Getting Old Is Murder

by Rita Lakin

  “Counting all the phases, he’d have to kill off approximately a hundred and fifty of us,” I say.

  Ida still likes her theory. “Instead of serial killers we have mass murderers.”

  “Oh, well, another theory shot,” Evvie says, ignoring Ida. She folds her arms, looking determined. “We’ll get to the bottom of this mess, don’t you worry.”

  “I have something else to report, though it might not mean anything.” With that, I tell them of my funny little conversation with Millie and Yolanda.

  Bella is truly shocked. “Esther Feder is not a cripple?!”

  Sophie is grinning from ear to ear. “I knew it. I knew something was phony with that old broad!”

  “She could be sneaking around when she knows no one is looking, like at night, when Harriet is also sleeping.” Bella looks worriedly from one to the other. Then she brightens. “Maybe she and the Kronk hung out by the Dumpsters together?”

  “But what could it mean?” Evvie asks, ignoring Bella. “It couldn’t mean . . . it couldn’t . . .”

  “I doubt that,” I say, “and besides, look at who told me. Millie? Yolanda? Maybe they made it up.”

  “I can believe it,” Ida says. “She’s plenty strong enough. Think of the muscles she has from wheeling that chair around.”

  “Should we say something to Harriet?” Evvie says.

  “I personally am amazed. Someone as smart as Harriet wouldn’t catch on?” Sophie is not convinced.

  Bella says, “I don’t think we should say anything. Not ’til we’re sure.”

  “We could let a mouse run loose in the house and watch her get up and run,” Sophie offers.

  “Where would we get a mouse?” Bella asks, already contemplating this as a plan.

  “Oh, my God,” says Evvie excitedly. She quickly looks through her purse-size calendar of events. “That reminds me. I’ve been keeping track of everybody’s birthday in our phase. Esther’s birthday is in three days!”

  Bella ponders that aloud. “Well, if Esther was the killer, she wouldn’t kill herself on the night before her birthday. That would be suicide.”

  Sophie jumps in, liking this scenario. “So, if she is killed then it would mean she isn’t the killer. And she’s cleared herself of the crime. Then she wouldn’t have to go to jail.”

  Evvie is excited. “I think we better have a meeting with Harriet, and fast.”

  35

  Warning the Victim-to-Be

  The girls and I crowd in to the Feder apartment, a place we hardly ever visit. For a number of reasons. We are rarely invited. And if we are, we are intensely uncomfortable. So much furniture. Very large, ugly, heavy—totally wrong for Florida. The pieces were undoubtedly expensive in their day, but who would want them? There is only one narrow aisle for Esther’s wheelchair to traverse from room to room, and it must be difficult for her to manage. No wonder she usually parks it at the front screen door and stays there most of the time. I can’t imagine living in a place so claustrophobic. I don’t know how Harriet stands it.

  As the girls try to get comfortable, I start to work my way up to why we are here. “I’m glad we caught you before you went to work,” I say to Harriet.

  “You would have caught me all day. I’ve been switched to the night shift.”

  Bella groans at that and Harriet eyes her curiously.

  Ida looks at Harriet sadly. “Talk about bad timing.”

  “It’s about your birthday,” I say to Esther.

  “What about it? You gonna make me a party?” She cackles.

  Harriet gets it. “You’re worried,” she says quietly, trying to downplay it.

  I nod, as do the girls.

  “What about?” Esther demands to know. She wheels her chair deftly about to face us. Bella stares down at her legs. Evvie pokes her for staring. Ida fingers her sharp Hadassah lapel pin meaningfully. Bella sees it and giggles.

  “Can’t you change your shift back to day?” Evvie asks Harriet, at the same time glaring warningly at the girls.

  “No chance,” she says. “I made a lot of people switch schedules so I could take my vacation last week. I don’t dare ask for another favor.”

  “What are you talking about?” Esther says, her voice strident now. She looks from one to another of us. Then she gets it. “The night before my birthday. You think—” and with that she makes a cutting gesture across her throat. “Eh, what a crock!”

