Prayers for the Dead (21 page)

“He won’t interrogate me, Bram. He’s not like that.”

“I phrased it badly. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Rina buried her head in her hands. “You didn’t imply anything. I’m acting defensive. I’m sorry.”

“Rina, just let me get this thought out, okay? Because I don’t know when — if ever — we’ll be alone again.”

“Go ahead.”

“Rina, without a doubt, your loyalties lie with your husband. But mine lie with my family.
If
push should come to shove, I bind with my kin, no matter what. Your husband may ask me questions that I may not answer. That could anger him, frustrate him. Maybe… just maybe, he’ll come to you for personal information about me.”

“I don’t think Peter would do that.”

“Then I’m worrying for nothing. I’m just mentioning it because I don’t want you to feel divided in your loyalties. If it should happen… you have my permission to tell him whatever you feel comfortable with. The
last
thing I want is to create conflict between the two of you.”

“It won’t happen.”

“Good.”

“Divided loyalties,” she whispered. “I detect a pattern.”

Bram raised his brow. “You said it, Rina Miriam, not I.”

Stifling hot from
a houseful of packed flesh, yet the men still wore jackets. Decker wiped his brow, reaching a compromise. He’d leave the jacket on, but loosen the tie and undo the top button of his white shirt. Good that he was tall. Standing on the landing steps of the Sparkses’ home, he could see over the human yardage. Even from this vantage point, with so many people, he couldn’t keep a definitive watch over the siblings. Kept scattering from place to place like little black ants. Especially the twins, both of them wearing almost identical black suits and
glasses
. True, the priest had longer hair and wore a collar. But without putting the two side by side, Decker was easily confused.

The widow, Dolores — known as Dolly to her friends — was holding court in the back of the living room. At present, she was mobbed by well-wishers offering her solace, surrounding her, patting her hand, stroking her shoulder, wiping her wet cheeks. It would have been inopportune for Decker to intrude upon her grief. Yet, he knew he was going to have to question her.

Because her husband was murdered in the back of a fancy restaurant.

Which could mean a paramour.

Which could mean a jealous husband or boyfriend.

Or, dare he say it, even a jealous wife.

Because as yet, Decker still lacked a damn motive.

Some of the guests were eating, popping things into their mouths, or drinking something unnaturally red out of plastic glasses. Obviously, there must be food somewhere. Holding his breath, Decker dove into the pool of humanity. He intended to pay his respects to the widow. But first he’d take a look around.

The family room held the bulk of the people. To its immediate left was an enormous dining room, windows facing the front lawn. It was also packed. A giant flower arrangement sat in the middle of a long table; around it were plates of assorted cookies, finger-sized danish, bite-sized muffins, sugared ladyfingers, and bowls of candies. On the buffet was a coffee urn with cream and sugar and hot cups. A sideboard held a filled punch bowl with cold cups. Put the scene in another context, add a little music, and it was party time.

Decker squeezed his body out of the dining room, back to the main drag. Yet he wasn’t quite ready to introduce himself to Dolly Sparks. He noticed that off the dining room was a swinging door. Decker pushed it open, found himself staring down an empty hallway. And since no one was telling him it was off-limits to foot traffic…

Glancing over his shoulder, he ventured down the foyer. Opened a few doors. A bathroom, an office with a computer, a butler’s pantry. At the end was another closed swinging door.

What the heck. He’d gone this far.

Decker leaned on it, allowing him entrance to a massive kitchen/breakfast nook area. At least a thousand square feet. An oversized refrigerator, an eight-burner stove. Walls and walls of cabinets — white, scalloped frames surrounding lemon-yellow panels hand-painted with flowers and scrolls. But they were old, the designs being chipped, faded, or missing altogether. Paper goods and boxes of pastries had been strewn over the counters. Hand-painted tile. Though the grout was clean, it had grayed with age. Several uniformed housekeepers scurried about: setting up cookie platters, bringing in empty plates, taking out pitchers of punch, or making more coffee.

Decker suddenly noticed that except for the help, he was alone. Nice. He could breathe. But it looked funny.

