by Rita Lakin
His answer is a shake of the head and a cynical smile. We say our goodbyes and hurry to catch up with Sophie.
On the drive home, Sophie keeps smacking the back of my seat. “I won’t.”
Ida says, “You will.”
Sophie says, “I won’t.”
Bella says, “You better or we won’t talk to you anymore.”
Sophie scrunches up her eyes. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”
“Because you’ll be dead. Because your liver will shrivel up and turn into chopped liver. And after you’re gone I’ll take all your clothes and keep them because you won’t need them where you’re going.” Bella sits back, satisfied with her reasoning.
There is silence for a moment, and then Sophie sighs. “All right. I’ll go see another doctor. But you stay away from my closet.”
That’s one fire put out. Hopefully we’ll get a break in the Peeper case soon. I have the feeling the answer is right in front of my nose? And I’m just not seeing it!
The next day, once again this yo-yo heads back up north for yet another hourly drive. Ida and Bella have Sophie well in hand; it’s time I head back to Rich People Land and see what my dear sister has been up to. Good thing Alvin Ferguson is the one paying those high gas prices for his Caddy, and not me.
THIRTY
PLAYTIME AT THE POOL
Evvie smiles, seeing the mob scene at the pool.
Although the pool is Olympic-sized and exquisitely and expensively tiled, it is a rare occurrence when more than a dozen or so people use it.
Today is different, Evvie thinks gleefully. The Most Watched Couple—Philip and Evvie—is making an appearance, jauntily dressed in matching swimsuits and sun hats. They’ve kept to themselves the past couple of days, and among the catty remarks they’ve heard made by some jealous women is that they are antisocial. Philip insists they make friends. Evvie would rather stay by themselves, but he has a point. Better to get them on our side, she thinks.
So today they’re at the pool. They take off their matching tops, kick off their matching flip-flops, and wade in. Philip splashes and Evvie giggles—like teenagers in love.
Word goes around fast and soon there are other swimmers hopping into the pool. And more sightseers turn up to catch the action.
Evvie glances up and sees Hope Watson at her office window, watching the tableau unfolding before her, her eyes like slits as she gnashes her teeth. Eat your heart out, Hope, she wants to say.
Leaders that they are, Philip and Evvie get the swimmers involved in the kids’ game of Marco Polo, in which whoever is “it” closes his or her eyes and tries to catch players by the sound of their voices. There is much splashing and laughing, making everyone feel young again. And there’s plenty of kibitzing from the observers who have gathered around the pool.
A thought pops into Evvie’s head. She remembers Myra and Mrs. Gordon commenting that Philip made friends with all the women at Grecian Villas and Esther Ferguson wasn’t jealous. But Evvie shrugs it off; that has nothing to do with her.
The women may be envious, but they recognize that being in Philip and Evvie’s shadow adds excitement to their lives.
Fun, yes. And scandal, too. For when Philip is “it” and he hears Evvie call out, he manages to grab her and pull her under the water for a tad too long. When they come up for air they’re grinning sheepishly.
Evvie looks up again just in time to see Hope Watson pulling her blinds closed. The expression on her face is one of obvious disgust. Evvie laughs out loud. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of, Evvie admits to herself. I’m finally the star!
THIRTY-ONE
MORE GRIEF
After the Wilmington House attendant takes the Caddy, I am heading inside when I encounter Anna Kaplan, Lorraine Sanders, and Seymour Banks, my dining room companions, coming out. A vintage Lincoln is waiting with the door open. I guess it belongs to one of them.
“Where are you going? To a funeral?” I ask, noting their black outfits.
They look at me, chagrined.
Seymour answers. “We’re going to the cemetery to visit our spouses.”
Oops. That was a faux pas. “Sorry. The clothes threw me off.”
Lorraine gives me a disdainful look. “To show our respect.”
I am curious. “How often do you visit?” I say it reverently, hoping that will get me past my nosiness.
“Once a month,” she tells me.
“What do you do when you come back?”
