Getting Old Can Kill You: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  “She always wanted what I had. If I ordered the chocolate milkshake and she the vanilla, she’d say she changed her mind and wanted my chocolate. And she did that with clothes, jewelry, anything I had. And I always gave in to her. It was the same with boyfriends.

  “After she’d seduce the guy I was dating and take him away, she’d drop him. Then she’d always announce she never liked him anyway.

  “Why was I so surprised when she went after Edward? I bet she tried before we were married and was annoyed she didn’t succeed.”

  The room is empty. A guard is coming toward us.

  Arlene stands up and speaks faster.

  “Even when we were very young her parents both worked, so she had the key to their apartment. We’d play in her room—fantasy games with our dolls. She always had to be the princess and I’d have to be her maid.”

  The guard reaches us. We are out of time. She takes turns hugging each of us, holding on tightly.

  As the guard leads her away, she calls out one last question, “Why won’t the police believe me?”

  Arlene’s question had me in tears. Even though Evvie, Jack, and I have tried to convince Morrie, he still holds firm. Where’s our proof? We are now determined, even desperate, to convince Morrie, and therefore the police, about the utter improbability that Arlene could have committed this crime.

  I called him for an appointment as soon as we returned from the jail and begged him to make it soon. He agreed to meet us the next day when he could fit us in. In the very late afternoon. I was on pins and needles waiting. I gathered Evvie and all the girls together.

  Morrie has agreed to hear us out one more time, which is kind of him. He’s willing to listen to our thinking and feelings on the subject. He doesn’t expect that he’ll change his mind but out of respect, he’s here. We are going to present this case from Arlene’s point of view.

  We meet in our living room armed with pizzas and drinks. The girls are on their best behavior. I’m now part of Morrie’s family, but he is still a cop, after all. Even though the girls do know there’s a will, they have accepted our instructions to not ask about it.

  I feel strangely optimistic. I sense we are getting close, but to what I don’t know.

  Jack had suggested that I start it with the list of our pros. He’d jump in later.

  I ask that everyone listen with the understanding that nobody interrupts until I finish. Then I stand up and begin.

  “Yes, Seymour was picked up. Our witness says he saw a man driving a Jaguar. Coincidence? Joyce had a Jaguar. And where was he taking him? Who is the mystery man? We think Joyce had an accomplice. But an accomplice to do what?

  “Yes, about the kitchen. Who wrote the note asking to make key lime pie? Who else could it be but Joyce? In order to get Arlene to lose her temper yet again in front of witnesses? Later, when Arlene was in the kitchen cleaning up, Joyce arrived. Arlene insists she did not take any pie. We believe Joyce took the pie. Why? To torment her even more? Or for something more insidious?

  “Arlene swears she was visited by Joyce every night. Saying terrible things to her. It’s very possible that Joyce did have a key to her apartment.”

  I reiterate the many things Arlene knew because Joyce told them to her in a middle-of-the-night rage. “Joyce admitted she set all of this up—finding her, getting Seymour to leave, moving in right below her to re-create the living quarters they occupied when they were very young. She admitted planting her scarf and the necklace. And she could have easily gotten the Valium as well.”

  Morrie is keeping his word. He’s actually taking notes.

  “What kind of person would do all that? Can you really believe Arlene Simon could make this up? We’ve known her for years. There is no way she could suddenly invent this convoluted, bizarre story.

  “Nor could she possibly kill someone no matter how troubled she was.

  “Joyce was able to set up scenes where she knew Arlene would behave badly. At the welcome party. Pretending she had just discovered her long-lost friend when in fact she moved in knowing where Arlene lived.

  “At the pool. Joyce just happened to think her pool was too crowded? No, she tracked Arlene to our pool.

  “At the kitchen club. The strange notes, none of which were written by the women there. Joyce had to have sent them. Arlene getting the note that said lemon meringue pie because Joyce knew she wouldn’t have shown up otherwise.

