Read Write me a Letter for Free Online

patio where fifteen or twenty guests were already mingling pretty well without us. As we watched, the bride, Rachael, and her six bridesmaids made their entrance from the room below us while at the same time from the room facing theirs the groom and his six ushers or whatever you call them made their appearance. The bride wore white, her attendants identical pretty, long white summer coats over their dresses. The groom wore black, while his team sported white tuxedo jackets worn with navy blue trousers, and with a red carnation in each lapel. I forgot to mention the bridesmaids all had red carnations pinned in their tresses.
    Down we went.
    Mingle we did. While we were so doing I borrowed a couple of red carnations from one of the vases for me and Evonne.
    During the next couple of hours we ate, drank, mingled, even danced, when the band finally struck up after the speeches, wandered, and met people. We met Yoav, the groom, whose suit was too big for him and who looked like he’d been dragged to the reception by his hair; Rachael, the bride, who looked like she’d been crying and drinking; Rebecca Lubinski, the bride’s mother, who said her feet were killing her; assorted guests; the perspiring head of the catering team; and during one of their breaks, three members of the band, two out back who were sharing a companionable reefer and one up on the sun roof. I even met the elderly rabbi, and Mrs. Rabbi,
    ”Try the potato salad,” he said. ”It’s delicious.”
    ”Is it kosher?” I said.
    ”If it isn’t, don’t tell me,” he said.
    I did try it; it was delicious, it had capers in it. I also essayed the chopped liver, the pastrami, the lox, the cole slaw, and the cold tongue. The horseradish was red, also red hot. I gave the fish balls a miss. I kept my eyes as well as my mouth open.
    At one stage I strolled down to visit Frank, taking with me, in a glass in one pocket, a hefty slug of bourbon, which Annie had told me would be much appreciated. I noticed she was appreciating a tall tumbler of something refreshing as well. Frank reported that all was quiet at his end. I said, ”Likewise.”
    Shortly thereafter, back up at the house again, I was standing near the band watching the dancing and sipping a brandy and ginger ale without the brandy when the little rabbi popped up beside me.
    ”Aaron tells me you are a private detective, Mr. Daniel,” he said. ”Hmm, interesting. I never met anyone in your line of work before.”
    ”Can’t say I’ve met many rabbis, either,” I remarked. ”Is it true that to be Jewish your mother has to be Jewish, not your father? That always seemed a little strange to me.”
    ”A lot of our laws seem strange at first,” he said, ”until you know the thinking behind them. Then it is highly possible they may still seem strange, of course. But in this case, the logic is clear enough. While it is not always possible to tell who the father of a particular child is, it’s usually highly obvious who the mother is.”
    I laughed. He peered innocently up at me through his bifocals.
    ” ‘Daniel,’ ” he said reflectively. ”You have the same name as one of our greatest prophets, as you no doubt know.”
    ”No, I didn’t,” I admitted. ”Was that the same Daniel who I heard had all kinds of problems with some lions once somewhere?”
    ”In Babylon,” he said, nodding.
    ”Yeah, well,” I said. ‘Always was a lively town, Babylon, especially on Homecoming Week.”
    He smiled, then waved to Mrs. Rabbi, who came sedately fox-trotting by with Yoav.
    I looked around to make sure Evonne wasn’t within hearing distance, i.e., a nautical mile. ”Rabbi, can I ask you something?”
    ”Why not?”
    ”Did you ever meet a Nazi?”
    ”Yes,” he said. ”I did.”
    ”When?”
    ”This morning.” I stared at him.
    ”What was he doing?”
    ”He was scrubbing off a swastika someone had sprayed on the door to our temple. He shows up every time there’s been vandalism, with his