Father's Day Murder by Lee Harris Read Free Book Online Page A

dried up pretty quickly. And Mel had sent some cookies home with us so that Jack wouldn’t feel left out. He appreciated that.
    When we had finished our coffee and all the cookies but one, I sat down in the kitchen near the phone and looked at my list. I decided to start with Dave Koch, the lawyer and Dr. Horowitz’s best friend. I was fairly certain he would be expecting my call and would cooperate. The address was Manhattan. His wife answered and called him to the phone.
    “Mr. Koch, this is Christine Bennett. I talked to Dr. Horowitz this afternoon about the murder of your friend Arthur Wien.”
    “Yes, he called me about that. I understand his granddaughter called you.”
    “That’s right. She was a student of mine this year.”
    “Well, the police don’t seem to have a clue what happened. I’ll be glad to talk to you if we can set up a time.”
    “Tomorrow morning?”
    There was a sound of a page turning. “That’s pretty good for me. Can you meet me at my apartment?”
    “Sure.”
    He gave me the address and said there was parking in the building. I suggested ten o’clock and he said that would be fine. I hung up feeling good. I had a first appointment.
    I didn’t do so well on my next couple of calls. There was no answer at the home of Bernie Reskin, the teacher, and the woman who answered at Dr. Greene’s number said rather curtly that he wasn’t there. I decided not to leave a message.
    I was a little hesitant about calling Bruce Kaplan, the convicted embezzler, who was my personal choice as suspect number one, although I would not have admitted it out loud. But finally I dialed the number. A woman answered and I asked for Mr. Kaplan.
    “He just went out,” she said. “Can I take a message?”
    “Mrs. Kaplan?”
    “Yes.”
    I told her who I was and what I was calling about.
    “Yes, there was a message on the machine this afternoon from Mort. Are you serious about trying to find out who killed Artie Wien?”
    “Very serious. I want to interview all the men in the group and their wives as well. I’m hoping to turn up a motive.”
    “The police have about drained us.”
    “I have no access to their files. I’d like to talk about the relationships of the men to each other over the years.”
    “Well, Bruce will love talking about the old days. Can I have him call you?”
    I said that would be fine and hung up. I dialed the number of Joseph Meyer, the violinist, and left a message on his machine. That left me with one appointment and nothing else in the offing. I looked at my list. The only two names left were Fred Beller, who never came to reunions, and George Fried, who was dead.
    As I looked at the list Dr. Horowitz had given me, I realized there was an address, but no phone number, for both of those men. I am a penny-pincher by nature, going back to the years I spent at St. Stephen’s Convent when I usually left the premises with fifty cents in my pocket and came home with change. What this heritage does to me is make me reluctant to spend money in ways I consider frivolous. I knew it would add seventy-five cents to our phone bill to call information for either number, and I thought about it for a minute before I took a deep breath and got the area code for Minneapolis and then called for the number. A minute later, I was listening to a ring at Fred Beller’s home.
    The phone was answered by a youngish-sounding woman. I asked for Fred Beller.
    “He’s out of town,” she said. “He and Mom went to New York.”
    It occurred to me that although he might not want to attend reunions, he might feel different about a funeral. “Did he go to New York for the funeral of Arthur Wien?”
    “Uh, no, not really. They flew to New York last week. They’ve been there a week already.”
    A chill passed through me. “It’s really important that I talk to him. Could you tell me where I can reach him?”
    “Sure. He’s at the Waldorf-Astoria. If you hold on a minute, I can get you the room