Getting Old Is Murder

by Rita Lakin

  Advice like get a piece of gum and stick it on a stick and drop it down the window. Gum, hard to come by in a group heavily into dentures. A stick, equally hard to find in a concrete shopping area. And the so-called window opening? Merely a sliver of air space.

  A reedy voice calls out to us, “How come you don’t carry an extra key? I do.”

  “Gimme permission to smack her,” Ida says under her breath.

  The girls hover close to me, waving their hands helplessly.

  “But how do you know it’s Denny?” Bella whispers behind my head. The girls can’t get over the bombshell I threw at them. I can’t get over that we are trapped here in this stupid minimall.

  “Remember how Maureen died?” I answer, unable to hide my irritation at them.

  “Maureen?” Sophie asks, befuddled. “She’s been dead, what—six, seven years? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “Maybe everything.”

  I have sent Evvie back to the theater to call the auto club. I’m waiting anxiously for her to report back.

  Everyone’s favorite suggestion is to get a hanger, bend it and push it through. So where do we get a hanger at this time of night? I gaze longingly at Betty’s Better Dresses, which is five feet from where I’m standing, and count all the hangers through the locked store windows.

  I am desperately trying to control my temper, impatience, and anxiety, but I’m not doing too well.

  “I knew we shoulda listened to Hy. He told us to get a car phone,” Sophie says, hitting me on my back. “Single women need a car phone to be safe.”

  “And where would the car phone be right now?” I say icily. “In the locked car, that’s where!”

  “Then we shoulda got a cell phone,” Bella whines. “But no, you have to hate progress. And besides, my feet are hurting.”

  Evvie returns, looking dejected. “Auto Club said forty-five minutes, give or take.”

  “Then maybe we should call a policeman,” says Bella.

  “Yeah,” Ida says bitterly, “I can just hear us on the nine-one-one. Emergency. Send a cop quick. Tell him to bring a hanger.”

  Bella continues worriedly, “Maureen died of a heart attack, didn’t she?”

  “But don’t you remember,” I say, “she was eating a piece of steak and they thought maybe she choked on it?”

  “So?”

  “God. I can’t believe we didn’t remember this before. Food. Isn’t this all about food?”

  And another, “So?” This from Ida.

  But Sophie is finally starting to get it. “Wait a minute . . . she was holding the phone when they found her. Oy vay!”

  “Do you remember the date?”

  “Who can remember that far back?” Bella says.

  “I don’t mean the actual date. I mean the event.”

  Evvie makes the connection. “Oh, my God, it was the night before her birthday!”

  “Yes! I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I remember?”

  “Cause your memory is shot, that’s why,” adds Evvie helpfully.

  Every minute that passes frightens me. I need to know what’s happening back at Lanai Gardens!

  38

  No Way to Treat a Mother

  D enny stands in the middle of the living room, unable to catch his breath.

  No matter how hard he tries not to look at it, he can’t help himself. Slowly, he turns to face his mother’s portrait. He feels her eyes following him everywhere. He wants to get out of there, but he can’t get his feet to move. It’s like those dreams he has when his mother is chasing him with the clothesline that she used to use to tie him to his bed. His feet would go numb and she would always catch him and do all those terrible things to him.

  The phone rings. Denny jumps, terrified. Sweating freely now, he stares at the phone hypnotically. Stop ringing, he begs. Make it stop ringing. He puts his hands over his ears but he can still hear the ringing. Save me, he mutters under his breath. Someone save me. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he answers.

  “Hello . . .” He is shaking so hard he can barely stand. “But it’s not ten o’clock. . . .”

  “I know I’m a bad boy. . . . I know. . . .”

  “In the kitchen? When did you put them there?”

  “Please, no, don’t make me . . .”

  “I can’t. . . . I can’t. . . .”

  “Yes, Mama. Right now.”

  Denny hangs the phone up and walks into the kitchen where a small basket, prettily decorated with a lace cloth, sits there just where she said it would be. And right next to it are his keys, the ones he lost.

