Getting Old Will Haunt You

by Rita Lakin

  Evvie, being our treasurer, points out, ‘We haven’t been paid yet, and I doubt we’ll ever see a dime of it. Not that they’ll think we did anything to deserve it.’

  Sophie comments, ‘Big deal. It won’t be the first time. We’ve done plenty of freebies. Think of it as an adventure. How many people get to work for a ghost?’ She starts to giggle.

  One by one, we all join in. I say, laughing, ‘Yes, this famous ghost interviewed us. Thought we were pitiful. Then fired us!’ The laughter spreads. ‘How dare he!?’

  Evvie asks, ‘What was that TV show we used to watch with that funny looking guy with floppy yellow hair who used to yell, “You’re fired!”?’

  Nobody remembers.

  Bella, ‘I wonder what happened to him.’

  Sophie, ‘He woulda made a great car salesman down at Alligator Alley Ford Autos.’

  I pause to let the laughter die down. Then I go on from where I started, ‘On the other hand, we are investigators, and actually we haven’t investigated anything.’

  Bella interrupts. ‘We just did.’

  ‘Rightly so. But in the case that brought us here, we got distracted by an aggressive ghost and the Wassingers and their sidebars. My point being, it has been determined what we are to think and we’ve not found out anything on our own.’

  A couple of minutes go by, then Evvie claps. ‘You’re right. Absolutely right.’

  Sophie is puzzled. ‘But we were told that Robert died in an accident.’

  ‘That’s right, Teresa said it, as that was the ongoing opinion. The cops said their proof was a photograph of a fish looming over Robert about to kill him. It was an assumption on their part. Ditto, we’re told that by his lawyer partners and his pals as well.’ I pause. ‘But we are taking a lot of opinions at face value. What kind of detecting is that?’

  Evvie agrees. ‘Too bad they don’t have the boat. Maybe there would be some evidence to be found.’

  Sophie is concerned, ‘What a shame if that boat’s gone down in the deep, deep ocean.’

  I comment, ‘Another supposition. We don’t know if that’s a fact.’ I brush more sand off my sundress. ‘So, I say, we get moving and investigate and find our own facts. We interview every one of these experts on our own. If the naysayers can prove they’re right, so be it. But we need absolute proof.’

  Bella practically whimpers, ‘Mr Hemingway says he has the only proof of what really happened.’

  Evvie looks at her, eyes flashing, ‘But he doesn’t share. What good is that? Forget it, Bella.’

  ‘So, we’re agreed? We’re still on the case?’

  ‘Nobody fires us, right?’

  A chorus of ‘Right on!’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jailbird Comes Home. Hy and Dolly-Ann Distraught

  Breakfast is about to be served at this same time in Manny’s trailer. But first Dolly-Ann and Hy do as much of a clean-up as possible, although it’s made difficult surrounded by Manny’s junk. They scrub walls, and the floor. They wash every dirty dish, every pot, and all the silverware, though Manny doesn’t have much to work with.

  Hy worries about getting some horrible infection from the filth in Manny’s trailer, but doesn’t share that fear with Dolly-Ann.

  They sit down to eat.

  Hy is curious. She seems calm about Manny’s whereabouts, since once again he didn’t come home last night. She wouldn’t tell him where she thought he was. Though she obviously knew.

  ‘Not to worry,’ she says assuredly. ‘He’ll be showing up soon, with some companions. And all will be revealed.’ She smiles, but it isn’t a happy one. Her words are said with irony and displeasure.

  Why is she being so secretive? Her brother leaves during the night to go where? She wants to follow him, but Manny makes sure her car isn’t running, so she is frustrated. And if she found him, what would she do?

  Yesterday morning, he showed up on his own. Last night Manny let out the air in his tires, so another night went by. Who is she expecting today, but she won’t tell him who or why.

  ‘The scrambled eggs are just perfect,’ Hy says, desperate to make conversation. He is a man never comfortable with silence. Or puzzles. Especially here and now with something hanging heavily over Dolly-Ann. A quick guilty thought again of his wife, Lola, who’s never too far out of his mind, terrified of what she will do to him when he comes home.

