A Pain in the Tuchis: A Mrs. Kaplan Mystery (3 page)

Although it was not what I would call a great shock that Vera passed, seeing that she had been so ill, it was nevertheless something of a surprise that she died when she did. As far as anyone could tell—at least those of us who are not doctors—Vera’s health had been improving, and we certainly had heard nothing to the contrary from either Daniel or Fannie.

In fact, only two days before she passed, Mrs. K and I had visited Vera in her room. It was early afternoon, when neither Daniel nor Fannie was on duty, so to speak. Mrs. K and I had always gotten along with Vera pretty well, or at least better than most of the residents. Maybe this was because we had been lucky enough not to cross her in some way. Or maybe because just about everybody gets along with Mrs. K. Anyway, we were pleased to see that Vera was in good spirits, sitting up in bed and reading. We asked her how she was feeling.

“Much better, much better. No thanks to Menschyk or that quack he brought in,” Vera said. “It’s a good thing I have a strong constitution or I’d have been dead long ago with the kind of care I get around here. Other than from my own family, of course.” I was glad she added that last part, and that she was grateful for Daniel and Fannie’s help.

I was also glad, believe it or not, that she was her old mean self again. It meant she definitely was feeling better.

Another unsettling thing about Vera’s death was that she died on, or rather just at the end of, the Day of Atonement. It is a solemn time for us, as I have said, with much contemplation and soul-searching, and a death in the Home, even of someone as unpopular as Vera Gold, added to the solemn mood. But we carried on as usual, and within a few days most of us were back to whatever normal might be. At least for a while.

The memorial service for Vera was conducted by Rabbi Rosen, the young man from the nearby Conservative congregation, as is usual by us. We cannot afford to have our own rabbi at the Home, so we borrow one when we have the need, and Rabbi Rosen is always most accommodating when he is asked. He had been given personal information about Vera by Daniel and Fannie, and he made a nice little speech about all of Vera’s good points. He managed to make her sound like quite a wonderful person, or at least someone you would want to know well; and to be fair, I am sure the Vera that we knew at the end of her life was not who she was for all of the years before. As I have mentioned, she traveled extensively and had many interesting adventures. She met her late husband, Gershon, in Israel at about the time of its independence—they both had volunteered to help with Israel’s defense when five of its Arab neighbors attacked the new country virtually on the day it was born.

Vera was married to her Gershon for over fifty years. Perhaps it was only after her husband died and her health began to fail that she became the unpleasant person we knew.

The rabbi also said that Gershon was a successful businessman who provided well for their family. Vera must have inherited a large amount of money from Gershon, and she clearly was well off when she died. The rabbi did not say that, of course, but we all drew that conclusion for ourselves. Unlike fellow resident Daisy Goldfarb, however, who uses any excuse to show off her expensive clothes and jewelry, Vera dressed plainly if stylishly and never so as to indicate she had more money than anyone else. It didn’t seem important to her, and of course it was not to us. (Well, maybe it would have been to Daisy.) But now that she had passed, any money she had would be in her estate, a fact that became extremely important in the days that followed.

Vera’s death was attributed to what they call a heart irregularity, brought on at least in part, it was assumed, by the disease she was fighting. That certainly seemed logical, and in any event, there was no other likely explanation, other than plain “old age,” to be offered. We all went about our business, and I have to admit that I, and no doubt many other residents, were secretly a
bissel
relieved, not that she was deceased, of course, but that she was no longer causing us
tsuris,
no longer a troublemaker
.
When Mrs. K, who had not been particularly bothered by Vera on a personal level, remarked that she had been a “troubled soul who we can hope is now in a better place,” one resident, who shall remain nameless, responded unkindly, “As long as it is not in
this
place.”

After Vera’s burial, Daniel was sitting
shiva
for seven days, as is traditional following the death of a parent or other close relative. There is a lot of ritual that goes with this, but I will just mention that Daniel stayed at home and observed most of the requirements. Although by tradition Daniel was not to work or leave the house during the week of mourning, he did have to go in to the pharmacy a few of the days when they could not replace him.

