Penina turns over what he’d said in her mind. “If he were working for another government, they might have different strategies. Especially if they wanted him to infiltrate the community anonymously. If Avigdor had just died, they might have seen their chance. Moish already knew Avigdor’s family, his background, his everyday life. It would have been so easy for him to slip into his life.”

“This guy sounds like a piece of work.” Warner leans back in his seat. “You think he was some kind of Russian spy?”

Hillel beams. “Imagine it! All those years living under another name. Maybe not a Russian spy. Mossad,” he decides. “He must have been Mossad.”

It doesn’t quite add up, though. These are wild guesses, and none of them connect back to the stolen medal. And Avigdor Cohen had been a part of that theft, too. Penina isn’t even sure that Moish had known where the medal had been stored in the house. After all, if Gabe had already found a secret compartment in the cabinet, why would Moish risk putting the medal in a second one?

She opens a government database, one that logs criminal charges across the country. No matter how skilled a hacker she might be, she has no chance of accessing this one — and she doesn’t particularly want the FBI to appear at her doorstep. But she should be able to access enough to figure out if there’s a charge in there, even if she can’t read the details of it.

She types in Avigdor Cohen first. A couple dozen results come up, many Cohens and a few Avigdors, but nothing with his full name. Next, she tries Moshe Garfinkel.

Match. A single charge, though Penina can’t get into the database to see it. With a little careful tinkering, she manages a date. November 17, 1994.

She switches tabs to the death certificate, a chill running down her spine. Same date. “He did something.” Hillel peers at her screen, and Penina schools her voice lower, so only Hillel and Warner can hear. “And it was bad enough that he took Avigdor’s identity to escape the charge.

Hillel isn’t grinning anymore. There’s no excitement in knowing that a frum man had done something terrible, that this mystery might end in revelations that will mar his memory forever. Penina thinks about Rivi, so withdrawn and hopeless already, and she feels a surge of guilt at uncovering this.

Maybe Rivi was right. Maybe they’re better off not knowing.

Martin returns Daniel to them with two bags of chips and a Reisman’s Brownie Bar. “I know this isn’t about work,” he says wryly. “Your mystery man again?”

“Getting less mysterious by the day,” Penina says grimly. She shifts her seat back, stretching her legs under her desk and wondering how long it’ll be before Gabe checks in. He isn’t like Rivi. He remembers his father fondly, had always been a little protective of him when they dated. He might say that he wants the truth, but is it worth shattering his image of his father?

“I should look into his work history. If he was a security guard, he might have had other accomplices.” Other, because was Avigdor his first? Or—

When a phone rings, Penina startles and tenses, thinking of Rivi and Gabe again, of explaining this new wrinkle to them. But it’s Hillel’s, and he snatches it up. “Ahuva!” His wife. Not Gabe. Penina exhales.

“Right, yeah, I’ll pick some up,” Hillel is saying. “I know, the red ones. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. Although, there are so many new ones I could try.” He laughs, then listens some more. “Oh, really? Are you sure?” Another pause. “Of course you did,” he says fondly. “She’s right here. Hang on.”

Abruptly a phone is in Penina’s face. She blinks at it. She’s friendly with Ahuva Pretter because they’re occasionally the only frum women at work events, but they’re not the kind of friends who schmooze on the phone. But Hillel holds the phone out, expectant, and Penina takes it. “Hello?”

“Penina! It’s so good to speak to you. I don’t think we’ve talked since that day we cleaned out the old Cohen house.” Ahuva pauses. “Or… not Cohen anymore, Hillel tells me, but that’s top secret, right?”

“Right.” Penina feels suddenly wary. This conversation feels choreographed, like Ahuva is slowly angling her toward a topic, but she doesn’t know what it is. “What’s doing?”

“Not a Cohen,” Ahuva says significantly. “You know, we had Gabe over for a meal last Shabbos, and also the week before that. He’s a good boy.”

“He’s thirty-one. Not really a boy.” Penina feels suddenly trapped. Martin and Warner are both eyeing her with interest, and Hillel is cheerful again, as though he’s just waiting for good news. She gets up, ducking away to a quiet conference room, and shuts the door.

