“And now your name is Bernstein? Did you remarry?”
Mina lowered her eyes and blushed. I almost smiled; it was such a girlish gesture for a grown woman.
“Yes,” she replied, “Two years after my divorce I met a wonderful man who worked in the Israeli Navy as a radio operator. His name was Rafi Bernstein.”
“Was?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said sadly, “he died two years after we married. I wanted Ariel to have a father in her life, but he died when Ariel was only four years old, before she could really remember him.”
Mina then looked up at me. “Now you know it all. I still don't know how all this could be connected to Ariel's disappearance. Can you help me find her? I was afraid to go to the police because she insisted that I not talk to anyone about this. ‘It's a matter of life and death,’ she said. Now I understand how right she was.”
I had a long laundry list of questions, but I held back.
“I'll help you find Ariel,” I said.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “I need your help. There's just no one else.”
“So let's get started,” I said. “Do you know if Ariel had a bank account in Europe?”
“No, she didn't. She made me a signatory in all her bank accounts. I would have known that. She only banks in Israel. Why are you asking?”
“Because sometimes people just take off. If she had a bank account here, we could see if she withdrew money lately and see any unusual movements in her account. You said that her father sent her money?”
“Yes, from time to time. He also bought her an apartment in Haifa and a car. He wanted Ariel to have a comfortable lifestyle. Anyway, Ariel never really cared too much about money.”
I wanted to ask Mina to let me have access to Ariel's bank account in Israel. If DeLouise had wired her money also from his foreign bank accounts, it would be a beautiful lead. But I couldn't ask for it now. Not just yet.
“Let's talk to the receptionist here. Maybe he knows something,” I said.
“Did I miss any messages during my stay here?” Mina asked the man behind the desk.
“No,” he said, “but someone asked about you.”
“Who?” asked Mina.
“I don't know,” he answered. “It was a man with a foreign accent and he did not leave any message.”
Mina looked troubled.
“He'll probably call again,” he added in a comforting voice, when he saw Mina's obvious confusion. “It's the same person who called for you twice just a few days ago.”
Mina looked at him and snapped: “No one told me that people were looking for me. Why wasn't I told?”
“There was no message to deliver,” he said apologetically, with a half-embarrassed smile. “I asked him if he wanted to leave a name or number, but he said that you'd soon know.”
“Soon know what?” asked Mina confusedly, as we went back to the sitting room.
“Did you get any mail here?” I asked.
“No.”
I knew I had to intervene. I asked Mina to wait for me in the lounge and returned to the reception desk. I didn't want her to know that I had checked out the phone calls DeLouise made and that, in view of Mina's account of her conversation with Ariel, it was obvious he had called the pension to speak with Ariel.
“Mrs. Bernstein and I are trying to find Ariel Peled. Has she actually checked out?”
“Excuse me,” said the man firmly, “could you tell me who you are?”
“I'm a friend of the family,” I responded. “Ariel Peled is Mina Bernstein's daughter.”
“I see,” said the man relenting. “That explains why my wife let Mrs. Bernstein move Ms. Peled's luggage to her room.”
“Are you Mr. Bart?”
He nodded.
“So Ariel Peled never checked out?”
“No, she just left. Sometimes people do that. Her room was paid for, so I guess we weren't concerned about the bill. Why are you asking? Is there a problem?”
“Her mother is worried because she hasn't heard from her yet. Tell me, who made the reservations for Ariel's room?”
“We don't keep formal records of these things, but let me look.”
He leafed through his book and said, “Yes, just as I thought, the room was paid for in cash. I remember now; a man called and made the reservation. When I asked for a credit card to guarantee the room, he said that he'd send a messenger with cash. Sometime later somebody came with an envelope with cash. It was odd, because most people send in personal checks or charge the room to a credit card.”
I was convinced DeLouise had made these arrangements to distance himself from Ariel. But why? He must have felt the heat. In the end, he'd been justified.
“Do you keep a record of messages or phone calls? Mrs. Bernstein is very upset about missing these calls.”
“No,” he said, and added in a defensive tone, “we are a small pension, only twelve rooms. We give our guests their messages and we don't record them.”
Mina had left the sitting room and was coming to join me. When Mr. Bart saw her he said, “Mrs. Bernstein, this has just come in for you,” and handed her an envelope.
Deftly, I grabbed the envelope out of his hand. There was a typewritten line in the center: “Mrs. Mina Bernstein, Pension Bart.” There was neither a stamp nor a return address.
“How did it come in?” I asked Mr. Bart.
“A boy on a bicycle gave it to me moments ago and said a man in a car stopped right outside the pension and gave him a tip to bring it in.”
“Are you expecting any mail here?” I asked Mina.
“No,” she said. “Nobody but Ariel knows where I am.”
I bent the envelope to see if there was any object inside other than paper. It bent just fine. I looked for signs of oil stains, which could indicate explosives. There were none. Mina followed me as I went outside the building to open it carefully. There was only one sheet of paper inside. I carefully pulled out a typewritten letter. We have Ariel. If you want her back alive, do not contact the police, or we return her in pieces. We want the papers
DeLouise gave her.