Praise for

THE GLADDY GOLD MYSTERIES

“This is one sassy and smart series with a colorful gang of senior sleuths.”

—Mystery Scene

“Beyond the skillful blend of Yiddish humor, affectionate characters and serious undercurrents … picks up speed and flavor with some twists worthy of Agatha Christie’s archetypal dame detective, Miss Marple.”

—Publishers Weekly

“What gives the book its warmth is the way Lakin has turned this group of friends into a family who are there not only for the fun and laughter but also for the heartbreak and tears.”

—Romantic Times

“Young and old, Jewish, Protestant, atheist, all will love this tale told with clarity, wit and interesting characters. This is a must-read mystery.”

—I Love A Mystery

“An entertaining cozy mystery series with a set of lovable and oddball characters. The mystery has a puzzling plot with twists and turns that will surprise readers.… Retirement takes on a new meaning after spending time with Gladdy and her gladiators!”

—Fresh Fiction

“Rita Lakin shows a real flair for comic mysteries.… The plotting is expert, but the background color of life among older retired people is wonderful (and sometimes very poignant).”

—Connecticut Post Forum

“This is a funny, warm, absolutely delightful tale … a must read.”

—Mysterious Women

“An unforgettable romp … Lakin’s characters are zany, her writing is witty and crisp, and anyone who’s ever visited one can attest that her peek at life in a Jewish Florida retirement center is portrayed both accurately and tastefully.”

—Cleveland Jewish News

“Wonderful dialogue and a touch of romance enlivens this delightful breeze of a tale.”

—Kaw Valley Senior Monthly

“Sassy, funny and smart … Lakin sprinkles humor on every page, but never loses respect for her characters.”

—New Hampshire Senior Beacon

“It is a tribute to Lakin’s talent that she is able to mingle comedy and murder successfully.”

—Dade County Jewish Journal

“If getting old is this much fun, maybe I won’t mind! Miss Marple, move over.… Rita Lakin’s witty romp through a Florida retirement community is just the thing for what ails you!”

—PARNELL HALL, author of the Puzzle Lady mysteries

“So who knew a retirement community could be so dangerous—and so much fun.… Lakin handles her characters with dignity, compassion, and love, while allowing them the full extent of their eccentric personalities.”

—VICKI LANE, author of Old Wounds

“A truly original voice. Great fun from start to finish. Plan to stay up late.”

—SHELDON SIEGEL, New York Times

bestselling author of The Confession

BY RITA LAKIN

Getting Old Can Kill You

Getting Old Is Très Dangereux

Getting Old Is a Disaster

Getting Old Is To Die For

Getting Old Is Criminal

Getting Old Is the Best Revenge

Getting Old Is Murder

Getting Old Can Kill You is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Dell Mass Market Original

Copyright © 2011 by Rita Lakin

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Dell Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

DELL is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-440-33842-0

Cover design: Marietta Anastassatos

Cover illustration: Hiro Kimura

www.bantamdell.com

v3.1

This book is dedicated to Judy.

My sister. My friend.

“What is the secret of your life?” asked Mrs. Browning.… “Tell me, that I may make mine beautiful, too.”

He replied: “I had a friend.”

—JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

Contents

Cover

Other Books by This Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Introduction to Our Characters

Best Friends

1 - The Honeymooners

2 - Meanwhile Back at the Condos

3 - The Return

4 - Bill of Divorcement

5 - Arlene Tells Gladdy

6 - Detective School

7 - Friday Night Welcome Party

8 - Friendship

9 - The Married Couple

10 - Where Is Seymour?

11 - Ida Franz and Associates

12 - The Pool

13 - Seymour’s Apartment

14 - Shopping Spree

15 - At Rico’s Pad

16 - Lunch with Morrie

17 - The Cooking Club

18 - A Waiting Game

19 - The Candy Machine Case

20 - Stakeout

21 - End of Quiet

22 - Morrie Arrives

23 - The Plot Thickens

24 - Arlene Reacts

25 - Evvie Comes Home

26 - Morrie Brings Bad News

27 - Morrie and Arlene

28 - The Roar of the Crowd

29 - Our Meeting with Morrie

30 - The Dream Team

31 - Surprise!

32 - Visiting Hours

33 - The Rich Lady

34 - Back to the Kitchen

35 - The Business Manager

36 - Where There’s A Will

37 - Morrie Listens

38 - You Ought to Be in Pictures

39 - Chasing the Facts

40 - Tomorrow

41 - A Wonderful Day

42 - Seymour

43 - A Star Is Born

44 - Graduation Day

Acknowledgments

Introduction

to Our Characters

GLADDY AND HER GLADIATORS

Gladys (Gladdy) Gold, 75 Our heroine and her funny, adorable, sometimes impossible partners:

Evelyn (Evvie) Markowitz, 73 Gladdy’s sister. Logical, a regular Sherlock Holmes. Now remarried to Joe

Ida Franz, 71 Stubborn, mean, great for an in-your-face confrontation

Bella Fox, 83 The “shadow.” She’s so forgettable, she’s perfect for surveillance but smarter than you think

Sophie Meyerbeer, 80 Master of disguises, she lives for color coordination

YENTAS, KIBITZERS, SUFFERERS: THE INHABITANTS OF PHASE TWO

Hy Binder, 88 A man of a thousand jokes, all of them tasteless

Lola Binder, 78 His wife, who hasn’t a thought in her head that he hasn’t put there

Enya Slovak, 84 Survivor of “the camps” but never survived

Tessie Spankowitz, 56 Chubby, newly married to Sol

Millie Weiss, 85 Suffering with Alzheimer’s

Irving Weiss, 86 Suffering because she’s suffering

Mary Mueller, 60 Neighbor whose husband left her; nurse

Joe Markowitz, 75 Evvie’s ex-husband, now remarried to her

ODDBALLS AND FRUITCAKES

Sol Spankowitz, 79 Now married to Tessie

THE COP AND THE COP’S POP

Morgan (Morrie) Langford, 35 Tall, lanky, sweet, and smart

Jack Langford, 75 Handsome and romantic, Gladdy’s new husband

OTHER TENANTS

Arlene Simon, 80

Merrill Grant, 77

Lauderdale Lakes, 1955

Arlene Steiner feels giddy as she enters the foyer of her tiny third-floor apartment and takes a deep breath. It’s Wednesday, 11 A.M., and here she is getting off early on a weekday—for the first time!

Thank you, Woolworth’s, for having a busted water pipe and giving all us employees the rest of the day off. The apartment is so wonderfully quiet, and it’s nice to be home all by herself. Feeling daring, she tosses her purse down onto the green Formica and chrome kitchen table. She never does this when her husband’s at home. Edward’s motto is: A place for everything and everything in its place. Not that she minds him being so opinionated about everything. He’s right. They have a small space and clutter would only make it smaller. For a moment she reflects fondly on growing up, how her room was always a mess, but her mom never seemed to mind. Besides, she never had a problem finding her things when she needed them.

She opens her Kelvinator fridge and pours herself a glass of milk. What shall she do with all these extra hours? Well, there’s always the laundry. But that’s a Saturday job. It can wait. She doesn’t want to waste this gift of free time.

She could do something special for her darling Edward.

She smiles at the thought, remembering how he insisted on their first date that she call him Edward. Not Eddie, not Ed, not even Ned. How did she ever land such a drop-dead-handsome guy? Six feet tall, wavy brown hair, sexy blue bedroom eyes, a physique like an athlete. He could have been a movie star.

If Mamma were only alive, she thinks. It was every Jewish mother’s dream. Her daughter married a doctor—a plastic surgeon, even. Though Arlene never even finished high school, it didn’t matter. Even if once in a while Ed—she corrects herself—Edward, makes her feel, well, not so smart as he is.

Still sipping her milk, she walks into the living room and glances at herself in the wide gilt mirror hanging over the hi-fi cabinet that Edward picked out. She examines herself critically. Five feet small, petite, fashionably slim. Long blond hair in a pageboy style. Light blue eyes. She wears very high heels to seem taller. Pretty is as pretty does, Mamma used to tell her.

She switches on the hi-fi and places the needle into the groove of her favorite record. Her body sways to Frank Sinatra singing “Young at Heart.” She hugs herself and dances, singing along. “Fairy tales can come true. It can happen to you …” The song and the way Sinatra sings it bring her to tears; she doesn’t know why, but it makes her feel restless and lonely.

She’s never been good at making friends, except for Joyce, her very best and only friend since childhood, living on the second floor in the apartment directly below theirs. Joyce was such a good friend that she’d moved in right after the wedding, just to be near Arlene. Arlene doesn’t know what she’d do without Joyce, who is more like a sister than just a friend.

Joyce is Arlene’s opposite—dark, very curly hair; velvety brown eyes. Kind of a cuddly body. It was fun when they used to go out together. Guys would be attracted to either “the skinny blonde” or “the buxom brunette.” Arlene was sure Joyce would be the one to get married first, but Arlene turned out to be the lucky one.

Arlene suddenly gets a great idea. She’ll call Joyce at work and maybe they can have lunch together. They’ve never been able to do that. The telephone company where Joyce works is too far away from Woolworth’s—especially since she is only allowed a half hour off. What a treat this could be! But then she remembers that Joyce has a dentist’s appointment at lunchtime today. Oh, well.

Arlene pouts for a moment. It hasn’t been easy for the friends to get together. Early on she invited Arlene up for dinners but Edward has never made her feel comfortable and Joyce says she won’t go places where she isn’t welcome. Maybe when Joyce gets married, it will be different. They’ll be two couples, then, and Edward would have another man to talk to while the women gabbed. Won’t that be fun?

She sits down on the couch and picks up the book that she left on the kidney-shaped coffee table—Marjorie Morningstar, a new bestseller. She can really identify with the story of a young Jewish girl who falls in love with a handsome, talented guy. She settles back against the cushions and tries to read, but once she realizes she’s read the same two lines over again, she gives up, unable to concentrate.

What to do? What to do? How about making Edward’s favorite dessert tonight? A romantic evening. That’s what they need. He’s been distracted recently—working late hours. Candles and wine and his favorite key lime pie after a hearty dinner, that’s the ticket. Their fifth anniversary is coming up, and Edward promised they could have a belated honeymoon since he couldn’t get away while he was in med school. Now that he has his own practice, maybe he can squeeze it in. Arlene has always wanted to go to Niagara Falls. But he said maybe twice. Not a good sign.

Tonight she’s determined to change his mind. She’ll wear the nightgown she bought and hid for a special occasion. She giggles. They better travel soon. Because her next big wish is for a baby. Twenty-five years old is getting kind of late for a baby, and once that happens, no more trips, that’s for sure.

She’s getting excited. Lots to do to get ready.

In the kitchen she happily checks her supplies. She has enough limes. And plenty of graham crackers to make the pie crust. She’s got the condensed milk and the eggs. Oh, no, she’s out of vanilla. Not a problem. She knows Joyce will have some.

But wait. She’d better make sure Edward won’t be late tonight and spoil all her dinner plans. He’s made her promise never to interrupt him at his office or at the hospital, but surely he won’t mind when she just needs to ask him this one little thing. It will only take a minute. His nurse can get the answer for her if he’s busy.

She dials his office and the answering service picks up. Darn it, it must be his lunch break. She asks the operator what time he’ll be back. The operator primly informs her that Dr. Steiner isn’t in today. His office is closed on Wednesdays.

It takes Arlene a few moments to realize she is still clutching the phone after the operator has disconnected. She puts it down. How could that be?

Suddenly a series of photos come to mind. An article—was it in Life magazine? Doctors playing golf on Wednesdays. Edward plays golf, that must be it. But she’s certain he plays only on Sundays. He always goes to work on Wednesday. There must be a logical explanation.

Something’s not right.

Don’t think about it now. Discuss it tonight. Plan the dinner. Keep busy.

She ties on the apron that she bought at an Avon house party a few weeks earlier. Suddenly she’s a whirlwind of activity. Pulls out the pots she needs. Lays out the ingredients, all in a row. Removes the steak from the freezer to defrost. Takes the peeler out for the potatoes.

Suddenly she remembers the vanilla. She grabs her set of keys off the foyer shelf and heads out the door. Useful that she and Joyce have keys to each other’s apartments in case of an emergency.

Arlene unlocks Joyce’s door and walks into a bad movie. A trail of garments lies on the floor. Red satin high-heel shoes seem to lead the way through the foyer. Followed by silk stockings. A garter belt points toward the living room, where she finds a matching red satin dress with a low-cut bodice casually thrown across an armchair. Dangling garnet earrings tossed on a side table right outside the bedroom door.

For a brief hopeful moment Arlene thinks that perhaps she’s in the wrong apartment. Joyce doesn’t own sexy stuff like that. Joyce is very neat. She hangs up her clothes.

She hears sounds from the bedroom. She giggles, quickly putting a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. Maybe Joyce brought her dentist home with her. Wouldn’t that be nice?

But as Arlene turns to leave she recognizes her husband’s brown woven Thom McAn Oxford shoes off to one side of the living room. And there are his argyle socks. And his Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts.

“Is somebody there?” Joyce’s voice calls out.

For one hysterical second, Arlene is tempted to shout out the comedy line “Nobody here but us chickens,” but it sticks in her throat.

Then her husband’s voice says, “You’re imagining things,” and he lets out a seductive chuckle that his wife has never heard before.

“I am not. I could swear I heard a key in the lock.”

Run, Arlene, run. But she’s rooted to the spot.

Joyce appears in the living room doorway. And sees Arlene. “Oh, shit! What the hell are you doing here?”

Time slows down. Arlene takes in the fact that her friend is naked. She hasn’t seen her that way since high school gym class. When did her body get so perfect? Joyce’s been to the beauty parlor and hennaed her hair. And she smells heavily of Shalimar.

Arlene manages to squeeze out the now-foolish words. “I came to borrow vanilla.”

Edward appears wearing a T-shirt and a towel wrapped around his waist. There are lipstick stains on his sleeve.

Why is she bothering with these details? Isn’t her life ending right at this time and in this place? Can’t she see that?

Edward, frozen, can only reiterate, “Oh, shit!”

Joyce turns on Edward. “I warned you to break it to her. This wouldn’t be happening.”

“I told you I’d tell her in my own way and my own time.”

“Yeah, well, your time just ran out.”

“What is she doing here?”

“Damned if I know. She says she came to borrow vanilla.”