  “We don’t want to take any chances,” Evvie says. “Selma and Francie were killed—”

  But Esther interrupts. “Who says they were killed? Only you girls, spreading rumors. I don’t see any cops around investigating.”

  “Mom, be nice. The girls are only trying to help you.”

  “Who needs their help? I don’t. And besides, Greta didn’t die just before her birthday.”

  “Mom,” Harriet intercedes. “We all think Greta was killed because she knew the killer.”

  “We? We all think? Suddenly these crackpots are your new best friends? Ha!”

  Harriet looks at us, extending her hands, helplessly. I can see Ida getting red hot under the collar, just itching to say something. I shake my head at her.

  Esther keeps jabbering. “Then what about Eileen O’Connor? Her birthday passed and she’s still around. Too bad. She’s such a big mouth, getting rid of her would be a blessing.”

  “Can’t you behave!” Harriet exclaims, embarrassed.

  “Frankly, I think her leaving and going to stay with her sister in Boca probably saved her life,” I say quietly, trying to ignore Esther’s rotten remarks.

  Esther folds her arms. “OK by me. Send me to Miami Beach. I wouldn’t mind a nice cabana for a week. You could also throw in a Cuban beach boy while you’re at it.”

  Harriet smiles wryly. “That’s a great idea. If only we could afford it.”

  “You would say that,” Esther says sarcastically. “You don’t let me spend a dime on anything.”

  Bella is again staring at Esther’s feet, but they stay perfectly still under her blanket. Evvie pokes Bella. Sophie snickers.

  “At least ask if you can have that one night off?” Evvie is determined to ignore Esther’s rudeness.

  “I’ll try, but you don’t know my supervisor.”

  “Then we have to set up some kind of plan,” I say.

  “I agree,” Evvie says. “We can all sit here with Esther until you get home.”

  Ida wants to know what time her shift is over.

  Harriet tells her it’s four A.M.

  Sophie groans at that.

  “Hello? Don’t I have any say in this matter? I don’t need you. I don’t want you,” Esther says. “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “Mom. This is no time to get stubborn.”

  “The whole thing’s stupid anyway. Who’d want to kill me?”

  From the looks on the girls’ faces, I’d say, right now, four people.

  Harriet is exasperated. “Foolish old lady. Why would anybody want to kill Selma or Francie? But they did!”

  “Even if I believed all their chozzerai, you think I’d be afraid? Just let that guy come. I’ll be ready.” Esther makes boxing jabs with her hands as if to show what she would do.

  Sophie laughs out loud.

  “You think I couldn’t?” Esther says, annoyed that they are laughing at her show of bravado.

  “Mom, please. Don’t be ridiculous,” Harriet says.

  Bella tries appeasement. “What have you got to lose? We could keep you company, play a little cards.”

  “Big shots! Nosy old biddies. Mind your own business.”

  Ida is up in a shot. “That does it. Let’s go.”

  Sophie and Bella jump up with her.

  Esther smirks and steers herself out of the cluttered living room and heads down the hall to her bedroom, muttering to herself. “As if I’d eat any food from some stranger! You have to be a moron!” Now she is shouting. “Like the TV show, that’s my final answer!”

  Harriet shru
gs. What else can we say? As we start out the door, she whispers to us. “We’ll talk later.”

  From the bedroom, Esther calls out again, “Don’t forget to send me a present. Just don’t send food!”

  We can still hear her cackling when we step outside.

  Back to square one. What’s that funny saying? No good deed goes unpunished? We’re going to have to find a way to save her in spite of herself. From the looks on the faces of my angry cohorts, I’d say I’ll have a hard time convincing them.

  Under her breath I hear Sophie mutter, “We shoulda let Ida jab her.”

  36

  Double Feature

  How can I describe this day? Everyone is on shpilkes. Shpilkes—an untranslatable word. It’s like going crazy without going crazy. A high state of nervous anxiety. Or—as Ida calls it—ants in your pants.

  Today is the day before Esther’s birthday and our hands are tied. She won’t let us help her. I thought about calling Detective Langford, but what would he say? What the police always say: We can’t do anything unless something happens. So, it’s up to us without Esther’s permission.

