The Beauty School Murder: A Sadie Weinstein Mystery

By Reva Spiro Luxenberg

There are four suspects in the beauty school murder in Florida. Sadie Weinstein, the quirky amateur sleuth who owns a mom-and-pop grocery in Brooklyn with her husband, Nathan, is the primary suspect. Sadie prevails upon her reluctant spouse to help her entrap the murderer while they are on a much-needed vacation. She also contacts Rhajmah, her psychic, pickle-eating customer and friend to help her unravel the enigma and keep her out of jail. She needs all her skill, energy, ingenuity, eccentricity, and Poirot-like grey cells to unravel the mystery. The Beauty School Murder is an expansion of an earlier version of the cozy mystery story, Curl Up and Die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524588786

Reva Spiro Luxenberg

REVA SPIRO LUXENBERG embarked on a writing career after she retired as a school social worker. She has written nineteen books—mysteries, dramas, non-fiction books, anthologies, and humorous versions of two of the books of the Bible. She is married to Dr. Edward R. Levenson, who has edited eight of her books. She is a member of Florida Authors & Publishers Association. Her hobbies are reading, painting rocks, and taking care of her puppy Sekhel and her tortoise Mordy. She is a proud grandmother of seven and great-grandmother of six and one on the way.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I TUCKED MY lavender panties in my suitcase playfully as Nathan looked on. I like to get ahead of the game, so I always pack two weeks before we take a trip. It was late Saturday night and we had finished a delicious dinner that I had thoughtfully planned and carefully prepared. We had watched a British comedy on TV that made me chuckle and Nathan guffaw. Now before going to sleep, I had the urge to put a few dainties into my valise. Nathan sat on the other bed in his boxer shorts, his basketball tummy popping out, scrutinizing my every move with his chocolate eagle eyes. I adored him and knew that when he attempted to have his way, he was a pussy cat in reality and would eventually come around to my way of thinking, which was to vacation at the Grand Canyon and not at the boring place he had suggested.

Nathan had the habit of packing only two hours before which meant that he always forgot something. Once he didn’t take his toothbrush, which was no big deal; but once he left behind his sneakers and suffered when we hiked in Puerto Rico. For people in our early forties we had strong feet and were used to standing a lot, but poor Nathan really needed his sneakers that time.

Sadie? he asked in his raspy voice.

Yes? I knew what was coming and I smirked. He was going to make a last ditch attempt to get me to change our destination, but I wasn’t going to relent.

Why do we have to go to the Grand Canyon?

It’s one of the wonders of the world and I get first pick because I won the money. I had helped the police solve the Cereal Killer case, the one in Brooklyn when the murderer had been shooting dope pushers and sprinkling cereal on their bodies. With the substantial reward money, I helped modernize our mom-and-pop grocery, gave some to our children, and got to pick the place where we would vacation."

Hmm—it’s only a big hole in the ground, Nathan said trying insistently to reverse my decision.

It’s amazing, I said cheerfully. Before we pass on to the next world, we have to see it. I held up my Wonderbra and waved it in front of him. The bra was created in 1964, two years ago; and with its deep plunge and push-together effect it made for a terrific view of my figure.

I ain’t of the same opinion, Nathan persisted.

This time, I realized, looking at my bra didn’t change Nathan’s mind, so I took a deep breath and put it in the suitcase next to my panties. Nathan is really very smart although his grammar makes him seem illiterate. I’m proud to say that he does The New York Times crossword puzzle in ink.

It’s in the same category as the Leaning Tower of Pisa and Stonehenge, I said, hoping to make a dent in his thinking, but deep inside I knew that when Nathan held on to a thought it stuck like rubber glue.

Nathan glared. The Leaning Tower of Pisa ain’t built right. It wouldn’t lean if the architect had designed it properly. Ain’t it true we stood and looked at Stonehenge when we went to England? Ain’t that enough for looking at Wonders of the World?

Sure we saw Stonehenge, I said grudgingly. I also admit to bragging a little about my accomplishment in England. It was when I solved the mystery of who killed Jeffrey’s professor.

I give you credit for that, Nathan said. But remember what I told you about Stonehenge? Everyone says Stonehenge was a religious site, but everyone ain’t right. You admit you saw the dry moat around it. I think it held water for the animals and Stonehenge was the first supermarket.

Who am I to say you’re wrong? I agree. It could’ve been a place where ancient people traded their wares.

Sadie—pretty lady— we already, in fact, seen two wonders of the world, and don’t forget another one—the Brooklyn Bridge—an industrial wonder. Since we work like beavers, ain’t we entitled to relax, go fishing, and not travel across the country to see a hole in the ground?