  “It wasn’t Arlene who forced these confrontations. It was Joyce every time who managed to show up where Arlene went. Even when she was hiding from Joyce. Arlene said she stalked her day and night. During the day, playing the sweet friend who only wanted to make up. Knowing how badly it would affect Arlene. At night, gaslighting her. Making her vulnerable during the day being sleep deprived.

  “Yes, Arlene was told about the will in one of those middle-of-the-night rantings, but she thought it was a vicious joke. Why would Joyce tell her about the will?”

  I glance over at Morrie. He is paying very careful attention.

  “So that the police would think it was the motive. And then Joyce drops the hint that Arlene would never get that inheritance. Joyce knew very well that the law would prevent her from collecting. She made that will out as the final trap so that Arlene would be suspected of murdering her.”

  I have to stop. My mouth is dry. I down a full glass of water. I’m aware of how still the room is.

  Ida can’t stand it. She takes the opportunity to quickly toss in a question. “So who gets the money if Arlene doesn’t?”

  Jack answers her, “A favorite charity was named.”

  Ida is puzzled. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  I continue my impassioned plea. “You’re right, Ida, it doesn’t. Because here was Joyce talking about her dear daughter in California where she was invited to live. And how happy they all would be. How come Stacy wasn’t the one she left the money to? How come Stacy wasn’t mentioned at all?

  “I realize now Joyce lied to me. The day I went up to Seymour’s apartment, she said she was on the phone talking to her daughter, Stacy, in California. But we’ve learned since that Stacy was traveling in Europe then and couldn’t be talking about what was happening with the cottage, or taking her children to a dentist that day.

  “Arlene saw a very different side of Joyce at night. A woman who might be certifiably mad.”

  I nod to Jack and let him continue. I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s his turn to jump in.

  “What about her business manager? There was something off about him. Is it possible Kenneth Ryan knew more? His response to being told that Joyce was living here didn’t ring true. His client and very old friend, even the decorator of his office, just dumps everything to come to Lanai Gardens? She leaves a three-thousand-square-foot designer house and he is only mildly surprised that she’s moved into Seymour’s place? Perhaps he already knew that.

  “How about the fact that her ‘beloved’ daughter, Stacy, was not in that will? He knew that, too. He knew where Joyce was and why.”

  Ida can’t help it. She has to blurt out again, “I never believed her cockamamie story of wanting the simple life. In Seymour’s ugly apartment? She could have gone to a spa, or a retreat, even a convent for goodness’ sake …” She stops, remembering she wasn’t supposed to break in. “Sorry.”

  I smile. “But again you’re right. It’s quite a stretch of the imagination. And something about Kenneth having to go on this sudden business trip feels like a red flag.”

  Jack continues. “And since when does a businessman go on a long-distance trip and tell his secretary to take the time off? Wouldn’t he want her to stay and take care of the office?

  “Why has Seymour stopped sending postcards? Is it connected to the date Joyce died? Has something bad happened to him?”

  There is a pounding on the door. We glance around in surprise. We aren’t expecting anyone else.

  Evvie goes to answer, and almost as if on cue, there’s Leah, like a whirling derv
ish, dashing into the living room, hair flying. She is waving a small package. She doesn’t even acknowledge the other people or that she’s intruding on something private. She looks only at Jack. And me. The people she hired.

  “I found this,” she says shrilly, “in Seymour’s mailbox. It must be from him. I opened it and it’s one of those tape thingies.” She immediately hands it to Jack. “Maybe it’ll tell us where my Seymour is.”

  Jack takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and takes the article out of the mailer with it. It’s a DVD. There is no note. He immediately hands the wrapping in the handkerchief to Morrie. We three exchange glances. I notice that there are no stamps on it. No return address. We are thinking the same thing. It wasn’t mailed. It was placed in the mailbox by someone who had a key.

  Leah is hysterical. “I can’t work Seymour’s TV set. It’s too complicated. You have that kind of equipment. Gladdy, you have to play that for me. Right now!”

  We try to calm her by telling her there are people here and we’re busy, but she’s having no part of that.

  I look at Morrie. “Morrie?” I don’t know what he would want us to do.

