Sanctuary (5 page)

“Peter’s going to be late,” Rina said to her parents. “He said to eat without him. You want to get the boys, Mama? I’ll start serving supper.”

Magda Elias turned to her husband. Though she had lived in America for almost thirty years, she still spoke in an off-the-boat Hungarian accent. “You get the boys, Stefan. I’ll help Ginny with supper.”

The old man didn’t answer.

“Stefan, do you hear me?”

“What? What?”

“Peter isn’t going to make it for dinner, Papa,” Rina said. “Can you call the boys to the table?”

Stefan slapped the paper down on the armrest and hoisted himself out of the living-room rocker. “Everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s fine. He’s just working on a new case.”

“What kind of a case?”

“A family disappeared. An Israeli diamond dealer.”

Her parents waited for more.

“That’s all I know,” Rina said.

“Akiva’s looking for a family?” Magda asked. “I thought he was in murder now.”

“Maybe he thinks they were murdered, Mama.”

“Will he be home tonight, Ginny?” her father asked.

Rina smiled to herself. Her parents called her Regina—Ginny—which was her English name. And for some reason, they called Peter by his Hebrew name, Akiva. Maybe Peter sounded just too goyishe for them.

“Of course.” Rina turned to her mother. “Do you want an apron? I don’t think grease does well on silk.”

“This old thing?” Magda pinched the fabric of her blouse and let it drop.

Again, Rina held back a smile. It was a game with Mama. A way to amass compliments without looking needy. The woman was always dressed perfectly. Yet Mama had always been approachable even when Rina was a sticky-fingered child.

“Come into the kitchen,” Rina said. “Let me get you an apron.”

“If you insist,” Magda said. “Stefan, get the boys. Let’s eat before the baby wakes up.”

Rina came back to the dining room, holding a baking dish filled with spinach lasagne. She placed it on a tile trivet, and a moment later, her sons shuffled into the dining room. They plopped themselves down on the chairs after ritually washing their hands and breaking bread. Their long legs sprawled under the table. Rina looked at their pants cuffs—short again. Each must have grown another inch in the past month. The boys were generally good-natured except when they were tired.

Which was all the time.

Between the pounds of homework the school loaded on and the hormones of burgeoning adolescence, they were a cranky lot. Thank God for Peter—a stolid island of refuge in a sea of emotional turmoil.

Sammy adjusted his yarmulke and poured himself a glass of lemonade. “Wow. Lasagne. Is it dairy, I hope? I don’t want to be fleshig.”

“It’s dairy,” Rina answered. “Why don’t you want to be fleshig?”

“I want to eat a milk-chocolate candy bar.”

That’s a reason
? Rina thought.

Magda brushed sandy-colored hair away from the boy’s brown eyes. “Think you would like to say hello to your omah?”

Sammy scooped up a double portion of lasagne and
looked up at his grandmother. Her sentence came out “Tink you vould like to say hello to your omah?”

“Hi, Omah.” He stuffed a forkful of lasagne in his mouth. “Hi, Opah.”

“Hello, Shmuel,” Stefan said. “How are you today?”

Sammy smiled through a mouthful of noodles. “Okay.”

Stefan spooned a portion onto his younger grandson’s plate. “And how’re you doing, Yonkie?”

The younger boy smiled, pushing black hair off his forehead. “I’m doing okay. Thanks for the lasagne, Opah. Take some for yourself.”

“I will,” Stefan announced. “I love lasagne.”

“He eats my lasagne like candy,” Magda said.

Rina brought in a salad. “You make delicious lasagne, Mama.”

Magda blushed. “I’m sure yours is twice as good.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Rina said, smiling.

“Where’s Dad?” Sammy poured salad dressing over a mound of lettuce. “He’s never home anymore.”

“Yes, he is, Sammy,” Rina said. “He’s on a new case. Whenever he starts a new case, he has to put in extra hours.”

“He works too hard,” Magda stated.

“He’s on Homicide, Mama. It demands long hours.”

“How can he work with so many dead people?” Magda said.

Stefan said, “He doesn’t work with the dead people, Magda. Only the live ones.”

Rina laughed softly. Her father was serious. “Have some green beans, Mama. They’re Italian cut.”

“I’ll take some green beans,” Jake said.

“Certainly,” Magda said. “They’re good for you.”

