Death Of A Dream Maker (22 page)

“You also learned other facts?” Herbert prompted. He
was getting hungry watching her wolf down all those White
Castles.

Casey nodded. “He was killed elsewhere, not at the
gravesite, and presumably stashed somewhere for a night and a day.
He was dumped into Max's grave the night before the funeral, after
rigor mortis had set in and gone.”

“Someone killed him and kept him?” Auntie Lil said.
'That's keeping your cool.”

“Unless the killer freaked and it took a day and a
half to calm down.” Casey checked her bag for another hamburger and
looked disappointed when she found it empty. “The cops looked at
the family right away, since they still thought at the time that
Davy was inheriting all the bucks. But everyone has a pretty good
story for the period of time he was missing.”

“No doubt they were with each other, mourning Max's
death,” Auntie Lil guessed.

Casey nodded. “You got it. Jacob claims he went
straight to his parents' house after Max was killed to break the
news. Says he never saw Davy that night or since, and spent the
latter part of that evening with Max's widow. Jacob's wife
corroborates his story and says she was with him the whole time.
The younger brother and sister didn't hear the news about Max until
the next day. They were both out with friends the first
night—there's plenty of witnesses—and were at their jobs the next
day when they heard. Rebecca's got about the best alibi of all. She
seems like a pretty tough old bird, but she collapsed at the news
that Max had been killed and was under sedation and a doctor's care
for a good twenty-four hours before she rallied to do her Morticia
Addams imitation at the funeral. She didn't kill Davy.”

“Did they question any employees?” T.S. asked. He
knew they'd be eager to talk.

“Plenty. But no one seems to know anything except
that Max was a saint and Davy was a bum. Although a lot of people
claim that Davy shot out of the factory like a bullet when he heard
the news that Max had been blown up. No pun intended.” Casey
shrugged. “They've found no forensic evidence indicating where Davy
was killed or stashed. There's just not much to go on. All the rain
didn't help. I get the feeling that the cops are pretty sure Davy
was into the loan sharks and got blown away when he couldn't pay
back on time. They're holding the body and not releasing it for
burial. The family is screaming bloody murder, though not bloody
murder by any one of them, I might add.”

“Then surely the police believe that Max was killed
by accident when he borrowed Davy's car?” Herbert said.

Casey shook her head. 'They seem pretty convinced
that Max was involved with the Mob somehow and the primary target
of the bomb. Or maybe that Davy planted the bomb to try to get the
money to pay back his markers, knowing he'd inherit.”

“But did Davy know that his inheritance would be
doled out by a trustee?” T.S. asked. “That he'd never be able to
get his hands on a lump sum?”

“That's the big question,” Casey said. “And we'll
never know the answer.”

“The timing of Davy's death must be important,”
Auntie Lil said. “It was so soon after Max's death. Was it someone
in the family seeking retribution?”

T.S. shook his head. “It sounds awful, but no one
I've met so far in that family seems upset enough over Max's death
to want to blow his murderer away.”

Casey shrugged. “Which brings me to another point
that you should know. Since it concerns your pocketbooks.” She
cleared her throat apologetically. “Jacob—the family calls him
Jake, by the way—and Max’s widow are going to try to block the
will. Jake's been visiting every member of the family methodically.
This leads me to believe that they're contesting. That and clever
detective work on my part, which involved a two-hundred-dollar
bribe given to the secretary at an otherwise reputable law firm
patronized by the Rosenblooms. And for what it's worth, Widow
Rosenbloom has found chastity. Though it seems a bit late to me.
She hasn't gone out in days. Stays at home and sometimes Jake comes
to see her. I'd make a snide remark, but he doesn't stay long
enough for hanky-panky. Not even considering it's Jake. Plus, he's
had his wife with him most of the time. In fact, it's odd. A lot of
the Rosenblooms are staying put and not moving from home.”

“Who else isn't moving?” Auntie Lil asked.

“Rebecca,” Casey said. “She was pretty hot about you
getting the money at the reading of the will. But now all she does
is stay inside, curtains drawn. A delayed case of grief or
something.”

“Or something,” Auntie Lil said. “Maybe she knows
who's really responsible.”

“If so, she's ahead of us,” T.S. grumbled.

