draped on him like that chain when her husband finally decided to come home? Why couldn’t he take her on the couch, and on the floor, while that sap of a husband gawked and whined?
I felt the beginnings of an erection as I sat there looking at that red-eyed, sorrowful young woman, but there was no love in my heart. Maybe it was the past few days of danger and mayhem that stripped away the bonds of my rage.
“Is something wrong?” Gella asked me in that slightly nasal voice.
She saw the rage and aggression in my eyes. That recognition doused my anger — and my ardor.
“It’s been a tough few days,” I said.
“Yes it has.”
Gella reached for a small, framed photograph that sat on the coffee table. She looked at it and then handed it over to me. It was a picture of Fanny in a fancy green dress. She was laughing very hard and leaning over to the side like she’d done with me and Fearless that first night. It was a very different picture from the ones in Fanny’s bedroom.
“Uncle Sol gave it to me before they arrested him,” she said. “When he gave it to me, he said, ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’”
“She was a wonderful woman.” I handed the frame back. Then I said, “What’s this about your husband?”
“It’s like I said on the phone.” Gella perched on the end of the matching brown sofa. “For a whole day he wouldn’t eat or talk. Then, when I was washing dishes, he got in his car and drove off.”
“Did he say anything before he left?”
Gella shook her head the way one does when faced with an impossible math problem. “He didn’t seem to know that I was there except once.”
“What happened then?”
“He sat up and looked at me.”
“Is that all?”
“It was in his eyes,” Gella said, her voice skating near grief. “He was begging me with his eyes. There were tears, and he tried to say something…”
“What did the police say?”
“What?”
“What did the police say about Fanny?”
“Oh,” Gella said. Maybe she had forgotten about the death of her aunt, maybe she wanted to forget. “They wanted to know if there was any trouble in the family. They asked where Morris was when Sol was attacked.”
“Where was he?” I asked.
“At work. He has a part-time night job working for a man named Minor.”
“Zev,” I said.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“He came to Fanny’s right after we found her, you had already left for the hospital. Said he wanted to say hi.”
“That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think that they knew Mr. Minor. I’m sure they didn’t.”
“He said he knew them back in the old country, that him and Sol lived in the same town.”
“He never met Sol since Morris worked for him,” Gella said. “And Morris never told me that he was a landsman.”
“What does your husband do for this guy?” I asked.
“He’s learning to be an insurance agent.”
“What kinda insurance?”
“Art.”
“Say what?”
“Mr. Minor writes policies for expensive paintings and sculptures. It’s a very good business.” There was pride in her voice, pride for her smart husband and his good choices. “Morris is already making more money in his night job than he does at the bank.”
