Getting Old is to Die For

by Rita Lakin

  “It gets old real fast. After a while the sweetness is sickening.”

  “May I ask what your job is inside?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, I’m in quality control.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I look at every single cookie and pick out the defective ones.” She recites in a weary tone as if by rote. “Here’s the twenty-five-cent tour. Every cookie formula is a secret. The dough is sent into a hopper, which feeds it into a machine that forms it into a strip. These strips are cut into shapes according to what kind of cookie it is. The whole mess is baked in an enormous walk-in oven. Cookies are cooled, and then decorated. Packaging is done automatically by machines that sort the cookies into bags for sale. We’re open twenty-four/seven. Tour’s over. Anything else you need to know?” She takes a last puff of her cigarette and glares at him disdainfully.

  “Where’s Patty Dennison?”

  “My cousin’s gone.” She grinds out her cigarette and immediately lights up another. She makes no attempt to blow her smoke away from Jack.

  “So I’ve been told. Over and over again. I’d almost believe it if everyone didn’t say it like some old script they rehearsed. If I got an occasional ‘I don’t know’ or ‘Who?’ instead of a universal ‘Never heard of her,’ maybe I’d fall for it. Amazing. I’ll say one thing, people here are loyal.”

  “They should be. My family, what’s left of it, which is me, goes way back to the beginnings of this town.”

  “So I’ve learned. A family who’s worked for Nabisco as many generations as the factory’s been here. You’re the last of the line. You and your two kids.”

  She bristles. He’s pressed the right button. Unnerve her now. Break the self-control. “You stay away from my kids!” She wraps up what’s left of her sandwich and rises.

  “Please sit down. I have no intention of interrogating your children.”

  Barbara sits back down, eyes narrowed, but on the edge of her chair ready for flight.

  “She’s quite remarkable, Patty Dennison is. She’s managed to live below the radar. No phone. No gas and electric bills. No voting record. No car. No known address. Quite remarkable in this high-speed day and age we live in.”

  “It’s because she’s not here anymore.”

  “So you keep saying. Then where does she live?”

  “You don’t listen too good. I said she’s gone. Gone, like in dead!”

  That stops him for a moment. His eyes laser deep into her eyes. “Where’s her grave?”

  “No grave. She was cremated.”

  “So, there’ll be a death certificate on file, won’t there?”

  Her eyes twitch the way liars’ eyes do. She hesitates a few seconds too long. “Yeah. Somewhere.”

  By now the lunch hour is over. Jack is aware of people standing up, tossing the remains of their lunches into the trash bins. He feels he will lose her soon. His intensity rises.

  “Barbara, you are an intelligent woman, no doubt about that. I commend your loyalty, but you’re not a good liar. I know Patty is here. I can almost smell it by the way people avoid me. If she had died, people wouldn’t be that jumpy when I confront them. You can make things easier for both of us by telling the truth.”

  He waits, but Barbara turns her face from him. She pretends to busy herself, sweeping crumbs off the table with her fingers.

  “So be it. It will take more time, but I will find her. I’ll go back to New York and use FBI computers that are so smart they could sniff out a flea on a moose in Alaska. Then I’ll return.”

  Barbara tries to tough him out, but her drooped shoulders betray her. She cries out, anguished, “Leave it alone. It was forty-five bloody years ago. She’s suffered and she died.”

  “Stick to your story, but there is a woman I love who has suffered as much or even more, not knowing what really happened to her husband that terrible New Year’s Eve. So you can see I’m highly motivated to keep going until I find out what I want to know. Maybe Patty might find some peace if she faced me. Maybe she wouldn’t have to keep hiding.”

  Jack gets up. He puts his hand gently on Barbara’s shoulder. She flinches. “Please tell her that. I’ll be at the motel until eleven tomorrow morning. I’m sure you know which one. If not, ask anybody in Fair Lawn.”

  He drops his card on the table. “This is my cell number. Call me anytime.” He feels Barbara’s eyes watching him leave, hears the flick of her lighter as she lights another cigarette. Hopefully, she’ll pass his message on to Patty.

