Unleavened Dead, page 19
I phoned that one close friend, and Caryn picked up on the first ring, a sign that she was waiting for someone (not me) to call. Unless she just happened to be sitting at home with the phone in her lap. It was the former.
“Hi, Caryn. Doing anything tonight? Want to go to a movie and then have a postmortem about my dead love life?”
“Dead? You mean dead, buried, rotted into the ground and become fertilizer. Love to, but I’m waiting for Alan to call and let me know what time he’ll be done with inventory at the store so we can meet for dinner.”
“How many times did you cancel plans with girlfriends because a guy asked you out at the last minute? It’s time to come through for your comrades-in-feminism. Dump the date in favor of the girlfriend.”
“You’re right, Aviva. Knowing Alan, he’ll call at eleven, say he got tied up, forgot our plans, had eaten some disgusting wheat grass and raw-milk yogurt combination for dinner, and was too tired to get together. Screw ‘im.”
“I thought you did. Are.”
“In theory. Now and then. When we’re both in the mood, which is less and less often. It was just wishful thinking when I told you I’d miss the sex if Alan and I stopped seeing each other. You can’t miss what you’re not getting. So, what do you want to see, what time, and where should we go afterwards?”
I explained I was waiting for Trudy at Café Wiffie, and couldn’t leave until she showed up. I didn’t think she would appreciate my disappearing with her laptop.
“So why don’t you call her?” I hate it when Caryn makes a reasonable suggestion I should have thought of.
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a good idea and I’m not thinking clearly.”
Caryn must have picked up my mood through the ether. “Do you want to skip the movie and go straight to the talking?”
“No, I really need to veg out for a while. And I’ve been tasting popcorn since yesterday.”
“And you’ll be tasting it all day tomorrow, too. Call Trudy and get back to me. If she’s going to be a while, I’ll meet you at the café, we can have our bull … er, therapy … er, gabfest first and then go to the late movie. Otherwise, I’ll meet you at the Marlton AMC for the earlier movie and we’ll go somewhere after.”
Once again, Caryn made sense. That was why she was the one I needed to talk to. That plus her being my only close confidante.
I got hold of Trudy right away. As I suspected, after choosing several orchids, she decided to pick up some more things at Trader Joe’s, where she was checking out the ingredients and unit pricing on every item in the store. She promised she would be back within half an hour. I called Caryn back and made arrangements to meet her at the theater for the earlier showing. Whoever got there first would buy the tickets. “Don’t forget to call Alan.”
“Nah, not gonna bother. If he remembers to call me, let him wonder where I am. It’s not like I’m married to him. Even when I was married to him, it wasn’t like I was married to him.”
While waiting for Trudy, I looked up carbon monoxide poisoning. I was about to give up trying to figure out if they added anything to it to make it smell, as they do for natural gas, when I finally found an explanation of the difference between the two. Natural gas is, er, natural, while carbon monoxide is produced by “the incomplete combustion of the fossil fuels – gas, oil, coal and wood – used in boilers, engines, oil burners, gas fires, water heaters, solid fuel appliances and open fires.” It’s natural, and it’s odorless, and there’s no way to make its presence known, except with a detector. And a CO detector won’t send out an alarm signal if there’s a natural gas leak.
I was still pondering this information – I’ve no idea why – when Trudy walked in. As I knew she would, she had gone overboard and bought two of every orchid species in the store, plus a two-pound box of kosher-for-Passover chocolates. “We can always put them out at the seder if she doesn’t want to hoard them.”
“Have I got news for you.” I told Trudy all about Vince’s cousin. “He said he’ll contact Leesa and tell her about his family’s experience with Moorhouse. He doesn’t want his name used, though. Wonder why? Well, I can guess, but then I’d be stereotyping. Unfortunately, all he remembers about Connie’s friends is that they were part of an outsider clique that called themselves ‘The Pink Ladies’ and used the motto ‘Too hot to be cool.’ Pretty pathetic when you think about it. I’m sure it only made their outsider status even more conspicuous. They probably thought the other kids were laughing with them, not at them.”
“I like it. And it’s accurate. Grown up geeks are considered hot, especially after they make their first million. I know from experience.”
“You’re not a loser.”
“You must not remember me in high school.”
Trudy was closing down her laptop when I thought of something else. “Remember you said you could find the names and addresses of the posters?”
“Of course I remember. It was my idea.”
“Concentrate first on the person who sent the message about Moorhouse’s death. She has to be someone local.”
Trudy gave me a look that I misinterpreted as admiring. “Good idea, Aunty. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. I guess it was just too obvious.” She dropped the act. “Of course that’s the first name I’m going to check.”
I took her comment for what it was worth, nothing, and said my goodbyes. “I’m really busy tomorrow, but call and leave me a message if there’s anything to report about anything or if you need anything for Monday night.”
“The only ‘anythings’ I need are for Sherry’s innocence to be proven and for us to be back to our old selves. And happily planning our wedding.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Caryn must have left her house right away, as she had further to drive but was waiting for me, tickets in hand. Despite the chilly, rainy weather, she was standing at the curb outside the theater.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as I approached her. “Don’t you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?”
