Getting Old Can Kill You: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  Ida stiffly, as is her fashion, says, “We came here to offer our services. We know we’ve separated our businesses, but for right now, we want to help.”

  Bella and Sophie nod their heads eagerly.

  “Thank you,” I say, just as formally. “Happy to have your help.”

  Guilt assuaged, they take their coffee and reach for the plate of buttered toast. Bella digs into the fridge to where she knows I keep the jam.

  Ida asks, “What did Morrie tell you last night?”

  I’m not willing to state too much yet. “He says we have to wait for the autopsy report.”

  Sophie says, “We already figured that.”

  I look to Bella, now enjoying her guilt-free breakfast. “I have a question for you. About Joyce. You mentioned something the other night at the get-together evening about having seen Joyce before she moved in.”

  Ida is about to interrupt and say something negative. I know her too well so I stop her by raising my hand. “Let Bella speak.”

  Bella puts down her toast and jam, wipes her hands delicately on a napkin, happily feeling important at the moment. “It was months ago. I’m not sure when, but it was raining a lot. I see this woman walking around looking confused. I ask her if she’s lost. And I make a joke that everybody gets lost at first in Lanai Gardens.”

  Bella smiles at this well-known fact. “She wanted to know how to get to Phase Three. I have nothing better to do, so I take her there. I ask her who she’s looking for since we know everybody who lives everywhere. She tells me she’s looking for an old friend. She thanks me and stands still and I can tell she’s waiting for me to leave. I figure it’s none of my business so I skedaddle.” Bella is pleased with her recitation.

  I’m surprised. Is it possible she actually told Bella the truth, thinking it was safe to mention a friend? That this sweet, innocent-looking woman would forget about it? Shades of Agatha Christie! Assuming Bella was invisible. Ida has to say it. “How can you be so sure it was her?”

  Sophie shrugs. “Well, Joyce is quite dramatic. You couldn’t mistake her for anyone else.”

  Bella pauses to take another bite of toast, chews, then comments, “I almost didn’t recognize her because when she was wandering around, she was wearing plain dark clothes and a scarf that covered her hair. And an umbrella. But it was her. I know it.”

  “Well done,” I tell Bella.

  “But why is that important?” Sophie asks.

  “Because we think it was Arlene she was looking for. Once Joyce found out where she lived, she’d then find out who resided in the apartment directly below. Apparently Joyce lived in the apartment underneath Arlene years ago when they were still friends.”

  Ida gets it. “So first she locates Arlene and then she finds out that Seymour lives in the apartment Joyce wants to use.”

  I report, “She actually told me she met Seymour in the park on one of his walks—”

  Sophie interrupts. “Aha! She follows him and pretends to accidentally meet him on his daily walk and talks him into renting his apartment.”

  Bella is puzzled. “How weird. Why go to all that trouble? Why didn’t she just call Arlene up and make a date?”

  I comment, “Because she knew how much Arlene hated her. She had to find another way.”

  I put two more slices of whole-wheat bread into the toaster. “You ask what you can do to help? Somebody else must have seen Joyce lurking about. Somebody may have seen Seymour leave his apartment for his trip. I know he had a suitcase. Did he take a cab? We need to know how and when he left.”

  “Easy, peasy,” Sophie says. “We’ll cover all the Phases and ask around until we find out.”

  The girls are now relaxed. All’s well once again in our little world. Time for me to do a little prying myself. “So tell me more about your teacher, Mr. Gatkes, and your PI class.”

  Bella blurts, as if she can hardly wait to impress me, “Wait till you hear about the guns! Rifles! Machine guns!”

  Sophie adds excitedly, “Assault bear spray!”

  Ida looks as if she’d like to clamp her hands over both their mouths, but she restrains herself. “I’m sure Gladdy wouldn’t be interested.” She turns to me. “We were just looking. Not buying guns.”

  Sophie jumps in. “Wait till we show you our lipstick!”

  Good grief. What on earth are they talking about?

  Sophie’s about to go through her huge floppy purse, which of course matches her lime green jumpsuit, but just then Jack wanders in, buttoning up his shirt.