They are behaving as if Arlene isn’t in the room.

Finally she finds her voice and confronts Edward. It’s an edgy voice. She points at Edward’s shoes and socks. “A place for everything. Everything in its place?”

He looks at her as if she’s gone mad. Maybe she has.

Her voice grows stronger. “You think I liked all those years I spent in Woolworth’s Ladies Foundations Department so I could send you through medical school?”

She turns to Joyce. “And you, my best friend! We know each other from kindergarten!”

Joyce shrugs. “Hey, hon, I always did like the guys who liked you.”

With that Arlene lurches at Joyce and grabs at her hair. “I’m gonna tear every phony red hair out of your head! You do this behind my back? Since when did my close friend and my husband get so cozy? I thought you hated each other!”

Joyce howls, trying to pry her off. “Stop it!”

Edward stands watching in hideous fascination.

Arlene pulls Joyce’s hair harder. “Suddenly you’re a floozy wearing low-cut dresses with your boobies hanging out? Where is your loyalty?”

Joyce shouts at her lover, “Ed! Do something!”

Arlene is astonished. Ed? She gets to call him Ed? It is indeed a day of wonders.

Ed shrugs, helpless.

“Crazy—you’re crazy!” Joyce screams. “Why are you only picking on me?”

Arlene grins at her but it’s not a pretty sight. “I intend to curse him every day of his miserable life. Not only every day, but especially Wednesdays when doctors get to play golf!”

Edward winces.

“Ouch!” Joyce screeches as Arlene tears the necklace from around her neck. “My Chai! Give me back my lucky Chai.”

“You mean the present I bought you for your eighteenth birthday?” Arlene shrieks. “Lucky eighteen. Well, your luck just ran out!”

Joyce wrenches away, falling backward into a chair, arms and legs splayed.

Arlene knows how superstitious her friend is. She twirls the necklace in front of Joyce’s face as she taunts, “You’re doomed. Jewish mysticism can’t help you now. You’ll never have a happy day as long as you live. When you die, you’ll die a horrible death!” She throws the necklace back at her.

For a moment they are a silent tableau: she and Joyce gasping for breath, Edward staring at his wife in horror.

He laughs nervously. “Darling,” he croons to Arlene, “you’re young yet. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll find someone else. I never meant to hurt you.”

Joyce lifts her arms as if in supplication. “We just fell in love. It happens.”

Arlene turns and walks into the kitchen. “Where’s the vanilla? Where’s the damn vanilla?” She pulls the butcher knife out of its wooden holder on the counter, shouting, “I should kill you both now!”

They follow her carefully into the kitchen and stare at her brandishing the knife.

“No, better yet, maybe I’ll cut your faces up. Hey, Ed, I know a good plastic surgeon who might be able to put your nasty scheming faces back together!”

They gape at her, terrified.

With that Arlene drops the knife and flees past them out the front door.

She races upstairs. Her fingers shake as she opens her door. She barely makes it inside before she collapses in tears, sobbing onto the foyer floor.

Now she’ll never get to Niagara Falls!

“Fantastic,” Joe says to his new bride. “What a great idea. You gals choosing Niagara Falls.”

“Again,” my sister, Evvie, says cheerfully. She reaches out to touch Joe’s arm, ignoring the clinging wetness of his souvenir poncho. “What about the fact that you and I came here for our first honeymoon?”

Standing next to Evvie and Joe, my brand-new husband, Jack, and I are huddled together on the deck of the Maid of the Mist, the blue tour boat that takes visitors alongside the massive, amazing waterfalls located on the border between New York and Canada—as close as it’s possible to get. The dark blue ponchos that came with the admission price barely keep us from getting drenched by the spray. But that’s supposed to be part of the fun.

My sister and I had an unforgettable double wedding and now we are sharing a honeymoon. And what a wedding it was. Not only did we walk down the aisle but so did a gorgeous French lady who still had a crush on Jack, albeit only because she was being chased by a killer who was determined to murder her. I’m sure our neighbors are still talking about it back home in our condo community, Lanai Gardens.

What a long way we’ve come. Joe and Evvie’s rocky marriage ended in divorce—then half a century later Joe shows up again, needing, wanting to be with Evvie in the last days of his life.

And what about me? Widowed young and never imagining another man could take my first husband’s place—and yet, here I am. Seventy-five and starting out again, my wonderful Jack at my side. I feel so lucky.

Joe leans to kiss Evvie’s wet face. “I’m having a better time this trip.”

Evvie can’t resist a little dig. “And whose fault was that? Did it have to take you fifty years to grow up?”

Joe laughs. “All right, I’m a slow learner.”

Jack says, “I have a confession. Fay and I had our honeymoon here, too.”

I glance at my darling, surprised. “Why didn’t you say so? We could have gone somewhere else.”

Jack shakes his head. “I didn’t want to spoil it. You were excited about coming here. And I’m sure my late wife would approve.”

“My first honeymoon was at a small hotel in the Catskills,” I say. “But I’ve always wanted to see this remarkable place. Thank you for allowing me this pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jack says, smiling lovingly at me.

I look around at the couples kissing and hugging. I snuggle closer to my man.

Evvie and I exchange meaningful glances. Since we’ve been able to read each other’s minds all our lives, I’m aware of what she’s thinking. He’s in remission, but we don’t know how long Joe has before the cancer kicks back in. She wants to make every precious moment count.

Evvie remarks, “Isn’t Niagara Falls considered kind of corny these days? I’m surprised newlyweds still come here.”

I remind her how hard it was to get reservations. “The New York side of the falls is just as busy as the Canadian side. It’s still a perfect place for romance.”

Joe reads from the brochure. “Where we are it’s 170 feet deep. The water travels down to the Niagara River to Lake Ontario, then to the St. Lawrence Seaway, and lets out into the Atlantic.”

Evvie shivers. “Very interesting, but anyone up for going inside the cabin for a while? I’m soaked.”

“I think that’s the idea,” Joe says, leering at her. “You get wet, go back to the hotel or motel, take a hot shower, have some champagne, and end up happily in the sack.”

“Nothing wrong with that plan,” Jack says.

We hurry inside the boat’s cabin. We’re lucky to find seats together. Evvie digs into her tote and brings out our thermoses of hot chocolate and packages of chocolate chip cookies. As we munch, she says, “Let’s play.”

Our guys look puzzled, so Evvie explains it to Joe and Jack. “It’s our travel game. We look at people and try to guess who and what they are.”

Practical Jack asks, “But how will we know whether we’re right or wrong?”

“We won’t,” I answer him. “It doesn’t matter.”

We hunker down, moving closer to one another, keeping our voices low.

Joe comments, “We won’t know much from their clothes, since everyone’s hair and bodies are covered by the ponchos.”

Evvie indicates the couples all around us. “Well, we know one thing for sure. Most everyone in here has to be a newlywed.”

“Including the couple with the crying baby?” Joe asks.

The wife has the baby strapped to her chest over her rain gear, and the baby is draped in a second poncho. The wife and hubby are holding hands. They are quite young. Evvie makes a guess. “Teenagers. Shotgun wedding. Baby gets to go along.”

Jack adds, “Family wouldn’t baby-sit. Won’t forgive their being careless about sex.”

Evvie continues the thread, grinning. “Baby has colic. They won’t get much sleep tonight. For the wrong reason.”

I lean against Jack. I’m already so wet, his poncho can’t make it any worse. “Now you guys are getting the idea.”

Joe elbows Evvie. “Glance over across from us. Count four couples down to the left. Looks like they could be in their thirties.”

She asks, “What about them?”

He answers, “They’re sound asleep. What does that tell us?”

She smiles knowingly. “Easy. No sleep for them, either. For all the right reasons.”

“As opposed to the guy and gal over there on the other side.” I indicate as unobtrusively as I can a couple directly across from us. They are not sitting close and their backs are toward each other. “Too much space between them.”

Joe suggests, “Maybe they’re too wet.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, look at their faces. He’s scowling and she’s staring down at her hands, tightly clenched.”

I jump in. “And her lips, she’s biting down on them. Her eyes are hooded.”

Evvie, part optimist, part realist, says, “They’ll make up later. After they decide who gets to be the boss in the family.”

We get a chuckle out of that.

I say abruptly, “Oh, boy … more trouble ahead. Look to your right. At the very far end seat near the exit door. Tell me what you see.”

Evvie asks, “You mean the young woman holding a folded yellow umbrella?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Joe is puzzled. “What about her? She looks like everyone else. Soggy.”

I suggest, “Yes, but what makes her different?”

Jack leans forward to get a better view. “She’s alone.”

Joe quickly says, “So?”

Evvie is getting it. “Yes, she’s not sitting with anyone.”

Jack continues, “Everyone around us is obviously a couple, except for the few families with children. Glance at her body language. She’s leaning over, her head is down.”

I comment, “My guess is she arrived here with her new husband, but he’s not with her. Something’s gone very wrong.”

Joe sits at the edge of his seat to get a better look.

With sadness, I add, “I doubt anybody would take this trip alone.”

Jack says, “She’s been deserted.”

Joe is confused. “Then why is she on the boat? Why isn’t she at her motel on shore? Why hasn’t she gone home?”

Jack says thoughtfully, “Maybe he didn’t show up at the dock at the last minute and either for spite or in her unhappy confusion, she just got on.”

Evvie points in her direction discreetly. “Now she’s rocking her body back and forth. As if she’s keening.”

I say, “She’s crying into her collar so it won’t be noticed. Poor woman.”

Evvie sighs. “I feel so sorry for her, surrounded by happy lovers.”

I add, “This trip must seem endless for her. How much longer until we dock?”

Jack looks at his watch. “Maybe ten minutes more.”

We continue to stare at her, feeling her pain.

Evvie says, “I wish we could say something comforting to her. Like it isn’t the end of the world.”

Joe smiles at her lovingly. “I don’t think she’ll hear any of the platitudes. Too soon. I hope she’ll be heading back to her family.”

Excitedly, I cry out, “Something’s changed.”

Indeed the expression on her face is different.

Jack gets it. “She’s stopped crying.”

I add, “She seems almost resigned. Maybe that’s a good sign. She’s snapping out of it.”

“No.” Jack sounds alarmed. “Pay attention to the lift of her chin. She’s getting angry.”

“Who could blame her?” Evvie says.

“She’s getting up,” I say nervously. “She’s looking toward the door to the deck.”

Joe comments, “Maybe she needs some air.”

Jack jumps up, and I can tell it’s the instincts from his years as a cop kicking in. “She’s moving too fast. She’s doesn’t want air.”

They watch as the woman pushes open the heavy door and rushes out.

I leap up, too. “She’s left her purse on the seat. Not a good sign!”

Jack and I race for the door as it slams shut. I grab her purse on my way out. Jack is ahead of me.

He yells, “She’s going to jump!”

He fights the wind to get the door open and I’m right behind him.

The deck is still crowded. Wall-to-wall people.

I look around. “Where is she?” I shout to Jack over the roar of the falls. “How can she disappear that fast?”

“She couldn’t have gone far.” I see him plow through the nearest group.

Oh, God. I hope she hasn’t made it to the railing. The railing is low, I remember with a shudder.

“Over here!” Jack yells. He raises his hand above the crowd so I can locate him. I can also tell by the muttering and movement of people being pushed out of his way.

By the time I reach Jack, he’s found her.

It’s as if everything seems to move in slow motion. The bereft woman has reached the railing.

The group nearest to her has no idea of what’s happening. Jack moves slowly but carefully toward the young woman. I go to her other side. I can see her face. She seems as if she’s in a trance.

Jack speaks very quietly to her. “Miss, you forgot your purse.”

I hold it out to her. She reacts in confusion. We’ve redirected her movements. She reaches for her purse. I quietly hand it to her.

We both lean into her and gently take each of her arms.

“You don’t want to do this,” Jack whispers. She looks into Jack’s kind eyes. Sobbing, she buries her head in his chest. I hug her from the back.

Through her cries, almost hiccuping, she spills out her pain. “He said our marriage was a mistake. He’s going home to annul it.”

The people nearest us finally realize what’s happening. They reach out to hug her also. Many of the women are near tears. The group parts, giving us a path, as we lead the distraught lady away from disaster.

Hours later, we make our way down into the hotel dining room. Much to our surprise, word has already gone around, and tourists and townspeople come by to congratulate us for saving the woman. Jack and I are embarrassed at the attention. Joe and Evvie beam.

Evvie and Joe toast us. “Here’s to the hero and the heroine.”

Joe says, “Well done. You two make a good team.”

Evvie agrees. “Jack!” As she nods her head, I see her face light up, wide and shining. “You must join our detective agency! I nominate you right now.”

I could kiss Evvie. What a great idea.

But Jack demurs. “I thought you gals were strictly a female business. Besides I don’t know of any husband-and-wife PIs.”

“You obviously don’t read much crime fiction,” Evvie says. “What about Nick and Nora Charles? Mr. and Mrs. North? Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane? Tommy and Tuppence? I could go on and on.”

I agree. “Honey, your years as a cop would be a great asset.”

Joe says, “Yeah, sure, but what’ll Ida, Bella, and Sophie feel about a man poking his nose in?”

Evvie and I exchange knowing glances. I can just see their faces. The surprise will turn to dismay. They’re going to hate it. They’ll absolutely despise it!

“Come on, get the lead out.” Ida snaps her fingers at her two malingering friends. “We’ll be late to mah-jongg.”

Irritated, she shakes her head, her coiled gray knot immovable as usual. Her toothpick-thin body’s posture is ramrod, as if it is her way of holding herself together.

She stares at the two women who have become family in lieu of her real one so far away, both literally and emotionally. So utterly different. They copy each other in the clothes they wear—today, jumpsuits: Sophie in flamboyant red and Bella, as usual, in pale colors, currently lavender.

If the two of them had their druthers, they’d sit on a bench and not move all day. “We’re going to be late. I don’t know why I bother waiting for you.”

Bella pleads, “But I need a short rest. And we’re only two minutes away.”

Ida sighs as they slowly get up and start inching along their path to the recreation room a bit faster.

Sophie asks, “Who put you in charge anyway?”

“Yeah,” mimics Bella. “Anyway.”

Ida mutters under her breath, “You Bobbsey twins are a pain in the neck.”

“I heard that,” Sophie says.

“When are the newlyweds coming back?” Bella asks.

Ida places her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I told you yesterday, the day after tomorrow.”

