The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (31 page)

“Well, some of the numbers didn’t seem right. They stuck in the back of my head. About two days later, I finally gave in to this little alarm that kept going off in my brain, and I dragged out Ms. Schrafft’s records. The ones from the year right before her husband died. You know, her last few shows. And there it was.” He finished off his glass, and Mrs. Risk poured him another. We both said nothing as he sipped again gratefully.

Finally he took a deep breath and continued. “I called a few other places, got the names from her income records.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Mrs. Risk patted him on the elbow. “You discovered Solly had been stealing from her.”

He nodded.

She leaned back in her chair and said softly, speculatively, “Her beloved, implicitly trusted Solly. I wonder for how long.”

In a croak, Steve said, “Twelve years. It was eerie. When I told her he’d been stealing, that’s what she said. She didn’t even have to think about it. I dug back as far as I could, and unless I made a mistake, she’s exactly right.”

Mrs. Risk smiled at him. “No darling. I don’t think you’re the kind to make a mistake.”

He flushed and blinked grateful guileless eyes at her. “I try very hard,” he said humbly.

“Twelve years? Why twelve?” I asked, bewildered.

“Think, dear. What happened in Pearl’s life twelve years ago?”

I was blank.

“She married her beloved Bernie,” said Mrs. Risk in a soft voice. “The love of her life. They had such a passion together. I regret so deeply that you never met him, Rachel. He would have softened your anger towards men if you could have seen one who could love a woman the way he loved Pearl.

“Remember Zoë told us how Solly wanted Pearl, waiting faithfully year after year. When she married Bernie, I can only imagine the long frustration exploding in on Solly in a twisting, igniting rage. And to continue to be with her daily, witnessing the ruin of all his hopes and dreams. I have no doubt it turned his love to hate.”

“Well, wait until you find out what they DID!” declared Steve. His head bobbled on his thin neck as if it’d become too heavy to support.

“What did ‘they’ do, dear?” asked Mrs. Risk.

“They PLOTTED. They came up with a PLAN.”

“What plan, dear?”

He shook his head unsteadily. “Not sure.”

“He’s drunk,” I said to Mrs. Risk accusingly. I slid his wine glass out of his hand and pushed it out of reach. He didn’t notice.

Her mouth tilted up in one corner. “So he is, oh dear. Order him some dessert and coffee, would you? As sweet as possible, you know the drill.”

It arrived in minutes. Chocolate fudge mousse cake and a mocha cappuccino topped with whipped cream. Mrs. Risk’s formula for quick sobriety—a blast of sugar to whip up a frenzy of insulin which would scour the alcohol out of his bloodstream in no time at all. Hey, it works.

“Now. The plan?” She leaned forward suggestively as he dug into his cake. He hadn’t even questioned its appearance.

“Well, I don’t know all of it. They made me leave when they realized I didn’t like what I heard.

“Who’s
they?”
I asked, confused.

“Pearl and Bella!” Steve all but shouted, whipped cream dripping down his chin. “Bella was supposed to stage some kind of fake fight with Pearl. And that would make Solly think Bella hated Pearl like
he
did, see? Then Bella was supposed to get him interested in her so that she could worm evidence out of him or something. It was Bella who came up with the idea. But I think she was joking, because when Pearl thought it was a terrific plan, Bella got upset. I don’t think Bella wanted to do it, but she said since she owed Pearl bigtime, she’d do her best.”

“But why wouldn’t Pearl just call the police? Turn him in to the district attorney?” I asked.

“Loyalty,” put in Mrs. Risk grimly. “She’s devoted to her old friends. They’ve been her only family all her life. Knowing Pearl, I can guess that the idea was for Bella to somehow encourage him to repent. Or at the very least, to restore her money and then quietly fade out of Pearl’s life and business. Pearl just wouldn’t have it in her to ruin him, which exposure assuredly would have done. Because of being orphaned, and then Bella’s and Stanley’s betrayal, she would want to soften the effects of Solly’s crime for herself as much as for him. She doesn’t deal with treachery especially well. And who can blame her?”

She sat back with a sigh.

Steve nodded, his head already clearing. Between bites of cake he said, “I couldn’t convince her to do anything else. She just suddenly shoved me out the door and threatened me if I told anybody.” Suddenly he stopped eating. “Which I just did. God, I’m finished.” He dropped his fork with a clatter and grasped his own ears, one in each hand, and tugged in a way that had to be painful.

