Authors: Faye Kellerman
“More like total worth.” Oliver counted the coins. “At least I know I’m safe. My sons ain’t gonna pop me for a haul of seventy-three cents.”
It was after
ten, but Rina was still up. More than up. She was working, had spread junk all over the dining-room table—pens, pencils, ledgers, papers, receipts. Gnawing on the back of a pencil, staring down at columns and rows of numbers. She did look up when Decker kissed her, gave him a peck on the cheek. But then she returned her attention to her books.
“Dinner’s in the oven.”
Distant. Preoccupied.
Well, that was some hell of a greeting. Decker said, “We’re doing self-service tonight?”
Rina stopped what she was doing, her expression surprised. She dropped the pencil on the tabletop. “Would you like me to serve you, Peter?”
“Not if you put it
that
way.”
Neglected, Decker stormed into the kitchen, threw open the oven door, then pulled out the warming plate, burning his hands in the process. He dropped the plate on the floor. It crashed into bits, spewing around food and pieces of pottery.
“Shit!” he screamed. Ran to the tap and threw his hands under a blast of cold water. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Rina walked in. “I’ll get you some ice—”
“I can
manage
, thank you.”
Rina said nothing, got out the ice tray and tapped it on the counter. She wrapped the loose cubes in a towel, then
cleaned up the floor. Prepared another plate with leftovers from the refrigerator, and placed it in the microwave.
Decker turned off the tap. “I don’t expect the red carpet treatment…which is good, because I don’t get it. But you could actually seem glad to see me.”
“I am glad to see you.”
“If that was your being glad, I’d hate to see you when you’re angry.”
“Here’s your ice.”
Decker stared at his wife, then took the ice bag. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Rina opened the cutlery drawer, retrieved a knife and fork. But Decker snatched the implements away. “Don’t bother. I can do it—”
“Peter, if you want to make an issue of this, you can do it by yourself, all right?”
Rina left the kitchen, but Decker dogged her heels. “Is it too much to expect a little TLC?”
Rina studied her husband. “It looks like you’ve had a hard day.”
“Don’t be shrinky on me.”
She stood on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his. “Go back into the kitchen and we’ll try it again, all right?” He didn’t move. She gave his rear a pat. “Go on. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Fine.” He stomped off into the kitchen. Rina heard soft laughter and pivoted around. Sammy shaking his head. Rina placed her finger on her lips. “He’ll hear you, Shmueli—”
“Is he being a butt—”
“Don’t talk that way.”
“Okay, is he being a jer—”
“I get the point, Shmuel. Please. You’ll make it worse.”
“Why don’t you have that kind of patience with
me
?”
“Has this date been codified as ‘pick on Rina day’?”
Shmuel went over to his mother and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll go in with you…deflect the whole situation.”
Rina kissed him back. “Actually, that’s a good idea.” She looked at him sternly. “Just behave yourself.”
They came into the kitchen together. Sammy appeared casual. “Hey, Dad. Nice to see you.” He kissed his stepfather’s forehead. “How was your day?”
Decker regarded his son, stared at his wife. “What’d you do? Bring in the reinforcements?”
Rina smiled brightly. “How’s your hand,
dear
?”
“Hurts.”
“What happened?” Sammy asked.
“I burned it…being a jerk.”
The microwave beeped. Rina took Decker’s dinner out and set it before him.
“Thank you,” Decker muttered.
“You’re welcome.” She sat down. So did Sam. Both of them staring at Decker, watching him eat. He felt as if he were undergoing a taste test. Finally, he asked, “Where’s Jake?”
“Over at a friend’s,” Sammy said. “I’ll pick him up in a few minutes.”
Rina said, “It’s wonderful now that he can drive. So liberating not to have to schlepp the baby everywhere. To have backup—”
“Because I’m never home, right?” Decker said.
“Poor, poor, Peter. Overworked and underappreciated.”
“You mock but it’s true.” Decker looked up from his dish. “What am I eating?”
“Lamb curry on basmati rice. Do you like it?”
“It is absolutely delicious!”
“Would you like more?”
“Definitely.”
