Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death (12 page)

Tuesday evening was the big deal recital. Like Mrs. K said, everybody was there, like it was
Rosh Hashanah,
and dressed just as fancy. Well, everybody was there except those not able to leave their rooms, and for them the staff set up a recorder machine so they could see it at another time.

Ordinarily, I and Mrs. K would have been enjoying Mr. Bernard's recital (or Mr. Bernardi's, if you prefer—so playing like he's Italian makes him a better opera singer?), as we both like to go to the opera and we never hear a famous opera singer “close and personal,” as they say. But instead we both were
shvitzing
, perspiring like it was ninety degrees inside, because we knew that while the tenor was singing, our burglar was burglaring.

I think we both now wanted to call off the snooping, to get Sara to tell her friend not to bother. We had the cold feet, in spite of our
shvitzing
!

The recital was very nice, however, and when Bernardi was through singing everybody clapped loudly, which was probably just as well, because maybe it would warn the burglar lady that the recital was over and she should hurry up.

We were even more nervous during the reception, because we were then even closer to finding out whether all of our
shvitzing
was for nothing. Neither of us could eat any of the delicious apple
kugel
; well, maybe we did have just a
bissel
to keep our spirits up. And a chocolate candy or two. And some coffee, although I would have preferred a nice cup of tea.

Before long the reception too was over, and it was still about fifteen minutes short of the two hours that Mrs. K had estimated. We had no way to keep it going or to stop everyone from going back to their rooms, which they began to do. I was praying that the burglar lady had already finished her work and was a long time gone, and I am sure Mrs. K was doing the same, not that we would have expected God to help someone to break the law. But maybe this would be the exception, as it was in a good cause. It couldn't hurt.

Mrs. K and I made our way to the residential wing, almost having to hold each other up, so nervous we were when we passed the doors behind which might still be our burglar. Just as we reached the first such door, with several other residents nearby, there was a loud
clunk
noise that seemed to come from behind it. I was surprised my heart didn't jump right out of my body, and I was ready to
plotz
right there on the spot.

Mrs. K, however, she did not panic. What she did do was to drop her purse on the floor and say loudly to me, “What a
klutz
I am, not looking where I was going!” Several residents looked over and assumed the noise they heard was Mrs. K bumping into one of the tables against the wall.

When no one showed any more interest in the noise that we heard, Mrs. K picked up her purse and, with a big sigh of “
Oy vey,
” took my arm and we continued down the hall.

We went to our rooms and tried to sleep—we did not expect to hear from Sara until the next morning at the earliest. I did not sleep very well, and the time went by slowly. Both are unusual at my age.

In the morning, Mrs. K and I were too nervous to go to breakfast, but we took some chocolate macaroons and tea back to my room to wait. It was ten o'clock before the telephone finally rang. I almost spilled my tea as I quickly reached for the telephone and then almost dropped the receiver before I could say, “Hello, Sara?”

At first there was silence, then, “No, this is Pupik. Is Mrs. Kaplan there with you?”

What a disappoint
ment. But I took a deep breath and said, “Yes, just a minute,” and I handed the telephone to Mrs. K, telling her, “It is Pupik. He wants to speak to you.” She looked puzzled but took the receiver and said, “Hello?”

Mrs. K listened, and then she said, “Yes, all right, and I shall bring Mrs. Berkowitz with me again.” She then listened some more, her brow wrinkling like she was not very pleased at what she was hearing. To whatever Pupik had said, she replied, “You want I should bring my lawyer instead?” Whatever Pupik answered to that, it caused Mrs. K to smile. After she hung up the telephone, for a few moments she did not say anything. She just stared in front of her, like she was thinking deep thoughts. Finally I could not wait any longer.

“
Nu,
so what did Pupik have to say already?”

She seemed to snap out of her thinking and looked at me. “He told me he had just received a call from that Detective Corcoran. He and that other policeman will be here Friday morning, and Pupik wants me to come to his office ‘promptly at ten o'clock' to meet with them.”

“And am I to come along?”

“Oh, yes. He wanted I should come by myself, but I insisted you must be there too. He just needed a bit of…persuasion. I have a feeling this meeting will be the one where either we convince the policemen that I am innocent and they should leave me alone, or they will get more serious about trying to prove I am guilty. And then I really will need a lawyer. So I am very much hoping we hear good news from your niece Sara, and that it is soon that we hear it.”

