Getting Old Can Kill You: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  “More like sickening,” Evvie comments.

  Jack says, “I made another call. So tomorrow we have an appointment with Joyce’s business manager, Kenneth Ryan. I told him Joyce was dead. He sounded shocked. He said we caught him just in time. He is flying off to Hong Kong on a business trip tomorrow, but he definitely needs to see us. She left a will and he’s the executor.”

  “Bingo,” says Evvie.

  Jack adds, “I know Morrie will want to come with us.”

  I heat the oven for the chicken. “And I know what he’ll say when we catch him up. Everything so far is circumstantial and won’t stand up in court. I hope this guy has something we can use.”

  As we expected, Morrie listens patiently as Jack and I catch him up. We tell him what we know as we drive to the executor Kenneth Ryan’s office. Morrie is interested in what we’ve learned so far about Joyce’s background. But her fights with her hubby seem irrelevant since he died some time ago. So she had a temper, so what? Well, at least we know Seymour was picked up to begin his travels by someone he knew. At least he wasn’t kidnapped. It was probably Joyce’s Jaguar. But the driver was a man? It was dark. Too bad Merrill couldn’t describe him.

  Additionally we’ve helped prove that not only Arlene but Joyce also had access to the key lime pies in the empty kitchen. But that doesn’t change Morrie’s mind about Arlene’s guilt. We were right. Everything is still circumstantial.

  “About the daughter, Stacy,” Morrie says, “the Sausalito police tried again to reach her. This time the maid said she did hear from her and the family was due back in about a week. They left another message to call both them and you.”

  I tell him, “We’ve been phoning her house, since she hasn’t tried to reach us, but this time we got the answering machine, so hopefully she’s returned.”

  He can tell I’m distressed that there’s a daughter out there who doesn’t yet know her own mother has died, so he changes the subject. “What’s the background on this guy we’re meeting?” he asks.

  Jack says he Googled him. “He’s a business manager with a law degree and another in accounting. Pretty successful it seems. In a high-rent district of Boca Raton. Has some well-known wealthy clients.”

  We arrive at the affluent Congress Avenue address, so we’re not surprised at the fancy digs. The office appears as if it was designed by a professional who knew how to stage an office. All of it is done ultra modern in shades of black and white. Even the photos of early Boca are black and white. Very dramatic.

  Kenneth has a suite that includes the usual front receiving area, private office, and conference room.

  Kenneth, a man in his fifties, looks deliberate as well. The suit is expensive. As are the shoes. The haircut just right. To me he is on the downside of good looking. Probably considered handsome when younger. Maybe too much booze over the years, I’m guessing by the reddish veined nose. There is weariness to his demeanor.

  He greets us himself. “I can’t tell you how shocked I was at the news of Joyce’s death.”

  Morrie says what he’s had to say hundreds of times as a cop, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Kenneth shakes his head as if to indicate, Don’t say any more. He can’t take it.

  Kenneth hands us his business card, and Morrie passes back his police identity card, Morrie explaining that “since these two people,” indicating us, “are strangers to you, you might want a person of authority to be here.”

  We introduce ourselves, saying we knew Joyce, but for only a short while.

  He beckons us to follow him. “Very thoughtful of you. I was wondering about who was coming to see me.”

  As we tour our way along his hallway, we express our admiration of his perfect decor. Kenneth thanks us. And remarks that Mrs. Steiner was his decorator. “That was her avocation, besides being a wonderful wife and hostess.”

  I think to myself, Joyce has at least one admirer. I guess he missed all the good fights. But I do find it interesting that Joyce had a lucrative career. And it may also be that he and Joyce knew each other for a very long time. What was their relationship?

  We follow him into his office.

  “I gave my secretary a few days off, since I’ll be away, so I hope no one wants coffee.”

  I almost expect him to offer us liquor. He doesn’t, but when he mentions coffee he instinctively looks to the elaborate wet bar where bottles of booze are in abundance. I read somewhere that’s a sign of an alcoholic or someone on his way to it.

