Getting Old Is Murder

by Rita Lakin

  Poor Harriet. She was saying all the things I’d been saying to myself. We both made so many mistakes.

  “I hope in time we can forgive ourselves,” I say.

  “Dear God. I hope so.” She turns to me and I can see the anguish in her eyes. “You know what’s the saddest part of all? That she pretended to be crippled so I’d stay with her. And I had to find out this way—the way she died—running down the street. Oh, my poor mama, didn’t she know? I would never have abandoned her!”

  “I’m so sorry, Harriet.”

  Again we sit silently, then Harriet speaks once more. “I’ve made a decision, Gladdy. I’m putting the apartment up for sale. Ring up another victory for Mr. Sleaze.” Harriet chokes on a laugh at her sorrowful attempt at a joke.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I can’t live here anymore. Everywhere I turn I see Mom’s face. I feel haunted.”

  “Listen. You don’t need to convince me. Of course you should move. And to someplace cheerful, where there are younger people and especially younger men . . .” I attempt a smile at that. “You’ve given up all these good years for your mother; now it’s time to live your own life.”

  I hear these tired old clichés coming out of my mouth, but that’s what clichés are—truths retold.

  Harriet reaches over and kisses my cheek. “I knew you’d understand. I just didn’t want to hurt everyone’s feelings. You’ve all been so good to me. And oh, how I’ll miss all of you.”

  We shed a few tears and we both feel better.

  We continue our walk, hearts lightened, and Harriet asks my advice about condos and where to live and is open to my suggestions, and I am more than happy to try to help her.

  Harriet has forgiven me, but I’m not sure I can forgive myself.

  42

  Feeling the Blues

  The girls are cranky. I won’t take them anywhere. Sophie insists her cupboard is empty. Ida must get to the bank. Evvie needs to get to the newspaper office. I just want everyone to leave me alone.

  Sophie humphs at that with, “Who do you think you are, Garbo?”

  Ida snaps, “Just because you’re a big shot, you’re too good for us now?”

  And Evvie adds her bit. “What’s eating you?”

  I don’t know. Yesterday I felt fine. Today I feel terrible and I don’t know why. I have no patience for the girls. I take my phone off the hook. The designated driver, wallowing deep in depression, is not available.

  I need to think. I sneak out and go to my sanctuary, the library.

  No easy getaway. The celebrity must be waved at and yoo-hooed at and smiled at by one and all, in homage paid to the smart person who realized there was a killer in our midst. Just what I need when I am feeling so confused. I try to avoid everyone, but good old Hy grabs me by the arm as I reach my car. Needless to say Lola is her usual five steps behind.

  “My fedora’s off to you, Glad. You got some kind of balls. Who knows how many more of you old broads he would have iced.”

  “Gee, thanks, Hy. I’m glad I lived long enough for such a glowing compliment.”

  “Lola and me, we knew there was something hinky about old Denny. We would have said something but we didn’t want to get the kid in trouble.”

  “I commend your sensitivity.” I sidle past him and get into my car.

  “Didja hear the latest dumb blonde joke?”

  “Some other time.” I rev up the engine, hard, and Hy nervously moves out of the way. Taking my opportunity, I quickly drive off.

  At the library, my two buddies greet me warmly. I almost relax in their comforting demeanor. They, of course, have heard the news—the grapevine is working overtime. They want to know what they can do to help. But there is nothing. I confess my agony over avoiding dealing with Denny when I knew he was emotionally in trouble.

  “All the symptoms of a breakdown were there right in front of me. Why didn’t I act? I have no excuse.”

  Conchetta pours me the inevitable coffee. “Hey, maybe it’s because you’re only human. Or maybe you can’t take care of the whole world all by yourself. The girls are enough of a handful for one person, don’t you think?”

  “Or maybe it’s because I’m getting old and careless. The damn synapses work slower now. It takes forever to react in time.”

  Barney hands me a doughnut. “Don’t go there. It’s not true. You made an error in judgment.”

