“Just a second,” says David, eager to finish his story. “Every year, it’s the same thing. We hire so many seasonal employees, I end up playing mailman from early June to just after Labor Day.”
“Fascinating,” says Ceepak even though David is boring me to death.
“So, is your dad still at the Smugglers Cove Motel, or has he moved in with you and your mom?”
Now Judith, dressed in her black funeral dress, clutching a clear plastic cup filled with white wine, comes into the kitchen.
“David? Why are you bringing this up, now?”
“I still have Mr. Ceepak’s magazine. I’d like to make sure I forward it to the right location …”
Judith rolls her piggy eyes. “Honestly, David. You can be such a child.”
And she walks away.
“It’s my job, Jude. Okay? My job?”
“Right,” she snaps back. “You’re the head of human resources for the mayor’s far-flung empire of tourist traps. That’s why he pays you
“We’ve been number one in revenues on the island, four years running.”
Judith ignores her husband as we all follow her into the living room.
“Do we have any wine that’s not in a box?” Judith says to the walls. “This tastes like crap.”
“No,” counters David, “it tastes like crap we can afford.”
“I brought some Pinot Grigio,” says Michael, sort of sprawled on the couch. I think he’s half-tanked. “It’s in the fridge.”
Judith returns to the kitchen.
“Have you gentlemen come to sit shiva with us?” asks Michael. “Because you’re in luck! My loving partner Andrew just FedExed us a
“Actually,” says Ceepak, “we have some news.”
“About what?” says Judith, coming back from the kitchen with a fresh cup of white wine and the bottle she poured it from. “Your father’s magazine subscriptions?”
“Oh, leave my big brother alone,” says Michael with flick of his wrist and, I swear, a snarky little giggle. “Cease fire. At least for today. The poor boy just buried his daddy.”
Why do I think there’s a half-empty pitcher of cosmopolitans in that refrigerator, too?
“What’s the big news, Detective Ceepak?” asks Judith, her snout twitching between her rubbery, blubbery cheeks.
“Is Ceepak a Polish name?” asks David, taking a big swig of bargain basement beer. I notice he’s wearing a Bart Simpson wrist-watch. Not your typical funeral accessory.
“David?” Michael says it this time. “Honestly. Keep it up, and I’m calling off my truce.”
“What? I’m just interested. ‘Ceepak’ isn’t a name you hear all that often …”
Man, this “sitting shiva” is turning out to be worse than some booze-soaked Irish wakes I’ve been to.
Ceepak moves to the center of the room.
Everyone stops drinking and/or giggling when he does.
They usually do.
“We heard from Dr. Rebecca Kurth, the County Medical Examiner.”
“You’re kidding me,” says David, setting his beer can down on a nearby table.
“Coaster,” says Judith.
David finds one. “You guys really went ahead and wasted our taxpayer dollars doing an autopsy on a ninety-four-year-old man?”
“Unbelievable,” mutters his wife.
“This is why Dad’s property taxes are through the roof.”
“When did you become so right-wing, David?” snips Michael.
“When he realized you liberals were bankrupting this country’s future,” says Judith.
“Your father,” says Ceepak, cutting off the family feud, “was, as we feared, poisoned.”
“What?” says David. “No way. That’s impossible.”
“To the contrary. Dr. Kurth found the evidence to be persuasive and conclusive. Someone slipped a cyanide capsule into your father’s medicines.”
“Christine,” mutters Judith. “I knew it. I told you.”
She glares at me. Hard.
“I hope you’re happy, Officer Boyle. Seems your hot little girlfriend is also a cold-blooded murderer.”
38
“Christine?” says Michael. “You’re insane, Judith. Why on earth would that sweet little nurse kill Dad- ums?”
“Because she’s psychotic.”
“Oh, come on …”
“Why did she attack my sister?”
“The woman is sick,” says David, swilling the dregs out of the bottom of his beer can.
Judith turns on him. “Shona? My sister?”
“No. I meant Christine. She has that STD. We never should’ve let Dad hire her.”
“Um, excuse me,” says Michael. “I believe you two were the ones who recommended Ms. Lemonopolous for the job. You even persuaded Dad to terminate that first gal, what was her name? Kaufman?”
“Kochman,” says Judith. “Joy Kochman.”
“At the time we suggested that Christine take over for Joy,” says David, “we didn’t know she was a crazy person.”
“Did you at least check her references?” asks Michael.
“We didn’t have time,” says David defensively. “Joy Kochman had to go.”
“Why?”
“She became a problem, okay? You weren’t here, Michael …”
“And you were.” Michael rolls his eyes like he’s heard that a million times.
“Michael’s right, David,” says Judith. “We should’ve done a thorough background check. Especially since her last patient, Mrs. Crabtree, also ended up dead.”
The lady was old. That’s what happens. But I don’t say a word. Neither does Ceepak. Sometimes eavesdropping on one of these family squabbles can give you all sorts of useful information.
“Oh, my,” says Michael with a mock gasp and a fluttering Southern Belle hand over his heart. “Her previous patient died, too? Is Christine Lemonopolous a serial killer? An Angel of Death like that nurse over in England who killed four patients? We based an episode of ‘Crime And Punishment’ on him. Best ratings of the season.”
“Well, now you can do a new show,” snips Judith, refilling her wine. “All about a nurse who gets away with murder because she has friends in the police department who’ll do anything to protect her no matter how many clients she attacks or elderly invalids she bumps off.”
And now Ceepak has heard enough.
“We are sorry to bring you this news while you are in mourning.”
Michael gestures toward the gift basket again. “You sure you don’t want apple cake?”
“No, thank you,” says Ceepak.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“However,” says Ceepak, “we must request that none of you leave Sea Haven for the next several days as we attempt to ascertain who it was that murdered Dr. Rosen.”
“What?” says Judith. “Surely you don’t suspect one of us.”
“Calm down,” says David reaching over to give his wife baby pats on her dimpled knee.