I can be stubborn, too. Nathan called me ‘pretty lady’. I don’t think I’m really pretty, although I do look like I’m thirty, a decade younger than my age. My nose is a little large. I’m not quite five feet so I’m not a model type. I had to give in a little. No, maybe we can go fishing some other time but not … The doorbell rang four times. It was ten o’clock at night and no one comes to our door so late. It must be an emergency or someone up to no good. I have on my nightgown, I said. Nathan, put on your plaid robe and go answer. Make sure you look through the peephole before you open the door. I threw on my chenille bathrobe and followed Nathan through the living room to the foyer of our four-room apartment.

Nathan looked through the peephole. It’s Don, he said.

I pulled the belt of my robe tight and shivered when our neighbor, Don Morris, walked through the door. His usually dapper appearance had dissolved into chaos. His corn-colored hair was disheveled, there was no tie at the open collar of his shirt, and his expression looked like he had been to Hades and back. Immediately I thought that maybe Dolly had tried once again to commit suicide. Three years ago their only child, a boy of twelve, had been in a fatal accident when a car smashed into his bike. Dolly fell into a deep depression and turned the gas on in the kitchen, but Don came home unexpectedly and saved her. She was still keeping pretty much to herself; but somehow Don went on living, coping by taking frequent business trips to promote his beauty products.

Don followed Nathan to the living room where they both sat down on our sofa with the clear plastic covers that protected the damask print. I sat on my low armchair so I could rest my feet on our worn Oriental rug.

What’s wrong? I asked Don.

My neighbor took a deep breath, pursing his thin lips, and letting the air out slowly. My sky blue eyes remained glued on him.

Dolly’s been weeping again. I’m worried about her grip on reality. She isolates herself and has stopped cooking. She buys only TV dinners.

Have you spoken to her doctor? Nathan asked with a worried expression.

Yes. Her psychiatrist recommended a change of environment to lift her mood. I was planning to go to the beauty school in Palm Oasis to display my new line of head mannequins and wigs. I also sell my merchandise to the beauty parlors and beauty supply stores in the South, so I’ll be traveling a little.

Nathan and I nodded at the same time.

Don continued, It took me a long time to convince Dolly to fly to Florida. The catch is she won’t go without you. I get a good deal at an exclusive hotel, the Gold Coast Suites, which is close to the beauty school, the one I do business with. It has inexpensive prices since the students learn by practicing on customers who like to save money.

Don raised his blond eyebrows as he looked expectantly at me.

I pulled a tissue out of the pocket of my robe. I blew my nose in an attempt to delay my answer and think of a decent reply. Finally I said, I’m sorry that Dolly’s so low, but you know that we’re leaving for the Grand Canyon on July 15th. Our reservations are in. Everything’s arranged. We couldn’t possibly go with you. I’m really sorry, but it’s out of the question.

I felt bad for Dolly, but she would have to go to Florida without me. It took plenty of prodding and wheedling to convince Nathan to fly to Arizona, and at this late date I couldn’t change my plans.

Nathan cleared his throat. So we would lose a little dough if we went with Don and Dolly. Sadie, so what? I always wanted to see Florida.

I glared at Nathan. It’s boiling in Florida in the summer. The Grand Canyon is cooler.

Nathan glared back. It ain’t cooler in Arizona. In fact, it’s much hotter, just like a sauna.

Don spoke up. You and Dolly could go to the beauty school every day while Nathan and I could go deep sea fishing when I’m not busy selling my merchandise.

I don’t think so, I said raising my voice. I already told everyone we’re going to the Grand Canyon. I told my kids, my cousin Bunny, our new clerk, and all our customers. They would be disappointed if we changed our destination, and I don’t like disappointing anyone.

Sadie, dear, Nathan said in a pleading tone, how can you compare a hole in the ground to a nice hotel and a beauty school with all kinds of things you like? You’ll come home looking like Marilyn Monroe.

Don looked hopeful. You could get a Swedish massage in the school, a makeover, a facial, a manicure, scalp treatments, your hair dyed and set, all kinds of pampering for the two weeks you’ll be in Palm Oasis. Just look at how you’ll be helping Dolly, lifting her spirits, getting her out of the doldrums.

CHAPTER 2

I ALWAYS LIKED Sundays because it’s the day I change our grocery’s window display. Nathan says that I’m talented and that we have the best window of all the groceries in the neighborhood of Flatbush in the borough of Brooklyn in the city of New York. I do put in a lot of planning—I’m careful to have the colors blend—I studied Old English calligraphy and I write all the signs in that style. This morning I’ll make a lovely window because it’s Independence Day. The colors will be red, white, and blue. I’ll put in small American flags and for the leader, I’ll feature cans of tuna fish on sale. I bought a cat bed and a toy cat. I’ll put the cat in the bed, and I’ll surround the bed with cans of tuna fish. I hope Nathan will be proud of our window, because it will bring in customers by the droves.

