Hanukkah Gelt Read online

  Hanukkah Gelt

  By T. Lee Harris

  Copyright 2010 by T. Lee Harris

  Cover Copyright 2010 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  Hanukkah Gelt

  by T. Lee Harris

  Josh Katzen knocked snow off his boots against the threshold and slammed the mudroom door on the icy December winds. It was amazing how cold a person could get in a ten-foot walk from the car to the house. Okay, ten-foot dash. It was too damned cold to just walk. The kitchen door rattled. Flash, the big male Turkish Angora pushed the curtain aside to peer out the window and Whozits stretched up from the floor kneading the sill with his large, tufted paws. Starving. As usual.

  Katzen dropped his camera bag and shucked out of his leather trench coat. Stepping forward to hang it up, his foot hit something on the floor. The object glittered as it bounced off the baseboard and skidded to a halt against the snow shovel. It was a gold foil-wrapped chocolate coin with raised Hebrew letters and a menorah pressed on it. Hanukkah gelt?

  Puzzled, Katzen picked it up and froze mid-stoop. A silver one rested against the step up into the kitchen. He straightened and listened. Nothing but pitiful mews from cats wanting dinner.

  The cats spilled into the mudroom as he fingertipped the kitchen door open. They didn’t appear frightened or upset. Reassured by their normal behavior, he stepped into the house only to stop cold at the sight of three glittering coins evenly spaced along the top of the dishwasher. Two more gleamed on the counter beside the hall archway.

  Coins along the banister led him upstairs to find his bedroom door partway closed. That was wrong. He’d left it open and even propped it back with a cast iron doorstop so the cats couldn’t accidentally shut themselves in. Pressing himself against the wall he gave the door a nudge with his foot. It swung noiselessly inward, until it thunked against an open suitcase just inside.

  Roz Eliahu sat up on his bed, stretched and yawned. “About time you got home. Where have you been all day?” She tossed a half-empty bag of gelt at him. “Happy Hanukkah, Josh. The silver ones are dark chocolate just for you.”

  * * *

  Roz emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, saronged in one over-sized towel and roughing up her short, dark hair with another. Josh lazed in bed watching her. Boudicca, the third cat, had taken advantage of the recently vacated warm spot and snuggled under the covers against him. Josh idly scratched the little apricot and smoke calico between the ears.

  Roz dropped the towel and crouched to rummage in her suitcase. “You never did tell me where you were today. There wasn’t anyone here to greet me but the cats when the taxi dropped me off at noon.”

  “I was at Shenhav’s downtown gallery,” he said. “You should have called me. I had the cell with me.”

  “And ruin the surprise?” She rummaged in the suitcase. “What are you doing for Shenhav’s?”

  “Photographing antiquities for their spring auction catalog. I’ve been down there every day this week.” He popped a chocolate coin in his mouth. “Maybe if I’d known company was coming, I could have wrapped up earlier. Last time I heard from you, you were back in the Yucatan diving cenotes.”

  She shook out a pair of slacks. “It was probably for the best. There was a lot of turbulence so it was nigh impossible to sleep on the plane. Being able to catch a nap without you to distract me was probably best.”

  “Are you implying I keep you awake?”

  “Implying? Who’s implying?” She laughed and wriggled into a sweater. “I’m glad you’re working with Shenhav’s again. They appreciate quality—and it’s about time you got paid to match your talent.”

  He made a noncommittal noise and swung his legs off the bed. Boudicca complained, but burrowed farther under the still-warm covers. “Truth to tell, I doubt I could have hurried the shoot, anyway. A lot of gold, bronze and silver objects were scheduled today, so my old pal Dr. Flores was cluttering up the scenery.”

  She stopped brushing her hair and stared at him in open amazement. “They hired Morty Flores? After that disaster with the Moche Sea God mask?”

  “To be fair, the details of that never went public and he didn’t steal the mask.”

  “Still, it did happen on his watch.”

  Josh shrugged. “You said it yourself: Shenhav’s appreciates quality. He might be a lousy human being, but Flores is aces when it comes to ancient metalwork.”

  “Is he still blaming you for getting fired from the museum?”

  “Looks that way. It got pretty tense a couple times, but that’s neither here nor there. Your turn. What brings you to Chicago? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Do you remember me talking about my friend Uzza Jerayesh?”

  “Wasn’t she the girl who lived next door when you were growing up in Haifa? The one who’s the buyer for the whoop-de-doo European auction house? Marlotte’s.”

  “Very good! I’m impressed—although I bet it was Marlotte’s you remembered more than Uzza.”

  “Nonsense! Rule 27 of the career bachelor: Try to remember what the woman you’re currently making love to tells you.”

  “Uh huh. Joshua Aaron Katzen, Playboy of the Western World.” She snorted and tossed a damp towel at him. “Anyway, Uzza and I frequently find ourselves far from Haifa at holidays. We decided the next best thing was to meet up wherever one of us was on a given holiday and celebrate together.”

  “This year she’s in Chicago?”

  “Since someone else I know is, too, I hopped a flight and here I am.”

  He tugged her back toward the bed. “You certainly are.”

