Getting Old Is Criminal (34 page)

We’ll all help.

FIFTY-FOUR

WEDDING BELLS

The wedding is a hoot. Phase Two is the official caterer for the marriage of Sol Spankowitz and Tessie Hoffman, but since all the Phases were invited, and it is an insult not to contribute food, there is enough chow to feed all of downtown Fort Lauderdale. Needless to say that makes Tessie very happy. Food and a husband—what more could she ask?

Not that Sol seems too happy. Since his engage-ment, he’s been in a state of befuddlement. And today is no different. Irving helped him dress, so that his clothes would match. But Irving keeps shaking his head at the fate of his racetrack buddy. So far, Irving seems to be holding up, at least. He goes to the hospital every day to sit with Millie. It’s when the realization hits that he can’t take her home G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 3 4 1

again—that’s going to be a difficult time. Thank goodness for Yolie. And Mary, too. He’d be lost without them.

Dozens of chairs have been rented for the occasion. There is the
chupeh,
the traditional canopy under which the bride and groom stand during the ceremony. The rabbi is there waiting, chatting with members of his congregation.

So many people are here, all of them dressed in their finery, any excuse to get
fahputzed,
as Sophie would say. I can hardly count them as they are wandering and drinking and dancing all over the lawns of Phase Two. In fact, I can see Casey and Barbi, dressed in their unique way, doing a wild cha-cha together. At weddings it is not unusual for women to dance together, so their secret will still be safe for as long as they want to keep it.

They congratulated me earlier, and I thanked them again for their help. It was their information that broke the case.

Morrie and Oz are here, too. Women flock around them eagerly. I caught Sol looking at them almost wistfully. I bet he was thinking jail would be preferable.

Conchetta comes over to me. “I heard the news.

My God, that was a close call.” She looks toward Evvie. “Is she all right?”

I shrug. “Hopefully, in time.”

Mother Nature is kind and the weather is balmy. Everybody loves a wedding and it’s been a 3 4 2 • R i t a L a k i n

long time since we had one, so everyone is in a festive mood.

Yolie and Denny are maid of honor and best man. Denny has given her a sweet little ring.

Maybe more wedding bells are about to ring. They also got to pick the music, so it’s Latin salsa, blar-ing out over the happy conversation.

Evvie is putting a good face on it, but I know her heart is breaking. Ida is at her side to comfort her. Sophie and Bella still don’t understand about Philip and Ray, but that’s all right. Sophie comments, as she is wiggling in place to the music,

“We got two killers for the price of one.” So she’s satisfied.

The announcement is made. The Spankowitz-Hoffman nuptials are about to begin, so we all start to gather on the big lawn.

I find my seat and wait for my girls to join me.

Someone sits down next to me. “It’s about time,” I say, “they’re starting.” I look to my left and there’s Jack. I actually gasp.

“I hope you don’t mind. My sitting here.” He smiles gently at me.

I wait for my throat to open so I can speak.

“No, that’s fine.”

The girls don’t show up. I assume they saw Jack and sat elsewhere so we could be alone.

Jack reaches over and holds my hand. We don’t speak. I can’t take my eyes off him, but he continues to watch the ceremony. I notice Evvie looking at us from across the crowd. She smiles bravely.

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 3 4 3

The ceremony is fun. Tessie is in high spirits. Sol can barely stand up, but not to worry—Tessie has a firm grip on him.

Afterward the happy bride throws the bouquet.

Many eager hands are held high. Ironically, it lands in Evvie’s crossed arms. She drops it as if it were the proverbial hot potato. Eighty-one-year-old Dora Dooley grabs it from the grass where it fell and cackles happily.

Evvie looks at me and I look at her. So many thoughts pass between us.

I look around for Jack, but he’s disappeared as suddenly as he arrived.

I see Morrie walking over to me. Before I can say anything, he hands me an envelope. He shakes his head and walks away.

I open it and read the note inside. “Gladdy, I’m sorry. I have to leave. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Jack.”

I don’t know how to feel about this, so I hand the note to Evvie to read. Her voice rings with poignancy. “It’s just you and me again, kid.” She puts her arms around me and hugs me.

Who said getting old is criminal?

Sometimes it is sweet and lovely and many times filled with pain—but always full of surprises.

Acknowledgments

As always, Howard, Leslie, Gavin, and James.

Caitlin Alexander, every single time. Lucky me.

Sharon Propson, PR maven.

My agent, Nancy Yost. Welcome to the club.

The amazing Margaret Sampson and the wild and wooly Women Who Walk on Water Book Club in Green Bay, Wisconsin. They better watch out or the next series might be about them.

Lynn Vannucci and Ginger Liebovitz, my loyal friends and first readers.

The always wonderfully helpful, talented “kitchen klatch” mystery writers group for whom I travel (and never stop kvetching about) the dreaded 580.

Camille Minichino, Margaret Lucke, and Jonnie Jacobs.

My sister, Judy, and adopted sister, Rose; my biggest fans.

Thanks to Guiamar Sandler Hiegert for Pago Pago and for my north coast “bookstore” at the Lost Whale Inn in Trinidad, California.

3 4 6 • A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s Dr. D. P. Lyle, physician to the authors. Thanks for your help.

And last but definitely not least. Thanks to Cheryl Jones, owner and “chef extraordinaire” of The Pleasure is Mine restaurant at Harbor Point. Most of the last half of this book was written in the San Rafael restaurant, with Cheryl keeping me strong by feeding me her wonderful food.

And to my faithful friends, my East Coast family and loyal fans who keep on writing. Thanks for your support.

