by Rita Lakin
“And let’s remember whose idea it was for us to go to that movie,” Ida says, arms crossed, brimming with outrage. She mimics Harriet. ‘You girls go out and relax. You’ll be home just when I’m going to work. We’re covered. So have a good time.’ That farbissener!”
“She needed us to be away from Esther’s apartment,” Evvie says, feeling awful. “She knew us all too well. I feel so ashamed.”
“She conned everybody, Ev. But it turns out this time Denny didn’t obey his ‘mother.’ He stayed home for an hour before he could bring himself to leave. And we were delayed that long getting home. It didn’t matter. Denny was caught red-handed leaving her apartment anyway.”
Barney pours us all another round of sangria. Bella is fanning herself; the wine is getting to her.
He says, “I’ll bet she was in some sweat when the call didn’t come in at the hospital at the time she expected, with the sad news about her poor, dear, dead mother.”
I continue. “She needed one more element for this vile crime to work. She had to make sure the first deaths were seen as murders and not heart attacks. She certainly couldn’t be the one to point that out, and that’s where yours truly came in. The next perfect sucker. I began to suspect on my own, but she had to make sure I went down the trail she pointed out, and that explains why Harriet Feder, who never seemed to be able to escape her mother, suddenly was always available. Wherever we were, she turned up. I kept looking for someone whose behavior had changed, and it took me a long time to realize it was Harriet’s.”
Evvie says, “So that’s why she was able to show up in the clubhouse when we had our big meeting.”
“And I bet she took her vacation just so she could keep an eye on us.” Ida sniffs with righteous indignation.
“That’s how she found out everything we knew,” Evvie says.
“She really did have Esther spying on us for her!” says Ida.
“She didn’t make any mistakes, did she?” Conchetta asks.
“But she did. She left a piece of the Meals on Wheels package in Selma’s apartment,” says Evvie.
“No mistake,” I say. “That was her way of leading us away from heart attack to someone who came to Selma’s apartment to poison her. Someone delivering Meals on Wheels.”
“Aha,” says Sophie, now seeing it. “She picked up the food, poisoned it, and then delivered it to poor Selma, may she rest in peace.”
“I get it,” says Ida. “She also left the cake crumbs in Francie’s sink. But the cleaning lady cleaned up before you figured that out.”
“You can bet she arranged it so that poor Denny would find the bodies, further freaking him out,” I add. “Then she points it out to us, the ‘coincidence’ of Denny having a master key and finding the bodies.”
Barney is puzzled. “But why so elaborate a plan? Why not murder the women outright, rather than go to such lengths to make it seem like heart attacks at first?”
Evvie is so excited, she’s fairly jumping out of her chair. “Wait a minute. She knew you wanted a body to autopsy, a body that would prove it was murder, yet Harriet’s the one who got us to get Greta cremated.”
“It was all about timing,” I say. “That would have the cops investigating too soon, and that might have gotten in the way of killing her mother. And she couldn’t wait until after her mother had died to get us to think about the earlier murders. Suspicion would immediately fall on her. She couldn’t take that chance.”
Barney is incredulous. “She makes Lizzie Borden seem like an angel.”
“Four hundred thousand is a lot of incentive,” I say. “Can you imagine her frustration? Year after year knowing she was rich and not being able to get at the money.”
We’re all exhausted, especially me. We drink our wine and nibble at our dessert, lost in our troubled thoughts.
“What put you on to her, Glad?” Barney wants to know. “I mean I have to hand it to her, it was a perfect plan.”
“It was almost perfect. My realizing that Greta Kronk didn’t write the last poem, and Denny arriving too late with the rolls, got me thinking. I just could not believe, no how, that Denny could kill anyone. Nor could Denny have written that poem or managed the sophisticated ways she got the poison to each of them. If she hadn’t tried to set him up, I might never have figured it out.”