Anna is annoyed. “Why are you asking these questions?”
I backtrack. “I’m a widow, too. What you do interests me.”
Anna is somewhat mollified. “We don’t do anything. We have our meals and then the rest of our time we stay in our rooms. The day is spent in mourning.” Her eyes tear up.
With that, Seymour helps the sad-faced women into the Lincoln.
As they drive off, I hear Lorraine say, “What nerve!”
I deserve that. But it gives me an idea.
I can’t find Evvie anywhere, so I decide to chat with Hope Watson about my ideas for my tablemates. I find her in her office reading reports.
At the sight of me, she is even cooler than usual, if that’s possible. Her arms immediately cross.
I won’t dawdle. I get right to the point before she throws me out. “Listen, Hope, I am sitting with three people at my table who are still in mourning for their spouses after a very long time. They seem very sad and very lonely. I would like to help them somehow. I know you include medical services. Do you use any out-of-house psychological clinic that does grief therapy? It’s so wasteful that they don’t allow any joy in their lives.”
I wait a moment as Hope looks at me incredulously. “This is what you came to talk to me about? About people you hardly know, who mean nothing to you? Not about your so-called case? I cannot believe you stand there and want to play social worker. You want to talk about grief? I’ll give you grief.”
Uh-oh, here it comes. I brace myself.
“Let’s talk about your sister. And her outrageous behavior.” Her hands move as if they have a life of their own. She rearranges folders on her desk. Moves pens around. Lines up papers. “What about your promises?” She mimics Evvie. “ ‘We’ll be like little mice,’ said your promiscuous sister. ‘You’ll hardly even know we’re here’!”
She laughs harshly. “Hah! She’s turned our lovely home into a circus. Everyone’s in turmoil.” It’s better than sitting around half-dead. I think it but don’t say it.
“Blatantly carrying on with that man.”
“Blatantly is a harsh word, Hope. Surely you exaggerate?”
“You call hugging and kissing in front of everyone not blatant? Or playing hide-and-seek, running around the lobby like naughty children? Or sitting at the piano, with him singing love songs to her, and touching each other.”
He can play the piano and touch? Very ambidextrous. Frankly, I’m as mortified as she is, but I have to defend my sister.
“Hope, don’t forget we’re undercover here. She’s playing a part.”
Hope stands and fidgets with her collar as if it were choking her. “Undercover! Yes, indeed, under the covers with him. Disgraceful. Ladies don’t behave that way.”
She walks me to the door and opens it. “Your sister is a slut! What have you got to say now, Mrs. Gold?”
Oy. There’s only one way out for me. “So, what about it, Hope? Any psychologists you can recommend for bereavement counseling?”
Her mouth drops open. She’s speechless. She hurries to her desk and pulls a card from her Rolodex. And shoves it at me. Then shuts the door in my face. There is one thing I’ve learned about people like Hope Watson: startle her, shock her, and she withers away into submission.
When this is over, my sister is going to owe me big.
It’s a few hours later, and I’ve been pacing in the hallway outside my apartment. From a window I see Philip loading two small suitcases into his trunk. Can Evvie be far behind? I race
down the flight of stairs and hurry outside. And there she is, putting a small makeup bag in the trunk. And wearing yet another new outfit. Yikes! I have to stop her before she buys out that shop. Single-handedly she’s supporting the boutique. Their number-one customer.
Evvie is obviously startled to see me.
“Hi, Philip. Hi, Evelyn. Going on a trip?”
At least she has the decency to blush.
“Just a short one.” Evvie busies herself by spreading her new cashmere sweater over the passenger seat.
I assume my annoying, seemingly clueless, simpering persona. “North, east, south, or west?”
Philip closes the trunk. “Can’t tell. It’s a surprise.”
I glare at Evvie. “How nice for you. May I have a private moment?”
She wants a private moment like she wants the heartbreak of psoriasis. But she does step away. Not too far, in case she needs to beat a hasty retreat.