  The girls are driving me nuts. They are calling every hour on the hour. Do you see anything? Do you hear anything?

  At three o’clock, there are multiple knocks on my door. I can see four anxious faces through my kitchen window. Reluctantly, I let them in.

  Evvie takes the floor. “We’ve made a decision. We’re going to the movies.”

  “But first dinner,” says Bella.

  “There’s a great double feature at the Reprise Theater. Harriet read about it in the papers and called me,” says Evvie.

  “You’ll really love it,” says Sophie. “Two murder miseries.”

  “That’s ‘mysteries,’” Ida corrects her.

  “Whatever.”

  I look at them in horror. “Are you trying to say we shouldn’t stay home and guard Esther? Have you all lost your minds? Who’s going to be able to concentrate on a movie!”

  “Me!” A unanimous chorus.

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Yes, you can,” says Ida.

  Sophie throws it to first. “We picked a deli right in the same minimall as the theater.”

  Bella takes it to second. “We do the early bird at four-fifteen.”

  Ida makes it to third. “The double feature is from four-thirty to seven-thirty. We’ll be home before Harriet has to leave for the night shift.”

  And Evvie brings it to the plate. “We’ll be home before dark. Well, anyway, it won’t be too dark.”

  “Is that the movie?” I ask. “Wait Until Dark?”

  “No, that’s the plan,” she informs me.

  “So, tell me already.” I can’t believe I’m even asking. “What’s playing?”

  “Sorry, Wrong Number,” Evvie says. “With Barbara Stanwyck.”

  “I love Barbara Sandwich,” Sophie coos. “Is she dead?”

  Bella says, “I think so.”

  “Such a pity, so young,” says Sophie.

  “And No Way to Treat a Lady with Rod Steiger,” Evvie adds. “Perfect for this week’s movie review on golden oldies. Waddaya think? What with all the murders getting in the way, I haven’t had time to write one single review. My fans miss me!”

  I am fairly salivating. Two great classics. What am I thinking? This is crazy!

  Evvie pokes me playfully. “Admit it, you want to go.”

  I am pacing now. Torn, and ashamed of myself. “We have a responsibility here!”

  “To Miss Ungrateful?” Ida says. “Why should we care?”

  “And how will you live with yourselves tomorrow if she’s dead?”

  That stops them for about a minute.

  “The killer won’t do anything until it gets really dark,” says Evvie.

  “You know that for a fact?” I say icily. “He killed Selma around five in the afternoon and Greta early in the morning.”

  Evvie smiles knowingly. “With all the noise we’ve been making, he knows we’re watching. He’ll have to wait ’til he thinks we’re all asleep.”

  “Some watching. He’ll watch us take off for the movies.”

  “Exactly. That’ll fool him. But then he’ll think we’re trying to trick him. See?”

  See? That’s about as clear as mud.

  Bella and Sophie jump up and down, grabbing my arms, pulling at me, like a couple of spoiled five-year-olds. “Please! Pretty please! Let’s go.”

  “All right,” I say reluctantly.

  They are all out the door. Ida has to have the last word. “Downstairs in ten minutes, not a second later!”

  I can’t believe I am sitting in this theater. Those lunatics I live with dragged me so fast, my head is spinning. Rushed to the theater, rushed around looking for a parking spot, fairly dragged me out of the car and raced us all to the deli, so we’d have a whole ten minutes to choke down a dry pastrami on rye. I’m amazed I don’t have indigestion.

  Why did I go? Because Harriet reassures me she won’t have to leave for work until we get home. Because I’m so edgy and the girls so crazed, the movies will relax us. Believe me, I hedged my bet. I called Langford’s office and left him a message. What a world. Even cops have voice mail. Whatever happened to some gum-chewing tough guy saying, “Yeah, waddaya want him for?” My message was to the point. “This is the night before Esther Feder’s birthday. If I’m right, she’ll die tonight. I hope I’m wrong.”

  I also intend to phone in between features.

