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“The guy’s an odd duck, eh?” Benjamin’s hand stayed tight on the knob, his thumb bobbing like a botfly testing the air. “What’s up now?”
I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. Turning, I saw sunlight glint off the window in the door of the backyard shed.
A bird? A reflection of shifting palm fronds?
“I wonder, sir. Do you read Hebrew?”
“What the heck kind of question is that? Of course, I read Hebrew.”
“I have an inscription I need translated.”
“Maybe ask the rabbi?”
“I did. The Abramses feel it would not be appropriate for them to get involved.”
“Big surprise.”
“I’m sure the rabbi understands what’s best for his congregation.” Brennan, the peacemaker. “As they say, good judgment comes from experience.”
“Yeah. And experience often comes from bad judgment.”
“You make a good point, sir.” He did.
Betty continued her deafening protest.
“Betty!”
The dog took a break. Immediately reengaged.
“God dang it!” Sharp with annoyance. “Hold on.”
Benjamin bent, grabbed Betty’s collar, and dragged her away from the entrance. I watched their tug-of-war withdrawal play out below the framed black-and-white prints.
At the end of the hall, dog and owner went left. A few seconds, then a door slammed and the barking recommenced, muffled, but equally wholehearted.
“I have to admire Betty’s perseverance,” I said when Benjamin returned.
“The dog’s a jerkpot. But she’s my jerkpot. Look, I’d like to help you, but I’m working today. I got a deadline.”
“One quick look?”
“Fine.” Instead of asking me in, Benjamin palmed open the screen door and stepped outside.
“Thank you so much.”
“No promises.”
I pulled a microphotograph from my purse and handed it to him.
Benjamin glanced at the image. “Seriously? This is it?”
“That’s all I have.” No need to share details.
Benjamin squinted at the magnified dots Lindstrom had recognized as Hebrew letters.
Betty yapped from her place of captivity, zeal undiminished.
A drop of sweat broke free and rolled down my spine.
