Gone But Knot Forgotten (8 page)

“Oh God. Poor Harriet must have been terrified. Will you be at the funeral, Detective?”

“Why? You think the killer will show up after more than ten months just to gloat?”

“I think it's possible. Strangulation suggests a crime of passion to me.”

“You got anyone in particular in mind?”

I thought about Nathan Oliver. Although I didn't see one photograph of him in Harriet's house, maybe one existed in his missing person's file. “You might keep your eye out for a man in his fifties who looks a lot like Harriet's husband.”

“The dead guy? You've gotta be kidding.”

“Maybe not so dead, Detective. Remember, no one ever saw Nathan Oliver's body.”

C
HAPTER
12

Monday morning I called Kresky's Kosher Market and Catering near Uncle Isaac's house in West LA to deliver a couple of platters to his house at noon. Uncle Isaac would be hosting the mourners after the funeral.

Birdie, Lucy, and I drove to Gan Shalom Memorial Park in Lucy's vintage black Caddy. The nine a.m. southbound traffic crept slowly over the Sepulveda Pass. Neither of my friends knew Harriet, but they were determined to support me; not to mention they were also curious about the mystery of her death and the theft of her treasures. Both of them committed to return to Harriet's house and finish searching for the missing items.

I sat in the backseat in a gray Anne Klein woolen skirt suit and knee-high gray leather boots against the December chill. I told them about my visits with Paulina and Isabel.

Today Lucy wore all black, like the grim reaper. “Don't just write the psychic off, Martha. Maybe Nathan reached out from the dead.”

Birdie pinned a stray piece of hair back on top of her head. “Or maybe Nathan isn't dead after all. Maybe he returned in the flesh to kill Harriet.”

I sighed. “Well, she didn't go without a struggle. When the coroner examined her the second time, he found a broken wrist.”

We pulled up to the valet parking and an attendant helped Birdie from the car. For once she hadn't worn her overalls but opted instead for a lavender skirt and pullover sweater. Wisps of white hair flew around her face like fairy wings.

Lucy stood over six feet tall in her black leather heels. When we entered the mortuary, she draped a black lace mantilla over her orange hair.

I spotted Mrs. Deener, the funeral planner, and walked over to her. “Is everything ready?”

She nodded and her wig shifted slightly. “Yes, everything is taken care of. Rabbi Adler will officiate, and I've printed your uncle's address and directions to his house to hand out to the mourners. Will you be delivering the eulogy?”

I nodded. “One of them. I'm sure there are others who'd like to say something about Harriet.”

“I'll let the rabbi know.” She looked at her watch. “The service is scheduled to begin in half an hour.”

Dark wood paneling covered the walls of the chapel, and plain wooden pews sat on thick blue carpeting. A bronze sculpture mounted on the front wall depicted an eternal flame formed by Hebrew letters. Harriet's plain pine casket sat on a bier in front of the wall. The
shomer,
the guardian of her remains, sat discretely on one side of the room, reading from a small prayer book.

Lucy and Birdie sat in the front row near Harriet's casket while I stood next to them and watched people drift into the chapel. Abernathy showed up with his assistant, Nina, and another woman. He reached in a wooden box next to the door and put on a white silk yarmulka. His hand shook again.
Definitely a neurological problem. Old football injury?
He came over to me and introduced the smartly dressed Bunny Friedman, fund-raiser for Children's Hospital.

“You'll want to talk to Bunny when you're ready to settle the estate,” Abernathy said.

The poised Bunny handed me her business card. “Call me anytime, Mrs. Rose. I'm eager to help you finalize Mrs. Oliver's bequest to Children's Hospital. I know we both want to see her dream of the Jonah David Oliver wing come true as soon as possible.”

Bunny must be the one responsible for persuading Harriet to donate thirty million dollars to Children's. Under ordinary circumstances, her bequest might not have become available for another thirty or forty years, but Harriet died prematurely. Of course Bunny would want to expedite the transfer of funds. Scoring such a large contribution would ensure her a place in the fund-raisers' hall of fame. Would Bunny's desire to sit at the big boys' table be enough motive for murder? And just how tight were she and Abernathy in all this?

