Getting Old Will Haunt You

by Rita Lakin

Evvie starts her travel book lecture. ‘There are seventeen hundred islands that make up the keys. Most can only be reached by boat. There are about thirty-seven keys. They are separated into three branches. The Upper Keys, closest to Miami, include Plantation Key, Islamorada Key, Marathon Key, Key Largo …’

  Sophie, mildly interested asks, ‘Why are they called keys?’

  Bella giggles, ‘’Cause somebody got locked out.’

  Evvie ignores her, reads: ‘Two explanations here. The Spanish called them cayos, meaning very small islands. Isla for regular-sized islands. Ponce de Leon, when he landed, called them Cayos de los Martires, which meant tiny island of martyrs …’

  A muffled voice, Bella interrupts, asks if we can stop at Key Largo. ‘Could I meet Humphrey Bogart? Maybe he still lives there. He was so good in that movie.’

  Evvie says impatiently, annoyed at being interrupted, ‘No way, Bogart is dead!’

  Bella is shocked. ‘Oh, how terrible.’

  Evvie says, ‘It was a long time ago.’

  I add, ‘But no stopping yet, we need to go further.’

  Bella says, ‘Okay.’

  That didn’t last for long. With each sign telling us we’re passing or about to pass a new key, the girls in the back seat would start kvetching, ‘Let’s stop at this key. We don’t want to miss that key.’ Key after key after key. So we did stop, if this counts. In and out for minutes at a time, snapping photos, just to be able to say we’ve been there.

  Will we ever forget Islamorada Key where we just had to take the trolley tour with its twenty-nine points of interest?

  There we are standing in a long line, only to find out when we finally get to the front, that these rides must be booked way ahead of time. The trolleys are used for large groups of people only. Usually for an event, like a birthday party or a wedding. And are plenty expensive. So much for trolley rides.

  And let’s not forget the key we left within three minutes of arriving; Just about to head for their main street, when the insects that are call no-seeum attacked. Evvie identifies them as biting midges as we race back into the car, scratching, slapping and moaning, waving our arms to shove away the horde.

  Gasping, when finally safely back in our seats. A close call. Don’t want to remember what key that was. Brrrr.

  And Bella pining for stopping at Pine Key, where we just had to visit the white-tailed deer refuge. I need to inform her that we do not have time to search for them. It was suggested at the information desk that we should plan for at least two or three hours to go exploring in the fourteen square miles of paths. What few deer we saw as we headed back to the car disappointed Bella that Bambi wasn’t among them.

  And let’s not overlook the many restaurants we dropped in at considering the huge number of snacks they brought along. And just plain climbing, needing to stretch those weak muscles.

  ‘What about bathroom breaks?’ asks Sophie.

  ‘We will have them,’ I promise.

  ‘And lunch?’ From Bella, ignoring the fact of all the food they’re carrying.

  ‘We’ve already eaten, visited a key or two, or three and already took time to stretch and find bathrooms,’ I assure them. Do they hear the weariness in my voice?

  Only ninety-eight miles more to go. Only! I think wishfully that we had what taxis have. A drop-down window that closes off the back of the car from the front. A window that can stay shut.

  Twenty minutes later, a little voice peeps up. ‘I’m ready for another bathroom break.’

  Evvie turns to face Bella, who’s looking winsome, like some adorable mewling little kitten. ‘I really mean it.’

  Evvie knows better. So do I. Evvie asks with a tad of cynicism, ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with the sign coming up saying next stop, Key Largo?’

  Sophie, caring that Bella has been caught out, tries to help her. ‘I wouldn’t mind a bathroom break, too.’

  Evvie shrugs. I give up. The twosome win again. I drive into the town of Key Largo. ‘All right I say, here we are.’ I park the car in front of the nearest hotel.

  Bella and Sophie quickly leap out of the car, immediately go into dramatic stretching movements to doubly justify the stop at this key.

  Evvie and I get out. Might as well walk around a bit as well.

  ‘Bathrooms straight ahead,’ I indicate to the twosome.

  The girls scamper inside the hotel.

  Evvie grins. ‘Money bet, she’ll want to find Bogart while we’re here. Even though he’s dead and not buried here. She’ll want to go where they shot the movie.’

  ‘No bet,’ I say.