  Morrie says smoothly, “We know you have a plane to catch today. We’ll try not to take too much of your time. You’re leaving tonight?”

  “Yes, I am. Quite late. Have you ever been to Hong Kong?”

  We all shake our heads no.

  “Extraordinary place. Not to be missed. I heartily recommend the Peninsula Hotel if you do.” He looks at me and smiles. “But the Star ferry to Kowloon calls for a very strong stomach.”

  Hmm, how did he know I get seasick? Maybe he assumes it because I’m a woman. Or he’s just being condescending. Hong Kong is not in our budget.

  Jack smiles wryly at me. Do we look like the kind of people who could afford such an expensive trip? Is Kenneth Ryan playing us?

  Kenneth indicates we should sit down. We do. He takes his seat behind his white marble desk. Marble seems very popular around Boca. His desk chair is an Eames design in black. The office seems excessively neat. No papers anywhere, except for a blue folder on his desk that could be the will. What is this absence of things reminding me of? I’ll have to think of it later. I need to concentrate on that will.

  He expresses his concern. “I have to say, your news about my client was not unexpected. I knew Mrs. Steiner was very ill. It was only a matter of time. She was quite important to this office. I’m so surprised I hadn’t already heard the news. What were the circumstances of her death?”

  Morrie takes charge of the meeting. “Mrs. Steiner wasn’t living at Sunrise Key at the time. She was residing at a one-bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale on Oakland Park Boulevard. A sublet as it were.”

  Kenneth lifts very bushy eyebrows, showing surprise. He knows that’s a lower rent area. “How very peculiar.”

  Morrie says, “Then I assume you hadn’t been in touch with her for a while.”

  “I did speak to her a few weeks ago to ask how she was feeling. She said she was doing as well as could be expected, as she put it.”

  “Did you talk with her on her home phone?”

  He thinks for a moment. “I believe I did.”

  I keep watching this man very closely. From my angle I can see his legs under his desk. He is tapping one leg—a nervous tic? Well, he’s busy and does have to catch a plane. He’s probably hoping we won’t stay much longer. Aha, another quick glance at the bar. Or is it that he can’t wait to hit that bar the minute we walk out?

  Morrie takes a breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, I have shocking news. Mrs. Steiner did not die of cancer, she was murdered.”

  It’s almost as if Kenneth turns pale. His face twists into a horrific grimace. “What? What are you saying? You can’t be serious.”

  “Very serious,” says Morrie.

  “Who? What? Why?”

  “We have a person of interest being held. I’m sorry I can’t go into further details of the case.” Morrie is being cautious. “It’s a long story. However, as you can imagine, it is necessary for us to see the will.”

  Kenneth shudders. Then pulls himself together. “Of course. You must get in touch with me when the body will be released. I’ll have to cut my trip short.”

  “It will be a while,” Morrie assures him.

  He starts to open up the blue-covered file, then stops, looking pained. “Sorry. I can’t quite get my head around Joyce’s death. You must give me a moment. You can understand.”

  “Of course.”

  We stay quiet. Jack and Morrie glance around the room. I can’t take my eyes off him. His eye twitches.

&n
bsp; He finally says, almost tearfully, but regaining his professional demeanor, “Knowing I was going to be traveling, I have provided the name and phone number for you of the estate lawyer who drew up the will. He can handle any questions you have for me. He can file the death certificate with the probate court. And of course, he can reach me if necessary.”

  “Very thoughtful of you,” Morrie says.

  He hands us each a copy of the will.

  I want to leap up in shock, but I hold myself back. What? I can’t believe what I’m reading. I have to reread it twice before it sinks in. Joyce Steiner left everything in the world she owns to Arlene Simon!

  The three of us exchange amazed glances. The date of the will was a month ago.