During this period of mourning, it is common and expected that friends and relatives come to visit, to offer condolences and comfort the bereaved. It is a
mitzvah,
a good deed, to do so. Mrs. K and I visited on several occasions, and we saw there many others from the Home, including Fannie, of course, who spent a lot of time there with Daniel during the week, both of them graciously receiving visitors.

It is also traditional for visitors during
shiva
to bring food to the mourners, so Mrs. K brought some of her wonderful matzoh ball soup and I baked a very nice
challah,
the long kind, like for
Shabbos.
Food is not the answer to grief, of course, but as they say about chicken soup, it can’t hurt.

A death at the Home always causes a disruption of our routine—sometimes more, sometimes less—that lasts for a few days at most, and then things return to normal. In Vera’s case, by the next day most of us were ready to move on without her.

Mrs. K and I were just finishing our breakfast—she a bialy with a
shmear
of cream cheese, I a hard-boiled egg and toast with a
bissel
jam—when Fannie Kleinberg comes over to our table and asks to sit down. There was plenty of room, since Mr. Isaac Taubman and Karen Friedlander, our usual table companions, had already finished and excused themselves, so naturally we invited Fannie to join us.

Of course, we had already expressed to Fannie our sympathy at Vera’s passing, but we again told her we were sorry for her loss.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. She looked quite sad.

“It must be very hard losing a sister, especially one you were close to,” said Mrs. K.

“Yes. But it’s in a way comforting to know that we did all we could for her, and she had the best of care.”

Mrs. K reached out and patted Fannie’s hand to show she understood. Fannie turned to Mrs. K and said, “I especially appreciate your support, Rose. A lot of the people here were less than friendly toward Vera. Oh, I know she could be a difficult person to get along with, but that was mostly her illness; she was really a good person. But you were always nice to her and treated her like a
mensch.
You too, Ida.”

“It is true your sister could be…as you say, difficult,” Mrs. K said, being diplomatic, “but we all have our own
mishegoss,
our own bit of craziness, and it is best not to judge others too harshly, especially when they are dealing with serious health issues as Vera was.” She did not mention, of course, that Vera had been a pain in the
tuchis
from the time she arrived.

“Yes, Rose, and it’s those health issues I want to talk to you about.”

Mrs. K looked quite surprised, as was I, and said, “Her health issues? Isn’t it Dr. Menschyk with whom you should be talking about them? All I know is a person gets a sickness, and sometimes the sickness leads to her passing. Beyond that, it is all a mystery to me.”

“That’s just it,” Fannie said. “I don’t believe Vera’s illness, as serious as it was, led to her passing, as you put it.”

Again Mrs. K and I were surprised.

“Pardon me,” Mrs. K said, “but are you saying your sister died of what they would call ‘natural causes’ despite her illness? Not that it matters at this point, I suppose…”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” Fannie said. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to us. “Maybe I should just come right out with it: I think it’s possible Vera did not die of natural causes at all, or of any disease.

“I think someone killed her.”

It was quiet at the table for maybe a minute, as Mrs. K and I both tried to digest what Fannie had said. I think it was giving both of us indigestion. There were a few residents of the Home who one might expect to make such an odd statement, or for that matter any statement, such is the condition of their mind; but Fannie Kleinberg was definitely not one of them. If anything, she was among the least likely to do so.

Mrs. K was the first to speak up. “Now, Fannie, are you seriously suggesting that someone here in the Home murdered your sister?”

Fannie looked entirely serious about it. “I know it sounds crazy,” she said, “but let me try to explain.”

Mrs. K put out her hand to indicate Fannie should not explain just yet. “Wait a minute, dear. I don’t know what you have in mind, but it sounds like something you should be telling to the police, not to me and Ida.”

“Yes, I understand, but it’s really not that simple. First, I don’t have the kind of evidence the police would be looking for, as strongly as I believe I’m right. But also I remember how you outsmarted the police and got to the bottom of what happened to poor Bertha Finkelstein. It was about the time when I moved into the Home, and everyone was talking about it.”

