by Lois Winston
Jin answers mildly, “Just trying to help out. The kids are doing a nice job.”
“What kids?” She can’t pull her voice down.
“The kids in the show.”
“Kids? You mean those half-baked old farts are running around town trying to make arrests?”
Uh oh, I think, not a smart way to put it.
Jin stays relaxed. “Are Gladdy and her Associates still there?” So respectful.
“Yes,” she hisses.
“Hi girls,” he calls. “Did they fill you in? How about that selfie!”
“Never mind that, what are you doing out on the streets?”
“Well, first we had to make sure they couldn’t escape, so Uly Gregson, he plays Monsieur Renaud, he’s a charmer, and that darling boy who plays, Albin, so adorable…”
Barbara interrupts. “Spare me the reviews. What are they doing?”
“Done, darling cousin. Done. Let the air out of the killers’ tires, so they had to try to escape on foot.”
“Oh, God.”
Gregg says, “Whatever happed to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Where are they now?”
“Well, they split up and it’s been quite a problem to unravel where they went. Smythe was spotted trying to hurry a cab to head for the airport. But there was so much traffic, the cab couldn’t get through.”
“What traffic? What are you talking about?” I wish she would stop yelling.
“Well it’s pretty funny. Everyone on our boat trip got involved, ‘bout 40-50 cast people, and families are racing down alternate streets, running in the gutters, cars have to pull over. It’s a scream.”
“What’s a scream?” Her voice getting hoarse.
“Well, when Smythe takes one look at big Moe. He’s six-seven. Set builder. Great with a plunge router. He opens the cab door and Smythe crawls meekly out, sobbing into his hanky. Do straight men still use hankies?”
With hardly taking a breath, he goes on. “Then some of the people in the streets recognize the cast and they decide it’s fun to join in whatever it is they are doing, so that adds about 20-30 more or so, then…” He cackles. “You hadda be there to believe. One guy yells out. “Watcha doing, Jin? Wrong month for the Gay Pride parade. And I think its Philby, he raises and lowers our curtains, yells back. “We can have a parade whenever we want.” So this guy who yells, says “So count me in and he joins them in the middle of the street with two of his buddies. Then it becomes a free for all for lots of the LGBT’s out there. And then everyone breaks into the song from Cage- I Am What I Am. Isn’t that cool? So we’re talking one hell of a parade.”
By now Barbara is a shimmering mass of jelly. “He wants to be a cop. My cousin wants to be a cop and I encouraged him.”
Bud takes over the phone. Gregg tries to comfort Barbara, who is repeating, “I’ll be fired. I’ll be fired. I know I’ll be fired.”
Bud asks, “Where’s Mr. Smythe now?”
“Back in his office waiting for one of you to come pick him up. He looks like he’s either writing a note to his wife or writing a confession.”
Bud again, “And Mr. Love?”
“That’s trickier. We lost him on Duval.”
Gregg leans towards us to explain.” That’s the busiest street in all of Key West. A gazillion tourists.” Grim, “Now watching a parade.”
Bud says. “May I suggest, we send some policemen over to help you search?”
Jin must be smiling. “Sure, if you want. Gee, it must be so much fun being a cop.”
Bud, droll, “A barrel of laughs kid. It’ll be fun to have you aboard someday.”
I wonder if Bud meant it or was that sarcasm? Maybe he wants to kill him.
Now that our job is done and the police are on it, time for us to leave.
Nobody notices us walk out.
Poor, blubbering Barbie. She doesn’t seem to be cut out for police work.
TWENTY
All’s Well That Ends Well Enough.
Breakfast, the next day. It’s heartwarming to us; what a lovely sendoff Teresa gives on our behalf. We are heroes who solved a terrible crime. Bad guys in jail. Wassinger house saved. With a big write-up in the local newspaper with that hilarious photo of a Cage actor, naked above the waist revealing the hairiest chest ever, and below, a pink tutu with matching pink ballet slippers, carrying a huge bird cage with a real canary in it. In his other hand some sort of antique killing weapon, a truncheon. Brandishing it as he runs after lawyer Love down Duval Street.
We are surrounded by our new buddies. Jin, of course. The Wassingers. Robert’s four fishing buddies, Tony, Clipper, Donny and Vito. Maybe they’ve come just for the free breakfast. Some of the cast and workers on La Cage aux Folles, definitely here for the free breakfast.
We saw the play last night and enjoyed it, though Bella kept bothering us with questions every minute. Why are those people mad at those other people? Is their maid really naked under his apron? Or is that “her” apron? What is that club where everybody dances looking weird in those glittery costumes? Why are the police running on the stage after them? On and on. We whisper shhh, we’ll tell you later, but we don’t.
While we finish our breakfast, my girls and I are asked some thoughtful questions:
Clipper asks, “Why do you think those lawyers, Love and Smythe, didn’t hire a pay-to-kill guy to do their dirty deed? They could afford it.”
Evvie’s answer: “But they couldn’t afford to take the chance. Too dangerous. Leaves them open to blackmail.”
Tony. “Love is a shrewd guy. How come he didn’t get the iPhone in the boat? They knew there was one, because of the first selfie.”
I answer, “Just guessing. A number of possibilities. He had to jump on the boat, kill Robert before Robert saw him. Do it fast, in case any other boat came by. Forgot the phone due to nervousness? Or he looked for it and missed seeing it? Probably needed to rush back in time to make sure of his alibi.”
