“Lev was here? That morning?” I opened my eyes wider as they adjusted to the light. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. As soon as I saw him, I left. Quickly. You have seen how he treats me.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen.” I shook my head. “But you must be confused.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Then why did you wait until now to tell me?” I knew exactly why—now he was angry at Lev and wanted to get him into hot water. This was Kassian’s attempt at revenge. Maybe Lev was right, maybe Kassian was nothing more than an unscrupulous liar.

“I was afraid,” Kassian said, not meeting my eyes.

“Afraid of what?”

“Lev. He has friends. In the Russian mafia.” Kassian turned his head away and stared at the window. Never mind that that the curtains were drawn.

“Come on. Lev? Russian mafia? Gimme a break,” I laughed, then stopped when I realized Kassian wasn’t laughing along. “You’re serious? Lev isn’t any more connected than I am. And trust me, I’m not.”

“I am telling you the truth. I know what I saw. If Lev lied to me about his friends …” He shrugged and paused, thinking. “But I believe him. It does not surprise me that he would know such people.”

“Kassian, what you’re telling me doesn’t make much sense.” I was always taught it was bad form to call someone a flat-out liar. Too many nuances in life to be sure.

He exhaled. “I do not blame you for not believing me. I am like the boy who cried wolf. I have told many stories. But this is true, I swear it.”

“Okay. Listen. Why don’t we talk more about this in the morning? Things may seem different in the light of day.”

Kassian slowly got up off the bed, hangdog look plastered on his face. He trudged out the door, not glancing back. I called out to him, “Goodnight. Sleep well,” and felt like a fool doing so. He wasn’t going to sleep any more than I was.

___

I’m sure I must have gotten fifteen or twenty good minutes of sleep the rest of the night, and when I awoke, I stayed in bed for a couple of minutes while my thoughts coalesced. A few questions tugged at me. Why was Kassian so afraid of Lev? Was that what the yelling was all about? Could Kassian be right about seeing Lev earlier that morning? It seemed doubtful, but there was an easy way to find out.

I got up to go to the bathroom and almost tripped over Kassian. He’d dragged a folding chair into the hallway and was sitting watch right outside my room.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to repress my snarl. I wasn’t a morning person.

“I am afraid.”

I tried hard not to roll my eyes. “I told you, you’re safe here. Nothing’s going to happen,” I said. “As long as you don’t open the damn door,” I added, practically barking at him. He shrunk in his chair, looking tiny and alone. Shit. I was so much more pleasant after a cup of coffee.

I took a deep breath and kneeled. Spoke gently. “How about this? How about I take you out to breakfast and we can talk things over some more?”

“That would be good, Joshua.” He bit his lower lip. “Thank you.”

“Give me about fifteen minutes. I need to get dressed and I’ve got a call to make, okay?”

Kassian shuffled off, and I waited until he was out of earshot before I called Lev. Peter answered and after we exchanged pleasantries, I asked to speak to his father. I needed to get this cleared up ASAP.

“Sorry, just missed him. Said he was going to run a few errands before he set out for Pikesville,” Peter said. Chewing noises accompanied his answer.

Pikesville was on the north side of Baltimore. An hour and a half drive, more with traffic. “What’s in Pikesville?”

“Some kind of Jewish Aging Conference. Ever since he got involved with the home, it’s been one boondoggle after another,” Peter said, a touch of amusement in his voice.

Carol mentioned something about a conference, too. “Know when he’ll be back?” Probably an all-day affair at the least.

I heard the sound of paper rustling. “Let’s see. It’s marked on the calendar as being a two-day thing, but sometimes he only goes for part of the time. You never know with him.” Peter swallowed something. “Why? What’s up?”

I lowered my voice in case Kassian was wandering around. “Kassian’s got some wild story about seeing Lev at the house the morning my father died. Hours before he said he came over. I was just going to ask Lev about it. I’ll try his cell.”

Peter snorted. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“If he checks in, I’ll tell him you called. Will you be at home?”

“Kassian and I are going out to breakfast now. I guess I’ll be in and out. You’ve got my cell, right?”

“Sure. Have a good one,” Peter said, and hung up.

Kassian and I settled on IHOP, and we took a booth in the rear. He insisted on sitting with his back to the wall, so he could see who entered the restaurant, as if he were a notorious gunslinger in the Wild Wild West. Kassian the Kid rides again.

Over pecan pancakes, I attempted to assuage his fear. Tried a host of different arguments—logical, emotional, spiritual—all in vain. He was terrified of Lev and of Lev’s supposed mafia friends, who in Kassian’s mind were anxious to get some much-needed torturing practice. No matter what I said, he countered with his version of the truth—he saw Lev that morning and Lev was going to hurt him. Finally, I’d had enough. Time to put the ol’ Handleman foot down.

“I’ve known Lev a long time. Since I was a child. And I know he’s gruff and rough and rude at times, but he is a man of his word and he would never actually hurt anyone. Not on purpose. You have nothing to worry about.”

Kassian stared at me. “I saw him that morning. Perhaps he had something to do with Abe’s death.”

“Here’s what I think.” I pushed my coffee cup to the side and leaned forward, ready to put my proverbial cards on the table. “I think Lev accused you of having something to do with my father’s death.” I paused and examined Kassian’s face. His eyes darted around and I knew I’d nailed it. “And I think you made up that story about Lev being there to get back at him. Striking back is a natural human reaction. But you can’t go around accusing people of stuff you know they didn’t do. It isn’t right.” It seemed I was saying that a lot lately. Maybe things were different in Russia. Maybe in Russia, accusing innocent people was a parlor game.

Kassian shook his head. “I did not make it up.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?” My patience had evaporated. Sometimes you had to treat children like children. I slid out of the booth. “Enough stories. Let’s go.”

“I told you, I was—”

“Enough. I’ve heard enough.” I reached into my wallet, threw a five on the table for a tip and stalked off to pay the cashier, leaving Kassian talking to himself.

On the drive home, I cranked the volume on the radio high enough to make conversation impossible. Not that Kassian wanted to talk. He stared out the passenger window the entire time, as if it were the first time he’d seen the Northern Virginia landscape. When we got home, he let me get out of the car first, and he trudged around to his separate entrance in the back, the first time he’d ever done that when we’d arrived together. Maybe he’d finally gotten the message.

I was hanging up my coat in the closet when I heard Kassian’s strangled scream. I dashed downstairs and into his bedroom. One of the ancient windows facing the backyard was wide open, glass sliders broken on the floor, as if someone had kicked them in. Kassian huddled in his chair with his knees up, hands clasped around them. Panic had seized him and he stared at me with wild eyes.

“What the hell?” I asked, but I knew Kassian didn’t have a clue what had happened. He didn’t answer, but pointed to his bed. There, on top of the covers, was his busted picture frame. The glass in the frame had been smashed, a few shards still clung to the wood. Carefully, I picked it up and examined the photo, heart skipping a few beats. Someone had scratched out the eyes of a much younger Kassian.