“She outsmarted herself. We’ve got to call Detective Langford,” Evvie says, tugging at me. “Right now. Tell him everything.”
“Yeah,” says Sophie, “put that kurveh in jail and let poor Denny out!”
“So why are you waiting?” asks Bella.
Barney says, “I think I know. Everything we’ve heard tonight—it’s all circumstantial.”
“What’s that mean?” Sophie asks.
“It means even if Langford agrees with us, we can’t prove a thing.”
“But you said she made a mistake with the poppy-seed rolls,” says Evvie.
“Still not proof. It could be argued that Denny made her eat the rolls earlier as well.”
“So how is your story going to end?” Bella asks worriedly.
“You aren’t going to let her get away with it?” Ida demands.
All eyes look to me for a solution. I’ve already given this a lot of thought and I share it with all my helpers.
“If we want a happy ending, we’re gonna have to do the impossible. We’re going to have to make Harriet Feder confess.”
My coconspirators look at me as if I’m crazy.
“Why would she do a stupid thing like that?” Evvie wants to know.
“I think I have an idea,” I tell them.
48
Now What Do We Do?
Detective Langford and I have been talking for a very long while. He’s actually told his switchboard not to interrupt us, although a number of police personnel have looked in the door to get a glimpse of me. Who knows what he’s told them, but it can’t be too bad, because they’re smiling.
He’s read my summary of why I know Harriet is the murderer. And listened to Denny’s tape. He’s questioned me on every single point until I’m hoarse from talking. Finally he stops.
“Gladdy Gold, you are an amazing woman.”
“So,” I say impatiently, “does that mean you think I’m right or not?”
“I’ll tell you what makes me sure you’re right. Something you don’t even know yet.”
“What’s that?” I smile. Justified at last.
“Something very odd came up in Esther’s autopsy. There were bruises all over her body that were unexplained. The medical examiner wondered if they were self-inflicted, since all the contusions were in places she could get to. Thanks to your very thorough analysis, we know now that Harriet abused her mother.”
I gasp, then shake my head and feel such overwhelming sorrow for Esther. “Oh, God, that, too?”
“And for a long time. There were very old bruises as well.”
I jump up, agitated. Morrie looks at me, surprised. “Sorry,” I say, “you really threw me with that.”
I walk around the room to calm myself. There’s a wall of black-and-white photos. Morrie at his cop graduation. Morrie posing with a huge marlin that he caught. Morrie and his dad, Jack, and his mom, Faye, circa 1970, arms around one another. Jack with dark curly hair. Yes, I think, I do remember Faye.
“Gladdy, you still with me?”
I turn back to Morrie. “Esther joked to us about being beaten, but of course, we didn’t believe her. We thought it was her pathetic attempt to get attention, but it was a cry for help, wasn’t it? And Harriet probably beat her even more every time she did that.”
“Sad, but probably true.”
“Why didn’t Esther just give her the damn money?” I cry out, frustrated.
“Probably because she knew Harriet would leave her, and being alone seemed worse to her. We’ll never know.”
“So what do we do now?”
“You’re right. It is circumstantial. We could bring her in for questioning, and w
hat we would get is a poor, grieving daughter, highly insulted and how dare we say such things? She will deny, deny, deny. This kind of woman won’t crack because she knows we don’t have any proof.”
“But what if we do a lineup—the man in Meals on Wheels might identify her.”
“But you said that the guy thinks he remembers someone in a baseball cap. And he wasn’t very sure at that.”
“She could have been seen at one of the phone booths.”
“We can try asking around, but I’ll bet she was very careful. Probably disguised herself there as well.”
“What about at the lab? Maybe someone saw her boiling the oleander—” I stop myself. Harriet was never careless. I’m dejected. “We can’t let her get away with it.”
“Don’t give up. Even though the evidence is purely circumstantial, people have been convicted on it. We won’t let her walk.”
“What can you do?”