Bella says, “I forgot. So what day is that?”

Ida says, “Figure it out. What’s today?”

Bella appeals to Sophie. “I forgot that, too. Help me out.”

Sophie, who has idly been gathering flowers en route, throws a daisy at Ida. Naturally it falls short. “Why do you always pick on her?” To Bella, she says, “Wednesday, they’re coming home in the evening.”

Bella smiles sweetly. “I hope they’re having a happy honeymoon.”

Ida moves ahead of them. “Grrrr. Hopeless.”

Bella stops abruptly. And plops onto the next nearest bench.

“Now what?” Ida asks.

“I’ve got a pebble in my shoe.” She slowly bends over, not an easy task with arthritis.

Sophie sits down beside her. “If you sit, I could sit, too.”

Ida stands over them, disgusted.

Sophie leans her arms over the back of the bench, ready to wait awhile. “You know, I’ve been having thoughts … Wanna hear?”

“I want to,” Bella says eagerly. “Is it about what we should eat tonight? The deli has a special on knockwurst and baked beans. Maybe someone will drive us.”

Sophie says, “No, this is important. It’s about when Gladdy and Evvie come back as married ladies.”

Ida perks up. “I’ve been thinking along the same lines. It was one thing when the men were just hanging around. Maybe they might have left eventually. But this is permanent. They’re here to stay. Nothing is going to be the same.”

Bella sings, off key, “Sadie, Sadie, married lady.” She grins. “That’s Barbra Streisand’s song.”

Ida has been doing leg bends, knowing they’ll do anything to stall any kind of movement. They’ll be here awhile.

She stops to put her hand over Bella’s mouth. “Don’t sing.”

Bella pouts.

Ida continues. “Having husbands in the picture will get in our way.”

Bella takes one of Sophie’s daisies and starts peeling the petals off one by one. “He loves me, he loves me not … Do you think we’ll ever get married again?”

Ida growls, “Don’t be ridiculous. At our age? And besides, who’d be dumb enough to want to wait on some old grouchy male?”

“Hah,” Sophie says. “What guy would want a grouchy female like someone whose name I wouldn’t mention but is standing right here?”

Ida shoots her a dirty look.

Bella works on another daisy. She brightens at her thought. “Yeah, who’d want to wash some old guy’s underwear anyway?”

Sophie grabs her daisy away from her. “Since when are you on her side?” She points an accusing finger at Ida.

Bella lifts all four feet nine of her off the bench and puffs out her chest. “I’m on the side of what’s right. I’m proud to be an independent thinker.”

“Hello,” someone calls out to them. They turn to see their neighbor from Phase Three, Arlene Simon, coming toward them. Ida is always amazed by Arlene. Even though she’s pushing eighty, she still wears skirts and dresses and high heels and continues to wear makeup and dye her hair golden blond. She’s always put together perfectly. She wonders why Arlene does it. Most everyone accepts his or her shades of gray and white. Why all that bother to change hair color? And nobody in Lanai Gardens wears a heel over one inch. She has to admit Arlene is still a good-looking woman.

But what’s this? She looks upset.

Arlene is out of breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Ida steps up to the plate. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Arlene glances back and Ida notes she’s looking at a small moving van unloading a king-size bed in front of her Phase Three building. “When is Gladdy coming home?”

Bella perks up. She knows this answer. “Wednesday. In the evening.”

Arlene sighs. “I was hoping she’d be home sooner.”

Ida says, “Can we help you?”

She shakes her head. “Thank you, but I don’t think so. I’d like to talk to Gladdy. Would you please have her call me when they return?”

With that, Arlene leaves them. Ida watches their neighbor cautiously heading toward the back entrance of her apartment building.

“Hmmph.” Sophie shows her annoyance. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“You see what I mean?” Defeated, Ida sits down on an adjoining bench. “It’s starting already. Here’s the potential for a new case. Did Arlene confide in us? No. She’ll hire Gladdy. And without a thought about us, Gladdy won’t want to hurt her new husband’s feelings, so Jack will tag along. He’ll always be right there at her side.”

Depression sinks over them like a thundercloud. Sophie says, “No more five mouseketeers.”

“That’s musketeers,” Ida corrects.

“Whatever. No more running in and out of their apartments any old time.”

Bella takes up the chorus. “No more eating chocolate cake together in the middle of the night.”

Sophie says, “Remember how Jack hated early bird dinners? Gone.”

Bella sighs. “No more shopping till we drop. Gone.”

Sophie groans. “Gladdy and Evvie won’t go to bingo anymore. Or flea markets or even garage sales. Gone.”

They have a long list of what will be gone forever.

Bella looks confused. “That’s everything. So what will they be doing?”

Sophie gives her a pinch on the cheek. “Trust me, they won’t be bored.”

“That’s it,” Ida says. “We’re toast. We’re has-beens. Down with the Fab Five and up with the Double Dynamo. Gladdy Gold and Associates—finished.”

Bella shudders. “What are we going to do? Once we’ve tasted blood, how can we be happy with bingo?”

Ida stands up, hands on hips. “I have a solution. I’ve been thinking about this ever since the newlyweds left.”

Bella and Sophie look up at Ida warily. She has a dangerous expression on her face. That can only mean trouble for them.

Ida continues. “Why wait until we’re dumped? I say we take action.”

The girls are all ears. Ida’s voice is stronger now. “I say we go into business for ourselves. We enroll in a detective school. Once we graduate, we’re off on our own.”

The girls perk up. Sophie announces, “Now you’re talking.”

Bella looks confused. “Now you’re on her side?”

Sophie smiles knowingly. “Like in politics, you gotta go with the winners. Where do we find a detective school?”

“Not to worry. I already picked one out of the yellow pages. The guy had the biggest ad, so I bet he’s the best. Think about it. A two-week class and we’ll be up to speed in the PI biz.”

Sophie worries. “Wait a minute. We don’t have a car. How will we get to class?”

Ida says, “Not to worry. We can always take the bus.”

The girls are revved up. Bella grins. “Let’s sign up right away.”

Sophie rises, ready to move back again. “They can’t dump us. We’ll dump them first.”

The three march along, arms wrapped around one another. Late to mah-jongg and no longer even interested in attending.

Ida announces, “When they come back, we’ll tell them we’ve got to talk.”

Such a flurry of excitement. It seems everyone in our Phase Two section has been hanging around awaiting our arrival. Moments after we get out of our taxi, Enya hugs us and tells us she’s made a pot roast for us so we don’t need to cook tonight. Tessie and Sol, happily addicted to rich foods, present us with brownies for dessert. Lola leans over her second-story balcony and offers freshly baked bread while her hubby, Hy, being Hy, presents us with his smart mouth. “So how was Viagra Falls, guys? Get it? Viagra Falls.”

Joe calls up to him, not bothering to hide his sarcasm, “Got it, Hy, you’re a riot.”

Hy chortles, waves, then goes back inside his apartment.

After more welcome-home gifts and flowers and neighbors asking about our travels, the group disperses. We lift our suitcases and, happily tired, head for our apartments. Such a balmy, beautiful night, South Florida at its best. But something’s missing.

Conspicuously missing are the girls.

I glance up at Bella’s second-floor apartment, next door to Evvie’s. I see a curtain flutter for just one moment. What’s this? Trouble in paradise?

I languidly watch Jack unpack our suitcases as I lie on our bed, shoes kicked off, and my hands behind my head. It feels so good to be home. He tells me he intends to spoil me rotten. He’s already separated the dirty laundry. The pot roast is heating up. The table is set for dinner.

“Feel any different?” Jack asks. “Now that the ring is on your finger and around my neck.”

I look at him in surprise. “Oh, really? Trapped, are you?”

“Kidding. That’s a Hy kind of comment. It’s catching.”

“Least I can do is make you a drink.” I climb off the bed. “What’s your pleasure?”

“A beer will do. And some of those crinkly chips left over from our farewell party if they aren’t stale.”

I start for the kitchen.

Jack calls after me, “So what do you think is going on with the girls?”

I stop. “So you noticed, too.”

“How could I not? From them I was expecting balloons and confetti; at least a brass band. But not the cold shoulder.”

I return with a beer for him and lemonade for me.

“So you also think they’re unhappy about something?”

“My guess is reality has set in. Jack and Joe are here to stay.”

“Maybe so, but not to make an appearance? That isn’t like them.” I wind my arms around my wondrous new husband. I hug him and he hugs back. “I can understand that they might be concerned about things changing, but no greeting at all?”

The phone rings. I walk over to the phone on the bedside table. “Maybe that’s one of them now. Hello?” I listen then turn to Jack. “It’s Evvie.” I listen some more. “We were just talking about that very thing.” I report to Jack, “Evvie says there was a tiny knock at her door. By the time she answered, Bella had left a plate of cookies and then disappeared back into her apartment.”

Jack shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out what’s bothering them soon enough.”

“If you figure it out,” I say to Evvie, “let me know. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I hang up.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and turn to Jack. “All I can think of is something must have happened while we were away. But what?”

The phone rings again. I reach for it. “It must be one of them this time.” I answer and listen and shake my head at Jack. “Yes, of course we can.”

“Who is it this time?” he asks.

“It was our neighbor Arlene Simon from Phase Three.”

“Which one is she? Don’t believe I’ve seen her.”

“You would if I described her. Blond, dresses beautifully, the only one around who doesn’t have gray or white hair.”

He nods. “Now I do. She’s still quite a looker.”

“She has a problem and wants to meet with me. Now I think we have a problem of our own.”

Jack is puzzled. “What’s that?”

“That’s probably what she said to the girls when she asked them when we’d be back. She asked for me. She didn’t confide in them, my partners.” I sip my drink, lost for a few moments in my thoughts.

“You know what I think? Knowing the girls as well as I do, logic tells me they’ve made some sort of decision and can’t face us until they’re ready to inform us. Bella leaving a little gift tells me Bella is nervous about it and doesn’t want our feelings hurt.”

Jack smiles. “Well, logic tells me it’s too soon to ask us to get divorced—”

Suddenly I jump up, interrupting him. “Oh, my God, that’s it. Because of what Arlene didn’t say to them. They’re going to divorce themselves from us!”

Jack is speechless. I am horrified.

I leave my beloved sleeping, quickly drink my usual cup of coffee and grab a piece of toast, and out I go. It’s time for our usual morning exercise.

Jack and I were in all last evening expecting one of the girls to call. But not a peep out of any of them. My plan for today is to pretend nothing is unusual and see who can’t stand the suspense and says something. I’m betting on dear Bella. She won’t be able to take the silence.

I’m sure Jack’s plan for much of his day will be catching up with all the email he missed while we were away. Yes, I have to admit it, ready or not, Jack brought the twenty-first century with him when he moved in with me. We now have the ubiquitous computer with all its inner bells and whistles—email, Google, IM, Facebook, Twitter, and all that jazz. He’s talking about getting something called Skype. Being actually seen by whoever calls? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

He likes to stay in touch with all our kids and grandkids in New York that way. Nice, but I still prefer talking to them by phone. I even had to give up my much adored rotary phone. Every time Jack walked into the kitchen, the sight of that old thing had him in stitches.

We also now have a modern TV set. First thing Jack dumped was my little table model, circa 1985, and we have one of those humongous, forty-two-inch practically-takes-up-the-whole-wall plasma TVs, whatever that means. Out with my old VCR and the tapes I used to mangle. Now it’s DVD (until that gets obsolete) and TiVo.

Now, of course, everyone has been coming to our apartment to watch television. Are the girls willing to give up that luxury?

The girls are already grouped around our meeting place, the palm tree next to one of the small ponds. They are whispering like the little conspirators they are. Probably wondering if I’ll show up.

I pop out of the stairwell and here I am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as the expression goes. I start my warm-up. “Hi, everyone. Isn’t it a glorious day?”

Each of them faces a different direction. Sophie is suddenly busy tightening her shoelaces. Ida does leg bends. Bella doesn’t do anything. She takes a quick peep at me, then turns away.

No takers yet. I try another gambit. “Did you have fun last night?”

Bella does fold first. She turns toward me, curious. “Fun? What was I doing that I was having fun? I don’t remember.”

Sophie turns. The next domino to fall. “Did I miss something?”

“Well,” I say, “since nobody was around when we got home, I assumed you were out somewhere having a good time, I hope.” Sometimes I can be such a meanie.

Bella blurts, “We were here. Didn’t Evvie tell you I sent over cookies?”

Ida shoots her an angry look as if to say traitor.

I can see Evvie making her brisk way toward us.

“You could ask her,” Bella adds.

Ida turns stiffly with a tone daring me not to believe her. “I had dusty curtains to wash and iron. That was my big fun evening.”

“Hi, everyone.” Evvie is equally cheery. “Missed you last night when we got back.”

Well, that speeds things up. The subject is out in the open.

Sophie decides to move that topic along past any reference to their not showing up. “Did you have a good honeymoon?”

“Just great,” Evvie answers. “The scenery was gorgeous. We rode in a boat that was very close to the falls. We got soaking wet but it was worth it. Really exciting.”

They’re still quiet, but they’re beginning to look interested. Except for Ida, who pretends to be bored.

Evvie baits the hook. “We even had an adventure.”

Sophie and Bella, loving a story, sit down on our bench. Yet again, any excuse not to exercise. Ida leans against our tree, arms folded. She still hasn’t made eye contact with me.

Evvie tells the story. “There was a young woman on the boat who was going to commit suicide and Jack and Gladdy rescued her.”

Bella’s eyes widen as she says, “Wow! That’s really exciting. Why was she going to kill herself?”

Evvie answers, “Because her new husband didn’t show up on the boat. He told her he changed his mind about being married.”

Bella is thrilled. “Just like watching Days of Our Lives on TV.”

Sophie is equally fascinated. “What happened next?”

I continue the account. “But the husband changed his mind and was rushing to the boat to tell her. Because of his haste, he had an accident on the way and cracked up his car and landed in the hospital.”

“Wow,” Sophie says.

Evvie adds, “They were reunited at the hospital. Both of them sorry for everything that happened. He’d just had cold feet and she overreacted. A horrible tragedy was averted. They made up and were in tears.”

I wrap up the story. “After the boat captain and the police and a mental health person released her, the couple promised to go home and go into joint therapy. All’s well that ends well.”

Evvie smiles. “Almost like Romeo and Juliet. They might have both died thinking the other one died.”