I run my fingers over the shoulder of the gorgeous two-piece beige linen dress she’s wearing. “Lovely, simply lovely,” I say for Philip’s benefit. Then I whisper in her ear. “Shirley Ferguson is having a conniption about how much you’re spending on clothes. So cut it out! This is not a Hollywood movie. You don’t get to keep the wardrobe.”
She pulls away from me and whispers, “All right, but keep your voice down.”
“There’s a lot going on at home. Don’t you even want to know about your friends? Sophie, especially.”
“Of course I do, but not now.” She can barely stand next to me. She wants desperately to move away. I try to hold her with my stare.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Philip beckons her. “We have a bit of a time pressure here,” he calls out.
Evvie starts to move, but I grab her wrist. “Do you know what you’re doing, sis?”
“More than I ever did in my whole damn life.” She looks at me defiantly.
I’m trying to keep my voice down, but it isn’t easy. “You are way far out of line.”
Evvie pulls away. “Nice chatting with you, Gladys. See you around.”
She sprints away from me and gets into the scarlet red Mercedes convertible. She ties a scarf around her hair and beams a large toothy smile at her Romeo. Still working on the case, is she? And off they go, who knows where. Am I just a wee bit jealous? You bet I am. I was once on a surprise trip. Was it only about a month ago? And I blew it.
I decide to have lunch, because right now I don’t know what else to do. There aren’t many people in the dining room. Not for lunches. Residents usually take day trips or eat in their compact kitchenettes in their apartment suites.
However, my erstwhile eating companions are present. Drenched in their usual gloomy silence. They each have a book propped up in front of them. Don’t they ever have a conversation about anything? I sit down and greet them. They murmur back.
“So, what’s everyone reading?”
Seymour holds his paperback up. Organizing Your Garage.
Hmmm. Perfect reading for someone who no longer has a garage.
“Anna?”
“It’s a cookbook.” Recipes for Eating Alone. For someone who eats with a mob every day, but might as well be eating alone, for all she notices.
“Lorraine?”
“The Fungus Among Us. As if it’s any of your business. Why do you insist on interrogating us? You some kind of spy or something?”
Good guess, Lorraine. I almost start to laugh at that one, but her face remains serious. I hope the book isn’t about foot diseases. “Really, what’s it about?”
“Searching for mushrooms in forests.”
Wow. Talk about not living in the here and now. How can they stand the excitement? This won’t get me anywhere. I make another attempt. “Seen any good movies lately?” I’m almost afraid of what they’ll come up with.
Seymour answers without looking up. “They showed the Hepburn-Tracy one the other night. But I saw it when it played originally. So, I didn’t bother.”
“I don’t go to romance movies. They always make me cry,” Anna contributes.
Lorraine ignores me this time.
I play with my roll, pinching it into tiny pieces, as I think of an approach to this grim threesome. I try to read their personalities. It isn’t easy. They don’t talk all that much unless it’s about missing their dead spouses.
I look over to Evvie’s table. Of course she isn’t there. I try not to wonder where she and Philip have gone.
Suddenly I remember a TV movie some years back called Queen of the Stardust Ballroom. I decide to try that tack. I ask if anyone remembers it. “With that lovely actress Maureen Stapleton.”
Lorraine, annoyed, shakes her head. Seymour says its sounds like a female-type movie; he never saw those, only his wife watched.
Not surprisingly, Anna did. “Isn’t that the one about the woman who goes dancing in that famous dance hall in New York and wins a contest?”
Success. “Yes, that’s the one. She was a widow just hanging around feeling sorry for herself, and someone suggested that she should go dancing.” I smile meaningfully. “And she meets a man and falls in love again. They have a wonderful time dancing. And together they win a contest and she is named queen of that ballroom.”
Lorraine looks up from her book. “Now I remember. She goes home that night and drops dead of a heart attack.” She smirks.
