Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  Jack is reciting his story in a pretty straightforward manner. No doubt he’s toning down some of the lurid parts. And in the telling, the excitement is dampened. But my imagination is filling in what he leaves out. Here was this passionate younger woman throwing herself at him and I’m getting the rational explanation—dryly, professorially, safely explained.

  “So,” he says, “it pretty much boils down to an impressionable young woman having a crush on a father figure. And me feeling fatherly to her.”

  I sigh. I know he is leaving out seductive clothes and sexual advances and cries and whispers. I would have enjoyed the juicier parts now that he’s safely back.

  He finishes up with, “Michelle really is a nice person. She felt bad about you seeing her at her worst.”

  Frankly, I wouldn’t have liked seeing her at her best.

  “Thank you, Gladdy dear, for being so patient with me. Had I been you, I would have tossed me out a long time ago.”

  I won’t touch that line with the proverbial ten-foot pole. “Hmm,” I say, not saying anything.

  Jack fills me in about his and Morrie’s discussion with the Parisian police and the realization that the little old man is a former world-class contract killer. I feel good that my instincts led them to this important discovery.

  Jack completes his summation. “So, we’ll either capture The Snake here or the French police or Interpol will grab him when he tries to get through customs back in Europe. Michelle and Colette should be leaving by next weekend.”

  That’s a lot of news to be getting secondhand. Truthfully I’m not happy about having been left out of this really big case and missing all the excitement. Contributing secondhand is not my idea of being on a case. But never mind, all’s well that ends well. However, Jack and I will have to discuss our work relationship from now on. And I shudder to think about how the girls will take his getting involved in our cases.

  I cuddle close to my guy on my small love seat—a most applicable name. “By the way, coincidentally, the news here is that the very same next weekend there will be a very big double wedding on the back lawn. Friends and neighbors are cooking up a storm. Every possible chair is being lent out. Bridesmaids and ring bearers are already chosen. Somebody’s grandson’s garage band will be playing free for the experience. A chuppah is midway toward construction. All plans are in motion.”

  Jack is pleasantly surprised. “Who’s getting married? Anyone we know?”

  Indeed you do, big guy. “Gladys Gold and Jack Langford. Evelyn Markowitz and Joseph Markowitz.” I can give out information in a dry, professorial way, too. “Just thought you’d like to know in case you want to rent a tux. And drive downtown for a license.”

  Jack beams. His grin is from ear to ear. “You made this decision without my consent?”

  I snuggle closer. “Well, you were otherwise engaged, so to speak.”

  “You were that sure of me?”

  No way am I going to let him know about the awful anxiety-ridden sleepless nights. And I probably should skip the visit of a dead friend to give me advice.

  For a moment we are distracted by the duck couple below us. Their meeting seems not to be going well. There is a flutter of wings and angry duck squawks, and some neck nipping, but soon they settle down again. That’s a good sign.

  I return to my information patter. “Preparations are happening even as we speak. Our relatives were informed and invited by phone … ”

  Jack stares at me in surprise. “Wow! That’s pretty fast.”

  I am tempted to say that I’ve had nothing else to do, since he kept me away from working this case. But I hold my tongue. “Of course everyone said yes, but typically complained of not having enough time to buy new clothes. All three families are traveling at the same time and I told them we’d meet them at the airport.”

  “It all sounds wonderful. What did I do to deserve you?”

  I could boast, but I won’t. A quick snuggle and I keep reciting. “I’ve already put all our thirteen New Yorkers up at a nearby hotel. The four granddaughters are looking forward to sharing their own room. As well as the three grandsons.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful that yours and Evvie and Joe’s family and mine have become close friends?”

  “We’ve been blessed.” For a moment I think of Ida, who never hears from anyone in her family. It must be so hard for her.

  It’s as if he read my mind. “And the Bobbsey triplets? Their response?”

  “Sophie, Bella, and Ida are so mad at each other, it’s more on their minds than we are. But I know they’re pleased.” I sigh. “The only spoiler is having to walk down the aisle with a cane.”

  Jack rises and lifts me up in his arms. “You’re going to go down that aisle even if I have to carry you.”

