Murder She Typed

by Sylvia Selfman

  I sat quietly. I could feel Foster’s pain and wished I could think of something more to say than just, “I’m sorry.”

  “What about you, Mitzy?” he asked.

  “It’s Itzy, I mean, Izzy.”

  Foster frowned and slowly mouthed the name. “That’s a strange name for a woman. Only person I know with that name was my wife’s, Uncle Izzy. And he’s dead.”

  “It’s short for Isadora. My mother wanted to be a ballerina so she gave me the name Isadora. After Isadora Duncan. Unfortunately, my name is as close as she got to her dream.”

  “Wow,” he said with a shake of his head, “what a disappointment.”

  I took a sip of my drink wondering whether to feel insulted. Thankfully our food arrived just then so I decided not to care. I’d let the guys enjoy dredging up old memories––while I enjoyed my prime rib and second martini undisturbed.

  After the waiter cleared away our plates, Foster excused himself to “take a leak”––a phrase that distinguishes men from woman, who do not “take leaks.” At least not intentionally.

  I was halfway through my double chocolate cake and two scoops of vanilla when Foster reappeared followed by….

  Really? Twice in one day?

  “Everyone, meet Sondra Sockerman,” Foster said with a flourish as he pulled out a chair for her. “I couldn’t believe such a beautiful woman was sitting alone at the bar so I asked her to join us.”

  So much for his wife, Doris, who was no doubt doing somersaults in her recently dug digs.

  “It was lovely of Foster to ask me to join you. I don’t usually make a habit of going alone to bars but…,” a shadow crossed Sondra’s face, “but I just came from a lawyer and you know how that goes.” She gave a bitter laugh.

  I couldn’t decide if Sondra was pretending that she didn’t recognize me or she actually didn’t recognize me. “You were in my writing class this afternoon,” I announced.

  “Oh? I guess I didn’t notice you,” she replied. Splat! The fly swatter squashed the fly.

  After I finished off the rest of my cake, I had an urgent need to pee, thanks to all of the alcohol and coffee. I also had an urgent need to check my make-up and hair––thanks to Sondra Sockerman, who, for the second time that day, had forced me to take stock of my deficiencies. I excused myself and walked as steadily as I could to the bathroom.

  I studied myself in the restroom mirror. So what if I wasn’t as glamorous or as perfect as Sondra. I looked pretty good. True, if men cared only about looks––I wouldn’t win any prize. On the other hand if they desired someone with a marvelous personality, amazing charm, and vivacious cleverness––well maybe I wouldn’t win any prizes for those things either.

  I looked into my dark brown eyes and ordered, ‘Get over it, Izzy. You’re a fine specimen of a woman. Stop feeling intimidated by Sondra.’ Then I stood up straight and walked back to the table where Merv and Foster were verbally fluttering around Sondra, vying for her attention and generally making fools of themselves. It was obvious that no one had missed me––or had even noticed I was gone.

  “I’ll have another martini,” I announced. When no one responded I repeated it at the top of my lungs, which prompted Merv to inform everyone that I had a hard time holding my liquor and that it was time to take me home.

  As we were saying our good-byes, I could have sworn I saw Merv slip Sondra his card–though I’d be the first to admit that my eyesight and judgment might have been somewhat impaired.

  As Merv made no attempt to lift my mood, I sulked the entire drive home. Nonetheless I was determined not to play the role of the victim. I flung open the door to my condo, and adopted my best Vivien Leigh, Streetcar Named Desire pose. “How about coming in for a little apres-dinner dessert?”

  “You need to go to bed and sleep it off.”

  Rhett Butler he wasn’t. Or was it, Marlon Brando that he wasn’t.

  “But I really want you…right now…,” I whispered as I leaned forward to kiss his neck. He stepped aside and my nose bumped against the door frame.

  “Owwch,” I said, rubbing my nose. I felt my stomach start to gurgle. “I…I think I’m going to…”

  Chapter 5

  “Wait! Tell me again. You threw up all over his shoes?” Flo looked at me aghast as we settled into our seats in the library’s auditorium.