  He thinks about early this morning when they woke up in Dolly-Ann’s trailer. He was up ahead of her and was in a quandary. They’d fallen asleep with their clothes on; now he needed a shower and change of clothes. The previous nights had been easier. When Dolly-Ann woke up, she’d gone straight to Manny’s trailer, so getting dressed wasn’t a problem. Today, he did the best he could in that tiny bathroom, washing his body and changing clothes. All in all, this experience was getting bothersome.

  ‘Is your wife a good cook?’

  Hy is startled. This is Dolly-Ann’s first reference to his marriage; or for that matter mentioning anything personal about him.

  Cautiously he answers, ‘She’s good enough.’ He hasn’t any idea how to handle this ticklish subject. He thinks twice about mentioning how much effort Lola makes for his meals to be delicious, and looked forward to. Lola has seven specialties and every evening, a different one of them is prepared. And every month, she finds seven new recipes to try. She’s been doing this for as long as he can remember. She believes for a marriage to succeed, a couple must work at it. That’s how it has stayed fresh for so many years. Is Dolly-Ann hoping he’ll say his is an unhappy marriage?

  She says, ‘I was a good cook. I tried so hard to please my disinterested husband. I even took a Cordon Bleu class on cooking. My house was kept spotless. I was the perfect little homemaker. I met my husband at the door at night with a bottle of his favorite beer. Did he even say thank you?’

  She looks so sad; Hy doesn’t have the words to say. But his heart feels what he wants to do. He wants to hug her and find a way to make her happy. Stop that! You’re a married man!

  The doorbell rings. Dolly-Ann peers out the side window and smiles. Smug. That’s the expression on her face.

  This is obviously what she’s been waiting for. Hy stands up, waiting for what will develop next.

  Dolly-Ann opens the door to two policemen holding onto brother Manny by the scruff of his neck. His clothes are rumpled, his hair disheveled. But there’s a smirk on his face.

  Manny pulls away from them. They let him loose. He shakes his body, like a dog might after an unwanted bath, as if to toss off the odor of cop.

  The first cop grins. ‘What happened the other night? Did he take a night off? We missed him.’

  Dolly-Ann is familiar with these cops. They’ve been here before. This is a well-beaten path. The cop is referring to the night before – the second night Hy was there. Manny meets his grin and doubles it. ‘I got real lucky that night. A babe who knew when she hit the jackpot. Me.’

  The second cop, a huge guy, as big as Manny, is not amused, and obviously has no sense of humor. ‘The babe you picked last night was not pleased.’

  Dolly-Ann’s face clouds up. Now he understands. She knows what he’s been up to and she is embarrassed. And angry.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with him anymore,’ she says, defeated. ‘He won’t listen to reason.’

  Cop number one says, ‘I don’t understand those women. None of them will press charges. They call us up, hysterical and frightened about a man who broke into their house. Then, when we suggest filing a report, they slam the door in our faces. Why do we even bother?’

  Manny smiles again. ‘That’s because they like me. You should mind your own business and catch bad guys instead of harassing me.’

  Dolly-Ann loses it; she shrieks at her brother, ‘That’s because those poor women are as embarrassed as I am! They are worried about what people will think! What you’re doing is ridiculous! And cruel.’

  Cop Two, to Manny, ‘You’re playing with fire, dum-dum. One of t
hese nights there will be a guy in that bedroom. With a pistol. And he’ll use it. Then we won’t be bothered dragging you home every morning. You’ll be brought home in a black bag.’

  The other cop is disgusted, ‘And that will be the end of wasting taxpayers’ money. And wasting our time.’

  Dolly-Ann apologizes over and over again. They can only shrug. The cops leave.

  She turns to her brother. Manny stands there, hands outstretched, as if to say, ‘I told you so. See, you’re worrying for nothing.’

  Manny looks at the remains of breakfast on the kitchen table. He shakes his head. ‘I’ll bet Patty is a better cook than you are.’

  Dolly-Ann starts to cry. ‘Patty, you know her name … Omigod! You’re hopeless!’

  ‘Actually it’s Patricia. But I like to call her by my nickname for her.’

  Hy can’t stand the suspense anymore. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Manny is annoyed. ‘I ain’t no criminal! And what are you still doing around here?’

  Hy, under his breath, ‘Yeah, like I can leave with four dead tires.’