Mrs. K waved off this reference to Bertha’s mysterious death at that year’s Passover
seder,
a time none of us will ever forget. In truth, this was not the first time since then that someone had come to her for advice in some kind of “mystery,” if you can call “where could my keys have gone?” and “who took my fountain pen?” mysteries. Nevertheless, she had definitely developed a reputation for being able to solve crimes, as if she is Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself, whom she admires very much.

“I’m sorry, Fannie,” Mrs. K said, “but I really am not the person to whom you should tell this story. It is a real policeman you want.”

But Fannie was adamant. “Please, Rose, just listen, and then I’ll do what you think best. At least it will give me a chance to put the facts before someone who I know can look at them logically, which is difficult for someone like me who is so close to the matter emotionally. Will you listen?”

Mrs. K smiled and took Fannie’s hand. “Since you put it that way, Fannie, if it will make you feel better to tell us about it, we are certainly willing to listen, are we not, Ida?”

Fannie had not directed her appeal to me, of course, but now she looked at me to confirm that she could continue her story.

Who was I to say no? Besides, Mrs. K might be able to resist hearing what Fannie had to say, but I was much too curious to do that. So continue she did.

“As you know, my sister Vera had various medical problems over the years, although until recently none of them has been what you’d call serious, at least not serious enough to put her in the hospital or to threaten her life. In addition to some physical issues, she had some mental problems, which probably account for at least some of the behavioral peculiarities you and others would have noticed.”

Actually, I did not know about these mental problems, and I do not think Mrs. K did either, not that we would expect to. One does not usually announce to the world her medical problems, especially if they are of the type to cause others to look a bit sideways at you.

Mrs. K nodded, and Fannie continued: “I had been taking care of Vera during her latest illness, helping her with her morning medicines and generally seeing to her needs in the early part of the day.”

This we knew. “And it was very kind of you to help her that way,” Mrs. K said. “It is not always true that a sister or brother—or any family member, for that matter—is willing to take on such a responsibility.”

“Oh, it was not so much,” Fannie replied. “Not compared to, say, a child who has sole responsibility for an aged parent’s care. That can be the most difficult job imaginable. But yes, it isn’t always the case that relatives help out. But Vera and I have always been close.” She paused for a moment, staring into the distance as if picturing something in her mind.

“I remember one time when I was having trouble in school—I must’ve been about ten years old, and the other kids had been making fun of me, you know how cruel kids can be to each other—and Vera, who was working in another city at the time, came home for the weekend and spent almost the whole time with me, helping me feel better about myself and suggesting ways to respond to the other kids. She was much older, of course, and always the strong one in the family.” Fannie smiled. “I guess that was pretty obvious even now.”

Mrs. K and I looked at each other and we both nodded.
Yes,
I thought,
that sounds like the Vera we knew. Probably when she was in school, she was the one doing the bullying, so she would be an expert on the subject.

“Vera was very lucky,” I said, “to have not only you to help her, but also Daniel.”

“Yes,” Fannie said. “And together I think we took pretty good care of Vera. But to get back to what I was telling you—”

Just then, one of the dining staff, Frank, came over to take away the used dishes from our table, and Fannie abruptly stopped talking. Apparently she did not want anyone else to overhear what she had to say. As it turned out, I could not blame her.

Frank asked whether any of us would like something more to eat or drink. Mrs. K and I immediately said no, but it looked like Fannie was tempted. Finally she too declined and Frank went on his way.

When we were again undisturbed, Fannie continued: “Well, on the day before
Yom Kippur,
after Vera had taken her morning pills, she leaned close to me and said, ‘Fannela’—she usually called me that, at least in private—‘I need to tell you something. You might not believe me, but I am certain someone here is trying to poison me.’

“As you can imagine, I was totally taken by surprise, and I didn’t know quite how to respond. Vera had many physical ailments and also a mild case of schizophrenia, but she had never had or shown any signs of paranoia. On the one hand, such an accusation was extremely hard to take seriously, at least at the time. On the other hand, I thought, what if it’s true?”