“I’m standing under the marquee and staying dry. After a day in the office staffing the phones and scheduling funerals, I needed to get some air.”
“Steve is seeing someone and leaving Walford.”
Caryn knew me well enough not to be nonplussed by my non sequitur. “Give me a sec to exchange these tickets for the later show. Then we’ll go over to Fridays and talk.”
“Not Fridays. Too noisy.”
“I know, but it’s walking distance and the parking lot will be filled later. I’ve got a good spot and I’m not about to lose it, even for you. Besides, the babble will make it harder for someone to eavesdrop.”
“Right, as though anyone cares what a single, lonely, overweight, middle aged loser has to say.”
“Have you forgotten Rule One of girlfriend commiseration night?” “’No self-pity allowed.’ But can’t we make an exception this one time?”
“No.”
TGI Fridays was crowded and just as cacophonous as I had expected. Most of those waiting for tables either were in a large group or wanted to be close to the bar and the TV perpetually tuned to ESPN. The only time I will sit at a bar is if the TV is tuned to PBS. So I never sit at a bar. A small table in the back, perfect for our needs, opened up and we were seated within a few minutes. Caryn insisted on ordering me a salad and a slice of lime for my glass of water. “If I know you, which I do, you’ll get onion rings and fries and top it off with potato skins and fried mozzarella sticks. Plus a bucket of movie popcorn smothered in fake artery cloggers and an extra large Diet Coke.”
Damn, she did know me too well.
Caryn waited for the server to leave before leaning forward, staring me in the eye, and saying, “Spill. What did your outburst mean? I understood the words but not the context. And certainly not why you’re so upset. The other day at lunch you insisted there was nothing but friendship between you and Steve. What changed?”
“What changed was the realization that he’s no longer going to be a presence in my life. I’ve gotten used to having him in the area, having him as a friend.” (What did it mean, I wondered, that I hadn’t included Steve on my list of close friends? Oh, right, he’s an ex-husband, not a girlfriend.)
“Tell me about his girlfriend. Is she why he’s leaving the area?”
“No, he feels it’s time to go back to his job at Crescent State while he still has a job to go back to. And his daughter’s expecting his first grandchild and lives up there, in his old house, I think. And I’m not sure she’s a girlfriend – silly name for people our age. They’ve gone out only a few times, but they’re meeting each other’s families during Pesach.”
My throat was dry, so I took a drink of water before resuming. I had to clear my throat before talking. I wasn’t sure why as my throat only closes up when I become emotional. And I was being very matter of fact and dispassionate. My eyes were tearing only because of the low light in the restaurant. No other reason.
“There’s been absolutely nothing between us except a friendship of sorts.” I continued after clearing my throat again. “We still bicker and disagree. Days – weeks – can go by without our seeing each other or even talking on the phone. But, well, I guess I just always figured he would be around if I needed him. I got along fine without him for over twenty years, but have become dependent on him again in just sixteen months. How pathetic is that?”
“Rule One violation! It’s not pathetic to be human and want to connect with another human who is simpatico. Are you worried your feelings are more than friendly?”
“I didn’t think so. But lately, I don’t know, I find myself having strange thoughts about Steve. Then I remember why we divorced and the thoughts go away.”
“People change.”
I shook my head. “The core issue is still there. Neither of us is going to give up our job so we can be together.”
“How do you know? Have you asked him?”
“He’s going back to Crescent. He answered without my having to ask.”
“But he could have returned any time in the past eight months or so. His sabbatical was only for six months, and so was his contract with the Walford Police. But he stayed. Why?”
“It wasn’t for me. He just enjoyed the challenge of doing something different and moving from academic theory into real world practice.”
“So what has changed now? Is he no longer challenged?”
“What changed is his meeting someone who lives near his old home, and his daughter’s pregnancy. And he said Crescent is no longer as understanding about his extended leave. So, nothing has changed. The job is still a primary motive, along with family, of course. And, let’s be honest here, I haven’t been ‘family’ in almost a quarter of a century.”
“If things don’t work out with this other woman, what do you think will happen? Will he ask the Township Council to make his contract permanent and retire from Crescent? Or will he move back to Princeton Junction anyway?”
“I think he’ll move back. He’ll want to be closer to his grandchild when it’s born.”
“To do what? Babysit? And what if Crescent decides they got along fine without him for the past couple of semesters and his pension will be cheaper than his salary? I think you need to be patient, Aviva, and see what he has decided when he gets back. Then you can figure out your feelings and what you’re going to do about them. If anything.”
“When did you get so smart and reasonable, Caryn? You’re right. I should stop obsessing about something that might not happen. Besides, I have other things to obsess about.”
