Getting Old Can Kill You: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  “Right.” We kiss.

  Morrie walks in on us. He grins. “We’ll have none of that around here. I might have to arrest you for indecent behavior.” He goes back to his chair.

  We return to our seats, smiling.

  “Where were we?” Jack asks.

  “Next,” Morrie says, “I just heard this morning from the Sausalito police that they went to the home of Joyce’s daughter, Stacy, last name, Wilson, in order to inform her of her mother’s death. They learned from their live-in help that Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and children have been traveling around Europe for a month. She expected them home soon, but she didn’t know when and she didn’t know how to reach them. So I left your phone number and an urgent message to call when they return. I’m sure it would be easier on her hearing from compassionate people like you rather than a tough, cold cop.”

  Jack says, “All right with us.” He looks at me and I nod my agreement.

  Morrie gets up. “That’s it for now.”

  We get up also. Jack stretches his back, trying to straighten it out.

  Morrie walks us to the door. “Keep in touch.”

  I say, “Don’t worry, we will.”

  Morrie says, “May the best man, and/or woman, win.” He winks at Jack. “Is it all right for me to kiss my new stepmother?”

  Jack shrugs. “Be my guest.”

  I take my parting shot at Morrie. “Just remember all the fairy tales you read as a kid. The stepmother was always the meanie. So look out.”

  With that he gives me a big kiss on my cheek, while laughing.

  I sure do love both my men. I know Morrie is doing his job, but this is hard to bear.

  The sign we tacked up on the door of the rec room announces a closed meeting—with a title: “For the defense of Arlene Simon. Anyone with information contact Gladdy Gold.”

  In typical fashion for any get-together of Gladdy Gold and Associates, there is food. Always food. Corned beef and pastrami deli sandwiches, pickles, coleslaw and potato salad, and always a favorite, Dr. Brown sodas.

  Also a new acting member. My Jack. The girls are very impressed that Jack, named as consultant, gets to sit in on police meetings. That’s a big leg up.

  And another new interested party, Rico Leon. Ida lets us know that although our businesses are now two separate entities, we are united for this cause. Rico has been invited to join us. Sophie and Bella add that they are considering Rico to be their new partner for the still contested name Ida Franz and Associates. Their team insists Rico is invaluable and definitely on our side and can be trusted. He is their hero since the success of solving the car wash mystery. Squirrels, indeed.

  After debating over these two newcomers, then officially welcoming both, we start the business at hand. Arlene’s case.

  The girls, between bites of sandwiches, are still reeling over the fact of Joyce having cancer. They agree, it’s bad news for our team. The sympathy will all be for Joyce, seen as the poor dying friend wanting to make up, and cruel Arlene rejecting her with venom. It’s an uphill battle.

  “Okay,” I say. “We all agree on flyers. We will divvy them up and put them on bulletin boards in every Phase of Lanai Gardens.”

  Evvie, as secretary, takes notes. She reads back what we’ve decided so far to put in the flyers. “ ‘Any information concerning Arlene Simon, Joyce Steiner, and/or Seymour Andrews, please get to us. This rec room will have someone in attendance here every afternoon from two to five. We need your help.’’ ”

  Sophie interjects, “The mah-jongg group was very gracious about giving up their weekly game here and are temporarily meeting in Phase Four.”

  Bella claps.

  Evvie nods and continues reading the flyer. “ ‘We are looking for anyone who has information about Seymour Andrews leaving Lanai Gardens sometime around three weeks ago. He would have been carrying a suitcase. We are guessing he left late at night and might have been picked up by a cab or car.’ ”

  Sophie comments, “I just don’t understand why the cops don’t do all this.”

  Jack answers her. “Because as far as they’re concerned, they have their killer. They have evidence. They have motive. Arlene has no alibi. It’s up to us to prove they’re wrong.”

  I take over. “Joyce managed to leave practically no information about herself, but we now know where she lived. With Jack’s ability with a computer, he has located her former address on the waterways. We should canvass that area, talking to neighbors and getting any info on her there.”

  I look at my darling. “Jack, your report?”

