Mahjongg and Murder

By Lynne Bernfield

They knew they were close to exposing the murderer, but someone was holding all the jokers.

In June of 1956, Lily and her sister-in-law Syd are looking forward to another blissful summer with their families at the Bungalow Colony in the Catskill Mountains. But their hopes for a tranquil vacation are shattered when Lily accident

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Penguin Books
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637775028

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY

It was 1956, Ike was re-elected, Nikita Khrushchev warned he would bury us, and someone named Castro began a revolution in Cuba. We watched the $64,000 Question and the upper half of Elvis Presley on the Ed Sullivan Show and cheered the Yankees as they took the World Series. The world was in a Cold War. The hot war (WW II) was just far enough behind us that I didn’t think about it. I certainly wouldn’t have expected to run smack into one of the consequences of that terrible time.

If I’d known what was going to happen that summer, I’d have refused to go. Looking back, we seem so naïve. It’s not that there weren’t difficulties to deal with, given the terrible things happening in the world, but it was as if we were living in a bubble. And a big part of that bubble was the Kuchalayn, a bungalow colony in the Catskill Mountains where my family had spent the last five idyllic summers. Our eagerness to get out of the New York City heat propelled my husband, Meyer, and I to prepare for the long trek from Queens to Monticello.

They hadn’t yet built the Thruway, and the trip was a long seven hours. I piled pillows, blankets, sheets, and towels in the back seat of the car, creating a nest for the children—twelve-year-old Harriet and eight-year-old Kenny. I packed enough clothes for two weeks and various canned and dry goods, as much as I could stuff into the car. I’d filled a cooler with food to last the entire trip, but the minute we left our driveway, the children magically got hungry. I handed out cold chicken sandwiches and juice, which kept them busy for a while. Then, we sang and played word games to make the trip seem shorter.

Our Bungalow Colony was a short distance from the city of Monticello, a sleepy little town in Upstate New York. It was just a few blocks long, but it had everything we needed: Kaplan’s Deli, with real Jewish food; Tussio’s Italian restaurant, with great pizza; an arcade, and a candy store with a counter and booths complete with miniature individual jukeboxes. Our summer haven was called Discount Bungalow Colony because the owner’s name was Sadie Discount. She was a small, neat woman with graying hair that she wore in a ponytail. She looked to be in her fifties. Her husband (at least we thought he was her husband) was Mr. Walkin. We didn’t know where they were from; in fact, we didn’t know anything about them. They had an unusual accent that we couldn’t identify. Sadie couldn’t pronounce the letter W, so she called Mr. Walkin Valkin. She’d smile and say, "This is the place where you valkin and get a discount!"

Their bungalow was located near the entrance to the colony, right off the parking lot. On the porch outside their cabin was a small market with essential grocery items like milk, orange juice, eggs, bread, ice cream, drinks, and a public telephone, the only one on the premises. Attached to their bungalow was a large room called the Casino with a pool table, pinball machine, a jukebox, and a stage where we adults put on entertainment on Saturday night. There was also a PA system through which we often heard Sadie calling, Mr. Valkin is vanted in the woffice. It always made us laugh.

About twenty bungalows, separated by a sandy lane that ran the length of the colony, were surrounded by twenty-five wooded acres. There was a lake for swimming, fishing, and canoeing, two handball courts, and a large softball field.

Meyer turned off Route 17 onto Dillon Road and into the Discount parking lot. Tires crunched on the gravel. Syd, Meyer’s sister, her husband, Charlie, and their daughters, twelve-year-old Roberta and sixteen-year-old Paula, had arrived just before us. Charlie and the girls were unpacking their car.

I called out, Where’s Syd?

Charlie answered, She’s waiting for us in the Butka.

Knowing how much I hate long car rides, Meyer insisted, Go sit with her; the kids and I can unpack.

Gratefully, I went to find her. The Butka was a standalone structure with benches, open on all sides, on the lawn across from Sadie and Walkin’s bungalow. I found Syd sitting on one of the benches, looking out at the peaceful scene. I sat down beside her, glad to have stopped moving. I’m so happy to be here.

She put her arm around me and said, It wouldn’t be the same without you.

Tears filled my eyes. I was so lucky to have a sister-in-law who was more like a sister. We’d known each other since we were children. Syd and Meyer had been orphaned when they were very young, and my sister Miriam died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack, so this relationship was very important to us.

Close as we were, we couldn’t have been more different. I was short and neither thin nor fat. Syd was taller than average and slim, sometimes too thin, I thought. And whereas I tended to let sleeping dogs lie, Syd was more likely to call a spade a spade.

Just then, Ruthie burst in. She and her husband Harry were regulars who, like us, returned every year. Ruthie was thin like Syd, and everything about her was sharp: her face, her nose, her chin, even her body seemed somehow angular. Also, like Syd, she didn’t suffer fools. Ruthie was our biggest Yenta; in private, Syd called her Mrs. Busybody. Somehow, she knew everything that was happening and couldn’t wait to share it. Breathless, she declared in her booming voice, Big doings! Over the winter, they built bungalows on the other side of the lake, and they’re completely occupied by Orthodox Jews. Some people say they’re refugees from Europe who somehow escaped Hitler!

I shivered. It must have been terrible. Have you met any of them?

No, they keep to themselves. Sometimes, I see one of them in the market, but they don’t talk to me. Maybe they don’t speak English, and you know how bad my Yiddish is.

And she announced with a flourish, we have a new camp counselor.

What happened to Sharon? I asked. The kids loved Sharon.

She’s pregnant!

Mazeltov! Syd smiled, "I’m so glad for her, but the kids will miss her. Who’s the new counselor?

Floyd something; I don’t remember. He’s very tall. But he’s a nice Jewish boy.

With a name like Floyd?

Well, Ruthie smirked, "he’s