Vito, sarcastic. “Yeah, in some motel with his ding-a-ling dumb receptionist.”
Jin, “You know, I had to dig all around before I found the phone stuck in a wedge of wood. I got lucky. Maybe he just couldn’t find it.”
Ida. “That’s probably why he pulled the stopper out. To make sure the boat would sink.”
Evvie, “There’s a well-known certainty about criminals. They make mistakes.”
Donny, “That one was a doozie. Glad he blew it.”
Teresa, angry, “Arrogance. They were both so arrogant; they felt sure they could get away with it.”
Louie and Sadie throw us a kiss. “You saved us,” both say gratefully.
“A toast,” Teresa says, raising her coffee cup. “To Gladdy Gold and her amazing girls. They are terrific Private Eyes.” And the cups are raised on high.
Respect at last.
TWENTY-ONE
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig.
We say goodbye, with much hug s from one and all, pack up the old Chevy wagon, full of goodies for the road from Teresa, and off we head back for home.
We’re only a mile or two down the highway when Sophie goes directly into complaint mode. “We never saw anything in Key West. Not a museum. Not the Truman winter home. No sunset cruise. No steel drums. Nothing.”
Bella objects. “We did see Papa’s mansion with all the cats.”
Ida can’t resist. “Yeah. At midnight, with a flashlight.”
Bella. Not even one slice of key lime pie.”
Sophie. “No eating in seafood restaurants.”
Evvie. “No sunsets at that famous Mallory place.”
Ida. “All right already. We came to do a job and we did it.” Snarky, now. “Even if we didn’t get paid.”
Quiet for a while. There’s an elephant in the car, so to speak.
Evvie is first to fold. Low voice, embarrassed. “Okay. I admit I saw him.”
Sophie, pauses, then shrugs. “I thought I was the only one. I saw him, too.”
I admit I
did, too.
I guess Ida is the only holdout. Then saying it fast, as if that makes it easier to spit out. “So, did I, dammit.”
Bella. “What are you all talking about? Who did you see?”
Me. “He was standing across the street.”
Evvie. “Laughing at us.”
Sophie. “Real hunky.”
Ida. “Egotistical SOB.”
Bella pokes Sophie, sitting to her left, then Ida on the right. “Who? Who?”
Evvie, “Papa…”
Ida, “Hemingway…”
Me, “in that dashing red bullfight cape…”
Sophie, “smoking a Cuban cigar.”
Bella’s eyes pop wide open. “You saw him, you really saw him!”
Ida. “He even waved.”
Bella starts laughing and hiccupping and can’t stop. “And I thought I was crazy.”
I reach for an envelope out of my purse, next to my seat. “It’s a note from Mrs. Wassinger. I saw Sadie stuff it in while we were eating breakfast. Evvie, please read it.”
Evvie opens the envelope. She reads, “Dear sweet Gladdy and your sweet girls. Thank you so much for helping us. Now that Papa has left this mortal coil and is on his way to the pearly gates (at least I hope he gets in), we no longer care about the house. We are putting it up for sale and with the money, retiring to Paris. Thanks again. Sadie and Louie.”
“Un-be-lievable!” says Sophie.
“All that work for nothing,” says Evvie.
“No check for us in that envelope, I suppose.” Says Ida.
Quiet for a while, maybe thinking of Papa and the miracle of us seeing him at last. The cape and cigars released him from being earthbound? Who knows? Maybe we all saw nothing and thought we saw something. A group optical illusion?
“Okay,” I say, “when we get home, not one single word about having a ghost for a client.”
Bella, “But I did…” Another swipe at her from both Ida and Sophie. “You did not!”
Me again. “Swear, swear none of you will never, never, ever mention it.”
Everyone swears.
Bella, “Not even as a ghost story?”
Four voices screech “NEVER!”
Quiet for a few minutes, then Ida, “I’m thinking about revenge. What we’ll do to Hy Binder for putting us on that you tube…”
Deep thinking, then:
Sophie, “You know those teeny, tiny alligators they sell? We get one and drop it in his toilet.”
Ida, “Spray paint his precious Ford Fiesta with skunk juice.”
Bella, “Steal his ugly bathing trunks off their balcony and cut holes in them.”
Raucous laughter.
And for the rest of the trip, that is the only discussion.
~*~
Gladdy Gold and her girls continue to appear in their many hilarious adventures in the seven other books in the Getting Old is Murder Mystery Series.
About the Author
Award-winning author Rita Lakin’s Gladdy Gold series has been widely reviewed, calling it “sassy and smart,” “with twists worthy of Agatha Christie’s…Miss Marple,” “a must-read mystery.” She writes other suspense mysteries and short stories. In non-fiction, her Emmy nominated memoir, The Only Woman in the Room, is about her twenty-five years as a pioneer woman writer in the field of television when it was an exclusively male-dominated world. In her breezy, but heartfelt remembrance she rises from secretary to producer and show runner of her own series. Reviewed “for forging a marvelous path through fears and heartbreak.”
Connect with Rita at her website: www.ritalakin.com
Books by Rita Lakin
The Gladdy Gold Mystery Series
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
Stand-Alone Thriller
The Four Coins of the Kabbalah
Fiction/YA
A Summer Without Boys
Multi-Author Anthologies and Boxed Sets
Sleuthing Women II: 10 Mystery Novellas
Bronx Noir
Nonfiction
The Only Woman in the Room