Getting Old Can Kill You (20 page)

Naturally a couple of police guards stand watching, but all in all, not an unpleasant place. Easy for me to say, but it must be unbearable for Arlene.

Many of the tables are taken during these visiting hours.

We see Arlene and she is talking to a man and a woman who look like they’re in their late fifties or sixties. They resemble Arlene so I’m assuming her son and daughter have come to see her. It’s been a long while since they’ve been down to visit, but I remember them as being a close and happy family.

Arlene looks perturbed, as if she’s been having an argument with them.

“Maybe we should wait,” I say to Jack.

But Arlene has spotted us and she waves us over. She looks all right, but I can tell from the dark circles under her eyes, she is not sleeping well. Even in jailhouse clothes, Arlene manages to still look stylish.

“My son and daughter,” she says, introducing the people at her table. “You remember Bobby and Nicky.” She indicates us. “These are the two wonderful people I’ve told you about. Jack and Gladdy Langford.”

We all shake hands. Jack and I sit down next to them.

Nicky clutches her mother’s hands. “I’m so sorry we haven’t visited often enough, Mom, but with our jobs and the kids …”

“It’s all right, you’re here now. And look at the mess I’ve made.”

Nicky says, “Don’t say that, Mom. There’s been a terrible mistake. You’ll be free soon.”

Bobby turns to us. “Please talk some sense into our mother. We want to help pay for all her expenses, whatever they are.”

“I don’t want your money,” Arlene insists.

“We don’t care. We will do whatever it takes to get you out of this jail. You’re innocent.”

Arlene looks sad. “The police don’t think so. I may be going from jail to prison. For a long time. Not that I think I’d last that long in such a dreadful place.”

She says these terrible words with a trace of irony.

“But you didn’t do anything,” Nicky says.

She manages a smile. “You’re just biased.”

Jack asks, “What happened in court? What about your lawyer?”

Arlene manages a small smile. “He’s very good. And kind. Bless Hy for helping me like this. I could never have afforded him. And someday I hope to pay him back.”

Nicky says ruefully, “Here’s a woman who hurt my mother over fifty years ago, a woman we never met, and yet she was able to put our mother into this hellish situation.”

“I did it to myself,” Arlene says. “If only I had kept my cool, as the kids say, maybe none of this would have happened. I made a damn fool of myself in front of everybody.”

Nicky says, “Tell Mr. and Mrs. Langford why we were quarreling. Let them be the judge. You haven’t answered their question. Tell them what went down in court.”

“My new lawyer tried to get me bail in spite of the odds against it.”

Bobby comments, “He was great. The prosecution was arguing that because it was murder, she was too much of a flight risk. And the judge was agreeing.”

Nicky adds, “But this David Rice was elegant and funny. He said a woman of eighty should not have to live in a jail cell, and besides, she can’t run that fast. She didn’t seem much like a flight risk to him. He got the judge to smile. But the judge would only agree if the bail was $100,000 …”

Arlene overrides him and says sadly, “It doesn’t matter. Even the fifty thousand down payment is still out of the question.”

Bobby appeals to us. “Talk some sense into her. We’ll find a way.”

Arlene is adamant. “I am not allowing you to mortgage your homes and take my grandchildren out of college. No. I won’t let you do it.”

This is when Jack takes out his camera phone and shows Arlene what’s been going on today back home. She looks at one photo after another of her neighbors rallying to help her cause, then tearfully passes the phone over to Nicky and Bobby.

Arlene starts to sob. “Bless them. Bless them all. But they’ll never be able to raise that much. It’s hopeless.”

A low bell rings, signaling visiting hour is over. The tables empty out. Arlene stands up and kisses both her kids. They hug for a few moments. And then she hugs us.

The inmates are herded out. Seeing the devastated look on Arlene’s face as she turns away is heartbreaking. We leave with Bobby and Nicky. None of us speaking, lost in our own troubled thoughts about Arlene’s fate.

A
s we drive along, I can’t stop thinking about that sweet woman in jail. It’s not fair. I am convinced Arlene would never hurt anyone. Jack and I talked for a while with Nicky and Bobby outside, in the parking lot. All of us needed to get out of the police station and breathe fresh air.

They gave us the number of the hotel they are staying at, but they did have to get back home soon. They thanked us profusely for all we were doing, and we promised to keep them informed. I wish we were able to give them more hope.

I don’t know what we expect to find, but I feel we need to see where Joyce lived.

We are making our way through a very exclusive area known as Sunrise Key on the Intracoastal Waterway. Breathtakingly beautiful homes with an incredible water view. Very private, very exclusive. Expensive cars in and out of garages and, ditto, yachts or sailboats on nearly every dock. I can just imagine how these mansions might look inside. Models for
Architectural Digest
, one and all.

Jack breaks into my reverie.

“Here we are. This is the Steiner house.” We look at the famous architect’s exquisite three-level designer house situated right at the water’s edge. At first we hoped someone was living here and we’d try an excuse to be invited in. Maybe. But the house was empty. We tried calling a realtor hoping to find out who bought it. But since the deal was not yet closed, the information stayed private. Interesting, that fact. I wonder if the new owners will find out that the previous one was murdered.

But we did learn something. Houses around here start in the low millions. Dr. Edward picked the right specialty. Plastic surgery paid very well.

