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Benjamin’s gaze drifted off into the distance. Perhaps into an earlier place or time. Then he snapped back.
“Life in New York was copacetic until my brother died. That slammed Dad hard. He’d barely finished sitting shivah when a cancer diagnosis sucker punched him again. After that all he talked about was ‘big city tsuris.’?” Hooking finger quotes. “That became his mantra.”
“Tsuris?” Monck prompted.
“Troubles, worries, aggravation, woes. Yiddish ain’t always precise. For Dad it meant snow, smog, taxes, lumpy sidewalks, hucksters, pretty boys, COVID, pollution, traffic, the closing of his favorite bagel shop. You name it. He grew to hate the place.
“Anyway, rumors were circulating about a new Chabad in Provo. The old man was circling the drain. I can work from anywhere in the world, so I figured why not the Caribbean for a few years?”
“Was a Chabad ever established here?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Eventually.” Pointedly, Benjamin checked his watch. “I don’t want to be rude, but—”
“Please bear with me,” Monck said.
Benjamin sighed.
Monck got to the point. “Are you acquainted with an FBI special agent named Calvin Cloke? Goes by CC?”
Benjamin thought. Or appeared to. Wagged his head no.
“Do you know why Special Agent Cloke might have flown to Provo last week?”
“No idea.”
“Cloke had your contact information in his possession.”
“That’s impossib—” Benjamin snapped and pointed an index finger. “Wait a minute. Some time back Ididhave a call from an FBI agent. Now that I think of it, the guy’s name could have been Cloke.”
“What did he want?”
“Let me think.” The fuzzy worms dipped. “Got it. He wanted to know about a man named Uri Stribbe.”
“Who’s Uri Stribbe?” Monck asked.
“Stribbe’s family was part of the Chabad-Lubavitch group that migrated from Crown Heights to Provo.” At Monck’s blank look. “It’s a Hasidic movement in Orthodox Judaism. Holier than thou.”
“The jam you’re not into.”
“You got it.”
“What’s Stribbe’s story?”
“He’s ashochet. An animal slaughterer. Or at least he was back in the day.”
The word sent a chill down my spine.
“Why was the FBI interested in Stribbe?”
“No flippin’ clue.”
“Weren’t you curious?”
“Eh.” Benjamin hiked then dropped a shoulder. “Me and Betty prefer to keep to ourselves.”
Hearing her name, the dog lifted her chin and turned her head. Was rewarded with her master’s renewed attention to her ears.
“Do you know where we can find Mr. Stribbe?”