“Start a full investigation. We’ll follow through on every single piece of information you’ve given us. Hopefully, we’ll get her in time.”
“Can you stop the bank from giving her Esther’s money?”
“Unfortunately, no. Had it been insurance money, it would have been a different story.”
“Unless Esther didn’t leave it to her.” I know I’m kidding myself. “I’m sure she did.”
“We’ll find out.”
“An investigation could take a long time and she might still get away with it, couldn’t she?”
“It’s possible.”
I shrug. “I may have an idea. I think I could get her to confess.”
He takes a long look at me. “And what miracle are you thinking of performing, Gladdy Gold?”
“Think about it. We have a real advantage right now. She has no idea we’re on to her. She’s happy. She’s packing. She’s shopping for a new place to live. She’s smug. She thinks she fooled us all. Maybe we can catch her off guard.”
“How?”
“I may know a way to trap her.”
Morrie Langford leans back in his chair, puts his feet up on the desk, and grins at me. “You solved the case and now you’re gonna trap the killer. I am very impressed. This I gotta hear.”
So I told him.
49
Poor Harriet
Doesn’t it seem like a lot of people are at the pool today?” Harriet asks me as we walk toward the clubhouse.
I answer her in this perky mode I’ve affected for the occasion. I’m hoping it hides my stark terror. I’m also wearing my brightest orange-peel sundress, hoping color will give me courage. “Just another beautiful day in sunny Florida, and the natives are taking advantage.”
I fling a casual wave toward the sunbathers, and a few casually wave back. But most of them ignore us.
“How funny,” Harriet says. I glance over to where she’s looking, and there are my girls dressed for swimming. Then I realize what she’s commenting on. Next to each of their lounge chairs is a peculiar object—a bathroom plunger, a fly swatter, a rolling pin. I groan inwardly. I told them to bring weapons. That’s what they brought!
I move along quickly. I don’t want her lingering. “You never know when you’ll need a fly swatter,” I toss back at her.
She catches up to me. “Your friends are so quaint.”
Needless to say the usual Muzak is playing over the loudspeaker at full volume.
We pass the pool, make a right at the palm tree, and arrive at the clubhouse.
“Oooh, how sweet,” says Harriet, feigning delight, as she sees the huge, garish sign over the door. The girls and their helpers really put their all into it, using lots of Day-Glo colors. It reads, for my taste, low on subtlety:
“Farewell Harriet,
We Hope You Get All You Deserve!”
“We really shouldn’t be here ’til everyone arrives for the party; we’ll spoil the surprise,” I say, all sugary, “but I wanted to give you my gift in private.”
“And I can’t wait to see it. I really always thought of you as my favorite person.”
“Why, thank you. I’m honored.”
“It’s because you’re the only smart one around here.”
Or so gullible, Harriet? “No, you’re really the smart one.”
We go inside, and the girls have done a great job. Multicolored streamers everywhere. Lots of balloons. All kinds of photos. And a great big sign reading, “Good-bye Harriet, So You’ll Never Forget Us,” and signed by just about everyone in Phase Two.
Harriet puts her hand over her heart. “I am so touched.”
She wanders around the room looking at the photos and the pretty little flower baskets made for the tables, while I move around fiddling with this and that.
Finally she turns back to me, eyes wide in anticipation, and I smile with equal brightness.
“So what’s this wonderful mysterious gift you’re giving me?”
I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Me.”
She looks puzzled, and rightly so. “Me, what?”
“Just me. I am giving you the gift of me. Since you’ve lost that dear, sweet woman, your mother, I am offering to take her place in your heart.”
Her voice is getting this teeny-tiny edge. “Gladdy, what are you talking about?”
“Well, you’re about to blow this joint and have a wonderful life, and I want to share it with you.”
Her eyes are like slits now. “I’m afraid I’m still not following you.”