  Slowly, sickly, he moves back into the living room. He can feel his anger and his impotence rising up in him like bile in his throat. His hand reaches for his toolbox nearby. He opens it and grabs for a screwdriver. In rage he leaps for the portrait and gouges out his mother’s face. “No more . . . no more . . .” he sobs.

  39

  Death by Poppy Seed

  I keep looking at my watch as if that will make any difference. The cab we called still hasn’t arrived. Neither has the auto club. By now we’ve lost our audience, and the minimall is nearly deserted. The girls are huddled in a doorway, shivering in the cool night air.

  I am beside myself. There is still no answer at the Feders, only the same busy signal. Why can’t I reach Harriet? Something is very wrong.

  I’ve called Irving. No answer. He is already asleep, early as usual. With the phone locked away from Millie. I tried Tessie. Not home. I better call Hy . . .

  A trio of teenagers walk by. They clank from all the metallic piercings they have hanging from various body parts. Their boom box is booming some ugly-sounding rap.

  “Hey, old ladies,” one of them calls sarcastically, “waitin’ for some action?”

  They are very big and scary, but I am at my wit’s end. “Yes,” I say, ignoring the innuendo. “Do you know how to break into a car?”

  “Are you crazy?” Ida shrieks.

  “No, desperate,” I tell her.

  The boys stop, amused. You can see it in their faces. This ought to be fun. “It’ll cost ya,” says a huge lump of lard with black and white zebra stripes painted across his bald head.

  “How much?” I ask, trying to keep cool while my legs are shaking.

  Ida hides behind me. “Don’t talk to them. Maybe they’ll go away.”

  “Twenty large,” the purple-haired one says, sneering.

  I attempt a sneer myself. “How about five small?”

  The girls are gasping, all of them now crowding behind me.

  Zebra Stripes erupts into laughter.

  What few people are still around quickly move as far away as they can.

  Bella tugs at me, terrified. “Tell them we don’t need them,” she whimpers.

  I shrug her off. “But we do.”

  The third one, with dreadlocks and a lime green crocheted skullcap, walks over and surveys the car with a most professional air. I think he’s the leader. “Give the ladies a senior discount, Horse,” he says, and that starts another outburst of hilarity.

  “Fifteen,” says Purple Hair, aka Horse.

  “Shame on you,” says Dreadlocks. “Ain’t you got no old grandma?”

  With that, he whips out a very thin strip of metal and instantly snakes it through the narrow window opening. Within two seconds I hear the door locks unlatch. And just as fast, the metal is back in his pocket and his hand is outstretched. Even though my own hands are shaking, I get a ten and a five out of my wallet and hand it to him.

  They walk off, laughing. “You are one hella hip granny,” Dreadlocks calls back.

  “Thanks for your help,” I answer as I notice both the taxi and the auto club driving into the minimall.

  Bella waves her little fingers at the boys and gaily calls out, “Thanks for not killing us.”

  As he walks out the door and starts to cross the parking area, Denny can smell the sweetness of the poppy-seed rolls he carries.

  At Esther’s door, he
stops. He opens it with his master key and walks inside.

  The nighttime silence at Lanai Gardens is abruptly shattered by agonizing screams. Doors and windows are flung open or, in most cases, cautiously cracked, and faces peer out. The braver ones come out and lean over the balconies to see what’s happening.

  Esther Feder is running, falling, then crawling down the middle of the street. Esther can walk!? is the first shocked response. But what’s wrong with her? She is gagging, clutching her stomach and grabbing onto cars for support.

  “Help me,” she cries.

  Half walking, half running behind her is Denny, crying. And oddly, he seems to be carrying a basket of rolls.

  She falls down as her legs no longer support her.

  “Poison,” she screams as Denny reaches her. “Denny . . . you . . . ? Why, why?”

  He stands over her helplessly, sobbing now. “She made me do it,” he says as he drops to his knees beside her.

