Run You Down (Rebekah Roberts #2)(38)

“Let her go! If you break your glasses again Tatty will be furious.”

Shaindy lets go.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say.

“We have a birthday party today,” she says. “They are showing off.”

“We are not!” shouts Shaindy, stamping her feet. Both girls are wearing headbands, each adorned with little black bows. The mother’s wig is a beautiful shade of auburn, cut with side-swept bangs. Fastened around her head is a piece of shimmery black and blue fabric that looks like a cross between a headband and a handkerchief. She has small features and well-drawn eye makeup.

“I’m wondering if you knew Pessie Goldin,” I ask.

“Pessie died,” says Shaindy.

“Hush!” says the woman. “Go play with your sister.”

Shaindy makes a dramatic and ugly whining noise, but seems to know she has tried her mother’s patience as far as she should, so she takes her sister’s hand and lumbers toward the bin of toys.

“They’re very cute,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling at the compliment. “Some days I think so, too. You are a friend of Pessie’s?”

“No. I’m actually a reporter from the New York Tribune.”

“You wrote the article? Everybody is talking about it!”

“Oh?” I say. “Did you know her well?”

“Yes, of course! We live next door. Levi thinks someone killed her?”

“He’s not sure. But he wants the police to look into it.”

“Her sister Rachel said it was a horrible accident. She slipped in the shower! My husband said they should sue the landlord. These apartments are very bad. But that is not true?”

“I don’t know for sure,” I say. “Did you happen to be here that day?”

“Yes,” she says. “The girls both had the flu.”

“Do you remember anything odd? Like, a car or a truck you hadn’t seen before?”

“I did see a truck, yes. I came out from the bathroom and when I walked past the front window I saw them circle at the end here and then drive off.”

“Them?”

“Two men. Goyim.”

“Did you recognize them?”

She shakes her head. “They were from the heating company, I thought. Everyone is having trouble with the heat. The basements are flooding all the time when it rains. Pessie complained that the landlord kept sending people who told her nothing was wrong, even though she knew something was wrong. I thought maybe she called someone outside the community to fix it.”

“Was there a decal or a sign on the truck?”

“I don’t remember seeing one, but there could have been. I was running back and forth from the kitchen to their bedroom all day. You have children?” I shake my head. At least she didn’t ask if I was Jewish. “They were very sick.”

“Do you remember anything else about he truck? The color? One of your neighbors got the license plate number. I guess she thought it was suspicious.”

“Yes? Who? Mrs. Silver? She thinks everything is suspicious.”

“Where does Mrs. Silver live?”

The woman points to the apartment above Pessie’s. “Pessie and I, we are a little more modern. Mrs. Silver wouldn’t let a goy rake her lawn. She thinks everyone outside the community is a thief or a rapist. Her children are grown now and they don’t see her.”

“Maybe I’ll knock on her door and see if she’s home.”

“I don’t see her car.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Pessie? What was she like? You said she was a little more modern?”

“Pessie was very smart. Most of the women in Roseville just follow what their husbands say, but Pessie did things her own way. And you know what I liked about her? She did not gossip. The women here, they talk talk talk talk. Always talking. But not Pessie. Some people said she thought she was better than everybody, but I don’t think so. She did not need to be Miss Popular. If she had something to say, she’d say it. But she didn’t just go on and on like some people. I think she struggled.”

“Struggled?” I ask, scribbling as fast as I can: most wom rose follow husb say, but P things own way. didn’t gossip. mos wom talktalk; not need miss pop; if had some to say say it.

“She had been engaged before Levi,” says the woman, lowering her voice. “I don’t know the story, but I think the young man broke it off. There were lots of crazy stories. Like I said, talk talk talk. It must have been very hard for her. She asked me once, when she was pregnant, how long it took for me to love my husband. I told her that I knew I loved him when our Shaindy was born and he was so gentle with her. He kissed her little toes! She said she hoped that the same thing happened to her. She said she and Levi slept in different rooms, but she knew that when the baby came they would have to share because they only had two bedrooms.”

“That’s sad,” I say.

The woman shrugs. “Love is not everything. There are different kinds of love.”

“Do you know if she was still in touch with the ex-fiancé?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I didn’t think it was right to ask.”

“I’ve been told his name was Sam Kagan. And that he left the community.”