Getting Old Can Kill You (15 page)

“I knocked on Joyce’s door and as I did, it swung open. I called out to her. She didn’t answer. All the lights were on. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went inside. And I found Joyce.

“She’d dead, Gladdy. Joyce is dead!”

B
y now enough people have been awakened by the unusual nighttime activity that a sizable crowd in bathrobes is witness to these latest arrivals. A patrol car pulls up and I’m surprised to see Morrie step out of it along with a policeman. The paramedic unit arrives right behind them in their truck.

Morrie greets us. “I know you didn’t expect to see a detective answer the 911 call, but when I saw the address and Dad’s name as the one who called it in, I decided to come. What happened?”

Jack answers him. “It’s Joyce Steiner. I went to see her”—he looks at his watch—“half an hour ago. I found her on her kitchen floor, dead.”

Jack puts his arm around my shoulder. He leads Morrie and his team to Phase Three. A little parade follows. The girls are a little farther behind us. The straggling group of neighbors timidly continue the march. Word has seeped out about Joyce. Naturally, they are now wide-awake and fascinated by these goings-on.

Morrie talks quietly, so only Jack and I can hear. “Could you tell anything?”

Jack answers, “No, not much. From the hallway I could see her lying there. I carefully moved close enough to take her pulse. She was gone.” And knowing what Morrie would say next, the ex-cop adds, “Except for the doorknob, I touched nothing else.”

We arrive at Phase Three. Jack and I are the only ones who are allowed to go upstairs with Morrie, the cop, and the paramedics.

Jack and I stand in the little hallway, keeping our distance, as Morrie carefully enters the kitchen.

I try hard not to look at Joyce’s dead body being checked out by the paramedics. They concur. The woman is definitely dead. They are about to cover her face and take her away, and I don’t want to watch that. I turn and concentrate on what Morrie’s saying instead.

Jack is aware of my feelings and he continues to hold me for moral and physical support. I think of Joyce this afternoon alive in the kitchen activity room fearfully standing there being threatened by a furious Arlene. I can still picture the look of pity on Joyce’s face. And now, she’s gone.

How will this affect Arlene?

“It looks as if she was in the middle of eating some pie when she collapsed,” Morrie comments, and the cop takes notes of what he says.

I shudder seeing a half-eaten slice of key lime pie there on the table. With a fork on the plate. A crumpled napkin beside it. A bitter reminder of this afternoon. Along with two almost-empty glasses of what looks like water.

“She may have had company,” Morrie continues, indicating the glasses. “Before, during, or after her demise.”

He turns to us. He looks at the expression on my face. “You know something?”

I don’t want to say anything. I fear it will make things bad for Arlene. But it’s my nature. I can’t hold back important information.

I fill Morrie in about Arlene’s behavior at the cooking class this afternoon.

“So the pie may have come from that kitchen? It doesn’t look like she baked anything here tonight. No wrappers to show she brought it from some store. Maybe it was carried up wrapped in that napkin next to the plate.”

He turns to his father. “Why were you going up to see Mrs. Steiner this late at night?”

“We’d decided to finally face her with the fact that we no longer believe Joyce accidentally found her old friend. We believe she purposely talked Seymour into moving out and letting her in. I intended to ask her if that was the truth. And if so, where was Seymour?

“When there was no response to my knocking and I found the door open, I felt something was wrong and that was why I entered the apartment.”

Morrie turns to one of the paramedics. “What does it look like, Dan? Her heart?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll have to leave it for the ME to tell you.”

Morrie addresses the cop who came with him. He points to what’s on the kitchen table. “Phil, bag it all. Just in case.”

I have to know. “Just in case what?”

He turns to us. No longer just chatting with his father and his new stepmother, all business now. “You report an angry incident this afternoon. You tell me you were going to see her, wanting important information late at night. You find her door open.

“I have to take into consideration as to whether any of these possibly suspicious events played a part in her death. Was Mrs. Steiner alone when she died? Why the two glasses? Why was her door left open? Was Mrs. Steiner so bereft she had a heart attack?” He pauses. “Enough to commit suicide?”

He hesitates. And I’m horrified, sensing what he’ll say next.

“Or was it murder?”

I gasp. Oh, no, it couldn’t be.

Morrie turns to Phil again. “Nothing is to be disturbed until I send in the team. We need the photographs, the fingerprints. Meanwhile, I want this door locked and no one is allowed to enter.”

We exit the apartment and watch his cop assistant attach the all-too-familiar yellow crime tape on Seymour Andrews’ apartment door.

Big trouble ahead.

N
eedless to say we didn’t get much rest that night. Morrie questioned us some more. He wanted to know if Joyce had any relatives. I told him there was a daughter, Stacy, living in California, but I didn’t know her last name. Morrie was sure he’d find it when they went through her belongings.

We got into bed, exhausted, but then couldn’t fall asleep. There was so much to think about and discuss. One thing was for certain: too late now to get Joyce to tell us where Seymour was. Next there will be Leah to deal with. We decide not to mention our theory about Seymour being deceived by Joyce. It would upset her needlessly. We have to find a different way to locate Seymour.

And poor Arlene. How will she take this horrible news? She couldn’t have hurt Joyce. Yet I still have that picture in my head of her standing there with that knife. Could she? Please let that autopsy determine natural causes.

I make coffee waiting for Jack to get dressed and join me. My mind is reeling with things that must be done.

I wonder if the girls have heard the news already via the grapevine.