I shook her well-manicured hand. “Thank you.”

Crusher walked in with Uncle Isaac and his friend Morty, followed by a troop of several men in their seventies and eighties. They wore suits, prayer shawls around their necks, and their own head coverings. They shuffled to the front of the chapel, ready to take their positions as part of the
minyan,
the quorum of ten Jewish men. Uncle Isaac smiled and patted my hand. “You see,
faigela
? I promised you a
minyan,
and I brought you one.” He gestured toward the others. “There are nine of us. The rabbi makes ten.”

“I knew you'd come through. And thank you for offering your home for the reception afterward.”

“Well, you said the police locked you out of Harriet's house. I remember her as a nice little girl. It's the least I could do for the daughter of my old friend Herschel Gordon.”

I looked at the group of old men, most of them long past driving. “How did you all get here?”

“The senior center provides a shuttle.” He stroked the side of his face. “We come here a lot.”

Crusher hovered near me, wearing a crocheted white head covering and a black suit. He let the collar of his white shirt gape slightly open without the constraints of a tie. He hung his tallit a fine white woolen prayer shawl, like a huge blanket over his shoulders and down his back. “You okay, babe?”

My heart raced a little. He looked so handsome in the familiar religious garb. “Thanks, Yossi. I'm fine.”

He gave me a probing look. “Want me to stay here with you?”

I shook my head. “I'll be okay. I've got Lucy and Birdie.”

He sat next to Uncle Isaac and bent his head toward the old man while the two of them engaged in a serious conversation I couldn't hear. Soon Morty and the others joined in. Someone put their hand on my arm. I recognized the Chanel N°5 and turned to look at Isabel.

“I can hardly bear this.” Her perfect makeup melted under copious tears. She hugged me and wept a little, shoulders shaking. A faint whiff of vodka tickled my nose. Finally, she pulled away, took a tissue from her jacket pocket, and blew her nose.

I patted her on the back. “I don't want to be the only one speaking today, Isabel. Will you say something when the time comes?”

She nodded and sat down in the front row next to Birdie.

Next, a short, middle-aged man in an expensive-looking pinstripe suit came up to me. A large gold class ring with a red stone sat on his right hand. “I'm Emmet Wish. Are you Mrs. Rose?”

I nodded at the insurance agent. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Very sad. She was so young.” He handed me his card. “I've written down my private number. Let's touch base soon.”

Paulina Polinskaya materialized in the doorway wearing a long black dress and a purple velvet cape, with a printed scarf tied around her head like a turban. She took a lot of care with her appearance today. Diamonds sparkled in her ears and on her fingers. Her Egyptian-painted eyes scanned the room until they found me. She floated up to the front, every eye following her. Then she laid her right hand on Harriet's coffin and briefly closed her eyes. A stunning diamond bracelet peeked out from under her sleeve.

She spoke softly. “The killer's not in this room.”

“How do you know?” I whispered.

“Harriet just told me.”

“Right.”

She ignored me. “Your aura's blue today. That's the color of sadness. But there's something else in there. Some purple.” She looked around the room and stopped when she saw Crusher. She looked at me again and smiled. “Good choice.” Then she sat down.

As far as I could tell, Harriet's in-laws, Estella Oliver and her brother, Henry, didn't bother to show up.

Detectives Farkas and Avila slipped into the back of the room and stood on either side of the door, watching. Farkas gave me an almost imperceptible nod right before I sat. Then the rabbi came in.

The urbane and middle-aged Rabbi Adler recited psalms and read from the Torah. “‘Earth you are and to earth you will return.'” Today Harriet would finally be returned to the earth, and the first part of my job as her executor and friend would be over.

When the time came for eulogies, I spoke about my childhood friend and how we made late-night brownies in my bubbie's kitchen. Isabel spoke about her college roommate and how Harriet used to cover for Isabel when she cut classes. Abernathy spoke about the generous philanthropy of Harriet Oliver. Then we proceeded to the graveside and buried her.