Bella breaks out into a big smile. She always likes a happy ending.

Ida, the cynic, finally deigns to speak. “They were already fighting on their honeymoon. What makes you think those two will live happily ever after?”

I sigh. “We can only hope, Ida.”

Evvie starts to move. “Are we walking, or not?”

Bella and Sophie slowly get up. Ida gets going.

As we pass the badminton court, I say casually, “By the way, I’m going to meet with Arlene Simon. I hear she spoke to you.”

“Well,” says Ida, now that it’s out, “she only wanted to talk to you. So I guess you’ll be taking her case.”

Evvie and I exchange glances. Here it comes.

“There is no case,” I say. “She just wants some personal advice.”

Sophie is startled. “We thought it was a case.”

Bella adds, “Just for you and Jack, not us.”

“Since when would I leave you out?” I say. “And besides, Jack isn’t one of our associates.”

Evvie decides to bring it up. “Only if you’d like to vote him in.”

Bella and Sophie quickly look toward Ida. I have a feeling they want her to get them out of what she probably got them into.

Ida takes a deep breath. “We’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time for us to regroup. Now that the two of you are married, we thought you’d like to be in business with them.”

Them? It’s as if she can’t bring herself to mention the guys’ names.

Sophie, realizing where she’s going, breaks in. “But if Arlene isn’t a case … we don’t have to—”

Ida interrupts her. “We’re committed to going into the private eye business for ourselves.”

Bella and Sophie look dismayed.

Evvie shows her surprise. “You mean you want to leave Gladdy Gold and Associates?”

“It might be better that way,” Ida answers.

“How do you mean, committed?” I ask.

“We’re signed up to take a course and when we’re done, we get a certificate and then we become Ida Franz and Associates.”

Sophie glares at her. “We haven’t decided on names yet.”

Bella adds, in a panic, “We haven’t signed up, either.”

Ida announces, “I have. For all of us.”

I shake my head in consternation. Ida, Ida, what are you doing? Why do you always have to be the rotten apple in the barrel?

Evvie tries to help. “Well, maybe you can still change your mind.”

Nice try, Evvie. But that won’t work. When Ida gets herself into a hole, she needs to dig herself in deeper.

Ida’s shoulders shoot up. “As a matter of fact, we have to cut this short. We’re due at class and we need to shower and dress.” Without looking at us, she walks off, back toward our building.

Sophie and Bella are flummoxed. They don’t know what to say or do. With last agonized glances at us, they hurry after Ida.

Evvie blows out her breath. “Whew, that didn’t go too well. What do we do now?”

“Nothing. We just have to let them play it out and hope they don’t end up in too much of a mess.”

We continue our walk.

“By the by,” Evvie says. “Joe and I made a decision last night.”

I smile. “I don’t know how many more decisions I can take in one morning.”

Evvie puts her arm around my waist as we keep going.

Uh-oh, this must be serious. “Break it to me gently.”

“Joe and I had a long talk. The honeymoon trip brought up a lot of memories of our earlier years when we were still happy. Joe admitted he was homesick and wanted to see our daughter and the grandkids.”

I know where this is going and I hold my breath.

“We’re going back up north. He wants to spend some time with our family.”

She doesn’t have to tell me why. “Do you have any plan for how long?”

“We’re thinking maybe a month’s visit, but if Joe wants to stay …” She hesitates. “Then, only God knows when we’ll be back.”

We turn and hug each other. I feel myself start to tear up. I attempt to make a joke of it. “So all the rats are leaving the sinking ship.”

“Not all, dear sister. You still have Jack, and the two of you can build a better mousetrap!”

We giggle through our tears.

“I hope you don’t mind our meeting in your apartment.” Arlene has repeated this three times since she walked over from Phase Three to visit with me. She may be having a problem, but she walks with regal posture. She’s as impeccably dressed as always. Her blond pageboy is perfect, not a hair out of place. She wears a peach-colored skirt and top that look as sparkling new as if she’d just bought them. Of course her high heels match.

I am in my usual variation of beige slacks and white T-shirt and sneakers.

We’re sitting at my tiny kitchen table having tea while she works up to telling me what’s wrong. We’ve already discussed my honeymoon and events going on at Lanai Gardens. And small bits of information about the new European patisserie that just opened. I wait patiently.

Jack sent himself off on an errand. Even though she said she wouldn’t mind his being there, we both thought she’d be more comfortable just the two of us. Women talk, he assumed.

She takes a deep breath and I think she’s ready. She speaks softly.

“Did you ever have a nightmare over and over again and it finally happens in real life?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Well, I did and I’m living my nightmare right now. You may have heard me mention my late husband, Robby Simon, and our two children.”

I nod at that. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, Robby wasn’t my first husband. I was married before to a man named Edward. He was a doctor. We were married for five years and he dumped me for my very best friend, Joyce.” She laughs and the sound is brittle. “I guess I’m not too good at picking men. Robby cheated on me as well, but his mistress wasn’t a woman. He turned out to be a gambler and pretty much wiped us out financially. He died shooting craps in his hotel room in Vegas.”

I didn’t mention that I’d heard about that from the girls when they were involved with that phony guru and his Dead Husbands Club last month, when Arlene’s husband’s “spirit” supposedly visited her.

I refill her empty tea cup and she continues.

“He was a rebound marriage. My true love was Edward. When I caught Edward in bed with Joyce, I behaved very badly. I’m ashamed to say I even picked up a knife to threaten them.”

She bows her head not wanting to face me with those embarrassing words. “In all these years, I never even told my children of my shame. Bobby and Nicky would be horrified.”

It’s hard to believe this elegant, soft-spoken lady had ever felt such rage. The Arlene we’ve seen is a self-sufficient loner. A situation like that could make any woman lose control. Anger is a powerful emotion.

She continues. “Last week while you were away, I was aware of a moving van unloading. I almost fainted when I saw who was moving into my very own building. Joyce Steiner. Herself. My God, the last time I saw her was over fifty-five years ago! I almost didn’t recognize her. I had to look more carefully. But it’s her. I recognized those eyes. The way she tosses that red hair. The way she carries herself. I knew. That’s why I needed to talk to someone and I thought about you.”

She leans back in her chair. It’s finally out.

“Arlene, dear, what is it you want from me?”

“I can’t believe the strength of my feelings. I don’t want any part of her in my life again and I don’t know how to handle this.”

She turns to me and I can see the sadness in her eyes. “I need your wisdom, Gladdy. I need you to help me sort out what to do.”

I sip at my tea. “Did she see you?”

“I don’t think so. The minute I was sure it was Joyce, I ran away until I saw the empty van leave. Then I rushed up to my apartment. I’ve been avoiding her since then.”

“I’m sorry that you’re so troubled.”

“I can’t seem to help it. I snuck downstairs and saw which apartment she moved into. You want to hear irony? When we lived in the same apartment building back then, I lived on the third floor and she, right under me, on the second. And it’s the same now. As if history were repeating itself.”

This puzzles me. I didn’t know of anyone moving out of that Phase Three building.

I ask, “Do you know who had been living there before?”

“I don’t know, but I learned it’s a sublet and she pays the money to one of the neighbors, Leah Andrews, who lives across the way.”

How strange. Leah’s brother, Seymour, lives in an apartment on that floor. Can it be? Not likely. Seymour never goes anywhere. He’s painfully shy; he barely leaves his apartment. Leah even does all his food shopping and cooking for him. But if Leah is collecting money …?

Arlene breaks into my thoughts. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep creeping around like a spy to make sure I don’t run into her.”

“You never had any contact with Joyce throughout all these years?”

“No, why would I? She destroyed my marriage and changed my life forever. But I did read in the obituaries that Edward died six years ago. Apparently he became quite famous and I suppose very rich.”

“First I need to ask you, what do you think you should do? What would make you comfortable?”

Arlene twists the handkerchief she has in her hands. “How can I continue to live in Lanai Gardens if she’s here?” She tears up. “I know it sounds ridiculous after fifty-plus years, but the minute I saw her, I knew I still haven’t forgiven her for what she did to me.”

“Try a worst-case scenario. What if you do meet up with each other? What do you think will happen?”

Arlene fairly stutters, “I don’t know. I could hope that Joyce won’t even recognize me, but she will, I know it. I don’t want to speak to her.”

I reach out and take Arlene’s hands in mine. “Sometimes it might be a good thing to be forced to face a problem head-on. You’ve been living with this unhappiness so long; maybe this is an opportunity to get over it. I’m not a psychologist and perhaps you might want to make an appointment with one—”

She interrupts me. “No, please. Just help me and I’ll take your advice.”

I nod, thinking. “I have an idea. Tomorrow, Friday night, is our monthly get-together party in the rec room. You know how we always do this with newcomers. I think she’ll be invited. Test it out. Maybe you’ll be surprised at how you’ll feel. Half a century is a very long time.”

“What do I do if she comes up to me?”

“Undoubtedly, Joyce will be introduced to our neighbors. She will be quite civilized, I’m sure. Maybe you’ll be surprised and seeing her will be anticlimactic. We’re all much older by now. What was important years ago might seem different to you when you face her once again.”

“You’ll stand next to me all evening?”

“I promise.”

There’s a polite knocking at the door. I go to answer it. It’s Jack. He’s carrying a bag and something in it smells wonderful. “Just wanted to know if it was okay to come back. Otherwise I’ll leave these goodies and take a powder again.”

Arlene appears in the doorway. “No, please stay. I was about to leave.”

He walks in and lifts a tempting chocolate éclair out of his package. “Not until you’ve sampled one of these.”

I’m already taking plates out of the cupboard. “Yes, Arlene, why not?”

She smiles. “Is that from the new European patisserie?”

“It sure is.” He passes the package to me and heads for the teapot, ready to heat it up again.

I nod to Arlene to sit back down.

She shrugs. “You talked me into it. How can I resist?”

We three settle down to indulge. Jack is already charming her into smiling.

I’m not sure I gave her the right advice. I didn’t know what else to say. She surprised me. She’s not at all like the person one might think she is by her dress and her demeanor. She’s quiet. She’s gentle. And amazingly shy. I hope she won’t get hurt again.

Sophie calls out to Ida, who is moving at a swift pace, “I don’t like this street. It’s creepy.”

Bella clings to her arm. “Yeah, and I’ve got a stomachache. Who knew it would take riding in three different buses to get here? And besides, it’s time for my nap.”

Ida turns her head, but doesn’t stop. “We’re almost there, so stop kvetching.”

She doesn’t want to admit that she didn’t expect the school to be located in such a bad area. Everything looks run-down. The gutters are filled with dirt and flying newspapers. The garbage cans smell as if they don’t get picked up that often. She walks even faster to get them off the street as quickly as possible.

But she’s not about to back off. She’s the sergeant. They’re her troops.

She looks at the piece of paper with the address on it once again. They’re in the 900 block. One more street to go.

Sophie scratches at her arms. “I feel bugs around here. Why did you lie to Gladdy? We aren’t registered yet. You said we’d come down just to look the place over.”

Bella parrots Sophie. “I already looked. Let’s go home.”

Ida stops, her hands go to her hips, showing her annoyance. “I did a lot of research to pick this place and we’re not going home until we see it.”

Bella clutches Sophie harder. “But I’m scared. Everybody around here looks like they need a bath.”

“Right,” Ida says sarcastically. “Dirty people will hurt you.”

Sophie adds, “I’m itchy, too.”

“Just listen to me. Walk in the center of the street, not near any doorways and not next to the gutter. Then you’ll be okay.”

Bella asks, “What’s that supposed to do?”

Ida says, “I read it somewhere. If you’re in a dangerous place, if you stay in the center, they can’t grab you out of a doorway or from a moving car.”

The two squeeze even closer. “Thanks a lot,” Sophie says, her turn to be cynical. “That really makes me feel better.”

What is she going to do with them? They’re impossible. Ida points. “There, I see the address.”

The girls scurry to catch up to her. Ida stops in front of an old brick building with a scratched-up green-painted doorway and a small number over it. Ida senses it’s seen better days, that’s for sure.

Sophie sniffs her disappointment. “This is it? Where?”

Ida indicates a little note next to a bell. It says in handwritten scribbled letters, “Mike Gatkes. One flight up. Ring bell.”

Sophie is disappointed. This building isn’t what she expected. “It doesn’t mention anything about a detective agency.”

Bella cowers. “You said don’t go near any doorways.”

Ida ignores them and rings the bell as Sophie and Bella look alarmed.

“Who’s down there?” a voice calls from the tinny speaker.

“Ida Franz, Sophie Meyerbeer, and Bella Fox,” Ida announces. “We have an appointment.”

A rasping buzzer rings. For a moment Ida hesitates, says a silent prayer, then pushes the door open.

The flight of stairs in the small, dark entry looks steep and poorly lit. A sign on the wall with an arrow pointing up says “Gatkes, one flight up.”

Sophie says, “Where’s the elevator?”

Ida looks. “I don’t think there is one.”

They climb up the steps slowly, all of them clutching the banister with both hands to help pull themselves up. Bella, in the rear, is muttering under her breath.

Ida, annoyed, asks Sophie, “What’s she mumbling about?”

Sophie says, “She hopes he won’t kill us.”

A rickety front door is open. A voice calls out to them, “Come on in, ladies. Be right with you.”

The girls enter slowly, not knowing what to expect. They peer around the office in awe. To Ida, it looks like furniture she’s seen in photos of the 1920s or ’30s. There’s an old beat-up desk. The faded gray sofa is probably filled with horsehair. She’d bet the muddy-colored rug hasn’t been cleaned in years. Nor has the place been painted, either.

“He looks like an actor,” Bella whispers, staring at a photo of a man she assumes is Mike Gatkes holding some kind of trophy.

Sophie comments, “An actor who plays serial killers.”

Bella asks, “What does a serial killer look like?”

Sophie nods. “Him.”

Ida whispers, “Shh, he’s coming.”

Mike Gatkes comes out of his kitchen with three bottles of water and hands them out to the exhausted girls. They drink greedily, gulping them down.

Ida’s first glance at Mike is almost enough to make her turn them around and run back down, but she knows the girls are breathing hard already and need to rest. Ida notes that he has a head of black spiky hair that looks as if he never combs it. He’s short, very muscular, desperately needs a shave, and wears old odd-looking clothes and scuffed shoes. He does seem dangerous. Has she made a mistake?