About the Author

Fate (a.k.a., marriage) took Rita Lakin from New York to Los Angeles, where she was seduced by palm trees and movie studios. Over the next twenty years she wrote for television and had every possible job from freelance writer to story editor to staff writer and, finally, producer. She worked on shows such as
Dr. Kildare, Peyton
Place, The Mod Squad,
and
Dynasty,
and created her own shows, including
The Rookies, Flamingo
Road,
and
Nightingales.
She wrote many movies-of-the-week and miniseries, such as
Death Takes a
Holiday, Women in Chains, Strong Medicine,
and
Voices of the Heart.
She has also written the the-atrical play
No Language but a Cry
and is the co-author of
Saturday Night at Grossinger’s,
both of which are still being produced across the country.

Rita has won awards from the Writers Guild of America, as well as the Mystery Writers of America’s Edgar Allan Poe Award and the coveted Avery Hopwood Award from the University of Michigan. She lives in Marin County, California, where she is currently at work on her next mystery starring the indomitable Gladdy Gold. Visit her on the Web at
www.ritalakin.com
or e-mail her at

[email protected].

Don’t miss

Gladdy Gold’s

next mystery

Getting Old Is

To Die For

by

Rita Lakin

Available from Dell Books

in spring 2008

Read on for an exclusive sneak peek—

and pick up your copy at your

favorite bookseller

GETTING OLD IS TO DIE FOR

on sale in Spring 2008

NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1961

RIVERSIDE DRIVE, NEW YORK CITY

“It’s not even midnight and they’re celebrat-ing already. What about my celebration?”

Emily Gold, eleven years old today, four hours
and fifteen minutes away from the actual moment she was born, was doing her own count-down. “Five minutes later my birthday would
have been on January first. In the next year.”

“Mmmn.” Gladdy made agreeing, reassuring
sounds as she took the Betty Crocker icing out
of the fridge. She knew those facts continued to
awe her adorable daughter; recounting them
had become her last-day-of-the-year ritual.

Emily leaned out the window, as far as she
could. The apartment’s fourth story fire escape
blocked her view, so she just kept wiggling for
a better look. “You should see those drunks
down there hanging onto one another. They’re
blowing horns and wearing funny hats. But I
still don’t see Daddy.”

She pretended to pout, but Gladdy knew
how excited her daughter really was. Emily
would never admit that she liked having her
birthday on the biggest, most exciting night of
the year. She blew her breath out, showing her
mom the wispy cloud it made.

“Close that window! It’s already freezing in
here.” Gladdy shivered despite the fact that
she wore two sweaters over her brown woolen
dress. Damn that landlord of theirs. He only
allowed the super to heat up the radiator twice
a day. For one hour at a time. Twelve stories
high, six apartments on each floor and nobody
ever listened to the tenants’ complaints. She
wished it were spring. Winter always depressed her with the icy brilliance of the sun
and the oppressively long black nights.

Emily pulled herself inside and shut the
window.

Gladdy shivered again, but it wasn’t from
the cold. She hugged herself and looked at the
clock again. She, too, wished Jack would get
home. Their neighborhood, even the area
around the university where Jack taught
English, was becoming unsafe. Drugs were
starting to be a problem. She didn’t want her
husband coming home in the dark.

“Don’t you want to help me decorate your
cake?” Gladdy picked up a spatula and beckoned Emily, who joined her at their red
formica and metal kitchen table. Her long
brown hair was damp and stringy from the
night air, and she shook it wildly, laughing as
she did. Emily took the spatula from her
mother and continued the smooth flat layering
of the icing.

“Do you think you’ll ever pick another kind
of cake on one of your birthdays?” Gladdy
asked.

“No, never. Chocolate and vanilla’s always
gonna be my favorite.”

The older her daughter got, the more they
looked alike, Gladdy reflected. Same oval
face, same greenish-grey eyes. Same straight
hair that refused to curl. Emily was tall for her
age and colt-like lanky, the way Gladdy had
been at her age. No doubt this was mother
and child.

“Tell me again why I was born on New
Year’s Eve.”

Gladdy leaned over and kissed Emily’s forehead. “You ask that every single year.”

“And you always give me the same silly ex-planation. I can’t believe you planned it that
way.”

Gladdy smiled. “You were my New Year’s
Eve present for your daddy.”

“When I grow up no one will ever remember my birthday. My friends will all be too
busy drinking champagne and making silly
resolutions.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no way they can forget this date, nor would they ever forget someone as wonderful as you.” She reached out
and gently wiped away a bit of chocolate on
Emily’s cheek.

The icing finished, the eleven candles placed
carefully with the extra one to grow on, Emily
raced to the window again. “What’s taking
Daddy so long?”

“He’ll be here soon. He needs to finish the
revisions on his textbook.” Gladdy felt a
twinge of guilt saying that, when at breakfast
that morning she’d chided Jack for the very
same thing. In fact, she remembered ruefully,
they’d quarreled about his being late for his
child’s party. Something they rarely ever did.

“Nobody has to work on New Year’s Eve.

And where’s Aunt Evvie and Uncle Joe and
cousin Martha? Even they’re late.”

Gladdy smiled. Emily may have her
mother’s looks but she sure had her aunt’s impatient disposition and endless energy. “Well,
I’m sure they’re walking carefully, so they
don’t fall on the slippery ice.”

“I’ll bet they get me the same present. Every
year another doll. Don’t they know I’m too
old for that?” Emily hoisted herself up onto
the matching red kitchen counter and dangled
her legs. “And you and Daddy will give me
books again.”