  Jack says, “Naturally, nobody lives in a vacuum, and we’ve found out the name of her business manager. Gladdy and I will get in touch with him. As it seems that Joyce was wealthy, it was highly probable someone managed her money. And hopefully, he’ll lead us to the executor of her will, assuming she made one.”

  “What about the cooking class?” Evvie asks. “Granted we know three of the women who were in the ill-fated kitchen event are against Arlene, but there was one other, Sandra Litzman.”

  Bella raises her hand. She always does that to ask permission to speak. “Sophie and me know Sandra. We can talk to her.”

  Sophie agrees.

  Evvie nods, says, “We need to know more about the key lime pie incident. Whose idea was it to make the pies? How come Joyce knew they were baking that particular pie that day? We now know how bad a memory that food evoked for Arlene. Why did she even go that day? Since Joyce wasn’t a member, how did she find out what they were planning? Who cleaned up the room afterward? What happened to the rest of the pies?”

  Ida, taking her own notes, looks up. “Got all of that. We’ll find out.”

  Rico gets into the act. “I can’t believe that nobody ever noticed Joyce going up to Arlene’s apartment late at night. You tell us Arlene says it was every single night. Someone has to have seen them. We should be asking everyone on those two floors. In fact, we should talk to everyone in Phase Three.”

  Bella and Sophie smile at their protégé.

  Rico has something else to say. The guy who loves cars brings up an interesting point. “What about the Jaguar? It’s still in Joyce’s parking spot.”

  “Good question. We have to find out what to do about that.” This from Ida, proud of him. What magic spell has that cute young guy cast over our girls? But he does seem eager to help.

  “Good idea,” I say.

  Ida adds, reaching for a Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray Tonic, “I can’t believe how secretive that Joyce was. She talked and talked about herself, but told us nothing.”

  Evvie agrees. “What other family did she have? Who were her friends? Enemies? Somebody has to have wanted her dead. Who was it? If it was a stranger, was he ever seen on our premises? We don’t know anything.”

  I say, “She was hiding behind all those words and we have to find out what really went on in her life. We still haven’t been able to reach her daughter, Stacy. Funny, when I walked in on Joyce that day, she was talking to Stacy in California about the continued problems building her guest house.

  “Then, when I started to ask her how she met Seymour and got his apartment, she suddenly cut me off by saying she had to call Stacy back right away because she was leaving to take her kids to the dentist. Yet according to her maid, Stacy and family were traveling in Europe at that time. She couldn’t have been talking to her in California. Was she even talking to her at all, or was that an out-and-out lie?”

  There’s a knock on the door. Evvie goes to unlock it. Hy and Lola are there. Lola announces, “We have something to offer. Can we come in?”

  They are made cautiously welcome. Hy immediately spots our raspberry rugallahs for dessert. Sophie says, “Help yourself.”

  While chewing, Hy announces that he has an ex-brother-in-law who is a criminal defense lawyer. “Never lost a case,” he says with pride.

  Ida asks, “Ex?”

  Lola says, grinning, “He was married before me, if you can imagine.”

&nb
sp; “A major mistake,” Hy admits. “Dumped her, but stayed friends with her brother.”

  Lola blushes. “I rescued him.”

  Hy gives her a quick peck on the cheek. “My soul mate.”

  Ida sneers. She cannot stand affection shown in front of her. “What’s your point?”

  Hy looks at her with disdain. “I am willing to go to him and ask for his help. Arlene needs a top lawyer.” He smiles proudly. “If I ask David, he’ll help.”

  Sophie asks, “Won’t he be expensive?”

  “He owes me. I once loaned him money in his early days in practice. We’re talking pro bono here.” He looks jeeringly at Ida. “That means free of charge, in case you didn’t know.”

  Never at a loss for a snappy comeback, she says, “I watch the same lawyer shows you do, smarty-pants.”

  Before they come to verbal blows, Jack steps in. Always a calming influence. “That would be great, Hy, if you can manage it.”

  “Have another rugallah,” Bella the peacemaker says.