  He nods. “Go ahead, play it.”

  Jack is still teaching me how to deal with CDs and DVDs and TiVo and On Demand and cellphones that take photos. I haven’t gotten it down yet. So I leave it up to my expert.

  Everyone now marches into our Florida room, where the TV is. And it’s plenty crowded what with all of us in this small space. Evvie settles Leah in my rocker. The girls squeeze onto my rattan couch. Evvie and I crawl into the small loveseat. The guys, being gentlemen, stand.

  Jack inserts the DVD into its slot and does whatever it takes to change it from TV to DVD.

  Everyone is holding his breath.

  What we see immediately is Joyce’s face filling the entire screen. Joyce speaks slowly and earnestly, looking directly into a camera.

  Sophie gasps. Bella grabs her hand. Leah leans far forward, as if to climb into the TV set.

  Joyce begins. “If you are watching this, then I’m already dead. I’ve been murdered.”

  With that, Morrie says quickly, “Dad, turn it off!”

  He does so, fast.

  A shock wave runs through the room. What is this?

  Morrie turns to the startled group. “Ladies, I have to ask all of you to leave. This is obviously a police matter.”

  With a little grumbling, the girls climb out of their comfortable seats and head out. Ida sort of rounds them up. “Come on. We gotta go.”

  Bella is petulant. “We’re gonna miss the best part.” But she allows Ida to push her along, too.

  Sophie grabs one of the pizza boxes. “This goes with us,” she announces.

  Leah looks totally puzzled. “Where’s my Seymour? Isn’t he on that thing? Why do I have to leave? What does it mean?”

  Jack gently takes her by the arm and leads her out, soothing her as best he can. He hands her over to Evvie, knowing she’ll take care of her.

  Evvie exchanges glances with me. Translation: I’ll be able to tell her about the recording later. She exits with the wailing Leah.

  Jack and I are alone in the room. I ask Morrie, “Do you want me to leave also?”

  “No, the two of you will watch with me.”

  Jack returns and we settle down to stare at what’s in front of us.

  He starts it up from the beginning and we hear again: “If you are watching this, then I’m already dead. I’ve been murdered.”

  Needless to say, we are riveted to the screen. Forty-two inches of Joyce in HD reciting to us. High definition, as I’ve been taught.

  “I am putting this on record because if I die tonight, you need to know the facts. I came to Lanai Gardens specifically because I wanted to see my dearest and oldest friend, Arlene Steiner Simon, before I died of the disease that was eating away at my body.

  “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, because I hurt her deeply. But I soon realized it was hopeless. When she pulled a knife on me in the kitchen class, it reminded me of when she did the exact same thing fifty-five years ago. She didn’t kill me then, but I now knew she intended to finish the job this time.

  “I could have told her I was dying in order to get her sympathy, to save myself. I refused to buy her with pity.”

  She shifts her body slightly. Tears begin rolling down her face. The camera seems to tilt to another angle. “It’s all right. I don’t care anymore. I’m glad she’s putting me out of my misery. I can’t take any more of the pain. The morphine makes me feel awful. She’s called to make a date with me late tonight, so no one will see her come down to my apartment. I know she took one of the pie slices with her. I know what’s she going to do and I accept my fate. I deserve to die. I only hope in time she will forgive me and herself.

  “Please don’t punish her.”

  The recording ends with Joyce bowing her head.

  The screen fades to black.

  Jack turns it off. We are silent for a few minutes.

  Morrie shakes his head in despair. “Very bad for Arlene.”

  I sit stunned. Jack and Morrie look at me to get a response.

  Finally I put my hands together. Slowly I clap. “She should get an Academy Award for that performance.”

  Morrie stays for dinner. Each of us drinks more wine than we eat food. We merely pick at a quick salad I threw together. We’ve discussed everything over and over.