  The doorbell rings. It’s eight a.m. and I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to stay spooned against my man forever. Besides, I know who it will be—the girls wanting me to get out and exercise as usual. I ignore them. They’ll stop eventually.

  Wrong. They don’t.

  From his head muffled under his pillow, Jack mumbles, “Chase them away.”

  I guess I have to get up.

  No big surprise, it’s Evvie and Ida. I open the door and move to the kitchen with them tagging along as I start to put up our morning coffee. “Hang on. I’ll grab some coffee, get dressed, and grab my cane.”

  Ida says, “Don’t bother. We’re not walking.”

  Evvie adds, “Bella and Sophie refuse to join us. Or rather, won’t exercise with Ida.”

  Ida isn’t perturbed. “Just as well. I want to show you something.”

  Evvie hands me my can of coffee and then opens the fridge for the mocha mix and gets the Splenda packets out of a kitchen drawer. She knows the drill. I start the percolator perking.

  From her pocket, Ida pulls out a sheet of paper. “Here’s my plan for outing that phony club they belong to. I’m going with them today whether they like it or not.”

  Evvie and I exchange exasperated glances. She won’t give up.

  “Here goes. I wrote this fake letter, which will be left open in my purse, now that I know that closet will be searched.” She reads. “Dear Sonny boy. This is just a note to remind you of the anniversary of Daddy’s death. Please go to the cemetery and bring roses. You remember how he always loved to bring me roses. Throw a kiss to my Murray for me.”

  She looks up brightly. “That should do it, don’t you think?”

  I have to ask. “Why can’t you let it go? Why is it so important to you?”

  Ida pulls at her hair in its bun, a gesture she makes when she’s anxious. “I told you. I wish to make Sophie and Bella answer for their foolish behavior.”

  My coffee has perked long enough. Evvie pours us each a cup. She hands Ida hers and says, “Be careful, Ida. Sometimes what you wish for backfires and bites you in the rear.”

  Jack calls from the bedroom. “Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

  I call back to him. “Yes, oh lord and master. Your cup is on the way.”

  Evvie smiles and Ida grimaces. Evvie gulps hers down and heads for the door.

  “Come on, Ida,” Evvie says. “I need you to help with the decorations.”

  Ida follows after Evvie. “I don’t do decorations. I’m not good with all those rolls of crinkly tissue paper.”

  “Then you can blow up balloons. I’ll bet that’s your real talent.” Evvie winks at me. “Bye, Glad. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

  I pour Jack’s cup and head back to my darling.

  25

  IDA’S FOLLY

  “Isn’t it wonderful about how everyone is so nice around here?” Sophie says to Bella as they wave to a neighbor.

  Ida fumes, but then she calms herself thinking that they’ll be singing a different tune when she makes fools of them in front of everyone. Today will be part one of her plan. Hopefully it won’t take too many weeks before she gets called on by her “dead husband.” She doesn’t want to be stu
ck in that so-called club longer than she has to.

  When they reach Jerry’s, she follows the girls to the curtained back door. Jerry smirks as she passes. Ida is tempted to stick her tongue out at him—just wait till he sees what she’ll be doing to his business. It’ll wipe that sneer from his face once and for all.

  They enter the back room. Ida looks around, taking it all in. She shakes her head. Wow. She has to admire the setup. Very holistic and New Age. Very smart.

  Continuing to ignore Ida, the girls pay their five bucks and head for seats.

  Ida fills out the little entrance agreement. Clever. The “members” are not supposed to tell people about this place unless they believe they’ll join. They want no hostility to destroy the guru’s “home of peace.” Too late, thinks Ida with a grin—the cat is in the mouse house. And ready to gobble them up. After signing the agreement, she makes a show of being impressed with the books and vitamins and incense. “I always wanted to know about chakras and stuff,” she insincerely tells Jerry’s wife, who sits at the small table with the cigar box of money open and waiting.

  When the woman explains that she has to leave her purse in the closet, Ida pretends to be impressed. “What a good idea. Keeping the room pure.” Then she manages to form a worry line on her forehead. “Are you sure our purses are safe in there? I do have a bit of money with me.”