I have to call Evvie and tell her what’s going on.

There’s a knock on the door. Eight in the morning and it’s already beginning. I open it to the girls standing there. Serious expressions on all three faces. They appear uncomfortable.

I invite them into the kitchen. They turn to Ida, waiting for her to speak for them all, and when she doesn’t immediately, I start to pour them coffee. They sit down quickly, as if I might change my mind and chase them out. Guilt might have a lot to do with their behavior.

Ida stiffly, as is her fashion, says, “We came here to offer our services. We know we’ve separated our businesses, but for right now, we want to help.”

Bella and Sophie nod their heads eagerly.

“Thank you,” I say, just as formally. “Happy to have your help.”

Guilt assuaged, they take their coffee and reach for the plate of buttered toast. Bella digs into the fridge to where she knows I keep the jam.

Ida asks, “What did Morrie tell you last night?”

I’m not willing to state too much yet. “He says we have to wait for the autopsy report.”

Sophie says, “We already figured that.”

I look to Bella, now enjoying her guilt-free breakfast. “I have a question for you. About Joyce. You mentioned something the other night at the get-together evening about having seen Joyce before she moved in.”

Ida is about to interrupt and say something negative. I know her too well so I stop her by raising my hand. “Let Bella speak.”

Bella puts down her toast and jam, wipes her hands delicately on a napkin, happily feeling important at the moment. “It was months ago. I’m not sure when, but it was raining a lot. I see this woman walking around looking confused. I ask her if she’s lost. And I make a joke that everybody gets lost at first in Lanai Gardens.”

Bella smiles at this well-known fact. “She wanted to know how to get to Phase Three. I have nothing better to do, so I take her there. I ask her who she’s looking for since we know everybody who lives everywhere. She tells me she’s looking for an old friend. She thanks me and stands still and I can tell she’s waiting for me to leave. I figure it’s none of my business so I skedaddle.” Bella is pleased with her recitation.

I’m surprised. Is it possible she actually told Bella the truth, thinking it was safe to mention a friend? That this sweet, innocent-looking woman would forget about it? Shades of Agatha Christie! Assuming Bella was invisible. Ida has to say it. “How can you be so sure it was her?”

Sophie shrugs. “Well, Joyce is quite dramatic. You couldn’t mistake her for anyone else.”

Bella pauses to take another bite of toast, chews, then comments, “I almost didn’t recognize her because when she was wandering around, she was wearing plain dark clothes and a scarf that covered her hair. And an umbrella. But it was her. I know it.”

“Well done,” I tell Bella.

“But why is that important?” Sophie asks.

“Because we think it was Arlene she was looking for. Once Joyce found out where she lived, she’d then find out who resided in the apartment directly below. Apparently Joyce lived in the apartment underneath Arlene years ago when they were still friends.”

Ida gets it. “So first she locates Arlene and then she finds out that Seymour lives in the apartment Joyce wants to use.”

I report, “She actually told me she met Seymour in the park on one of his walks—”

Sophie interrupts. “Aha! She follows him and pretends to accidentally meet him on his daily walk and talks him into renting his apartment.”

Bella is puzzled. “How weird. Why go to all that trouble? Why didn’t she just call Arlene up and make a date?”

I comment, “Because she knew how much Arlene hated her. She had to find another way.”

I put two more slices of whole-wheat bread into the toaster. “You ask what you can do to help? Somebody else must have seen Joyce lurking about. Somebody may have seen Seymour leave his apartment for his trip. I know he had a suitcase. Did he take a cab? We need to know how and when he left.”

“Easy, peasy,” Sophie says. “We’ll cover all the Phases and ask around until we find out.”

The girls are now relaxed. All’s well once again in our little world. Time for me to do a little prying myself. “So tell me more about your teacher, Mr. Gatkes, and your PI class.”

Bella blurts, as if she can hardly wait to impress me, “Wait till you hear about the guns! Rifles! Machine guns!”

Sophie adds excitedly, “Assault bear spray!”

Ida looks as if she’d like to clamp her hands over both their mouths, but she restrains herself. “I’m sure Gladdy wouldn’t be interested.” She turns to me. “We were just looking. Not buying guns.”

Sophie jumps in. “Wait till we show you our lipstick!”

Good grief. What on earth are they talking about?

Sophie’s about to go through her huge floppy purse, which of course matches her lime green jumpsuit, but just then Jack wanders in, buttoning up his shirt.

The girls clam up in the presence of all that skin and chest hair. My very tall, impressive, sexy alpha man has made his appearance.

They all jump up. Ida says, “Well, no time like the present. Let’s get started canvassing right now.”

Sophie and Bella echo her words. “Right now.”

Hello, Jack. Goodbye, Jack. And they are gone.

Jack grins as he reaches for the coffeepot. “I sure know how to clear a room.”

I fill his cup for him. “One of these days they’ll get used to you. Maybe. Drink your coffee and let me tell you about assault bear spray and lipstick!”

I figure my sister is up and about by 9
A.M.
, so I call her in Connecticut. I fill her in on everything. Evvie has a lot of questions. It takes me about twenty minutes. Finally I say to her, “What do you say to all this?”

“What do I say? I say, my grandchildren are already bored with me. I’ll ask Joe if he’s ready to come back after a week of visiting. I’m going to make a reservation on the first flight out tomorrow morning to Fort Lauderdale. I say there’s a lot of detecting to do and I want in. What do
you
say to that?”