Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death Read Online Free Page B

shrinking Rose, if you will forgive the pun—and she has proved herself more than able to take care of herself on many occasions, but now she clearly wanted some moral support.
    “Of course I shall come with you,” I replied. “And you will see that there is nothing to worry about, and afterward we will both feel much better.” So we both walked down the hall into the office wing and knocked on Mr. Pupik’s door. And what we found when we entered did not make either of us feel better at all.

8
    Seated in Pupik’s outer office at his conference table, which is round with six padded office chairs around it, were Dalgliesh and Columbo. They introduced themselves, and as Mrs. K suspected, they were not doctors or lawyers or family members. They were, in fact, policemen. Detectives, whose actual names we were told were Corcoran and Jenkins. Corcoran, the tall handsome one, was looking pleasant and impassive, and Jenkins was looking disheveled and jumpy, playing with a stack of pocket calendars that were on the table next to him. Pupik looked like he just got back from a funeral, although poor Bertha Finkelstein’s memorial service would not be until the next day. Corcoran got up and offered Mrs. K a seat. Me, he just looked at, as if he expected me to perform a magic trick or do a little dance. Sit down, he clearly was not inviting me to do.
    Mrs. K immediately turned to Pupik and said, “I don’t know why you wanted me to come here, but I insist you let my friend Ida stay. I shall tell her whatever happens here anyway, so it will save me the trouble.” Pupik seemed about to protest, and Columbo/Jenkins looked more sour than before, if that is possible. But Corcoran/Dalgliesh, who was obviously the one in charge of the meeting, just smiled and said, “If that’s what you prefer, Mrs. Kaplan, we have no objection. But I should warn you that what we have to discuss is of a…shall we say, delicate nature, and you may prefer a more private conversation.”
    But Mrs. K was adamant, and she sat right down and announced to everyone at once, “Then let us stop this
kibitzing
and get to the point. I have other things to do today.” So I sat down on a chair off to the side to listen, while Mrs. K and the three men sat at the round table. And after a last glance at me, Corcoran began, addressing Mrs. K.
    “I understand from Mr. Pupik here,” Corcoran said, indicating him with a nod of his head, “that yesterday he explained that Mrs. Bertha Finkelstein choked on a diamond earring that you identified as belonging to Mrs. Daisy Goldfarb, another resident of this institution.”
Oy,
such formal language he used, but I suppose it’s because he had to explain things carefully so nobody would mistake what he was saying. Anyway, he went on like this, speaking pleasantly, as if he was just discussing with us the weather:
    “Furthermore, the earring in question appears to have been in the soup that Mrs. Finkelstein was eating, and that was prepared by you.”
    Mrs. K nodded, as so far there was nothing new in what the policeman was saying.
    “Mr. Pupik tells us,” he continued, “that he was going to talk with Mrs. Goldfarb and ask her if she knew how her earring could have gotten into Mrs. Finkelstein’s soup. But before he could do that, and just a few minutes after you left his office, Mrs. Goldfarb came to Mr. Pupik’s office to report that sometime after she returned to her room the previous evening, she noticed that her earrings were missing.”
    “Had been stolen,” interjected Mr. Pupik, never one to leave well enough alone.
    “Well, yes, apparently that’s what she said,” Corcoran admitted, “and it certainly does look that way. She described the earrings that were stolen—missing—and they would seem to be the same ones that ended up in your soup—”
    “You mean,
one
of them ended up in the soup, unless you are saying someone else found one in their matzoh ball,” Mrs. K said, interrupting