Last night we stayed up late because Don visited. After he left, Nathan and I kept arguing about our vacation plans. We got up early to open the store, and both of us are exhausted and sleepy. I put on a new housedress and covered it with a new apron. The housedress has red and white dots and the apron is blue.

Nathan, I said as I stood in front of him with my hands on my hips. Do I look different to you?

Believe it or not, he said with half-open eyes, Sure, you dyed your hair blond.

I dyed my hair last year. Look again.

You’re wearing a new shade of lipstick, he said, as he yawned.

By then I gave up. He never notices what I wear unless it has a big blotch of grease on the front. Then he’ll say something like, You got some lox and pickle juice on your dress.

As we waited for the elevator, I carried the supplies for the window in a laundry bag. We live in an old, neglected six-story apartment house in a four-room apartment on the fourth floor. The building has a slow, creaky elevator. The elevator trembles slightly before the door wheezes open. We stepped in and the odor of garlic affronted my nose. There is one thing I like about the elevator. It has interesting graffiti. Sure enough, today someone had written This elavatar stinks. I agree with the sentiment, but not the spelling. Nathan had his eyes closed and missed the message.

As we walked to our grocery around the corner on Nostrand Avenue, the sun was rising and it was pretty warm. It’s going to be a hot day, I remarked.

Nathan nodded. Good. Customers’ll buy soda and beer. We’ll sell a lot of franks, rolls, and mustard. Are you featuring hot dogs in the window?

No, definitely not. People look in the window all week, not only on July 4th. I’m putting in tuna.

Okay. You put in whatever you think is best. I’m sleepy. I need a cup of coffee.

I’ll make coffee first thing.

We stopped in front of our store with the three-foot sign Weinstein’s Grocery. We’re sandwiched between Tony’s Barbershop and Louie’s Fancy Fish Market, so Nathan has his hair cut by Tony and I buy our salmon and halibut from Louie.

Nathan stood at the door and unlocked the padlock on the accordion steel barrier. Our neighborhood isn’t exactly a safe haven. It was safer when we moved here in 1946 right after we were married. We opened the grocery and worked hard until it became a successful business. I was very proud of Nathan when he returned from the war as a twenty-year-old sergeant with ribbons on his uniform.

From inside the store we heard the meowing of Nathan’s cat, Shlimazel. A few years ago Nathan brought home an abandoned kitten and named it Shlimazel because in Yiddish it means unlucky. He said it didn’t have a good chance of life because its mother had left it alone. I couldn’t care less about a cat, but Nathan adores it. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind having a dog. When you call a dog, it comes to you; but a cat is too independent to care.

Why can’t we bring Shlimazel upstairs every night? Nathan said. The cat is lonesome by itself in the store.

It has to stay in our grocery to prevent an infestation of mice, I answered. You don’t have to feel sorry for it. It probably sleeps all night.

Nathan picked up a bundle of newspapers that were on the concrete sidewalk outside the door. When he opened the door, the cowbell clanged. I turned on the lights while Nathan put the papers on his counter. We have his and hers checkout counters. Nathan’s counter has the cutting machine, and mine is next to the pickle barrel.

Nathan locked the door, then leaned over and patted the long-haired black cat on its head. I’m not jealous, but I think he gives too much attention to this animal and not enough to me.

I ignored Shlimazel and walked to the back room to make our breakfast.

I’ll have Chewy Cheers for breakfast, Nathan said. I want regular coffee today, not decaf.

Okay, I said as I opened the faucet in the tiny bathroom and poured water into our kettle and heated it on the electric burner. I decided that I would have the dry cereal I preferred—Animal Bits. These were two of the cereals that the Cereal Killer used when he shot his victims and poured cereal on their bodies. He was now where he belonged, in Creedmoor, a hospital for the mentally ill, where I had helped put him.

The back room was cluttered with boxes and had ceiling-high shelves with cans and cartons of groceries. Before we ate breakfast, Shlimazel rubbed his body against Nathan’s leg. This was an indication that he was hungry. Nathan opened a can of Feisty Food and put it in a dish. Shlimazel greedily ate it.

Just as I put my lips to my coffee cup, I heard a loud knocking at the front door. Nathan and I jumped up and walked quickly to the door. Sure enough it was Lieutenant Detective Salvatore Cagliano, a regular customer of ours. Sal, muscular with a medium build, had a thick neck and black hair that had been thinning. I had introduced him to the benefits of sesame oil. Rubbed into the scalp on a daily basis, it helps with baldness as I strongly believe. Sal, also, believes it so that helped me to stay convinced.

Nathan opened the door and returned to the back room. Hi, Sal, I said as I met him at my counter at the front of our rectangular-shaped grocery. What’s up? Friday you bought sesame oil. Don’t tell me you need another bottle?

I do, Sal said. "Captain Rogers noticed how my hair stopped falling out and I told him about sesame oil. I want to present him with a bottle."