Besides, if we really needed to go inside, Morrie could arrange that. But I bet sneaky Joyce hadn’t left anything inside that would reveal something we’d need to know.

We turn around as a tourist boat lumbers by. These houses are a must-see during the season. People on the deck wave to us, so we give them a cheap thrill and pretend we live here. We wave back.

“Yeah, sure,” I say with tongue in cheek. “Joyce couldn’t wait to leave her three-thousand-square-foot home and move into Seymour’s pathetic apartment.”

“Considering that we now know the state of her health, she knew she wasn’t going to be there very long.”

Sad but true. “Let’s see if any of the well-to-dos are at home. Unless they’re on the adjoining golf course or in the country club having cocktails.”

“Do I hear some envy?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “We live in our own country club. We have sports. Hey, bocce and badminton are very popular with the over-sixty crowd. Don’t we have cocktails, too, for those of us who aren’t on meds that say no booze?”

I give him a quick kiss. “Never mind. I can dream, can’t I?”

“Besides, what would you do with three thousand square feet?”

“I was thinking along the lines of a bowling alley.”

Jack smiles.

After snooping around as much as possible, but not seeing much since all the blinds are closed, we make our way back to the car. We drive over to the next and nearest McMansion. Dogs start barking. The sprinklers are on. Two cars are in the driveway. A brand-new BMW and an old battered Honda Civic.

Owner and maid? I make an educated guess. And indeed a maid answers the door.

We introduce ourselves to a small, round-faced young woman who might be Cuban and ask to talk to anyone who’s home. Concerning their neighbors, the Steiners, we inform her. She closes the door on us after telling us she’ll be right back.

The maid returns with a tall, slender good-looking woman. Are rich women always thin? She’s a kind of Lauren Bacall type. Long, lean, and leery. She’s dressed in some white leisure swirling gauzy caftan outfit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. She stands in the half-open doorway, hands on hips.

“Are you police?” she asks.

Jack says, “No, we’re private investigators.”

Before we can show ID or explain why we’re there, she beats us to it.

“You want to discuss the Steiners? He was a letch and she was a witch. That’s as much gossip as you’ll pull out of me.” With that she turns and walks back inside. All I get is a quick glimpse of the entry. Huge round marble table in the center with an enormous bouquet of flowers. I’m sure they’re freshly real and not plastic. And a staircase that would have made Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara proud.

We head back to our car on the pseudo-cobblestoned driveway. “That went well,” I say. “A real no-nonsense type of rude person.”

“Excuse me …?
Por favor.
” Someone is calling after us.

We turn and the maid is following us. “You want to know something? My sister, Consuela, worked for the Steiners. I am Lydia.”

We introduce ourselves. “Anything you could tell us. We are working with the police. Mrs. Steiner just died.”

The woman crosses herself. “
Madre mia …
My sister will be sad. At least for
la niña
. The daughter, Stacy. It was not a happy household. Much shouting.”

“Can you tell us more?” I ask.

With a backward glance to make sure she’s alone, she says, “There was a terrible night. My sister, she was getting ready for serving for a party. It was before the guests arrived. The doctor got so angry at the wife, he ran outside with her running after him, screaming and calling him names. He jumped in his boat, and he wasn’t thinking good. He wrecked it on the dock. It was like that a lot of the time.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“De nada,”
she says. “I must get back.”

We shrug. Nothing really accomplished, but we are getting a picture of the late Mrs. Steiner. Very different from the act she put on with us.

Jack comments, “Someone famous once wrote about the rich being possessed by their money.”

“Probably Shakespeare. He said everything worth remembering.”

“I don’t think that was his line. But anyway, enough of the idle rich. I don’t believe we’ll find out too much else. I’ll drive you back and then I’ll head for Dr. Steiner’s former office nurse who said she’ll talk to me.”

“Good plan.”

We get into his car and drive off.

I sigh. “If not a bowling alley, an indoor pool. The three thousand square feet.”

Jack smiles.

A mile or so later, I say, “I can’t believe we’re making jokes.”

Jack quotes again, “ ‘Laugh and the whole world laughs with you …’ ”

I recite along with him, “ ‘Cry and you cry alone.’ ”

“Also not Shakespeare,” Jack says.

“Definitely not Shakespeare.”

J
ack drops me off at home. I’m looking forward to some iced tea and maybe a short nap. The outdoor flea market/garage sale is winding down. Most of the tables are gone. The balloons are still twisting in the breeze. I wave to a few people and keep going. That cool bedroom with just a sheet to cover is calling out to me. But that’s not to be right away.

I run into Tessie, who is carrying her bread machine. She informs me that Evvie told her that if she saw me, she should tell me to meet them in the cooking-class room and hurry up. All of that without taking a breath.

Oh, well. No nap for the weary. I take the path to the building that holds our club rooms.

Not only Evvie, but the girls are there, too. As are the four other original members of the ill-fated cooking class. Fatima, Elaine, Frances, and Sandra are looking perturbed. They have teacups in front of them. But no one seems to be drinking.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I enter.

Evvie informs me they are at an impasse even though she found out something interesting. “The club works by someone deciding what they want to cook and sending the suggestion in advance in order for the others to bring ingredients.”

Ida jumps in. “The cooking club members assumed they all got the same note to bring ingredients for key lime pie. But Arlene was confused. Her note said lemon meringue. And here’s the thing. None of them is the writer of the note.”