  Kenneth says, “I must explain. I’ve known all these years that Joyce was searching for a dear old friend. I was quite surprised when she came in and told me she’d found her at last and this was her wish. To make up to her for a mistake she made years ago. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to do this; she was originally intending to donate everything to her favorite charity. Her comment was that the charity is fine without her contribution. Giving to her dear old friend would make Joyce very happy. It seemed quite important to her.”

  Jack and I look at each other. Unbelievable!

  Morrie continues reading slowly and carefully. He, too, is totally amazed.

  Jack speaks. “There is a list of her holdings?”

  “Yes, of course. The money accrued on the house just sold in Sunrise Key. The money from the sale of her Jaguar, as well. The yacht. All her stocks and bonds. Her property investments. Her assets as an interior designer. She was a shrewd businesswoman. Mrs. Simon will be a very wealthy lady.” He smiles. “Won’t that be a wonderful surprise for her?”

  I can’t stand it. I lose my cool. I have to know. “How much is all that worth?”

  He studies another sheet on the desk. “My balance sheet totals Mrs. Steiner’s assets to $11 million, to round it out.”

  Ohmigod!

  Kenneth stands and starts moving us to the door. “I really must get cracking here. Lots of odds and ends to take care of.” He shakes his head, still pondering the incredible. “Murdered. Poor dear Joyce.”

  We all three get up. Even Morrie is stunned. Who knows from that kind of money!

  On the way home I keep hearing those numbers in my head. We’re quiet for a while, dumbfounded. Then I cry out, “Somebody say something! I can’t stand it!”

  I turn to Morrie. I can’t hold back my thoughts. “You know what he didn’t say to you? What everybody always says—you’ll find the killer, won’t you?”

  Jack asks Morrie, “Do we tell Arlene?”

  “No.”

  Morrie has two things to say. “First I need to find out whether Arlene knew about the will. That she’s the beneficiary. Talk about motive. Eleven million motives.”

  I can’t bear to even think what the other is.

  “And?” Jack asks. The suspense is excruciating.

  Morrie states for me what he’s sure Jack knows, “The law says, and I’m paraphrasing it, a convicted felon may not gain profit from his or her crime.”

  “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” Jack says softly.

  Evvie and I wait in my car, which is in a shady spot in the jail parking lot. The day has the kind of heat that makes you want to never leave your air-conditioned home. But Arlene is expecting us and every visit is so important to her. The AC in the car will have to do. We’re a little early and have to wait until it’s the exact moment until they open the doors. We are killing time with the help of a thermos of iced tea and a couple of cookies.

  Evvie is still reeling from the news about the will. “Eleven million. She could build her own city. She could give jobs to hundreds of people just on the interest alone. She could build a world-class hospital—”

  I interrupt her. “Enough already with your list of fantasies. I can’t stand what we’re doing here today.”

  Evvie comments, “I still think Morrie was some chicken, leaving it to us to draw it out of her.”

  “He chose us rather than him having to interrogate and intimidate her. He knew we’d be kind.”

  “It was bad enough to have to reveal the Valium. What if she did know about the will? I feel like a Judas already.”

  “To add to your Bible metaphor, if she did know it, it will be like handing him Arlene’s head on a platter.

  “I can’t stand it that we’ll be helping the prosecution.”

  Evvie, the movie critic says, “I’m trying to remember that picture we saw when the comic was being helped by friends and they just kept making things worse. He kept saying, ‘Don’t help me. Don’t help me.’ It was very funny.”

  “I don’t remember and this isn’t funny.”

  “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

  I feel bad about not having shared this incredible piece of news about the will with the girls, but we’re not allowed to tell them. Morrie has instructed us not to give out that information and we keep our promise.

  “You know they wouldn’t be able to keep that a secret anyway,” Evvie says, reading what’s on my mind as usual. “It’s just too big. It will ooze out of one of them some way. Even I can barely stop saying it. Eleven million. Eleven million.”

  “Please let it happen that Arlene does not know about the will.”

  The entrance line is starting to move. We close our thermoses and whisk the cookie crumbs off our skirts. The jail has a dress code. Very bland outfits only.