Sammy said, “I think he was just malnourished, Eema. His color looks better.”
“I believe you’re right.”
“Stop talking about me in the third person,” Decker grumped.
Sam said, “I think you can take it from here. The code red has been averted.”
“Go ahead. Have fun at my expense.”
Sammy kissed his parents. “I’m going now. Can we stop off at Berger’s and get some dessert, Eema?”
“It’s after ten, Shmueli.”
“No school tomorrow morning. Teachers’ curriculum conferences. We can sleep in. C’mon. Everyone’s gonna be there. We’ll be home before midnight, I promise.”
“Don’t you guys ever have school?” Decker asked. “I should be paying tuition per diem.”
“Don’t blame me,” Sam turned to his mother. “Please?”
She turned to Decker “Eleven-thirty?”
“I think that’s fair.”
Sam grinned. “Thanks.” A shake of his car keys and he was gone. The kitchen became silent. Decker continued to wolf down his dinner.
“You’re quite the gourmet.”
“Curry’s wonderful. The more you cook it, the better it gets.”
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m so testy.”
“Actually, it’s become quite the norm.”
“Humorous, Rina. Just for that I won’t tell you.”
“Up to you.” She stood up. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Beer would be great, thank you.”
Rina brought out a bottle of Michelob, poured it into a glass…watching the head spill over the rim. Rina sat down, stared at her husband, smiling when he looked at her.
He said, “Am I keeping you from something?”
“Not at all.”
Decker put down his fork. “Someone got the better of me today. Only person who’s allowed to do that is you.”
Rina said, “Who was the woman?”
Decker smiled tightly. “How do you know it’s a woman?”
“A sixth sense.”
Sixth sense? Decker wondered if she had smelled his pheromones.
“Who was she?”
“Not important.” Decker pushed his food away. “This tragedy at Estelle’s…horrible enough to think of it as
some maniac’s vision of going out with a bang. Unfortunately, I’m getting the feeling it’s more complicated.”
Rina became attentive. “In what way?”
“Certain bullet angles contradict a lone killer theory. And certain individuals have a lot to gain from some of the untimely deaths. You know, murdering an individual for profit is vile enough. But to take out thirteen other innocent lives just to cover your tracks—it’s truly monstrous…bestial.”
“You have evidence of this, Peter?”
Decker looked at his wife. She sounded upset. She
was
upset. Dunce that he was. Can’t just lay the job on civilians. He tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Just a sixth sense. Kind of like yours, I suppose. I’m sorry I jumped on you. I’m feeling misogynistic today. First, I got an earful from Cindy last night. Then Jan’s been calling me at the station house all day. Then, this woman…giving me a hard time…playing games—”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s probably
hiding
something.” He picked up his fork and speared another piece of lamb, feeling his face turn red. Hopefully, Rina would assume it was from anger, not from embarrassing sexual feelings. “Anyway, none of this is your fault. Go back to work. What are you doing, by the way?”
“The yeshiva’s books—”
“Oh, that’s right. How’s it going?”
“Frankly, it’s a mess. Contributions from institutions I’ve never heard of. Stocks and limited partnerships in exchange for tuition. The yeshiva supposedly owns real estate holdings and has bank accounts in foreign countries. At least, on the books.”
“What’s going on?”
“Well”—Rina scrunched up her brow—“I know the place went through quite a few in-house accountants, each one with a different agenda. Some of them obviously went in for creative bookkeeping…not that I found anything illegal.”
“But…”
Rina sighed. “The books were not as neatly kept as they should have been. Because the yeshiva used
kollel bochers
instead of professionals. You know, a man would do the books for the place in exchange for room and board for himself and his family. Then he’d leave after a few years and another one would take over. No consistency.”
“Just like now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why is he asking
you
to do the books instead of a professional?”
“Yes, a professional is definitely going to have to be brought in. I think Rav Schulman knows the books are in terrible shape. He wants me to organize things
before
he hires a professional. Just to make sure everything’s…kosher.”
Rina stood up.
“Old-time Europeans are another ilk. Always bartering. In this case, stock instead of cash for tuition.”