“Knew those flights would be a killer. Sorry about that, ladies.” He sounds friendly enough.

Bella says, “I think I counted thirty-nine steps.”

“Like the movie,” Mike comments, smiling, as if he were an old buddy reminiscing. “Remember that one with Robert Donat? There are only fifteen steps, but it probably felt like thirty-nine.”

Bella is puzzled. “I don’t remember an actor named donut.”

Ida tries to make small talk as she finishes the water. “Your office looks like a movie set.”

Mike beams. “Well detected. You’re close. It’s meant to be a replica of the movie office of San Francisco’s famous author Dashiell Hammett. You know, The Maltese Falcon.”

“Really,” says Ida to be polite. “How interesting.” As if she would ever read books like that or even see the movie.

He proudly points out the oak armchair, the scarred desk, the brass ashtray. He grins. “Some say I even look a little like Humphrey Bogart, who played the lead in the movie.”

Ida hmmphs to herself. What’s he so proud of? Bogart was no beauty.

Sophie can’t resist. “Gladdy should be here. She loves reading mysteries.”

Ida doesn’t want to let her talk about their former associates. “Well, Mr. Gatkes, shall we get down to business? Would you like to tell us a little about yourself?”

“Call me Mike. The photos on my wall tell my stories. Here I am with the mayor of Miami giving me a commendation.” He points to the news photo of a man snarling as he’s being arrested. “You heard of the famous Son of Sam case? Well, I captured Son of Sheldon. Scared the hell out of women in Boca.”

He continues with other startling captures. “Remember the Fort Lauderdale Causeway terrorist? He snuck into his victims’ houses via boat. I caught that big fish.” He moves quickly from one action photo to another.

The girls are finally impressed. Ida still has reservations, but he seems to know what he’s talking about.

Mike continues his tour. He takes them into the next room, which is a classroom with a chalkboard. “This is where I teach you the ropes. What a PI does. What kind of training you need. How to use firearms. How to handle evidence. Scene of the crime—what to look for. How to write reports. What clothing to wear.”

He goes on and on.

“Once you’re ready, your first assignment will be an actual case to solve. It will come from the list of clients I already have as a PI.” He throws them a bone, so to speak. “Maybe you’ll learn so much, you’ll be able to even solve one of my cold cases.” Not that Ida believes it.

She cuts to the chase. “What’s your fee?”

He smiles. Ida notices his teeth are yellow and crooked. “First thing. You’re entitled to your senior citizen discount.”

At Ida’s hesitation he winks and adds, “And for you ladies, a group price cut as well—a threefer.”

That’s more like it. She can make this work. She’ll show Gladdy the real way to be a PI.

Mike is already moving to the next room. “Ready to try on trench coats, ladies?”

Bella and Sophie can hardly wait. Going shopping? He said the magic words.

Ida wonders, Where are the other students?

Evvie and Joe are the life of the party. I watch with tears in my eyes as everyone in the rec room is toasting their upcoming trip up north. Some know the truth about Joe. Others might guess. But all are laughing and being positive about the future.

Arlene clings to me like Saran Wrap. We stand off to one side. She visibly shakes each time the recreation room door opens.

Jack has brought us cookies and lemonade, but he’s still keeping his distance. Arlene needs only me right now.

The girls haven’t put in an appearance yet, but I’m sure they’ll be here. They never miss a Friday night party.

Well, speak of the little devils. Here they come. What’s that expression? They look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Or should I say the cats. Very pleased with themselves, they are.

Hy stands with a group of the men. Undoubtedly he’s telling one of his dirty jokes. I can tell by the leering looks on the guys’ faces. The joke must be over because raucous laughter follows. The wives know to stay away. The jokes are mostly antifemale. Tessie, whose husband, Sol, is one of Hy’s most loyal followers, has been threatening to smack him around one of these days. And with her weight and height advantage, she just might be able to do it.

“Maybe she isn’t coming,” Arlene says hopefully. “I think I should go home.”

“Give it a little more time, Arlene. You’re going to have to face her eventually. At least tonight you’re among friends.”

Here come Sophie and Bella fairly bouncing along. Ida has found some of her mah-jongg pals and stopped to chat with them. I can bet she intends to keep away from us tonight. The twosome, however, come over to say hello.

So I ask, “How was your PI class?”

Sophie says, “Really great. Our teacher is one tough-looking hombre. He looks like Humphrey Bogart and we’re gonna learn a lot.”

Bella giggles. “I already picked out a trench coat. Just like Sam Spade. Did you know those tough characters wore leather buckles on the sleeves?”

What can I say? Their insensitivity to the matter of having dumped our own partnership defies logic. “Very nice. I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Suddenly Arlene touches my arm. “She’s here.”

Coming through the doorway is tall, hunched-over Leah Andrews escorting her brother’s new tenant, whom she must have only met this morning. Leah always looks anxious, as if the world is out to get her, but tonight her face is more pinched than usual. She’s obviously not comfortable having to tell everyone Seymour’s away and here’s an unexpected stranger who’s taken over his condo. I’m sure the question everyone wants to ask is where on earth did Seymour go?

Bella points to Joyce Steiner. “She’s here again?”

Surprised, I ask, “Who are you looking at?”

“The red-haired lady who came with Leah.”

“Have you seen her before?”

“Yeah, she was wandering around about a month ago.”

Before I can query her further, Sophie pulls on her. “Come on, let’s move it. They just brought out more chocolate chip cookies.”

Clueless about Arlene’s tension, off they go. Sophie waves and calls back at me, “We’ll keep you informed.”

Arlene practically hides behind me, her head bent down. Leah is marching Joyce around to each group introducing her to the other neighbors.

Evvie comes over to join me. I’ve already filled her in with what I know about the two women. She glances at the nervous Arlene, who looks very pale.

Arlene speaks in a low, tight voice. “It’s her.”

Evvie and I study the lady who gave Arlene so much pain. She and Arlene are the same age, but Joyce looks as if she had one face-lift too many. Her skin is sallow despite a layer of cosmetics. Her cheeks seem rigid and inflexible. Her red hair is very thin as well. Too many bleach jobs? Her clothes are expensive, no doubt about that. She had or still has a lot of money. She wears an elegant Chanel-style pantsuit. Where Arlene has aged gracefully, this woman seems as if she’s been to hell and back.

Arlene whispers, “She’s coming this way.”

I watch Joyce, drink in hand as she greets the other residents. She’s cool but friendly enough.

Arlene stiffens as Leah and Joyce reach us. “I’d like to introduce you to our new tenant,” Leah announces, trying to hide any feelings she has about this strange turn of events. “Joyce Steiner, who’s subletting Seymour’s apartment. She asked me to introduce her to everyone.”

There’s a silence as Arlene doesn’t dare look at Joyce. I watch this newcomer with a smile pasted on her face as if she’s bored and going through the motions.

Evvie fills the void, but I don’t take my eyes off the two women. “So we heard through the grapevine, Seymour’s gone off on some trip?”

Leah says, “He’s taken it upon himself to go on a vacation or something. I walked in one morning to make his breakfast and there was a letter telling me he’d be back, maybe in six months, and he’d already sublet to Mrs. Steiner.”

“How so unlike Seymour,” Evvie comments.

“You’re telling me? You could have blown me away with a feather.” I sense Leah trying to hide her hurt feelings. With a pinch of anger, as well, for his ingratitude?

Suddenly Joyce Steiner shrieks, “Arlene? Is that you? Arlene!” She peers through her glasses to see better and moves closer for another look.

Arlene finally glances up. She shrivels up and says nothing.

Joyce rushes to Arlene and throws her arms around her, hugging and kissing her cheeks. Arlene is tugged away from my arm. “I can’t believe it!” Joyce glows with happiness as she addresses the group of us. “This is my dear, dear friend Arlene. We haven’t seen each other in a gazillion years!”

Arlene pulls away, out of Joyce’s grasp.

As an animated Joyce turns and faces each of us, showing her delight, Arlene whispers, “Fifty-five years and three months to be exact.”

I’m the only one who hears her.

Joyce shakes her head in wonder. “What a fantastic coincidence. I searched for you everywhere and I never could find you. And here you are! And look at you! You look gorgeous.” She laughs. “Me, I look like an old hag, but you!”

Arlene stares at Joyce as Joyce twists her fingers around a gold necklace. I recognize it as the Chai, a Jewish symbol of good luck. Arlene seems riveted by the sight of it.

Suddenly Arlene grimaces and clutches her stomach. She says, “Excuse me,” and then runs off.

Joyce looks after her, eyes still shining. “This is the happiest day of my life. I found my best friend again.”

I find it fascinating that she’s oblivious to Arlene’s response.

Leah leaves us, glad to deposit her new tenant with me. Evvie has gone to the bathroom to see if Arlene needs help. I’m curious to hear what Joyce will say or do now. She still seems to be on cloud nine.

“I’ll bet she’s in shock. I am, too. I just can’t believe how lucky I am to find her.”

I try for a reality check. “Arlene seems upset to see you again.”

Joyce manages a rueful smile. “I suppose I can’t blame her. I’m ashamed to say, I stole away her husband. But so many years have passed, I thought surely she got over our little breakup.”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, to tell the truth, I didn’t get that great a deal. Ed was a rotten husband. These doctors have such God complexes. They’re loyal only to themselves. Frankly, I did her a favor by taking him off her hands. She would have divorced him sooner or later.”

I think it, but I don’t say it: Maybe if he’d stayed with Arlene, the marriage might have worked. This woman has some ego.

Joyce continues to rave enthusiastically. “Over and over again, through the years, I’ve chastised myself. I should have taken my friend’s side. We would have never broken up our friendship. Ours was the true relationship. I missed her so much and I looked for her everywhere, but of course she remarried and I didn’t know her new name.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Joyce preens. “Ask away.”

“Why are you here in a sublet? Don’t you have another place to live?”

Joyce sips at her lemonade for a moment organizing her thoughts. “Let me tell you; it’s been so hectic. Even though I’ve lived in Florida all my life, my darling daughter, Stacy, has been nagging me to come live with her in California. She was so cute about it. Mama, she kept saying, you’re getting old—but she meant that in a nice way. Come live with me, she said, and let me take care of you. She lives in that very fancy Marin County. I’m sure you’ve heard of Sausalito? Everyone has.”

“Yes,” I say, breaking in. Trying to slow down the barrage of words. “I hear it’s a lovely place. Never been there.”

Joyce rants on as if I never stopped her. “My Stacy married a doctor, too. But he’s a foot specialist, so maybe they aren’t such egomaniacs. We’ll have so much fun together and I can see my adorable grandchildren every day. How can I refuse? So she says to me, sell your house and while I’m waiting to sell, she’s going to add a cottage in her huge backyard. I guess they used to call them mother-in-law apartments. But I’m the mother.”

I break in again. “That sounds lovely.”

“Yes, very. Anyway, here’s the funny part. Surprise! I sell my home right away and she’s having contractor problems. You know how unreliable they are. So instead of moving into their big house and getting in everyone’s way, I said I’d stay in Florida and sublet until she’s ready. And now a miracle. Who should be living here? I find my dearest Arlene at last.”

She says all that hardly taking a breath. Pleased with herself, Joyce opens her arms to indicate that she’s finished her spiel.

Evvie returns just at that moment, thank goodness. The woman is exhausting. “Where’s Arlene?” I ask, not seeing her with Evvie.

“She wasn’t feeling well. I walked her back home.”

I take Evvie by her arm. To Joyce, I say, “Nice talking to you. See you around.” With that, I pull Evvie away.

“What?” she says when we’re out of earshot. “Why the bum’s rush?”

“I’ll fill you in on our way back. What’s that famous line from Casablanca, about all the gin joints?”

For Evvie, the movie maven, that’s an easy one. “ ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’ What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, of all the condos in all of Florida, Joyce ends up in Lanai Gardens.”

“Hell of a coincidence.”

We see our spouses near the punch bowl waiting for us to rescue them. They both have lidded eyes and slouching shoulders, which indicate they’ve had enough partying. Time to go home.

Evvie shrugs. “I feel an earthquake about to erupt. This doesn’t bode well.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

I sit in the snug chintz chaise in Evvie’s bedroom watching her pack. She is having a hard time of it. The entire bed is filled with most of what was in her closet. Joe is at his doctor’s appointment and I’ve offered to keep her company.

She holds up two skirts. “This is impossible! How can I decide what to take? I don’t know how long I’ll be visiting. I don’t know how people dress up north anymore. I don’t even have any winter clothes. This is madness.”

“Westport, Connecticut, doesn’t have any stores?” I smile at her. “Your daughter wouldn’t lend you a sweater?”

She shakes her head the way a dog tosses off water. “I’m having a meltdown, aren’t I?”

“Something like that.”

“It has nothing to do with my clothes. Right?”

“Correct.”

She plops down on the edge of her bed, shoving a small mountain of outfits out of her way. “I’m behaving like an idiot. Who cares what I wear anyway.”

I shrug, pretending nonchalance. I’m just as distressed as she is, but we don’t need both of us to go to pieces.

“And how will it be staying with Martha, Elliot, and the kids in that small house? Naturally my daughter insisted we stay with them and we have to, because we can’t afford a motel for a few weeks or more. Everyone will be smiling too much and pretending we’re here just for a short family visit. Joe’s condition is on everyone’s mind.

“I love my grandchildren, but twenty-four hours a day for how long, I’ll go crazy.”

Evvie stops herself and starts to smile. “You’re just letting me blab on and on, Madamé Psychologist, on purpose.”

“You got it.” I offer her the box of candy I have on my lap and have been dipping into. “Come on, have another of Fannie May’s indecently delicious chocolates. It works better than booze.”

For a few happy moments we bite into the luscious dark confections, letting their sweetness linger on our tongues as we utter small contented sighs. Then take another.

I comment, “If I eat one more piece, I’ll throw up.”

Evvie pushes the now-empty box away. “Too bad we didn’t think of that famous TV line from the Mary Tyler show way back. Remember when she held up the piece of chocolate and said, ‘Why don’t I just apply it directly to my hips?’ ”

“Too late.”

We laugh.

Evvie starts again. “It’s the big elephant in the room, isn’t it? What I’m not talking about. Why I’m going back home. That’s what it’s really about. It’s the thought that I might be coming back alone.”

That does it. We both get up and hug and hold on tightly to each other, trying to keep back tears.

I say softly, “We do what we have to do.”

