by Rita Lakin
Evvie jumps right in. “Five hundred will be fine. To Gladdy Gold and Associates.”
I’m about to comment about that amount and the fact that he didn’t even read the contract, but Evvie kicks me in my ankle.
Alvin manages a tight little smile. “I’m a man who makes decisions and I’ve decided.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Now how about another cup of tea? Please sit down again and you can fill us in on some details.”
With that, Shirley sits back down as well. She’s not about to miss anything.
As Evvie refills their cups she asks, “Have you been to the police?”
Alvin shoots Shirley a dirty look. “My wife wouldn’t let me.”
“And make a fool of yourself? They’d laugh us out of the station.”
I ask, “Was there an autopsy?”
Again Shirley answers for him. “What for? She fell asleep in a tub and died of old age.”
Alvin’s expression is sad, thinking of his dear, departed mother, I suppose. “They didn’t bother.”
“You could have requested it,” I tell him.
Angry looks are exchanged between husband and wife.
Evvie needs to change the subject. “So your name is Ferguson. I assumed you were Jewish.”
Alvin tells her they are. “Our family was one of those at Ellis Island who got their names changed because of poor communication.”
I smile. I’ve heard that story before. When the frightened immigrants faced the authorities asking for their names, they were so flustered, they said in Yiddish, “Ich hab fargesen.” Meaning, I forgot. And that’s why there is a huge branch of Jews living in America named Ferguson, who are thought to be Scottish.
Evvie’s curiosity is on a roll. “What about this Philip Smythe? What a la-de-da name.”
“Who knows?” Alvin says. “Maybe Immigration changed his name, too.”
Practical Shirley chimes in, “Now you’re on the payroll, find out for yourselves. Me, I prefer to think of him as Romeo.”
From the open screen door I watch them leave down the walkway, still arguing.
Evvie looks at me expectantly. “So when do we start?”
“When the check clears, that’s when.”
SIX
THE PEEPER
Dora Dooley, eighty-one, resident of Phase Six, apartment 114, was doing what she usually did late at night. She was sitting in her sunroom, watching today’s tape of her favorite soap opera, World of Our Dreams. That VCR was the best Christmas gift she’d ever received in her whole life, and it was from her darling neighbor, Jack Langford, after he’d learned she hardly slept nights. It had taken Dora a while to catch on to rewind, fast forward, and play, but she still had all her marbles and she learned. Every morning she watched her soap, recording it all the while, and looked forward to watching it again that night. And every night before she let her eyes close, she always rewound the tape, readying it for the following day.
Dora was very thin, and so tiny that her birdlike legs barely reached the edge of her worn recliner. She wore a heavy flannel gown, wool socks, and her favorite purple chenille robe she’d had for over fifty years—it was still as good as new. Her warm comforter was at the ready for when it grew really cool.
Tonight, Dora had started playing her tape before eleven o’clock, early for her. But today’s show was so exciting she couldn’t wait another moment to watch it again. Evangeline and Errol were meeting for the first time in three years. Dora shivered with excitement. She’d known Errol would hunt for Evangeline until he found her again. He was possessed by her. But Dora also knew from reading her fan magazines that Errol, played by Leroy Johnson, had left the show three years ago because the producers wouldn’t pay him the money he wanted. But Errol was back, so they must have settled. And that’s what Dora did now. She settled back and pressed play.
At first she thought she was imagining things. Dora suddenly felt weird, as if someone was staring at her. Something made her turn to the window and her skin began to crawl. There was a shadow out there, peering in. She squinted and realized the shadow was dressed all in black, and wore a superman mask! She pulled her blanket over her head, hoping she’d imagined it and it would go away. But when she snuck a look out of the corner of her blanket, the shadow was still there! Oh, no! What was it doing? She saw a hand moving... She closed her eyes, horrified.
Instinctively Dora reached over and grabbed the weapon she always kept beside her recliner— her kitchen broom. She raised it high and banged on her ceiling as hard as she could.
