Free The Witch and the Borscht Pearl by Angela Zeman

being mentioned in newspapers. Last evening I insisted the same privilege be extended to you.”
    My surprise at this news was so great that I paused too long, and she prodded me to finish.
    “ ‘Shortly after consuming a special dessert created for the occasion by the Bistro’s noted pastry chef, Ms. Agnes Bryan, Mansheim began to perspire and complain of chest pain. He then collapsed to the floor. A 911 call brought an ambulance, which rushed him to St. Boniface Hospital, where, in spite of all measures attempted, he arrived already dead. According to guest Ms. Leeanne Horstley the dinner was meant to celebrate his impending marriage, which would have been Mr. Mansheim’s first, to Ms. Bella Fischmann, the widowed sister of Ms. Velma ‘Pearl’ Schrafft.
    “ ‘Sixth Precinct Homicide Detective Sergeant Michael Hahn is leading the investigation into the circumstances of the death. He reports that nothing can be speculated until the results of an autopsy ascertain whether Mr. Mansheim, who was sixty, did or did not die of natural causes. Turn to page seven for the continuing story.’ ”
    I crumpled the newsprint pages into my lap.
    “What’s Michael got to do with this? Solly did have a heart attack. Didn’t he? He’s—was—sixty years old. That accountant, Marvin somebody, and Pearl’s husband, they died of heart attacks. Old people do that.”
    Her dark brows, like arched feathers, lifted and hovered over eyes dim with speculation. “Sometimes,” she finally said, but the word sounded tentative.
    “No?” Her expression was so peculiar that I felt my pulse quicken.
    She turned away. “It’s customary. Police are required to examine circumstances of any sudden death.”
    “Oh.” Her mouth might be saying ‘customary,’ but her expression suggested suspicion of more. Alerted now, I dug out page seven, but discovered only a longer rehash of what I’d already read. The Times had nothing to add.
    “Poor Pearl,” I murmured, and let the papers slide to the floor where they landed on Jezebel’s head. Jezebel huffed in irritation and rolled to put her back to me. “Only other time I met Solly was at the birthday party, but I liked him.” I studied Mrs. Risk.
    Mrs. Risk, sunken into a frowning reverie, only responded with an “Um.”
    “He seemed so happy last night.”
    “Yes, he did,” said Mrs. Risk, stirring finally. “And although it may sound like a callous disregard of Solly, you’re right to say, ‘poor Pearl’. She finally recovers from her husband’s death, her friend Marvin Steiner dies, and then Solly. And in such a manner. And the timing! Just when she was ready to return to performing. Pearl depended totally on his guidance. I also have a terrible feeling that this is not going to help the reconciliation between Pearl and her sister.”
    Mrs. Risk walked to the phone and dialed. She listened, then dropped the receiver back into place, leaving her hand on it.
    I slumped down in the cozy chair. “How did Solly end up engaged to Pearl’s sister, and so fast! Wasn’t he going to marry Pearl? I swear somebody said so at Pearl’s party. Before last night, I never heard one peep about him and Bella. And if even the gossips didn’t know—”
    “Oh, they knew.” She dialed again. “You just must not’ve heard.”
    “Me?” I muttered wryly, “Not hear? My shop is the main artery of Wyndham, isn’t that what you always say?”
    Again no response, and she hung up.
    She began pacing the length of the room. For Mrs. Risk, that meant four long-legged strides that whipped her black woolly skirts around her ankles. “Pearl’s probably avoiding reporters and heaven knows who else.”
    “Like police?”
    Mrs. Risk eyed me thoughtfully. She dialed the phone again. Within seconds she said, “Michael, dear! Just wondering how you were. The weather’s wintry already, Thanksgiving’s not far—oh? Lovely!” She stage whispered to me so that he could overhear, “Rachel. Michael’s