Free The Passover Murder by Lee Harris Page B

violence. He hated her.
    We picked up Marilyn’s car after we finished our coffee and drove down Second Avenue from the Seventies to the Thirties. A couple of turns and we were in front of a magnificent apartment house overlooking the East River.
    “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Iris lived well.”
    “They paid her well and she was single. Single women can afford a lot of things married couples can’t. Nice apartments are one of them.”
    “Mel said she and her cousins inherited Iris’s money.”
    “That’s right. Iris had a will. She was a very modern woman for her age. She divided her money equally among her grandnieces and -nephews. But there wasn’t much. We’re talking about hundreds, not thousands or tens of thousands.”
    “What about her other things? She must have owned jewelry.”
    “She did, and a nice fur coat. I think Harry gave her most of it. I asked Pop about it over the weekend. Those things were to be distributed to her remaining brothers and sisters. I think Sylvie got the coat.”
    “So nothing went to your generation.”
    “We didn’t need it. Sixteen years ago we were all in the prime of life. Are you looking for a motive in the family?”
    “I’m looking for a motive wherever I can find one. What about boyfriends? Did any of them inherit?”
    “Not that I remember.”
    “Do you have a copy of her will?”
    “I don’t think so. I didn’t inherit, so none was sent to me. But Mel should have gotten one. She was an heir.”
    “Yes, she mentioned that.”
    “Have you seen enough?”
    “I think so.”
    “Then let’s call it a day.”

9
    Marilyn dropped me off at my house and drove down the block to look in on Mel and the grandchildren. The first thing I did was change into a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a warm sweater. The heat would take a while and the house was cold. One thing I learned well as a Franciscan nun was how to pinch pennies. While I had absolute financial security at St. Stephen’s, I rarely had a nickel more than I needed on any given day. I don’t leave the house with fifty cents in my bag anymore, but I keep track of what I have, and sometimes I have a little trouble letting go of it, even when I should.
    As soon as I changed my clothes, I sat down at the dining room table and emptied Iris’s bag piece by piece. The purse itself, as Marilyn had noted, was well made of a beautiful black leather with a striking red leather lining and a small change purse of the same red leather anchored to a seam with a fine gold chain. The change purse held her subway tokens and what looked like a mailbox key. The French purse, which was also bright red leather, had seventy-two dollars in it plus some change. It also held her Social Security card, a library card, and some membership cards to organizations I was not familiar with.
    The credit card case was separate and contained quite a number of cards. There was the American Express card Marilyn had pulled out when she first opened the case, cards for Bloomingdale’s, Saks, Lord & Taylor, Bergdorf Goodman, and B. Altman. My Aunt Meg used to love shopping at Altman’s, but it had closed down some time ago, long after Iris’s death. There was also a Visa card and one gasoline card, although I had not found a driver’s license anywhere.
    The bag was divided into two sections, the rear one holding the French purse and credit cards, the front containing keys, tissues, a lipstick, the mirror, and a small red leather book. This last was an agenda with the week on two pages, a red ribbon marking the place where “seder” was noted on two consecutive days, and under the second was the letter M . I sat back, turned to January, and began looking at every entry Iris had made.
    Iris Grodnik had lived an active life. In her last three months she had attended the theater several times, an opera at Lincoln Center, a lecture at Cooper Union, a wedding in February, two birthday parties, a few family affairs, and a funeral about a week