“Ahuva, I appreciate you thinking of me. But—”

“He made a mistake when he left. I think he knows that now. Why else is he still hanging around Lenape Falls? It’s been nearly two months since he lost his father. He can do all this research by phone or online.” Ahuva sounds firm. “He’s just looking for a reason to stay. And if he found the right girl—”

“Woman,” Penina corrects again.

“Woman,” Ahuva agrees. Her voice softens. “Penina, you’re smart, you’re pretty, you’re capable, you’ve got the full package. And I know that things didn’t work out with Gabe last time. I remember him back then, when Hillel first took him under his wing. He was young and confused and maybe he just wasn’t ready for marriage. But he’s grown up a lot over the past five years.”

“He has,” Penina admits grudgingly, because he has. The Gabe who would apologize to her, who offers to help with Daniel and with Rivi’s kids, who doesn’t run scared from every complication… he’s different. Five years on his own, exploring the world and learning to connect with hostile outsiders, have only made him more responsible. Plus he’s still just as likable, quirky but determined, and there’s a warmth toward everyone who manages to see past his oddities.

“I’m just saying, you’re a catch. I think he’s finally figured that out.” Ahuva isn’t a professional shadchan, but it’s impossible to be married to someone as outgoing as Hillel Pretter without falling into shadchanus every now and then. Penina knows that Ahuva has even been successful — a coworker paired with one of Ahuva’s sisters, a neighbor’s daughter now engaged to an old acquaintance the Pretters had been hosting. Ahuva must have a good sense of people.

And there is something empathetic in how she asks the next question, something careful and prodding. “Would you be interested? I know there’s baggage. I know you’ve been married, and you have a son to consider. But would you want to go out with him?”

Penina stares out the glass wall of the room, watches Daniel perched in her chair, mashing at her keyboard. He’s still so young, little enough that someone new in her life wouldn’t induce hostility. And she knows that she’s running out of time before that obliviousness ends, before there are no guarantees.

Daniel likes Gabe. Gabe is her best friend’s brother. Gabe is an intellectual, bright-eyed, and curious about the world around him, just like she is. On paper, it works. In reality?

“I don’t know,” she admits, her voice a whisper. Maybe she’s just as bad as Rivi, just as afraid of being vulnerable. Because she does like Gabe, maybe even more than she had before. Definitely more than anyone else she’s dated. They’re suited for each other, always have been, and she can still see, with shining clarity, the image of a future alongside him.

He might not stay. For all she knows, he may not be interested anymore, and this is a moot point. There are so many unknowns, so many uncertainties, and Penina likes to deal with reality, with things that can be coded and defined, with math that adds up the same way every single time. Gabe isn’t easily defined — and that makes him unpredictable and terrifying.

Is it worth taking this chance, jumping headfirst into something that might go utterly wrong? Is that faint dream of a future enough to justify putting herself out there?

She wraps an arm around herself, worrying at the edge of her shirt with her fingers. “You can redt the shidduch,” she concedes. “But only one date, and only if he’s planning to stay here. One date,” she repeats. “And if I don’t get the sense that he’s genuinely serious about this, I’m out. I don’t even know if he’s interested.”

“Not interested?” Ahuva scoffs. “That boy is in awe of you. Every woman should have a husband who thinks as highly of her as Gabe does of you. He’ll be interested, and he’ll be willing to stay.” She says it with certainty, like she can strong-arm him into changing his life plans with just a few words. Penina isn’t convinced.

“We can try for Sunday,” Ahuva adds, chipper. “No need to push it off any longer. Unless you need to check into him again?”

“I think I’m good,” Penina says, already dazed at the throwaway mention of husband. This is moving too quickly — and it hasn’t even started yet. “Weird family situation. Possible criminal mastermind for a father. Fake last name. Broken engagement. And pretty sure that his only reference would be Hillel.”

Ahuva laughs. Penina’s heart pounds a panicked drumbeat.

What has she just gotten herself into?

To be continued… 

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 925)