“Jack!” she screamed. “Jack Langford, get down here at once! And bring your gun!”
When she looked back at the window, the disgusting figure was gone.
Dora climbed out of her recliner, so she could meet Jack at the door. She shivered in disgust as she thought about what that Peeper had been doing outside her window. None of her soap friends would ever behave in such a disgraceful manner.
As soon as Dora opened her front door, Jack hurried in. “I just got home. What is it? What’s happened? Are you all right?”
Dora smiled, imagining that she was one of the characters on World of Our Dreams. It was nice having a cop living in her building, especially such a handsome and attentive one.
SEVEN
MAYBE MEN ARE FROM MARS
Night two. Is this going to be my way of keeping track of my loneliness?
Luckily I was so jetlagged last night that, except for my nightmares, I didn’t have time to record my first night without Jack. Not that I ever had a night with him. I fell asleep after a dinner I couldn’t eat and woke up in the morning with a headache. Or was it an ache in my heart?
Night two is not off to a good start. My usual routine is to watch the ten o’clock news and then read until my eyes close, but I have no desire to watch TV or open my book. I have to pull myself out of this. I’m driving myself crazy. I’m acting like a teenager.
I look at the phone. Staring at it doesn’t make it ring. Ring, I demand silently.
You make the call.
Great. The phone is talking to me.
No, I can’t.
Do it. You know you want to.
Mind your own business.
Just reach out.
It’s after eleven o’clock.
Ooh, he’s a big boy. I bet he stays up ’til at least eleven thirty, maybe even midnight.
I need sarcasm from a phone?
Call him up!
All right. Stop nagging.
I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with myself as a phone. I reach out tentatively for the receiver. I dial Jack’s number, then quickly hang up before I reach the last digit.
Coward.
Shut up.
I pace. I sit down on the edge of the bed. I get up again. I dial again. It rings. And rings. And rings. Then his answering machine picks up. I hang up, fast. He’s not home. Where is he after eleven o’clock at night? Where would he have gone? None of us seniors ever venture out past nine P.M. I’m about to dial again, but what’s the point. What if he’s in the shower and didn’t hear the phone? A memory flashes into my head of Jack dropping his lavalava as he was about to get into the Jacuzzi with me. For a brief moment I see his body and feel faint with longing. And then to miss it all. Because of my stupidity. I had to put the girls first, didn’t I?
Oh, this is torture. I wait ten minutes; the hands on the clock are moving much too slowly. He’s got to be out of the shower now. I dial. Get the same result. No shower. Face it. He’s not home. Or even worse he’s there and doesn’t want to talk to me. I hang up on the answering machine. I will not leave a message.
Now I’m wide awake. Angry. Frustrated. Annoyed. First at him and then at myself. I head to the fridge for something to eat. Anything. Luckily nothing appeals to me. Carrot sticks won’t do it. Jack, where are you? Call me, damn it!
“Now, you sit on this bench,” Evvie tells me the next morning. “You’ll be able to see and hear everything.”
I sit down. “This is your idea of a date?”
“No, it’s his, and I didn’t want this date in the first place. I need you to help me out.”
“So why didn’t you say no?”
“Because I’m stupid. So stay here and drink your coffee and do your crossword puzzle. Look inconspicuous.”
I can hardly be inconspicuous since I’m six inches away from the picnic table at which Evvie is supposed to wait for Sol Spankowitz. We are seated in a grassy area near the duck pond—which places us directly in the path of everyone walking to the pool, meaning they can’t miss us. Sol’s idea, I’ll bet, to show off having a date with Evvie.
Evvie pinches me. “Tell me to run now while I still have the chance.”
“Why isn’t he taking you out to a restaurant?”
“Probably because he’s cheap. The man is an idiot. Uh-oh, speaking of idiots, here he comes.”
“Well, at least he’s on time. That’s a good trait in a boyfriend.”
“Don’t say anything nice about him; do me that favor.”
“I promise.” But I can hardly keep my face straight.
