucy was still angry, but I had to admit she was right. Even if Birdie hadn’t lost her license, it would be cruel to ask either her or Jazz to chauffeur Russell’s body. Like it or not, I was going to have to transport Earl to the hospital.

  Jazz said he’d use the GPS on his phone to guide us to the hospital in Roseburg. I slid into the driver’s seat and attempted not to think about the big mahogany casket behind me. The leather was still warm from when Earl sat there just a couple of minutes earlier. I adjusted the rearview mirror, brought the driver’s seat slightly forward, and pushed the button on the walkie-talkie. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

  I pulled onto the highway behind the Caddy and rolled down my window. The air inside the hearse was stale and unpleasant. At first I sat stiffly behind the wheel but relaxed when I realized that piloting the big vehicle wasn’t any more difficult than steering an extralong station wagon. The old man sat gasping and moaning next to me. I reached over and tried to give him a reassuring pat on the hand. “Hang on, Earl. We’ll be at the hospital in just a few minutes.”

  His words came out in a raspy voice. “Going too fast.” I glanced at the speedometer. Lucy was eating up the road at seventy miles per hour, and I was right on her tail.

  “That’s the whole idea, Earl. We’re rushing you to the emergency room. Hardly any cars are on the highway right now. Just try to relax and focus on steady breathing.”

  “Someone needs to call my wife.”

  “You’re married?”

  Earl moaned in response.

  The chutzpah of this old guy: lying to a vulnerable widow while he was away from his wife! Was there no one left in this world who was faithful? Almost every man I’d ever been with had cheated on me. Except for Yossi Levy, my latest romantic interest. And since I hadn’t heard from him in over five months, I could only assume he’d found someone else too. I briefly thought about calling Beavers and accepting his invitation to go to the Rez, just to spite Yossi. But I just as quickly rejected the idea and focused instead on staying a safe distance behind Lucy’s Caddy.

  Twelve minutes later Lucy turned on her right blinker. On the side of the highway, a blue sign with a big H pointed us in the direction of a nearby hospital.

  We followed the arrows on the big red EMERGENCY signs in front of Mercy Medical Center. A team of doctors and nurses waited for us right outside. I discovered later that Jazz had the presence of mind to phone ahead.

  Lucy got out of the Caddy and pointed them to the passenger side of the hearse. After a moment’s confusion, they opened the door of the death vehicle and placed the living Earl on a gurney.

  He raised his head and looked at me. “Don’t let me die alone. Call Wanda. Call my wife.”

  As they wheeled him away, Lucy crossed her arms. “That old Lothario is married?”

  I nodded.

  She curled her lip. “It figures!”

  I wasn’t proud of my feelings, but, at that moment, I was glad to be driving in a different car from my angry friend—even if it meant hauling the mortal remains of Russell Watson the rest of the way to McMinnville.

  CHAPTER 20

  Jazz and Birdie joined Lucy and me by the door of the emergency room.

  Birdie wrung her hands. “What’ll we do now?”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s noon already, and we’re not even halfway to McMinnville. We can’t stick around the hospital. Let’s grab some food to go and forge ahead.”

  Lucy crossed her arms. “I agree. The sooner the better.”

  I held a clipboard, holding a map and papers that I had picked up from the hearse’s console, next to the driver’s seat. “The way is clearly plotted on this map. When we get to the Salem area we’ll leave Interstate 5 and head northwest on the 22.”

  Birdie frowned. “But what about poor Earl? He said he’s all alone in this world.”

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “He lied, Birdie. Earl’s married to someone named Wanda. He’s her problem now. Let’s get the heck out of here.”

  I handed the map to Lucy. “You take the lead. We’ll reverse the order of our little procession. Jazz can navigate. I’ll be right behind you, with Arthur to keep me company.”

  As soon as I brought the German shepherd close to the hearse, he began to bark. “Easy, boy. I know you can tell there’s a body in the back, but it’s supposed to be there. Calm down. You can sit up front with me, okay?” He jumped up on the side of the hearse and barked again.

  “For heaven’s sake. If you’re going to act that way, you’ll have to go back to the others.” I marched Arthur back to Lucy’s Caddy. “Sorry, everyone, but I can’t cope with a hyper dog right now. I need to focus on driving.”

  Zsa Zsa wagged her tail and jumped up and down when Arthur climbed onto the backseat of the Caddy again.

  We grabbed burgers at the nearest McDonald’s and stopped at a gas station to fill our tanks. I emptied the ashtray and threw away the food wrappings and empty cups Earl had accumulated along the way. As soon as we hit the road, I rolled down the windows for ten minutes to freshen the stale air inside.

  When I rolled the windows back up, I thought I detected a faint sickly sweet odor. Was it coming from the coffin? Surely not. Russell had been embalmed before we left. His remains should keep for the three-day trip. And anyway, the coffin had been sealed.

  My mind raced. What if Towsley cheated? What if he skipped the embalming part? Now I understood why he hired Earl. A man with no sense of smell wouldn’t be bothered by the decay occurring in the box directly behind the driver’s seat.

  Either I was imagining that smell, or something was rotten in Denmark. Either way, I’d have to hang on until we got to McMinnville.

  We had just passed the small town of Cottage Grove when I noticed a car in my rearview mirror, less than a quarter of a mile back. We were traveling sixty-five miles an hour, but the car rapidly closed the distance behind me.

  The highway was clear around us, but the car headed straight toward the back of the hearse. I leaned on the horn to warn Lucy and steered toward the right-hand side of the lane.

  Red. The car was close enough for me to see it was red. The driver pulled alongside of me and pounded his horn in a maniacal staccato. All of a sudden, he darted into the space between the hearse and the Caddy, forcing me to hit the brakes. The hearse skidded onto the shoulder of the road. The tires lost traction, and the long car began to rotate. My heart pounded in my throat.

  The world spun around in shades of black. Green. Red.

  Am I going to
die?

  The seat belt dug into my left shoulder and chest as my body continued to travel forward at sixty-five miles an hour. My shoulder slammed sideways against the door. A big, white pillow punched me in the face. Then all was quiet.

  I kept my eyes closed and conducted a mental survey of my body. Nothing seemed to hurt. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe I’d hurt later. I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see past the pillow in my face.

  Familiar voices. “Martha! Oh my God! Are you okay, hon?” Lucy didn’t sound angry anymore. Just scared.

  A strong arm pushed the air bag out of my face. Jazz. He reached across and unhooked my seat belt. “Come on, Martha. Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  He grabbed me under the arms and lifted me to a standing position. “Anything broken?”

  I shook my head and looked around. Lucy’s Caddy was parked in front of the hearse on the soft shoulder of the highway. The Porsche was gone. “Where is that creep?”

  Jazz clenched his fists. “He spun out clear across to the other side of the highway. Almost got hit himself. Too bad they missed. When his car stopped, he straightened out and laid rubber.”

  I remembered what Detective Beavers and Agent Lancet had told us at the beginning of our trip. If you see anything suspicious, call 9-1-1 and head for the nearest law enforcement. A part of me drifted away from my body, and I heard myself speak in an eerily calm voice. “It’s time to call Agent Lancet. Her card’s in my purse. We also need to notify local law enforcement.”

  The cars on the highway began to slow as they drew near the scene of our accident, but none of them stopped. Just the opposite. They suddenly accelerated past us.

  Jazz walked toward the driver’s side of the hearse. “I’ll get your purse.” He groped around until he found my shoulder bag.

  I unearthed Agent Kay B. Lancet’s card and handed it to him. “Better call her now.”

  Lucy wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “What is that smell?” She used her hand to fan the air in front of her face.