  Manny, with an expression like a little boy, who’s just been caught, fingers in the cookie jar says, ‘That was kinda fun. So sorry. But my silly sister would drag you around town for no good reason.’

  Dolly-Ann, through tears, ‘My moron brother breaks into women’s houses, raids their fridge, eats their food, then climbs into bed with them! And expects them to want him there. How’s that for idiocy?’

  Manny grins. ‘What’s so terrible; I bring a little love into their lives.’

  Hy has to prevent himself from laughing. This is the problem he was brought here to solve? Manny eats a meal first? Then sleeps with them? They let him into their beds? They cook him breakfast? Un-freakin’-believable.

  Dolly-Ann is still furious, ‘One of these days a woman will press charges; and between breaking and entering and attempted rape, you’ll spend what’s left of your useless life in prison!’

  ‘You’re over-reacting. The gals like me. I never have to rape anybody. Though I do admit, sometimes it takes some of them a few minutes to get used to my technique.’

  She shakes her head; her brother is impossible. Maybe crazy. ‘Oh, do they? They’re sound asleep, thinking they are safe in their homes and suddenly some monster is standing over them, ready to pounce. I’m surprised no one has had a heart attack!’

  Proudly, ‘So far, they’ve all been healthy.’

  ‘But you terrify them! What you do is nasty!’

  ‘If you heard my relaxing speech, you wouldn’t say that.’

  Dolly-Ann beside herself, ‘An old man in dirty clothes and smelling bad inspires confidence?’

  He is insulted. ‘I shower. I dress nice for the occasion.’

  ‘God help us.’

  Hy is astonished. This is one of the funniest things he’s ever heard. But being a male, he almost feels respect, and yes, maybe a little jealousy for Manny enjoying an exciting existence. Living on the edge like that. Wow! When does he, Hy, ever get to do anything that’s thrilling? A daily swim in the pool at the exact same time each day; surrounded by a bunch of boring old women? He answers his own question; his excitement is now. Not telling Lola where he is and with whom. Being with a woman who can still turn his juices on. Yes, he feels empathy for the big slob.

  As Dolly-Ann and Manny continue to scream at each another, Hy leans back in his chair and imagines another scenario. Playing the same scene with him as the actor. Picking his quarry carefully; making sure a woman is alone. Breaking into a dark house. Stopping to eat first. He stifles a giggle – what chutzpah! Then climbing the stairs to a stranger’s bedroom. He shivers at the image of himself as a predator. And what will be waiting for him: a woman with open arms, or a gun?

  What’s that line? Manny believes in going out with a bang, not a whimper.

  There is another pinging of the doorbell. Hy tries for a joke. ‘It’s like Grand Central station around here.’

  Dolly-Ann, still enraged, trounces angrily to the door and pulls it open. And says to the stranger, ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Still wearing her Columbo raincoat, she walks inside introducing herself. ‘Hello, I’m Ida Franz. Hey, there, Hy. How are you?’

  Hy wishes he knew how to faint.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Back to Wassingers. For a List

  We drop by the Wassingers. They eagerly open the door and we are standing in the dimly-lit entrance hall, which I suppose they would call a vestibule. They are thrilled to see us again and to be told we’re still on the job. They just knew the visits to Papa were a success. And especially helpful was Louie’s speech on justice. Yeah. Amazing how people can go through the same set of circumstances and see it exactly the opposite. As far as I’m concerned, ghost-visiting was a lot of non-help. Lectures on justice, we didn’t really need. We’re on our own.

  They want to serve us tea. We decline. Been there, done that.

  ‘And no cookies,’ Bella whispers, reminding me.

  Next, they are ready to shlepp us up that horrid staircase again, to see you-know-who. But not this time, oh no. Get thee behind me, oh ghost.

  I inform them, ‘We came here because we recall you have a list of the people involved in the case; the one’s we ought to personally talk to. We would like that list.’ Surely a simple request.

  Louie says, ‘Of course, you should see all those people. You will learn all you need to.’

  Evvie agrees, ‘That’s what we’re hoping.’

  To avoid a lengthy visit filled with another session of Wassinger memorabilia, I try to hurry them along. ‘Louie, the list – right this minute, please?’

