waved my bombshell of a statement aside with the brush of a hand and an unconcerned shrug of her shoulders. “So tell me something I don’t know. The police were already here. Interrupted my lunch. One damn cop came up from behind and startled the hoo-ha out of me. That’s how I got this nasty stain on my jacket.” She pointed to the smeared jelly. “Never been ogled so much in my life. Got every damn cocker in the place staring at my left boob for the past hour. And that includes the ones with cataracts.”
I assumed she meant cockers with cataracts, not that she had cataracts on her left boob, even though I failed to notice any half-blind dogs running around Larchmont Gardens. They did have a resident cat that lived on the grounds, but from the way he stalked anything that moved, I figured his eyesight hovered around the twenty-twenty range.
Sylvia pulled a tissue from inside her jacket sleeve and swiped at the dried purple blob. “I tried seltzer. Only made it worse. I’ll bet you can see this damn stain from clear across the Hudson. I wanted to go back to my apartment to change, but the girls insisted we start the game on time. Like they’ve got a bus to catch.
“Anyway, it better come out, or that detective is buying me a new suit. This is my lucky Mahjongg outfit, you know. Bought it back in the spring of seventy-nine and haven’t played a game of Mahjongg without it since. Hardly ever lose, too. Drives stingy Blanche Becker crazy. At first I thought she had set me up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Arranged the whole thing. Phony detective and all. I thought it was one of those singing telegrams, but it isn’t my birthday. Even if it were, Blanche is too cheap to spring for a Hallmark card, let alone a singing telegram. So then I thought maybe she bribed a relative. Not because it’s my birthday, mind you, which it isn’t, but because she wanted to get me too flustered to concentrate on the game.
“Still, it wasn’t until you showed up that I started to believe she didn’t somehow have a hand in it. The woman would go to any lengths to keep me from beating her at Mahjongg. As long as she didn’t have to pay anything. Did you know she comes from a long line of slumlords?”
I shook my head, at a loss for words and finding it difficult to keep up with her train of thought. Sylvia spoke as fast as she tossed Mahjongg tiles. I marveled at the lung capacity hidden behind what I estimated as a pair of 38D tatas. The woman rarely came up for air. I grew more depressed with each syllable she uttered. Please, God. Don’t let that be the future me.
“The woman makes Leona Helmsley, look like Mother Theresa, said Sylvia. She finally paused and eyed me for a moment. “So Sidney’s really dead?”
I nodded. “As really dead as Leona Helmsley and Mother Theresa.”
“I believe you. You might have lied about him being your uncle, but you have an honest face. That’s how I could tell he wasn’t really your uncle. You’re not a very good liar, you know, dear.”
Seems I’ve been told that on more than one occasion.
She leaned closer and rubbed her hands together. Her face brightened. “So dish. How’d that dirty rotten scoundrel get it? And who do you think did him in? The detective refused to tell me anything. Asked me a bunch of weird questions but refused to answer any of mine. He kept muttering about not being able to discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“He?” Blake pulled his attention from the ceiling tile and exchanged a quick glance with me. His had worry written all over it. I suppose mine did, too, considering the sudden clammy feel of my skin and two-ton lead weight that had settled in my stomach.
“Don’t you mean she?” I asked. “Detective Menendez? Loretta Menendez?”
“Honey, my eyes aren’t that bad and my marbles are all still rattling around upstairs, contrary to what Blanche Becker believes. Haven’t lost any yet and don’t plan to. I can still tell the
I assumed she meant cockers with cataracts, not that she had cataracts on her left boob, even though I failed to notice any half-blind dogs running around Larchmont Gardens. They did have a resident cat that lived on the grounds, but from the way he stalked anything that moved, I figured his eyesight hovered around the twenty-twenty range.
Sylvia pulled a tissue from inside her jacket sleeve and swiped at the dried purple blob. “I tried seltzer. Only made it worse. I’ll bet you can see this damn stain from clear across the Hudson. I wanted to go back to my apartment to change, but the girls insisted we start the game on time. Like they’ve got a bus to catch.
“Anyway, it better come out, or that detective is buying me a new suit. This is my lucky Mahjongg outfit, you know. Bought it back in the spring of seventy-nine and haven’t played a game of Mahjongg without it since. Hardly ever lose, too. Drives stingy Blanche Becker crazy. At first I thought she had set me up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Arranged the whole thing. Phony detective and all. I thought it was one of those singing telegrams, but it isn’t my birthday. Even if it were, Blanche is too cheap to spring for a Hallmark card, let alone a singing telegram. So then I thought maybe she bribed a relative. Not because it’s my birthday, mind you, which it isn’t, but because she wanted to get me too flustered to concentrate on the game.
“Still, it wasn’t until you showed up that I started to believe she didn’t somehow have a hand in it. The woman would go to any lengths to keep me from beating her at Mahjongg. As long as she didn’t have to pay anything. Did you know she comes from a long line of slumlords?”
I shook my head, at a loss for words and finding it difficult to keep up with her train of thought. Sylvia spoke as fast as she tossed Mahjongg tiles. I marveled at the lung capacity hidden behind what I estimated as a pair of 38D tatas. The woman rarely came up for air. I grew more depressed with each syllable she uttered. Please, God. Don’t let that be the future me.
“The woman makes Leona Helmsley, look like Mother Theresa, said Sylvia. She finally paused and eyed me for a moment. “So Sidney’s really dead?”
I nodded. “As really dead as Leona Helmsley and Mother Theresa.”
“I believe you. You might have lied about him being your uncle, but you have an honest face. That’s how I could tell he wasn’t really your uncle. You’re not a very good liar, you know, dear.”
Seems I’ve been told that on more than one occasion.
She leaned closer and rubbed her hands together. Her face brightened. “So dish. How’d that dirty rotten scoundrel get it? And who do you think did him in? The detective refused to tell me anything. Asked me a bunch of weird questions but refused to answer any of mine. He kept muttering about not being able to discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“He?” Blake pulled his attention from the ceiling tile and exchanged a quick glance with me. His had worry written all over it. I suppose mine did, too, considering the sudden clammy feel of my skin and two-ton lead weight that had settled in my stomach.
“Don’t you mean she?” I asked. “Detective Menendez? Loretta Menendez?”
“Honey, my eyes aren’t that bad and my marbles are all still rattling around upstairs, contrary to what Blanche Becker believes. Haven’t lost any yet and don’t plan to. I can still tell the
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