  “Esther is dead. Harriet’s lost her only relative. And Denny’s life is over. I don’t call that an error. I call that a tragedy.”

  “I don’t mean to belittle your pain,” Conchetta says, “but can’t you take this to the next level and maybe you’ll feel better? It’s over. The killings are stopped.”

  “I’ve tried to tell myself the same thing, but it doesn’t work. Something still feels out of whack.”

  I pace agitatedly up and down along the shelves of books as Conchetta and Barney watch me with concern. Books, my old friends, are of no comfort to me now.

  “What’s bothering you?” Conchetta asks.

  “Something. But I don’t know what.”

  “Quick! What pops into your head?” Barney asks. “Don’t think, just say it!”

  I wheel around and face the both of them.

  “It’s too damn pat!”

  I surprise myself at my intensity and at the words that jump out of my mouth so totally unexpectedly.

  My friends watch me, waiting, as in my mind I feel a settling.

  “It’s not over,” I say quietly, and I feel the tight muscles in my back begin to loosen.

  43

  To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

  What a nightmare! It jolts me up from a deep sleep. It’s so strong that I find myself sitting bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, body sweating.

  I was dreaming about two people dressed as ninja assassins, standing in the middle of Oakland Park Boulevard. Having a tug-of-war. And what a tug-of-war it was! I recognized Denny holding the rope at one end, but his opponent’s face was fuzzy and unrecognizable. The rope was made of a daisy chain of white oleander flowers. I remember thinking How pretty, until I realized that they were entwined around dead bodies! Selma was there. And Francie and Greta and Esther. But then there was Maureen, and Enya’s husband and children who were killed in the Holocaust. And there was Enya on her knees, praying. I could hear her whisper. Injustice, she was crying. Injustice.

  It is when the dead bodies all turn to me and open their eyes accusingly that I catapult into wakefulness, and fast. Wow!

  Someone once told me that if I had a problem I wanted solved, all I had to do was state it before I fell asleep. And by next morning I’d have my answer. Well, last night I went to bed and framed my question, and asked my subconscious to tell me the answer.

  I got my answer; now all I have to do is interpret it.

  Forget about falling back to sleep. I am wide awake and my mind is going a hundred miles an hour. I make a pot of coffee, but it takes two pots to keep me going. Another night of hardly any sleep. I’ll be a wreck tomorrow, but who cares.

  So I pace and think and pace and think and talk to myself out loud. I can feel the pieces falling into place. Click. Click. Click. And then I make notes and I’m still at it when it gets light.

  I remember my grandchildren, when they were small, loving Bugs Bunny and that funny thing he always said when he made a huge mistake. Well, Bugs, so did I. Boy, did I make a left turn at Albuquerque.

  I go over and over my conclusions, and now all I have to do is prove them. Not easy, that. But I know I’m right. Everything fits. I have to tip an imaginary hat to my opponent, tugging at the other end of Denny’s oleander rope. I have to give the devil its due.

  Plain and simple, I’ve been had! All of us have.

  First things first. I have to be patient until Detective Langford gets to his office. I need to ask him one question.

  Then I need to get permission to visit Denny. He has all the answers. Only he doesn’t know it.<
br />
  Look out, world. Here comes Gladdy Gold, Private Eye. On track at last!

  44

  Poor Denny

  I’ll bet Detective Morgan Langford hadn’t had time for his first bitter cup of police department coffee before my call came in. I guessed right and he tells me so.

  “How come you’re calling and how come this early?”

  I’m still rattling around in my bathrobe. I’m too wired to bother getting dressed. “I couldn’t sleep. There’s an important question I have to ask.”

  “Not to worry. Everything’s moving along smoothly. I told you I’d call and keep you in touch.”

  I can tell from his voice he is giving me only half his attention. He’s probably looking through his day’s workload. “That’s not the question. Did Denny actually confess to killing Esther and the others?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “He admitted his dead mother made him do it, but he doesn’t remember doing it.”

