Chris Grabenstein - Free Fall

I’m not even sure if Mrs. Rosen knows she’s lying. I think she lives in some kind of a bubble where what she believes is always true.

“You gentlemen, of course, know that Miss Monae was spying for David’s little brother Michael?”

“What do you mean by ‘spying’?” asks Ceepak.

“Michael was jealous. Didn’t like the fact that David and Little Arnie were his father’s favorites.”

“Speaking of spies,” says Ceepak, “was it truly your intention for, first, Joy Kochman and then Christine Lemonopolous, whom you planted inside Dr. Rosen’s home, to feed you information about your father-in-law’s medical condition?”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘spy,’ but we did indeed ask Miss Joy and, later, Miss Christine to keep an eye on Dad. To monitor his physical and, yes, mental well-being. We were worried about him. Dementia is a serious problem for senior citizens. As we age, our brain shrivels.”

Yeah. Mine’s doing it now.

“If you were so concerned,” says Ceepak, “why didn’t you visit Dr. Rosen more often?”

More blinks. “Because we respected his privacy.”

“How often did your husband take money from his father?”

“Gosh, Dad was so generous. Through the years, we’ve all benefitted from his gifts.”

“I’m told Michael never asked his father for a dime.”

“And see how well he’s done? With Michael, I think Dad’s generosity was of the heart. It wasn’t easy for Dad to accept his son’s gayness.”

Yes, if Ceepak says black, this lady is going to say white.

“And please, Detectives, take into consideration all that David and I did to earn Dad’s generosity. The many meals we ate with him …”

Which, I’m guessing, Dr. Rosen always paid for.

“How we were always available to join him on a moment’s notice at a Broadway show or a symphony performance.”

Ditto on the tickets.

“We also surrendered a good deal of our own family life to David’s father.”

“How so?” says Ceepak.

“Well, not to speak ill of the dead, but Dad was a bit of a control freak. One time, right after Little Arnie was born, Dad brought over all these classical records because he didn’t like the Raffi music I’d been playing in the nursery. Said it would stunt Little Arnie’s ‘intellectual development.’”

“So he imposed himself into your daily life?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, my husband found it very difficult to stand up to his father. I guess some boys always do. It’s why we never have bottled water in our home.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dad didn’t believe in bottled water. Once, when he came over to visit Little Arnie, he saw a few bottles of Poland Spring in our fridge. ‘Is that where my money is going?’ is what Dad said to David because he had just given us a ten-thousand-dollar holiday gift. From that point on, I was forbidden to drink anything but tap water in my own home.”

“So all the money Dr. Rosen gave you came with a heavy price?”

“Exactly.”

Ceepak closes up his notebook.

“We may have more questions at a later time. Right now, we’d like to talk to David.”

“I’m sure he’s still at the office.”

“By the way,” says Ceepak, “I couldn’t help but notice the ring on your right hand. It’s quite unusual.”

I check out the ring that’s too tight for a finger on her right hand. It looks like a cigar band on a sausage.

“Thank you,” says Judith, admiring it herself. “Believe it or not, this was a Valentine’s Day gift from Dad.”

“Your father-in-law gave you a ring?”

“In a way. He gave David a gift certificate worth several thousand dollars, suggested he use it to buy me something special for Valentine’s Day. This was a few years ago. David and I had hit a rough patch. All marriages do, I suppose. Anyway, the gift certificate was for my girlfriend’s shop. Cele Deemer. Runs the cutest little boutique-The Gold Coast on Ocean Avenue. She only sells her own incredible handcrafted jewelry. They’re all one-of-a-kind items.”

“It’s very creative.”

“Thank you. Can you see the keyhole in the center of the heart? I think that is so cute.”

“Indeed. Is it gold?”

“Fourteen karat. Gold is all Cele works with. It’s why she calls her shop The Gold Coast.”

Ceepak nods.

I have to figure he’s thinking what I’m thinking: Judith’s friend, the local goldsmith, probably uses potassium cyanide in her work. She definitely could’ve loaned her gal pal a tablespoon or two last week.

Especially if Judith asked for it in her nicey-nice voice.

It’s nearly eight when we climb down the back staircase from David and Judith Rosen’s apartment.

Judith told us she would call her husband. “Let him know you boys are on your way.”

“She’s going to coach him,” I say to Ceepak as we make our way around the side of the two-story building to the gravel-and-seashell driveway where the super-charged Ceepakmobile is parked.

“Such would be my supposition as well, Danny. However, at this juncture, there is little we can do to prevent spousal contact.”

Judging from his speech pattern (which is beginning to mimic Data’s, the emotionless cyborg from “Star Trek The Next Generation”) and the fact that he said “spousal contact” (in a way that sounded a lot like “conjugal visit”), I believe Ceepak is shifting into his robotic mode because, inside his big analytical brain, the chipmunks are chugging along at warp speed on his mental treadmills.

He’s starting to figure something out.

“We’ll drive down to Sinclair Enterprises,” he says. “Interview David.”

“Have we heard anything from Bill Botzong about when his team will be done with their cyanide data mining?” I ask.

“Bill sent me a text. His forensics team has all the raw data and will work through the night to analyze the information to see if they can extract any interesting patterns or clusters that might implicate one or more of our suspects.”

We cruise down Ocean Avenue.

Things are pretty quiet. There’s some ambling life in the misty pools of light flooding the miniature golf courses. The summer’s first lines of giddy kids and smiling parents have formed outside Custard’s Last Stand and the Scoop Sloop. A few Ocean Avenue restaurants look like they’re doing a brisk dinner business.

But most of the shops are closed up for the night.

Including “The Gold Coast: A Handcrafted amp; Unique Adornment Shoppe” at 1510 Ocean Avenue-conveniently located just five doors down from the worldwide headquarters of Sinclair Enterprises at 1500.

Why do I think Bill Botzong’s MCU data miners are going to strike cyanide gold on Ocean Avenue?

The offices of Sinclair Enterprises look like one of those boiler rooms where telemarketers work; calling people at dinner time.

I think the ground-level space used to be a clothing store. Maybe a hair salon. The walls are painted the same color as guacamole. Bright green poles, spaced at intervals in tidy rows, hold up the drop-panel ceiling. A maze of gray cubicles fills most of the wide-open, industrial-strength-carpeted floor.

A few busy beavers are still clacking on computer keyboards or barking orders into phones for “ten two-pound bags of malted milk powder” and “seven sleeves of two hundred-count six-ounce snow cone cups” while saying, “no, we don’t need any more multicolored spoon straws.”

The only decoration on the bare walls (where you can still see the outlines of the shelving units that used to be mounted there) are a few push-pinned posters for Sinclair Enterprises brand new thrill ride, The StratosFEAR; one or two “RE-ELECT MAYOR SINCLAIR: LEADING THE WAY TO ANOTHER SUNNY, FUNDERFUL DAY” posters; and a cartoon map of tourist attractions with gold stars slapped on top of the various outlets of the Sinclair Empire: Cap’n Scrubby’s Car Wash, The Scoop Sloop, Do Me A Flavor, The Seashellerie, Sand Buggy Bumper Cars, and on and on.