And Decker knew why. Three months ago, her husband, Pessy, had been arrested in a massage-parlor raid in Manhattan. Through the police grapevine, Decker had found the proper connections and managed to spring the guy, expunging all the charges from the computer. He had mixed feelings about it. The guy was a first-class scumbag—had come on to Rina while she lived in New York. Clearing this little mishap meant he owed favors to some brothers in the NYPD. And he didn’t like being in the red.

But the Lazarus family had been grateful, though no one had ever explicitly told him so. It was just implied that they were grateful because everyone was suddenly more respectful to him whenever he called Rina.

Another little piece of dirt neatly swept under the carpet.

Sora Lazarus said, “The men already went to the mikvah. You want me to take you there?”

“Let’s let it go this time, Eema,” Rina said.

It was customary for men to go to the ritual bathhouse before the high holidays. But the idea of bathing in communal water made Decker squeamish. He gave her an appreciative smile.

Sora Lazarus said, “Then maybe you’d like some breakfast? A cup of coffee?”

“A cup of coffee sounds great,” Decker said.

“Then you sit at the table,” the little woman said. “I’ll get you some coffee and a little pastry—”

“Just coffee, please,” Decker said. “Black.”

“Black?” Sora Lazarus said. “No milk? No sugar?”

“Just black,” Decker said. “Please.”

“Rina,” Sora Lazarus said, “sit with your husband. I’ll bring you some coffee, too.”

“I’ll get it,” Rina said.

“Don’t be silly,” chided Sora Lazarus. “Sit.”

A moment later they were alone in the dining room, sipping coffee at a table fit for a mess hall.

“The Lazaruses are having a bit of company?” Decker asked.

“Thirty-six people. Not including the kids’ table.”

“A small intimate meal.”

“It’s tradition,” Rina said. “My mother-in-law always has the Levine family over on the first night of Rosh Hashanah; we go over to the Levine house for lunch the next day.”

“How many Levines are we talking about?”

“Rabbi and Mrs. Levine, their five children and who knows how many grandchildren. And Mrs. Levine’s parents. They must be in their eighties by now.”

“Is everyone going to talk in Yiddish?”

“The grandparents do, but the five kids are our age. The oldest must be a few years younger than you. Shimmy—nice guy, good-looking, too.”

“You notice these things.”

“I’m religious but not blind.”

“Well, you’d have to be nearsighted to marry me.”

“You’re fishing for compliments, I’ll give you one,” Rina said. “I think you’re gorgeous. Or as they say in Brooklyn, gohjus.”

Decker said, “Am I as gohjus as Shimmy?”

“Better,” Rina said. “Shimmy—like you—has a good sense of humor. I think you’ll like him.”

“I can feel a friendship brewing.”