  Jerry’s wife assures her as she folds her arms. “Nobody gets past me.”

  Yeah, sure, thinks Ida, picturing the homely daughter waiting to paw through her personal things. As she places her purse lovingly in the closet she silently says bye to her so-called letter. Do the job, babe, sucker them in.

  She takes off her shoes and lines them up with all the others, then makes her way to a seat. All thirty chairs are taken except for two. Bella and Sophie sit at the end of a row. Sophie holds her hand on one of the last empty chairs next to her. Ida knows it’s to keep her away. Not a chance. She walks straight to them. “Is this chair taken?”

  “Yes,” Sophie says. “No,” Bella says at the same time. Ida parks herself right there, forcing Sophie to remove her hand or have it sat on.

  The guru makes his entrance. Ida is thoroughly enjoying herself. She thinks he’s perfect for the part—like he’s in some movie, picked out by central casting. As they do their “ohm,” he lowers himself down on his pillow and everyone bows. Ida can hardly keep a straight face, but she bows along with them. Ohm indeed.

  Baba speaks. “Today we will practice the meditation of the root chakra.”

  Jerry’s wife walks up to the table behind her son and lights the incense sticks. Ida squirms. She hates the smell of incense. But she has to laugh at Jerry’s wife, now wearing some schmatte on her head trying to look like a religious Indian woman instead of the silly housewife she really is. Sophie and Bella stare straight ahead, never glancing at her.

  Baba Vishnu speaks softly. “Breathe slowly and deeply. Visualize yourself in a perfect place, a very special place, one that made you happy. See it. Concentrate on it. Recognize the beautiful colors. See who is there to share your joy.”

  Ida sneaks looks around, fascinated by the rapt expressions on the women’s faces. It reminds her of the circus of olden days with the slick guys who sold snake oil. What was it Barnum said—or was it Bailey? “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

  “Feel their love radiating toward you, filling you with happiness.” Baba raises his arms.

  Ida watches as woman by woman, they smile contentedly. Yeah, she thinks, I’m thinking of a happy place. This deli when the police raid it. She almost giggles. Then, suddenly she finds herself thinking of her Murray. She never thinks about him. Ever. She feels sad and doesn’t know why. She senses tears form in her eyes. What’s happening to her?

  The chimes ring out behind Baba. Softly. Everyone looks up excitedly. Ida gets it. Obviously this is the moment they’re really here for. Baba stares out at them, benevolently. It seems like all the women are holding their collective breaths. To Ida, it looks like the guru’s trying to go into a trance, but he’s probably counting the house to see how much he’ll take in today.

  Ida recognizes Linda Rutledge of Phase Three, a sweet gentle lady of seventy who always wears purple. Her wheelchair is parked in front of Sophie. Linda turns to her and whispers, “It’s gonna be my turn this time. I just know it.”

  Sophie says, “Me, too. I feel my Stanley’s vibes.”

  The guru speaks out in a “dead husband” voice. “Linda, my angel. Where are you? I am here for my wife, Linda Rutledge. It’s Seymour.”

  Linda gasps, practically jumping up and down in her wheelchair in excitement. She automatically pats her hair to neaten it. “Yes! I knew it! I’m here, Seymie, yes, indeedy. How are you, sweetums? Are they treating you okay?”

  Ida watches the guru move his lips. She shakes her head. Unbelievable that all these women would fall for Erwin Blatstein’s bag of tricks.

  “Seymour” sounds bereft. “It’s lonely without you, honey bun. When are you coming to join me?”

  Linda is startled and then flustered. “I don’t know. Oh, I would if I could, you know that. When you passed, I asked the good Lord to take me, too.”

  “Seymour’s” voice grows cool. “It’s another guy, isn’t it? You’ve got another guy taking my place.”

  Ida watches, enthralled as Linda’s face reddens. “It’s only Mr. Finster, downstairs. But we haven’t done anything. He likes my chicken soup.”

  “Seymour” is furious. “I turn my back on you for sixteen years and what do you do? You cheat on me!”

