Untitled (5 page)

    "I don't know. Wadda you wanna do?" I play back.

    "I want to make love to you, as if you didn't know."

    "They're watching out their windows. If we don't go out, they'll know. Oh, God, listen to me. I'm blathering."

    "If we do go out, they'll figure we went to my place. And they'll still
know.
Besides, they don't
know,
since you are too terrified of them to actually
do
anything. Therefore they don't really know anything."

    "Yeah, but they
think
they know."

    Jack shakes his head in disbelief. "They're starting to make
me
dizzy, too."

    By now we are both laughing.

    "So far you're only lusting in your heart. And I'm taking a lot of cold showers. What are you doing?" he asks me as I walk toward the kitchen window.

    "Nothing . . ."

    He grins. "I can't believe it. You're at the window so they'll see you're still in an upright position."

    I actually blush.

    "Look," he says, "the only sensible thing is to just get the dirty deed over with. Then you'll have a right to feel guilty."

    "I know I'm being ridiculous."

    He is behind me now, nuzzling my neck. It feels wonderful.

    "They'll see you," I whisper.

    "Good."

    "All right already. Let's make a date and just do it."

    I feel his body shaking excitedly as he continues to kiss the back of my neck. "Pick a place," he says. "Any place."

    "But not around here."

    "Try to keep it within a hundred miles, OK? Take your time. Don't rush. Take five minutes, even ten."

    "Let's get out of here." I turn, pull him around in front of me, and push him toward the front door. "Just make sure you get me back in time for the stakeout."

    When we walk out onto the landing and start for the elevator, I can feel the eyes watching us.

    
cally lived at the Boca Springs Health Spa. And
why shouldn't she? She certainly could afford it.
She exercised with her trainer three times a week.
Received a massage daily. Enjoyed weekly facials
at the salon. The treatments pummeled her into
youthfulness. She felt like she could live forever.

    
Alas, Josephine was wrong. Today was the last
day of her life.

    
It was the end of her daily regimen and she was
finally in her own private steam room, cold cucum
bers relaxing her tired eyes, hot billows of steam
cleansing her pores. She mentally reviewed the de
tails of tonight's dinner party. The crème de la
crème of Boca Raton society would be there to
contribute to her favorite charity, the Boca Raton
Opera. Of course they had to be entertained and
coddled before their tight purses would open, so
she was holding a "Las Vegas Night." Gambling
with sexy croupiers in low-cut outfits for the men.
A chance to show off new gowns for the women.
And lots of gossip, of course. How she loved enter
taining. And how she loved showing off her gor
geous husband. Of course she had hired the
high-priced Los Ochos Cubanos band so that her
Bobby could parade his fancy Latin steps. And
make other women drool with envy. Wonderful . . .

    
"More steam, madam?" Her reverie was inter
rupted by a softly whispering voice.

    
"Turn it up, honey. You know I like it hot."

    
She could hear the hissing of the bricks as he
poured more water on them. He? Was that a man's
voice? In a women's spa? Instinctively she covered
herself as best she could with her towel, sat up, and
pulled off the cucumber slices.

    
At first she couldn't believe her eyes, then she
grinned. "Hi, what the hell are you doing here,
sweetie?"

    
He smiled back at her.

    
"Last time I saw you, we were both naked.
Come for an encore?" She let the towel drop
enticingly.

    
He replied by turning the steam up higher. It
was getting unbearably hot. Then Josephine no
ticed he was dressed in a janitor's uniform, and that
he wore gloves on his hands. Something was not
right.

    
He walked out of the steam room and closed
the door. She got up quickly, wincing from the heat
of the tile floor, and grabbed the door handle. In
credibly, he was holding it shut from the outside!

    
"Hey, this isn't funny!" She dropped her hands
from the burning handle. "Open the damn door!"

    
There was no response. She beat at the door
with her fists, shouting for help. The heat was un
bearable. Her feet were burning. She could hardly
breathe. Terrified, she stared at him through the
misted window, her eyes pleading. "Why?" she
mouthed.

    
He smiled and sang to her. "Toyland, Toyland,
little girl and boy land . . ."

    
She saw no mercy in his eyes. She knew she was
done for. Her last, dying thought was
Somebody had better call the caterers . . .

P
icture this. It's eleven o'clock, way past my

    bedtime. I'm jammed inside my cramped Chevy wagon with my so-called associates, all of whom are trying to drive me crazy.

    We're parked on an unlit, empty, gloomy street in Plantation, an area we never go to, in front of something called Salvatore's Bar and Grill. What do we old broads think we're doing, anyway? We're on our first stakeout! And I cannot believe how these girls are behaving.

