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

At first I think she’s joking. But she’s not smiling. She’s known about Louie’s murder for a while. It can’t have been easy hiding it from me.

“Why didn’t you call the police when you learned about Dad’s past?” I say. “Or tell me.”

“I felt Dad should tell you himself. He said he would.” She pushes her bowl away. “I don’t know. When you come right down to it, there didn’t seem to be any point in telling anyone. It’s history and it’s not like Dad went on to murder other people.”

“But a man is dead because of him and Uncle Moe.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be punished. He should. I think. I don’t know anymore.” She brushes a lock of hair off her forehead. “It’s not our job to turn our father in. Wives have the right not to testify against their husbands. So why should we testify against our father?”

I can’t argue with that. I’m sure she’s discussed this with Bruce. I pick up Esther’s bowl and fork and place them in the sink. Then we retire to the family room and stretch out on the couches.

“So you still want to stay with me? In spite of Landauer’s break-in?”

She shrugs. “You’re still here. If you feel safe, so do I. And it’s cheaper than a hotel.” She pulls my patchwork quilt up to her neck. “But if you don’t get answers from Tootsie soon, you ought to tell the police about Louie.”

I assure her I will.

“It’s a relief to learn you finally know about Dad,” she says. “You can see why I’m not talking to him.”

“Oh, I understand. What’s strange is I’m not sure how I feel about the whole thing. It was so long ago. I’m horrified by his role in killing Fat Louie and angry that his lies led to the break-ins at my house. But I shouldn’t be surprised. His whole life’s a lie. The funny thing is, up until now, it hasn’t affected us.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

I wait for her to continue, but she’s quiet, staring through the French doors to the patio. I follow her gaze. The white mesh chairs that go around the patio table are stacked one on top of the other. Daniel pressure cleaned them a week before I threw him out. It seems such a long time ago. After a few minutes, I lean across the couch to see if Esther’s sleeping. Her eyes are open.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ve got my own little confession.” She sits up and crosses her legs. “I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you or anyone else. At first, I couldn’t talk about it without crying and, then later, I was embarrassed. It seems unimportant now, but it bothered me for a while. You remember my boyfriend, Darrell?”

“The creep who stood you up for senior prom?”

“Yeah. It was because of Dad.”

“What’d Dad do?”

“He didn’t do anything. When Darrell’s parents learned who Tootsie was, they forbid him to date me. He ignored them. Then, two days before the prom, Darrell said his parents threatened to take away his car if he brought me as his date. I was devastated. I ended up staying home while all my friends partied. And I couldn’t tell anyone why.”

Her eyes are damp.

“How’d Darrell’s parents hear about Dad’s past?”

“Everyone in Miami knew. Except us.”

“Is that true?” I mull that over. Did my friends’ parents forbid them from coming to my house because of my father?

“I don’t know. I asked Dad about what Darrell said. He claimed it was a lie. That Darrell made it up to get out of taking me to the prom.”

I’m stunned. What kind of father would let his daughter suffer that much pain and rejection to hide his past? Esther didn’t deserve that. With a jolt, I wonder if he’s lying to me too—about contacting Abe and Landauer. Does he think I’ll forget about Landauer’s visit? Can he be naïve enough to think they’ll leave us alone?

Esther gazes at me, then down at her lap. She has to be thinking the same thing.

“So how’d you learn the truth?” I ask.

“Dad told me.”

“But I thought you said . . .”

“It was last year, when he was visiting for Rosh Hashanah. You remember. Bruce had just been accused of stealing from a client’s trust account. Of course it turned out to be the bank’s mistake. I guess Dad wanted to comfort me. He got this crazy idea that I’d feel better about Bruce being a crook, which he wasn’t, if I knew my father had been involved in a murder.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Not to you and me. But this is Tootsie we’re talking about. And who knows what goes on in his mind?”

That night, lying in bed, I can’t let go of what Esther told me. Our father’s confession about his past opened up old wounds for her too. I’ve had to deal with my father’s absence most of my life, with the fact that he was away on “business trips” during my piano recitals and school awards ceremonies. He never praised anything I did no matter how hard I worked. I can forgive that. And I’ve been trying to let go of my resentment for the way he treated my mother.

But I don’t know how to deal with the ugly truth of the murder. I need time away from my father. I can’t forgive Tootsie. At least not while I’m living in fear of Landauer’s return.

That night, I sleep in short spurts, waking frequently to the sound of creaking doors and footsteps that turn out to be Mulligan prowling my room. I’m worried about Esther’s surgery tomorrow. As is so often the case with my late night ruminations, I imagine the worst—that she’ll have more advanced cancer than the doctors anticipate or the cancer will spread. I’ve lost my husband and it feels like I’m losing my father. I don’t know how I’ll live without Esther in my life.

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