  “I was drunk. Smashed. Besides, it wasn’t my fault. It was her. Sondra Sockerman,” I hissed as I stashed my bag under my seat. “First she comes to my writing group, then she intrudes again when I’m out with Merv and his handsome college buddy. To make matters worse, they go all crazy ga-ga over her. Then Merv doesn’t call me this morning. Which he always does––every morning like the crowing of the cock.”

  “Really? That’s so sweet of him.”

  “Nah, he calls to let me know he’s okay. If he doesn’t, I’m supposed to call 911.”

  “So maybe he had a heart attack.”

  “I wish. But no.” I settled back in my seat. “In fact before you called me to go to this concert I’d called him to come for dinner. And guess what? He turned me down. Said he was too tired. That’s a good one,” I snorted. “He’d never turn down a free meal. He’s up to something. I know it.”

  ‘Puh-lease, Izzy. Cut him some slack. Maybe he was tired. Or maybe he was still trying to get the vomit out of his Bruno Magli’s.”

  The music started up, preventing anymore conversation so I sat back in my seat and tried to relax. The good thing about concerts at the Palm Springs library––aside from being free––is that they’re only an hour long, ending on the dot of 8:00 p.m. It gives the concert goers enough time to find their cars and race back, at 20 mph, to their homes, to be asleep by nine. Which explains why the early bird dinners here start at three in the afternoon.

  We inched our way forward as we followed the line of cars out of the library parking lot. Flo suggested we head to Chez Henri’s for a drink and the possibility of meeting someone interesting—which at our age was defined as a man who had most of his faculties, could still drive a car and didn’t confuse his Viagra-enlarged organ for his brain.

  “No, I have other plans for us,” I said, “We’re doing a stake out. Of Merv’s condo.”

  I had clearly tapped into Flo’s inner Nancy Drew––she made a quick left out of the parking lot and headed east toward Merv’s.

  Chapter 6

  I looked over at Merv’s house. It was all quiet on the eastern front.

  Just as I was thinking that my plan to catch him in flagrante delicto might be farfetched and that we should head back home, his garage door flew open.

  “Look,” I yelled. “I knew it! He’s on the move.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think? Merv! Follow that car. Now!”

  Flo pulled her seat to an upright position, started up her car and zipped up behind him.

  “Are you crazy? Not so close. Hang back!”

  Flo slammed on her breaks. “Do you want to drive?”

  Flo would never let anyone drive her baby, a twenty year old Mercedes, so I knew she was just trying to make a point.

  “Please, Flo, for once act like a real investigator and follow him at a reasonable distance. He can’t know we’re onto him. Make sure you don’t lose him in the traffic.”

  “Traffic? What traffic? There’s no traffic after eight o’clock in Palm Springs.”

  “Slow down,” I yelled. “His left blinker’s on.”

  “I’m not blind,” Flo screamed as she slammed her foot on the brake, causing me to jerk forward and almost hit my head on the dashboard. I decided to withhold any negative comment about her driving though, since every Holmes needs a Watson and I didn’t want my Watson quitting mid-investigation.

  “Go, go,” I yelled. “He’s turning onto Flowering Cactus Lane!”

  He was heading to the only development on Flowering Cactus Lane––Vintage Cactus Country Club. It was a development that was so upscale, its guard house could comfortably
accommodate a family of four. It was also where Sondra had mentioned at dinner that she’d recently bought a condo.

  “Stop,” I screamed. “Stop!”

  “I heard you the first time,” Flo yelled back. “And stop screaming, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Don’t get any closer. Pull over to the side of the road. Cut the engine!”

  We pulled onto the grass and watched in silence from ten feet away as a guard approached Merv’s car and leaned into the driver’s window. A few seconds later, he walked around to the back of the car and wrote down the license plate number. Then he handed Merv a pass.

  The tall iron gates opened wide and Merv slowly drove through, disappearing into the rarified environment of Vintage Cactus.