  Stanwyck is as wonderful as I remember, as the bedridden invalid who overhears two men plot a murder, and I relax into supreme enjoyment. Then that delicious chilling moment when she realizes she is the target!

  Now I find myself staring at the screen. Barbara dials everyone she can think of to get help and I stare, hypnotized, at her hand as it keeps reaching for the phone. What does it remind me of? I think of Selma and Francie and someone else so long ago . . . but who?? It’s been nagging at me since all of this started.

  I lean over to Evvie. “Who was it who died in Lanai Gardens years ago holding a phone?”

  “Wait a minute, this is the good part. Barbara hears someone breaking into the house.”

  “Evvie, this is important.”

  “What?”

  “Someone died a long time ago—”

  “In this movie?”

  “No. Pay attention. In our phase.”

  “Someone we know?”

  “Yes, of course. She died trying to get help.”

  “Shhhhh!” I hear from behind us.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. I talk lower. “Think!”

  “I’m thinking,” she hisses at me.

  “Be quiet!” someone yells at us.

  “Mind your own business,” Evvie yells back. “There’s a film critic sitting here, you know!”

  Someone throws popcorn at us. Ida jumps up, hands on hips. “Who did that!” she shrieks. In a moment, the manager is running down the aisle.

  “If you wanna talk, go home and watch TV!” someone heckles.

  But it all calms down quickly. This isn’t our usual neighborhood theater where everyone talks incessantly throughout every movie. We must be in a theater with real movie buffs.

  I call Harriet at intermission. All quiet, she tells me. Have fun, she says.

  My mind is not on the opening credits for the next feature. I am suddenly starting to remember what I cannot believe I’d forgotten.

  And as if someone on the screen is helping direct my thoughts even further, there’s Rod Steiger, a serial killer, standing in front of the portrait of the mother he hates, the reason he kills older women one after another. Putting on disguises to fool old ladies into letting him in. Leaving his trademark, lips painted on the forehead of the dead women with their own lipstick.

  We are three quarters of the way through the picture when it finally hits me. Maureen Ryan! Denny’s mother. Ohmygod!!!

  The pieces are falling into place.

  I hit Evvie
on her shoulder. “Tell the girls we’re leaving!”

  “But we’re at the thrilling part. Steiger is going after George Segal’s girlfriend, Lee Remick!”

  “Now! Meet me in the lobby.”

  I race out to the lobby bank of phones and I dial Harriet’s number as fast as I can. The line is busy. Come on, Harriet, get off the line! Or is the phone off the hook because Esther knocked it down as she tried calling for help? I try to calm my hysteria.

  The girls tumble out into the lobby, grumbling. This is unheard of. They never leave a movie in the middle. I ignore their complaining. I’m out the door, so they follow.

  “We’ve got to get back now. We’ve got to stop him.”

  “Who?” Evvie asks.

  “Denny,” I say, choking on my traitorous words. There’s no more denying what’s been staring me in the face all along. Denny’s gone bad. “He’s going to kill Esther!”

  They stop dead in their tracks, but I’m still moving.

  “Come on,” I yell. “We haven’t a minute to waste!”

  Quickly, panting with exertion, they run to catch up with me. They are incredulous and frightened now.

  We reach my car as I am groping in my purse for my keys. I can’t find them. I always put them in the outer pocket. Otherwise I’d go nuts digging for them every time. They have to be in there!

  Evvie shoves me nervously. “Open the door already!”

  I hiss at her. “I can’t open the door because I can’t find my damn keys!”

  They are not where they should be, and now I grope anxiously all through my purse. Nowhere! And then I see them. Dangling from the ignition. In all that hurry I locked my keys in! The girls look where I am looking, then back at me, sheepishly.

  God keep me from committing murder, as well.

  37

  Stuck in the Minimall

  By now we have quite a crowd of kibitzers around us. Testimony to boring lives, that everyone in the Hollywood minimall has stopped whatever they were doing to witness these little old ladies’ embarrassment at being locked out of their car. I am not embarrassed, I am livid. With passersby either jeering catcalls or giving us bad advice, the scene is only adding to my aggravation.