  I comment, “She moved her face when the phony tears began to fall and the camera moved with her. She didn’t intend to move. She wanted it to look like she set the camera on a table and let it photograph her. Someone was holding that camera and filming her, but who? I’m sure now there is an accomplice. And I bet we know who it is. Where did she find a place to get a blank DVD and film it so fast and find someone to photograph her so quickly on the day she died? Obviously, this was planned ahead.”

  Morrie paces around the dining room table, wineglass in his hand. “When the prosecution shows this to a jury, it’s all over. I don’t know which is worse, the recording or the will.”

  I take a few sips of my chardonnay. “Let’s examine Joyce’s very busy day. She goes to the kitchen class in the morning, knowing her letter worked. Knowing Arlene will have a fit when she sees what they are baking.

  “And Arlene does blow up at the sight of her. Sleep deprived and angry. Joyce picked this day on purpose.

  “So Joyce then races out to meet with her accomplice, who has all they need to photograph the very thing that will destroy Arlene. I wonder where they meet. It wouldn’t be in Kenneth’s office. Too risky.

  “She rushes back home and puts it in Seymour’s mailbox.”

  Jack jumps in. “Then she calls to invite Arlene to her apartment. Arlene would never have gone there. So she used the only excuse that would possibly tempt her. Joyce pretending to say she gives up and wants to say goodbye. Please come down for a few moments, says the spider to the fly. Even if Arlene had doubts, she still would have gone just to hear the words she’d been waiting for. She might have thought not to go alone, but whom could she call in the middle of the night?”

  Morrie comments, “Joyce must have been tempted to leave the DVD on the table with the water glass and the poisoned pie. Joyce was smart enough to know we’d see it as too pat. All the evidence neatly lined up to be found alongside her dead body.”

  I say, “She knew Leah would open Seymour’s mailbox as soon as she was gone.”

  Morrie paces. “My God,” he says, “if all of this is true, it’s diabolical.”

  Jack shakes his head. “It’s premeditated murder. Only she’s committed suicide and made it look like murder. Setting it up so Arlene would be destroyed.”

  I add, “And the ultimate slap. Joyce dangles the will she’s set up to be used against Arlene in her trial. She knows the law, that Arlene would never be allowed to receive that money as a felon. The arrogance of that woman, admitting to Arlene that she’ll never get the money.”

 
; We are silent for a long while. Morrie finally says, shaking his head, “And it’s still all circumstantial.”

  I manage a small smile. “But at least you’re on our side now.”

  We sip our wine, thinking our own thoughts. But, finally, I need to say this out loud. “What must it have been like for Joyce? Sitting at her table, having just gotten Arlene’s fingerprints on the glass. Was part of her tempted to tell Arlene exactly what she was going to do? Maybe invite her to stay and watch her old friend die? But no, her need to ruin Arlene was too strong. What were her last thoughts as she ate the pie she had laced with Valium? Did she eat each bite slowly? Was she afraid? Did she regret anything? Who did she think about? What were her last thoughts? How did she feel about dying all alone?”

  Unexpectedly, I begin to cry.

  The three of us talk well into the evening. Plotting how to undo the horrific damage Joyce Steiner has caused. Finally we have a plan.

  The key is Kenneth Ryan.

  Morrie says, “The first thing I’ll do is find out exactly what flight he took to Hong Kong. We need to know just when he planned this business trip. We’ll get his bank records, his phone records, find out how often he was in touch with Joyce during this period. Interview his secretary and find out why he didn’t have her stay to run his office while he was away.”

  Jack eats what’s left of the salad. “We could also get a photo of him and show it to Merrill Grant and see if he recognizes the man who picked Seymour up.”

  I stack the dishes, ready to take them into the kitchen. “Yes. And surely Stacy must be back by now. Joyce’s daughter hasn’t called, probably because she was busy after coming home from a long trip and perhaps didn’t think it was important.”

  Jack comments, “But a call from the police concerning her mother? And she doesn’t call?”

  I start clearing the dishes. “And this fact really fascinates me. I can’t wait to find out why Joyce didn’t leave her estate to the daughter she loves.”

  Jack adds, “We may never find out the truth about that. We have to find Stacy. We have a lot of questions for her.”