Читать книгу Confluence - Stephen J. Gordon - Страница 13

7

“So what do a rabbi, his wife, and two guys with malice in their hearts have in common?” I looked at Shelley Mandel across her kitchen table. It was 10 AM Sunday morning. Josh wasn’t home, but Shelley and their two girls were.

“I have no idea.” She was back in a T-shirt and jeans – her attire when I first met her on Friday, except her Orioles shirt had been replaced by a Beatles one. Her hands were in front of her, enveloping a cup of tea. “You’re sure it wasn’t a mistake?”

I nodded, thinking these guys don’t make that kind of a mistake, but didn’t say that. “Let’s start with some basics, and forgive me if you’ve answered these before. Anyone pissed at you?”

“No.” I could see her mind running through a mental list after she answered. She was double-checking.

“You’re the rabbi’s wife. Your relationship with the congregation?”

“Fine. We get along really well. I guard Josh’s privacy as much as I can, and maybe some people resent that, but nothing major. Comes with the job.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many congregants think they should have 24 hour access to their clergy. They forget they have a family life too.”

“And you do what?”

“If anyone calls here on congregation business, I tell them to call Josh. If it’s during the day, he’ll take the call. If it’s outside of reasonable hours and not an emergency, they’ll leave a message and he’ll get back to them.”

“That was your idea?”

She nodded. “I have to protect him.”

“Seems reasonable. Everyone okay with that?”

“Pretty much.”

“No crazies in the congregation?”

“There are always crazies in a congregation,” she smiled. “But not like this.”

“Anyone make a pass at you that might anger a jealous wife or girlfriend?”

“No. But thank you for thinking that could happen,” she smiled at me.

I dipped my head in acknowledgment, then went on. “Owe anyone any money?”

“No.” She took a sip of tea from her mug.

“Tell me about your folks.”

“My parents? What would they have to do with this?”

“I have no idea, but it gives me context.” Context to what, I wasn’t sure.

“My dad was the rabbi of a congregation in St. Louis, but he died about five years ago. My mom was a classic stay-at-home mom who took care of the house and the kids. You know what I mean? She’s still in St. Louis.”

“I’m really sorry about all this, Shelley. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.” And what could possibly have stimulated a hit on the Mandels and killing the surviving killer? No need to be that specific. If I were in her place, I’d be pretty freaked out about all this. Maybe she thought it was over. I looked to the wall that had stood opposite me the other night. A white dot of spackle and a small “X” of the filling compound marked where the bullet had gone in.

“To say that we’re grateful for your help seems really lame,” she said.

“Just goes to show how important it is to invite guests for Friday night dinner.”

Shelley laughed. “We’ll have to get you back so we can actually feed you.”

“Deal.” I let a moment go by and fished her business card from my pocket. I put it between us. It said Shelley’s Party Planning. “Tell me about this.”

“It’s just a little business I have with a friend. I used to be a speech therapist before the kids. Right now, I’m focusing on the girls, but I have to do something to stay sane. In a few years I’ll go back to the speech therapy…or I may just grow the party planning business.”

“Everything’s okay with that? No problems with customers or suppliers or anything.”

“Nope.”

“Two more questions and I’m out of here. Have you and Josh traveled recently, maybe to Turkey?” I was thinking of Mazhar’s name.

“No. Just to Israel a couple of months ago. Both Josh and I have siblings in Jerusalem, Efrat, and Nahariya up north.”

I had been to all three cities; my last visit to Nahariya was to the hospital to see one of my soldiers. “So,” I put those thoughts away, “any unusual interactions during your visit?”

“Aside from the Israelis’ way of handling customer service?”

This time I laughed. The Israelis, particularly in banks and in government offices, had their own way of dispensing help. It often meant that after standing in a long line, you find you need to come back the next day to speak with “Sarit.” You come back the following day as instructed, only to discover that “Sarit” doesn’t work that day. It’s not unusual to hear customers screaming at the people behind the counter. “Yeah, aside from the Israelis’ way of handling customer service.”

“Nothing unusual. It was a great trip. We always look forward to going back and seeing family.”

“Great.” I paused. I was zero for …how many questions had I asked? “Finally,” I said, “where can I find Josh?”