Free Fall

26

Mrs. Ceepak offers us coffee in china cups with saucers.

I don’t have any saucers, just coffee mugs. This is why there are numerous brown rings staining most of my furniture.

Hope Christine can deal.

Mrs. Ceepak also has an assortment of Pepperidge Farm cookies. And they’re not in the box or the bag. They’re on a glass tray sculpted to look like a flat flower.

“We wanted to ask you about your conversation last night with Dr. Rosen,” says Ceepak.

“Fine, dear. Would you like a Mint Milano, first?”

“No, Mom. Thanks.”

“How about a Brussels?”

“No, thank you.”

“A Tahiti? They have that coconut you like.”

Ceepak takes a cookie and crunches it. I guess he’s lost this battle before.

I pick up a dainty cookie, myself, and almost extend my pinky finger while I nibble around its edges. Almost. Mrs. Ceepak is crunching a Mint Milano. And since we all know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full of food, the only sound in the room is that of crisp cookies being ground to bits by multiple molars.

Ceepak finishes his cookie, dusts off his hands.

“Mom, in your conversation last night with Dr. Rosen, what else did he say?”

“Oh, John, he was so sad. Felt like his whole family was against him. His two boys, his daughter-in-law.”

“Were those the assassins he feared?”

“I suppose. Apparently, David and Judith were furious because, just last week, Arnie visited his lawyer and made a few changes to his will.”

Okay. Maybe I’ve seen watched too many “48 Hours Mystery” shows and old episodes of Columbo. But “Last Minute Changing Of The Will” is always a prime murder motivator-either to stop the changes or reap the rewards.

“What changes did he make?”

“I’m not sure, John. Arnie didn’t go into specifics. Just said that, when he told David and Judith what he’d done, they both blew up. ‘You’re jeopardizing your only grandson’s future,’ they said. His other boy, Michael, the one from Hollywood, he didn’t seem to mind, but Michael has money of his own. Do you think the changes Arnie made to his will is the reason someone murdered him?”

“First, Mom, we don’t know yet whether he was murdered or not …”

“I do.”

“You do? How?”

“Female intuition.”

Oh-kay. Too bad the Supreme Court won’t let us arrest people on the grounds of “my mother said so” anymore.

“Second,” Ceepak continues, “we’d have to know the particulars of the will alterations or amendments to see who would benefit, who would lose.”

Mrs. Ceepak puts down her cup and saucer. “Then it’s all my fault.”

“Come again?”

“Arnold told me that what I did with Christine, paying for her defense attorney, inspired him to help those less fortunate. He said he wanted some portion of his last will and testament to be a mitzvah. To do some good.”

“Perhaps he bequeathed a generous donation to a favorite charity,” says Ceepak.

“Which would funnel money away from his kids and grandson,” I say.

“You see?” says Mrs. Ceepak. “It is my fault.”

Ceepak reaches over and places a gentle hand on his mother’s knee.

“Mom, if the autopsy indicates foul play, rest assured, justice will be served.”

Mrs. Ceepak puts down her tiny cookie.

“I liked Arnie Rosen, John. Felt sorry for him, too. He could get so angry over the smallest slights. One time, a gal at the senior center brought him sweet tea when he wanted it unsweetened. He blew up. Called the gal all sorts of horrible names.” She sighs. “Growing old, you lose control over so much of your life. That can change people. Make them moody. One minute you’re sweet, the next you’re yelling at a gal at the senior center. Other times, after bingo, Arnie and I would just sit and talk. He is a very intelligent man. Quite the vocabulary. He taught me when to use ‘who’ and when to use ‘whom.’ I told him about Billy.”

Ceepak puts down his cookie.

“How your father always teased him about being a sissy boy. How that horrible priest took advantage of him. How Billy died.”

I put down my half-eaten cookie, too.

“That’s when Arnie told me about his son. Michael. The one who lives in Hollywood.”

“We met Michael at Dr. Rosen’s house today,” says Ceepak.

“Nice boy?”

“Seems like it. Of course, we only had the briefest encounter …”

“Arnie didn’t like the fact that his son was ‘blatantly and openly gay.’ Those are his words. Blatantly and openly.” Mrs. Ceepak shakes her head. “I tried to tell him that your son is your son and you love him no matter what. Arnie didn’t want to hear it. Between us, I think that’s why the boy moved so far away. He knew he wasn’t welcome at home.”

That’s when Ceepak’s other cell phone jangles like an alarm clock.

It’s his work phone. He always carries two; doesn’t want to blur the line, he says, between his professional and personal life.

While Ceepak tugs the thing off his belt, I’m wondering if Dr. Kurth already has our test results. If so, it’d be a new Indoor Forensics record.

“This is Ceepak, go.”

Yeah. That’s how Ceepak answers his work phone.

“Roger that. Call nine-one-one. We’re on our way.” He clips the phone back to his belt. “Danny?” He reaches behind his back, just to make sure his Glock is still in that cross-draw holster. I stand up and tap my hip under my shirttail to do the same.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Gatehouse.”

“Got you.”

We’re kind of talking in code. No sense scaring Ceepak’s mom by letting her know her ex-husband has come a’callin’.