  “Seymour, no! We’re just good friends!” Linda looks pleadingly at Baba. But Baba shakes his head. “Seymour” has hung up.

  Linda cries daintily into a tissue as Sophie pats her shoulder in condolence.

  The chimes ring gently again. Everyone perks up. Who’s next?

  A voice rings out cheerily from Baba’s lips. “‘I got buttons, I got bows. Where they came from, nobody knows.’”

  Sophie jumps up so fast that she knocks her chair over. “It’s Stanley. It’s my Stanley’s advertising slogan for Meyerbeer’s Notions. Stanley, is it really you?”

  Ida has to admire the guru’s ability to capture the personality of a man he’s never met. She remembers Stanley. He was a huckster through and through. The guru is pretty quick. He must have been a frustrated actor before he turned into this shyster.

  “Stanley” speaks. “You look good, Soph, but you put on a few pounds.”

  Sophie sighs. “Crying over losing you. You know I tend to eat when I’m sad.”

  “Stanley” comments as if he were looking her up and down. “You always was a good dresser. You could take a belt and a buckle and a scarf and make a Hester Street outfit look like Fifth Avenue.”

  “That’s ‘cause you taught me how. I miss you, poopsie. All the time.”

  Bella, next to her, is clutching Sophie’s arm and sobbing.

  “I gotta go, doll face, but a word of advice. Someone near is not your friend. Beware.”

  And with that, “Stanley” is gone.

  Ida is startled as Sophie whips her eyes around and stares into hers. “I know who my darling meant,” she says ominously. “So keep your distance.”

  The guru ends the session and Sophie happily pays for the “long-distance phone call.”

  Ida grits her teeth. Just you wait, she thinks.

  26

  WEDDING DAY MINUS TWO

  While Jack washes his car, he puts in a quick call to Morrie. It’s his chance to be able to speak to his son privately. Gladdy is busy with wedding plans. It’s not that he couldn’t make the call in front of her—he’s sure Gladdy wouldn’t mind—but this is his excuse to be alone and be more comfortable. As he dials, Lola and Tessie, arms full of shopping bags, walk by. Lola grins at him. Tessie blows him a kiss. This kind of overkill has been going on ever since he came downstairs. Neighbors smile at him. Or high-five him. Everyone is happy. His arm is tired from const
ant waving in return. The wedding news has spread like wildfire and the sense of excitement is in the air.

  Morrie puts him on hold, says he’ll be right with him.

  Sol and Hy trail behind their wives as they map out the races at Hialeah in today’s newspaper. They stop in front of Jack.

  Hy leers. “So you’re really gonna do it, huh? You didn’t know when you were well off?”

  Jack is benign. “Looks like it.”

  Sol shakes his head. “It’s always better before the wedding ring tightens like a noose around the neck.”

  Morrie comes back on the line. “Dad, are you still there?”

  Jack indicates his cell phone to the guys. “Gotta take this. Thanks for your reassuring words.”

  The two men amble off, pleased at their advice giving.

  Jack works on the hubcaps, scrubbing hard. “It’s like a zoo around here, what with everyone having their own version of what to say about the weddings.”

  “Breaks up the monotony. Gives them something new to gossip about.”

  Jack can’t resist. “So, your dad is having a second wedding and he’s still waiting for your first.”

  “I’m working on it. I have a hot date tonight with a gal I met on the Internet.”

  “Have you actually seen her?”

  “Not yet. Only judging from a photo. But it’s hit or miss. My last blind date lied about her age, her weight, the color of her hair, and her job.”

  “And still you keep taking chances?”

  “Hope springs eternal. Hey, we all lie a bit. Lying seems to be a national sport these days.”

  Jack washes the car windows. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  There’s a pause. Morrie says, “Go ahead, Dad. I know you want to ask.”

  “You’re right. I do. How is she doing? Is she all right with the other men guarding her?”

  “What did you say to Michelle when you turned her down? She’s so quiet now. Not complaining about the guards I assigned to her, both inside and outside her room. She seems listless, like she’s just marking time until she and Colette can leave. Which, by the way, will be on the day you and Gladdy get hitched.”