Chapter 6

                                    

                                              
Copyright (c) 2015 Phyllis Zimbler Miller
                          
All rights reserved.
                          
     	That evening Rebecca and Josh, late due to the difficulty of finding a legal parking space in a residential area adjoining the UCLA campus, squeezed into a living room filled to capacity with people seated in folding chairs.  Men and some women wore on their heads knit kipot or the provided black satin yarmulkes, and they all held prayer books in their hands.

                          
     	Rabbinic intern Henry Brach began minchah – the afternoon service – although anyone could have led it.  Rebecca tried to concentrate on the prayers rather than mentally looping through the circumstances of Helene's death.  
                          
     	Between minchah and the evening service of maariv, Helene's brother Fred, whose home this was, spoke a few words about Helene and her family.   Elizabeth Silverstein whispered to Rebecca that Fred was a psychiatrist with an extensive practice among Hollywood types and his wife was a pediatrician on the staff of UCLA's hospital.  
                          
     	At the conclusion of the maariv service, a man standing at the back of the room caught Rebecca's attention – the angle wrong on the yarmulke he wore, perched on his head as if a dunce cap rather than placed tightly against the back of his head.
                          
     	Rebecca squeezed past others to reach Detective Sebastian.  
                          
     	"I didn't see you at the funeral today," she said.  "How nice you could make it here." 

                          
     	He nodded.
                          
     	"I have a simple question to ask you," she said.  "When Helene's body was found I overhead someone say there was a pile of dishes and glasses on a tray in the kitchen.  Do you happen to know how many plates and how many glasses there were?"
                          
     	"Why do you want to know?"
                          
     	"I'm wondering if all the invited guests showed up as planned."
                          
     	The detective glanced around before answering.  "I counted the stuff myself and I see no reason not to tell you: 10 large plates, 10 smaller plates, and 10 wine glasses.  No silverware or anything else on the tray."
                          
     	Without waiting for her to say anything more, he turned his back and peered at a Chagall lithograph hanging over a rosewood serving table, presumably trying to blend in with the others.  To help him accomplish this she would have fixed the angle of his yarmulke but feared he might go for his gun if she raised a hand to his head.
                          
     	So 10 people – the number needed for a minyan – and the number she already knew expected to eat at Helene's sukkah.  
                          
     	Could the murdered have removed an 11th large plate, smaller plate and wine glass from the tray?  How likely would the person have been to enter the house if he – or she – came across Helene already outside in the sukkah?
                          
     	Rebecca became aware that Henry and Simon stood near her.  "Who would want to murder Helene?" Simon said to Henry.
                          
     	Henry fluttered his hands.  "I didn't say anything about murder.  It could have been an accidental overdose."
                          
     	"Henry, get real.  Helene was a very organized person.  There's about as much chance of her taking an accidental overdose as you sprouting wings and flying."
                          
     	Rebecca watched Henry grab Simon's arm and steer him through the mass of bodies.  "Let's get some coffee," Henry said.  "Now's not the time to talk about this."
                          
     	Josh jostled Rebecca's elbow as she stood watching Henry guide Simon towards the dining room where an array of food items covered the table.  "Let's go," he said.  "I have a lot of reading to do."