Read Online To Kill a Matzo Ball (A Deadly Deli Mystery) by Delia Rosen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Delia Rosen
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way, I could turn the economy around in a week.
I went upstairs with enough cash for the hour, though if the etheric cleanser was as sincere as his website claimed, I had a feeling I could convince him to give me a bunch of extra hours for free.
Banko opened the door a moment before I knocked. That didn’t surprise me: the elevator had a particularly loud “bing,” no doubt to let occupants know that a guest had just arrived. Banko shut the door and followed me in. There were candles on the night tables, the wicks blackened. The air smelled of vanilla. I noticed the computer was active on the desk, with a jagged green line scrolling right to left like a polygraph.
“Is that me?” I asked.
“Yes indeed,” he said. “I isolated it from the vibrations at the deli. It told me you were here.”
“You didn’t hear the elevator?”
“Of course. But that could have been anyone.”
I bent in front of the laptop. This whole thing could be for show. The line could belong to anyone. “Has this been a profitable visit for you?”
“I don’t make a lot, but I don’t lose anything,” he said. “Unless I stand around talking.” He said that with a little laugh.
“Right.” I rose, pulled the money from my front pocket, counted out an hour’s worth, and put it on the desk. “I’m not here for a cleansing.”
He stood by the little kitchen area, which had the minibar, sink, and coffeepot. “What do you want?”
“Did you hear what happened after you left?”
“No,” he replied. Banko seemed genuinely perplexed.
I told him what had occurred and that maybe the police had not contacted him yet because he had paid in cash and they were looking at credit receipts first. He did not seem alarmed by the prospect of being interviewed, though I told him that, too, was not why I had come.
“I need to know, just between us, if this stuff is real.”
Banko looked at me suspiciously. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“For one thing, the hotel has you bundled with an acupuncturist and a hypnotist,” I said. “For another, I worked on Wall Street. I assume everyone’s selling snake oil.”
“Is that what I was doing in your restaurant? Putting on a show? Did you see me passing out business cards or soliciting business?” He was a little indignant. It didn’t seem to be an act. He shook his head. “Civilians.”
“Say again?”
“You lump everyone together. New agers, yogis, ghost hunters, alien abductees. It’s all the same crazy soup to you.”
“Hey, the hotel did it. Now who’s generalizing?”
He came over, swept up the money, handed it back. “I am not responsible for how the hotel ‘bundles’ its services. My research is real. The planes below and above the astral are real. Etheric cleansing is real. You can have that for free.”
“I don’t want it for free,” I told him. “I want it to be real. I need it. I just wanted to be sure.”
The hand with the money remained extended. His expression remained suspicious, guarded. “Explain.”
“My explanation has two parts. First: it’s possible that someone involved in the shooting was in my restaurant this morning, casing it out.”
“Why is that possible?”
“Because the police believe it,” I said. “But let’s assume it’s true. You might have recorded that individual on your computer. There could be an elevated spike, like you just said you saw with my arrival.”
“I did see it.”
“Yes, sorry. Anyway, that’s part number one. Part number two is a little more interesting. Did you ever try matching someone’s etheric lines?”
He hesitated before answering, the pale blue eyes hooding over. Maybe crashing in a hooker hotel had put him on guard against entrapment.
“This is on the level,” I said. I took out the photo of the flyer. “The police found these stuck to trees along a stretch of highway. I thought, if you’re on the level and we drive around that part of town, it’s possible we might ID whoever
I went upstairs with enough cash for the hour, though if the etheric cleanser was as sincere as his website claimed, I had a feeling I could convince him to give me a bunch of extra hours for free.
Banko opened the door a moment before I knocked. That didn’t surprise me: the elevator had a particularly loud “bing,” no doubt to let occupants know that a guest had just arrived. Banko shut the door and followed me in. There were candles on the night tables, the wicks blackened. The air smelled of vanilla. I noticed the computer was active on the desk, with a jagged green line scrolling right to left like a polygraph.
“Is that me?” I asked.
“Yes indeed,” he said. “I isolated it from the vibrations at the deli. It told me you were here.”
“You didn’t hear the elevator?”
“Of course. But that could have been anyone.”
I bent in front of the laptop. This whole thing could be for show. The line could belong to anyone. “Has this been a profitable visit for you?”
“I don’t make a lot, but I don’t lose anything,” he said. “Unless I stand around talking.” He said that with a little laugh.
“Right.” I rose, pulled the money from my front pocket, counted out an hour’s worth, and put it on the desk. “I’m not here for a cleansing.”
He stood by the little kitchen area, which had the minibar, sink, and coffeepot. “What do you want?”
“Did you hear what happened after you left?”
“No,” he replied. Banko seemed genuinely perplexed.
I told him what had occurred and that maybe the police had not contacted him yet because he had paid in cash and they were looking at credit receipts first. He did not seem alarmed by the prospect of being interviewed, though I told him that, too, was not why I had come.
“I need to know, just between us, if this stuff is real.”
Banko looked at me suspiciously. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“For one thing, the hotel has you bundled with an acupuncturist and a hypnotist,” I said. “For another, I worked on Wall Street. I assume everyone’s selling snake oil.”
“Is that what I was doing in your restaurant? Putting on a show? Did you see me passing out business cards or soliciting business?” He was a little indignant. It didn’t seem to be an act. He shook his head. “Civilians.”
“Say again?”
“You lump everyone together. New agers, yogis, ghost hunters, alien abductees. It’s all the same crazy soup to you.”
“Hey, the hotel did it. Now who’s generalizing?”
He came over, swept up the money, handed it back. “I am not responsible for how the hotel ‘bundles’ its services. My research is real. The planes below and above the astral are real. Etheric cleansing is real. You can have that for free.”
“I don’t want it for free,” I told him. “I want it to be real. I need it. I just wanted to be sure.”
The hand with the money remained extended. His expression remained suspicious, guarded. “Explain.”
“My explanation has two parts. First: it’s possible that someone involved in the shooting was in my restaurant this morning, casing it out.”
“Why is that possible?”
“Because the police believe it,” I said. “But let’s assume it’s true. You might have recorded that individual on your computer. There could be an elevated spike, like you just said you saw with my arrival.”
“I did see it.”
“Yes, sorry. Anyway, that’s part number one. Part number two is a little more interesting. Did you ever try matching someone’s etheric lines?”
He hesitated before answering, the pale blue eyes hooding over. Maybe crashing in a hooker hotel had put him on guard against entrapment.
“This is on the level,” I said. I took out the photo of the flyer. “The police found these stuck to trees along a stretch of highway. I thought, if you’re on the level and we drive around that part of town, it’s possible we might ID whoever
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