“How am I going to manage without you?” Evvie says.

I try to reassure her. “We’ll talk on the phone a lot. If you need me, I’ll get on the next plane.”

“I feel like I’m abandoning you. We haven’t been separated in how long?”

I shrug. “I don’t know exactly, but it’s been a whole lot of years.”

Evvie examines my face. “You seem calm about my going.”

“That’s because I’m such a good actress. One blubbering female is enough. Two is a puddle.”

We hear Joe in the hallway. “Honey, I’m home,” he mimics.

“In here,” Evvie calls.

Joe arrives with a big grin on his face. He holds up a white pastry box. “Guess what I brought home for my two favorite chocoholics for after dinner? A gooey, fattening chocolate cake with chocolate icing.”

First, Jack and the chocolate éclairs, now Joe and his cake. What is it about us that makes our men ply us with chocolate? Maybe for Ogden Nash, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker—for us it’s the opposite.

Evvie and I look at each other and laugh again.

“Look,” says Ida, “they’re heading out now.” The girls join her and stare out the window as Evvie, Joe, and Gladdy walk past Bella’s door.

“I bet they’re picking Jack up and going to the Continental for the Saturday night stuffed cabbage special,” Sophie whines.

Bella looks stricken. “I want to go! All day long I’ve been thinking of hot pastrami with coleslaw and French dressing on rye.”

Ida says, annoyed, “Well, stop. Think about eating whatever leftovers you have in the fridge. We can’t go.”

Sophie asks, “Why not?”

Ida is amazed. “I have to explain to you again that we’re no longer part of Gladdy Gold and Associates? We made our bed and we have to lie in it.”

Bella looks up, startled. “What’s my bed got to do with pastrami?”

Sophie says, “I know all that. But it doesn’t mean we aren’t still friends.”

Ida’s hands go on her hips. “Did you hear the phone ring? They walked right past us. Did they knock on the door? They didn’t invite us to go with them.”

Bella sighs. “Maybe it’s because we weren’t nice to them.”

Ida is annoyed. “Maybe it’s really because they have husbands now and don’t need us anymore.”

Sophie is adamant. “What’s one thing got to do with another?”

Ida moves away from the window. “It just does.”

Bella is horrified. “You mean we’re stuck here forever with no car? They have three! No early birds, no buying food at Publix? No window shopping? No movies?”

Ida answers, “We need to find a different way of getting into the city. Three buses to Gatkes is too much.”

Sophie thinks hard. “What about that new lady who just moved in? She drives that fancy Jaguar. We can make friends with her. What’s her name, Joyce?”

Bella perks up. “I met her. She’s not too friendly, though.”

Ida says, annoyed, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t have met her. Why do you always make things up?”

Bella sits up, puffs out her chest. “I’m not making it up and if you don’t believe me, then don’t!” She gets up and heads for the door.

Sophie looks puzzled. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Bella says agitatedly.

Sophie goes to her and pulls her back. “You are home, silly. You live here.”

Bella plops back down on the couch and reaches for the dish of Snickers bars. “What are we going to do? I miss our friends already.”

“I wonder what Evvie’s doing.” I sigh. I hand Jack the entertainment section. We trade and he gives me the front pages. This is one of our new shared pleasures of being married. Part of making our own traditions in our Florida room with its cheerful white wicker furniture. Sunday morning bulging newspaper. Bagels, cream cheese, lox, and coffee. The Bloody Marys are a plus. A sweet breeze comes through the louvres. Ah. Peace and serenity.

It’s nice being in my apartment. Once Jack’s building was reconstructed after the hurricane, we deliberated where to live. It made sense to stay here. Otherwise we’d have to replace all of his belongings that were lost when the building collapsed. So here we are.

Of course, the first new things he bought were to replace all the tech stuff he lost—the TV, computer, etc. And another wardrobe.

“Evvie’s gone exactly one week from last Sunday and you’ve already phoned her six times. Doesn’t that help?”

I take a sip of my drink. “It’s only been five. No. I miss her. She’s not just my sister, she’s my best friend.”

He leans over from his chair and kisses my nose. “Can’t I be your best friend?”

I kiss him back. “You are already, but she’s my best girlfriend. It’s not the same thing.”

I try to focus on the news, but I’m not able to concentrate. I place the paper back onto the coffee table. “Speaking about how people are doing, I wonder how Arlene’s been managing this whole week. It’s been kind of quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

Jack turns another page. “You might take it as a good sign.”

“You know, discussing friendship makes me think of the situation with Arlene and her nemesis. The reason Arlene’s unhappiness has lasted so long is because of Joyce’s betrayal. It hurt her to the very depths of her being. It has to do with having a profound relationship with a very close woman friend.”

“Are you saying women aren’t able to feel that deeply about a husband?”

“Yes, of course they can, but, again, it’s different somehow. These friends are the true soul mates. Usually ones you’ve had most of your life. They’ve seen you vulnerable and know your weaknesses and you are loved despite them. In fact, loved even more so for that very reason. It’s about the person who will never judge you, or let you down. No matter what life throws at you, that one person is the ballast that you hold on to. If you’re afraid, that person is willing to slay the dragons for you.”

Jack reaches out for my hand. “That’s quite a touching description.”

I shrug. “I don’t know how better to explain it.”

“Are you saying that Arlene took losing Joyce harder than losing Dr. Ed?”

“I actually think so. For example, Evvie and I have been together all of our lives. There’s only a two-year difference in our ages. I know just about everything there is to know concerning her. And vice versa. We have a solid history of trust and understanding. If I lost her, it would be unbearable.”

I reach over and pinch his cheek playfully. “In simple terms, we’re able to be our real selves, the selves nobody else can possibly see.”

Jack tosses his papers aside and gets up. “I do understand what you mean. When I was growing up it was me, Charlie, and Dave who had our special friendships. We promised to be there for one another forever. I remember when we even took blood oaths on it. I can still see the expression on my mother’s face when I came home with those bloodstains on my hand and shirt.”

“What happened to those friendships?”

Jack shrugs. “I guess we just lost touch.”

“The librarian in me studied the history of women over a long period of time. Men were the rulers, women their chattel. Men were dangerous. Women had only each another to depend on. They developed a secret code, a way to survive through friendship. It exists even today.”

He reaches for my arms and lifts me up out of my slatted rocker. “Well,” he says, “I can’t make up for not having known you forever, but there’s one advantage we husbands have that the best friends lack.”

“And what’s that, my darling?”

With that he kisses me lovingly and sweetly. And what a wonderful feeling it is.

“Makes up for it?” he asks, catching his breath.

“It certainly comes close.” I move in for another of the same.

The doorbell rings.

“I knew it was too quiet. Maybe the girls are finally behaving as they did, BH.”

“BH?”

“Before husband.”

As I head for the door I suggest he make us another two Bloody Marys.

But it isn’t the girls. It’s Leah Andrews, in tears. “Are you still in the private eye business, Gladdy?” she says before she’s even through the door.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“Then I want to hire you.”

I call into the kitchen, “Honey, make that three Bloody Marys.”

We walk Leah back with us to the Florida room to continue to enjoy the breeze. Jack and I make small talk to try to help Leah get over her nervousness. Her hands are shaking. Isn’t the weather fine? Nice party the other night, that kind of thing. I can tell the Bloody Mary is having an effect on her. She finally leans back against the couch pillows as Jack and I bend forward on our patio chairs.

“I’ve never hired a private eye person before,” Leah says with trepidation.

I try to make it easy on her. “Just think of me as your neighbor who can also help people with their problems.”

“Of course you realize it’s about Seymour. I’ve waited and waited to hear from him with no word at all, and now this.”

She digs down into her small clutch purse on her lap and retrieves two postcards. And hands them to us. “Can you believe it? These came this week. Here’s a picture of Seymour in Fiji. Another in Australia.”

Indeed they are. In one, Seymour stands in a rain forest, wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Fiji is embossed on a baseball cap. The other Seymour photo is a variation, different T-shirt, and different shorts. The cap announces Aussie. He is posed in front of the Sydney Opera House. One says, “Wish you were here,” the other, “I saw Carmen last night.” In the second photo, Seymour seems to be getting a tan.

Now Leah can’t hold back her tears. “How could this be? The man needed me to tie his shoelaces. Even at sixty, he is an innocent, clueless man-child.”

For a moment she sobs. We wait until she’s able to speak again.

“It was an accident. At school when he was eight years old. Children were pushing on the staircase. He fell down a whole flight … he was never the same again.”

I hand her a tissue. “I’m so sorry … I didn’t know.”

“I’ve never told anyone. After my parents died, who else was there to take care of him? I did the best I could, but it was hard. He had a few jobs over the years. Simple things, like sweeping up a store.

“This was his life. All he ever did was take long walks or else he stayed in and watched all those silly reality shows on TV.”

She becomes more agitated. “To just up and travel by himself? When did he ever get a passport? The few trips we took, and those were nearby, I had to pack his suitcase, because he couldn’t manage it. And yet his suitcase is gone. And most of his clothes. He must have packed it. Somehow.”

Leah stops, needs to take a break, then she continues.

“How could he plan? How did he know how to advertise for a sublet? Where did he get the money? He doesn’t own a credit card. How did he manage to get to the end of the world?” She is beside herself. “How could he not tell me?”

We examine the postcards. They look authentic. The postmarked stamps are real. She hands us his original note. As she mentioned, all he says is he’ll be back in about six months and he sublet to this Mrs. Joyce Steiner.

Jack comments, “Nothing about how he’s traveling. Is he on a tour? A cruise? He doesn’t mention hotels.”

I ask, “Has he ever done anything like this in his whole life?”

Leah digs back in her mind. “Well, he did run away from the special school he was attending when he was thirteen. We found him at our local Publix helping shoppers carry their bags home for small change. But that was because he was afraid of some bullies in his class.”

Jack comments, “He looks quite happy and healthy in these photos.”

“He’s safe, from what we can tell. That’s the important part,” I add.

She uses the tissue to dab at her eyes. “I don’t know what to think.”

I put a caring hand on her shoulder. “So what is it you want us to do, Leah? You’re not able to just wait until he contacts you directly at some point.”

“I just need proof to know he’s safe or to have him call me and tell me what’s going on. I need to hear my dear brother’s voice.”

We look at our neighbor with compassion. She is truly suffering.

Jack says, “Well, there are a few things we’ll be able to do once we get some facts. If he’s on a ship or in a hotel, we can check where he might be. But without any real information, this could take a lot of time. By now, he’s probably in a different country, so trying to track him in these two places wouldn’t help.”

I add, “We can talk to Joyce Steiner and learn how she found this sublet. Maybe he told her of his plans.”

Leah gets up. “Anything you can do to find him, please, I beg you.”

We walk her to the door.

“Anything.”

In full sobs by now, she leaves us.

For a few moments we are silent, our minds on what Leah has told us.

I take a deep breath. “Without having anything specific, finding Seymour will be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

“Just about. But we can start with asking their neighbors if anyone ever saw Seymour leave. And how.”

Jack starts to collect the Bloody Mary glasses. “Seymour is actually a missing person. But the cops won’t take it seriously because there’s no foul play. He hasn’t been abducted. Is there really a case here?”

I gather up our breakfast dishes. “Here’s something to think about. Maybe Seymour doesn’t want to be found.”

“I think I see it. Here it comes.” Ida waves her arms to indicate to the driver of the car that they are the people who are waiting to be picked up. They are standing at the front gate of Lanai Gardens. Far enough away so that their Phase Two neighbors won’t know their business. Sophie and Bella have dressed prettily in twin outfits again for their first official detective class. Ida is in businesslike black.

The small lime green auto makes its way over to them.

Sophie frowns. “It’s not much of a car. And look at that awful color.”

Ida says, “It’s better than three buses and costs a lot less than a taxi.”

Sophie squints. “I don’t see DWW printed on it.”

Ida, annoyed, says, “They don’t work that way. They’re private drivers with their own cars who volunteer to take seniors around for a very cheap price.”

Bella is nervous. “So how do we know it’s them? It could be some robber or killer.”

The car pulls up in front of them and stops. Ida says, “I called Drivers with Wheels and they said they’d send a car to this address in fifteen minutes and it’s fifteen minutes now. Who else could it be?”

Sophie adds, “So ask for his credentials.”

A young man jumps out of the front seat. Ida guesses he’s about twenty. He’s small and skinny, with curly black hair and dark eyes. He is all smiles, revealing one gold tooth. The Levi’s he’s wearing are torn at the knees, his scuffed once-white sneakers are untied, and he has on a T-shirt that says “Kiss me, I’m a hot Cubano.”

The girls stare.

“Buenos días, ladies. Your driver is here at your service. These coming with you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly lifts the three tote bags off each of their shoulders, raises the front compartment, and sets them in his tiny front trunk.

Bella’s eyes grow wild. “What happened to your motor?”

The young man laughs. “It’s in the back.”

Bella is confused. “How can a car be backward?”

Sophie asks with trepidation, “Will we all fit in?”

The young man says, “Not to worry, my little bug has a big heart.” With that he opens the other three doors. “Hop right in.”

Bella moves closer to Sophie. “What did he say about bugs?”

Ida practically shoves Bella into the backseat. “That’s a Volkswagen. Move it.”

Ida decides to sit up front with the driver. Sophie gets into the back next to Bella. It’s a tight squeeze.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Ricardo Leon, but please call me Rico. I aim to please. Me and my car—we may be small but we are mighty.”

Ida glances at the thin tray between her and the driver. A half-eaten sandwich lies there, smelling of onions and garlic. Along with a half-empty beer can. She pulls far away from him until she’s leaning against her door.

The driver turns so he can face all of them. “Seat belts. Seat belts. We are a safety-first automobile.”

He sees Ida staring with horror at his lunch. He shrugs. “Not to worry. I was almost finished anyway.” He takes what’s left of the food and squashes it back into its bag and stuffs it into a small trash holder.

Ida asks with trepidation, “What do you mean, safety? That’s a beer can! Have you been drinking?”

He shakes his head. “No, that is not real beer. Nonalcoholic. See, look at the label. Coors makes it. Not to worry.” He turns to look at the two in back. “Do you like music?”

Sophie and Bella, sitting stiff as rods, manage a slight nod.

With that Rico hits a switch and music pours out from multiple speakers, loud enough to cause immediate deafness. Rico waves his hands with an imaginary baton. “You like?”

