CHAPTER 54

At first, Brenda didn’t notice anything missing. She didn’t even register the blank space outlined by a rectangle of dust where the Pollock imitation had been hanging on the dining room wall. It wasn’t absence that tipped off Brenda. It was presence. What was there that shouldn’t have been there? The bone. Where on earth did Hoffman get that lamb bone? And who would commit such a hateful act? Everyone knew you didn’t give a cooked bone to a dog. Now Brenda had to worry about bone shards perforating Hoffman’s colon. She went next door to ask if Mrs. Rollins had seen anything suspicious lately.

In LA, I sifted through the contents of the suitcase cataloguing my trove, and I discovered poor people left quite a paper trail, compelled as they were to seek help from government agencies. The manila envelope I believed was full of boring bureaucratic correspondence turned out to be full of fascinating bureaucratic correspondence. Had my father read this stuff? Among the contents, a social worker’s notes describing “domestic disputes” between his mother’s family and his father’s family, and piles of memoranda from charity workers. My mother said if he’d been through the file, he never spoke of it. Possibly he glanced at it, but didn’t read as closely as I did, and did not note as I did, that his father, Isaac Aronson, had done time in New York at a prison on Hart Island, and that even more interestingly, he had quite possibly changed his name to Thomas Marmot, and had likely fled to Chicago. Maybe my father knew but pretended to believe his father simply vanished into thin air. I could understand it. The unknown was infinite and mysterious. The known was just sad.

March 8, 1925

Mr. H.S. Lurie

Jewish Social Services Bureau

1800 Selden St.

Chicago, ILL.

My dear Mr. Lurie:

May we solicit your kind interest in behalf of our client, Mrs. Ruth Aronson of this city, whose husband Isaac Aronson left her and their five infant children on July 18, 1924, since which time he has neither communicated with nor contributed a single penny towards their support, as a result of which the family has fallen a burden upon the local charities and Mrs. Aronson has been compelled to commit her two oldest children to an orphan asylum.

In 1922, Mr. Aronson absconded with $1800 from the Majestic Tailoring Co., by whom he was employed and he was committed to the penitentiary on July 7, 1922. He was released on May 24, 1923, and subsequently lived with his family until the aforementioned date of July 18, 1924.

We have just received word from the United Hebrew Charities that a friend of Mr. Aronson’s has reason to believe Mr. Aronson is living in Chicago under the assumed name of a Mr. Thomas Marmot.

I will therefore thank you to follow up on this clue and advise us of your findings. According to our source, “Mr. Marmot” has apparently applied for a position at the Carson Pirie Scott and Company. Isaac Aronson, also known as Thomas Marmot, is 35 years old, 5 feet 11 inches tall, 150 pounds, black hair, black eyes, arrived in this country in 1891 from Russia, and worked as an insurance agent. The family consists of five children, Clyde 7, Harry 5, Vivian 4, Alvin 3, and the infant Gertrude.

Thanking you for your kindness and awaiting your early reply,

Charles Zunser,

National Desertion Bureau, New York

March 16, 1925

Mr. Charles Zunser

National Desertion Bureau

799 Broadway,

New York, N.Y.

My dear Mr. Zunser,

In reply to your letter of March 8th we wish to advise you that we visited at Carson Pirie Scott and Co. and were informed that “Thomas Marmot” was in their employ for one week, upon which time he did not show up for work again. The address he gave them, and they provided us, turned out to be erroneous.

If you are able to obtain better information, we shall be glad to complete the investigation.

Very truly yours,

Henry S. Lurie

District Supervisor

Jewish Social Service Bureau, Chicago

I was so engrossed in reading the file I didn’t hear the phone ring, and the answering machine picked up. Officer Smythe with a Y from the Baltimore County Police Department asked that I please call back about a “domestic dispute.” Oh, the sins of the fathers.

Anne Brighton urged me to ignore the message. She thought I’d be fine, I just had to remember not to answer the phone, or show my face in Baltimore. “Ever?” I said. Well, at least for a while. Shep Levine’s instincts had been correct. Mrs. Rollins peeked through the curtains and saw us. “I can’t believe Joanna did this,” Brenda confided in Darleen, unaware Darleen had provided the key. “I’m shocked. I never would have guessed Joanna, of all people, was capable of taking such a risk.” I agreed with Brenda. I, too, hadn’t known what I was capable of. “She’s damn lucky, too,” Brenda added. “Hoffman didn’t even get sick. He could have died.”

The unveiling was scheduled for October 25th. Would it be safe to come back to Baltimore by then? Everyone I consulted, including Anne Brighton and the executor, believed the cops would not raid a cemetery over a domestic dispute that occurred months ago.

Meanwhile, Brenda was busy making sure the headstone was perfect, going over the brunch menu with Aunt Shirley, and, as it happened, swearing out a well-timed warrant for my arrest. All she needed to trigger an aggressive pursuit by the police was one eyewitness willing to identify the suspect. Fortunately, Mrs. Rollins couldn’t identify the tall middle-aged man she saw placing items in a late-model blue car, but she recognized Mr. Aronson’s younger daughter carrying out several bulging garbage bags. She remembered me from the snowstorm. Mrs. Rollins was a good neighbor, and naturally wanted to help Brenda, the grieving widow who lived next door, so Mrs. Rollins agreed to sign an affidavit to justify an arrest. I was charged with felony breaking and entering, and grand larceny.