The rabbi led us in the kaddish, the mourner's prayer. Everyone formed a quiet line behind me. I dropped a shovel full of dirt on her coffin, near her son's grave.

My Catholic friend Lucy pointed to the shovel. “Am I supposed to do that too?”

I could barely speak through the lump in my throat. “You're not required to, but it's an act of kindness to make sure a person is buried properly.”

Without another word, Lucy took the shovel, then Birdie. We were the first to leave the cemetery and drove to Uncle Isaac's house ten minutes away.

Lucy pointed to the basin with a pitcher of water Uncle Isaac left on the porch. “What's that for?” I showed them how to wash their hands in a symbolic gesture of washing away death before entering the house.

At five minutes to twelve, the catering truck arrived with deli platters and a case of chilled Dr. Brown's cream soda. Lucy unwrapped packages of paper goods and plastic forks. Birdie opened the plates of food and spread them on the table. “Oh my, these cold cuts smell delicious. And look at those nice nutty pastries.”

I plugged in a twenty-cup coffee urn and opened one of the bottles of Baron Herzog kosher cabernet Uncle Isaac had put on the kitchen counter. Soon the house filled with mourners.

After blessing the wine and a loaf of fresh sesame challah, Uncle Isaac bustled around making sure everyone received something to eat and drink. Crusher stayed with the old men, earnestly discussing something. Every once in a while, one of them would look at me and smile or wink.

Paulina swept around the room, discreetly handing out her business card. Uncle Isaac's pal Morty stood when she got to him. In his eighties, Morty still drove a gold Buick and had an eye for the ladies. He slicked back his sparse gray hair with his hand. “Hiya, doll.”

Paulina smiled. “Hi, yourself.”

He gave her his widest smile, treating her to a view of all twenty-eight perfectly matched ceramic teeth. A diamond stick pin glittered on his wide blue silk tie. “I couldn't help noticing you earlier.” He sidled up to her and put his hand underneath her elbow. “Did anyone ever tell you you're the spittin' image of Liz Taylor?”

She frowned and tilted her head. “Isn't she dead?”

“Yeah. But when she was your age, she was bee-you-tee-ful.” Morty's dentures clacked a little. “Exotic, like.”

Paulina chuckled and patted his chest right over the diamond. “And you look just like my grampa Leo.”

Morty steered her by the elbow to the empty love seat. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about your grampa Leo. I'll bet he's quite a guy.”

They sat down.

“Give me your hand and I'll read your palm.”

He lifted his right hand.

She touched his gold and diamond pinkie ring. “You have a nice ring. I just love diamonds, don't you?”

“What's not to love? Liz went in for the really big rocks, you know.”

Paulina rubbed her fingers lightly down his palm. “Your lifeline is very, very long.”

Morty leaned closer and winked. “I feel like a young man, if you know what I mean.”

Paulina continued to stroke his hand. “I see diamonds, maybe a Russian cut. Pearls. And a dark stone, maybe emeralds? Sapphires?”

“Oy! Sounds just like my Esther's jewelry, may she rest in peace. The family brought some nice pieces from the old country. I gave her a string of pearls for our tenth anniversary. She liked rubies.”

Paulina held his hand and leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Would you like to talk to her some time? I could arrange it.” Apparently she drummed up business by hitting on grieving people at funerals and hooking them with promises to contact their dead loved ones. Unfortunately for Paulina, Morty had moved on from Esther's death years ago.

He leaned in close. “Maybe I'm more interested in the living, if you know what I mean. Say, why don't you let me take you out to dinner tonight?”

I caught Paulina's eye and shook my head rapidly.

She ignored me. “Sure. Why not? We can go back to my place until dinnertime and I'll read your tea leaves.”

Morty straightened his tie and wiggled his eyebrows. “Hot cha cha.”

Before I could intervene, the two of them left. What did the much younger psychic plan for the eighty-eight-year-old Morty?

Paulina wore some very expensive-looking jewelry, including a diamond bracelet half-hidden by her sleeve. I needed to figure out a way to get a closer look. Could it be Harriet's $100,000 bracelet? Did Paulina take the missing jewelry? Did she kill Harriet?