Ida pokes him in the shoulder. “No, no, too loud. Forget the music. Just drive.”

Rico sadly complies. “You do not like the Buena Vista Social Club? Have you not heard of Rubén González?”

Bella pipes up, “Maybe you have some Eddie Fisher? You know … ‘Oh! My Papa’?”

Rico looks at her as if she’s speaking another language. “No, señora, the Fisher’s papa is not in my iTunes playlist.”

“Are we there yet?” Bella asks in a small voice.

Sophie whispers, “We haven’t even left.”

Rico turns to them. “No problema,” he says and with that he takes off with screaming, smoking tires.

Bella whispers back, “We shoulda taken the buses.”

Rico keeps turning his head when he talks to Sophie and Bella. Ida keeps pushing his face back so he can keep his eyes on the road. He is excited. “So you are lady detectives. This is so thrilling to me. I myself have dreams of going into the business of solving crimes. What was your best case?”

The girls by now are having a wonderful time. Sophie and Bella are enjoying the nonalcoholic beer that Rico is sharing with them. He has a cooler filled with cans that sits on the floor under Ida’s feet. They are feeling quite cheerful, as if there really was liquor in the cans. Ida, of course, will drink only bottled water.

Rico has managed to charm them with his cuteness and enthusiasm. He wants to hear all about the cases they solved. They have been listing past successes, such as the Grandpa Bandit case. Romeo, the senior killer of elderly ladies. The eighty-five-year-old wife who was spying on her ninety-year-old husband, thinking he was cheating on her.

Sophie says, “My favorite was when we were in New York and we captured a thief who was stealing from the church poor box. We had to go underground to get him.”

Ida corrects her. “That’s undercover.”

“Whatever,” Sophie tosses back at her. She is feeling no pain.

Bella sits happily sucking on her nonbeer can, her eyes glazed.

Rico beams. “You are amazing ladies. So why do you need to be taking these lessons, since you are already experts?”

The girls look at one another. Ida decides to be the one who answers. “We want to learn more, so we can be better at our work.”

Sophie and Bella nod their agreement.

“And,” Ida adds with pride, “we are starting our very own company, Ida Franz and Associates.”

Sophie hits her elbow against the back of the passenger seat, making Ida jump. “Stop saying that! It isn’t decided yet!”

Stopping at a light frees Rico to grab hard-boiled eggs from his cooler. And a napkin for the shells. He hands them out. Ida refuses the offer. The others hungrily accept.

Ida shivers nervously every time he reaches under her feet and takes his eyes off the road.

The light changes. Rico takes off like a shot.

Rico is practically leaping out of his seat. “What about another partner? How about me? I am a man of many sides. I can do everything. I am like a man, invisible. You will never regret it. You learn upstairs with Señor Gatkes. I learn from you. We make a good team.”

Ida holds up her hands. “Rico, you are going too fast for us, and I’m not just talking about your driving.”

“Está bien. All right. We take one bebé step at a time. First, I am your number one driver. You call my private number.” He reaches into a mess of papers and maps under his seat and retrieves a crumpled business card. “Day or night, you call, I am there.”

He grins with his one gold tooth glittering at them. “Is a deal?”

He pulls up in front of Gatkes’ building.

Ida says very quickly, “We teach you. You drive us free of charge.”

Rico grins. “It’s a deal.”

Having finished with the Sunday papers and enjoyed our brunch, Jack and I head out for our morning dip in the pool. I’m not looking forward to it without Evvie and Joe here. And surprisingly, the girls are absent today. A neighbor already stopped us before we entered the pool gate and reported having spotted the three of them hurrying down the path toward the main gate, trying to look inconspicuous.

Inconspicuous? Not a chance. That’s a joke at Lanai Gardens. Somehow, anywhere at any given hour, there will be a neighbor who is looking out the window or on a stroll, whose sharp eyes pick up any unusual behavior and immediately the condo jungle drums beat out the news.

And sure enough, some guy walking his dog early this morning in Phase One was the tattler of unusual activity. The girls are sneaking out? Where are they going? Why aren’t they swimming? Inquiring minds want to know. Which means everybody.

Sometimes I wonder why we don’t swim at a different time or go to a pool in another Phase just so we can have some privacy. But then again, that news will also spread and feelings will be hurt. They should put up a sign, “Changes not welcome here.”

One thing or another kept us from swimming all week, so Jack and I brace ourselves for the lunatic attack that awaits us from good old Hy Binder when we finally return to our daily routine. We turn the corner around the showers, reaching the pool and, sure enough, here’s Hy. Like a tiger lying in wait, ready to spring.

“Well, look who’s come to join us this morning. It’s the honeymooners.”

No one wants to pay attention to Hy, except for his parrot-wife, Lola, who adores every squawk out of his mouth. As does Sol, who is his best buddy. But Hy is too loud to ignore.

“Continued your honeymoon back here? Hiding away up in the Chez Gladdy bedroom?”

I poke Jack gently as he’s about to take Hy on. I whisper, “Ignore him.” After years of living through Hy’s jokes and simplistic attacks, one stops paying attention. Jack, being a newcomer to our Phase, wants to take him on. Why bother? Why waste one’s time and energy?

We make our way to our usual spots.

Hefty Tessie is swimming laps as usual. Hubby Sol sits at the edge, dangling his feet, watching his wife swim. This was not a marriage made in heaven. Tessie ran after him but he was too slow to get away.

Enya, our war survivor, sits in her corner, large straw sun hat blocking her face, eyes glued to a book, ignoring everyone as is her preference.

The snowbirds are devouring their usual Canadian newspapers.

Irving and Mary, still good friends, continue to visit Irving’s wife, Millie, who remains in the Alzheimer’s ward at a nearby facility. They visit her every day, even though she doesn’t recognize either of them.

The two cousins, Barbi and Casey, who ran a computer information business, have moved back to San Francisco where they feel they will have more freedom to live the kind of life they prefer to lead. I suspect they weren’t really cousins.

As we settle into our chaises, Hy starts in with another of his jokes. The Internet supplies him with these old saws by the hundreds. He practically dances up and down in his enthusiasm.

“Didja hear the one about the ninety-year-old guy sitting on a park bench crying? A cop comes over and asks what’s the matter. Herby, that’s his name, Herby says he just came home from his honeymoon with his gorgeous young wife. The cries become sobs. ‘Well,’ says the cop, ‘good for you. But why are you crying?’ Herbie blows his nose and says, ‘She’s waiting for me in her negligee and I don’t remember where we live.’ ”

There is a mild smattering of applause, mostly from Lola and Sol. I would guess that joke is as old as Hy.

Jack and I apply our sunblock. He does my back and I do his.

Hy wants to annoy us some more. He leans closer and pesters us about where the girls were going today and have we heard from Evvie. I say, “I don’t know” and “yes.” That’s as much information as I’ll give out to the likes of him. I lie down on my stomach, my back to Hy.

He’d try harder, but one look from Jack shuts him down. Off he goes to join Sol. They sit at his patio table and the two men start to play cards.

Peace and quiet at last. Jack is happily doing the Sunday crosswords and I am trying not to think of Evvie and Joe’s two empty chairs next to me. I’ll probably call my sister again today. I remember back to the days we all lived in the Bronx. We used to call each other three or four times a day, and laugh at ourselves. The second or third conversation always started with, By the way, I forgot to tell you, this or that …

And here we live in buildings directly across the way. We can even see each other in our windows and wave. Yet we still make the many calls. I smile.

Jack pokes me gently, pulling me out of my memories. “Company.”

I turn over and glance to where he’s indicating.

To my surprise, Arlene, in a bathing suit and coverall, is heading toward me, carrying her towel and swim tote. For a woman her age, her body is toned and agile.

I sit up. All eyes are on her. Hy lets out a wolf whistle and Lola gives him a small, playful smack.

Hy tells his wife, “Babe, I ain’t dead yet. I can still look.” He calls out, “Hey, Arlene. You get lost? Phase Three is thataway.”

She doesn’t hear him; she is focused only on reaching me.

Jack and I stand up to greet her.

“May I join you?” she asks with intensity. She whispers, “You know why.”

I point to Evvie’s empty lounge. “Of course. Take this chaise.”

All eyes are on her. It’s change. And attention is paid.

She adjusts the chair, sits down, and takes long breaths to calm herself.

I speak low as well. “Has anything happened?”

“I can’t talk about it now. I just need to get away from there.” She reaches for a magazine from her bag and attempts to read, but her hands are shaking.

I pick up my novel, but I’m not reading, either. I don’t know how to help her. This is no solution. She’ll have to run into Joyce one of these days.

The innocuous Muzak being piped in on the intercom starts to relax her. She places the towel across the front of her body, closes her eyes, and covers her face with her beach hat. I sense she might even sleep, she looks so tired.

Now I do start to read. Jack gets up, stretches, and walks over to the pool, ready to dive in.

But the peace and quiet is short-lived.

Suddenly I can sense something change in the atmosphere. The low buzz of chatter halts. I glance up to see what has caught everyone’s attention.

Joyce has entered the pool area and is looking around. A peacock among the hens. I don’t think any of us here have bought anything new or as colorful in at least five years. She is enveloped in a long loose muumuu-like outfit in strikingly bold and bright slashes of pink and green. Her matching sun hat is at a rakish angle. Her huge white-rimmed sunglasses almost cover her whole face. All of it is obviously expensive.

One can’t help compare the two of them. Arlene is the real beauty and Joyce uses the cover of clothing to hide her unattractiveness.

Joyce spots me and starts to walk over, smiling as she does.

Hy has to butt in. “What’s going on in Phase Three? What’s with all these sudden visitors? An exodus? An epidemic? Somebody’s grandkid pee in the pool?”

These things happen at once. Jack quickly comes back to me. I jump up, accidentally knocking into Evvie’s chair, which startles Arlene.

As Joyce reaches me, Arlene leaps up off the chaise, her hat falling down onto the cement.

Both women gasp.

Joyce stops in her tracks.

Arlene turns to me, stricken. She whispers hoarsely, “What is she doing here? What?”

Even though Arlene speaks to me, Joyce answers her. “Our pool was so crowded, I thought I’d just come next door and see if there was room here.”

Arlene grabs her towel and bag, forgetting her hat and her sandals, and begins to back away. She cries out, her voice shaky, “Please. Keep her away from me!”

Joyce, embarrassed, lifts her arms in supplication. “Wait, Arlene, don’t go. I didn’t know you were here. Honest. I’ll leave, please, Arlene, come back!”

But Arlene is running now. I’m hoping she doesn’t fall. At our age, falling is a real danger.

Everyone watches this dramatic happening. News of this incident will spread fast and far.

I pick up the belongings Arlene left behind and hurry after her. I nod to Jack, who nods back, understanding that I need to try to help. No running for me, but I’m moving as quickly and as safely as I can. Behind me, I hear Joyce saying poignantly to one and all, “What can I do? She hates me. What should I do?”

I catch up with Arlene, who has stopped, out of breath, and is now leaning against the outside wall of the Phase Three shower room, tears in her eyes. “I can’t bear it.”

I put my arms around her to comfort her. “Arlene, this is no good. You have to find a way to deal with this situation without getting yourself in such a state.”

“I know, but you don’t know what’s going on. I can’t tolerate the sight of her!”

“First, call your doctor and ask for a mild tranquilizer. You need to calm down.” I’m hoping her doctor suggests she see a psychologist.

She nods her head. “I will. I promise.”

We move toward her building. All the while Arlene glances behind her in case Joyce is following. “I have to do something. I’ll have to move out!”

“That’s not a solution. This is your home. You’re happy here.”

“Not anymore.”

“But you have friends here.”

Arlene stops and looks straight at me. Stronger now. “Do I? Do you ever see me with friends?”

I look at her, surprised at the unexpected comment. I try to recollect her being with people, other than at the few clubs she joins, but I’m not getting any picture of her hanging out with any of the club members. I remember she is considered a loner.

Arlene sighs. “I know what people say behind my back. How they see me. Why don’t I conform? Everyone else has let their hair go natural. I still color mine. And go to the beauty salon every week. The ‘uniform’ here is to wear loose and plain clothes. I dress up every day. I still wear makeup. I go to the gym three times a week.”

I try to defend her. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Gladdy, really? Come on. Not so. As I mentioned, I was married twice. Each husband wanted a glamorous wife. So I dressed up for them and it became a habit. A habit I kept on following even though I’m single now. Can you understand what I mean?”

I comment, “Yes, as I was trained by my mother early on to always make my bed as soon as I woke up. And I still do that even though no one is watching.”

“Exactly. When I came here, I thought I should change and be like everyone else. And then one day I said to myself, I’m not here to please them. I dress to please myself. What’s wrong with that? The women here think it’s necessary to be invisible because they’re old. Society expects that. But we aren’t obliged to look old. I’m not willing to look old.”

I recall Hy whistling at her just moments ago. And Lola’s response.

“So they think I’m a snob. And even a threat to the women. As if I’d want any of their husbands! Therefore, I keep to myself. I’m used to it and I prefer it.” Her mood changes. Darkens. “And now I’m forced to deal with someone out of my past who is toxic to me.”

She is getting disturbed again. “Listen. I’ll go and talk to Joyce. Let me find out how long she intends to stay.”

Arlene looks up at me, unhappily. “I can always visit my son or daughter for a while until she’s gone.” She shudders. “It gives me the creeps knowing she’s right underneath me. I can’t go down for my mail. I can’t shop for food. I feel trapped in my apartment. I only came out today because I thought I’d be safe where you are.”

We reach her building. I suggest she go upstairs and lie down. She agrees. With a last look behind her she hurries into the elevator.

This is a mess. This woman I hardly know has touched me. How can I help her? I don’t know what to do.

I return. Joyce has gone, but her memory lingers on.

Jack and I decide we’ve had enough of the pool today. We walk back to our condo. “What did I miss?” I ask him.

“A lot of staring and whispering. Joyce apologized for spoiling our swim time, shed some tears, and walked off in another direction.”

Jack asks, “And what did I miss? You were with Arlene for quite a while.”

“She’s quite a woman. I had no idea. I’ll tell you more over a cup of tea. I need to think about this situation.”

Jack adds, “While you were with Arlene, I had an idea. Since we’re on the Seymour case, it gives us an excuse to search his apartment. Hopefully, we can talk to Joyce at the same time and find some solution to Arlene’s problem.”

“Good thinking,” I say.