A maid carrying two platters of cookies winked at him as she passed by.

Decker held back a laugh.

The swing door opened. Immediately, Decker’s eyes grew in diameter.

“I thought I might find you here skulking about,” Rina said. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

Involuntarily, he felt his anger rise. He was working on a big murder case, his attention focused on
business
. Rina’s presence was not only a supreme distraction, but a problem. Personal digressions could screw up his credibility. “What are you
doing
here?”

“Can you keep your voice down to a civil level?”

Decker looked around. The hired help was staring at him. He took a deep breath. “Sorry.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect—”

“I know. You’re working on a case. I’m interrupting your concentration. But I couldn’t help it.” Rina began kneading her hands. “I know Dr. Sparks’s son Abram. He asked me to come.”

Decker paused, weighed his words because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “He
asked
you to come?”

“Yes.”

“He
called
you?”

“No, I called him. Last night.”

“You called him.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Okay. That must mean you know him well.”

“Bram had been a dear friend to Yitzchak. At one point, I knew him very well. I know I should have said something as soon as you told me about the murder. But frankly, I was in shock. I have been trying to reach you all day.”

Decker softened. “I know you have, honey. And I got the messages. They told me it wasn’t an emergency.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Is this what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.” Her face crumpled. “This has been a very stressful day for me. At best, I don’t do well with these kinds of things. And seeing Bram brought back all these memories and I…”

She erupted into tears. Decker pulled her into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s fine… no big deal.”

It was a
very
big deal
.

Decker kissed his wife’s hat. “Honey, it was nice that you came. But you shouldn’t have to go through this. It might be better if you just went home. We’ll talk later.”

She dried her tears with a tissue. “I came with Bram. Can you take me back to the yeshiva? The Volvo’s there.”

“Bram
drove
you here?”

“Yes.”

Decker was silent. For a woman as religious as Rina to be alone with a man — even a priest — implied a close relationship. “Just the two of you?”

She pulled away. “Yes, Peter, just the two of us. We met at the yeshiva at his request. Because he had business with Rav Schulman. Then we drove together to the service. Afterwards, he asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming back to the house. He wanted to spend a little time with his family before he drove me back.”

Decker looked at her, said nothing.

Rina said, “Is my acquaintance with Bram going to mess up your investigation?”

“It’s going to have to be dealt with. How’d you come to know him so well?”

Rina stared at him, not angry, just weary. “He just about moved in after Yitzchak fell ill. He read to him when Yitzy’s sight failed, he carried him from room to room when he couldn’t walk, he fed him… bathed him… put on Yitzy’s
tephillin
, oh God—”

She looked away, attempting to hold back tears.

“Towards the end, Yitzy became a
twenty-four-hour job
. I had two small children who didn’t know what was flying… only that their father… Bram took care of Yitzchak so I could take care of them. So I could catch my
breath
! There were times… if Bram hadn’t been there… I think I might have gone insane.”

No one spoke.

Decker threw up his hands. “Where were his Jewish friends? Where were your parents, where were
his
parents, for godsakes?”

Rina wiped her eyes. “They all came to visit… his friends, the
rabbaim
. All of them. And lots of them. Faithfully. But eventually they all went home. Because they had families, Peter. They had lives.”

“Bram didn’t have a life?”

“He was unattached. I think he had just graduated seminary or was about to graduate. He hadn’t taken his orders yet, that much I remember.”

“At loose ends?”

“I suppose. I never questioned his motivation. They had been friends before Yitzchak fell ill. Two scholars on the opposite sides of the fence. Looking back, I now realize how much Yitzy enjoyed those intellectual debates. Brought fire to his eyes… Bram’s, too.”

Then Decker remembered something the priest had told him about an old friend. The passion in his voice.

We used to spend hours together, arguing about God. I loved him like a brother. Then one day he took sick. Ten months later, he was dead
.

One of those once-in-a-lifetime relationships, forged from something that defied rational explanation. Just as he’d had with his old war buddy, Abel.