I was of course hoping the same thing.

It was not until 11:30 that morning that the telephone again rang. Mrs. K and I looked at each other anxiously. I picked up the receiver and again I said, “Hello.” This time I did not assume it was Sara on the other end.

But this time it was Sara.

“How are you, Auntie Ida?” she said cheerily.

I was not in such a cheery mood, but I tried to sound like I was. “I am fine, thank you; but Mrs. Kaplan and I are anxious we should hear what it is that your friend Florence found last night.” I was very much hoping that what she found would not turn out to be
bupkis
—nothing.

“Well,” Sara said, in almost a teasing way, “I think Flo has some news for you, but she wants to tell you herself. Is it okay if I put her on the line? Is Mrs. Kaplan there also?”

“Yes, she is here. Do you want I should put her on the phone?”

“Do you have an extension so that both of you can talk?”

“Well, yes, but it is in the bathroom—it is mostly for using in an emergency—but I suppose one of us could use that.”

“Good. You get Mrs. Kaplan on the other phone, and I'll give the phone here to Flo.”

I would not, of course, have thought of suggesting that Mrs. K go and sit in my tiny bathroom to talk on the phone, although I assure you I keep it nice and neat and clean. It just would not have been dignified. So I handed the phone to Mrs. K, telling her that the burglar lady wanted to speak to her in person, and I went and sat on the seat of the place where one does one's business and picked up the emergency telephone.

Mrs. K now said, “Hello, is this Florence?” And now on the other end of the line was a voice I did not recognize. It was strong and confident-sounding.

“Hello, yes, this is Florence, but please call me Flo. Is this Ida?”

“No, this is Rose Kaplan, and you can call me Rose. I think Ida is in the bathroom.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, should we wait for her to finish?” asked the new voice.

“No, no, you misunderst
and,” I said. “I am here in the bathroom on the telephone. It is the only other one I have in my room here at the Home.”

“Oh, I see. Okay, then shall I go ahead and tell you about last night?”

“Please do,” said Mrs. K, perhaps sounding a little more anxious than she would have liked. But who could blame her? I was anxious too, and it was not me who was maybe being arrested tomorrow for theft, or worse.

“Well, you asked me to look for certain things in two of the rooms there at the Home, and as you know I was there last night.”

“Actually,” Mrs. K said, “we did not know for sure. We were hoping you had been here, but as we heard about it from no one, we assumed either you did not come, or you did your coming and going very quietly, without anyone, including us, knowing you were here.” I did not mention the noise we heard and how Mrs. K covered it over.

“Well, yes, that's usually the general idea in my line of work. So anyway, I was there and I was able to get into the first of the two rooms in question from the outside, through the window.”

I was glad to hear this. I had not wanted her to be taking any big risks on our behalf, and I told her so.

There was for some reason a long pause at the other end of the phone, but then the burglar lady said, “No, of course not” and changed the subject, saying, “You might want to let your administrator there know that those old-style locks on the windows are pretty useless at stopping a determined professional from getting in. In fact, even a determined toddler could probably manage, although it might take him a bit longer.”

“Yes, certainly I will tell him,” Mrs. K said, “but please go on and tell us what you found when you entered the rooms.”

“Sure, sorry. I tend to ramble. Okay, so in that first room, I found the earring that you described. Your sketch was actually pretty good, and once I looked in the right place, I was sure I had found the right one.”

Although I was in the bathroom and could not see Mrs. K when she heard this from the burglar lady, I could almost hear the sigh of relief she must have been letting out. I myself felt dizzy and almost fell over into the tub, but I managed to catch myself in time.

“
Mazel tov!
” exclaimed Mrs. K. “That is just what I wanted to hear. Now please tell me where you found it.”

“Well, it was pretty well hidden,” says the burglar lady. “It took me maybe ten minutes to find it. But when I looked on her closet shelf, way behind some sweaters, there was a small plastic bag there, and the earring was in that bag. Lingerie drawers and closet shelves are both common but poor hiding places, not difficult for a snoop like me.”

Mrs. K was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Yes, I will remember that. So did you find what I was looking for in the other room?”

Mrs. K had not shared her list of items with me before she gave it to Sara, so I was wondering to what she was referring.