“Who was whacked?” Sammy asked.

“
Whacked
?” Rina said. “Is that how they teach you to talk in yeshiva?”

“That’s how Dad talks.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does,” Sammy insisted. “He talks like that
to Marge all the time. Just not to you.”

It was true. Rina said, “No one was
murdered
. A family has disappeared.”

“Israeli diamond dealer,” Stefan said.

“Anyone we know?” Jake asked.

“I don’t think so,” Rina answered.

“Isn’t your friend who’s coming out married to a diamond dealer?” Magda asked.

“Honey?” Rina said. “Yes, she is.”

Sammy looked up from his plate. “
Who’s
coming out?”

“An old friend of mine and her kids—”

“Great. I’m going to lose my room.”

“Hospitality is a mitzvah, Sammy,” Rina said. “I’m sure they taught you about
hachnasat orchim
somewhere in your yeshiva education.”

“How long?” Sammy turned to his brother. “Pass the beans, Yonkie.”

Jake gave his brother the bowl. “They can have my room, Eema. I’ll move into the attic.”

“You will not move into the attic. Your father hasn’t put in the heater and we don’t even have a decent staircase up there yet.”

“So I’ll be careful and use double blankets. I like it up there. It’s quiet and I have a view.”

“It’s a perfect solution,” Sammy said. “Please pass the lasagne, Omah.”

Magda placed another portion on her grandson’s plate. “Anyone else like as long as I got the spatula?”

“I’ll take another piece,” Stefan said.

“You like the lasagne, Stefan?”

“It’s good, but it isn’t yours, Magda.” He winked at his daughter. “No offense to you, Ginny.”

“None taken. I agree.”

Magda tried to hold back a smile and was unsuccessful.

“So how long is this
friend
coming out for?” Sammy said.

“I think she said a week.”

Magda said, “She was a very strange girl growing up. Always very nervous.”

“She was okay,” Rina said.

“Meaning she’s weird,” Sammy said.

“She’s not weird,” Rina said.

Magda said, “Didn’t her mother pass away when she was young?”

Rina stared at her mother, then whispered yes. Magda instantly realized her faux pas and glanced at the boys. They were quiet. They had accepted Akiva as their father so completely, she had momentarily forgotten about Yitzchak. She clasped her shaking hands.

“I’m a stupid old woman,” she muttered behind tears.

“Oh, forget it, Omah,” Jake said, patting her hand. “We love you.”

Sammy kissed his grandmother’s cheek. It had become quite bony over the past year. Like always, Omah was decked out. “Stop worrying, Omah. You can mention Abba here. We do it all the time. Even Dad talks about Abba.” He took the spatula out of her hand. “Here. Take some more of Eema’s lasagne. Even if it isn’t as good as yours.”

Magda wiped her eyes. “You are such good boys.” She suddenly stood and hugged her grandsons fiercely. “I want you to know that I loved your abba.”

“Of course you did, Mama,” Rina said. “Just enjoy the meal and relax.”

“It’s just I get stupid with my words.” Magda sat down.

“Yitzchak is not insulted,” Stefan said. “He knows we all loved him. Believe me, he knows. Now the important question. Who is Honey, Ginny? I don’t remember her.”

“She had blond hair,” Magda said. “Very nice hair. She married a very religious man, didn’t she, Ginny?”

Rina nodded. “A Leibbener Chasid.”

“Terrific.” Sammy’s smile was snide. “Another fringy Chasid.”

“Shmuel, show some tolerance,” Rina said.

“The Leibbeners are weird,” Sammy said. “They don’t use phones.”

“What you mean they don’t use phones?” Stefan asked.

“Just that,” Sammy said.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s true,” Rina said.

“Why?” Stefan asked.

“Because they’re weird,” Sammy said.

Jake said, “I really don’t mind sleeping in the attic.”

“Is the baby crying?” Magda asked.

The room fell silent for a moment. Rina shrugged and went back to her lasagne.

“If your friend has a husband who is diamond dealer,” Stefan said, “maybe he knows the family that disappeared.”

“What are you talking about, Stefan?” Magda asked.

“The case that Akiva’s working on,” Stefan explained. “The family that is missing.”

Rina said, “I think there’re a lot of diamond dealers in the country, Papa.”

Jake said, “Why’s she coming out with her kids?”