  HERE’S THE DEAL

  Here’s the deal,” I tell my girls. “There’s only room in the limo for two more people. Of course I have to go, so who’s joining me?”

  “Limo,” says Bella, letting the word roll over her tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

  We are sitting at our usual picnic table on the Lanai Gardens lawn where we sometimes hold our PI business meetings. I have just informed them that Linda Silverstone has decided to take our advice and face her parents after all. Quite a victory, I feel, because I took a big chance confronting her the way I did. Now I wonder if I should call her parents ahead of time and warn them of the shock that is coming their way. It took too much to get Linda’s trust; I don’t dare go behind her back. I am very conflicted. And nervous, too.

  The sprinklers have only just shut off, so the grass is cool and damp under our feet. Nosy neighbors tend to stroll by, hoping to catch a bit of insider information even though they know we always clam up if anyone gets too close. But that doesn’t stop them from trying.

  The spying goes both ways. From our vantage point we can see Denny in his beloved garden, weeding happily. In a while Yolie will appear with drinks and sandwiches. He’s teaching her English and she’s trying to get him to learn a few words in Spanish. That little love affair is still moving along nicely.

  And there goes Mary, getting in her car to take Irving to the hospital to visit Millie, even though she hardly recognizes him anymore. The gossip squad is watching this new twosome carefully. They are spending much too much time together and the squad is sniffing out impropriety. Mary and Irving better watch out.

  “However, we have to leave for Naples around eight in the morning,” I continue.

  “I’m not too crazy about getting up that early,” says Sophie as she polishes her nails. Today’s shade is Passion Plum.

  “And the trip will take about three and a half hours each way.”

  “A seven-hour round trip? Sounding less thrilling, the more you tell us,” comments Ida, crocheting as she listens.

  Evvie is seated backward on the bench, leaning against the table, with her face lifted up to catch the sun’s rays, seemingly not listening. Every so often, Ida looks over at her, checking for reactions. What’s going on is this: Ida has been my assistant since Evvie has dropped into her depressive mood. Ida’s waiting to see when she’ll be replaced again, once Evvie snaps out of it.

  “Yeah,” agrees Sophie, “my tush would hate all that sitting, but the limo idea, I still like. Maybe they serve champagne in the car?”

  I shrug. “We’re meant to visit with the Silverstones and have a lovely luncheon prepared for us. As thanks for talking Linda into coming to their big celebration weekend, which starts the day after tomorrow. Linda wanted to do this before all the guests arrive Friday evening. Poor thing, she feels very negative about how they’ll respond to her—”

  Sophie interrupts. “I love the luncheon part.”

  I keep on. “... Then we head back home— assuming all goes well with the reunion of Linda and her parents. I’m sure they have a very impressive house. Naples is famous for having lots of rich folks living there.”

  Sophie sniffs. “Seen one mansion, seen ’em all.”

  “That’s what I always say,” says Sophie’s shadow, Bella, our recording secretary, who is holding her notebook in case I say something worth recording.

  Evvie wheels herself around and addresses me. “You haven’t told them the good part y
et. About the alligators and the Indians.”

  Now everyone is alert, staring at Evvie. I guess she’s has been paying attention all along.

  “What alligators?” Bella whispers, suddenly clutching Sophie’s arm.

  I try to nip this in the bud. “Come on, you’ve all lived in Florida for more than twenty-five years, and none of you have ever been on the west coast. There’s a beautiful beach there.”

  Sophie snorts. “We have a beautiful beach here and we never go, so why should we ride in a car three hours to not go to a beach there?”

  “How can there be a beach?” Bella wants to know. “The ocean is facing the wrong way.”

  “That’s the Gulf of Mexico,” Ida informs her.

  “Mexico? Now we’re going to Mexico?” Bella says, alarmed.

  “Tell them that road is the only way we can get to the west coast, if one is driving.” Evvie grins maliciously.

  Now all eyes watch me suspiciously.

