Knot in My Backyard (A Quilting Mystery) (12 page)

“I go down by the wash, where nobody can see me, and hang them on a bush to dry.”

Hilda pulled a sack of clothing out of the trunk of the car. She left something bulky behind.

“What about those?” I pointed to her bedroll and towel.

“I thought you might not want those in your machines. They’re awfully dirty.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got heavy-duty appliances.”

Hilda’s guarded footsteps followed me to my front door.

CHAPTER 19

The air-conditioning welcomed us as we came in out of the heat. The aroma of roasting meat, herbs, carrots, and onions filled the house. Hilda sniffed. “Smells so good.”

I showed her to the laundry room, where she sorted her clothes. I went to check on the brisket and put the potato kugel in the oven. Soon there was a rapid clicking of the knob turning on the washing machine. Hilda started up the first load of clothes and walked shyly into the kitchen. “I really appreciate this. Thanks.”

I smiled. “You know, I’m thinking now you’re here, would you like to freshen up? Maybe take a nice cool shower?”

Hilda’s eyes opened wide. “I would, but I don’t have any clean clothes to put on yet.”

“I think I might have something to fit you. Then you could also wash the clothes you have on.”

I walked her to my daughter Quincy’s old bedroom, where she slept on her visits home from the East Coast. A Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt covered a double-sized antique walnut sleigh bed. Hundreds of two-inch hexagons pieced in a mosaic of concentric circles of color mimicked the shapes of flowers. I worked over a whole year to sew the pieces together by hand and then quilt each individual hexagon.

I placed a fluffy white towel and washcloth in the all-white en suite bathroom and unwrapped a fresh bar of rose-scented soap.

Hilda pulled the bar of soap to her face, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Smells like my grandma’s yard when I was a kid.”

“Where was that?”

“Portland, Oregon. She took care of me after school while my parents worked. She’d have a batch of fresh, warm sugar cookies waiting for me every day after school.” Hilda smiled wistfully.

“My grandmother, my bubbie, took care of me too. I lived with her and my mother and my uncle Isaac. Only Uncle Isaac is left. You’ll meet him at dinner tonight. How about your folks?”

Hilda’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, my grandma died a long time ago. My parents are . . . We don’t really speak.” She looked down and turned slightly away, struggling to maintain control.

I cleared my throat and opened one section of the bedroom closet. “Come and take a look. These are some of my daughter’s clothes I’ve been meaning to take to the Goodwill. You’re about the same size. Please feel free to take anything from this section to wear.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, and I don’t mean just one thing. Whatever you can use, you can take. Pants, blouses, skirts, anything.”

Hilda gave me a funny look. “Why’re you doing this? Why’re you so sure you can trust me?”

That was a good question. I was a pretty good judge of people and simply felt in my bones Hilda would never harm anyone. “You’ve helped me a lot. I just want to return the favor.” I jerked my head toward the bathroom and smiled. “Take as much time in there as you want.”

Lucy and Birdie showed up around five with six more quilts. They didn’t recognize Hilda. Her face and skin were no longer covered in grime. She wore a pair of gray corduroy trousers and a white peasant blouse from Guatemala, with bright embroidery around the neckline and on the puffy little sleeves. Her shoulder-length brown hair was clean and blow-dried. She lived a rough life, but her features still showed a lot of gentleness. She appeared to be somewhere in her early forties.

Lucy’s mouth fell open when she figured out who Hilda was. “Well, don’t you look absolutely wonderful!”

Amen to that.

No sooner did we put the newest quilts on my cutting table than the doorbell rang again. I left the three others in the sewing room and went to investigate.

Three hundred pounds of biker in a black T-shirt and red bandana walked in.

“Hey, babe. I just talked to Ed. He told me all about your conversation this morning with the—”

I held up my hand. “Don’t say it. I promised him anonymity.”

He grinned. “Okay. I heard you-know-who confirmed Martin had an affair with his boss’s wife. I just wanted to say you were right about talking to you-know-who alone.” He lifted his head and sniffed. “Smells good in here. Like home.”

“I’m fixing Shabbat dinner for my uncle Isaac.”

“Shabbat dinner? It’s been a while.”