“You usually travel with your kids,” Rina said.

“In the middle of school?” Jake asked. “Do they have vacation or something?”

“I don’t know.” Rina paused. “There’s no holiday that I can think of right now.”

“So she’s pulling them out of school?” Sammy grinned. “Sounds like
my
kind of mother.”

“Just eat your lasagne, Shmuel, and stop opining.”

“Why does she come out now, Ginny?” Stefan asked.

Rina thought about that. It was a good question.

Marge opened the passenger door of the unmarked and slid in, kicking off her shoes.

“It’s great to get off my feet.” She rubbed her toes.

“I drew blanks,” Decker said. “Neighbors said the family seemed nice, but nothing beyond that. What about you? Did you get anything for your fallen arches?”

“Matter of fact, I did. The next-door neighbor…” Marge paged through her scribblings. “Mindy Herrero…she did say that there was a black Lexus parked outside during the day at least twice a week for years. This made me curious.”

“I’ll bet.”

Marge smiled. “The Yaloms don’t own a black Lexus. And neither does Orit Bar Lulu. But guess who does?”

“The partner—Shaul Gold.”

“Right on, Rabbi. He and Yalom may have hated each other, but Gold was here a lot. It could be that Gold and Mr. Yalom were doing business at the house. Or it could be Gold and Mrs. Yalom were doing monkey business. I saw the missus’s photos in the family room. Dalia’s a good-looking woman.”

“In a quiet, shy way.”

“It’s the shy ones you have to watch.”

“Interesting,” Decker said. “All right. Suppose Gold and Dalia Yalom were having an affair. That still wouldn’t explain why the whole family disappeared. If Gold wanted Arik out of the picture, only Arik would be gone.”

The car was quiet for a moment.

Marge said, “Maybe he whacked the husband, then told Dalia to take the kids and run.”

“Then why would he stick around?”

Marge said, “Somebody’s got to earn a living.”

“And the kids?” Decker said.

“Hey, Sharona implied they hated the father. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“I don’t like it, Marge.”

She paused. “Okay, try this. Suppose Arik found out about the affair and went crazy. He killed his wife in a rage, then killed his kids, who weren’t turning out like he had wanted, took his diamonds stashed in the silver case posted on the doorframe, and split the country. Maybe he even forged some documents and created himself a new identity. It could be another case of List.”

Decker thought about her theory. John List was a man who murdered his entire family and disappeared, taking on a new identity and eluding the police for about twenty years. He was finally caught after a nab-your-own-fugitive show aired the case on prime-time TV.

“It’s possible,” Decker said. “But we’ve got some major differences. First off, the bodies of List’s wife, mother, and children were found butchered inside the house, making him a prime suspect. Here we don’t have bodies, only an entire family that vanished.”

“Maybe Daddy lured the crew somewhere into the boonies.”

“Except the cars are still in the garage.”

“So he rented a car.”

“Could be,” Decker said. “You want to check out local rent-a-cars?”

“I’ll put it on my list—no pun intended.” Marge wrote it down. “What other differences do you see between this and the List case?”

Decker said, “John List was swimming in debt. The house he had was big and expensive but empty, because he couldn’t afford to furnish it. He claimed he had no way
out. By all accounts so far, Yalom seems well heeled. He wouldn’t have to murder to escape. He could have just taken the money and run.”

“Divorce is expensive,” Marge said. “Yalom’s got a rep as a tightwad. Just like
List
, I might add. What other differences do you see?”

“This probably isn’t important,” Decker said, “but I’ll throw it out anyway. List had confessed his crimes to a minister, stating he felt that the murders were the only way to ensure his sinful wife and children’s arrival in heaven.”

“Kill the body to save the soul,” Marge said.

“Exactly,” Decker said. “Yalom isn’t or wasn’t a religious man.”

“So what’s the point?”

“I’m not sure there is a point,” Decker said. “Just that Arik seemed to disdain God. Dov was the spiritual one.”

“Maybe
he
was killing the body to save the soul,” Marge said. “So we’re back on the son or sons. Unfortunately, we still don’t have a shred more of evidence.”

“No, we don’t,” Decker said. “But one thing at a time.”

