heart.
“Your cases?”
“No.”
“You are interested, why?”
“Somebody beats me up, there’s creeps out there killing people, I get interested.”
“Russians?” Tolya said.
“Probably. Gangs, maybe. I need your help.”
“You never ask me before,” he said. “What do you want?”
“I’ll let you know. I have to see Lily now.”
“Be good to her,” said Tolya.
I nodded.
“You will try to win her back?”
I pressed the elevator button. “I have to.”
CHAPTER 18
I have an old woman’s feet, Artie. I have ugly, wrinkled old feet now,” Lily said. Sitting on a white leather stool at the kitchen counter in her apartment at the Armstrong, she looked down at her bare feet. Her soggy winter boots were on the floor. I was opposite her. “How do you feel?”
We had been sitting like that for a little while. Lily had helped me wash the blood off my face and put some clean bandages on my hand.
“I’m OK now. And your feet are OK. I like your feet,” I said.
She didn’t answer, just pulled herself off the stool and crossed the kitchen to make coffee.
The apartment had cream-colored curtains and sofas. A milky pink glass vase filled with orange roses was on the granite kitchen counter. The living room, this kitchen, had been renovated-stainless steel appliances, sleek wood floors and cupboards, a blue-and-white-striped kilim. Unlike Simonova’s apartment, no water dripped from the ceiling; no plaster cascaded down the walls; the paint was fresh. Glossy magazines were artfully arranged on a black glass coffee table.
Lily put two mugs on the counter. “Do you want something to eat?”
I shook my head and glanced at the old clock that hung on the kitchen wall.
“What is it?” she said.
“I was wondering if Dr. Bernard had stopped by. She said she’d come. I was stuck in the fucking storage room.” I rubbed my head.
“Don’t touch it,” said Lily, handing me a dishcloth. “There’s blood on your head, Artie. You need to see someone. You need them to check for concussion. I mean it.” For a moment, Lily’s bossy, practical side took her over, and it made me smile. For a moment.
“So what about Dr. Bernard?”
“What? I think you should eat something.” Lily, fussing in the kitchen, opening the fridge, pulling out plates, slicing bread. She put it all on the counter and began to make sandwiches. As she unwrapped hard-boiled eggs, the smell got to me and I felt sick.
“Dr. Bernard was coming to sign Simonova’s death certificate,” I said. “You remember?”
“Oh, that. Right,” said Lily, placing salami on a slab of bread and spreading it with mustard. “Sure, but it’s done, Artie. I took care of it. It’s just fine. We don’t have to bother Dr. Bernard after all.”
I went to the sink and ran the water, drank from the tap, washed my face, and dried it off with some paper towels. I turned around and leaned against the sink so I could see her.
“Lily?”
“What?”
“What’s going on? Why were you getting meds for a woman you know is dead?” I looked at her. “You have to tell me. It doesn’t add up.”
“Yes, yes, sure, Artie, I’m behaving like an idiot, I know we need to get this sorted, of course.” She picked up a plastic bottle, took out a pill, put it in her mouth, washed it down with some coffee.
“What are you taking?”
She didn’t answer.
I went to the window and looked out. It was dark now. Still snowing.
“Lily?”
“Come and sit down. I can’t talk to your back,” she said. I went to the counter and sat down again on the stool.
“What is it?” Lily said.
“I went to see Dr. Bernard. She said you didn’t call her at all today.”
“Maybe the messages didn’t get through. I tried her. I told you.”
“She said she didn’t get any. I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who loses her messages,” I said.
“You shouldn’t have done that without telling me.”
Lily looked down at her feet again. “I’ll go get Lionel,” she said.
“You didn’t call Dr. Bernard at all, did you?” I asked her. “What else is there you didn’t tell me?”
“Her number was busy, OK?” Lily was angry now. She got up abruptly, left the apartment, and slammed the door.
“Lily tells me you’ve had a bit of a rough time. May I look at that gash on your forehead?” Dr. Hutchison inspected my head. “Can I fix those bandages for you?”
Lily hovered close by. She had slammed out of the apartment, then reappeared, Hutchison in tow.
“Not now.” I looked at my watch. “Where the hell is she?”
“Who?” Lily said.
“Dr. Bernard. It’s getting late.”
“No need to worry,” Hutchison said. “I just called Lucille, we talked earlier, as you know, detective, but I called again and I persuaded her that everything had been arranged properly. Lily, would you make me a cup of coffee, please?”
I was surprised. Lucille Bernard didn’t seem like a woman who would change her mind easily. “You mean she’s not coming?”
“I told her I had examined Marianna and I had signed the death certificate.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It’s not that difficult, please believe me. In any case, I told Lucille I had called Riverside Chapel, which is a Jewish funeral home. I knew, as I believe Lily explained to you, that Marianna was of the Jewish persuasion and wanted a Jewish funeral.”
“She told you.”
“Oh, yes, we discussed these things many times, as old people will.” He adjusted his lapel, as if to play for time while he considered his words. “You see, the good people from Riverside came over and took Marianna.”
“What?”
“The burial will be tomorrow,” Hutchison said.
“I told you all this, Artie,” Lily said. “I’m sure Marianna even wrote it somewhere. Wasn’t that what you thought, Lionel, that she had specifically put it down that she wanted the Jewish thing?”
“Did she have surviving family?” I said.
“No,” said Hutchison. “Absolutely not.”
I got out my phone.
“Who are you calling?” Lily said.
“Just checking for messages,” I said, hoping Bernard had called me. But there were none.
“You really don’t have to call anyone,” Lily said. “Or don’t you trust Lionel? Or me?”
“I know you’re concerned, detective, but it’s just fine,” Hutchison said. “I have my license; I’ve been a doctor a very long time, and I can certainly sign a death certificate. The law says that if the deceased was in the care of a
