MASS MURDER (43 page)

“Because they trust me.”

Giorgio scoffed.
“Really?”

“Don’t you remember when I had to take that big history test in twelfth grade in order to graduate?
And Little Joey Feldman next door had taken the test
before
everyone else because he was going out of town.
Every kid in the class tried to get him to give up the questions.
Jack Zelder even tried to bribe him with his BB gun.
But Little Joey wouldn’t budge
.”

“And you got him to tell you?”

Rocky smiled as if he’d just had the best sex of his life.
“Everything.
Down to the bonus question on who won the battle between the Monitor and the
Merrimack
.”

“The what?”

“Never mind.
The point is I didn’t pay him anything.
I merely charmed him into telling me everything I wanted to know.”
Rocky puffed out his chest like a strutting penguin.

Giorgio grimaced.
“I didn’t realize you had such a useful talent.
How
do
you manage it?”

“It’s all in the body language.
S
ee
,
you’re all sort of tense all the time.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are.
Look at how you hunch your shoulders.
And you raise your voice a lot.”

“That’s a crock!”

“Just like now.
On the other hand, I keep my voice low and lean in to the person.
Like this.” Rocky demonstrated by leaning over Giorgio who waved him away.
“I make eye contact, nod my head a lot
,
and listen.
That’s the key.”

“Listening is the key?” Giorgio asked, walking ahead of his brother.
Rocky followed him undaunted.

“Haven’t you ever taken a communications class?
Listening is everything.
I merely got Little Joey Feldman talking about
why
he was going out of town, which by the way was for very personal reasons.”

Giorgio stopped, his eyes opened wide.
“What personal reasons?
You never told me that.”

“I made a promise to Little Joey Feldman.”
Rocky struck an insincere pose.

Giorgio started for their cars.
“Well, tell me about it now.
You have no right to keep a secret for that long.”

“Well, it seems that little Joey was going to live with his aunt in Philadelphia.”

“Why?” Giorgio’s patience was wearing thin.

“Apparently his stepfather was becoming a little too friendly
…
if you know what I mean.”

Giorgio stopped in his tracks again.
“You’re kidding?
His step dad was such a pious bastard.”

“Yeah, well, it seems he didn’t have eyes only for Joey’s mom.
Anyway, you’re missing the point.”
They continued walking until they reached the parking lot.
“I sympathized completely with his plight and admitted to some of my own personal difficulties.”

Giorgio stopped abruptly again.
“What personal difficulties?
You didn’t have any difficulties.”

“Well, dad’s death and all and living under the watchful eye of my big brother.”
He winked at Giorgio.
“Then
,
I may have said something like that’s why I had such a hard time concentrating in school.”

“You lying bastard.
You duped that poor kid.”

Rocky smiled mischievously.
“He thought he was helping me.
And he did.
I aced the test, much to Mrs. Pringle’s surprise.
And I think I may have helped a poor youn
g troubled kid in the process.”

Giorgio tilted his head.
“Well, then, by all means, with such a rare gift, you
should
be the one to work your way into the monks’ trust and find out what
Father O’Leary may have known.”

Giorgio opened the car door while Rocky smiled in the background.
He’d left Grosvner in the car, and the dog wiggled all over the place at Giorgio’s return.

“Where are you going?” Rocky inquired
.

“To meet Elvira Applebaum.
You’d better get started with the monks.
Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can with my limited talents by interviewing people on the periphery.”
Rocky merely laughed good-naturedly making Giorgio add, “But before you get too close to some of those poor monks, grab some toothpaste.
Your morning
breath could kill a palm tree.”

Rocky’s smile faded as Giorgio slipped inside the car.
A moment later, he started the car and left Rocky at the curb holding his hand up to his mouth.

Chapter T
hirty

E
lvira Applebaum lived in a cozy
Craftsman bungalow just off Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena.
A tall, slender woman with short gray hair and bright blue eyes greeted Giorgio and then ushered him into a comfortable living room with a wood
fireplace
mantel faced with cerulean blue tiles.