“No you’re not, dear. I won’t reveal you as my source.”

He gaped at her. “But how else would you have found out?”

She gave him a smile that involved no humor and gently pushed his hands away from his ears. “I’m a witch, aren’t I? I ‘conjured’ the information with tea leaves and bat’s tongues. Or so we’ll allow them to believe, won’t we, Steve,” she said, her voice like steel. Steve nodded uncertainly, his eyes wide and round.

“Them?” I asked.

“Pearl and Bella,” she replied grimly. “And whoever else bothers to wonder.” She leaned forward and grasped Steve’s forearm. He’d regained somewhat of his shiny look again. “How do you feel now?”

“Like I just dropped a hundred pounds of lead from my shoulders,” he declared with a subtle burp. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Don’t give it a thought. Maybe someday you can return the favor.” He could bank on that statement! Mrs. Risk achieved some of her best tricks by trading favors.

“If anyone saw us together today and asks, tell them we spoke about Marvin and his wife, which we did. And tell them you never talk about clients’ affairs—it’s in the CPA’s code of ethics, you know, dear.”

She edged the check towards him with a delicate finger and busied herself with her cloak. He clumsily regained his feet and pushed money into the waiter’s hand.

“Can you drive now?” she asked, peering into his eyes. “Yes. You’ll do. Drop us back at Bella’s, dear, and leave everything in our hands. Have confidence in us.”

In a few minutes we stood at Bella’s door, knocking as sedately as if we’d just arrived. I noticed that while we’d been chatting with Steve, another car had pulled into the drive and parked next to mine. A huge old brown Mercedes sedan, paint dulled with age and lack of care.

Bella flung the door wide, startling me, and said in her throaty voice, “Well, more crows hunting carrion.” She slammed the door behind us when we’d stepped inside and stalked down the hall, assuming, I suppose, that we’d follow.

We trailed after her as far as the dining room door, and discovered Bruce Altman gathering up papers and stuffing them into his briefcase. His vague eyes looked watery and the skin of his cheeks flushed and flaccid as if, like a balloon, he’d just been deflated. I could imagine that Bella was an expert deflator.

“Leaving?” I said to him, smiling hopefully.

He mumbled something indistinct.

“Bruce thought I might be requiring a solicitor. He’s been offering his services.
All
of his services.”

“Did you decline?” asked Mrs. Risk.

“Oh, indeed. I would hope I could do better than him, frankly. If the need arose.” She asked us brightly, “Do you also bring me an offer? I’ve been having the most enlightening day, full to overflowing with helpful visitors.”

“Well, it is true that I’ve brought you something.”

“What is that?” Bella sat down without inviting us to join her and lit a cigarette. She blew a stream of smoke directly into Bruce’s face as he snapped the catch on his briefcase. He muffled a choked cough, stood, and moved towards the door, the set of his shoulders exuding resentment.

Mrs. Risk stepped aside in the doorway so that he could leave the room, and then answered Bella coolly, in a low whisper, “I’ve brought you a motive for Pearl to kill Solly. His thefts. Interested?”

Bella’s face paled. She scrubbed out the hardly smoked cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “Give me a moment. Yes. I’m interested.” She jumped up and walked swiftly out of the room, but turned left in the hallway and went upstairs.

At the front door, Bruce reached for the door knob.

“Bruce. A moment,” Mrs. Risk called out. She hastened towards him. He paused with the door half open.

“You raped Ilene Fox,” she stated without preamble. “When she was sixteen years old.”

He blinked his watery eyes and looked as if she’d struck him. His lips parted and he sucked in a breath of air. He said with a croak. “Who told you that?”

“Do you deny it?”

“Damn fucking right I deny it. Don’t believe everything those stupid fucking women tell you.” He flung the door all the way open with a swoop and left, briefcase swinging wildly.

“No hard feelings. Just asking,” Mrs. Risk called brightly after him, but he either didn’t hear, or didn’t care to answer. He plunged into his car and drove off, spinning his balding tires on the driveway as he continued around the curve to exit the other side.

I realized my mouth had fallen open, so I shut it. “He did it?”

Mrs. Risk waved away the suggestion impatiently. “No. Or at least, I doubt it. I just wanted to see his reaction.” She gazed after him thoughtfully. “But I must remember that, Rachel.”

