Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death by Mark Reutlinger

he quickly added, “Well, I guess I’ll see you later at the Home. I hope you get a good price for your pin.” He nodded to both of us and turned to leave. Mrs. K said “Thank you” to his back. I think she was about to say something else, but instead she just watched as he headed for the door, pausing to take from the counter his hat, which is probably what he had returned for. Without looking back, he left the shop, the bell tinkling after him.
    Just then Rosenkrantz saw us and came over. He is a tall, wiry gentleman of maybe seventy with thinning hair that is blond—no doubt only as long as he remembers to color it—and combed to the side. He has bright blue eyes and he had a big smile on his face, the look of a man who enjoys life and likes to
kibitz
with the ladies, which I have heard he does frequently. He was wearing a dark blue suit that could’ve used a bit of a pressing, but that was hardly noticeable next to his bright pink shirt and purple tie. I assumed he must not be married, as no wife with any
saichel
—common sense—would let her husband leave the house dressed like from a Polish wedding.
    Rosenkrantz nodded politely to me and said to Mrs. K, “Rose, how nice to see you. To what do I owe?”
    “It’s a long time, Isaac. How are you?”
    “I can’t complain, thanks. Are you here to sell or to buy? Or just to say hello?” Rosenkrantz had a definite twinkle in his eye.
    “Well, to be honest, I was just wondering if you could tell me, did Frank Nelson, who just went out the door, did he sell you something?”
    Rosenkrantz looked a bit sideways at Mrs. K, and in a conspiratorial tone of voice he asked her, “Is there a reason you want to know this?”
    “Let us just say Ida and I are curious about this.”
    “Ah, curiosity. It is a tricky thing. I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything in detail. I suppose I can say that…that he and I did not end up doing any business. Is that a satisfactory answer?”
    “I suppose it will have to do,” said Mrs. K. It was apparent she was disappointed about not finding out what it was that Frank and Rosenkrantz did not do business over, but it was also apparent that she would not be learning any further details from Mr. Rosenkrantz.
    “So may I show you one of these beautiful rings? Even if you buy them only for the diamonds, they are a
metsieh—
a real bargain.” When he said this, it occurred to me that someone buying a single earring like Daisy’s could only be doing it “for the diamonds,” so it was unlikely we would see it on display, at least in one piece.
    “Thank you, no,” said Mrs. K. “But if I should ever decide to get married again, I will surely keep you in mind.”
    “Well, Rose,” he laughed, “I’m flattered, but I’m already married.” So much for my theory—maybe it is his wife who has the bad taste.
    Mrs. K laughed also, and, with a last look around this remarkable shop, we left through the tinkling door. We had spent so much time in Rosenkrantz’s shop, not time we had originally planned to spend, that we were in danger of being late. We hurried as fast as two less-than-athletic ladies could, which is not very fast.
    Fortunately, we were just in time to catch our shuttle van, which was stopped across the street. We waved to Andy that we were coming, and we hurried to cross as soon as the light turned green. We did not want to be taking a taxi home, like Mrs. Bloom.
    Andy greeted us with his usual cheerfulness and asked, “So, ladies, did you do a little damage in the stores?”
    Mrs. K smiled back at him as he helped her into the van. “Maybe not in the stores,” she replied, “but we made some progress fixing the damage at the Home.” And when she was seated and I next to her, she took out her notebook and made one more entry before putting it away and settling back for the ride home.
    —
    This time we were seated facing forward, which we much preferred. It is easier that way to keep our balance when the bus