Getting Old is a Disaster

by Rita Lakin

  “Abe” smiles at Stanley, and it isn’t a pretty sight. “And lo and behold, the first person I meet standing in front of the pristine building Z is Stanley. I am wearing a fake beard and dark clothes to make sure no one recognizes me as the former Johnny Blake, and Stanley immediately assumes I am Jewish. What an amusing joke. I have a Jewish man’s identity in my pocket and now I’m being welcomed with open arms because Stanley thinks I am like him. How can I resist such friendship? I get my brilliant idea. I’ll live here among them for a while to make sure no one is looking for Abe Waller and then I’ll leave.”

  My girls, behind me, must be holding their breaths, listening to this, realizing we’re in terrible trouble. I hear one of them gasp.

  What goes through my mind, based on reading hundreds of mysteries, is that killers never confess unless they are sure they will leave no witnesses. What will Jack do? What can he do? I’m sure the Nazi has a weapon, and Jack will die first! God help us.

  As if reading my mind, Abe says, “By the way, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Horst Kolb. Formerly of Munich, Germany.”

  Enya sighs deeply, and then calmly says, “Formerly Oberfuhrer Kolb, known as Der Bosewicht, of Auschwitz,” as if a great secret has finally been revealed and a huge weight lifted.

  Stanley’s face turns ashen.

  I groan. We are going to die. All of us.

  Horst Kolb, as I might as well call him, seems very relaxed, but his clenched fists betray him. “At first I am highly entertained, wearing Jew clothes and going to temple with my new best friend.” He glances at Stanley, whose body begins to sway and his lips move in fervent prayer.

  Now Kolb looks toward Enya, who hasn’t taken her eyes off his face. “But something unexpected happened to me. I don’t know when or how,” he says with great earnestness. “The religious teachings took, and over the years, as I found God, I felt guilt over the crimes I committed. I became Jewish in my heart and soul. I spent these many years doing penance for my sins. I, too, share your nightmares of the dead bodies, Enya Slovak.” He entreats her. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

  Our heads whip back and forth as we look to

  Enya, then Kolb. I notice Jack moving forward slightly. Kolb moves, too. Toward Enya. My heart is pounding. This is when he’ll pull out the weapon.

  Kolb says it again, his tone cooler. “I need your forgiveness.”

  She says nothing.

  “Your fault,” he shouts at her, losing control. “If you’d only let it alone!”

  Enya finally speaks. Her voice is flat. “There is no room for forgiveness in my heart. Forgive you? Never!”

  Kolb is swift. In seconds, he grabs Enya off her chair, and there it is—the gun comes out of his pocket and he presses it to her head.

  Sophie screams. Bella whimpers. The girls tumble into one another, clutching at their friends for comfort. I am still watching Jack move a little more. What was it he said this morning? He was never so frightened in his life? As I am now.

  Jack quickly whispers to me, “When I tell you, grab Stanley and the girls and run for the side door. Warn them if you can. If not, push them.”

  “Jack, you can’t.”

  “Shh,” he says.

  Kolb is furious. “Give me back what belongs to me,” he shouts at us. “I want the patch!”

  Evvie gasps behind me, clutching her purse close to her side.

  “We don’t have it with us. We hid it,” I say, but my trembling voice betrays me.

  “Liar,” he says.

  “I’ll kill her if you don’t give it to me right now.” He pushes the gun farther into Enya’s hair.

  “Do it,” Enya says calmly. “I died the day my babies died. Destroy this shell that feels nothing.” She turns to us. “Leave. Let him kill me. I don’t care. I am no longer a victim and he no longer has control over me.”

  Kolb nudges her with the gun. “If you don’t value your life, then I’ll kill one of your friends. They care about living.”

  Enya and Kolb look in each other’s eyes. His voice is shrill. “Tell me you forgive me!”

  She laughs, but it is a sob. “A good Jew, ready to commit murder?”

  To our utter astonishment, Enya raises her hand and smacks him. “May you rot in hell!”

  Jack yells, “Run!”

  I react instantly. I pull Stanley along and shove the girls and Joe toward the nearest side door, shouting, “Move. Move!” Yet I’m still watching what’s occurring behind us.

