critical that the commission weigh more than one opinion. Now you have a second. We demand that you analyze it before you make a decision. Do not approve this project.”
Pilsen bent his microphone. “Mrs. Michaelson, we will certainly review your study. Thank you.”
By now the mood in the room had soured, and many residents were filing out. Whether they were confident of victory or full of despair, Stone couldn’t tell. The woman and the young man he’d seen earlier brushed by him, the woman looking furtively at the Feldman group.
An older woman raised a defiant fist as she hurried from the room. “You haven’t heard the end of this. CEASE will prevail!” It was Florence Armstrong, a well-known village activist. Stone jotted down her name.
Chapter Seven
Matt squeezed his eyes shut and recited Kaddish . Working his first homicide a year earlier had changed Matt in ways he still didn’t quite understand. He’d decided to try again with Georgia. She was life, the antithesis of death. He needed that. But they had to keep their relationship quiet— it was against policy for village cops to fraternize. The only other cop who knew was Stone, but he knew to keep his mouth shut.
He’d also started going to synagogue again. As a boy, he’d been dragged to his parents’ synagogue, a small, dark building on the North side where they spoke as much German as English. He remembered the elegantly adorned Oren Kodesh , the ark in which the Torahs were kept. A gift from a wealthy congregant, it was covered with delicately carved woodwork depicting different Biblical scenes. Matt would study it during the long boring service, wondering how long it had taken to carve and what had passed through the artist’s mind when he was doing it.
Now, at the end of prayers, Rabbi Joel Altman tapped Matt on the shoulder. A round, cheerful man with a white beard, they’d seen a lot of him over the High Holidays. Georgia thought he’d missed his calling—he would make a perfect Santa Claus. In that case, Matt said, it wasn’t just his calling he’d missed. Tonight, though, Altman’s face was solemn.
“I heard about the body at the high school,” he said. “How do you do it, Matt?”
Matt shrugged.
Altman stroked his beard. “You found it in a garbage truck?”
Matt nodded.
The rabbi hesitated. “I want you to know something. Georgia came to see me yesterday. We’re going to meet again in a day or two.”
Georgia wasn’t Jewish, but she was considering converting. “That’s good news.”
“It is, but you need to remember something.”
“What’s that?”
“This process is never easy. You’ll both become impatient, frustrated, angry. And there’s always the possibility that, in the end, she might decide not to.”
Matt nodded.
“There’s something else. And I say this to you alone, Matt.” Altman lowered his voice. “No matter how it turns out, you should know that anyone who is willing to explore something as fundamental as religious conversion, because another person wants them to, must love that person very much.”
***
Matt went back to Romano’s apartment. Tremble reported that none of the neighbors heard or saw any visitors at the victim’s apartment, but Matt wanted to double-check. When he knocked on doors, neighbors told him how shocked they were, what a lovely girl she was. Mrs. Morys, an elderly woman who shared the floor with Romano thought she heard laughter from Romano’s apartment a few nights before her death, but when Matt questioned her about it, she admitted it might have been the sound track from a movie or TV; her hearing wasn’t so good.
He drove home. Inside the apartment, the smell of hot pizza and sight of Georgia setting the table chased away his frustration. She had changed into a pair of cut-offs and a cropped T-shirt, and her thick blond hair, usually tied back, was down. She turned hazel eyes to Matt.
“Hey, Singer boy. You okay?”
“Just peachy.” He opened the
Pilsen bent his microphone. “Mrs. Michaelson, we will certainly review your study. Thank you.”
By now the mood in the room had soured, and many residents were filing out. Whether they were confident of victory or full of despair, Stone couldn’t tell. The woman and the young man he’d seen earlier brushed by him, the woman looking furtively at the Feldman group.
An older woman raised a defiant fist as she hurried from the room. “You haven’t heard the end of this. CEASE will prevail!” It was Florence Armstrong, a well-known village activist. Stone jotted down her name.
Chapter Seven
Matt squeezed his eyes shut and recited Kaddish . Working his first homicide a year earlier had changed Matt in ways he still didn’t quite understand. He’d decided to try again with Georgia. She was life, the antithesis of death. He needed that. But they had to keep their relationship quiet— it was against policy for village cops to fraternize. The only other cop who knew was Stone, but he knew to keep his mouth shut.
He’d also started going to synagogue again. As a boy, he’d been dragged to his parents’ synagogue, a small, dark building on the North side where they spoke as much German as English. He remembered the elegantly adorned Oren Kodesh , the ark in which the Torahs were kept. A gift from a wealthy congregant, it was covered with delicately carved woodwork depicting different Biblical scenes. Matt would study it during the long boring service, wondering how long it had taken to carve and what had passed through the artist’s mind when he was doing it.
Now, at the end of prayers, Rabbi Joel Altman tapped Matt on the shoulder. A round, cheerful man with a white beard, they’d seen a lot of him over the High Holidays. Georgia thought he’d missed his calling—he would make a perfect Santa Claus. In that case, Matt said, it wasn’t just his calling he’d missed. Tonight, though, Altman’s face was solemn.
“I heard about the body at the high school,” he said. “How do you do it, Matt?”
Matt shrugged.
Altman stroked his beard. “You found it in a garbage truck?”
Matt nodded.
The rabbi hesitated. “I want you to know something. Georgia came to see me yesterday. We’re going to meet again in a day or two.”
Georgia wasn’t Jewish, but she was considering converting. “That’s good news.”
“It is, but you need to remember something.”
“What’s that?”
“This process is never easy. You’ll both become impatient, frustrated, angry. And there’s always the possibility that, in the end, she might decide not to.”
Matt nodded.
“There’s something else. And I say this to you alone, Matt.” Altman lowered his voice. “No matter how it turns out, you should know that anyone who is willing to explore something as fundamental as religious conversion, because another person wants them to, must love that person very much.”
***
Matt went back to Romano’s apartment. Tremble reported that none of the neighbors heard or saw any visitors at the victim’s apartment, but Matt wanted to double-check. When he knocked on doors, neighbors told him how shocked they were, what a lovely girl she was. Mrs. Morys, an elderly woman who shared the floor with Romano thought she heard laughter from Romano’s apartment a few nights before her death, but when Matt questioned her about it, she admitted it might have been the sound track from a movie or TV; her hearing wasn’t so good.
He drove home. Inside the apartment, the smell of hot pizza and sight of Georgia setting the table chased away his frustration. She had changed into a pair of cut-offs and a cropped T-shirt, and her thick blond hair, usually tied back, was down. She turned hazel eyes to Matt.
“Hey, Singer boy. You okay?”
“Just peachy.” He opened the
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