It’s Shabbat, Martha. You won’t be alone with him. Uncle Isaac and Hilda will be here.

“Would you like to join us?”

Crusher put his huge hand over his heart. “I’d be honored.”

Great. There goes half the kugel.

The three women came out from the sewing room.

Lucy took one look at the bearded giant. “I’ll bet you’re Crusher.”

He looked at me. “You’ve been talking about me. That’s a good sign.”

Darn it, Lucy!

I introduced him as Yossi Levy, and the doorbell rang again. Sonia stood there, smiling.

She walked in wearing a gauzy white Indian blouse and her colorful bangles tinkled on her wrist. After a brief hello, she stood next to Crusher and smiled at him. As soon as Sonia saw Crusher from her window, her curiosity must have compelled her to rush right over. There was something un-Sonia-like in the way she smiled at him.
Hmmm.

“Sonia Spiegelman, this is Yossi Levy, a friend of Ed’s. You may have seen him around lately.”

Sonia stuck out her hand and smiled demurely. She still held his hand and looked at him. “I sure have. You’re kinda hard to miss, big fella.”

No way. You didn’t just say that!

I introduced her to Birdie and Hilda. She already knew Lucy.

Sonia inhaled deeply and looked at me expectantly. “Something sure smells good in here.”

It’s Shabbat, Martha. Sonia’s alone in this world. It would be a mitzvah.

“Would you care to join us for Shabbat dinner, Sonia?”

“I haven’t had Shabbat dinner in a long time. I’d love to. Oh, and I’ve already collected a lot of items for Sunday. Shall I bring them over?”

“Sure. We can put them in my sewing room.”

I should have seen what was coming next.

“Yossi, would you please help me carry all those things? I need someone really strong.” She tapped his large bicep with her finger.

“Yeah, sure.” Poor Yossi looked clueless.

As soon as they left, Hilda burst out laughing. Then Lucy joined in. Soon the four of us were howling.

Lucy wiped tears from her eyes. “That was just plain pathetic. I’m going to need to change my pad.”

I opened a bottle of wine. “Come on, girls. This may turn out to be a long night. Lucy, Birdie, will you stay for dinner too? There’s plenty to go around. I actually made extra food, thinking I might send some home with my uncle and freeze the rest.”

“No, hon. I’ll have a small glass of wine, though. We worked like slaves today and there’s more to do tomorrow.”

Birdie reached for a glass. “Ditto.”

Hilda checked on her laundry and then took a glass of wine. “I usually don’t drink, because I’ve got to stay alert, but tonight I’ll make an exception.”

She took tiny sips of wine. At the rate she was going, the glass would last all evening. After about ten minutes, she said, “Where are those two, anyway?”

Lucy raised her glass to her lips. “Sonia must have an awfully big load.”

More laughter.

The doorbell rang again and Sonia walked in carrying several blankets, followed by Crusher, carrying two cardboard cartons full of toiletries and packages of white athletic socks from a big-box store. He looked at me with wide, clued-up eyes. After depositing the donations in my sewing room, they each took a glass of wine. I cut some pita bread and put out a bowl of hummus.

From inside my house, we couldn’t miss the loudspeakers at the Beaumont School baseball field. Even the death of their head coach didn’t deter them from playing ball and disturbing the peace of our neighborhood.

CHAPTER 20

Lucy and Birdie left at five-thirty and Uncle Isaac came at six. My elderly uncle, Isaac Harris, was starched and clean-shaven. Covering the top and sides of his curly white hair sat a
kippah
made in the Bukharian style—a brimless round hat, with elaborate embroidery, covering his skull. He’d gotten shorter with age; and when he hugged me, we were almost eye to eye.

He looked around, surprised to meet so many other people.

I introduced him to the odd assortment of people.

“So, where’s Arlo?” my uncle asked.

Crusher looked down. My uncle liked Arlo Beavers. He had high hopes I’d found a permanent relationship with a good man. It didn’t bother him that Arlo wasn’t Jewish. Uncle Isaac liked the fact Beavers was Native American and grew up on the Rez. “They’re spiritual people. We have a lot in common,” he’d said.

My heart sank. “Arlo couldn’t make it.”