  Amazingly, these things happen all at once. Enya calmly walks away from Kolb, not looking back. Jack picks up a heavy glass ashtray from a side table and lobs it along the floor toward Kolh as if it were a bowling ball. At the same time as Kolb is distracted by the runaway ashtray, Jack races toward him, zigzagging every which way, head lowered, as if he were on a football field, trying to confuse the opposition so they would be unable to pin him down.

  As Kolb whips the gun around, trying to aim at the ever-moving Jack, the front door swings open.

  “Drop it! Drop the gun!” Morrie Langford says, as he and Oz Washington rush in.

  Jack reaches Kolb, tackles him, knocking him down. Jack instantly rolls away. Morrie reaches Kolb and kicks the gun out of his hands. Oz grabs Kolb to his feet and cuffs him. Morrie says, “You are under arrest for the deaths of Johnny Blake and Abe Waller.”

  Jack catches up to Enya and leads her far out of danger. As he does, he says to Kolb, “Not only doesn’t Enya forgive you, but the state of Florida won’t, either. Neither will the war crimes commission. They will be very happy to close the books on Horst Kolb, once and for all.”

  The girls are screaming and crying at the same time.

  If I had to guess who among us would faint, I wouldn’t have picked Stanley Heyer, whose inert face now lies flat across my shoes.

  Jack runs to me and hugs me. “How?” I begin to ask.

  He grins. “Something else about me I haven’t gotten around to telling you. I was a football jock in college.”

  And to all of us who complained to the club-house hospitality committee that we wanted the ashtrays removed because nobody smokes any-more, give thanks they didn’t get around to it yet.

  Jack has saved my life again. That’s two I owe him.

  At that moment, appearing at the open front doors, are the beautifully dressed engagement party guests. They begin to file in.

  Hy, looking very dapper in a pearl gray Armani knockoff, looks around eagerly and says, “What did we miss?”

  The Party

  It takes a while to quiet down the incoming guests as Horst Kolb is taken away by Morrie and Oz and other police. Questions fly, and I am sure the girls and Joe answer as best they can.

  Outside the clubhouse Stanley and Esther take their leave of us. Jack holds tightly on to my arm, as I’m still shaken from the last few minutes. The Heyers cannot bear to stay, but shakily, they extend their congratulations. Stanley has tears in his eyes. I am thinking as I look at that dear man that it will take a long time for him to recover from this shocking news. A man he knew and trusted as his dearest friend. How difficult it will be to face his congregation. But he surprises me. He tells me that I will always be a heroine to him for what I did. And that brings on my tears.

  We go back inside and there is much hugging and kissing from the amazed guests. A night to truly celebrate. It’s wonderful seeing all my friends and neighbors dressed beautifully and wanting to share our happiness. For their sakes, I must put away my feelings about this momentous day to be able to process later. Enya comes to me and embraces me. It’s as if she never wants to let me go. I can feel the wetness of her cheeks. Jack gently moves in and kisses her as well.

  The engagement party is a huge success. So much color and laughter and happy music. Every-one eats too much and drinks too much. There is something about having looked into the jaws of death that whets the appetite. One is determined to live life to the absolute fullest.

  Highlights of t
he evening:

  Enya leads us in dancing the hora. She looks ten years younger as she weaves in and out of the dance, everyone bending and swaying to her direction.

  As I walk by him I’m amused to hear Hy, now retelling latecomers the capture-of-Kolb story, building up his part.

  “I could have turned Jack in for smashing Kolb’s car. I watched him do it but not a peep out of me, no siree. I could see how he was planning to stop the Nazi from going back into his apartment. I was with him one hundred and ten percent!” Jack and I do a mean East Coast Lindy Hop and finally sit down, out of breath, to much applause.

  He’s gasping for breath. I grin. “Football star, indeed.”

  Evvie starts the clapping and everyone follows with the clinking of spoons on glasses. Voices ring out. “Name the date! Name the date!”

  We look at one another and then I call out January first, and that gets even more applause.

  Morrie and Oz return, their arms filled with presents for us. Naturally, we hug. I try very hard not to whisper I told you so to my future stepson.