“It's convenient that the Rosenblooms are just
sitting around at home. It's almost as if they were asking you to
visit, don't you think?” Casey asked Auntie Lil. “I vote we take a
look at each family member. If you need to, lie to get in the door.
It works for me. Say that you want to discuss a possible settlement
of the will or something.”

“I have no intention of giving that family any
money,” Auntie Lil said firmly. “If Max had wanted them to have
more, he would have given them more.”

“Like I said, lie. It's easy,” Casey insisted,
unaware that Auntie Lil was capable of telling some whoppers if she
had to.

“I would like to get a better look at some of them,”
Auntie Lil admitted. “Especially the youngest niece and nephew. As
outcasts, they might be more likely to talk.”

“Karen and Seth,” Casey reminded them. “Only she's
been married and divorced, so her last name is Friedman. And you're
right about them being outcasts. I've never seen them at any other
family function. Max didn't even mention them to me when he hired
me. But I do know where they live.”

“How?” Auntie Lil demanded uneasily. Casey's methods,
while barely legal, always tended to emit a faint air of
criminality about them at first glance.

“Jake has been to see both of them in the last few
days,” she explained. “No doubt to get them to join in the lawsuit.
But I don't think he's having much luck, on account of the fact
that he stomps back to his car each time like he's got gastritis.
Which, if there's any justice in this world, he does.”

“You two can go talk to Rosenblooms,” T.S.
interrupted. “I'm going down to Sterling and Sterling. If what you
say is true about the medical report, then I now have a legal right
to find out what's going on. After all, half that money is mine.”
He said this glumly because he had decided that he felt awful,
parity with Lilah be damned. He'd done nothing to deserve the money
and had inherited it by default thanks solely to a gruesome murder.
Enthusiasm for his newfound wealth escaped him. T.S. had not
worried about money since the early years of his career, and his
tastes had remained simple despite his growing salary. Now that he
had access to millions, his imagination failed him. There wasn't a
thing he wanted to buy or a place he wanted to see.

Besides, he was an orderly man and depended on
routine to get his bearings each day. This much money was
definitely not routine and he found he resented it.

“I will accompany you,” Herbert offered, as if
knowing T.S. needed support.

No one in the room, with the exception of Auntie Lil,
was willing to turn Auntie Lil loose alone. It was decided that
Casey would cover Auntie Lil while she questioned the Rosenbloom
clan. This would give Herbert and T.S. time to visit Sterling and
Sterling. Reluctantly, T.S. also agreed to visit Seth
Rosenbloom.

“Why me?” he complained. “I'm no good at that kind of
thing. And I'm sick of Rosenblooms.”

“Nonsense, Theodore. You've been interviewing people
your whole life.” Auntie Lil patted his knee. “Just pretend you're
evaluating him for a job.”

“I will accompany you there as well,” Herbert
offered. “I welcome the opportunity to meet people of all types.
Besides, I suspect he's where the action is.”

“Speaking of action,” Auntie Lil began. “You won’t
believe what happened to me today.” She outlined her escapades for
Casey. As always with Auntie Lil, certain details were enhanced for
dramatic effect. She finished up with a retelling of Agent
O'Conner's strange reaction to Galvano's final taped words.

“I know a little bit about Galvano's history,” Casey
said. “But I don't see what the excitement is about. But if
O'Conner's happy, I'm happy. Especially since it looks like Galvano
is out as a murder suspect in Max's death. I don't want to mess
with him.”

“Just because he didn't confess on his knees to Aunt
Lil doesn't mean he didn't do it,” T.S. pointed out.

“True. But I've said all along: Galvano's more
efficient that that,” Casey said. “I've got my fave suspects. How
about you?”

“Maybe Abe is faking his stroke,” T.S. suggested,
hoping to head off a guessing session. “Suppose he's not really
sick. He's been faking that stroke for a year, and every night he
creeps from his bed and roams around with a gun looking for more
victims.”

“Abe.” Auntie Lil stared at T.S. while she thought it
over.

“I'm kidding, Aunt Lil,” T.S. said. “Just
kidding.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it is a good idea to at least
talk to Abe. Think about it—here's a man lying in bed, everyone
thinks he's asleep most of the time. They would discuss things in
front of him. Ignore him. He may well know more than he's
saying.”