Here there was a long pause again, and the burglar lady cleared her throat, and then she said, “Uh, I'm afraid there was kind of a hitch there.”

“A hitch? What is a hitch?” said Mrs. K. I too wanted to know. It did not sound good.
Oy, w
as this another case of “good news/bad news”?

There was a silence on the phone, and then the burglar lady, Florence, she says, “You know, it might be better if I explained in person.”

“But I thought you didn't want us to meet with you, only through Sara,” I said. It seemed to me she had been very clear about this.

“Yes, I know. But I'm sure I can trust you both to keep my little secret, just like Sara has.”

“That is not a problem,” said Mrs. K. “The fewer people who know I am meeting with a
ganif,
much less hiring one, the better. No offense intended.”

Florence laughed. “None taken. Why don't we do this: If Sara can make it over to your place sometime this afternoon to pick you up, could you get away for an hour or so?”

Mrs. K put her hand over the phone and shouted to me, “That is okay with you, Ida?” I called back that it was, and so Mrs. K said into the phone, “That would be fine. But can't you tell me now what you found?”

“I'd rather tell you the whole story, and not over the phone, if that's all right.”

“If that's what you want,” Mrs. K said. “Where shall we meet? Ida and I like the Garden Gate Café downtown. They have nice tea, and—”

Florence interrupted. “No, no. It's better if we aren't seen together. You know, just in case.”

I wanted to ask just in case what, and I'm sure Mrs. K wanted to also, but I think we both knew the answer to that, and Mrs. K just asked, “So where do you suggest?”

“I think either my or Sara's apartment would be good. I'll check what's more convenient for her. Just a minute.” We heard some muffled speaking, apparently Florence talking with Sara, and then she comes back on the phone and says, “We'll meet at Sara's apartment. Is two o'clock okay for her to pick you up?”

“I think so,” Mrs. K said, adding, “Okay with you, Ida?”

I said it was, and then I remembered something that had been troubling me since my last conversation with Sara, and I decided I must ask the burglar lady a delicate question.

“May I ask you, and you do not have to answer if you do not want to: Did you happen to…to take away with you anything from this room? I understood this to be a possibility…”

Mrs. K, whom I never did tell about Sara's mention of the burglar maybe taking something for her trouble, asked, “What are you talking about, Ida?”

But the burglar lady on the other end of the line only laughed and said, “No, I left everything just as it was. Shouldn't I have?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “It is just that Sara told me you might want some kind of…some kind of payment for your trouble, being a professional person and all that. You might want to take away something with you.”

There was a long silence on the telephone, then the muffled sound of the burglar lady talking to someone there with her, who I again assumed was Sara. Then she laughed again, and when she caught her breath she said, “I see. Yes, Sara mentioned that, but I told her it wouldn't be necessary. She must've neglected to tell you. No, I certainly wouldn't steal anything from the ladies in an old folks'—I'm sorry, I mean a retirement home. That's not my style. And besides, I agreed to do this job for you as a favor to Sara. People in my line of work can use a few good deeds to balance off the more, shall we say, questionable things we do. And it isn't often that I have a chance to use my professional talents on what you might call the right side of the law. Or at least to catch a thief, instead of being one.”

I was relieved to hear this, as I am certain was Mrs. K. And my opinion of this Florence the burglar lady rose very much higher.

We hung up the phones and I joined Mrs. K in the bedroom, where is the other phone. I first made use of the toilet, since I was already there, and at my age, just being in a bathroom is usually enough suggestion to require it; and with all of the stress lately, well, you can imagine. When I entered the bedroom, Mrs. K was not looking happy, and I couldn't blame her. Although the burglar lady had found part of the information Mrs. K was hoping to get, apparently there was some problem with getting the rest of it. A problem she didn't want to discuss on the phone.

“So now we have to wait and see what is this ‘hitch,' Ida,” Mrs. K said. “And we have to
shlep
over to Sara's to do it. I just hope it is only a small hitch, because there is left only one small but important piece to the puzzle.”

I was never good at puzzles. It is an example of how differently Mrs. K's mind works from mine, that she figures out puzzles in her head that I cannot even figure out on paper. But of course with this particular puzzle, who stole Daisy's earrings and who killed Bertha Finkelstein, she needs all the help she can get.