“What?”

“Not to believe everything those ‘stupid fucking women’ tell me.”

She returned to the dining room.

W
E SAT DOWN AT
the table to wait. A stinking pile of cigarette butts smeared with fuchsia lipstick nearly hid the delicate peonies decorating Bella’s ashtray—known in its former life as a porcelain saucer. Ashes had snowed all over the corner of the table where she must have sat listening to Bruce’s proposal. Or proposition.

To entertain myself I blew at the scattered ashes on the table and watched them float gently to the carpet.

At this moment in through the swinging door from the kitchen burst Mrs. Harmon. “Smoking,” she muttered. In one hand she carried a soft long-handled brush with which she swept the ashes into a bucket. Into the bucket also went the butts from the saucer. She scrubbed furiously at the saucer with a rag, then tossed it back onto the table where it spun and clattered to a stop.

“I thought you’d left already,” I said to her.

“I live on the third floor.”

“No, I mean for Florida. Aren’t you moving to Florida?”

She kept working without looking at me. “Flight’s Monday.”

“Oh. I’ll bet you’re really looking forward to retirement. No more cleaning, huh?”

At that she looked up. “Ain’t the half of it. One more day in this place and I think I’ll puke. I hate smokers.”

She turned to go, but Mrs. Risk suddenly said, “It was good of Solly to let you know you had a pension coming to you, so you could make plans.”

Mrs. Harmon turned around and propped her bucket against her bulky thigh. “He was a good man, you know. Don’t know why anybody’d want to hurt him at all, let alone knock him off.” She shook her head and I detected the shine of threatening tears. “He always told me if I took care of him, he’d take care of me. And he did, too. I’m going to be living pretty tootin’ on what he set up for me. Have my
own
maid.”

Mrs. Risk nodded. “Not bad.”

“That says it. Not bad.”

She turned to go, but Mrs. Risk asked, “Would you mind terribly … when did he tell you about your pension?”

“That? Oh, him and me talked about it for a couple ’a years before he actually went and did it in ’87. He invested a nice chunk in something or other, I don’t get just what. But it grew steady as death and taxes. There’s plenty of it now; and still a-growing. I’ll never have to worry ’bout runnin’ out of money.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. So Bella’s inheritance didn’t affect your pension at all?”

Mrs. Harmon puckered her unlovely lips. “Nah. When he made his new will, he called us both in so’s we’d know just how we stood. Guess he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t worry because of his situation changing. He was considerate like that.” She turned back towards the door.

“And that was in October?” Mrs. Risk asked her departing back as she plunged through the door.

Just before the swinging door totally concealed Mrs. Harmon, her voice drifted back to us. “Wasn’t October. Like I told the cops, first o’ November.” The door closed.

Mrs. Risk looked at me, eyebrows elevated. “So that’s why Michael sent for the French records of Stanley’s death.”

Bella walked in from the hallway. She said with a coolness that wasn’t reflected by the flush across her cheeks, “Pearl’s on her way. I imagine you won’t mind waiting.” She pulled back a chair and sat, sliding one leg smoothly over the other to cross them.

Without invitation, Mrs. Risk circled around and selected a chair across the table from Bella. My position between them at the head of the table made me feel uncomfortably like the mediator at a debate. The atmosphere crackled with tension, although to look at the bland expressions on Bella’s and Mrs. Risk’s faces, we could be gathered for a small dinner party.

Solly gazed down over our heads in good humor. I glanced up at him in resentment.

A distant slow ticking in the unaccustomed silence reminded me that somewhere in the house Solly had an old grandfather clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. It didn’t ‘tock,’ for some reason. Pearl had lied. And now we knew, Bella had lied. Had anyone told the truth? What about the faithful Zoë? I started drumming my nails on the table top, but Mrs. Risk hissed at me and I stopped.

She leaned forward and said across the table to Bella, “I believe I do mind waiting for Pearl, after all. I think I’d rather spend this time discussing with you alone why Pearl switched her digoxin with Solly’s saccharin.” She leaned back in her chair. The opening shot.

I stared at Mrs. Risk, suspicious of this drastic change of position. Had she suddenly become convinced of Pearl’s guilt, after all?

Bella stood abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over. “Pearl never touched—would never—” She sputtered to an incoherent stop. Sputtering did not seem natural from the reserved Bella.