Free Sanctuary by Faye Kellerman Page B

Marge’s—case. She couldn’t forget a name like Yalom. Rina had commented to Peter that yahalom meant diamond in Hebrew.
    There probably was a Stein somewhere in his family tree .
    Peter had been amazed. What’s your secret, Sherlock ?
    Stein means stone in German…Yiddish. It was probably Hebraized when the family moved to Israel. They do that a lot .
    Peter’s expression was flat. Maybe you should take thecase? If you spoke to Bar Lulu in Hebrew, something sub rosa might come out .
    He hadn’t elaborated. Rina was getting better at reading Peter. He’d been joking of course, but there had been a hint of truth behind his suggestion. She had responded lightly, said something about posing as an assistant if it would help. Peter had smoothed his mustache and said nothing. Meaning he hadn’t ruled it out.
    Not that she was anxious to get involved in Peter’s work. Or any work for that matter. Rina was quite content to stay at home and take care of Hannah—her last baby. One swift cut from the surgeon’s knife and she no longer could bear children.
    How many times had she replayed the scene in her head? Yes, it had been an emergency. Yes, the doctor had been absolutely right. Yes, it had been the surgery versus her life. Everything had been handled letter perfect. She should feel grateful.
    And she did.
    But not all the time. At thirty-one, Rina had expected and had wanted more children. She’d always felt that she was born to nurture. Unlike many women in this modern age, Rina considered childrearing a privilege and not a chore. Not that she didn’t get mad at her kids, pound her head against the wall from time to time. But it was all in a day’s work. There was no perfect way to raise children. Parenthood was filled with fuzzy borders and shades of gray. Some people were confused without a blueprint. Rina found the freedom exhilarating. Probably because she had worked so many years with numbers—first as a math teacher, then as a bookkeeper. Precision had made her a nervous wreck.
    Rina had wanted lots of children. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She was constantly telling herself not to dwell on the past. Anyway, raising kids was an occupation of planned obsolescence. They get big, they move on, they have their own lives. If you want lifelong, unconditional devotion, buy a dog.
    Oh, stop brooding, she chastized herself. Enjoy your baby and your sons while they’re home.
    If only there was some way to harness her nurturance into a profession she could do at home. She had considered running a day-care center, but the required regulations and the insurance had turned it into a prohibitive proposal. Besides, with Hannah around, there might be too much opportunity for conflict. It might be hard for her to share her toys with the all-day interlopers. Hannah deserved to be queen for a good couple of years.
    Rina switched the radio dial to an oldies station. As she tapped out rhythm on her steering wheel, she became philosophical. Something would come up.
     
    There was enough luggage to sustain the Kleins for a year in deepest Africa. Thank God, Rina had remembered to bring the bungee cords. Honey was sheepish.
    “I guess I didn’t know what to pack so I packed everything.” Honey stuffed another suitcase into the hatch of the Volvo. “If it’s too much, I’ll take some of the valises and follow you in a cab.”
    “Cabs are expensive, Honey.” Rina hoisted a case on top of the car. “I think we can make it if you don’t mind squeezing. We’ll have to double-belt, though. I’ll keep the car seat up front.”
    “Whatever is easiest,” Honey said. “Mendie, help her with the suitcases. Rina, let him do it. He’s a big boy.”
    Mendel was thirteen—gangly and sullen. Rina waved him off as she secured the last of the batch to her car’s roof. “I think we’re just about set.” She eyed the precarious cargo. “I’ll just take it slow and hope I don’t get a ticket.”
    Honey said, “Isn’t