Sol is practically bouncing along the path, he’s that happy. He carries a yellow wicker picnic basket with pink ribbons, something I’m sure his late wife, Clara, bought. He wears one of his inevitable bad-taste outfits, lime green checkered pants, a striped orange shirt, and unmatched socks. I’m beginning to suspect he’s colorblind.
“Good morning, good morning, O princess of the Dawn.” He tries to kiss Evvie’s hand, but she snaps it away before he can touch her.
Sol is oblivious to my presence, which is good, because this is a scene I wouldn’t want to miss: my usually unflappable sister, dealing with a man who’s gaga about her; a man she despises. I pretend to look at my puzzle while I hide my grin.
Romance at our age is fraught with pitfalls. Boy, am I ever aware of that with Mr. On-again-off- again Jack Langford. But while my blissful life with Jack Gold was cut tragically short, Evvie survived an unhappy marriage and a bitter divorce that left her never wanting to go down that path of hurt again. She’s been skittish ever since. She’s dated on and off through the years, but no guy has ever really touched her heart. This is the first time in many years that my sister has been willing to take another tenuous shot at dating. Albeit, one forced on her. Sol is not a good starting choice, I fear.
“How come we aren’t going to a deli or something?” I hear Evvie ask. She looks at the wicker basket with fear and loathing.
“Because the deli has come to you. It’s a beautiful day, why should we be indoors?” Never mind that almost all the delis we know have seating outside. And besides, everyone prefers eating indoors in the air-conditioning. With that, Sol opens the basket and removes two lumpy paper napkins and two bananas. And two bottles of water.
Evvie looks disgusted. “This is it?”
He unwraps the napkins to reveal two bagels sloppily filled with cream cheese.
“Bagels with a schmear,” he says proudly. “I made them myself.” He hands her one.
“This bagel is ice cold.” Evvie immediately drops it on the table and pushes it back to him.
“Fresh out of the freezer. And I filled up two bottles I had in the house with water from the sink. Who needs that fancy overpriced water they sell in Publix?”
Evvie moves slightly away from him. “The bananas are black.”
“Ain’t you never heard of blackened bananas? That’s like blackened chicken. A delicacy.”
“Yeah, I heard of them,” she mimics. “They’re the ones I always throw out.”
Sol begins eating with gusto. Evvie shakes her head over and over again. She is mumbling something under her breath. It sounds like, “Please let this be over with already.”
Mary Mueller passes us, carrying her crocheting, on the way to the pool. She stares in amazement. “You and Sol, an item?” she asks Evvie.
“Pretend you don’t see us. It’s an optical illusion.”
I can’t help it. I giggle. Evvie throws me a dirty look.
Sol is finished eating. He wipes his hands on the soiled napkin that originally held his bagel. “That was spectacular. I love breakfast en brochette.”
“En brochette? What are you talking about?”
“It’s French for being outdoors.” Sol gets up. “Let’s go.”
“I haven’t eaten yet,” Evvie says spitefully. Not that she’d ever touch that mess.
Sol quickly grabs her portion and tosses it into his picnic basket. “You can have it after.”
Evvie stands up, too. “After what?”
Sol winks at her. “You know.”
“I know what?”
“We’ll go to my apartment, and...” More winking. His eye looks like it’s in spasm.
Evvie gapes at him, astonished.
I give up pretending to look at my puzzle. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“We had breakfast; now it’s time to you-know-what.”
Evvie’s face has turned as red as her hair. With a voice as icy as the bagel, she says, “Tell me exactly what ‘you-know-what’ is at nine A.M. in the morning.”
Sol is getting a little testy. “Hey, I brung you a bagel and a schmear. What more do you want? You owe me.”
Evvie crosses her arms. Her eyes have narrowed to slits. “Just exactly what do I owe you?”
Sol is getting uncomfortable. “You know.”
She is yelling now. “I don’t effing know, so tell me!”
He beams. “The F word. I, personally, wouldn’t say such a thing but it’s so cute coming out of your adorable mouth.” He moves crabwise around the picnic table, arms outstretched to embrace her.
