Getting Old Is Criminal (8 page)

TEN

CASE REVIEW

Ida pours us another round of coffee, all decaf-feinated except for mine. We are in her apartment this time around. Shoes off, exhausted from our meeting this morning and lunch on the way home. I need my nap and am dying to check my answering machine, but the girls want to rehash what we know so far.

Ida’s place is sparsely and simply furnished, spotlessly clean. She isn’t into any specific type of décor. Her living room walls are covered with photos of her grandchildren, who live in California.

They are very old photos, since she has not heard from her family in years, even though she continues to write to them. It’s obviously heartbreaking for her, but she has yet to tell any of us what caused this terrible rift. Nor are there any photos G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 6 9

of her ex-husband—she never talks about him, either.

Her “Florida room”—as enclosed sunrooms are called down here—is for her many crafts. She sews, embroiders, quilts, and knits. Most of which she gives away. She makes stuffed toys for poor children at Christmas. So many things to keep her busy through the lonely nights?

Sophie warms up some macaroons in Ida’s toaster oven. To make them softer, she claims.

Once the food and drinks are ready, the meeting of Gladdy Gold and Associates is off and running.

First we discuss the latest Peeper incident with Dora Dooley.

“We should do another follow-up, anyway,”

Evvie says, “before we call Morrie again.” The girls all adore Jack’s son, Detective Morrie Langford. Not only because they think he’s cute, but because he’s always willing to help us—after I do a little convincing. Frankly, right now I’m not in any hurry to face Jack’s son with our relationship so up in the air.

“Maybe Dora remembers some details by now.

Maybe she did get a look at the Peeper,” adds Ida.

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly. Any excuse to stop by Phase Six and maybe run into Jack. Or casually drop in on him. He has to be home sometime.

Now Ida is ready to give her report as everyone noshes contentedly.

“I got the manager of the Seaside Cliffs Retirement Resort in Sarasota on the phone a few 7 0 • R i t a L a k i n

minutes ago, and it was as if I was talking to that Mrs. Gordon at Grecian Villas. Same story.

Everybody loved Philip. He was the belle of the ball, so to speak.”

“You mean, beau of the ball.” Evvie can’t resist.

Ida ignores her. “The really interesting part is that he had a special lady he lived with who died of heart failure. A Mrs. Elsie Rogers. Same response.

He moved out because he couldn’t bear living where everything would remind him of his beloved. Boo-hoo. Everybody cried at the funeral and they cried when Philip Smythe left. Sound familiar?”

We exchange glances. This is a surprise.

“Sure sounds like a pattern to me,” Evvie says as she helps herself from a bowl of strawberries.

Sophie asks, “So what kind of pattern?

Ida, not surprisingly, spouts a caustic opinion about men. “My guess is he picks out a woman in a retirement place. Gets all the sex he wants ’til she drops dead. You know how men are. That’s all they ever think about. Maybe he wears them out, that’s why they die. Then he leaves.”

Bella sighs. “What a way to go.”

Evvie laughs, shaking her head. “Ida, there must be one nice guy in the world.”

Ida stiffens and raises her chin high. “Maybe Mahatma Gandhi . . . and he’s dead.”

“Nicely put,” I say mockingly to Ida, but she is immune to my sarcasm. Her husband must have G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 1

been some piece of work to inspire her bleak attitude about men.

“But why leave?” Evvie asks. “He can probably choose his next lady friend from a hundred panting others, since he’s such a great catch.”

“Good question,” Bella says. She suddenly grins. “You know who he reminds me of? Our Peeper. He goes from window to window looking for love.”

“Cheaper than going from retirement home to retirement home,” says Sophie. Everyone laughs.

“Love ain’t what he’s looking for,” says Ida snidely.

“Maybe this Romeo guy would be embarrassed to have another hot chickie in the same place,”

Sophie says, back on track.

“That must be it. Well, what do you expect him to do?” Evvie adds. “Tell all the women to get in line and pick a number. Like at the meat counter?”

