The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

throughout the cemetery. On a hot day, visiting my dearly departed can turn into a nasty little search-and-schvitz operation. Tootsie insists we pay our respects to my mother and every other Plotnik of blessed memory.

It rained that morning and the cemetery’s mosquitoes are rejoicing in the condensation of moist, sticky air by flitting around the long grass near the graves, taking an occasional break to suck blood from my ankles. We’ve visited a horde of uncles, aunts, and grandparents, and are heading in what we hope is the direction of my mother’s grave when I notice a pink granite stone set at odd angles to the others. It looks shoved in, as though it might belong to the Zimmermans, who rest in peace between the Plotniks and Goldfarbs. The stone is small, almost Victorian in its ornamentation, and stands more upright than the older stones near it.

It’s been a few years since I visited the cemetery and I don’t remember seeing that stone before. “Who’s buried there?” I ask my father, walking around to the front of the stone to read the inscription. When I see what’s written, I step back, almost stumbling across a footstone in the earth behind me. A shiver creeps up my spine. I don’t say anything as my father circumnavigates the stones to join me. I watch Tootsie take it in. His face goes from confusion, to shock, to anger. I grab his arm, afraid he’ll faint.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

The stone is inscribed Sella Plotnik. I read the dates below her name. She’s been dead six years.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I manage to get out, not knowing what else to say. We look at each other. “If this is Sella, then what—”

“I’m not stupid,” my father interrupts, turning his back on the grave and heading in the direction of my mother’s plot. “The girl’s a liar.”

I drop my father off at the Schmuel Bernstein and drive home in a daze. I feel sadness and disappointment, then frustration, at missing the chance to know my cousin Sella. By the time I get home, though, I’m in a rage. Not the least of it is my anger at being taken in. My father sensed something was wrong. Why hadn’t I?

My father’s ability to pick up on Sella’s lies reminds me of a book I read about the concept of the “gut reaction.” The author described it as a combination of accumulated knowledge and experience, superimposed upon a deep emotional response. I wonder how my gut reaction to Sella and Craig could’ve been so wrong. And my father’s so right. I’d sensed something was off. That’s why I asked Maya to do a search on Craig. But I wanted to be mistaken. I dearly wanted this girl to be Sella.

In my eagerness to reconnect with the child I’d known years earlier, I ignored what my gut was telling me. It makes me question my instincts. Could there have been something wrong in my marriage that I didn’t see—or refused to acknowledge? Daniel and I didn’t have a perfect relationship. But I thought we were fine. We’re both busy and I never objected when he came home late because it gave me more time to work. Did he read that as disinterest? And did I sense he was unhappy and refuse to see it?

I bring myself up short. Now I’m making excuses for Daniel. Blaming myself. Just like my mother. She thought she could win Tootsie’s love by changing herself—dressing beautifully and preparing elaborate dinners. I’m not playing that game.

“Well, girlie,” my father says when I call his apartment that night to discuss our revelation. “Your old man isn’t such a fool.”

I expect him to give me a hard time about being so gullible. But he doesn’t. I hear sadness in his voice, regret as well, and wonder if he too hoped this would be the rare case in which his pessimism was unfounded. We talk a few minutes and make plans for breakfast the next week.

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13

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Tootsie

I’m hunched over the kitchen table gazing at the darkening sky. It’s going to start raining like a son of a bitch soon so I’m stuck in my apartment. I’d planned to call Winchell to line up a game of poker, but I’m in no mood for it now.

I just got off the phone with Becks. It’s hard to believe she fell for the scam that pischer was trying to pull off. With the boys away at school and that damned Daniel out of the house, she wanted the girl to be her cousin. She needs someone to take care of. The funny thing is I would not have been surprised if the girl was Sella and a con artist. Lord knows she’d have come by it honestly. Her grandfather was a swindler and her father isn’t much better. I’m sorry Zvi lost his daughter. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to call that bastard and offer my condolences.

It’s uncanny how people from my past are popping back into my life lately. First Florence confronts me, then Becks digs up Abe. All I need is for Zvi to crawl out from under his rock with his old accusations.

I sink deeper into my chair. Five decades as an honest businessman and the past still haunts me. Sure, I did things I regret. But that was another lifetime. There’s got to be some way to stop Becks from digging any deeper into my past. If she learns the truth, she’ll cut me off. Maybe I deserve it. But it would kill me to lose her now.

I didn’t want to bring it up with Becks tonight, but Daniel stopped by an hour before she called. I wasn’t expecting anyone and was surprised by his knock on the door. I hadn’t seen him in two months. He looked like hell, his hair disheveled and his face a sickly shade of gray.

“Tootsie, please talk to her. Tell her I’m miserable,” he said after dropping on to