The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (12 page)

“It’s exactly my help she needs. And yours. And everyone who claims to be her friend. How can you not see that?”

She flicked Mrs. Risk a glance that began angry, but dissolved into broody thought. Then she said, “I should never have talked to you.” She began sliding her arms into the sleeves of her coat.

Mrs. Risk leaned over and laid long graceful fingers across Ilene’s wrist, stopping her. “You and Zoë treat us as intruders. Why? Aren’t you interested in seeing Pearl’s trouble resolved?”

“The police are one thing. They’re doing their jobs. You’re just amateurs. More of Pearl’s nosy neighbors.”

“We’re not snoops. Pearl needs all of us—new friends as well as old—if even that will be enough. And if Bella proves guilty … the way Pearl feels about her?” She removed her hand from Ilene’s arm. “Bernie’s death nearly destroyed her. Zoë said this Marvin’s death was also upsetting. Think, Ilene. At best, the fallout from the police investigations could sideline Pearl’s career ambitions. At worst, it could dangerously tax Pearl’s heart.”

Ilene frowned speculatively at Mrs. Risk as if gauging the truth of what she said. Then she shook herself. She tossed a few dollars on the table. “You underestimate Pearl.”

“You’re uncomfortable facing facts,” said Mrs. Risk coldly.

“Still—”

“Still, that self-protective wall you’ve built around yourself is far from invisible. Inside it, your feelings are nearly frozen. Pearl must have been there for you in some painful event in your past. You must owe her a great debt. Otherwise, a closed-off woman like you would never invest any time or emotions in her. In anyone. What did she do for you? And how can you, and Zoë, who claim to be her friends, take it upon yourselves to turn away help—vital help—that’s freely offered? Do you think you’re the only ones who care?”

Ilene’s hot gaze bore directly into Mrs. Risk’s. Through clenched teeth she said slowly, her voice quivering, “Stay away from me. From us.”

“I hope someday you become strong enough to live again. You’ve missed a lot, Ilene Fox. Safe is not living.” She smiled faintly. “Safe isn’t even fun.”

Ilene spat out the word, “Fun,” as if it were an evil that repelled her. “And taking risks is? You were well named. How fun it must be for you to risk Pearl’s life.” She snatched up her purse and strode angrily away, but then, to my surprise, came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dining room. She turned, started to speak, but stopped herself. Her face revealed an interior struggle, but after a deep breath she seemed to deflate a fraction. “Okay. Find Vivian Steiner. Snoopy Steiner. She’ll talk to you, when nobody else will. She’d talk to anyone. But I warn you, she’s clever. If you’re less than you say you are, she’ll figure you out. Then, Mrs. Risk, you’ll never get close to Pearl again. Her real friends will see to it.” She whirled and strode away.

“Well,” I said, nonplussed. “I hope she gets through that storm okay.”

Mrs. Risk smiled, then looked thoughtful. “The one that’s raging outside or inside her?”

“She wasn’t too helpful.”

“On the contrary.” She rested her chin in her palm. “We learned that Pearl might consider replacing Solly with this Simon Lutz. Judging by Solly’s lifestyle, she was an enormously lucrative client. This Mr. Lutz might not be so well off, which would provide him with a very nice motive.”

“So you’re going to help Pearl after all?” I asked.

Mrs. Risk looked at me with consternation. “Not just me. I assumed, that is, I’d hoped that you’d help. Unless you’d rather not, of course.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Me? Oh, sure.” I tried to sound offhand, but a thrill shimmied down my backbone. I’d caught her earlier statement to Ilene that I ‘assisted’ her, but had thought she was just puffing up my role for Ilene’s benefit. I sat up a little straighter. “But Ilene said Pearl’s friends won’t cooperate with us, they’re not even cooperating with the police. She called us ‘nosy neighbors.’”

Mrs. Risk waved away the thought. “First of all, even though Ilene said stay away with one breath, she aimed us at ‘Snoopy Steiner’ with the other. She wants us to help, dear. I keep telling you, it’s not what people say that matters, it’s what they do.

“For instance, Michael’s concern for Pearl is a perfect example of the charisma she exerts on everyone she meets. She’s a profoundly warm woman, Rachel. Her charm springs from her open, generous heart, and her humility.”

