Getting Old Is Criminal (11 page)

Of course, Ms. Watson can’t wait. “Are you telling me you know Philip Smythe is a murderer?”

Now that she’s paying attention, I speak. “We don’t know that he is. My client may be wrong.

We would like more than anything to clear him if 1 0 0 • R i t a L a k i n

we can. But a woman died. There is a bereft son.

He needs to know the truth about his mother’s death.”

“Why doesn’t he go to the police?” she asks, finally pulling herself together.

“Because he has no proof. He wants a private investigation before he can seek out help from the police.”

“This is your problem, not mine. Give me one good reason I should put up with this nonsense.”

“Because I think you believe in right and wrong and integrity and honesty. Because if this man killed a helpless woman, he deserves to be brought to justice. Because if we don’t clear him, you will never be sure whether your elegant residence is harboring a murderer. You will never have a comfortable day.”

Evvie nails it home. “Imagine what that will do to your reputation.”

Evvie has her fingers crossed. I know she’s thinking, will we pull it off? I pinch her arm to make sure she doesn’t say anything right now. Let it sink in.

Hope Watson hesitates. We wait.

“If one word leaks out—”

“It won’t,” insists Evvie. “No one will ever know why we’re here.”

“You promise there will be no upsetting of our routine? There is no way I will allow you to wreak havoc in my well-run facility.”

Evvie jumps in. “You’ll hardly even know we’re G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 0 1

here.” She makes a zipping motion with her finger across her lips. “We’ll be as quiet as little mice.”

Hope Watson sighs. “I shall have to bring this up before the board. I cannot make such a decision on my own.”

“We understand, and we’d be glad to go before the board to explain if you wish. As would Mr.

Ferguson.”

“That won’t be necessary. I am quite capable of explaining your mission.”

She walks us quickly to the outer lobby.

“Should you be given permission,” which she says in a doubtful tone, “I would suggest you look around and see how we live here at Wilmington House. It is a place of peace and decorum. You will mind your manners.”

“Yes, we will,” I say dutifully.

“But don’t think you shall have the run of the place. You will be watched constantly. By me.”

“Agreed.”

As she opens the door for us, Hope Watson has the final word. “And do something about your abominable taste in clothing!”

And we’re thrown out again.

*

*

*

Driving home after our victory, Evvie is elated.

“There’s so much we need to do. Somebody’s got to pick up our mail. We gotta make sure we leave the air on low. What’ll we do with all the food in 1 0 2 • R i t a L a k i n

our fridges? Wait til Hy hears we get to live with the rich folks!”

“You’re so sure we’re getting in?”

“Positive.”

“You know there’s a gossip columnist on the Palm Beach paper?”

She shrugs, grinning. “How should I know? I made it up. Besides, we could never reveal anything that Philip Smythe might read about.”

“Whatever got into you? Talk about bossy!”

Evvie is delighted with herself. “Who knows?

PMS? The frustrated actress in me? Maybe it’s just sexual frustration. It is definitely time for me to meet a guy again. And be happy like you.”

Evvie leans back in her seat. “Now, aren’t you glad you picked me as your partner?”

FOURTEEN

MORE PEEPER PROBLEMS

As Evvie and I drive back through Lanai Gardens, I find myself looking at our condos through Hope Watson’s eyes. Low-rent area? Yes, I guess you could call it that. Our pretty lawns can hardly compare to the extravagant grounds at Wilmington House. The stucco paint on our buildings is getting shabby. We need a lot of repair work to fix last year’s hurricane damage. No compari-son to the perfection that the rich can afford.

Never mind, though; it’s home.

“Hey, look over there.” Evvie pokes me. We are about to pass Phase Five, when I see the police car. I pull over. To my surprise, there’s Morrie Langford in conversation with some of the residents. I recognize Dora Dooley, Jack’s neighbor, among them. I park and Evvie and I join them.

1 0 4 • R i t a L a k i n

For a moment I am startled. Morrie reminds me so much of his dad. Same tall height, same posture.

Full head of lustrous brown hair, now salt-and-pepper on his father’s head. What Jack must have looked like in his thirties. Another jolt for me and I feel my pain once again. Morrie and I have become good friends since we met professionally.

Now I feel at a loss as to how to behave with him.

Does he know Jack and I have broken up?

“There’s Gladdy,” says Sylvia Green, a tall, usually cheerful woman I know only slightly. “Just the person we want to see.”

And in minutes, we get the story. Our Peeper struck again. The woman who saw him got so frightened that they had to take her to her doctor this morning.

Dora is practically jumping up and down, pointing an accusing finger at Morrie. “You promised your father you’d catch him.”

He smiles at the tiny woman. “I promised I’d try.”

Morrie addresses us. “I want to help but there’s not much I can do. I can’t spare any cars to cruise your premises all night. Unfortunately, it’s not our top priority.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Alice Potts is wringing her hands.

Morrie makes a suggestion. “Perhaps putting up motion-sensor lights on every building will make a difference. He won’t be able to avoid the bright lights. That might deter him.”

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 0 5

I notice Jack’s son won’t look me in the eye. I guess he’s already heard the news. “I’ll call an emergency meeting of our phase. You do the same with yours,” I say to the Phase Five women. “But installing lights will be very costly.”

“This has gone on long enough,” Alice insists.