“So did you ask her for some details?” Mrs. K asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. She said something vague about some of her medications looking strange, maybe being tampered with.”

“And she gave you some examples? You saw these tampered-with medicines?” Mrs. K asked.

Fannie looked distressed. “No, not really. I did ask, but Vera said she didn’t have any to show me, having thrown away the items she suspected. She promised she would remember to show me first, the next time it happened. Of course, she died the next day, so she never got a chance to do that.”

“Did you ask why she was telling you this? Did she want you to report it to someone, or what?”

“I think she was just afraid. She took my hand and pleaded with me to help her, to protect her. I didn’t know what to say, except that I would do what I could. But really, what could I do?”

“Of course. And did you ask her if she suspected any particular person?”

“That’s maybe the strangest part,” Fannie said. “She first said she did, but then, as if she had changed her mind, she refused to tell me who she suspected. But just the question—that is, who she suspected—seemed to upset her more than anything else. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to find out. Or maybe she just wanted to be more certain before accusing anyone.” She sighed and looked down. “And maybe I just imagined she was upset. I don’t know.”

“Hmm. I see,” said Mrs. K. I could not tell for sure whether that meant she sees what a problem this was, or she sees that Vera was completely
meshugge
and it is time to close the subject. But then she said, “Have you any idea what motive someone would have for poisoning your sister? I mean, she was not exactly popular, but…”

“No, she wasn’t, but that’s no reason someone would kill her, is it?”

“I wouldn’t think so, no. Did she have a will?”

Fannie thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know, but I assume everything would go to Daniel with or without one, so that can’t be important.”

“No, I suppose not. So then tell me, Fannie, what do
you
think? Do you take what your sister said seriously?”

Fannie seemed to consider this for a moment before she answered. “To be honest, Rose, I’m not sure I did at the time, but I think I do now. When I put Vera’s very real fear that she was being poisoned together with the fact that, from everything I could see and the doctor said, she was actually getting much better, and that the day after she tells me this she dies, I think I can’t just let it pass without some kind of…some kind of investigation, or whatever you would call it. Some minimal attempt at least to find out if it’s possible Vera was really poisoned. I mean, it’s been so stressful for me, not knowing whether to try to forget what Vera said or to do something—anything—to look into it, as I’m sure my sister would have wanted.”

“Yes, I see,” Mrs. K said again. She now seemed to be thinking it over, her eyes focused on the table in front of her. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. I wish the wheels in mine turned half as fast; perhaps they have too much rust on them. Finally, she said, “I can see you are quite distressed by this, Fannie, and I know I would be too under the circumstances. I will try to help if you wish, at least to the extent of putting your mind at rest, if at all possible.”

I thought it was very generous of Mrs. K to offer like that, because surely she did not consider it at all likely Vera had been poisoned. Clearly she was just trying to make Fannie feel better, to help her to accept her sister’s passing without feeling guilty about it. Fannie obviously appreciated it also, because she took Mrs. K’s hand and squeezed it and thanked her for agreeing to help.

“Perhaps the first thing for us to do,” Mrs. K said, looking a little embarrassed at Fannie’s show of gratitude, “is to talk with Dr. Menschyk. After all, it is he who attended Vera during her illness, together with the specialist, and he who signed the death certificate.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Fannie said. “I don’t know whether he’ll be able to say for sure whether Vera could have been poisoned, but we should at least ask him. Can we go to see him together?”

“Yes, certainly,” Mrs. K said. “I’ll call him and ask for a few minutes of his time when he’s next here on his calls.”

Fannie again thanked both of us and, looking somewhat relieved, she got up from the table and left the dining room, left us to look at each other in silence.

“
Nu,
what do you make of that?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to make of Fannie’s story, at least at this moment,” she replied. “But I do know one thing:
Yom Kippur
is the Day of Atonement. It is the holiest day of the year, when we are supposed to repent of our sins of the year that has passed, ask for God’s forgiveness, and promise to try harder next year.

“It would be a very bad day to commit a murder.”