The Tulip Eaters

“What?”

Anneke, racked with sobs, collapsed onto the carpet. “I was pregnant before Abram died,” she whispered. “I had Nora, his daughter....”

“Get up!” yelled Isaac. “This is just another one of your lies! You’d say anything to save her.”

Anneke struggled to her feet and stood shaking. She looked at Rose, still writhing in Isaac’s arms. Doomed. My darling Rose is doomed—because of me! And Nora—how will she—

Suddenly, Ariel sprang over the couch, but when he recovered his balance, Isaac had already taken aim at Anneke. The gunshot roared through the air. Anneke’s body jerked backward as blood spurted from her forehead.

“No!” shouted Ariel. He ran to her, knelt and felt wildly for a pulse. Her blood sluiced his hands, slick and hot. He looked up at Isaac. “You killed her!”

Isaac, still holding Rose, dropped the Luger as his knees buckled. Rose tumbled onto the white carpet, still wailing. Ariel saw Isaac’s eyes widen as he clutched at his throat and gasped for air. He fell to his knees, his face contorted.

Ariel rushed to him and cradled his head, moaning. “Papa? Papa, no!”

“My heart—” His voice was a strangled whisper. “Medicine...hotel.”

Frantic, Ariel looked around and then saw the phone on the end table. “I’m going to call for help.” He started to stand.

Isaac grabbed his son’s arm and pulled him down, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were fading as color drained from them. “Too late for me,” he whispered. “The baby, take the baby!”

Ariel sobbed, holding his father close. “Papa, please!”

Isaac shook his head and held Ariel’s weeping face between his hands. His eyes struck Ariel like an army commander dying in battle. “She’s Abram’s...take her home, raise her Jewish. Promise me!”

“I can’t do that, Papa!”

“Yes, you can,” he said hoarsely. “You can and you must.”

“Please don’t make me!”

“Promise me!”

Ariel sobbed. “All right—I promise. I promise!”

Isaac nodded and dropped his hands from Ariel’s face. A half smile played upon his lips. “Abram...” he whispered.

Ariel watched as he convulsed and then was still. Ariel thrust his fingers into Isaac’s neck, digging for a pulse. Nothing. “No, no,” he moaned. Ariel stared at him and at Anneke, horrified, until he realized that Rose was twisting on the carpet, howling. Softly sobbing, he picked her up.

Then he heard the sound of a garage door churning. “Oh, God, what do I do?” He clutched Rose to his chest.

Then ran as fast as he could.

5

Nora stood in the blistering Houston sun at Anneke’s freshly dug grave and watched as her coffin was lowered. The funeral ceremony had been a dreary blur. Her black blouse and skirt, damp and clammy, clung to her like wet leaves. Feeling suffocated, she only half listened as the priest recited the Catholic rite. The priest had never known Nora or her mother. She had had to provide him with the highlights of Anneke’s life so he would have something to say.

After Hans died, Anneke had stopped going to church. Her mother had never told her why, nor did Nora ask. Nora had gone only for her father. He would have been crushed if she told him that she didn’t believe in the Pope. She still lit a candle for him at St. Anne’s—on his birthday and on the day he died. She tried to pray after lighting the candle. Just sitting in the silence, surrounded by the glow of stained glass that cast down prisms of color, she always felt restored.

She stared at the coffin in the ground. More candles to light, another dead parent to pray for. Nora glanced around her. It was pitifully sad. She now realized how rarely her parents had strayed outside the world of two they had built and then guarded from outsiders. Other than Marijke, a few colleagues from the hospital stood awkwardly around the grave, telegraphing bleak looks in her direction showing that they were clueless about what to say. How do you comfort the daughter of a brutally murdered woman?

If it hadn’t been for Marijke holding her up, Nora knew she would not have gotten through it. So many times she had thought she would faint, run or scream.

The aching that filled her now made her realize that she had been unable to truly mourn Anneke’s loss because of her terror for Rose. Now her mind flooded with memories: Anneke’s cool hand on Nora’s hot forehead as she lay in bed with the flu when she was eight; Anneke’s eyes shining with pride at Nora’s graduation from the University of Texas; Anneke’s joy-filled face when she first held Rose in her arms. Her mother. The only person in the world who had known her completely. Now she would know what it was to be an orphan, lost and alone.

She bent to clutch a fistful of dirt and let it fall from her hand onto the coffin. It hardly made a sound. That made her heart clench and then she felt dizzy. Marijke wrapped her arm firmly around Nora’s shoulders. Nora took a deep breath and turned from the grave. Nothing she could do for her mother now. After receiving hushed condolences from the few attendees, she and Marijke walked toward Nora’s car.

“Are you all right?” asked Marijke.

“Don’t worry. Once we get home, I’ll be fine.”

Just as they reached the car, someone called to her. “Ms. de Jong?”

It was Richards. He loomed above her. She felt confused. What was he doing here?

As if reading her thoughts, he nodded at the last of the mourners heading toward their cars and shrugged. “We always go to the funerals. Sometimes the murderer—or, in this case, his accomplice—shows up or watches from a distance.”

Nora felt sick. “I...see.” She saw Richards glance quickly at Marijke and mouth, Wait here. Marijke nodded and got into the car. Richards took Nora’s elbow and walked with her to a nearby oak tree. The lush green leaves against the cloudless sky seemed so damned peaceful. Nora felt anything but. He released her elbow and stopped. She didn’t like something in his eyes. Her breath caught. “What is it? Have you found Rose?”

“No, no news on that front yet, I’m sorry to say.”

Nora felt tears come to her eyes. She wiped them away.

“Did you see anyone here today you didn’t know?”

She thought and then shook her head. “Just old friends of my parents. My boss, a few colleagues, that’s all.”

Richards nodded. “Well, we have found out a few things I’d like to tell you about.” He pointed to a concrete bench by the oak. “Let’s sit.”

Nora suddenly felt so exhausted she wondered if she could manage those few steps. She wished she could just curl up under that huge, leafy tree and go to sleep. And never wake up.

She sat on the hard bench. Richards sat, reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and lit it with a silver lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

He gave her a half smile. “Goes with the job.”

She nodded. Yes, that’s all she wanted, small talk. If it wasn’t about Rose, then focusing on Anneke’s murder would require more energy than she could muster.

Richards took a deep drag and then exhaled. “We have something to tell finally. The perpetrator checked into a Motel 6 the day before the murder and never checked out. My men were able to get into his room.”

Nora felt some of her energy return. “Was there anything to help us find Rose?”

Richards put up a hand. “Hang on. Let me run through it all first. We found a passport.” He took out a small notepad and read from a worn page. “The fingerprints match those we took from the dead man. Dutch Immigration confirmed yesterday that his name was Wim Bakker, born in Amsterdam, address Westerstraat 453, fifty-seven years old.” He gave Nora a sharp look. “Have you ever heard that name?”

Nora shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. My parents never talked about their life in Holland. All they told me was that they had family there, but that they were estranged and did not want to discuss their past. When I lived in Amsterdam, I tried to find them, but never did. The name ‘de Jong’ is very common in Holland.” She shrugged. “I suppose they could have known this Bakker before they came here, but how would I know?”

“You’re absolutely sure you’ve never heard of him?”