  “Doesn’t that answer bother you?”

  “Not really. Many psychotics admit to hearing voices.”

  “Yes, but don’t they usually remember doing the killing as well?”

  “Maybe it’s too traumatic to remember. So he shuts that part out.”

  “Believe me, if you had known Maureen Ryan, she’s what he’d want to shut out.”

  “Why is this suddenly so important?”

  “I need a favor, Morrie. Excuse me—Detective. I need to see Denny. As soon as possible.”

  Now I have his full attention. “That’s not a good idea. He isn’t in very good shape.”

  “Why? Didn’t the marks from the rubber hoses fade away yet?”

  “Very funny, Mrs. Gold.”

  “I thought so.” I feel like I’m losing him again. He’s covering the phone and talking to someone who’s come in and I can hear him rattling through papers. “As your possible future stepmother, I’m asking you to do this for me.”

  “What did you say?”

  I knew that would grab him. “This may change everything. I can’t tell you any more right now.”

  “No, not that. Go back to what you said before that.”

  I play dumb. “What did I say? I forgot.”

  Langford sighs, and I know I nagged him into giving in. Besides, he owes me. And he knows it. “Maybe you could help. All we got out of him was gibberish. Maybe he’ll tell you the truth.”

  “He’s already told you the truth, Morrie. At least the truth as he understands it. Denny Ryan has never uttered a lie in his life.”

  “All right. All right. I’m a busy man here. I’ll arrange it and let you know when.”

  The sight of Denny makes me want to cry. This big man, in such a small, narrow hospital room with bars. He looks like a big bear with all the stuffing knocked out of him, frightened and confused.

  “Did you come to take me home, Mrs. Gold?” he asks plaintively.

  “I can’t do that right now, Denny, but I do want to help you.” Carefully I put my hand in my purse and turn on my tape recorder. I have a feeling I’m going to need it later. Forgive me, Denny.

  “I don’t like it here.”

  I look around at the plainness and the coldness. “I don’t blame you.”

  “There’s no window. How can I see the sunshine? I need the sunshine.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Because of Mama, isn’t it?”

  Denny is seated on his narrow cot, his legs spread wide, his hands splayed across his knees. How does this poor man sleep at night in that tiny bed? I sit down opposite him on the edge of the one small chair in the room. Our knees are almost touching.

  “Is that why you’ve been so upset lately? Because of your mother?”

  He hangs his head, ashamed. “Yes. I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you.”

  “It’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it. Tell me about your mother.”

  “That’s what those policemen kept asking me, and I told them but they wouldn’t believe me. They got me all mixed up. Why did she have to come back? Everything was so good.”

  “I believe you, Denny. When did she come back?”

  “The night before her birthday.”

  Bingo! I’m excited but I don’t show it. I make a quick calculation in my head. Two weeks before Selma died. “How did she come back?”

  “She called me on the phone. Ten o’clock in the night.”

  “The phone? Just like that?” I keep my chatter nonthreatening and interested.

  “Yeah. I just finished watching the wrestling show. I like that show and they really don’t hurt each other, it’s just for pretend.” He smiles, then remembers where he is. “And the phone rang and I answered thinking maybe one of the ladies had a problem. Like last week Mrs. Fox thought she had a cricket in the bedroom but it was only the smoke alarm. She was so funny. When I came in she was standing on a chair and hitting the alarm box on the ceiling with a broom and trying to kill the cricket.” He laughs hard at that and I join him.

  His face turns ashen. “But it wasn’t one of my ladies. It was her!” He reaches for a cup of water and his hand is shaking. “At first I didn’t believe it, she sounded so funny. I could hardly understand her. I thought somebody was playing a joke, like Mr. Hy Binder likes to fool me. But she said it was her and what did I expect, she was calling from a billion miles away. I said yeah, yeah, like they got phones in heaven. Then she got mad and yelled at me and called me Dennis like she used to when she was mad, and said I better pay attention because she came back for a reason.”