  I sigh. Everything with these girls is always such a big deal. And Evvie is being a troublemaker today. “The fastest way to cross this part of Florida,” I say in my best travel guide voice, “is to take Interstate Seventy-five.”

  “Its nickname being Alligator Alley,” says Evvie gleefully.

  Naturally Bella and Sophie gasp.

  Evvie adds, “It goes through the Everglades, which you all know is a swamp.”

  “Swamp!” says Sophie. “You want us to go in a swamp?”

  Evvie says gleefully, “Filled with snakes along with the alligators. I did a travel article about it in my newsletter last year. I guess nobody reads anything but the garage sales and restaurant specials. This highway was the most fought-against road ever built in Florida. It goes through the Big Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation and has many nicknames: Killer Road, Suicide Lane, Death Row, the Road to Nowhere.”

  With that Bella actually jumps off the bench in horror.

  “Evvie, stop it!” I tell her; really annoyed now. I try to reassure the girls. “It’s a perfectly good highway; it’s just boring with nothing to do or see. It’s either that or fly.”

  “Okay,” says Ida, recapping. “You want us to drive about a hundred and fifty miles for more than three hours each way on a very boring road that may or may not have snakes and alligators walking along it, just to have some lunch. And remind us why it’s necessary to take this short, hard trip?”

  “Because Linda Silverstone asked us to accompany her. I guess she wants some moral support for when she faces her parents with her illness. I promised I would.”

  There is a long silence at that. I sigh again. “Okay,” I say without confidence. “Raise your hand if you want to join me on this trip.”

  More silence.

  Swell.

  “Thanks a lot. Evvie, since you are such an expert on I-Seventy-five, I elect you to be my traveling companion.” I don’t even bother to hide my sarcasm.

  The girls applaud my choice. Even Ida is happy about letting Evvie take back her position of number one assistant on this. Evvie shoots me a dirty look.

  “I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun,” I tell her sweetly.

  STRUCK OUT

  Jack makes his early Thursday morning leave-taking obvious. He puts on a big show of paying his bill in the tiny front office of the motel and wondering aloud to passersby what the weather might be back in the city. He drops his duffel bag into his trunk. Stalling some more by going to the coffee shop across the road and ordering coffee to go, he lets everyone there know the cop is leaving town. He can almost feel their relief. Then he waits outside. And hopes.

  Nothing.

  He goes back to the motel and phones the Nabisco factory, only to find out Ms. Sutterfield has taken sick leave. No, no date when she is expected back. To Jack’s surprise, for someone so secretive, she’s listed in the phone book. But, then again, why wouldn’t she be? She wasn’t expecting the Ghost of Christmas Past to show up nearly fifty years later. When he sees her next, he’ll remind her that there is no statute of limitations on murder.

  On his way out of town he decides to pay her a home visit. Shabby street, shabby neighborhood. Barbara’s conventional 1950s tract house is on a corner lot. House hasn’t been painted in a very long while. Once it might have been a sea green, with a white trim; now the colors are faded and drab.

  He knocks on her door. No answer. Not that he expected one. Clearly Barbara has run from Jack. He walks around the house to see if there is any activity in the rear. Shades all drawn. A kid’s bike on the back porch. A few towels hanging on a clothesline. There’s a doggy door. And a small food and water dish, with the name Spooky on it. Dog on sick leave, too?

  Out of the corner of his eye he sees a window curtain next door being moved. He makes a calculated guess that this is the neighbor who babysits the kids. If he knocks on her door, she probably will pretend not to be home. But if it looks like he’s snooping in Barbara’s windows, she’ll either come out in a huff or call the police.

  Sure enough, as soon as he pretends to peer around the window shades, the woman comes rushing out her back door. Very foolish, the cop in him thinks. She’s too gullible. A woman who can easily be taken advantage of. She should have called the police. She’s in her sixties, white-haired, pudgy, wearing an apron with apple designs running along the border. Probably baking—face and hands look like they’re covered with flour. She’s a sweet motherly type. But right now, she’s anything but friendly.

  Hands on hips. “She’s not home.”

