Chapter 8

                                    

                                              
Copyright (c) 2015 Phyllis Zimbler Miller
                          
All rights reserved.
                          


                          
     Rebecca turned off her computer terminal.  Time to call it quits for the day.  She had written furiously for hours, eating popcorn for lunch at her desk, intent on giving Tarrington a deluge of content.
                          
     She had taken a moment during the day to email Henry at his synagogue email address, asking if she could call him after 6.  He had emailed back his cell number or offered the option for her to stop by his apartment on her way home.
                          
     As Rebecca drove west on Olympic from downtown LA, passing the Staples Center, she found her mind half on driving and half on the question of Helene's death as well as Richard's.  Because Richard was a therapist, it was equally likely that a patient, former or current, had killed him rather than there being any connection to Helene's death.  The Beverly Hills police were surely checking Richard's patient records.  Rebecca's more fruitful investigation lay with Helene's death, which the police might believe was suicide.
                          
     A BMW in front of Rebecca slowed to let another car move into the lane in front of the BMW.  Rebecca hit her brakes.  Pay attention, she warned herself.
                          
     Stopping for the light at the intersection with La Brea, Rebecca considered how coming to the wrong conclusion could be very dangerous.  Hopefully Henry would shed some light on Helene's death.
                          
     Henry shared a two-bedroom apartment on Sherbourne with another rabbinical student, whom Rebecca had never met and who wasn't in evidence when Henry motioned her into the living room.  She glanced at all the books stacked on shelves made of cinder blocks and lumber planks.  
                          
     "Not a big fan of ebooks?" she said.
                          
     Henry shook his head.  "I like the feel of the actual book in my hands.  And I'm working on a study of attitudes towards resuming the Temple sacrifices performed by the Cohenim – many of the references I need are not available in ebooks."
                          
     She nodded, not quite sure why anyone would want to resume the Temple sacrifices.  Of course, it would give Josh, as a Cohen, a potential sideline.
                          
     "I wanted to speak to you about are the deaths of Helene and Richard," she said.  "Perhaps either one of them might have said something to you."
                          
     Henry brushed a lock of unruly hair out of his eyes, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  "I went through this with the police already – I really had nothing to tell them.  And why do you want to know?"
                          
     Rebecca glanced around at the books one more time before answering. "I'm concerned the police might consider me a suspect."
                          
     "Because your name was in Richard's appointment book?"
                          
     For a moment Rebecca wondered whether she had caught Henry revealing info he shouldn't have known.  Then she took a breath and said, "How did you know that?"
                          
     "The police asked me if I had any idea why your name should be there?"
                          
     "And what did you say?"
                          
     Henry took a sip from a water bottle he held in his hand.  "I said I had no idea."
                          
     Rebecca smiled.  "Perhaps we could look at this from a Jewish angle, one that the Beverly Hills police might not be able to fully appreciate."
                          
     "What did you have in mind?"
                          
     "First, you've been to both their homes, haven't you, for Shabbat or holiday meals?"
                          
     Henry laughed.  "As resident rabbinic intern I often get invited to meals.  People seem to feel it's their duty to feed me."
                          
     As he spoke he leaned over to switch on the lamp to his left.  The glow of the lamp softened the rather harsh lines of his angular face.
                          
     "Had you been at their homes recently?"
                          
     "I had lunch with Helene two weeks ago, and with Richard about a month ago."
                          
     "Was anything, anything at all, said at either lunch that might be a clue to what led to their deaths?"
                          
     Henry stood up, taking a few steps in one direction and then returning to stand in front of Rebecca.
                          
     "I've gone over those lunch conversations in my mind.  Of course, there were other guests at both lunches.  But I can't think of a single thing that could be relevant."
                          
     Rebecca looked up into Henry's face.  What had she been hoping for?  That one of them had revealed to Henry a secret that could be potentially dangerous – that could put Henry in jeopardy too?  But people did reveal things to their rabbis.  And although Henry wasn't yet ordained, people tended to look on rabbinic interns as rabbis.  Maybe Henry just hadn't understood the significance of something said to him or even in front of others.
                          
     Henry slouched back down on the couch, flinging an arm across the back of it.  She knew he would have liked to help.  Shifting her line of questioning, she said, "Henry, what do you think about that exchange at lunch Thursday between Richard and Lawrence?  Richard was clearly upset at Lawrence criticizing Josephine for being neurotic."
                          
     Henry's expression changed at this question.  Clearly he thought he had been let off the hook.
                          
     "Richard was just being Richard.  Always concerned about the feelings of others, even when they themselves don't seem to notice.  I'm sure it was nothing."
                          
     Henry stood again, this time walking towards the door obviously to indicate he had nothing more to say.  Rebecca took the hint and thanked him for his time.
                          
     Released from the cramp quarters of his student apartment, Rebecca mulled over the conversation as she drove the few blocks east to her apartment.  She had automatically crossed Henry off her own suspect list.  But was that wise?  Would he really have no motive whatsoever worth killing for?
                          
     Entering her apartment, she glanced at her watch.  Just 7 p.m. – she'd heat the cabbage casserole in the microwave when Josh arrived as he'd invariably be late.  
                          
     Thirty minutes later they sat in the sukkah eating dinner while Rebecca recounted the conversation with Tarrington that morning.
                          
     "Ole Southern Comfort was his usual sympathetic self?" Josh said with a full mouth.  
                          
     "I don't think he has cause to fire me – I batted out several stories today.  And when we're finished eating I'm going to start on stories for tomorrow."
                          
     Josh smiled.  "Rebecca, he's probably still fighting the Civil War.  You better be careful you don't let the South sneak up on the North or you'll be in big trouble."
                          
     "If I'm not in jail as a murder suspect."
                          
__
                          
SINK LIKE A STONE is the second Rebecca Stone mystery novel.  The first, CAST THE FIRST STONE, is available on Amazon as are two Rebecca Stone mystery short stories in TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE.  See www.amazon.com/author/phylliszimblermiller