“You should know.”
“Believe me, I do.” But Rina wasn’t as certain as her words. Trying to keep her stomach from coming through her throat. Seeing the black limos, seeing him dressed in black. Too many memories.
“Rina, about what I said-”
“He won’t interrogate me, Bram. He’s not like that.”
“I phrased it badly. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
Rina buried her head in her hands. “You didn’t imply anything. I’m acting defensive. I’m sorry.”
“Rina, just let me get this thought out, okay? Because I don’t know when-if ever-we’ll be alone again.”
“Go ahead.”
“Rina, without a doubt, your loyalties lie with your husband. But mine lie with my family. If push should come to shove, I bind with my kin, no matter what. Your husband may ask me questions that I may not answer. That could anger him, frustrate him. Maybe…just maybe, he’ll come to you for personal information about me.”
“I don’t think Peter would do that.”
“Then I’m worrying for nothing. I’m just mentioning it because I don’t want you to feel divided in your loyalties. If it should happen…you have my permission to tell him whatever you feel comfortable with. The last thing I want is to create conflict between the two of you.”
“It won’t happen.”
“Good.”
“Divided loyalties,” she whispered. “I detect a pattern.”
Bram raised his brow. “You said it, Rina Miriam, not I.”
14
Stifling hot from a houseful of packed flesh, yet the men still wore jackets. Decker wiped his brow, reaching a compromise. He’d leave the jacket on, but loosen the tie and undo the top button of his white shirt. Good that he was tall. Standing on the landing steps of the Sparkses’ home, he could see over the human yardage. Even from this vantage point, with so many people, he couldn’t keep a definitive watch over the siblings. Kept scattering from place to place like little black ants. Especially the twins, both of them wearing almost identical black suits and glasses. True, the priest had longer hair and wore a collar. But without putting the two side by side, Decker was easily confused.
The widow, Dolores-known as Dolly to her friends-was holding court in the back of the living room. At present, she was mobbed by well-wishers offering her solace, surrounding her, patting her hand, stroking her shoulder, wiping her wet cheeks. It would have been inopportune for Decker to intrude upon her grief. Yet, he knew he was going to have to question her.
Because her husband was murdered in the back of a fancy restaurant.
Which could mean a paramour.
Which could mean a jealous husband or boyfriend.
Or, dare he say it, even a jealous wife.
Because as yet, Decker still lacked a damn motive.
Some of the guests were eating, popping things into their mouths, or drinking something unnaturally red out of plastic glasses. Obviously, there must be food somewhere. Holding his breath, Decker dove into the pool of humanity. He intended to pay his respects to the widow. But first he’d take a look around.
The family room held the bulk of the people. To its immediate left was an enormous dining room, windows facing the front lawn. It was also packed. A giant flower arrangement sat in the middle of a long table; around it were plates of assorted cookies, finger-sized danish, bite-sized muffins, sugared ladyfingers, and bowls of candies. On the buffet was a coffee urn with cream and sugar and hot cups. A sideboard held a filled punch bowl with cold cups. Put the scene in another context, add a little music, and it was party time.
Decker squeezed his body out of the dining room, back to the main drag. Yet he wasn’t quite ready to introduce himself to Dolly Sparks. He noticed that off the dining room was a swinging door. Decker pushed it open, found himself staring down an empty hallway. And since no one was telling him it was off-limits to foot traffic…
Glancing over his shoulder, he ventured down the foyer. Opened a few doors. A bathroom, an office with a computer, a butler’s pantry. At the end was another closed swinging door.
What the heck. He’d gone this far.
Decker leaned on it, allowing him entrance to a massive kitchen/breakfast nook area. At least a thousand square feet. An oversized refrigerator, an eight-burner stove. Walls and walls of cabinets-white, scalloped frames surrounding lemon-yellow panels hand-painted with flowers and scrolls. But they were old, the designs being chipped, faded, or missing altogether. Paper goods and boxes of pastries had been strewn over the counters. Hand-painted tile. Though the grout was clean, it had grayed with age. Several uniformed housekeepers scurried about: setting up cookie platters, bringing in empty plates, taking out pitchers of punch, or making more coffee.
Decker suddenly noticed that except for the help, he was alone. Nice. He could breathe. But it looked funny.
A maid carrying two platters of cookies winked at him as she passed by.
Decker held back a laugh.
The swing door opened. Immediately, Decker’s eyes grew in diameter.
“I thought I might find you here skulking about,” Rina said. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
Involuntarily, he felt his anger rise. He was working on a big murder case, his attention focused on business. Rina’s presence was not only a supreme distraction, but a problem. Personal digressions could screw up his credibility. “What are you doing here?”
“Can you keep your voice down to a civil level?”
Decker looked around. The hired help was staring at him. He took a deep breath. “Sorry.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect-”
“I know. You’re working on a case. I’m interrupting your concentration. But I couldn’t help it.” Rina began kneading her hands. “I know Dr. Sparks’s son Abram. He asked me to come.”
Decker paused, weighed his words because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “He asked you to come?”
“Yes.”
“He called you?”
“No, I called him. Last night.”
“You called him.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Okay. That must mean you know him well.”
“Bram had been a dear friend to Yitzchak. At one point, I knew him very well. I know I should have said something as soon as you told me about the murder. But frankly, I was in shock. I have been trying to reach you all day.”
Decker softened. “I know you have, honey. And I got the messages. They told me it wasn’t an emergency.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Is this what you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes.” Her face crumpled. “This has been a very stressful day for me. At best, I don’t do well with these kinds of things. And seeing Bram brought back all these memories and I…”
She erupted into tears. Decker pulled her into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s fine…no big deal.”
It was a very big deal.
Decker kissed his wife’s hat. “Honey, it was nice that you came. But you shouldn’t have to go through this. It might be better if you just went home. We’ll talk later.”
She dried her tears with a tissue. “I came with Bram. Can you take me back to the yeshiva? The Volvo’s there.”
“Bram drove you here?”
“Yes.”
Decker was silent. For a woman as religious as Rina to be alone with a man-even a priest-implied a close relationship. “Just the two of you?”
She pulled away. “Yes, Peter, just the two of us. We met at the yeshiva at his request. Because he had business with Rav Schulman. Then we drove together to the service. Afterwards, he asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming back to the house. He wanted to spend a little time with his family before he drove me back.”
Decker looked at her, said nothing.
Rina said, “Is my acquaintance with Bram going to mess up your investigation?”
“It’s going to have to be dealt with. How’d you come to know him so well?”