  My God, I think to myself. This is not of heaven, but of hell.

  “And she tells me the names of the CDs on my shelf over my bed and the plants I got in my garden. I didn’t have CDs or a garden seven years ago. How does she know all this stuff I ask her? She tells me she can see me plain from up there. She sees everything I do and hears everything I say.” He lowers his head in misery. “She always could. Know everything I did.”

  “Why did she come back, Denny?”

  “Because I killed her, that’s why.”

  Oh, no, I think. Not that. “Why do you say you killed her?”

  “Because I had this fight with her. I got mad because she wouldn’t let me go to the movies, so I ran out. Then Mama ate that steak and choked on it. It was all my fault, because I wasn’t there.”

  “But you didn’t kill her. It was an accident.” Such guilt this boy suffered all these years.

  “She said I had to pay.”

  “How?”

  “By killing all the nice ladies. Every night she called me. Every single night ’til it made me sick and she just kept calling me and she wouldn’t let me alone. And then she left that rat in my bed. I didn’t want to do those bad things, but she made me. I loved Miss Francie.” Denny starts to cry.

  “Did you kill them, Denny?” I can hardly breathe waiting for his answer.

  “She said I did it when I was sleeping, but I don’t remember. But I must have, ’cause they’re dead, aren’t they?”

  “The night Mrs. Feder died, tell me about it.”

  “Mama called and told me I had to go over there right now and carry some rolls she left in the kitchen. I didn’t even know there were rolls in the kitchen, but there they were in a little basket.”

  Denny puts his head in his hands, shaking hard, as if to rid himself of the demon mother inside.

  I take his hands in mine and hold them. “It’s all right, Denny. Tell me what you did then.”

  He looks at me with tormented eyes. “I didn’t do nothing. I just stood there in the kitchen. I didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Feder. But if I didn’t . . .” His eyes tear.

  “How long did you stay there?”

  “Maybe an hour. But I had to do what Mama said. So I went outside. I looked careful each way—she said make sure nobody saw me—so I went across the street and went i
nside, and just then Mrs. Feder started screaming she was dying and she ran in the street and I ran out after her.”

  “Did she eat any of the rolls you brought?”

  “No. Like I told you, I just got there.”

  “The garden, Denny. I need you to tell me something.”

  Denny frowns, worried. “Everything’s gonna die if nobody waters.”

  “I promise your garden will be taken care of. The white flowers, Denny, where did you buy them?”

  He smiles. “Aren’t they pretty, those whachamacallits? I always like to read the little tag that comes on them, but those flowers never got a tag.”

  “They’re called oleander.”

  I watch his face for a reaction and there is none. He doesn’t have a clue. “They didn’t have a tag when you bought them? That’s unusual.”

  When he answers me, my heart skips a beat.

  “I didn’t buy them. They were a present.”

  “From whom, Denny?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him say it. When he does, I send a silent prayer to God to thank Him.

  I promise Denny he’ll be home soon, and that’s a promise I intend to keep.

  45

  Scavenger Hunt

  I call an emergency meeting of the Gladiators and they march promptly up to my apartment where the coffee and bagels are already waiting. Why is it nothing can be done without food as part of the proceedings? The girls are all atwitter. Anything out of the ordinary is met with eagerness.

  I tell them we are going on a scavenger hunt.

  “You mean like when we were kids?” Evvie asks me.

  “Something like that.” I don’t dare tell them about my visit to Denny and its result. It would blow them away, and within five minutes, since they are incapable of keeping a secret, everyone in the building would hear about it. That mustn’t happen. What we accomplish today is crucial.

  I’m encouraging their nosiness. As Sherlock would say, the game is afoot. I dramatically announce that by the end of today they will be amazed and dumbfounded. It will be a day they will never forget. I can sense them fairly drooling with anticipation. You want to know the secret of staying alive? Stay curious.