“Next!” says Bella playfully, raising her hand and pretending to jump up.

“It also would look peculiar if every one of those same chickies died,” says Sophie.

“But they’re old. Of course they’ll die.” This from always-practical Ida.

“You’re old, too,” Sophie points out. “You’ll die, too.”

“So will you, so shut up. Who asked you? I’m making a point here.”

“Girls, girls . . .” I say, to no effect.

7 2 • R i t a L a k i n

“Girls, stop fighting,” Evvie says loudly, rapping her spoon on the table.

“Stupid, where’s your logic?” Ida says, glower-ing at Sophie. “How can he know
he
won’t die before his lover?”

Bella looks confused. “But isn’t that sweet? He makes one woman happy, then goes off to the next. Like the Pied Piper.”

Sophie pretends to shiver. “Don’t talk about rats. They scare me.”

Evvie sums it up. “So what are we saying here?

Philip Smythe is a healthy, active man in his seventies still looking for love?” She grins. “Over and over and over again.”

“Sex!” Ida interrupts.

“Okay, he finds someone to love
and
have sex.”

This she says pointedly at Ida. “She dies eventually of natural causes. He truly feels sad and leaves.”

My turn. “But Esther’s son is sure Philip Smythe killed her.”

Evvie says, “He also admitted that Philip didn’t take any money from her, other than let her pay the rent.”

“Yeah,” agrees Bella. “No motive.
Gornisht.

Nothing. Nada.”

Evvie gets up and does stretches. We missed our usual exercise today. “You want to know my opinion? I think Ferguson is all wet. His mother died. He’s grieving. Philip Smythe sounds harmless to me.”

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 3

Bella says, “Maybe we should tell Mr. Ferguson and give him back his money?”

“Are you crazy?” Sophie asks. “I can’t wait to start spending it.”

Ida has a one-track mind. “I agree with Evvie.

Doesn’t sound like much of a case to me, either.

This guy, Philip, has nothing better to do in his old age than get laid. For him it beats playing bingo.”

“I resent that remark,” says the bingo maven, Sophie, still simmering.

“Me, too,” echoes Bella. “Besides, we made big bucks on that bingo cruise.”

“Nevertheless,” I say, “we have to find out the truth. We have to find a way to take a closer look at this man.”

I get up and start clearing the remains of the food off Ida’s table, a signal that our meeting is near an end.

“How will we do that?” Bella gathers up the sil-verware.

“I think we have to follow him to Wilmington House in Palm Beach.”

“But that’s about an hour drive, and an hour back.” Sophie brushes crumbs into the napkin in her hand. “It’s not like it’s around the corner.”

“And it won’t be so easy to get in.” Evvie is in charge of the cups and saucers. “All those retirement places are enclosed and have very tight security. I can’t see us just waltzing in and out. I agree we need a different approach.”

7 4 • R i t a L a k i n

“I will just have to move into Wilmington House,” I boldly declare.

My statement is met by silence.

Sophie recovers quickly. “Just you?”

Ida picks up on that. “You’ll need help.”

Bella next. “Four eyes are better than two.”

For a moment they are quiet again, absorbing this. Then Bella’s, Sophie’s, and Ida’s hands shoot up. And in unison they say, “Me, pick me.”

Evvie simply stares at them, eyes narrowing.

“First things first,” I say, realizing I am now about to get into deep water. I ignore the raised hands and keep going. “I need to make an appointment with the manager at Wilmington House. I’ll have to make a strong pitch for letting me move in temporarily.”

“Oh, no,” Evvie says with consternation, thinking back to the relatively polished attire we wore for our first visit to Grecian Villas, “my clothes aren’t fancy enough for Palm Beach. I’ll have to go shopping.”

“Wait just one minute,” Ida says. “Who voted you in?”

“Yeah,” says Bella, folding her arms across her chest. “I could go. I have no pressing engage-ments.”