Mrs. Risk gave a reminiscent sigh. “That’s why she failed in that television sit-com created for her in ’89. Poor darling, she couldn’t pretend to be anything other than herself. She absolutely cannot act. Unfortunately, by being so open and genuine, she leaves herself too vulnerable to the wrong people. You saw one result today.”

Taken aback, I asked, “What?”

“The pearl necklace, dear. It was most definitely stolen by somebody, if not by Bella. And today’s the first she knew of it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“What, the fact that she was unaware of the theft until today? Or that Bella was supposedly ‘keeping’ it for her when she’s terribly dependent on having it nearby? Much about that puzzles me.”

“No kidding. Actually, I wondered why she’d let people think her precious sister was a thief.”

“Yes. I wonder what she’s told the police about that?” Mrs. Risk tapped her lower lip with a forefinger musingly.

“You mean, lies?”

“And omissions. None of this is like the Pearl I know. I’m worried, Rachel.”

After a moment, Mrs. Risk stood and said briskly, “We have a lot to do. Wonder where we can find ‘Snoopy’ Steiner? I can’t wait to meet with her. However, until then, Bella’s practically a neighbor, so let’s find her first.”

“Now? No taxi’s going to run in this weather, let alone go all the way out to East Hampton. See how dumb it was to leave behind my car? Now we’re stranded again.”

Mrs. Risk shook her head. “Your car? In this deluge, we’d really be stranded if we’d used your low slung car. Consider us not stranded. Open to better opportunities, rather. Yes, I intend to visit Bella. You can tag along if you like.” She strode towards the hotel lobby. I hurried after her.

In the lobby, I don’t know what I expected, but a phone call to our local milkman wasn’t it.

With mounting exasperation I listened as Mrs. Risk pandered me with sickly sweet tones to Charlie the milkman, using me as a lure to entice his services as a free chauffeur.

After she hung up, I stated, “That is positively the last time you use me to acquire male help for anything, got it?”

She meekly agreed, but after that no matter how I questioned her, she stubbornly kept her plans for Bella’s interview to herself. That’s okay. I can be just as stubborn, and proved it by pretending to lose interest in her plans.

We adjourned to the bar to wait, where she bought me a glass of wine. Mrs. Risk considers a glass of good wine one of life’s necessities. Charlie quickly arrived, obviously not inconvenienced by a mere flood. His old-fashioned panel truck could, as Mrs. Risk figured, ford the deepest pools without even wetting the running boards.

“Babe! You might think you’re setting a new trend, but the Victorians thought of it first,” Charlie said with a grin after giving me an up and down scan with those light hazel eyes of his. “On you it looks good, though.”

I looked down at myself. The restaurant was so comfortably warm that I’d forgotten the soaking I’d received on Pearl’s doorstep. My jeans didn’t matter, and my boots have been through worse, but my white cotton shirt was plastered against me in revealing transparency. I shook out the folds of material, but they dropped back into place, molded against my body.

“Hey,” said Charlie, grinning, “it’s no problem for me.”

“I’ll bet,” I said.

Charlie was leaning sideways against the polished wood bar, long and lanky, with one foot propped on the foot rail like a gunslinger in a Western movie. That is, a gunslinger with auburn hair and a faint suggestion of freckles across his nose and forehead, which for some reason dazzles most of the local women. Except me. I am firmly not dazzled. Mrs. Risk sat between us on a high stool, legs crossed, leaning back against the bar ledge on her elbows. I sipped my wine and gave up worrying about the shirt.

“Thanks for the lift to East Hampton,” she said to him, swinging one leg in a leisurely manner. “We’ll leave as soon as we finish our wine.”

Charlie’s mouth stretched wide in an engaging grin. Engaging or not, I braced myself. I knew what was coming.

“One little thing we should get straight, first,” he said to me. “She promised that if I lent my truck and my presence to a little expedition she had in mind, you’d go out to dinner with me out of abject gratitude. Of course, we’ll have to go somewhere where they’re having a wet teeshirt contest, considering that outfit.”

I turned away from him hotly. “That’s disgusting.”

“A night out with me, disgusting?” Charlie blinked, as if startled. Faking it. “We’ve had dinner before and nothing disgusting happened, did it?”

“No, but—”

“Then what’s the big deal? You eat every night anyway, don’t you?” he added.

“Yes, but—”

“No but, yes but—why don’t you just agree to go and let’s be on our way,” interjected Mrs. Risk. “We’re short on time, and it’s not like he doesn’t have his attractions. Half the women in this town order milk just to see him at their door, Rachel. Don’t be a nitwit.”