  Sure enough. The girls come out, looking ever-so-guilty. They had a discussion inside and here comes their plan. ‘Well,’ says Bella, ‘as long as we’re here … might as well see where Bogie starred in the movie.’

  With teeth gritted, I walk them back to the doorway of the hotel where a bellboy stands on duty. ‘Ask him,’ I suggest, convinced they won’t believe me if I tell them. ‘He lives here. He’ll have information all about it.’

  Evvie and I stand next to the bellboy, arms folded, smirking. Getting ready for what is to come.

  Timidly, Bella approaches and asks her question, sounding oh so sweet and needy. ‘Where might the place be where they made the movie Key Largo?’ Spoken like the true movie buff she isn’t. She is all saccharine grins waiting for the answer.

  The bellboy is polite. ‘Sorry, Mrs,’ he answers. ‘The movie was probably shot in Hollywood, or somewhere else. Not here.’

  Bella and Sophie suffer mightily.

  The bellboy tries to be helpful. ‘You could tour The African Queen boat. Bogie and Bacall. Been here since 1951.’

  The girls look dolefully at him. Bella shrugs. ‘Not the same thing.’

  They look so dejected; bellboy offers another choice. ‘You could swim with the dolphins … it’s a big thing to do here.’

  ‘No thanks.’ Bella is looking as if that same kitten just got clobbered. She heads back to the car with Sophie following, head bowed to show her unity.

  Evvie continues her lecture where she left off. ‘The Middle Keys have Big Pine Key, Conch Key, Sunshine Key, Scout Key, to name just a few, The Lower Key is where Key West is; our destination. It’s the south-west tip of the United States, only ninety miles away from Cuba …’

  ‘Maybe we can take a side trip to Cuba,’ Sophie suggests eagerly, trying to undo the damage of Key Largo.

  Evvie says, ‘I doubt it. We’d need a boat. And probably a passport and visa … and whatever else.’

  She continues her travelogue, ‘Come to the sunset celebrations moonlit nights at Mallory Square. Dancing, dining, everyone comes to watch the spectacular sunsets.’

  I nudge Evvie and whisper, ‘They’re almost asleep, don’t stop.’

  Evvie gets it. Her voice dials down to monotone. ‘The keys are famous for their festivals. The Seafood Festival, grilled lobster and stone crab claws are some of the delicacies …’

  I nod to Evvie to keep up the good work.

  ‘The food and wine festival cranks it up with exotic gourmet meals, with quality wines and other beverages. Including seminars on wines. Then we have the T-shirt & Shorts fair, with music and art. And an always favorite – the Key Lime Festival with rewards for the best baked pie. And Margaritaville …’

  ‘Time to stop: your monologue put them both to sleep. You’re better than Tylenol PM.’

  Evvie sighs in relief. ‘Thanks. Quiet at last.’

  For the next half hour or so, she and I go through our plans for when we arrive. I say, ‘We first stop at the Brown Pelican Inn, a charming Victorian B&B and check in.’

  Evvie says, ‘Hmm, that sounds familiar.’

  I smile. ‘Yes, that’s where Jack and I, early in our relationship, once went to be alone. And had to leave as soon as we arrived. We needed to race home with a hurricane breathing down our necks.’ I sigh. ‘We never got to see anything. We missed everything Key West had to offer. Not a chance to spend any r
omantic time with Jack. Oh, well, it might have been wonderful.’

  ‘The good news is that Jack is your husband.’

  ‘Amen to that.’ I continue with our schedule. ‘After we get checked in, then we head for the Wassinger house and meet Sadie and Louie, our clients, and hope to hear about their mystery death case.’

  ‘And maybe unravel our own little mystery – the blank page letters you’ve been receiving in your mailbox for weeks.’

  ‘Amen, again.’ I send out a silent prayer – let the girls sleep a little longer.

  A few miles later, I ask Evvie, ‘A penny for your thoughts.’

  ‘I was just thinking of Ida. She was really looking forward to this trip. She must be feeling sad and so lonely. Poor Ida.’

  SEVEN

  In Ida’s Bedroom. The Same Time

  Ida cautiously climbs out of bed, heading slowly for the bathroom; concerned about possible dizziness. She stops suddenly, surprised. She doesn’t have to creep along; she’s able to move at a better pace. She suddenly realizes that she feels okay. Touching her forehead, she smiles; she no longer feels feverish. The walk becomes a hop and a skip. And then a small run. She feels just fine.