  The girls clam up in the presence of all that skin and chest hair. My very tall, impressive, sexy alpha man has made his appearance.

  They all jump up. Ida says, “Well, no time like the present. Let’s get started canvassing right now.”

  Sophie and Bella echo her words. “Right now.”

  Hello, Jack. Goodbye, Jack. And they are gone.

  Jack grins as he reaches for the coffeepot. “I sure know how to clear a room.”

  I fill his cup for him. “One of these days they’ll get used to you. Maybe. Drink your coffee and let me tell you about assault bear spray and lipstick!”

  I figure my sister is up and about by 9 A.M., so I call her in Connecticut. I fill her in on everything. Evvie has a lot of questions. It takes me about twenty minutes. Finally I say to her, “What do you say to all this?”

  “What do I say? I say, my grandchildren are already bored with me. I’ll ask Joe if he’s ready to come back after a week of visiting. I’m going to make a reservation on the first flight out tomorrow morning to Fort Lauderdale. I say there’s a lot of detecting to do and I want in. What do you say to that?”

  The answer I hoped for. “Call and tell me your schedule. I’ll be there to pick both of you up. With bells on.”

  I can hardly wait for her to get home.

  Immediately after, it’s the door again. Jack, being closer, answers. When I reach the hallway I see the distraught figure of Leah. She’s wearing a light cardigan over a thin dress. The buttons are done up wrong. I sense she just threw something on in a hurry. Next. We’re playing revolving doors around here this morning.

  She’s hardly in the entry hall when she cries out, hysterically shrill, “Is it true? She’s dead. Dead in my Seymour’s apartment?”

  Jack answers, “Yes, she died sometime last night.”

  “Of what? How? Why is that yellow tape on the door? I watch CSI, Miami. It means it’s a crime scene? What’s the crime? Did she do something to my Seymour?”

  Jack takes her by the arm and helps her into a kitchen chair. Still warm from my last customers, no doubt.

  Jack speaks. “We don’t know much yet. We have to wait for the police to tell us.”

  “But I can’t get into his apartment. I had a visit early this morning. Got woken up by a cop who wanted my key to his apartment!” She’s biting her fingernails down to the nub. “When can I go back in?”

  I answer her quietly, “Not yet. But soon.”

  “How could any of this happen? How could Seymour have rented to this woman?”

  I say, vague at best, “Hopefully we’ll have answers soon.”

  Leah shudders. “A dead person in that apartment. Is there blood? Seymour will never want to step foot in there again. He’s very sensitive.” She tears up. “That’s if I ever see my brother again.”

  She reaches into her sweater pocket and pulls out and waves two postcards. “Here’s some more come in my mail. This one, he’s in Tahiti and he’s beating on some creepy-looking drums. And then he’s in Hawaii, wearing a lei around his neck.” She practically throws the cards at me.

  Now she’s crying. Jack pats her gently on her back. I bring her a drink of water. But she can’t sit still. She jumps up. “I have to go now.” With that, she’s out the door.

  We both examine the cards. Jack shakes his head. Fiji, Australia, Tahiti, Hawaii. “What the hell kind of itinerary is that?”

  “Maybe so, but look at the smile on his face. He’s
having the time of his life.”

  Jack shrugs. “They’re not even in the same hemisphere.”

  Who’s next?

  Jack insists I eat a hearty breakfast before I tackle Arlene.

  I knock on Arlene’s door. It takes a while until she answers. It’s nearly 11 A.M., and from the way she looks when she opens it a crack, she hasn’t slept well. I’ve clearly awakened her.

  She lets me in. I’d been here once before, a while ago, and I remembered her furnishings, all light and airy rattan with plush pillows in cool colors and cheerful patterns. This is the kind of furniture picked out by a happy person.

  Now the apartment is dark. Every window curtain is drawn. Poor thing, she looks awful. The perfectly-put-together lady looks bedraggled and exhausted. She leads me into the living room and we sit down on her couch.

  In the dimness, all seems gray. As gray as her life is now.

  I ask, “You didn’t sleep much last night?”