Rina clutched her hands, looked at her husband. “As far as my parents lending me a hand… they were more work than help. They couldn’t deal with the situation. Neither could Yitzy’s parents. Something we both recognized at the onset of his illness. Not that I blamed any of them… four concentration camp survivors… it was too much. So Yitzy made a decision to keep his parents in New York because he couldn’t stand to see the suffering in their faces.”

Her lower lip trembled.

“We kept them at bay, telling them things were better than they were… until the final weeks… when we couldn’t lie anymore.”

Spontaneously, Decker brought his wife to his chest and hugged her tightly. She embraced him back, swayed to his rocking, allowing herself comfort from the man she loved.

The swing door opened again. Rina broke away, dabbed her cheeks.

Bram’s eyes rested on Rina’s face, then moved on to Decker’s. Something had passed between them — a glance that bespoke deeper things. An evaluation of his worth as Yitzchak’s replacement? A longing for what might have been? Or maybe exhaustion and irritability were pushing his imagination into overdrive.

Decker maintained eye contact with the priest. “You spoke beautifully, Father. A very eloquent eulogy.”

“Thank you.” Bram nodded somberly. “Even though words fail to express what’s in your heart, you try your best. Thank you for coming.”

The door opened again. The maid returning with empty plates. She saw Bram. “
¿Usted quiere comida, Padre?
”

“
Nada, Bonita. Gracias. No tengo hambre ahora
.”

“
¿Señor?
” She looked at Decker.

“
Nada, gracias
.”

The maid shrugged, her eyes saying, I can’t give the stuff away. She went back to the counter and reloaded the platter.

Bram pushed hair off his face. “The man who sold my father his first motorcycle is here. His name is… no joke… Grease Pit. He and his leathered entourage just walked through the door.”

“Are they creating problems?” Decker asked.

“Not at all. I was just wondering if you’d like an introduction.”

“Yes, thank you.” Decker swallowed the wrong way and began to cough. “And… can… you introduce…”

He broke into a spasm of hacking. Rina banged his back. “Are you okay?”

“
S’cuse…
” The two maids were holding large platters of cookies. Coughing, Decker moved out of their way.

“
Gracias
.” They walked out of the kitchen.

Decker coughed, held up a finger. “Your… mother…”

“I’d be happy to introduce you to her,” Bram said. “Let me get you something to drink.” He walked over to the counter and began to pour punch into glasses. The kitchen door opened yet another time, reminding Decker of the old Ernie Kovacs skit… person after person coming out from the bathtub.

It was Paul and he was fuming, eyes going a mile a minute. So focused on his ire, he didn’t notice Decker or Rina, just headed straight for his brother.

To Bram’s back, he shouted, “He’s
drunk
! He’s saying
vicious
things! And I’m about to lose my cool! Rein him in
now
, Bram!”

Eva barged in. “Bram, you’ve
got
to do something about Luke. He’s upsetting Mother!”

Pink-cheeked, Bram said, “We’ve got company, people.”

Paul pivoted, eyelids fluttering like wings when he spotted Decker. Eva’s pale face had reddened. Bram walked back to Decker, handed him a glass of punch. “Can you excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course.” It came out a hoarse whisper. Decker drank and cleared his throat. “I’ll just wait outside.”

“Thank you.”

Decker smiled, took Rina’s arm, and led her back into the living room. He cleared his throat again. “Well, that was pretty ugly.”

Rina said nothing.

Decker’s eyes scanned the room. Casually, he said, “Do you know the family, too?”

“No, just Bram.”

“Never met any of his siblings… his parents?”

“Once.” Rina hugged herself. “Before Yitzchak became ill Bram invited us to his twenty-fifth birthday party — he and his two brothers, Luke and Paul. You know he’s a triplet?”

“Yes.”

“He’s also an identical twin with Luke.”

“Yes, I know that as well.”

The one who’s drunk and is saying vicious things
and
is upsetting Mom
.

Decker prodded. “What was it like? The birthday party.”

“I don’t remember too much. I do recall sticking out rather pointedly among all the church ladies. I didn’t talk much.”