  “Hey! I just got dressed.” She swatted his hands. “Speaking of which, Uzza is making a special purchase for one of Marlotte’s major clients tonight. I promised we’d meet her at the hotel for dinner after.” She riffled through his closet, tossed a pair of dark dress pants and a black silk shirt to him. “Get a move on. I think you’ll enjoy seeing the item she’s buying. It’s some sort of pre-Columbian amulet.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Roz glanced doubtfully from the scribbled note in her hand to the small metal plates beside the doors along the corridor. They all bore the names of birds.

  “Absolutely. Avi Rosenberg dragged me along when he gave a talk on Moche burial practices to a morticians’ convention a couple years ago. It was in this same conference center—and here we are!”

  “
Great Hornbill Room.” She rapped solidly on the oak panels. “What do these places have against plain room numbering?” A gunshot exploded somewhere on the other side of the door. They were still rooted by surprise when a woman shouted “No!” followed by a thud and another shot.

  Josh moved first. He dived for the latch, but the door was flung open from the inside and he was suddenly nose-to-nose with a bulky man in a red and black Chicago Bulls ski mask. The man’s blood-shot eyes widened, then he swung a heavy courier’s case up. Katzen hit the carpet with a shower of stars behind his eyes.

  “He’s heading for the stairwell.” Roz paused. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Go after that joker. I’ll check on your friend.”

  She sprinted away without another word.

  Head still ringing, he pulled himself the rest of the way up and looked into the room. A man sprawled on the floor and a woman bent over him. Another man crouched half under the conference table obscured by chair legs. As Katzen approached, the woman focused on him and leapt up, snatching a large ceramic ashtray from the table. Its twin already lay on the carpet near a semiautomatic pistol. Before she could lob it, Josh held up his hands. “Whoa, Ms. Jerayesh! I’m Josh Katzen, I’m a friend!”

  “Oh god,” the man behind the chairs moaned. “Being robbed and shot at wasn’t enough.”

  Katzen knew that whine. He’d been hearing it all day at the gallery. “Morty Flores. We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk.”

  Uzza Jerayesh lowered her makeshift weapon. “You are Roz’s Josh? Where…?”

  “…is Roz?” He knelt by the too-still man. There was a worrisome amount of blood spreading across the nubbly carpet. “She went after the guy in the ski mask. Are you all right?” She nodded. Pale, but not too shaken. If he remembered correctly, Uzza and Roz also served in the Israeli military at the same time. They’d both seen more than their share of violence. He pulled out his cell and punched buttons.

  Flores tore around the table, grabbed the cell and snapped it closed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Katzen snatched the phone back and shot Flores an unbelieving look. “Calling 9-1-1. We need an ambulance, then the cops.”

  “The police? But….”

  Josh stepped out of Flores’ reach. As he punched in the numbers again, Roz appeared in the doorway. Her face told the bad news before she spoke.

  “I lost him in the parking garage,” she said.

  “Look Katzen,” Flores whined. “We won’t need the police.”

  Uzza stepped between them. “I’m afraid the decision to involve the authorities has been taken out of our hands, Dr. Flores.” Turning to Katzen, she said, “And I am afraid an ambulance will be unnecessary. Misha is dead.”

  Roz’s arms went around her old friend. “I am so sorry.”

  “Poor Misha. He was so proud to be in America and to have a job with such responsibility.”

  “Dead?” Flores’ mouth opened and closed a few times and color drained from his face. He seemed to notice the blood for the first time. “But…that’s impossible.”

  * * *

  Detective Floyd Linzay’s spanking-new notebook was well-filled by the time interviews were finished. He regarded the writing-crinkled paper wondering what he’d been dropped into this time. The original call was a robbery gone wrong, but once on the scene, things got complicated. “Okay, let me see if I have this straight. Ms. Jerayesh, your employers hired this conference room so you could meet with Dr. Flores to buy some sort of antique from his employer?”

  “Yes. A pre-Columbian figural gold amulet in the form of twin jaguars.”

  “Right…and the deceased, Michal Dmytryk, was also employed by your company?”

  “After a fashion, detective. Mr. Dmytryk worked for a security firm Marlotte’s uses when large amounts of cash are involved.”

  “Is it usual for large amounts of cash to be involved?”

  “Not usual, but it does happen. It depends on the client’s preferences.”

  He made a note, fidgeted with his mechanical pencil and flipped ahead a few pages. “Someone knocked at the door. Dr. Flores answered, then was forced back into the room at gunpoint by a man wearing a ski mask. This man ordered the money case to be opened and the pre-Columbian…doohickey put into it. This is where Mr. Dmytryk was shot, correct?”

  “Yes. When Misha lifted the amulet from the table, instead of putting it in the case, he punched the man. The gun went off.”

  Linzay nodded. “Then the gunman pointed his weapon at you and you disarmed him by hitting him with…” he checked the notes. “…an ashtray.” He peered at her over the top of the notebook.

  “Detective Linzay, you must understand that such an action is instinctual. I was in the Israeli Army. We trained for urban warfare. It was ingrained to act quickly and decisively. That is not something one easily forgets.”