It caught Rina’s ear so she turned up her car radio. Top of the hour and the news station was presenting its feature stories—among them, something about a missing family. It had to be Peter’s case. How many missing families could there be, even in a city as large as Los Angeles? Details would be given out soon, after the traffic report and a commercial for carefree aluminum siding.

She changed lanes and reduced the speedometer to fifty-five. It was smooth sailing this morning. Usually, the North Valley freeways were lightly traveled because the population in the Outback was less dense than in LA proper. She enjoyed the congestion-free asphalt, knowing cars would begin to back up as soon as she neared LAX.

Not to worry even if she did hit a jam. Honey didn’t
seem in a rush. Maybe she was just being polite, but Rina didn’t think so.

Take your time, Rina. We’re all so excited just to be somewhere new
!

They’re not exhausted
?

Are you kidding! The kids are thrilled to be in a place so full of hustle and bustle—so full of
life.

Honey’s emotions sounded genuine and that made Rina introspect. Imagine being excited over an
airport
! She supposed it could hold a fascination for children—all the big jets flying up and down—but Honey herself sounded buoyant. Maybe she was just so happy to get away from her provincial existence, anything would be wonderful.

Take your time
! Honey’s voice had been full of melody.
We’re in no hurry
.

Maybe it was time to stop and smell the jet fuel.

Hannah started to whimper. Rina gave her a bottle of apple juice. The baby drank greedily, hitting the bottle as she sucked.

Her analysis of Honey was cut short when the news item came back on the radio. Again, Rina had heard the word “disappearance” but had missed the name of the family.

They lived in West Hills. A fancy private housing development. Nothing seemed out of place. Confused and concerned neighbors. An interview with one of them. Police were asking the public’s help.

The newscaster finally repeated the last name—Yalom. Yes, it was Peter’s—and Marge’s—case. She couldn’t forget a name like Yalom. Rina had commented to Peter that yahalom meant diamond in Hebrew.

There probably was a Stein somewhere in his family tree
.

Peter had been amazed.
What’s your secret, Sherlock
?

Stein means stone in German…Yiddish. It was probably Hebraized when the family moved to Israel. They do that a lot
.

Peter’s expression was flat.
Maybe you should take the
case? If you spoke to Bar Lulu in Hebrew, something sub rosa might come out
.

He hadn’t elaborated. Rina was getting better at reading Peter. He’d been joking of course, but there had been a hint of truth behind his suggestion. She had responded lightly, said something about posing as an assistant if it would help. Peter had smoothed his mustache and said nothing. Meaning he hadn’t ruled it out.

Not that she was anxious to get involved in Peter’s work. Or any work for that matter. Rina was quite content to stay at home and take care of Hannah—her last baby. One swift cut from the surgeon’s knife and she no longer could bear children.

How many times had she replayed the scene in her head? Yes, it had been an emergency. Yes, the doctor had been absolutely right. Yes, it had been the surgery versus her life. Everything had been handled letter perfect. She should feel grateful.

And she did.

But not all the time. At thirty-one, Rina had expected and had wanted more children. She’d always felt that she was born to nurture. Unlike many women in this modern age, Rina considered childrearing a privilege and not a chore. Not that she didn’t get mad at her kids, pound her head against the wall from time to time. But it was all in a day’s work. There was no perfect way to raise children. Parenthood was filled with fuzzy borders and shades of gray. Some people were confused without a blueprint. Rina found the freedom exhilarating. Probably because she had worked so many years with numbers—first as a math teacher, then as a bookkeeper. Precision had made her a nervous wreck.

Rina had wanted lots of children. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She was constantly telling herself not to dwell on the past. Anyway, raising kids was an occupation of planned obsolescence. They get big, they move on, they have their own lives. If you want lifelong, unconditional devotion, buy a dog.

Oh, stop brooding, she chastized herself. Enjoy your baby and your sons while they’re home.

If only there was some way to harness her nurturance into a profession she could do at home. She had considered running a day-care center, but the required regulations and the insurance had turned it into a prohibitive proposal. Besides, with Hannah around, there might be too much opportunity for conflict. It might be hard for her to share her toys with the all-day interlopers. Hannah deserved to be queen for a good couple of years.

Rina switched the radio dial to an oldies station. As she tapped out rhythm on her steering wheel, she became philosophical. Something would come up.

There was enough luggage to sustain the Kleins for a year in deepest Africa. Thank God, Rina had remembered to bring the bungee cords. Honey was sheepish.