“What are we, chopped liver?” Sophie finishes the round. The chorus has spoken.

Evvie turns to me. “Of course I’m going with you, Glad, isn’t that so?”

Oh, boy, this is some pickle. I feel my sister G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 5

Evvie is the right choice for me. We’ve had a life-time of thinking alike and working so well together, but I look at those three pairs of sad eyes accusing me, correctly, of favoritism. This is a nowin situation. “Let me think about it,” says the coward.

Ida stomps toward the door. “Don’t bother. We know who you’ll choose, so just do it and get done with it.”

The others follow her.

There is a decided chill in the air. But Evvie is grinning.

And I feel rotten.

ELEVEN

WHERE IS JACK?

Dora Dooley is where she usually is, planted in front of her TV, which is so close to her she can almost touch it. She got up to let me in, then hurried back to her recliner, where she now sits watching her show avidly and ignoring me.

It is very hot and stuffy in here. Dora is wearing lime green pedal pushers and a matching sweater with a long-sleeved cardigan over it. She’s already informed me she doesn’t like air conditioning and she won’t open windows for fear of a draft. I fan myself as best I can in this stifling room. I intend to get out quickly. Not only because of the heat, but because I’m dying to see Jack.

“So can you tell me a little more about the Peeping Tom the other night?” I say as loudly as I can.

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 7

“Shah,” Dora says. “Wait for the commercial.”

I assume she’s hard of hearing since the sound is turned up very high.

I sit and stew, fanning hard, as she watches a torrid love scene. The way I’m feeling, that’s the last kind of thing I need to be looking at—all I’m aware of is that Jack lives right above this apartment. From what I can gather, the characters on her soap opera are both married to other people and feeling terribly guilty. However, it doesn’t seem to interfere with their lust.

Finally the commercials arrive, and the volume rises even higher. One of my pet peeves is that the advertisers do that on purpose.

Dora cackles. “Won’t take long until Penelope finds out her husband, Percy, is boffing her best friend, Elizabeth.”

I nod obediently.

She cups her left ear at me and shouts, “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Gladdy Gold, Phase Two. We’re trying to find the man who is peeking in women’s windows.

You were his latest victim.”

“I didn’t see much. All I saw was a mask and his hand wagging his little
peepee
at me.”

That’s that. “Someone told me you might have gotten a good look at him.”

“With my eyesight?” She indicates the closeness of the TV set.

“Your neighbor, Jack Langford, didn’t see him either, I suppose.”

7 8 • R i t a L a k i n

She waves her hand at me. “Shhh,
World of Our
Dreams
is on again. They sure got sexy actors on this show.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” I move to leave.

She grasps my sleeve as I pass her chair. “Ask me anything. I’m an expert. This is my favorite show. I’ve been watching it since it came on in 1951. They started in kinescope and went to tape in 1964. Ask me who broke Victoria Ainsworth’s heart in 1972. Errol Forsyth, that’s who. He slept with her sister, Evangeline, and she tried to commit suicide.”

“Very sad,” I comment.

“And in 1987, Eugenia Huffington got the first face-lift on live TV.” She cackles again. “That was something else. The producers on this show sure likes stuffy character names, though. Evangeline, Eugenia, Moira . . .”

Loneliness, I think. Let me count the ways people keep themselves going. Whatever gets you through the night. I should talk. I don’t have anything to help me. My eyes look upward again.

How did I let myself care this much? Is the pain worth it?

I can no longer breathe. I carefully extradite myself. “Gotta go, Dora. Need to check some facts with Jack upstairs.”

I head down her hallway. “I’ll let myself out.”

She calls after me, “Don’t waste your energy climbing the steps. Jack ain’t home.”

I turn back. “He’s gone out for the day?”

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 9

“No, he’s just plain gone. Took his suitcase this morning and left. Didn’t say a word to nobody.”

My stomach starts churning. No, it’s not possible.