Ceepak dutifully makes a note in his pad. “But you went to that Friday-night dinner, correct?”
“Well, I took Dr. Rosen. Drove him over. Wheelchaired him into that private room they have in the back. Then I sat by myself at a table near the kitchen and had some spaghetti and meatballs. They call it Pasta Vesuvius, but it’s just spaghetti and meatballs, even if they do charge twenty-four ninety-five for it.”
“What was Michael Rosen’s big announcement?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when he made it.”
“Did you hear or observe anything else?”
“Just some hollering. Then the Rosen men come stomping out of that room, none of them even looking at each other. Nothin’ but cold hate and old grudges in their eyes. I drove Dr. Rosen home. Never heard him be so quiet.”
Ceepak shifts gears. “It seems you and Michael are on very friendly terms?”
“We sure are.”
“Did he buy you your car?”
I grin. Ceepak noticed the Z, too.
“Did Michael tell you about that? Because I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody. Promised him and Revae I never would.”
“Who’s Revae?” asks Ceepak.
“My sister. She’s known Michael longer than me. Revae’s the one who got me this job.”
“How?”
“By telling Michael his daddy had to hire me.”
“How come.”
Monae shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”
“Don’t worry,” says Ceepak. “We will.”
41
Ceepak and I spend the rest of Sunday afternoon tracking down Joy Kochman and Revae Dunn.
We finally draw a bead on Joy Kochman thanks to the folks at the AtlantiCare Home Health Aide Agency. She has taken a live-in position with a wealthy couple up in Lavallette. That’s about an hour north of Sea Haven. You have to leave the island, head up the Garden State Parkway, exit at Tom’s River, cross over another causeway to Seaside Heights, then drive a few miles north.
So we call our friends in the Lavallette Police Department. Ask them to keep an eye on 323 Bayview Drive, the waterfront home where Ms. Kochman is currently working and living, until we can run up and conduct a proper interview.
As for Revae Dunn, we learn she lives and works in Avondale, the same town where Mainland Medical is located. We need to talk to her, too. Find out what’s up with her and Michael Rosen. How come she was able to swing a job for her sister, Monae, not to mention a shiny new Z car, too.
But both Revae Dunn and Joy Kochman have to wait till Monday.
Because Sunday evening we get a call from Steven Robins, a senior partner at Bernhardt, Hutchens, and Catherman. He is the executor of Dr. Rosen’s estate.
“I know this is highly unusual,” says the lawyer, who Ceepak puts on speakerphone in his office, “but I was able to pull some strings at Surrogate Court and move Dr. Rosen’s will through probate, post haste.”
“On a Sunday?” says Ceepak, sounding impressed.
“Indeed. The judge is an old friend. From law school. Harvard.”
Now the lawyer sounds impressed. With himself.
“Since this will might, I suspect, have some bearing on your current investigation into the manner of Dr. Rosen’s death, I think it only prudent to invite you, or your duly authorized representative, to join me and the other interested parties at my law offices this evening. Seven P.M. Will that be convenient?”
“Of course,” says Ceepak.
The law offices of Bernhardt, Hutchens, and Catherman are pretty swanky.
For one thing, the air conditioning doesn’t smell like recycled mildew. For another, the walls are made out of real wood, not that paneling they used to give away on TV game shows back in the 1960s, which was the last time most of the office buildings in Sea Haven were redecorated.
A very impressive executive assistant (who’s probably making double overtime for working at 7 P.M. on a Sunday and for wearing such a short but tasteful skirt) ushers Ceepak and me into an even more impressive conference room. The shiny wooden table in the center is bigger than most fishing boats. There are bottles of Fuji water and notepads in front of every seat. The water looks like it’s free, too.
Since we’re basically here as observers, Ceepak and I grab swivel chairs against the wall, leaving the padded table seats and free beverages for the family and other interested parties.
A few minutes later, an entire Agatha Christie novel walks into the conference room.
Michael, David, and Judith Rosen. Christine Lemonopolous and Monae Dunn. All our suspects (except the wild cards Joy Kochman and Revae Dunn) file in and find seats around the table, eager to hear the late Arnold Rosen’s last will and testament. Those rewrites he made recently? Tonight the mystery shall be revealed!
Michael and Monae sit on one side of the massive mahogany table directly across from David and Judith.
Meanwhile, Christine is seated on Michael’s side of the table but three chairs down, putting her at the greatest possible diagonal distance from Judith and David.
Christine shoots us a little finger wave when she sees Ceepak and me.
I wish she hadn’t.
Because Judith saw her do it.
Then, she narrows her piglet eyes so tight I have to wonder if the plastic surgeons who gave her those liposuction treatments also implanted bionic laser beams inside her tiny eyeballs to give her death-ray super powers like in the comic books. If so, stand by to see my head explode.
Steven Robins, a dapper little lawyer in his sixties, enters the room. He’s dressed in a very nice gray suit, which is never anyone’s first wardrobe choice on a Sunday night in June. Everyone else around the table is wearing what I’ll call their Sunday schlub clothes. Lots of plaids, short-sleeved shirts, and frumpy pullovers.
Well, everybody except Michael. He seems to have packed the right outfit for every possible occasion. Tonight, it’s another black-on-black ensemble-a black polo shirt on top of black linen pants. It’s the kind of country club casual outfit you might wear to the golf course. If you were Zorro.
“Good evening, everyone,” says the lawyer. “Thank you all for coming here on such short notice.”
“Mr. Robins?” Judith shoots up her hand.
“Yes, Mrs. Rosen?”
“Why are Christine and Monae here?”
“They are mentioned in Dr. Rosen’s revised will.”
Now Judith trains her laser beam eyes on her husband. “I knew it.”
“Relax, Judith,” whispers David.
“Don’t you dare tell me to relax,” Judith whispers back. But it’s a loud whisper. The kind everybody can hear.
“And the police?” asks Michael.
“The two detectives are here at my invitation,” says Mr. Robins. “Since a cloud of suspicion lingers over the circumstances surrounding your father’s death, I thought it best that Detectives Ceepak and Boyle join us this evening. The particulars of Arnold’s last will and testament may prove beneficial to their investigation. The sooner they know about them, the better.”
Content with that answer, Michael eases back in his seat. The lawyer continues.
“Now then, we don’t really read the will out loud like they do in the movies. However, should you wish to delve into the details, the whereofs and wherefores, I will gladly provide a hard copy of the document for each of