  She thinks, I’m not sick anymore. I could have gone on the trip with the gang.

  Romantic Key West and a brand-new case. A place I always wanted to visit. Darn it. Darn it. Darn it. I’m missing all the fun!

  In the bathroom, she finds her thermometer and checks her temperature. Sure enough, she is normal. What the heck? She was sick and now she’s fine.

  She walks easily back to her bed, with a stop first to peer out the window. And guess who is standing outside, all by his little self. No one else is up and about yet. And guess who he’s searching for? Why Gladdy and her girls, of course. To torment all of us, Because of that video? To see us quiver and shake at his revenge for leaving him out.

  Hy stares at the vacancy in Gladdy’s usual parking space. Then turns, puzzled. Where can Gladdy be, he must be wondering. Where would they go this early in the morning?

  Tee hee. Too late, Hy, baby.

  The chickens have flown the coop.

  EIGHT

  Arrive Key West. Astonishing Adventure Begins

  The trip is over; enthusiasm is returning, even though we’re exhausted and sweaty from the long hours. Clothes are wrinkled and smelly. Food crumbs on the back floor of my badly-treated car will crunch when Bella and Sophie climb out.

  At last we’ve arrived at the one and only key we were supposed to land on, this, the last and southernmost of the keys, our destination. The sun has dipped down into farewell. It’s the evening’s turn to shine. We drive slowly, because the streets are filled with people. We gaze, with much oohing and ahhing, at one colorful lit-up mansion after another. One busy street after another. We cross Duval Street, the most famous of them all. Mobbed; so many people outside, strolling and eating in outdoor cafes. The wondrous smells of brand-new foods to taste. Music coming from bars, restaurants, homes, as well as on street corners. Folks, wearing bright-colored outfits with multiple strands of plastic beads, dancing merrily weaving in and out of slow-driving cars. Some are drunk; many are just happy. A few drivers wanting to move faster, are annoyed, honking their horns. They’re ignored.

  We’re barely moving. An older man knocks at the window of our nearly stopped car indicating that he would like one of us to come on out and dance with him. Evvie is tempted, the girls in the back cling to each other in terror of this man in his strange costume of a red devil. The red devil pulls open Evvie’s door and, surprised, he pulls her out. She shrugs and goes along with it.

  Bella and Sophie nervously watch Evvie join him in a long line of dancers, with arms around the person in front, doing the Conga.

  I turn off the motor and climb out of the car and reach the moving line. I tug at my dancing, foot-kicking sister, who is having a good time. I say, ‘Hi, Ev, just need to remind you that we are long overdue to the inn and then to meet the Wassingers.’

  Evvie drops out of the line, saying goodbye to the dancing devil, ‘No, sorry. Gotta go.’ He shrugs and continues on, his feet still prancing to the music.

  Laughing, we both return to my car, now holding up traffic. I join in once again in the slow progress.

  We can sense the natives and tourists alike are motivated by simple pleasures and an entertaining lifestyle. Key West looks like an exciting place. And we are no longer tired; we are getting energized.

  Sophie asks, exhilarated, yet a worry-wart to her very heart and soul, ‘Did we bring the right clothes?’

  ‘Not to worry,’ I calm her sarcastically. ‘Look at all those stores, one after another. Worst case scenario, we can always go shopping.’

  Evvie groans. ‘Not again. I am not going into another clothing store. Not a single one.’

  Bella cries out, delighted, ‘Look at all those palm trees.’

  Killjoy me reminds her, ‘We have hundreds of palm trees where we live.’

  Bella, shot down, says, ‘Well, these look different.’

  Sophie, ever her back-up, puts in, ‘Well, they might be a different brand of palm.’

  Evvie and I ignore them, as they eagerly call out the names of various boutique shops. Places they simply must enter while we’re here.

  Following our clients’ directions, as well as my memory from my previous trip, I find the Brown Pelican Inn, our destination. One of many stately Victorians on a palm-lined street. The street lamps’ lights glow gently.

  The inn is a subtle, pale yellow building, nothing brown about it. It is lit up and beautiful. And welcoming.

  Evvie, still in travel maven mode, comments, ‘This is a copy of an early English Victorian mansion. Sometimes referred to as gingerbread.’

  ‘And just as charming inside,’ I add.