  Looks like a good time to stop. I announce the meeting is over. “Everyone, let’s get the show on the road.”

  The girls pack up any leftover food and the fight to save Arlene is in full swing.

  We have a busy day planned, Jack and I. We’re going to visit Arlene in jail and then head for the address where Joyce lived before she entered all of our lives and caused chaos. Jack even has a meeting with one of Dr. Edward Steiner’s old nurses who’s willing to speak to us. We overslept a bit. A quick hit of coffee and toast and here we go, because we’re getting a late start.

  Once out on the walkway we are aware of an unusual noise for a Sunday morning. We look over our railing and what a sight meets our eyes!

  The courtyard where everyone’s cars are always parked has been emptied. Except for Jack’s and my cars, conspicuously the only ones left and now surrounded. The area is strangely crowded with people. There is an air of a carnival with balloons flying from palm trees and lampposts. And music ringing out from somebody’s boom box. It’s not a holiday. What’s going on? It reminds me of our midyear tailgate-garage sales. Tailgate, because we have no garages. But this isn’t the right date.

  Tables have been set up. Mostly card tables, some actual kitchen tables carried down for this event. People are lined up in front of them. There are signs but they are under our walkways, so I can’t read what they say. Further staring shows me that the girls are gathered behind one table. Bella glances up, sees us, and pokes Sophie. The two of them wave happily to us. Ida is busy handing someone something. But what? One hand giving, the other hand taking?

  Tessie and Sol are behind another table. Hy and Lola, another. My heavens, even the Canadians have a table! I recognize neighbors from many of the other Phases.

  Jack and I stare at each other. Well, we have to go downstairs anyway, so we’ll see what’s going on. And even more important, how do we rescue one of our cars out of that mob scene?

  All is revealed by the signs behind each of the participants: “Save Arlene.” “Sign the petition telling the police they have the wrong person.” “Donate money for her lawyer.” That one, I note, is behind Hy and Lola’s table.

  We look at the booth nearest to us. Tessie is having a bake sale. She makes wonderful homemade breads and must have been up at dawn to have baked this many. And they are selling like hot-cakes. They smell divine.

  Somebody is a beader and beaded crafts are another hot item. That’s from Kim Chang from Phase Four.

  The Canadians are selling Canadian objects. I’m curious and I check them out. I greet Nigel and Elizabeth, who vacation each winter in a flat, as they call it, on the first floor of our building. Elizabeth smiles when I ask where they got goods from Canada so quickly. She laughs. “Dearie,” she says, “we’ve accumulated far too many ‘odds ’n’ socks’ as is. Great excuse to clear out the bins.”

  There’s Jack’s old neighbor, Dora Dooley, from Phase Six, before he lost his apartment in the hurricane. She’s serving pink lemonade and chocolate chip cookies.

  Jack had disappeared from my side, but then I see him. He’s chatting with someone selling rare books, as I can tell from a sign. I walk over to his table. The man doesn’t look familiar. Jack tells me he’s actually a dealer, with a shop on University Avenue. He heard about our plight from his aunt Lillian, who lives in Phase One and was happily donating sales to our cause. Jack has already bought something. A fairly rare copy of one of Horatio Alger’s rags-to-riches novels.

  By now, I’m near tears. I wish Arlene could see what’s being done on her behalf. Jack, reading my mind, takes out his iPhone and snaps some photos. Yes, he even has one of those gadgets.

  I finally reach the table where the girls are, assisted by the now ever-present Rico. All of them are wearing colorful aprons, including Rico.

  “I’m amazed,” I say. “How did you all put this together so fast?”

  Ida says gleefully, “Actually this is Hy’s doing. Why should you be so surprised? Let’s see—we have six Phases. At least one yenta living in each one. The word spread like cream cheese on a bagel.”

  “So what are you selling?” I ask.

  Bella proudly shows their wares. “Remember when we did crafts? We still have leftover pot holders and decorated kitchen towels and aprons.” She indicates the ones they’re modeling. “We’re doing good.”