  Louie to Sadie, ‘Dearest one, bring out the Robert Strand file for the ladies. They do need to be on their way.’

  Sadie looks puzzled. ‘But angel of my life, you were the one who put it away.’

  Louie shows us his baffled face. ‘Definitely, it was you, love. Remember we were reorganizing my desk and you said you would take care of it? You said we should put it in a special place, so it won’t get lost?’

  Inwardly I groan. This could take hours.

  Sadie thinks aloud. ‘Sweet hubby, I don’t remember that conversation but let me take a look.’ She disappears, I assume to a home office.

  Sophie and Bella decide to wait by sitting down on the staircase steps; first they wipe the steps with tissues, as if that would clean decades of dirty shoes. Then they set about fanning themselves with their hands. It is warm and stuffy in this hallway. I doubt the Wassingers have air-conditioning. Or theirs isn’t working. Or it’s against their religion; heaven only can imagine why we must nearly suffocate.

  Evvie leans against a wall, and then changes her mind. She doesn’t want the dust on her clothes again.

  ‘Nice day,’ Louie says making polite conversation.

  ‘Very nice,’ Sophie replies.

  ‘How’s Mr Hemingway?’ Bella sweetly asks, adding to the socializing.

  Oh, no, not that. Do not go there.

  I hear a low groan from Evvie.

  Louie perks up. ‘He is in fine fettle, having visitation days with friends coming and going all week. Quite exciting.’

  Don’t ask, I beg in my mind.

  Bella grins, unaware of our grief. ‘Oh, that’s so nice. Who’s been coming?’

  One fantasist to another, Louie shares her enthusiasm. We are now entering coo-coo land again.

  Louie counts on his fingers, ‘Let’s see; yesterday it was Gertrude Stein, of course with her dear, dear friend, Alice B. Toklas. She was the one who ran that famous salon in Paris, where so many expatriate artistes visited. There was much laughter and gossiping.’

  Bella, who hasn’t a clue to who these people are, nods enthusiastically.

  Louie chatters on, ‘Last Tuesday, F. Scott Fitzgerald dropped in and they talked for hours about their famous books.’

  He gives a funny little laugh which reminds me of a donkey bray, ‘Hee haw, hee h
aw.’ Nobody will ever believe this conversation. Nobody. Evvie smiles, reading my mind.

  Louie keeps going, ‘And how the critics all over the world valued their each and every volume and how much money they made.’

  Bella claps her hands to show her delight.

  Louie brays on. ‘I could go on forever …’

  Please don’t, I pray.

  But Louie does, ‘Then, Pablo Picasso, the famous artist was here on Wednesday afternoon. He’s such a funny man, though I don’t understand much of his Spanish; he speaks so rapidly. But they always talk about the art scene. Ezra Pound the poet, arrived that same evening. Mr Hemingway doesn’t like his politics! They’re forever arguing. And Max Perkins, his devoted Scribner’s editor was there. They almost came to blows. Mr Perkins needed to pull them apart.’

  Dead people visiting dead people! Oy! Save us from this folie a deux, now five. Louie, still gurgling, ‘And all those women he had, what a parade of beauties; don’t ask.’

  Believe me, I won’t ask. I break in, or else I’ll scream. ‘Speaking of lists, where is Sadie? Did she get lost?’

  Louie looks perturbed. ‘I shall find her.’

  This time I decide to follow him, in case I have to urge him to hurry. Naturally the girls follow me …

  Into the kitchen. The kitchen is also their office? This gingerbread Victorian mansion must have at least ten rooms, and this is where their office is? And this is their idea of being organized? I would hate to see their idea of messy.

  We find Sadie hovering in front of an open pantry door, papers and file covers are spilled on every shelf and scattered all around her on the floor. The cupboard is filled with who-knows what! Next to her is a small wooden table – their desk? Also crowded with pages.

  ‘Still searching,’ she calls out to us cheerfully.

  Louie rushes over to her. ‘I just remembered it was in a lavender file cover.’ He reports to us, ‘Lavender is Sadie’s favorite color and scent.’

  Sadie blushes. ‘He brings me lavender bouquets on my birthday. Did you know if you put lavender on your pillow at night you will sleep better?’