“I guess I didn’t know what to pack so I packed everything.” Honey stuffed another suitcase into the hatch of the Volvo. “If it’s too much, I’ll take some of the valises and follow you in a cab.”

“Cabs are expensive, Honey.” Rina hoisted a case on top of the car. “I think we can make it if you don’t mind squeezing. We’ll have to double-belt, though. I’ll keep the car seat up front.”

“Whatever is easiest,” Honey said. “Mendie, help her with the suitcases. Rina, let him do it. He’s a big boy.”

Mendel was thirteen—gangly and sullen. Rina waved him off as she secured the last of the batch to her car’s roof. “I think we’re just about set.” She eyed the precarious cargo. “I’ll just take it slow and hope I don’t get a ticket.”

Honey said, “Isn’t your husband a police officer?”

Rina eyed the load once more. “Membership has its privileges, but I refuse to pull rank.” She smiled at the kids. “I hope you don’t mind being squashed for just a bit.”

The children were silent. Four of them—ages ranging
from fifteen to five. Two boys with
payis
, dressed in black suits, white shirts, and big, black
kippot
that covered their scalp-shorn hair. The two girls had long plaits and wore long-sleeved, high-necked dresses over opaque tights. All of them were loaded down in heavy winter coats, sweating under their weight.

Guilt caused Rina’s eyes to linger on their dress.

Two years ago, Rina had made a radical decision. She had pulled her boys out of the black-hat yeshiva of Ohavei Torah and shipped them off to a modern Orthodox yeshiva in North Hollywood. There, secular education was an important part of the curriculum, and college wasn’t a dirty word. The boys were game, willing to give it a try since both were academically-minded. But during the transition, whenever Rina closed her eyes, she saw Yitzchak’s face. It was never a stern face—Yitzy was a gentleman and a gentle man. But it was a sad face.

She had changed since her first marriage, away from the insular black-hatted religious, toward the modern Orthodoxy she grew up with. Of course, she still covered her hair whenever she went out, but it was in a more modern way. Today, her head was topped with a knitted tam, her long black hair braided and tied into a knot. But the head covering didn’t obliterate
all
her natural hair. The tam was not as kosher as the
shaytel
she used to wear.

Her eyes drifted to Honey and her
shaytel
. The wig was a good one—thick and multicolored and slightly waffled. Very natural-looking. And it covered every inch of her hair.

Like the one Rina used to wear.

Both women were garbed in long-sleeved sweaters and over-the-knee skirts. Rina still refused to wear pants or go sleeveless. But she had changed. Her marrige to Peter had made her more modern, just as her marriage to Yitzchak had made her more Orthodox.

Honey took Rina’s confused expression as a chance to make contact. She scooped up Rina’s hands and swung
them. It was an adolescent gesture and Rina was suddenly transported back to her teens. Honey still retained her girlish—almost boyish—figure. As thin and straight as a stick.

“Thanks for taking us in.”

“We’ll have fun,” Rina said.

Honey’s teal eyes beamed. “Fun. I like that word.” She turned to her kids, started to speak in Yiddish, then stopped herself with a giggle. “I’m not used to speaking English. Come on, kids. Let’s go.”

“They should probably take off their coats and lay them on their laps,” Rina suggested. “It’s going to be a tight fit as is.”

The children didn’t move.

Honey said in English, “You heard Mrs. Lazarus. Take off your coats.” She clapped. “C’mon, people. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Quickly, the kids obeyed.

Honey turned to Rina. “It isn’t Lazarus anymore, is it?”

“It’s Decker.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on, troops. Pile in.”

Slowly, the kids inched toward her Volvo. The girls crowded together on the left, the boys leaned to the right. They looked stunned, in complete contrast to Honey, who seemed joyous. She cranked down the backseat window and peered out expectantly. Rina slid into the driver’s seat and turned around to the back.

“Kids, you’re going to have to put on your seat belts.”

They glanced at each other, dumbfounded.

Honey began hunting around. “Seat belts. Like we wore in the airplane. They have them in cars.” She smiled at Rina. “In the village, all we have is old jalopies for major hauling. We never use cars for traveling. Everything’s in walking distance.” She reached over and pulled the harness belt. “Come on, kids. Cooperate.”