“Yeah, you said that right,” Dora echoes her.

“Are you done now? I have to get back to my show.”

Sylvia has a solution. “Maybe if all the phases chip in we can afford those lights. I’ll pass the word along to all the phase presidents.”

I promise to get in touch with my group right away.

Morrie gives me a cursory nod and leaves.

Evvie, watching him leave, looks surprised.

“What’s with the cold shoulder? What’s eating him?”

Guilt, I hope. Like father, like son? Leave when the going gets tough?

*

*

*

As I turn into my parking spot I see Denny’s old car pulled out so that Irving and Yolie can help Millie into the backseat.

Evvie heads upstairs to my apartment, but I amble over. “Hi. How is everyone?”

Everyone seems nervous, that’s how everyone is.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Irving answers quickly. “We’re 1 0 6 • R i t a L a k i n

taking her for a checkup. And some tests. Just a checkup.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. “Hope everything goes well.”

Denny mumbles something incoherent and Yolie doesn’t look at me and I swear Irving is sweating.

Millie giggles one of her inappropriate laughs.

“They’re such liars.” Then, as it is with her, it’s as if a light goes off and she’s comatose once again.

Denny rolls out of the parking area, burning rubber.

Strange.

I know one day we’re going to have to convince Irving to put Millie in an Alzheimer’s hospital. He looks exhausted. I know he can’t take much more.

*

*

*

“Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I’m pretty sure Evvie and I will be getting into Wilmington House. The board might call you to confirm what we’re doing.”

I nod at Evvie, who is leaning so far over my shoulder in order to listen that she is practically on my lap. I’ll bet Shirley’s doing the same on the other side of the phone. I listen a few moments and then Evvie pokes me, covering her mouth in order to hide her laughing openly.

“That’s a very good idea, Alvin. In both our names. And very generous of you.” Now I can hear Shirley yelling, “Are you crazy?” in the background. “Thank you. We’ll keep you informed.”

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 0 7

I hang up. Evvie hugs me. “Wow! A charge account at Wilmington House!”

“Down, girl. That’s to pay the rental on the apartment and for the few sundries we might need.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evvie dances around the room. “I heard him. Toothpaste and hairspray, stuff like that.”

“We have a fiscal responsibility to keep our charges low.”

Evvie heads out the door. “I heard you. Yum yum! I just can’t wait to move into our fancy retirement hotel. Maybe I’ll nab some old rich guy and never have to leave again!”

*

*

*

Lying in bed that night, I can’t stop thinking about Jack and wondering where he is. I remember how the two of us showered in our outdoor waterfall in Pago Pago. How cool the water was. The first time we saw each other naked. How his body fit so well against mine. How we teased, saying we’d wait until later, but later never came. I play the scene over and over again, each time demanding of myself that I stop. But I can’t.

Maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I don’t need the aggravation of having a man in my life.

Everything was much simpler before. And yet—

that incredible feeling of pleasure. At what price?

Now I can hardly wait to get to Wilmington 1 0 8 • R i t a L a k i n

House where I can worry about Esther Ferguson’s Romeo and not my own. And what price did she pay for her pleasure? Oh, such dark and dreary thoughts.

I turn on the TV and catch a comedy show.

I will not let Jack get me down.

FIFTEEN

NO ESCAPE FOR

THE WICKED

Like fugitives, we tiptoe our way to my car, looking every which way to make sure we aren’t seen by the girls. Evvie and I are going to prepare for the big move into Wilmington House.

First stop: shopping for ritzy clothes. We only have a couple of days—I hope we can find something.

Frankly, I didn’t think the Wilmington board would vote us in. But I guess the convincing argument was that they desperately needed to know if they had inadvertently allowed a killer into their midst. I’m sure they tried to look for an out in Philip Smythe’s rental agreement, but the first and last month’s rent must have been already paid.

And I’m sure his former records and bank state-ments reaffirmed he was more than able to afford to live there.

1 1 0 • R i t a L a k i n

Evvie is merrily singing Gilbert and Sullivan under her breath. “ ‘With catlike tread upon our prey we steal . . . tarantara, tarantara! . . .’ ” She stops.

“Oh, oh.” She points toward my car, where three determined figures stand with crossed arms and grim faces. Evvie mutters under her breath, “Guess the yenta grapevine told them we were heading out.” Then she waves with phony cheerfulness.

“Hi, girls, what’s up?”

“Going somewhere?” Ida asks. “I thought you had mah-jongg this afternoon.”

“Just not in a mah-jongg kind of mood today.”

“More like in a spending-a-rich-guy’s-money mood?”

“Lay off, Ida.”

I feel terrible. Ever since Evvie abruptly announced she was going with me before I could tactfully pave the way, I have felt so guilty. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could take you all with us, but it’s just not possible.”

“We know that,” Bella says, her arm around Sophie. “It would be silly to have a mob hanging around.”

“But you could use us as accessories around the fact,” says Sophie, in her inimitable way of expressing herself.

“You’re not mad anymore?” I feel so relieved.

“Of course not,” says Bella. “You need to leave some of the troops back at the home office. The Peeper case is still hot on the griddle.”

“In fact,” says Ida huffily, “we’ve already arranged G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 1 1

the multi-condo meeting, so there. We are very capable of running the shop without you.”