I simmered in the face of their combined finessing. “Mrs. Risk has misled you. I make my own social plans.”

“Fair enough. Will you have dinner with me?” asked Charlie, a twinkle lurking in those intelligent eyes. His broad mouth twitched suspiciously as if he could hardly restrain from laughing. He was nearly irresistible—nearly.

“Not if you were the last milkman on Long Island!” I would’ve loved to have dinner with him, but I couldn’t let Mrs. Risk get away with this … this pandering.

“Then it’s settled,” said Mrs. Risk, dropping lightly to her feet from the barstool. She pushed back her empty glass.

“What’s settled? No it isn’t,” insisted Charlie. “Nothing’s settled.”

“Of course it is, dear. She’d adore to go out with you. She just likes to be in charge. So let her, and everything will be wonderful for you both. Come, darlings. It’s six-thirty already.” And with that she strolled purposefully towards the door beyond which I could see, illegally parked in a swirling undertow, Charlie’s truck.

I marched after her, shrugging myself into my coat, trying to figure out if I’d won or not. It was hard to tell. Charlie, I suppose, had to follow. It was his truck we were commandeering, after all, although I could drive it if I had to. I can drive anything.

We climbed in. I took a stance between and behind the two seats, propping my buttocks against a small built-in box contraption that served Charlie as a storage unit for eggs. Mrs. Risk settled herself in the passenger seat, wrapping her legs in her long cloak for warmth. Charlie’s transport was an antique panel truck he’d restored, and of course had those wonderful old-fashioned features: no doors, no heat, no shocks, and gear shift levers in the form of thick metal rods sticking straight up from the floorboards between Mrs. Risk and Charlie. Whoever longs for the ‘good old days’ has never thought things through, in my opinion.

As we lurched into motion, I huddled miserably on my perch, grasped the edge of each seat, and thrust my legs forward to brace for disaster.

B
Y THE TIME WE
found Solly’s house in East Hampton, the cold had numbed my hands and feet. My shoulders and legs ached from an hour of bracing to keep from being pitched backwards into stacks of wire milk carriers. And thanks to the wind whipping through the door openings, my wet shirt had hardened into an icy shell beneath my coat. At least the rain had stopped.

I stiffly dismounted onto Solly’s graveled driveway, feeling like the highwayman in a poem Mrs. Risk had once read to me, coming to pillage and rob and make off with the innocent maiden (maybe not so innocent, in this case). The stolid brown brick mansion loomed over us, adding to the illusion.

The air swirled around our heads so thick with unshed moisture you could wear it. A waning quarter moon sneaked between fleeting clouds. I sprinted for the porch. Charlie leaped up the steps to stand beside me on the surprisingly small, unsheltered stoop, very considerately blocking the worst of the wind. I huddled against him, shivering, greedy for his body warmth. The only illumination, other than the on-again off-again moonlight, was that which escaped through narrow gaps between drapes in the tall, narrow main floor windows.

Mrs. Risk was dawdling in the grass island formed by the circular driveway, arms wide as if to embrace the gnarled old trees dotting Solly’s landscaped grounds. She inhaled the air voraciously.

“Elements seem to be her element,” Charlie said, murmuring into my ear.

He’d meant it as a joke, but it was true. She gloried in wind and rain, snow or baking heat. There were times when I’d seen her waving her hands in syncopation with the bowing and swaying of trees in a fierce storm, giving me the unshakable impression she was directing the wind, making the trees dance for her entertainment.

I whispered, “She told me once that if humans would stop trying to dominate natural forces, we could experience true harmony in our lives. She says all of nature, including people, were designed to work together.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow as he looked at me. “Go with the flow, so to speak?”

I stirred uneasily. “She does seem to be at home wherever she is.”

Charlie laughed. “That’s called confidence.”

I looked up at him. His hair, outlined by the dim light, glowed like shined copper. His expression was electric with intelligence and good humor. “You have your own kind of confidence, too,” he added. “When other people would be frightened, or intimidated, nothing stops you. That’s a type of confidence. You’re the bravest, and oddest, kid I’ve ever met.”

I stared at him.

He raised his head and shouted, “Mrs. Risk. You want me to knock?”

In less than a second she joined us. “Try the bell instead. This door looks remarkably thick.” She wrapped her cloak around herself and stood serenely waiting.