  She shrugs. “On and off.”

  “Have you been eating?”

  “A little. Not much.”

  Why am I stalling? Why don’t I blurt it out and be done with it?

  Arlene fluffs a couch pillow absently. “I’m so sorry for the way I behaved in the cooking class. I guess I just hit the wall.”

  What I’m doing is cruel. I’m actually interrogating her. “Have you ever been in Joyce’s apartment?”

  She screws up her face in distaste. “No, never.”

  She quickly turns her head away from me. Please don’t be lying, I silently beg of her. I can’t put this off any longer. “You didn’t hear all the noise last night around one A.M.?”

  She thinks a moment. “I guess I was asleep then.”

  “The police were here.”

  “Why?”

  Oh, Gladdy, get on with it. I can’t stand what I’m doing. I feel like I’m taking advantage of her. “They were in Seymour’s apartment.”

  Her eyes open wide. “What …?”

  I take a deep breath. “Joyce’s gone, Arlene. She died last night.”

  Her body stiffens. She stares at me. “What are you talking about? You saw her yesterday afternoon!”

  “She’s dead now.”

  In the silence, I imagine her trying to absorb this incredible news. What must she be feeling?

  Arlene starts to giggle. “I’m glad. I’m so glad. I’m free of her at last!”

  I don’t know what I expected, but not that.

  She sees the expression of shock on my face.

  “Oh, God, what am I saying? I’m so ashamed.”

  She reaches out and grabs my hands. “Is it possible? Can a person wish with all her might for something and then it happens? I wished her dead. And now she is.”

  I answer her quietly. “I don’t think so. Whatever killed Joyce, it’s real.”

  She gets up again and nervously paces the room. She absently reaches for a painting and straightens it. She wrings her hands. “Dead, she’s really dead?”

  I nod.

  She starts for the door and I know I have to follow. She looks at me and says, “I honestly don’t know how I feel.”

  She opens the front door for me.

  “Forgive me,” she says. “I need to be alone now.”

  The next day I drive Evvie home from the airport. She tells me Joe changed his mind at the last minute and decided to stay.

  “Was he feeling ill?”

  “No, just a little tired. Those grandkids keep him on his toes. But he loves every minute of it.”

  “You feel all right about leaving him back there?”

  “He insisted I go. I told him I’d be back in about a week. Since it’s just a short plane trip away, if needed I’d be right back. Besides, my darling knew I was restless. There’s where he needs to be, and right now I’m where I want to be.”

  We’re silent for a few minutes. It’s what’s left unsaid. There’s no way to know the inescapable future. We could be talking about months, maybe sooner or later.

  “Joe and I have had a lot of really deep talks lately,” she says, breaking the silence. “We examined our earlier married days and what went wrong. It’s hard to believe how angry we were with each other. And for what? He was insecure about his future. I was worried about how we would manage. The job he had was taking him nowhere. He had his dream of what he wanted to do, but I got pregnant too soon and that was more pressure for us. We were just too young.”

  “I know.” I remember those terrible days. “You were so in love, but he was so angry.”

  “He took his anger out on me. It was safe to hurt me when he was really angry at the whole world and the way his life was turning out. We look back on how we behaved and could kick ourselves for wasting all those years. If only we had more confidence in ourselves and each other. If only we could have talked it out with each other. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

  “Well, that’s the good part of getting older. What’s that book title? Don’t sweat the small stuff? Trouble is, it didn’t seem small back then.”

  Evvie shrugs. “Enough about me. I can’t get over the terrible news about Joyce. I’ll bet Lanai Gardens is in an uproar. What’s the latest on her demise?”

  “We’ll be hearing about the autopsy report very shortly. So strange. Joyce must have gone to a lot of trouble to move in close to her old friend again. She’s only been here a very short time and now, suddenly, unexpectedly, it’s all over.”

  “Do you think Arlene would have relented eventually and forgiven her?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it. She was truly relieved that Joyce had died.”

  “What do you think happened? She just keeled over?”

  I give her Morrie’s three possibilities.