  We enter the inn, leaving our luggage in the car.

  Inside, the girls are suitably impressed with the beige wicker furniture with charming navy blue pillows, slatted window treatments, ceiling fans blowing gentle wafts of air, colorful rag rugs and charming knick-knacks on the shelves, mostly with ocean themes.

  I check in with the pretty, forty-ish owner, Teresa LeYung. I still recall the petite lady, with straight long, dark hair, and slim body. She was wearing an Asian long, thin satin dress when I was there last time. Today she wears a pale blue business suit.

  She also remembers me. ‘You were here when our last hurricane hit. Two years ago. Your romantic trip was cut very short as we all ran for our lives.’

  Ruefully, I agree. ‘That was me, Ms LeYung.’

  ‘Well, not to worry. The weather is perfect this time. And please call me Teresa. We’re pretty casual around here.’

  I notice a young man lugging in those heavy suitcases that belong to the girls. Like Teresa, he is of Asian descent.

  Teresa calls out to him. ‘Jin, say hello to Miss …’ She hesitates.

  I inform her, showing my ring, ‘Now Mrs Jack Langford. Call me Gladdy, please.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ she says warmly, meaning it. ‘Jin, this is Mrs Langford; Gladdy, meet my nephew, Jin.’

  Jin looks in his twenties. Tall, thin, almost pretty. Black crew-cut hair, tight jeans. Tight red and white striped shirt. And are those ballet slippers?

  I introduce Evvie, Sophie and Bella and explain that Ida Franz, one of our group, is not coming. She strikes Ida’s name from the registration book.

  Teresa informs me, ‘Jin helps out at the inn when he’s not at the theatre.’

  Her nephew smiles. It’s an appealing smile. He is sincerely friendly. He addresses us. ‘I’m an actor. Also a singer. A so-so dancer. Playing in a musical, in a theater down the street. If you like plays, you might want to take in our show.’

  Sophie is eager. ‘We adore musicals. What’s it called?’

  ‘La Cage aux Folles.’

  She looks confused. ‘That sounds French. Is it in English?’

  Jin and his aunt exchange amused looks. ‘Defini
tely in English. It has been translated from a French farce.’

  Evvie and I pick up on their meaning. We’ve heard of the show. We might have to do some explaining to the girls.

  Evvie says to Jin, ‘I’m certain we would enjoy it.’

  I add, ‘But first we are here on serious business.’

  Teresa reacts. ‘Of course. The Wassingers made your reservations under their name. You’re to be their guests.’ She and Jin are worried. Why?

  My antenna immediately goes up. Something amiss? ‘You are familiar with the Wassingers?’

  Teresa nods. ‘Of course. You’ve heard what they say about small towns. Everybody knows everyone.’

  Jin adds, grinning, ‘And knows just about everybody’s business.’

  Teresa looks justifiably sad. ‘You’re here because of Robert Strand’s death. Terribly unexpected news. Such a well-liked, nice man. Dying on his fishing boat like that, in such a bizarre, tragic accident.’

  Sophie is surprised and blurts, ‘But we were told he was murdered!’

  Jin blurts as well, ‘That’s what the Wassingers think. No one else does.’

  Teresa and Jin are suddenly rigid. We sense that Jin shouldn’t have said that. By our startled looks, it’s obvious we weren’t told anything like this by the Wassingers.

  ‘I thought you were related by family or friends,’ Teresa says quietly, ‘here for the funeral.’

  I shake my head, no, with a chorus of group head-shaking to agree. ‘We have no family connections in Key West. We never knew Mr Strand.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Teresa asks.

  I’m suddenly aware of how little knowledge I have about this case I signed on for so quickly. Why didn’t I find out more before I grabbed it so fast? Where was our due diligence? Just because the girls were bored I acted too quickly.

  The Wassingers said ‘murder’ and we hear ‘bizarre accident’. What’s going on? I have a feeling Teresa might be able to give us information we don’t have.

  I say, ‘We were hired by the Wassingers to investigate Robert Strand’s death. We’re private eyes.’

  Teresa is incredulous. ‘Hired? Oh, no. Not again. They didn’t? Those poor misguided people.’ Then, more confused, ‘You? Private eyes? Really?’ She stares at us, unbelievably, as if to question how all these elderly women could possibly be here to investigate a crime.