  Jack shakes his head at her foolishness. He could be a burglar wanting the homeowner not to be home.

  “She told me about you, that you’d be snooping around.” She shakes her fist at him.

  That explains it. Barbara warned her about him. Mother bear being protective of her cubs. No surprise, he gets the cold shoulder. Apparently Ms. Sutterfield has taken her children and dog away with on her “sick leave.” And no, neighbor lady has no idea where she went or when she’ll be back. So, just get away from here, she warns, or she’ll call the police.

  On his way home, driving the turnpike he phones Emily. No use putting it off. She’s excited to hear his voice. She can hardly wait to hear what he has to tell her.

  He doesn’t want to drag out bad news. “Sorry, Emily. No luck.”

  He hears the disappointment in her voice. “Does that mean you’re giving up?”

  For a moment he has to concentrate when a Pabst beer truck swerves to get in front of him, narrowly missing a huge SUV merging from the other lane.

  “Jack, are you still there?”

  Recovering, he answers, “At this point, I don’t know what else to do. My only lead left town. I scared Barbara off.”

  “Do you have to go back home to Florida right away?”

  He thinks about that for a moment. “No, not really.” Nothing much waiting for him there.

  “Stay awhile longer. Maybe through the weekend. Barbara might change her mind and call you.”

  “I wouldn’t take any bets on that.”

  “I’m sure Lisa will be glad to see more of you. My family, too.”

  What a lovely woman she is. “Perhaps I will. For a short time, anyway.”

  When he hangs up he feels better about it. He isn’t ready to go home and have to face Gladdy and lie about his strange behavior. And know in his heart he failed her. He’s happy to put off the inevitable. He’s not looking forward to it.

  DRIVE TIME

  The trip is too quiet. Evvie and I are in the sleek black limo that Linda Silverstone has hired to drive us to Naples. For over an hour now, Linda has been stretched out across the three back seats, an afghan covering her, needing to sleep. Evvie is in no mood to talk to me. Last night we had quite a tiff; she insisted she would not go and I insisted she must. She can’t understand why I didn’t find an excuse to get out of this trip. What is the point? Linda will deal with her parents one way or another, and what are we supposed to do? I explained that her parents wouldn�
�t take no for an answer. They insisted I accompany Linda and they want to thank me personally. Actually all of us were invited, but since Linda hired this limo, there’s only room for two more.

  “Well,” Evvie had said, “you should have gone by yourself if you don’t know how to make people take no for an answer.” I reminded her we were partners and I wanted her by my side. Impasse. We were both being spiteful.

  So, this morning, still tired and annoyed, we are not speaking. Which is just as well, since anything we might discuss would have Marjory, sitting next to us, listening in, and the way things are between us these days, that’s not a good idea. Evvie leans against the glass and stares out the tinted window, lost in her own thoughts. Marjory brought a book to read. And I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring one also. As for the driver, he’s closed the partition between us, so I can’t find an excuse to talk to him.

  I look over at Linda; even in her sleep, her body remains restless. Whether that’s from her medical condition or a nightmare about facing her parents, I don’t know.

  I try making conversation with Marjory. I ask softly, “Have you ever been to her parents’ house?”

  Marjory just shakes her head and continues reading.

  The three hours will feel like ten at this rate. I look out the window, too. Nothing much to see. Yes, swamps to the side of the highway. Then finally, one small store and gas station. I’m guessing we’re about halfway there. I suppose the driver doesn’t need to stop. I wouldn’t mind getting out and stretching. He doesn’t stop.

  Evvie is determined not to speak to me, so finally, I close my eyes and start to nod off.

  When my eyes open I see that Linda is awake and sitting up. Marjory is seated next to her and giving her some pills with water and then something hot to drink from a thermos. Evvie is discussing movies she has loved over the years. Linda, who admits she isn’t much of a moviegoer, seems entertained anyway. Marjory maintains her stoic face.

  “Well, look who’s up, it’s Sleeping Beauty,” my devious sister says. “We’re just about there.”