“Meanwhile, someone gets a free ride along with a nice write-off.”
“My,
you’re
feisty today. Why don’t you give it a rest and go to bed?”
“Is that a nice thing to say?”
“Well, I’m grumpy now.
You
made me grumpy.”
“So why don’t
you
go to bed?” Decker brightened. “Better yet, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t we both go to bed?”
Rina eyed him. “The boys’ll be home—”
“They’ll be gone at least an hour.” He raised his brow. “How about it?”
“We’re both too cranky.”
“So how about a little cranky love? ‘Not so slow, not so fast, not this way, not that way, watch the back, my knees are locking, watch the hair—’”
Rina whacked him. “You’re impossible!”
“I’m making fun of
myself
!” Decker laughed. “You don’t have bad knees
or
a bad back.”
Rina chided, “Listen, Lieutenant Geriatric, may I remind you that one of us is still a youthful thirty-four—”
“Low blow—”
“However, she is quickly aging from the stress of an overworked and very
moody
mate.”
Decker said, “True. In spousal stress years, you’ve got me beaten by a mile. To bed? I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”
“Not good enough. You’ve put me in a bad mood.”
“So I’ll make it up to you.”
“How? I don’t see any flowers.”
“How about if I tell you I love you?”
“Not good enough.”
“Then how about if I do the dishes?”
“No dice—”
“And wake up for Hannah tomorrow—”
“Nope.”
“I’ll be home early tomorrow night.”
“Don’t feel like delaying gratification.”
“Give you a back rub?”
“We’ve already established that I don’t have a bad back.”
“A foot rub?”
“My feet are fine.”
“Run you a bubble bath?”
“I’ve already showered.”
Decker was running out of options. “Hey!” He snapped his fingers. “I
got
it. The ultimate female aphrodisiac. How about if I tell you you’re
right
!”
“Right about what?”
“About…everything. Anything you say, you’ll be right. Unconditional rightness.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Deal—”
“Starting Friday night. I want it over a
weekend
. When you’re
home
. And
around
.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
Rina shrugged. “I’m worth it.”
“Yes, you are.” Decker scooped her up in his arms. “How’s this for being romantic?”
“It’s a start.” Rina put her arms around his neck. “And a good one at that.”
Abruptly, he awoke—eyes popping open, heart beating, head pounding, a ringing in his ears, and the dead bodies in his brain as clear as daylight.
A Nam dream.
Something he hadn’t had in many moons. At least he roused himself before the thrashing, before he woke Rina up. He realized he must have had some kind of control over his reactions even in sleep. Otherwise, how could he have lived in hell so quietly?
The routine was second nature by now. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, turning on the light over the stove, putting the kettle on the fire. A minute later, he sat down at the table, sipping a hot mug of tea that steamed his face.
He glanced up at the kitchen clock.
It was only eleven-fifteen. Boys had fifteen minutes.
He was glad Rina hadn’t heard him get up as she usually did. Sex had knocked her out. A good night. The juices had been flowing for both of them. Pure fireworks. Afterward, Rina seemed joyous…a word that hadn’t been in her vocabulary for quite some time.
She needed escape more than he did. Though she tried valiantly to hide it, she’d become a different woman since Bram had died. Difficult because she had never confided to Decker the depths of her feelings for him. On some level, she had loved him. But it had to be more than that. He’d come to the conclusion that Bram had been Rina’s last link to her late husband, Yitzchak. In Bram’s untimely demise, she had relived both deaths at once. Been hell for her. For him and the boys as well.
Maybe this would signal good times.
If
Decker could ever exorcise his own demons.
Eleven-twenty.
Late. But not too late for a night owl like Cindy. She
picked up immediately. He asked her how her day had gone.
“Nothing exciting.” She paused. “I did speak to my ex-professor of Criminal Sciences. Told him about my decision to enlist with the LAPD. He said I should have signed up with the FBI—”
“You’ve
got
to be kidding!”
“He says LAPD are a bunch of clowns—”
“Oh, fu—for
this
kind of advice, I was forking out twenty grand a year?”
“He says that the FBI is a more professional outfit with a more highly educated crew—”