Stone Cold Dead, James Ziskin [best ebook reader android .txt] 📗

Rodney, my dear old friend who manned the elevator and guarded the door, helped me take the box down to the lobby and place it in my car. An hour and a half later, I rolled to a stop on the alley beneath the bare oak trees of the cemetery in Irvington. Moises Rafael opened my car door and lent me a hand as I stepped out. A small crew of diggers waited next to Elijah’s stone. Dad’s sister Lena and his cousin Max were there, seated in folding chairs. I hadn’t called a rabbi, and reciting the Kaddish was out of the question for many reasons, not the least of which was the lack of a quorum of ten males. It was three days short of one year since my father’s death. I had reached the end of the mourning period. The yahrzeit was here.

Mr. Rafael retrieved the vases from the backseat of the car and placed each into a small, ebony box. He sealed them, nodded to me, and we proceeded to the gravesite. On either side of Elijah’s restored stone were two simple granite markers. “Abraham Stone” and “Libby Stone.” I’d had my mother’s stone engraved with “Libby” instead of “Elisheba Merkle Stone,” as no one knew her by that name. She was Libby.

I stood there solemnly as the men placed the ebony boxes into the ground. Max stood by my side, and my Aunt Lena held my hand. No one spoke. That wasn’t on the agenda. But I said good-bye to my mother in my head, thinking how lucky I’d been to have her. How glad I was that she had never had to bury me as Irene Metzger had done for her daughter. I said goodbye to the joys and the memories we’d shared. I said goodbye to my dear brother Elijah, who was never far from my thoughts. To this day, whenever someone calls me “El,” I think of him and smile. And I said good-bye to my father, to the tears and regrets and sorrow we’d shared and inflicted upon each other. The disappointment I’d caused him should have died with him. Instead I’d kept it alive through all the years when we hardly spoke, and now for the year since his death, flogging myself with his regrets. I drew one last breath of bitterness then blew it out. I loved my father, and he was gone; whatever torture he’d made for himself had ended for him when he died. And now, at his graveside, this was where it ended for me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe a debt of gratitude to many people who have played a role in bringing this book to life.

Thank you, Bill Reiss of John Hawkins & Associates, my agent, you offer the wisest advice in the business.

From Seventh Street Books, I’m indebted to Dan Mayer, editorial director, who took a chance on the Ellie Stone mysteries and makes each book better with his judicious edits and challenging questions; Jill Maxick, vice president of Marketing and director of Publicity, for her support, her enthusiasm, and her efforts to promote my books; Jackie Nasso Cooke, senior graphic designer, who has outdone herself yet again with a chillingly beautiful cover design; Melissa Raé Shofner and Jade Zora Scibilia, my editors, for their fine-tooth combs; Jake Bonar, publicist, for working so diligently to get the book into the right hands; and Pete Lukasiewicz, editorial assistant, for securing blurbs from such talented authors.

My very heartfelt thanks go to some people who gave advice and lent expertise on Stone Cold Dead: Dr. Kunda and Dr. Hilbert for all things medical; Lynne Raimondo, legal and plot; and Dianne Tangel-Cate, editorial.

And for reasons that go far beyond anything to do with books, my deepest appreciation is reserved for Lakshmi.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James W. Ziskin is the author of the Ellie Stone mysteries Styx & Stone and No Stone Unturned. A linguist by training, he studied Romance languages and literature at the University of Pennsylvania. He lives in the Hollywood Hills with his wife, Lakshmi, and their cats, Bobbie and Tinker.