He studied my face. “The life of a lawman is hard work, I guess.” He always knew when I was hiding something. For sure I’d be hearing from him later and he’d make me tell him every humiliating detail, starting with the fact that I’d discovered a dead body and was now looking for witnesses to the murder. I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.

He sat. “It’s a good thing Morty dropped me off and didn’t have to park his car. There’s no space. The streets around here are full of expensive cars. I even saw a boy speeding by in a black BMW convertible. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”

“Yeah. The Beaumont School is having a baseball game this evening.”

“So that’s what all the noise is about. What a
shande.
It used to be so peaceful around here.” He shifted in his seat and faced Crusher. “So. It’s Yossi, is it? Yossi Levy?”

Crusher sat up a little straighter and played with his wineglass. He was three times larger than my uncle, but he was clearly a little nervous. “Yes, Mr. Harris.”

Uncle Isaac adjusted his glasses, squinted, and looked at the red do-rag. “What is that covering your head? Some kind of new
kippah
?”

“It’s a bandana, sir.”

“Like the cowboys wear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“
Oy va voy!
What will they think of next?”

My good plain white Rosenthal china sat on the white tablecloth and my bubbie’s twin silver candle-holders sat in the middle, in the place of honor. A silver kiddush cup, which was filled with wine, sat ready at the head of the table for Uncle Isaac, and a cloth embroidered with colorful fruits and flowers covered the challah.

I draped a sequined blue scarf over my head, lit the candles, circled my hands over the flame and covered my eyes as I recited the Hebrew blessing. I always felt a deep connection at this moment knowing Jewish women all over the world were doing exactly the same thing.

When I looked up, Sonia had maneuvered a seat at the table next to Crusher. My uncle lifted the silver cup of wine and recited the kiddush, a Hebrew blessing for the Sabbath. Crusher joined in. Hilda sat in respectful silence, listening to the four of us sing blessings over the wine and challah.

As we passed the food around the table, Hilda looked at Uncle Isaac. “I’ve never been in a Jewish home before. Is this some special kind of holiday?”

“Special, but not unique. This we should do every week when the Sabbath begins.”

“It’s beautiful. Why do you wear your hat at the table?”

“Covering my head keeps me humble, sweetheart. It reminds me God is the boss. Even at the table.”

The talk turned to our plans for the distribution of goods to the homeless on Sunday. I’d warned everyone ahead of time not to mention Javier and Graciela. I wasn’t ready to tell my uncle I discovered a murdered corpse, and I especially didn’t want him to know about my close call with Switch.

Uncle Isaac said, “What you’re doing for those homeless people is a mitzvah.”

“What’s that mean?” Hilda asked.

“A good deed, sweetheart. One of the foundations of our religion is to care for the less fortunate. Nowadays people give money. In Bible times, most people were farmers. The Torah taught them how to help others. ‘When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and the alien.’”

“It’s from
Sefer Vayikra,
the Book of Leviticus,” added Crusher.

I put down my fork and stared at him.

He blushed and put his hand on top of his bandana. “Hidden depths, babe. This ain’t just a do-rag.”

Crusher uses a bandana as a religious head covering? He knows Torah? Who is this man, outlaw or scholar?

Uncle Isaac asked Hilda, “So, what do you do, sweetheart?”

I was mortified, worried that his innocent question might embarrass Hilda.

She smiled sweetly. “I collect trash for recycling and do casual janitorial services when I can get work.”

Uncle Isaac looked confused. “‘Collect trash’? Like with a truck?”

“No, Mr. Harris. I collect cans and bottles from trash cans and Dumpsters and walk them to a recycling center in Ralphs parking lot.”

He still didn’t get it. “Like the homeless people do?”

“That’s me.”

Now he was completely distressed. “
Vey iz mir!
You’re homeless? How could a nice lady like you be homeless?”

I jumped in. “Maybe Hilda doesn’t want to talk about it, Uncle Isaac.”

Although we’re all dying to know.

He reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to be nosy.”

“I’m homeless because I can’t find steady work. People don’t like to hire ex-cons.”

Crusher swallowed his food. “I know what you mean. I spent some time in prison too. After I got out, I couldn’t get a job. Luckily, some friends loaned me enough money to open my own shop. Everything’s cool now.”