I updated Caryn about my evening’s reading and the conversation with Vince Ferrillo, and then filled her in on the Janet Brauner’s doubts about the cause of the Fishers’ deaths and my probably irreparable rupture with Ben Bronfman. By the time I finished, we had just enough time to pay our bill (my treat, to pay Caryn back for our therapy session), walk back to the theater (it was still raining, but we both had hoods on our winter jackets), and buy our snacks (the prerequisite popcorn, Diet Coke, and Junior Mints for me; a bottle of water for Caryn). The movie wasn’t great, but was entertaining. It was different enough from the original that it didn’t suffer too badly in comparison. And it was just what I needed to put my brain into hibernation.
My oblivion didn’t last long, though. As we were leaving the theater, Caryn said, “I have a nagging feeling the three deaths – the two Fishers and that guy from Triple-U – are connected somehow. I’m just not sure how.”
“The only way would be if Audrey Fisher had been abused by Moorhouse – that’s the name of the guy from Triple-U – and killed him and her parents. It seems a bit of a stretch. I mean, if she had been one of Moorhouse’s victims, she would have had a motive to kill him. And maybe would have wanted to kill her parents if she thought they’d been complicit, at least through their silence. But why wait all these years to kill her parents? I’m sure she had plenty of other chances over the years. No, I just don’t see it.”
“You just have trouble imagining why anyone would want to kill their parents. That’s because you grew up with the fun equivalent of Lucy and Ricky rather than stodgy Ozzie and Harriet. Replace your mother with your sister and think again.”
“I get annoyed at Jean, but I’ve never thought of killing her. I’ve been tempted to stuff her into a box and ship her to a place with no telephones or mail service, but that’s as far as my destructive fantasies have gone. You’re right, though. It is hard for me to imagine such a toxic relationship that a child would murder its parents. I’m not naïve. I know it happens – look at the Menendez brothers. Just not among anyone I know.”
“You mean not in the Jewish community. It happens. I’m sure it does.”
“But you said you’ve never come across a case at the funeral home.”
“That just means I haven’t, not that my grandfather never did.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask him, though. Now I’m curious.”
On that morbid note, we parted at our respective cars, with my promising to keep Caryn apprised of any future developments.
A lot of people say they get their best ideas in the shower or while falling asleep. I get mine when I’m driving. On my way home, I began to think more about Caryn’s suggestion. Was it so farfetched to think that Audrey had murdered her parents? There was only one way to find out. I would email Trudy with an “assignment” to find out all she could about the Fishers. Okay, I wouldn’t find out if Audrey had killed her parents, but maybe I would get a clearer picture of their relationship. Or maybe not. I was definitely not thinking clearly.
But I was thinking clearly enough to recall the elusive thought that had been niggling at my mind since I had read the post from the woman whose mother had slapped her. She talked about turning to punk rock and drugs. Liz had described the sobbing student in the middle school library stacks as being dressed all in black, with piercings and too much makeup. Liz had even used the word “punk” to describe her. The coincidences were on the increase.
As soon as I got home, I emailed Trudy. “I know – okay, I hope – you’re not on-line and are having a romantic night with your beloved. As soon as you get this, check out some names for me: Florence and Milton Fisher (they’re the couple that died of carbon monoxide poisoning the other day) and their daughter Audrey. They moved to Walford about thirty years ago from Connecticut; don’t know where in Connecticut, but close enough for a pre-teen Audrey to go to New York City with her friends.”
I didn’t add my suspicion that Audrey and the anonymous poster were the same person. I wanted to see what Trudy found out first.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The morning arrived too early for my liking, but almost too late for my work. There was no religious school because of the public schools’ spring breaks. Some local districts began the Monday after Palm Sunday, which today was, and resumed the Monday after Easter. Others began on Good Friday and started again the week after Easter Monday. So we give the kids off both weeks, calling it the Passover break. No one – parents, students, teachers, principal, even the not-involved-enough rabbi – had ever complained.
The synagogue would be filled, though, with volunteers armed with scrub brushes and scouring pads to clean up the kitchen in time to prepare for Tuesday night’s seder. I often stop by at some point to pretend to supervise, but was off the hook this year because of the Caplan-Pinsky wedding. And I had better hurry or I would be late.
The wedding invitation said twelve noon, which meant the ceremony would start at twelve-thirty. The signing of the ketubah, the wedding contract, was scheduled for eleven-thirty, and probably would take place at noon. But I still had to be there by eleven. The wedding venue was only a fifteen minute ride away, and it was only nine o’clock, but I needed to shower and wash my hair, figure out what to wear, wrestle my hair into a presentable state, and try to put some eye makeup onto my eyelids instead of into my eyes. And I really, really, really wanted to check my emails in case Trudy had found out anything.
The first three tasks were easily accomplished. I can take a shower and wash my hair in about ten minutes. I wrapped my head in a towel and opened the closet to get the simple, pearl gray, three-quarter length sleeve, mid-calf length shift I wear for all weddings. I decided to put on the makeup while my hair was still bound up, to avoid getting mascara all over my bangs, an easy thing to do when one has to put one’s nose against the magnifying mirror to see one’s eyes. I thought I had done a pretty good job until I put on my glasses and realized the shadow on one eye was several shades darker than the other. It was easier to darken the second eye than lighten the first, and I finally got them even. Sort of.
