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“Four crak!” declared Martha, laying down her mahjong tile.
“Seven bam,” said Lili.
“Six dot,” said Francine.
“Call!” said Ellen. Ellen picked up Francine’s discarded tile and placed it with two other six-dot tiles on her rack.
“Flower,” said Martha.
“South,” said Lili.
“Mahjong!” said Francine.
“For crying out loud!” said Martha. “That’s three in a row.”
Lili paid Francine fifty cents and the other two players each paid Francine a quarter. They then dumped their tiles into the middle of the table and began turning them face down for the next round. The microwave timer beeped and Lili got up. She set out some Buffalo chicken dip with pita crackers.
“I can’t believe how cold it is here,” complained Martha. “I should’ve stayed in Portsmouth. Has anyone heard from Beryl?”
“I talked to her daughter, Charlene,” said Ellen. “She said that Beryl still can’t speak very well since the stroke. But she’s in therapy and making good progress.”
“The poor thing,” said Francine. “So Martha, what are you doing with all of your money?”
“I got a lawyer who’s helping me give it away. Shmuel Meyer was the guy who tried to have me killed. The Israeli government gave me half of his share, which came to about three million dollars. They gave a big portion of it to the family of my friend Barbara LeClerc who was murdered by Shmuel’s assassin. I’m giving most of Shmuel’s share to his kids and grand-kids. I don’t believe that children should be punished for the sins of their father. That’s what this whole damn thing was about!”
“What about your share?” asked Ellen.
“I’m working on it. I gave some to the families of the victims of the Hamas massacre in Israel. I also gave some to the organizations that are helping Palestinian families to survive the war, and some to the Ukrainians, too. I gave a lot to the underground railroad group that hid me away. With some of the money, I bought my new condo here. I definitely did not want to stay in the unit where I was attacked. Oh, and besides the money, the Israeli government sent me a funny little painting. The artists name was Mark somebody. Mark Chaygle, or something like that.”
“Marc Chagall?” asked Lili, wide-eyed.
“Maybe.”
“He was a very famous artist!” said Lili. “That little painting might be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Where are you keeping it?”
“Oh dear. I just stuck it in a drawer, back home.”
“You know, many collectors loan their expensive works of art to museums so they can be kept secure, and the public can enjoy them,” said Lili. “Maybe you could find a museum in Boston or something.”
Gil came into the condo, clumsily fiddling with his fishing gear.
“Hi Gil,” said Francine.
“Hi girls. It’s starting to rain again.”
“So, did you catch dinner?” asked Lili.
“All I caught were hardhead catfish, so I threw them back. What a pain. I hate ‘em. They’re always trying to sting me with their spines. They have just enough poison in them to make it really hurt. I guess we’ll have to order pizza.”
“Now we’re talking!” said Martha. “We can work on planning our trip to Rio. Ha cha cha!”