Evvie’s had it. She smacks him across the face. “Cheapskate!”
At that moment more of the swimming group walks by. Hy and Lola, Tessie, the Canadians. They all stop and stare.
Tessie breaks rank and runs over to Sol, her love gleaming in her eyes. “Bubbala, what did she do to you?” All two hundred fifty pounds of her towers over him as she strokes his few strands of hair.
Sol, now befuddled, sees the crowd forming and makes a run for it. His shoelaces are untied, forcing him to hop and skip down the sidewalk, a rather odd sight.
When he’s gone, everyone turns back to Evvie. Evvie walks over and pulls at my arm. “Get up, Glad. We’re leaving.” She faces the crowd, her look menacing. “Not one word out of anyone.” The would-be swimmers attempt to swallow their grins, not easy to do. Tessie continues to look back in the direction where Sol disappeared.
“Hey, lady PI, what about last night?” Hy asks me.
“What about last night?” I ask.
“Didn’t Jack tell you? I thought you’d be the first to know.”
Jack? No, Jack tells me nothing anymore. I sigh. Evvie says, “Spit it out already. I need to go home and get some Extra Strength Tylenol.”
Tessie shoots her a dirty look for her poor treatment of the man for whom she carries a torch.
Hy reports. “Late last night in Phase Six, Dora Dooley spotted the Peeper just about the time Jack got home. If he’d only been a couple of minutes earlier, he might have caught him.”
What was Jack doing out so late? I wonder suspiciously. But then another thought occurs to me—Jack must have gone to Dora’s apartment when she yelled for help. This makes me feel a tiny bit better. That’s why he didn’t answer his phone.
Lola adds, “He’s her hero. He’s so good to Dora, always there when she needs him.”
I wish I could say the same thing, I think enviously.
“Jack promised he’d get Morrie to write up a report. I was sure he’d tell you since you’re the big, important PI around here,” says Hy. “You know... maybe in pillow talk?”
Now it’s my turn to want to smack someone, but I restrain myself. “I’ll check it out with him,” I say stiffly.
By now Tessie is grubbing around in the wicker basket that Sol abandoned when he fled. “Hey
, Evvie,” she asks, “mind if I finish off your breakfast?”
“Be my guest,” Evvie says, head high, walking off like a queen departing her loyal subjects.
I follow her. All I can think of is that now I have a real excuse to call Jack. On business.
EIGHT
THE FERGUSONS INVESTIGATE US
Alvin Ferguson stares probingly at my girls. They stare back with varied expressions. Apparently, when he thought about the fact that Evvie and I had associates, Mr. Picky decided he wanted to meet with them as well. So do we have that job yet? Now I’m not sure. Will he take back the retainer? We’ve already banked the check. Does he have a legal right to? This guy is going to be a pain in the neck.
Shirley sips a cup of tea at the dining room table, next to me, where we can easily watch the action taking place in the living room. Alvin has been interrogating the girls for twenty minutes. His wife has been smirking the whole time. I think she secretly enjoys how easily he irritates people.
Alvin began by asking Ida questions about her family, which got her back up. She wasn’t about to tell him she doesn’t ever hear from them.
He wanted to know if Evvie had ever been to college, which she felt was none of his business. She said, “Yes, to the college of Life.” She dared him with her eyes to question this, so he moved on.
He asked Sophie about her marital status. She didn’t want to tell him she’d been married. Twice. Now he is tackling Bella.
“But, Mrs. Fox, you can’t see very well and you cannot hear very well—what can you do?”
“I can... I can...” Bella is flustered. She looks to me for help.
“Mr. Ferguson, Bella is an excellent operative,” I pipe up. “You’ll have to take my word on that. All my associates make up a great working team.” Bella is relieved to be off the hot seat.
Alvin doesn’t look convinced.
Shirley smiles at my taking her bossy husband down a peg.
Alvin tries to save face. “Money is no object, as I’ve said before.”