  “Wow,” Flo sighed, breaking the tension. “Since there’s no way we can get in, I guess that ends our sleuthing for the night. Besides I’m tired and want to go home to sleep.”

  “Sleep?” I made no effort to hide the disgust in my voice. “Not on your life. We’ve come this far, we’re going all the way. So buckle your seatbelts, folks. We’re going in!”

  Before I realized what was happening, Flo slammed car in reverse and was backing out at full speed.

  “Pull over and cut the engine!” I demanded. “We’re not leaving! We can’t leave!” I turned around and watched Vintage Cactus disappearing into the distance.

  “Too late,” Flo chirped, keeping her foot on the gas.

  “But I wanted to wait until Merv came back out,” I whined. “Now that I know that two-timing SOB is visiting Sondra Sockerman, I wanted to see how long he stays. If it’s longer than forty-five minutes, I’d know for sure that he’s delivering a package. His package.”

  Flo looked at me and shook her head. “You’re nuts. Besides where did you learn that word for a man’s genitals?”

  “You think because I didn’t teach high school English like you that I’m an illiterate? I know a few things.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Please,” I begged, trying to guilt her into going back. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon.”

  She glanced over at me and I could see she was on the verge of cracking. Finally she sighed loudly and pulled a screeching U-turn. We were heading back towards the condo gates.

  “He better be out soon,” Flo said under her breath, as she parked on the darkened street.

  “He will,” I said, hoping to mollify her. “Though it does depend how quickly his little blue pill starts working.”

  “From the way you described Sondra, I doubt he’ll need the pill.”

  I shot Flo an angry look but decided not to say anything lest she decided to start the car and drive off.

  After nine minutes of waiting, I could sense Flo’s impatience so I searched through my bag and pulled out the big guns: two miniature bottles of alcohol that I’d bought on the plane coming back from my college friend’s granddaughter’s bat mitzvah in Miami. I kept them around in case of just such an emergency.

  “Look what I have,” I said, waving them in front of her nose. “You can pick first.” I was being magnanimous but hoping she wouldn’t pick the mini-me gin. As luck would have it, however, she chose the gin, leaving me the vodka. I decided not to complain since she’d stopped griping about the stakeout and was now happily sipping her way through the bottle.

  She quickly finished it off and turned to face me. “Now as long as we’re sitting here, it’s time to get down to serious business. I’ve given our exercise program a great deal of thought and I’ve decided we need to change our approach to losing weight.”

  I wondered what ‘our approach’ was but figured it was better not to ask.

  “So…,” Flo said, then paused dramatically. “So, we will begin by eliminating our walks…”

  Yes! The world had suddenly become brighter.

  “…to Starbucks,” she added.

  I stared at her then quickly downed the rest of my mini vodka, fearing she might also decide to eliminate alcohol. “I can’t believe that you’re about to take away my last bit of pleasure that I have in this world,” I moaned.

  It occurred to me that all was not lost. Perhaps there was a bright light at the end of this Starbuck-less tunnel. I had a quick vision of lounging in bed in the morning, munching on a chocolate donut from the Donut Shop, leisurely drinking my coffee while watching the Today Show. “Oh…then I guess we won’t be going walking in the mornings.”

  Flo yawned loudly as she adjusted her seat back to a reclining position. “Oh, we’re going walking all right. But not to Starbucks. You needn’t worry your little head about it, Iz. I have it all figured out.”

  I closed my eyes, dreading what she was going to say..

  “Tomorrow,” she closed her eyes, “tomorrow we are taking a hike.”

  Chapter 7

  I’m not sure what awakened me from my alcoholic stupor. Flo’s screaming, or the pounding on the window. Or maybe it was the bright light blinking on and off illuminating the inside of the car with an eerie red hue.

  “What?” I screamed. “What’s going on?” Was I having a nightmare? I vaguely remembered following Merv to Sondra’s condo then drinking a lot of vodka.

  “Open up!” A man’s voice ordered.