“May I offer you something to drink, Detective?”

She was a handsome woman in her mid sixties, standing tall and erect, her hands clasped in front of her.

“No, thank you.
I just have a few questions.”

“Well, then, please sit down.”
She indicated a chintz-covered chair and took a wooden rocker herself.
“You said on the phone you were investigating the murders up at the monastery.
I read about them in the paper.
I don’t think anything like that has ever happened around here.
Two murders,” she shook her head.
“The priests must be devastated.”

“I’m afraid you’ll be reading about a third murder tomorrow morning.
I’m sure it’s already on the news.”

Her hand went to her chest in shock.
“That’s awful.
What’s happening up there?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

“How can I help?”

She was obviously a woman with a business tempera
ment, a demeanor Giorgio liked.

“I’ve been studying the building plans for the monastery
.
I understand your father was the chief architect.”

“Yes.
The chapel was constructed in the thirties from the old church.
They built the monastery around it and asked my father to do the work.
He was just out of school then and eager for the opportunity.
The monks didn’t pay much and were difficult to work with, but my father was glad to have a paycheck in those days.”

“Did he tell you anything about the building itself?”

“I remember him talking with my mother.
The abbot
came to see him when he finished the drawings and ordered him to redo them.
They wanted something changed and my father was quite angry about it.”

“He wasn’t paid for the changes?”

“No.
He had offered a bid on the entire project and
the abbot
argued that the changes were minor.
It was all quite secretive
,
and he wasn’t allowed to tell any of the other monks who were on the building committee.”

“You said on the phone that your father had passed away.
When was that?”

“About twenty years ago.”

“And there are no other living relatives that might know more about his work at the monastery?”

Her eyes lit up.
“My mother would, but I’m afraid she’s quite ill.”

“Is she in a nursing home?”

“She lives right here with me.”
She stood up.
“She was napping a while ago.
Let me see if she’s awake.
She loves having visitors, but you won’t be able to stay long.”

“I understand,” Giorgio said, thinking he
may have just hit the jackpot.

Elvira Applebaum went down the hallway to the back of the house.
Giorgio roamed the living room, stopping to look at a cluster of framed pictures on a wall above a sideboard.
In one, he saw a tall man with brown hair cut short, an unruly lock of hair hanging over one eye.
The family resemblance was unmistakable
. H
e was looking at Joseph Applebaum holding a croquet mallet and smiling at the camera with the same broad smile as his daughter.
A moment later, Elvira Applebaum reentered the room.

“She would be delighted to see you.
I must warn you though, she’s very weak.
She’s ninety-one and has been bedridden for some
time.”

“I’ll just take a minute.”

She had him follow her to a back bedroom. The curtains were open, allowing filtered sunlight to enter the room.
A frail woman lay propped up by pillows in a single bed with a high, carved headboard.
The room was neat and clean, yet the smell of urine hung in the air making him think of his grandmother who had lived with his family for two years before she died.
Mrs. Applebaum’s hair was an iridescent white and lay in soft curls on her pillow.
Milky blue eyes met him with a
weak
smile as she lifted a thin hand towards him.

“Mrs. Applebaum, thank you for seeing me.”
Her skin was cold to the touch and so fragile he felt if he squeezed too tightly he might break all the bones in her hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” she whispered.
“Elvira said someone’s been killed up at the monastery. You’re the detective, is that right?”

She seemed spry, despite her infirmity.

“Yes, I’m looking into the murders.
Could you answer a few questions about the building?”

“I can try,” she said letting her hand fall back to the bed.
“What do you want to know?”

“Your husband was the architect.”

“That’s right.
It was Joseph’s first real job.”

“Your daughter said that some major changes were made to the building plans at the last minute.
Could you tell me about that?”

“Joseph was very angry,” she said, coughing.
“He’d spent nearly a month doing the original plans.
Father Simon, I think it was, ordered him to make some changes that caused Joseph to stay up for two nig
hts in a row to finish on time.”