The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) by Joan Cochran (best authors to read .TXT) 📕

did what I had to. If that meant a week or two in the Bahamas every month, so be it.” He hesitates, looks toward the bulletin board. “It’s not like I had a choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glares at me. “It means that you and your mother and sister lived very well and you have me to thank.”

His face takes on a closed look and the angry set to his jaw signals the conversation is over. I‘m furious but realize there’s no point in arguing. If he feels no remorse for cheating on my mother, how can I expect his sympathy over Daniel’s betrayal? Further discussion will lead to an argument. I don’t want that. Right now, I need my father. Friends are one thing but with the kids away at college and Daniel gone, I desperately need the comfort of family.

I walk to the bulletin board and examine the photo of my father and his girlfriend in the banquette. Tootsie looks proud of the attractive woman around whose shoulder his arm is draped. I search for the slightest sign of contrition in his expression. There is none.

“You know what?” I say. “My appetite seems to be gone. I’m going to skip dinner. You enjoy the stuffed cabbage.”

I grab my purse and step into the kitchen on my way out, leaning over the stove to sniff the sweet and sour scent of cabbage, raisins, and meat rising in heady waves from the pot. Unless my nose misleads me, The Epicure uses a hint more vinegar than my mother did. The pungent aroma recalls the smell I often came home to on Friday afternoons. It meant Dad was flying back from a business trip.

Driving home on I-95, I try to figure out why I’ve waited forty years to tell my father this story. I think it’s because even as a child, I knew he wouldn’t change. He saw no reason to. When I was a teenager and lashed out at him for hurting my mother, he told me to mind my own business. He didn’t understand it was my business—and Esther’s. We witnessed our mother’s anguish. She turned to us for the love and companionship Tootsie wouldn’t provide. It was too great a burden for a child and I grew up resenting her for demanding more affection and loyalty than I could offer.

I’d hate it if Josh and Gabe felt they had to choose between Daniel and me. They’re already upset enough. When I called the boys last Monday and told them Daniel had moved out, Josh sounded near tears and begged for more details. I told him about Dawn without mentioning her age. Gabe isn’t much good at feelings. His “that’s too bad” was roughly the same reaction he had a few weeks earlier when I told him I’d cut my hand and gone to the emergency room for stitches. He’ll process the information his own way.

Daniel’s called every day since I threw him out. The first few times I listened to his apologies and pleas, but told him I wasn’t ready. I’m too angry and hurt to face him—and the pain seems to be worsening with time. Now I don’t answer his calls. Alone in bed at night, I picture him and Dawn on the sofa in Daniel’s office or sneaking into her apartment after work. I imagine him comparing her flat stomach and firm breasts to my older, looser-skinned body. Most nights, I become so enraged and embarrassed that I have to get up and walk around. Daniel insists his affair is over, but I don’t believe him. Why should I trust anything he says?

When I get home from my father’s, I open the plastic container of stuffed cabbage I left on the counter to defrost that afternoon. Josh and Gabe are coming into town tomorrow to make sure I’m surviving the breakup. Grandma’s stuffed cabbage is one of their favorites, as it is my father’s. But it’s a lot of work and, because of how my father treated my mother, I won’t make it for him. When I open the container to check if it’s defrosted, the odor nauseates me. I pour it down the disposal and listen as the metal blades shred the chopped meat and cabbage.

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7

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Tootsie

The garbage disposal churns to a halt as I flip the switch above the sink. Epicure’s stuffed cabbage is good but it leaves a funny aftertaste and the prospect of eating it a second night turns my stomach. I fill the pot with warm water and leave it in the sink. Then I collapse on the couch and prop my feet on the cocktail table.

That Becks is something else. Smart. But a pain in the ass. I never should have opened my trap about Fat Louie. Now she’s poking into my past. Like she has nothing else to do. Better she should work on her marriage. The dark shadows around her eyes make her look like a sick raccoon. And her rat’s nest of a hairdo—I was tempted to offer to pay for a beauty parlor visit.

The article about the Kefauver investigation—how did she find it? I never saw it but I sure as hell remember what a wreck Moe was when he returned to the store after testifying. He shook life a leaf. Even the secretaries picked up on his panic.

“Dammit, Tootsie. They know,” he said, slamming the door to our office and dropping into his chair. “Someone’s feeding the feds information.”

He’d stopped by a bar on the way to the office and his breath stank of Scotch.

“Did anyone mention Louie?” I asked.

“It didn’t come up. But the deals with the Colonial and the Sands did. The committee knows something’s up. They wanted to know why we got the contracts to outfit the restaurants.”

“You held to our story, right?”

Moe nodded.

“The restaurants called us. We did what any business would do.”

“You think they’re buying it?”

“Absolutely. We sent out bids. That’s it. If the restaurant owners wanted to pay