  He beats me to it. “Well, you were right, Gladdy.” His tone a little forced.

  “As usual,” I say sweetly back.

  While we are strolling around outside with our drinks and food, I spy Evvie and Joe having drinks around the pool. Evvie reminds Joe that this is the very spot where he dumped her years ago on that miserable New Year’s Eve.

  Joe apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. A hundred times over I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you,” Evvie says, and promptly pushes him into the deep end.

  I hear Sol whisper to Barbi and Casey, “I saw what you do through your windows. You should pull your shades down.” Egad, is the Peeper back in action?

  I forgot to mention, in all the tumult today, that there was a picture postcard in the mail. It was postmarked Atlanta, Georgia, and has a lush photo of ripe peaches accompanied by greetings from Grandpa Bandit. He wrote, “Seventy is the new fifty. Gray hair is the new black. Hang around long enough and you’ll be a teenager again.” Signed with a drawing of a green feather.

  A great evening was had by all.

  In a quiet corner, Jack and I toast one another with champagne. I say happily, “Nothing will ever part us again.”

  Acknowledgments

  Evan Baker, Ph.D.: thank you for the German words. Much appreciated. And for all the great photos you take.

  My New York team:

  Caitlin Alexander

  Nancy Yost

  Sharon Propson

  The 580 team:

  Camille Minichino

  Jonnie Jacobs

  Peggy Lucke

  As always, to my family and friends for their continuous support.

  And

  In loving memory of Bronia

  Dear Reader

  I hope I had you on the edge of your seat for Getting Old Is a Disaster.

  The next book coming up in the Gladdy Gold series is Getting Old Is Tres Dangereux. A somewhat French title? Will Gladdy go to France? Mais non, perhaps France is coming to her. Hmmm? What can that mean?

  Gladdy and her frisky girls, plus Jack, and also Evvie’s ex-husband, Joe, have survived some scary moments during the hurricane, but all is right in everyone’s world again. Plans for Gladdy and Jack’s wedding are swirling excitedly around Lanai Gardens.

  But, from out of Jack’s past, a mysterious stranger appears from that faraway land and murder follows. Someone seems determined to destroy Gladdy and Jack’s happiness. Perhaps even to murder our loving couple.

  So watch your local bookstore for the arrival of the new and exciting Getting Old Is Tres Dangereux, coming out next spring. Or visit my website, www.ritalakin.com to get updates, not only about the arrival of the new books, but also my schedule of book signings. If I turn up in your neighborhood, please drop by and say hello. And keep those wonderful e-mails coming to me at ritalakin@aol.com. I love hearing from you.

  Discover More by Rita Lakin

  Gladdy Gold Mysteries (in order)

  Getting Old is Murder

  Getting Old is the Best Revenge

  Getting Old is Criminal

  Getting Old is To Die For

  Getting Old is a Disaster

  Getting Old is Tres Dangereux

  Getting Old Can Kill You

  Memoir

  The Only Woman in the Room: Episodes in My Life and Carer as a Television Writer

  Single Title Mysteries

  Demon of the Night

  Summer Without Boys

  The Four Coins of the Kabbalah

  About the Author

  Fate (a.k.a., marriage) took Rita Lakin from New York to Los Angeles, where she was seduced by palm trees and movie studios. Over the next twenty years she wrote for television and had every possible job from freelance writer to story editor to staff writer and, finally, producer. She worked on shows such as Dr. Kildare, Peyton Place, The Mod Squad, and Dynasty, and created her own shows, including The Rookies, Flamingo Road, and Nightingales. She wrote many movies-of-the-week and miniseries, such as Death Takes a Floliday, Women in Chains, Strong Medicine, and Voices of the Heart. She has also written the theatrical play No Language but a Cry and is the coauthor of Saturday Night at Grossinger’s, both of which are still being produced across the country. Rita has won awards from the Writers Guild of America, as well as the Mystery Writers of America’s Edgar Allan Poe Award and the coveted Avery Hopwood Award from the University of Michigan. She lives in Marin County, California, where she is currently at work on her next mystery starring the indomitable Gladdy Gold. Visit her on the Web at www.ritalakin.com or e-mail her at ritalakin@aol.com.