  We brace ourselves as we climb out into the stifling humidity.

  Of course Arlene is very happy to see us. She thanks Evvie for coming also. Unlike anyone else, Arlene has put on some makeup. To cheer herself up. Or, as she told me, a habit. A need not to give in to the depression around her. Evvie looks around the room, taking it all in the way I did the first time I came. Glancing at the other visitors. Feeling what it must be like to be a prisoner in this place. Seeing the desperation. The tears. One could almost smell the fear.

  We exchange glances. Arlene doesn’t belong here.

  Arlene blurts out her news. “They were trying to set a court date for as soon as possible. But at the arraignment, Hy’s lawyer friend got a continuance so he’ll have more time to prepare.”

  Evvie comments, “Well, that’s good.”

  Arlene isn’t happy. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes it could take months. I don’t know how much more I can stand living like this.”

  I feel bad for her. We’re all a long way from being able to raise the bail money. She looks thinner. Her cheeks have become hollow. She probably isn’t eating much.

  Evvie says, changing the subject, “Sorry I didn’t meet your kids. I guess they had to go home.”

  Arlene tears up. “It will be hard for them. Worrying from far away, not knowing what’s really going on.”

  Arlene, also wanting not to stay on that topic, asks for some new gossip, so we cheer her up as best we can.

  Evvie reports, “Since Hy put together the tailgate sales, everyone’s been coming up to say good things to him. That swelled head of his will be ten times bigger by the time this is over—”

  Evvie stops short at the expression on Arlene’s face.

  “That was insensitive of me. I meant by the time you get out of here. And I know you will.”

  But Arlene manages a smile. “It’s all right, dear. I know things will turn out well because so many people are sending out prayers for me.”

  I’m very aware of the short time we have left before the buzzer rings us out. I have no choice. I grit my teeth and dive in.

  “We had a meeting with Joyce’s business manager. Joyce left a will.”

  Arlene shrugs. “Yes, oh, that. I remember in one of her wild raving night sessions she told me she left everything to me in her will. I laughed out loud. Sure. That’ll be the day. But then right after it, that crazy woman said I’d never get to spend it.”

  Ev
vie gasps.

  I sigh. She did know. God help her. But what about that last remark? “Did she say why you wouldn’t get to spend it?”

  “No, I ignored it, as I did every other mad thing she told me. As if I could believe she even had eleven million dollars.”

  I hear Evvie next to me groan.

  Arlene knew about it and, unhappy spy that I am, I must report it to Morrie.

  But Arlene continues. “In front of everyone she pretends she loves me. Then she comes to me at night and screams at me. What kind of madness is that? Another time she was blaming me for her marriage failing. How was I supposed to do that? And frankly, as far as I’m concerned, she and Edward deserved each other.”

  She stops to drink water from her plastic cup. I pity this poor woman with no one to talk to in this awful place.

  “Another nutty thing she did. I was trying to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen that awful day and who should come in? The damn troublemaker said she wanted some of the pie to eat. What nerve! I practically threw it at her. Joyce got me so distraught again. I never did finish cleaning up.”

  Evvie and I exchange glances. Joyce took the pie up to her apartment. Not Arlene.

  I ask her another question. “Why did you go down to Joyce’s apartment the night she died?”

  Arlene reaches for a tissue in her pocket. She clenches it, almost ripping it. “Because I was stupid. I knew better than to believe her, but she said she gave up. She was leaving. She’d found another apartment. She wanted to say goodbye in person because she would be gone by tomorrow.”

  How sinister. She knew she’d be dead by the next day.

  “But of course it was another of her lies. I only stayed a few minutes.”

  And Joyce got her to conveniently leave her fingerprints on a glass of water.

  The warning bell rings. Five minutes left. Arlene talks faster.

  “I keep asking myself why. What’s the point? You know, I sit in that cell for hours, what else is there to do but think and think. I look back and go over our friendship. In my mind, as I was growing up, I thought we both felt the same about each other, but it really wasn’t that way at all.