  A sign over another table catches my eye. It reads “We Take Care of Our Own.” And behind it there’s Sandra Litzman, who lives next door to Arlene. And was also at the kitchen debacle. She tells me she already gave Sophie and Bella a report of her view of what happened that morning. She has no idea who decided on the baking of key lime pie that day. She got a note to bring ingredients, which is what they usually do when someone has a preference, but she doesn’t remember who sent it.

  Interesting. I wonder if any of the women actually knew who sent that note. Must check on that. Again, coincidences always plant red flags in my mind.

  I try another question. “Since you live next door to Arlene, did you ever hear anything? Did you ever see Joyce go into Arlene’s apartment?”

  She shakes her head sadly. “No, never. I wish I had, but I’m such a sound sleeper, even the hurricane we went through didn’t wake me.”

  There are tears in her eyes. “When I was sick, it was Arlene who took me to doctors and hospitals. And bought groceries when I couldn’t get around. I don’t know what I would have done without her. This terrible charge against her is a lie. She couldn’t hurt anyone.”

  I am touched. I keep this in mind if Arlene ever goes to trial and needs character witnesses.

  I thank her for her efforts and move along. I spot Evvie in front of a table manned by Irving and Mary. They have the petition asking to free Arlene. People are lined up to sign. I greet the two of them, thanking them. Mary, the nurse, has another signup sheet. She’s offering consultations on using medications. How kind of her.

  I pull Evvie off to one side.

  I look at her in amazement. “You knew all about this and didn’t tell me?”

  “No, I swear, I’m as surprised as you are. I’ve been asking around. The word is Hy pulled all of this together. He’s still so mad at those gals who fought with him the other day. We forget that before he retired he was a manager of a big furniture store. He knows how to organize.”

  “Amazing. All of this so fast. But why didn’t he tell us? Hey, we have enough junk in our storage closets to fill more than one table.”

  “No kidding, I don’t know, but I can guess. Maybe he’s intimidated by Jack. Not the least of which is Hy’s size compared to your over six-footer. But also that he was a cop.”

  “Really,” I say, smiling. “How delightful.” I get a kick out of the idea of anyone intimidating Hy.

  Jack comes over to me, pointing at his wrist-watch.

  I tell Evvie we have to be on time for our visit with Arlene.

  “Give her a hug for me. If you’re allowed to.”


  “Will do.”

  “Spoke to Joe this morning.”

  “How is he?”

  “Just great. He says he’s gone into second childhood with the grandkids. Misses me. Thinking he might come back next week.”

  “Sounds wonderful. What are you up to today?”

  “I was going canvassing neighbors, but Hy just informed me he needs me.”

  “He gave you a job here, too?”

  She smiles. “Hy put me in charge of collecting the money at the end of the sale and of making sure nobody changed their mind and is keeping their profits.”

  I laugh. “That’s our Hy.”

  Just as we are about to rescue Jack’s car, I hear someone calling my name. It’s Leah, hurrying toward me. Jack and I exchange glances. He’ll let me deal with her while he extricates our surrounded vehicle.

  She reaches me, out of breath. “No more weekly postcards. They stopped coming! Nothing since last Monday,” she says, almost choking. “Something terrible must have happened to my Seymour.”

  I put my arm around her. “Leah, dear, don’t fret so. Maybe he’s somewhere away from any mailbox. We will find him. I promise. We will not let you down.”

  Even as I’m consoling her, I think to myself, The coincidences are piling up. I feel we are getting close to something important. So the postcards stopped coming the day Joyce died. Did the postcards stop because Joyce is dead? There must be some connection.

  Leah, tearfully, heads back home.

  Jack waves. He’s managed to free up the car. I hurry to join him.

  I’ve been to police headquarters many times for meetings in Morrie’s office, but I never found myself in the separate jail section of the fairly new modern police headquarters on Oakland Park Boulevard.

  Morrie has arranged for us to visit Arlene. I don’t know what to expect other than what I’ve seen in many movies. I could picture myself leaning in and speaking to her through bars with an attached phone. Both of us whispering, looking tense and secretive. But I’m pleasantly surprised. We are directed to a large room not unlike our rec room at home.