  He regarded her for a moment longer, then scribbled another note. “Ooookayy. After losing his weapon, the man grabbed the case and took off, but ran into Mr. Katzen and Ms. Eliahu in the hall.”

  Roz said, “I gave chase, but lost track of him in the parking garage.” At the detective’s look, she smiled. “Israeli Navy. S-13.”

  “Think Seal—but not the kind that does tricks for fish,” Katzen interjected. “Hey, don’t look at me! All I did was get knocked flat with a suitcase full of money.”

  Before the detective could respond, a uniformed officer helping to lift Dmytryk’s body into a zippered bag exclaimed, “Whoa! Hey, Floyd? You need to take a look at this.”

  Linzay followed the officer’s point. Gold gleamed against the carpet.

  Uzza gasped, “The twin jaguars!”

  “This is the doohickey?”

  “Yes, detective, that is the ‘doohickey.’” She shook her head. “Poor, poor Misha.”

  “Ma’am, you do understand this has to be taken into evidence? It can be returned once it’s been processed and proof of ownership is produced.”

  After a moment, Uzza nodded.

  Linzay motioned to a white-coated girl. “Shoot it and bag it, Willa.”

  Katzen touched the girl’s arm. “Might I get a closer look at it before you take it away?”

  Willa looked to Linzay who shrugged and said, “I don’t see why not, as long as it isn’t handled.”

  Willa snapped her photos, then carefully placed the artifact on the table. Katzen crouched and examined it closely, turning it with gentle nudges to the index card it rested on.

  Linzay watched Katzen for a moment, then said. “I’ve never seen anything like that thing—at least not without a thick sheet of glass between me and it. Mind if I look, too?”

  Katzen grinned as Linzay bent shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “It’s your party, detective. You can do what you want to.”

  The piece had two tubes made of golden spirals of delicate filigree for a cord to thread through. The tubes came to points over each cat’s head and flared out where they touched the bodies making it look like the animals had lacy bat wings. Below this, two jaguars crouched, mouths open in a frozen roar.

  “That’s just amazing,” Lindzay said, straightening. “What’s with thoseears? They look more like lightbulbs than cat ears.”

  “They’re jingle bells,” Uzza answered. “They must have made a lovely sound whenever the priest wearing it moved. Beautiful, is it not?”

  “Yeah. Beautiful,” Katzen agreed as he stood. “One of the best fakes I’ve seen in a long time.”

  Uzza jumped like she’d been burned. “Fake?”

  “This isn’t real?” Linzay demanded. “You’re sure?”

  “Yep. I spent the better part of Monday morning photographing the original for Shenhav’s Spring auction catalog.” He turned and added, “Great work, Morty—it is your work, right?” He paused. “Oops. We appear to be Mortyless.”

  * * *

  The hotel restaurant was crowded. Conversation and the clink of china and crystal ebbed and flowed like a rive
r of sound. Josh sipped Merlot at a corner table half-listening to Roz and Uzza talk about home. Roz was doing a great job of keeping her friend’s mind occupied. Even though the call to Marlotte’s home office in Paris went well, Uzza still blamed herself. Her bosses were more understanding, they knew how often things went wrong—and Josh was sure their insurance would cover a multitude of forgeries. He was a cynic, but he also doubted the death of one Russian emigre concerned them much.

  Their server was approaching to take their orders when Josh’s cell went off.

  Uzza leaned forward eagerly. “Is that Detective Linzay? Has someone found Flores?”

  “Nope,” he said, peering at the screen. “I don’t recognize the number. It’s probably another final warning that my car warranty is about to expire. If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll take this in the atrium….” He headed out of the restaurant answering the call as he went. “Josh Katzen.”

  He just about tripped when he heard, “Katzen, it’s Morton Flores. I need to talk to you now.”

  “Hey, Morty,” he said. “Seems like you’re already talking to me, now give me one good reason why I should listen. I can come up with several why I shouldn’t.”

  “Katzen, shut up and listen.”

  “I’m not hearing anything worth listening to yet. Hmmm reasons to hang up…lessee…forgery? You abused the trust of your employers to duplicate a valuable artifact.”

  “Okay! So I made a digital map when I had the jaguars for evaluation and made a mold from that. What happened wasn’t what I intended.”

  “What did you intend? Maybe…fraud? Maybe to sell the fake to a collector with deep pockets before the Shenhav’s catalog became available?”

  “Dammit, Katzen.”

  “How about murder, Morty? Let’s toss murder onto the heap, shall we?

  “No, NO! I had nothing to do with that—well—okay. Maybe I should have seen it coming. But I didn’t. You have to believe me.”

  Katzen made a neutral noise and waited. If you knew where Flores’ buttons were, they were easy to push.

  After cutting loose with a string of swearing to do a Merchant Marine proud, Flores spat, “All right. Knowing you, you’ve probably figured most of this out, anyway. The gunman was my partner, but no one was supposed to get hurt. The damned gun wasn’t even supposed to be loaded. It was a prop, that’s all. A prop! When the deal started, I stood close to the door. When Geoff knocked, I opened it and let Geoff force me back at gunpoint.” Flores’ voice was hoarse as he repeated, “It wasn’t real. No one was supposed to get hurt.”