“No, it’s me wanting to follow you. I see us taking trips around the world. I always did want to see Paris. And maybe after that, buying a gorgeous mansion somewhere. I’d like to suggest the Bahamas. That’s always been another dream of mine. With four hundred thousand dollars you can buy anything!”
Her hand grips a chair now, very tightly, I notice. She forces out a phony laugh. “Wherever did you get an idea like that?”
“A little birdy told me.” I giggle nervously. “A chubby little bird at the bank.”
“How dare anyone discuss my personal finances!” Harriet knows exactly who I mean. “I’ll have that fat pig fired!”
Chalk one up for the home team. She isn’t denying it. And it’s nice to see her temper has a short fuse.
Then she realizes what she’s admitted, and pulls up short. “I hope you’ll keep my little secret,” she says coyly.
“Why on earth would your mother live here if she had all that do-re-mi?” I ask in all innocence.
“My mother was very eccentric. I didn’t want anyone to know. It was very embarrassing for me to be here, when we could have gone anywhere. You can see that.”
“I certainly can, and now that you are free to do anything you want, I want to share in your fun.”
“Will you stop saying that!” She actually stamps her foot.
I smile. She’s starting to lose it.
She pulls herself back under control. “You’re acting very strangely today, Glad. It’s not like you.”
“That’s ’cause I’m giddy with excitement. I see a chance for me to get out of this dump and live in the manner to which I’d like to get accustomed. After all I did for you, I deserve it.”
Harriet is having trouble holding still. She moves erratically around the tables, her fingers beating little tattoos on their surfaces. I can sense she’d like to walk out right now, but she has to find out what I know.
“Just exactly what did you do for me?”
“I helped you get away with murdering your mother.” I say it very calmly and I’m proud of myself. Considering my heart is pounding and my stomach is in a knot the size of Chicago. I want out of here myself. It’s the memory of Francie, who died for nothing, that keeps me going.
She stops moving and stands very still. I can almost hear the wheels clicking.
“I mean I didn’t know I was doing that, but you so cleverly led me down that garden path, and little old me just did everything you wanted me to.”
I can’t take my eyes off her because I’m scared t
o death of what she might do. And believe me, she can’t take her eyes off me. So I babble on.
“That’s just it, you see. You wanted me smart and you wanted me dumb. You can’t have it both ways. I needed to be smart enough to pick up all the clues you left for me, so I would come to the conclusion that Selma and Francie had been murdered. It wouldn’t do for the medical reports to remain heart attacks. Then you wouldn’t be able to kill your mother, who was really the intended victim. You needed a serial killer to take the heat away, because otherwise you’d be the prime suspect.”
“You’re crazy!” she says, low and ominously.
“No, but speaking about crazy—that was brilliant, the way you brought back good old dead Maureen to drive Denny nuts.”
“Denny!” she says, almost snarling. “Who gives a shit about that retard! They should have drowned him when he was born!”
I am shaken by the force of her hatred, but I know I mustn’t show it. “Poor, sweet Denny who couldn’t kill a mosquito, let alone someone like Francie whom he worshipped! So that’s how I finally figured it out—if he didn’t do it, you did it. For the money.”
Harriet starts toward the door. “I’m walking out of here, you lunatic.”
“So, go. What’s holding you?”
She stops as I knew she would. “Why are you making this up? What did I ever do to you?”
Now she moves very close to me. I can feel her breath on my skin. She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. I hold very still and don’t try to resist, though every instinct in me wants to fight her. Or, at least, scream.
“You silly cow!” she hisses in my ear. “Who would ever believe a story like that!” Then she stares into my eyes to see if I’m telling the truth. “Who did you tell?”
I manage to keep my eyes steady. Please, God, let her believe me. “Nobody, yet,” I say. “Nobody ever—if you take me with you when you leave.”
She relaxes her grip and slowly backs away from me. She actually smiles. “So you want to blackmail me, you greedy old fool.”
“Something like that,” I say, as casually as I can, considering that my jellied knees are about to give way.