  “Murder? Impossible.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Evvie shakes her head. “Wow. It’s all so sad. Well, we all know about holding a grudge for years, don’t we? I’m so lucky that this time around Joe and I had the chance to forgive and forget.”

  “Poor Arlene,” I say.

  “Poor Joyce,” Evvie adds.

  Morrie shows up at our door. He told us on the phone he had the results of the autopsy and he wanted to report to us in person.

  The look on his face tells me the news is not good.

  I offer to feed him some lunch. He agrees gratefully, saying he hadn’t had time to grab a bite of breakfast or lunch anywhere.

  “Not even a doughnut?” I say, trying to lighten things up with the old joke about how cops are famous for eating doughnuts. No response. He’s too serious.

  We sit at the dining room table. I bring out already-made egg salad with rye bread and a pitcher of iced tea. Morrie goes for it eagerly. Jack joins in. My throat is so choked up, I can’t swallow. I sip at my tea. I’m nervous. And it turns out rightly so. The news is bad. How can they eat?

  Morrie states simply, “Joyce died of a drug overdose. The slice of pie on her table was laced with Valium …”

  He stops and looks up at me as I gasp at the name. My body stiffens from fear.

  “We’ve been through the apartment again. There is no sign whatever of the container that held any Valium. We went through the trash. Nothing there.”

  “She could have dumped the bottle anywhere and just kept the pills. I mean I’ve done that before. When a few pills are left I put them in a cute little pill holder.” I’m grasping at straws—I don’t want to tell him what I know. I hope there is the possibility of Joyce having the same prescription drug Arlene had. But what are the odds? “Can’t we locate her doctor and find out?”

  “There were pills in Joyce’s purse.”

  I jump in at that. “I saw her take those pills. She said it was for indigestion, an acid reflux problem. Maybe she didn’t want me to know it was Valium.”

  Morrie stares at me for a moment. I get the feeling he has worse news. I brace myself.

  Morrie says it. “Her medication in her purse was morphine. For severe pain.”

/>   “What? Not Valium? Oh, no.”

  Jack comments, “Morphine? That’s a pretty serious drug for her to be taking.”

  Morrie continues. “We had another big surprise come out of the autopsy. Besides the poison, Joyce’s body was riddled with cancer. Lung cancer. We called her physician, whose name was on her medication. Joyce had chemo, as her doctor explained, with no good results. She stopped the chemo, knowing it was hopeless.”

  I shudder at the realization. Now it makes sense. Her thin hair growing back from baldness! Covering her head with scarves! Her almost emaciated body. Not dieting. Dying!

  Jack shows his astonishment, too. “She was close to dying of cancer? In severe pain. Then surely that’s a reason why she didn’t want to live.”

  I touch Jack’s hand for comfort. “That would explain her wanting to find Arlene. To make amends before she died. Arlene refused her plea for friendship. So Joyce gave up hoping. Doesn’t that make sense?”

  Jack pats my hand. I am trying to hide my agitation. “If only she’d told Arlene, maybe this would never have happened. Maybe Arlene would have forgiven her.”

  Morrie shakes his head. “What’s puzzling is if she wanted to commit suicide, why didn’t she take the morphine? She had plenty of pills left. She had to know how dangerous they were. It would have taken much more Valium to do the job than if she used the morphine. So why did she use Valium and where did the Valium come from?”

  Morrie looks at my expression. He knows I’m hiding something. I never did have a good poker face. “What?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Arlene takes Valium. It was my idea. She was so stressed out I suggested she get something from her doctor to relax her. Couldn’t it be a coincidence?”

  “It’s not likely.”

  Morrie frowns at me as if to say I should know better about coincidences. I do know better.

  “I’m sorry, Gladdy. I have to consider Arlene a person of interest. She hated Joyce. She threatened Joyce in front of witnesses, with a knife. She is quoted as saying she wanted her dead.”

  “But perhaps she didn’t mean it. People say foolish things in anger.”

  “I need to search Arlene’s apartment. Will you come with me? With you at my side, she might agree to let me in. Otherwise I’ll have to get a warrant. Which I will do.”