Oops. I forgot that part. “But she dies happy,” I say lamely. Since I have their attention for a moment, I don’t intend to lose it. “That wasn’t the point. She realized that as long as she was still alive, there was a life to lead. New adventures. New feelings. Isn’t it better than shutting oneself off, just letting time go by and not getting the most out of one’s life?”
Losing them again. New tack. I guess it’s time to get personal. “I was widowed, too. I lost so much time when I was wrapped up in my own grief. I wasted all those years and I’m sorry now that I did.”
That holds their interest, somewhat. I reach into my purse and take out the card Hope Watson gave me and place it on the table. “I have the name of a grief therapist nearby. Maybe it’s something the three of you should consider.”
That really gets their attention. And with it, finally, emotions. Though not what I might wish for. They react as if I tossed a rattlesnake on the table.
“What?” Seymour looks confused, his eyes darting every which way, as if he should make a run for an exit.
Anna’s eyes widen. “What has this got to do with me?”
Lorraine slams her book shut. “You are so nosy! What business is it of yours how we spend our time?”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m intruding, but I just hate seeing you sad and living in the past. You’re still here and you hopefully have many years more; why not enjoy them? Surely you don’t think your loved ones would want you to mourn away the rest of your lives? They’d want you to be happy.”
Oh, boy, I am not handling this right. The three of them freeze. Confusion from Seymour, fear from Anna, anger from Lorraine.
Finally, their strongest member, Lorraine, says with a voice of steel, “I think you might consider changing tables. Perhaps you’ll find personalities more suitable to yours elsewhere.”
Dead silence. I’ve only had my salad, and I was looking forward to the lamb cassoulet, but I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. My presence is no longer desired. And frankly, I’ve had it with them. I get up. “I’m truly sorry. I was only trying to help.”
As I leave the dining room, I glance back at my now former table. I can’t believe my eyes. They are having a heated discussion. Actually talking to one another. Well, maybe fury is better than boredom. Maybe getting mad at me put some excitement into their day.
I remind myself of that comic strip character from many years ago, Mary Worth, who stuck her nose in everybody’s business. An irritating, sappy bore who spoke only in cliches and platitudes. Like me. Today.
Boy, did I hate her.
&n
bsp; So what am I supposed to do around here if my “case” has left the premises?
Well, I know one thing I don’t want to do is imagine what Evvie and “Romeo” are up to.
THIRTY-TWO
FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN
Evvie can’t believe her luck. What a glorious day. And she’s doing something she’s never done before, even though she’s lived in Florida for more than twenty years. She glances over at Philip, standing at the wheel of this obviously expensive yacht he’s rented. He looks windswept and gorgeous as they glide down the Intracoastal Waterways—the ICW, as Philip calls them. The water seems like jade velvet. It couldn’t be more perfect.
They pass one awesome waterfront mansion after another. Her jaw drops. It’s amazing, the differences in the way people live in this state. Will she ever be content going back to Lanai Gardens after all this? A line from an old song flashes into her head: “How ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm, after they’ve seen Paree.” Perhaps everything is going to change forever, now that Philip is in her life. For one brief moment, Evvie lets herself remember she’s supposed to be on a case, that this man is suspected of murder. But she’s sure now. She’s spent enough time with him. He’s kind and loving and cares about other people. She’s watched for the red flag to come up and warn her, but he hasn’t made a false move. This man could never hurt anyone. Alvin Ferguson is wrong. Now, all she has to do is convince Gladdy. Yes, she’s been selfish and self-involved. But surely Gladdy can understand what it’s like to be caught up in passion? She’ll make it up to her once Gladdy understands that this man is a good man. A man Evvie now dreams she might spend the rest of her life with.
What a romantic. There’s champagne; dinner is already on board, waiting to be heated later. Maybe much later, she grins to herself. We don’t have to leave the ship, Philip tells her with a sexy, knowing look. It’s as if she’s living a dream. Seventy-three years old and she’s never known such happiness before. And what feelings of love and passion! Never did she think she deserved such joy. From her lowly beginnings to this—she’s come so far.