  “I am a dead woman,” Esther Feder cries and then falls silent as paralysis sets in and she can no longer move. Only her eyes stare in horror at Denny as her life slowly drains from her body.

  And it is just at that moment that the girls and I arrive home.

  40

  The Cop and the Private Eye

  I walk downstairs, exhausted and depressed from lack of sleep, to where Detective Langford is waiting for me in front of the Feder apartment. He called half an hour ago to tell me he was on his way over, saying he wanted to “touch base” with me.

  It is chilling to see the yellow crime scene tape across their door. Poor Harriet. She’s gone to work because she can’t stand being in the house. I can still see her agonized face when she was called home from the hospital three nights ago. I can still hear her shriek as she threw herself down over her mother’s dead body lying on the concrete.

  “My fault,” she kept sobbing.

  My fault. I think bitterly. My fault. God help me. Had I stayed home, Esther would still be alive. I would have stopped Denny in time. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, as Sophie would say.

  The girls are hovering on the second-floor balcony of my building. They are itching to come down and talk to Langford, but too shy to do it on their own. When they see me, the scampering downstairs begins.

  Pretending not to see them, I greet Morrie Langford.

  “How’s Denny?” I need to ask.

  “He’s still being evaluated at the hospital.”

  The girls all titter their hellos and Langford politely acknowledges them. I wave them away. They ignore me. Evvie moves in closer. “He must be so frightened,” she says.

  “I’m sure they have him on meds to keep him calm.”

  Ida is appalled. “Why is everyone so worried about him? He’s a killer.”

  Morrie starts to walk toward the pool area. “I want to show you something,” he says.

  We follow him down the path, past the duck pond, and over the bridge that takes us to Denny’s garden. The girls follow behind us, keeping their distance.

  “With their families’ permission we’ve exhumed the bodies of your friends Selma and Francie. And you were right. Poisoned, both of them.” The news hits me hard in the pit of my stomach. Even though I’ve always suspected it, finally knowing the truth is a jolt. I hear the girls gasp.

  We reach Denny’s garden.

  “And here’s where he got his poison.” Langford leans over and plucks one of those beautiful white flowers I’d noticed only recently. “Right in front of everyone’s eyes.”

  Evvie can’t stand being left out anymore. She moves in right next to us. “A pretty flower? How is that possible?”

  “A deadly poisonous one, Mrs. Markowitz.”

  Sophie now closes the gap and is breathing down Langford’s neck. “You mean, he made them eat a flower?” She is incredulous. “Francie wouldn’t eat a flower.”

  Bella, scampering over, is in tears. “How could he do it? He loved Francie!” Sophie puts her arms around Bella to comfort her.

  “How could a flower turn into poison?” Ida closing in fast, so as not to be left out, demands to know.

  “I won’t go into details,” Langford answers, “but it isn’t too difficult to crush the leaves and boil them down into a substance he could put in their food.”

  Sophie stares at the blossoms that have overwhelmed the garden and caused such tragedy. “Who even knows what they are. I’ve never seen such things before.”

  Langford answers her. “They’re called oleander.”

  “I just don’t get it,” Evvie says. “Denny was a happy man. He had a good life here. He was kind to everyone and everyone liked him. What set him off?”

  “Hopefully the doctors will figure it out.” Langford starts walking back. “There’s something else I want to show you. Maybe it will help you see how disturbed Denny was.”

  We walk back to our buildings and, with our backs to the Feder apartment, now stand in front of Denny’s place, where the other crime scene tape is draped.

  Langford moves the tape and unlocks the door. “I have to warn you—” he starts to say, but we’ve already hurried inside.

  At first we can’t see anything because all the blinds are drawn, but we can smell something, and the smell is awful. We quickly cover our mouths and noses with our hands.

  “Gott im Himmel!” Ida is gagging. “What died in here?”

  Langford turns on the lights and we look around, horrified. At the garbage, the filthy dishes, the overwhelming clutter, the candles and the black crepe around Maureen’s portrait. And in the center of the portrait, Maureen’s face, mutilated beyond recognition.