    Their idea of a stakeout: sharing the already cramped space with five ample bodies and a basket full of snacks, drinks, knitting supplies, cards, and blankets. In case they get hungry, thirsty, bored, or cold. I keep nodding off, but not them. They're all for this adventure.

    Thanks to the revenge-driven Angelina Siciliano, we're here stalking Elio Siciliano, an eighty-five-yearold potential philanderer. We are waiting for the alleged cheating husband to come out of the bar and head for some sordid late-night rendezvous.

    Evvie is seated next to me in the front, of course. No one would dare try to take that sister privilege away from her.

    The three others are miserable in the back, what with the supplies packed over, around, and under their legs. They keep shifting positions, annoying one another, in an attempt to get comfortable.

    I told them they didn't all need to come tonight. Why did I waste my breath? As if they would take a chance on missing something. And I warned them that the car light would be off, so how could they knit or play cards?

    That didn't stop them. They brought flashlights. Worried that the light might call attention to us? No problem. Sophie covered hers with a purple sock.

    Bella is sitting between Sophie and Ida, who are using her lap as a table so they can play their favorite two-person card game, Spite and Malice. A game that calls for dirty tricks and the language of a longshoreman.

    Evvie has taped the Sicilianos' home address next to the snapshot Angelina gave us of her husband up on the dashboard. She says that's how cops do it. However, Angelina gave us a fifty-yearold wedding photo. I must admit young Elio looks dashing with his black handlebar mustache and full head of hair. I especially like the twinkle in his eye as he gazes down on his pretty new wife. But it isn't much help to me.

    Evvie's already scoped out where Elio's car is parked, based on the license plate number Angelina also provided.

    With her oven-mitt-covered flashlight in hand, she is attempting to write her latest movie review for the Lanai Gardens'
Free Press
to pass the time. I am merely sitting there, simmering, as I hear crackling noises behind me, indicating food being unwrapped and knowing what a mess I'll find in my car tomorrow.

    "How's this for a title?" she asks me. " 'Good Girl Goes T
rès
Bad. Review of
He Loves Me, He
Loves Me Not.
' "

    "Pretty good," I say. Ever since our first case, the Kmart handbag rescue, Evvie has been dragging us to mystery movies only. The girls sit there scared witless, clutching one another, squeezing their eyes shut at the gory bits, yet secretly getting a charge out of all the excitement. Except that Bella now has nightmares and Ida never stops bitching about how much she hates those movies. Nothing deters Evvie. She sees it as necessary research for our new business.

    Evvie continues to read her review aloud. " 'Another French movie, and you know how much this reviewer loves French movies . . .' "

    "Yeah," Ida pipes up from the backseat, " 'cause they're so dirty."

    "It's you, Ida dear, who has the dirty mind. The French are sophisticated." She goes back to reading. "Anyway, 'remember that adorable Audrey Tautou from
Amélie
? She's in this movie, too, but watch out, no
petits pois
this time. Now there's blood on her
chapeau . . .
' "

    "Are you sure you want
petits pois
?" I ask. "I think that means green peas."

    Suddenly there is a commotion in the backseat.

    "You block my ten and I'll smack you," Ida shouts at Sophie.

    Sophie slams down the cards in Bella's lap, shouting as she does.

    "Take that! And that! And that!"

    "Oof," says Bella in reaction to Sophie's enthusiasm.

    "Bitch!" says Ida.

    "Nah, nah," says Sophie.

    "I'll get you for that!" And Ida slams down her cards even harder on poor Bella's lap, ruining Sophie's run.

    "Oof," says Bella again, her stomach really taking a beating. "Excuse me," she announces, "I have to go."

    "I told you not to drink all that seltzer," Ida says.

    "Well, you punching me didn't help."

    "Can't you hold it in?" Sophie insists.

    "No . . ."

    "Now what do we do?" Ida asks.

    Evvie turns to them. "Well, cops usually carry an empty bottle with them."

    "A lot of good that would do us," Ida comments.

    "I have to go. Now!" Bella is wiggling from side to side.

    I look up and down the dark street. "Nothing's open around here except the bar," I tell her. "You'll have to go in there."

    "No way," says Bella, scrunching lower in her seat.

    "Take your mind off it," Sophie offers. "Have a bite of halvah."

    Bella wiggles in the seat.

    "I gotta go," she insists. "But I'm not walking into that place alone."

    "I'll take her over there," says Sophie. "But what do I say if somebody asks me what we're doing around here?"

    That stops us for a moment.

    "Just act senile," says Ida. "That's what they think we are anyway."

    "Good plan," says Evvie.

    Sophie and Bella slowly get out of the car, looking around the empty streets fearfully. There isn't a soul to be seen anywhere. Evvie whispers out the window, "I'm going to lock the door after you."

    "Just don't blow our cover," says Ida.