  “Don’t open it,” I hissed at Flo. “Go away!” I yelled through the window.

  “Police, open up now.”

  Flo and I looked at each other in horror. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Quick! Start the engine and let’s get out of here.”

  “No!” she whispered back. “What if it is the police? We’ll be arrested. I don’t want a record!”

  “What if he’s some rapist maniac?” I glanced over my shoulder and found myself staring into a blinding light. “On the other hand he could be a cop.”

  “How will we know for sure?”

  I remembered something I’d read in some mystery book. “Do you have your cell? I whispered.

  Flo nodded nervously and found her phone.

  “Call the police,” I whispered frantically. “We’re not opening up unless I get your badge number!” I yelled out through the window.

  There was a long pause, followed by “8910.”

  “8190,” Flo repeated into her cell phone. A few minutes later she clicked off. “He’s a cop.” We looked at each other, then simultaneously opened our doors and exited the car.

  “Don’t shoot,” I said putting up my hands. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Hopefully he wouldn’t find the two mini bottles––two empty mini bottles, which I’d managed to stash under the seat.

  His eyes made a quick sweep, checking us out. Good God, but he was one handsome devil! Hispanic, possibly Jewish. Thick black hair. The kind that begged you to run your fingers through. Thick black lashes I’d die for.

  Heaven only knew what I looked like. I was not the most glamorous creature after a nap in the first place, and now I probably had deep creases on my cheek from sleeping against the door handle. “What did we do wrong, officer?” I asked, fluffing out my hair as best I could––there was nothing I hated more than flat hair Especially if it was only on one side.

  “Keep your hands above your head,” he snapped.

  I was struck by his soulful dark eyes. Take me, I’m yours.

  “What did we do wrong, officer…,” I checked his badge, ”Martinelli?” My arms were killing me. I hadn’t had this much exercise since I was twenty. “Uh, would you happen to know what time it is?”

  “Hands up, please.”

  “My, what a polite young man,” I said.

  I snuck a glance at Flo who appeared shell shocked. Drool was sliding down her chin, as she stared open mouthed at Officer Martinelli. “Get hold of yourself,” I ordered.

  Officer Martinelli walked over and beamed his flashlight into the interior of the car. Flo and I looked at each other, our eyes wide with fear. What if he found the empty liquor bottles? In the old days it would have been a box of Tampons but those days were long gone. At
our age there were other necessities. One of which he was holding between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Afraid you’ll get hungry on the road?” he asked holding up a stale chocolate doughnut with one bite missing. He leaned into the car again and this time emerged holding the two Oreo cookies that I’d been searching for at the concert. They must have fallen out of my my purse on the way there. “I see you ladies are well-prepared for any emergency.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic, sir,” I said. “You never know when you’re going to get hungry. We don’t always have time to stop at a doughnut shop. Like you cops.”

  Flo, a look of horror written across her face, glanced at me. She was right. I might have gone too far this time. On the contrary, however, I detected a slight smile on Officer Martinelli’s handsome face.

  “Touche,” he said.

  His little touch of French turned me into melted butter. How I longed to slather myself all over his hot buns. “What are you two young ladies doing out past your bedtime?”

  “Oh? What time is it?” I was hoping to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t find the empty liquor bottles and ask me to walk a straight line something I can barely do when sober.

  “One a.m.,” he replied. “Isn’t that late for you girls? Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss your beauty sleep?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Merv’s BMW exiting Flowering Cactus.

  “That’s him!” I screamed. “That’s my boy friend! Was my boyfriend, I mean…”

  “Your boyfriend?” Officer Martinelli looked at me with suspicion. “You wouldn’t by any chance be stalking him, would you?”

  “Stalking?” The word instilled fear in my heart. I had a sudden vision of being in the lockup––not a pretty place if the Lockup series on TV was any indication. “Do we look like stalkers?” I asked indignantly. “I had no idea he was at Flowering Cactus. Honest. Right, Flo?” I punched her in the side.