  If I were Catholic, I would cross myself. Instead I utter a silent prayer for poor, sick Denny. Sophie and Bella are crying and holding onto each other. Evvie and Ida are trying hard to be brave.

  Langford faces us. “You all knew him, and I assume you’ve been in his apartment. Was it always like this?”

  Everyone is shaking their heads. “Never!” Evvie says vehemently. “He was always proud of how well he kept it up and how neat he was. Even his garden tools and his repair kits were always in good order.”

  Ida continues, “But we haven’t been in here in a very long time.”

  After a lengthy silence, I ask if we can get a cleaning crew in. That is, if they’re through searching.

  “We’ll be finished after tomorrow,” he says. “The doctors will be here to see this, and it will be part of Denny’s evaluation.”

  “He went crazy, that poor boy,” Bella whispers. “And nobody knew.”

  I feel defeated. I look at this abomination. I don’t want to believe Denny is a killer. How can I deny his guilt now?

  41

  M Is for Mothers

  and Murder

  It’s a fairly nice memorial service and a very large turnout at the clubhouse considering that Esther Feder did not have any friends. Oh, everyone manages to find some kind words to say for Harriet’s sake, but you can sense the strain.

  Residents of all six phases of Lanai Gardens show up and no wonder, considering all the excitement. They are still reeling from the information that is slowly trickling out day by day. They really were murders! And Denny Ryan, the killer! That such a thing could happen here . . .

  All of us from Phase Two are attending the service. Enya is seated by herself as always. I can see her lips moving, saying Kaddish for the dead. Irving brought Millie with Yolanda’s help. Millie is going though a bad stage and Yolanda is becoming indispensable to Irving. He adores her now, and she truly has become a member of his family.

  Tessie is greatly subdued now that she realizes her beloved friend Selma had indeed been murdered. And everyone loved Francie, so that realization is a bombshell. It was bad enough thinking of losing her to a heart attack, but cold-blooded murder . . .

  All in all, it’s a solemn ceremony and it’s not just Esther being mourned here today.

  I am ashamed to say I am sitting in the back row, not wanting Harriet to see
me. How can I face her feeling all this guilt?

  The service is over, and as we all leave the clubhouse, I hear my name being called. Twice.

  I hadn’t even realized he was there, but it’s Jack Langford calling as he walks toward me.

  At the same time Harriet speaks my name as well. Alas, she reaches me before Jack does. Jack backs away. I shrug, indicating to him that I am trapped. He pantomimes phoning me. I nod and he leaves.

  I look around for the girls, needing a buffer, but they are here and there chatting with neighbors, busily filling in the blanks for those who came in late to our tragedy.

  “Can we talk, Gladdy?” Harriet asks in a plaintive tone. I’d rather not, but how can I say no?

  “Of course,” I say.

  We stroll along the path leading back toward our building. We pass Denny’s garden, and I quickly avert my eyes from the sight of those beautiful, deadly flowers. Harriet stiffens, so I assume Detective Langford has told her the results of the autopsy.

  We find a bench under a palm and sit down. We are silent for a few moments.

  Finally she says, “I desperately need to talk to somebody, and you are the one I thought of.”

  “I’m here and I’m listening.”

  “I am so angry at myself,” Harriet says. “God help me, it’s all my fault Mom is dead. And I’m going to have to live with that the rest of my life.”

  I stare at her in amazement. Here I’m bracing myself for her condemnation of me and she says she’s at fault? “You? It’s me. I failed you terribly. It’s my fault your mother died,” I blurt out. “If only I’d been there . . .”

  She takes my hand in hers. “Oh, no, don’t blame yourself. You tried to warn us. It was one thing to talk about the others getting killed just before their birthdays, but I never believed it would happen to Mom. Never. How could I have been so blind?”

  “No one wants to believe the worst. It’s only human.”

  “But I sat in meetings with you, and we even talked about the coincidences with Denny. Then I just denied it all. I’ll never forgive myself.”