The Yiddish Gangster's Daughter (A Becks Ruchinsky Mystery Book 1) Joan Cochran (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

smiling warmly at everyone, and it’s clear she feels at home with Shoshanna and Syd. When Shoshanna serves the Shabbat chicken and potatoes, the room grows silent before everyone starts talking again.

I try to join the conversation but have a hard time focusing. I don’t remember most of the neighbors they talk about and my mind keeps returning to the image of Itzhak Cohen. It’s hard to believe that old man was the gangster I met in New York. Yet another ghost from the past.

The hit on Pollock was my wake-up call. I’d never met him but knew he operated on the fringes of the syndicate. I don’t know what he did to deserve the hit, but his murder scared the living daylights out of me. And not just because I saw my future in his death. Things were getting a little too close to home. Bernice said she met Mrs. Pollock through their Hadassah chapter, but there might have been more to it. Pollock could’ve set things up, suggested his wife get to know Bernice better. It would have been the perfect way to get me involved in whatever underhanded operation he was running.

The funny thing is I have no idea if Bernice knew what kind of business I was in or what Pollock did. Maybe she didn’t want to know. She wasn’t stupid— she must have suspected something.

Once I learned of Bernice’s relationship with the widow, I worried people would think Pollock and I had been business associates. I asked Bernice to stay away from Ethel. She agreed. But who knows with dames? After my problems with Landauer and the illegal arms shipments in New York, I realized it was time to go straight.

Tonight, at dinner, I try to block those memories. Becks looks so happy and relaxed. I haven’t seen her smile in months. I’ve been so wrapped up in my fear of losing her that I haven’t given much thought to her separation. If only she wasn’t so stubborn, if she could accept how little an affair means to a man. I’ve tried to convince her. But nothing I say helps.

It isn’t easy being a father. My spirits drop as I reflect on how lonely and frightened she must be. I hate myself for all the pain I’ve caused her with Abe and Landauer’s visits. Not that she didn’t have a hand in it, sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Dad?”

I startle at her voice and realize I’ve been staring at Becks.

“Are you okay?”

It takes a few seconds to answer. An unfamiliar ache constricts my chest and I realize I need to get away from the Marmelsteins and these memories. I put a hand over my heart and try to catch my breath.

“Becks, darling, I don’t feel well.” I stand but become light-headed and grab my chair. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I think it’d be better if we left now.” I glance at my plate. I haven’t eaten a bite.

Becks rises and makes our apologies. We’ve been there only forty-five minutes but the Marmelsteins are gracious. They assure us they’re not offended and walk us to our car. It’s chilly and I quickly slide into the passenger seat, my heart beating rapidly. I don’t know what’s going on, only that I have to get out of there fast. As Becks drives down the street on which we lived for thirty years, I let my eyes wander over the dimly-lit front porches and handsome landscaping. The houses sit far apart, separated by tall ficus hedges and ancient oaks that loom over the driveways. The neighborhood looks alien and forbidding—as though the shadows hide ghosts that’ll catch up with us if we don’t get out of there fast. I’m tense and nauseated and begin to calm down only after we’ve left the neighborhood and reached the brightly-lit strip malls along Dixie Highway.

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33

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My bedroom’s pitch-black when the phone rings. In my stupor, I knock my glasses off the end table before grabbing the receiver.

“Becks? Are you awake?”

It’s Daniel. The panic in his voice jolts me to a sitting position?

“What’s the matter? Are the boys all right?”

“They’re fine.”

“Then what . . .”

“It’s my father. He had a massive heart attack.”

Fear grips my gut. My mother died the day after her heart attack.

Daniel and I may be separated but I still love his father, Milt. We hit it off the moment Daniel brought me to his parent’s New York apartment for Thanksgiving our junior year at Amherst. Milt and I chat every few months, mostly about books, and I realize with a stab of guilt that I haven’t talked to him since Daniel and I split up.

“I had no idea—”

“I tried to let you know but you never . . .” He lets the sentence hang. “My dad’s been ill for a few months. Aunt Vivian phoned late last night from St. Luke’s and I’m flying up this afternoon. Do you want to come? ”

“Yes, of course.” When I reach to the floor to retrieve my glasses, I glance at the alarm clock. Five in the morning. Almost seven hours since I dropped Tootsie off. “Does your father know about us?”

“I haven’t said anything. I told him you were busy with a project when I visited last month. I thought we could work things out and didn’t want to worry him.”

He clears his throat. “There’s no reason to tell him now. It’ll upset him. I booked a flight that’s leaving for LaGuardia at two this afternoon. I wanted to give you a chance to,” he hesitates, “say goodbye.”

We agree he’ll book me onto the same flight and reserve hotel rooms. I spend the morning packing and arranging for a neighbor to feed Mulligan.

My elbow feels foreign as it brushes against Daniel’s on our shared arm rest. The only seats he could find on the crowded plane were window and mid-row and I’m uncomfortable being crushed between him and the overweight man to my left.

I’m lost in a bewildering Alice