“That wouldn't be hard. He's not saying anything at
all,” T.S. pointed out sensibly.

Auntie Lil crossed her arms. “He will be saying a lot
more by the time I'm through with him.”

Only Casey's assurance that Abby was more likely to
be absent in the morning kept Auntie Lil from rushing off to visit
Abe that very night. “She leaves every morning for an hour,” Casey
promised. “Usually to do a little shopping. Would you rather talk
to him with or without her?”

Considering that Auntie Lil's fingerprints had been
found all over the downstairs of Abby's home—and that Auntie Lil
was not eager to discuss why—Auntie Lil opted for a visit when Abe
was alone.

They arrived at the Rosenbloom home just before
eleven o'clock the next morning. It had a deserted look despite the
cars parked in the driveway. The curtains were drawn against the
sun and two days' worth of newspapers littered the driveway. Even
the ceramic figurines crowding the lawn looked lonely.

“That is clearly not a happy house,” Casey said. They
parked two doors down and scrunched low in their seats to wait.
“Don't worry about being spotted. No one's home around here but
maids. As soon as Abby leaves, you go in. He'll talk more if it's
just you.” Casey did not add that she wanted to keep a close eye on
anyone who might be following Auntie Lil.

Fifteen minutes later Abby emerged from the doorway
of her home. She wore a pink coat with a matching wool hat.

The color did nothing to brighten her appearance. Her
makeup had been haphazardly applied: one cheek was redder than the
other and a small river of mascara trickled from her left eye. Her
hair was untidily tucked up under her cap and deep worry lines
creased her forehead. She strode directly to her car without
pausing to lock the front door behind her.

“Does it lock on its own?” Auntie Lil asked.

“It's not locked,” Casey assured her. “She's left it
open each of the two days I've checked this week.”

“Then she's not too afraid of getting killed,” Auntie
Lil remarked.

“Unless she's careless. Or distraught with grief.”
Casey stared hard at the scurrying figure. “Is she wearing
bedroom slippers?”

She was indeed. Despite the fact that she wore
expensive silk trousers, Abby had pink fuzzy bedroom slippers on
her feet.

“Not a good sign,” Auntie Lil said as they watched
her drive away. “What about nurses? Will there be anyone else
inside?”

“No nurse right now. Abe's off the respirator and
doing okay, I hear. I suspect they only hire a nurse when the old
guy's going through a particularly bad time and has to be hooked to
the machine. Sometimes Rebecca stops by to check on him, but she
hasn't lately. He'll be alone.”

Auntie Lil nodded and slipped from the car. She
pulled her coat tightly around her and looked about nervously,
unable to shake a slightly guilty feeling. Yet there was little
likelihood that she would run into a neighbor in this wealthy
subdivision. And even if she did, what was wrong with visiting an
old friend? It wasn't like she was slipping in under the cover of
darkness to ransack the house. She'd already done that.

The door opened easily. It was odd to be returning to
the house during the daytime. It seemed so ordinary. Not
frightening at all. She resisted the urge to check the kitchen for
more
Pepperidge Farm
cookies and instead crept directly
upstairs to the bedrooms. A slightly antiseptic smell identified
Abe's bedroom as the one at the far end of the hall. She checked
the other rooms carefully as she passed by—she was not in the mood
to be surprised by anyone. The bedrooms were decorated with
coordinated drapes and bedspreads and filled to the brim with
ornate furniture. Abby's bedroom was a mini-museum to overstuffed
pink objects and was dominated by an enormous dressing table
covered with enough cosmetics to supply three modeling schools. Yet
these rooms and, indeed, the entire house, were as sad and lifeless
as a mausoleum.

Abe Rosenbloom lay sleeping in his bed. It was an
ugly metal affair that stood out grotesquely against the normal
furniture in the bedroom. His breathing was raspy but even. A
silent respirator stood against one wall.

Auntie Lil crept closer for a better look. Abe was
losing his hair and the remaining wispy strands were brushed back
from a broad brow that was clammy and pale from illness. His nose
was round and flattened. He had broken it once in a fight. In
sleep, his face was calm and quiet. Too calm. Auntie Lil
shivered—he looked dead.