“Not that I’m dodging my responsibilities, but as you pointed out to me, these are women’s issues. You’d fare better talking to her alone.”

I grin. “Aha … And what will you be up to, while I do all the work?” I give him a friendly nudge in his ribs.

“Maybe talk to Morrie and get some ideas on how to track Seymour.”

“That’s an idea.” I smile, thinking of Ida renaming her PI group. “Soon you’ll want to change our professional name.”

Jack laughs. “Thanks for the suggestion. How about Jack Langford in big letters on our business cards, and in a corner, Gladdy Gold Langford, assistant, in tiny letters.”

I punch him lightly on the arm. “We’ll see about that.”

Joyce is more than willing to let me come up to search Seymour’s apartment. When I called her for an appointment, I had a feeling she wants to talk to me as much as I want to talk to her.

She opens the door to me dressed in a simple yet elegant jumpsuit. Her thinning red hair is tousled and half covered with a scarf.

As I enter, she tells me she’s on the phone with her daughter in California, so I should just feel free to look around.

Joyce hurries back to the couch, picks up the phone, and continues speaking. “Yes, Stacy, honey, it’s just one of the neighbors.” I hear her sigh. “More delays? How hard is it to put in a Jacuzzi bathtub?”

I slowly look around, but I’m half listening. The subject matter continues to be about the construction job on her new cottage in Sausalito.

To say Seymour’s place is nondescript is putting it mildly. This man has lived here for twenty years and all he has are the basics. An ordinary wooden table with two chairs. A brownish five-foot couch and a black plastic recliner that’s seen better days. And a small TV on a rickety stand. No pictures on the walls. A minuscule side table with a TV Guide, still open.

There’s some kind of scrapbook leaning next to the recliner. I stop for a few moments to examine these two things. The TV Guide has a number of shows circled. I recognize them as reality shows. Then I look into the scrapbook. It’s a shrine to these same kinds of shows. The Amazing Race, Survivor, Big Brother, Fear Factor, to name a few. Seymour is a big fan. Pages of information about the places, the people, the experiences. Interesting. This is the only object in this painfully plain apartment that shows an interest in life for Seymour. More like a passion, seeing how large this scrapbook is. I replace it where I found it.

In the bedroom, I’m surprised to see an expensive king-size bed along with a single-size bed pushed against a far wall and a simple chest of drawers. I open the drawers. Nothing in there. The closet has, I assume, what’s left of Seymour’s clothes after taking the rest on his trip. Joyce has hung up some of her things as far away in the closet as she can from his. The rest she seems to keep in her open suitcase near her bed.

In the bathroom, there’s nothing in the medicine cabinet except for a half-used tube of toothpaste. Joyce keeps all her cosmetics out on the sink.

The kitchen has barely any cooking utensils. I open the fridge. Joyce has her groceries in there. Some yogurts, salad makings, juice, and coffee.

A few TV dinners are in the freezer, probably left over by Seymour.

My search takes five minutes. There isn’t anything here. Seymour lived with practically nothing. Which makes sense now that Leah explained about his narrow existence. It seems to reflect Seymour’s empty, sad life.

But the more important mystery: What is the obviously wealthy Joyce Steiner doing in a place like this? There’s no doubt she comes from much better circumstances.

Joyce appears behind me, phone call completed. As if she reads my mind, “Dismal, isn’t it? Amazing that anyone could live like this. As you might have noticed, I shipped my own bed here. I’m used to a lot more comfort, at least while I’m sleeping. I couldn’t imagine myself sleeping in Seymour’s bed. Would you like to join me in a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Joyce boils the water in a small pot. There are literally only two cups. She brings over a package containing a selection of herb teas.

“Peppermint all right with you?” I nod. She pours hot water over our tea bags.

As we sit at the kitchen table, she asks, “Did you find anything? Nothing much here of Mr. Seymour Andrews, is there? I was quite amazed when I saw this place, to think that he’s actually lived like this for years. At first I was appalled, and then I was not. I suddenly realized I craved what he had. Simplicity.”

I wanted to ask questions, but I didn’t need to. I let her ramble on. Heaven knows, I’ve already realized, she loves to talk about herself. She’s doing all my investigative work for me.

“Most of my belongings have already been shipped to my daughter, since I thought I’d be going there as soon as I sold my place. When Stacy informed me there was a delay in construction, I panicked at first. But then I began to understand this odd situation was freeing me to do what I had to do. Deal with myself.”

She grimaces, then reaches into her purse, which is at her side. It’s large, and I’m curious as to what’s in there.

Joyce takes out a pill bottle, spills two pills into her hand. She gets up and takes them with a glass of water. “Indigestion, acid reflux,” she explains. “I’m ashamed. I don’t even have a cookie to offer you. I’ve been dieting.”

“Not a problem.” She is painfully thin. Why do wealthy people need to look like skeletons? I’m happy that Jack talked me into a large lunch. She should stop dieting, but it’s not my business to give her advice.

She continues. “At first I stayed at good hotels, but after a while I was bored with it. Too much temptation to drink and smoke and spend time with the kind of people I no longer enjoyed. I wanted to get back to who I once was a very long time ago, not this angry, rich wife, recently widowed. I realized I hated who I’d become.”

Joyce chats on and on. About the mansion she had just sold that was on the Intracoastal Waterway. It’s a throwaway remark, as if it was no big deal, but I know that area. Just about everyone does. Yet, few of us ever get to see it. The waterway covers three thousand miles of land touching the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. It runs nearly the entire length of the eastern seaboard. But what she’s talking about is a section of Fort Lauderdale and Sunrise. Both towns contain incredible real estate. No way to visit them unless invited. Or if one takes the tourist boat trip that shows off these expensive homes, known for their astronomically high prices because of their privacy and exclusivity.

We are probably a twenty-minute drive from those homes, but they might as well be on the moon for how far they are from our reality.

Joyce regales me with tales of servants, country clubs, what she called in her words a useless life. The cash register in my head is tallying up real estate and memberships and Jaguars and yachts and I’m way up in the millions.

Joyce is still throwing pearls to the swine, so to speak. Seemingly so bored with her affluent life. “I gave up on hotels and looked for a sublet. And that’s how I ended up here. And then to my utter amazement, I found Arlene. It was beshert. You know, fate.”

She pauses. I guess she is finally giving me a turn to speak. Or cueing me on what should come next? Or skipping over details she doesn’t want me to know? Gladdy, I chide myself, don’t be so cynical.

I do ask the most obvious question. “However did you find this place?”

She smiles. “Well, that’s a story in itself. You’ll laugh. Purely by accident. I happened upon Seymour, who was walking in Lauderdale Park. I was walking, too, for exercise. We met one day and the next day we ran into each other again. We sat on a park bench to rest and then we started to talk. He was planning a trip but was worried about leaving his condo empty.”

She suddenly looks at her watch. “Oh, dear. I forgot to tell Stacy something important. I must call her right back before she leaves the house and takes her children to the dentist.”

She quickly moves me toward the door.

As I stand on the landing, she says, “You’re a good listener, Mrs. Langford.”

I startle for a moment. I’m not quite used to my new name.

I’m not about to leave until I say what I came up there to discuss. I face her directly. It’s harsh, but I say it gently. “Arlene doesn’t want you here. Do you think you can change her mind?”

Joyce shifts from one foot to another. She’s in a hurry. She wants me out. I watch her face shift from irritation to bland.

She gives me an answer. “I thought so until that outburst at the pool. There is no forgiveness in her heart. I don’t know how to reach her. I don’t want to cause her pain all over again. What should I do?”

As much as I’d like to, I can’t just tell her to leave. I try a different tack. “Arlene is talking about moving away.”

Joyce hangs her head in shame. “Because of me? Then there’s nothing else for me to do—I should be the one to leave. I’ll start searching for another place to stay immediately.”

I feel sorry for her. Everything she said made sense, so why do I feel so uncomfortable? She was like all angles and sharpness—too slick in the telling?

Then I realize she never fully answered my question about how she met Seymour. I don’t know what to think.

Ida won’t admit she’s as excited as Sophie and Bella about today’s class. Today they get to the good stuff. She’s been wondering if she made a mistake and they were wasting their time in this so-called private eye course. Gatkes seems all over the place. He talks about “good cop” and “bad cop” roles when dealing with prisoners. What’s that got to do with being a PI? Then he sells them clothing. She thinks he’s made all of it up. And besides, where are the other students? She expected a classroom filled with other enthusiastic students. The girls are clueless. They follow whatever Gatkes tells them. But she cannot admit defeat. So she has high hopes about what they’ll learn today: how to defend themselves.

They eagerly follow Mike Gatkes as he leads them to what might be a storage room far back down the hall from their usual classroom. This is a larger apartment than she thought.

He takes out a set of keys and unlocks half a dozen locks on this one door.

“Today you have your chance to buy your weapons of mass destruction.” He laughs. “Kidding.” Gatkes teases with a lilt in his voice. Ida is beginning to wonder, along with all the other things she questions, what’s with the drama queen in their teacher?

He opens the door with a flourish and they enter, eyes growing wide with amazement at the huge quantity of killing equipment. Again, what’s this? Do we kill a flea with an elephant gun?

Ida comments, “Would we really need stuff like this?”

He shrugs. “But a PI should always be prepared. Trust me. You’ll find something useful in here.”

Ida hates with a passion when anyone says trust me. The sign of a big liar.

The girls gaze at row after row of all sizes and shapes of scary-looking guns as Gatkes calls out his favorites. He likes a hefty handgun, especially the Glock. The Taurus revolver is a big seller, too. His KAC SR Enhanced Match Carbines are guaranteed accurate. “But let’s not get too involved here. You girls don’t want to carry.”

Sophie and Bella shake their heads in horrified agreement. No, sir. They don’t want to “carry.”

Ida whistles, staring at the $1,075.99 price tag on something called a Long Range Sniper machine gun. “Who buys this stuff?”

Gatkes shrugs. “Your basic war fighters, law-enforcement and security guys, and law-abiding civilian shooters. Let me show you what you might need.”

He waggles the next item through his fingers. “Here’s a dandy pair of handcuffs. Always useful. The prices range from $88.99 down to a bargain at $13.99.”

He passes a pair to the girls, who handle them as if they were diamond bracelets at Tiffany. They look to their leader, Ida, hopefully.

She says, “Okay on the cuffs, the ones at $13.99.”

Sophie and Bella are gleeful.

Gatkes marks a list he is carrying.

He moves things along, continuing his comments. “You might not need these leg irons, but they’re a sweet buy at $30.99. Or the expandable baton, a giveaway at $19.99.”

Bella whispers to Sophie, “What would we use that for?”

Sophie shrugs. “For a band concert?”

Gatkes says, “What you would definitely need are night-vision glasses. Great for nighttime, low light, and poor weather conditions.” He hands each girl a pair, then hits the switch and they are in darkness.

The girls ooh and aah. Even Ida is impressed by how clearly she can see. The girls move around waving their arms, making silly faces, having fun with being able to see one another.

Ida commands, “Enough already.”

The girls stop short. Gatkes turns the lights back on.

Sophie says, “But we gotta have these. They’re cool.”

“Good choice,” Gatkes says encouragingly. “That’s the top-of-the-line Cougar 492.5, at $99.99. An incredible buy.”

“Whoa,” says Ida. “Way too rich for our blood.”

Her reticence doesn’t faze Gatkes. “I respect your price range. I have a nice Bushnell Nightwatch. For you, $79.99.”

Ida comments, “Gatkes, you sure do like that ninety-nine-cents thing. Why don’t you just say a hundred bucks and be done with it?”

“Would you buy it at a hundred?”

“No.”

“So $99.99 sounds better.”

“I get your drift,” Ida says. “But we’re not buying even for $79.99. Flashlights will have to do.”

The girls are disappointed, but Ida is in charge.

Ida smiles seeing how the girls are awed by her takeover personality. She’s determined to talk them into having her name in the title of their new business.

Gatkes gets them to follow him down another aisle. “Here’s our selection of excellent deterrents. The Tasers and Mace start at $49—”

Ida says it before he does. “—ninety-nine.”

“They’re scary,” Bella says. “Don’t they hurt?”

“Yeah,” adds Sophie. “And what if we accidentally tased or maced ourselves?”

Gatkes agrees. “I see your point. May I suggest the less dangerous, but equally useful pepper spray?”

“What the heck is this?” Ida reads from a nearby tag. “ ‘Counter Assault Bear Deterrent Spray with brush holster.’ ”

“Bears?” Bella asks, moving backward from Ida, looking every which way, terrified.

“Not for you, ladies.” Gatkes winks conspiratorially. “No bears in our beloved Florida, though you might run into the occasional alligator. Kidding.”

He walks them over to another shelf. “I think you’ll like this handy-dandy little number. The Hot Lips lipstick. Looks like an ordinary lipstick for that element of surprise. You get an eight-second burst of pepper and an eight-to-ten-foot range. At a delightful price of $9—”

Now it’s the chorus of three calling it out. “—ninety-nine.”

The girls look eagerly toward their leader.

Ida says, “Sold.”

The girls are delighted.

Gatkes smiles and reaches into another bin. “This last item will put the finishing touch on your basic equipment package. The Kevlar vest.”

He holds one up, turning it around for them to appreciate.

Sophie and Bella, really getting into it, take turns trying on the various types of vests.

Ida shakes her head as she watches them modeling, turning, dipping, and preening as if on the runway of a Saks Fifth Avenue fashion show.

Gatkes moderates. “Here we have the antislash Covert Ladies’ Hoodie made of aramid fiber, being modeled in pink by Mrs. Fox and in blue by Mrs. Meyerbeer.”

Ida smiles contentedly as she reaches for her credit card. This may be costing them a fortune, but now she realizes Gladdy Gold and Associates was sooooo old-fashioned.

Ida is nervous about going to Rico’s home. Logically, it’s a good idea. Since the girls don’t dare invite Rico to Lanai Gardens, which would give away their secrets, he has opened up his home for their meeting place. Here they can discuss their new business and make future plans, as well as teach Rico what they learn.

It’s a neighborhood far from where they live. She tries to pay attention as Rico drives, but nothing looks familiar. She has no idea where they are. Maybe a mostly Cuban area, from what Ida sees as they drive down his street. People are sitting on steps, chatting. She hears much laughter. And music. Children playing in a tiny pocket park. She considers how quickly they’ve accepted Rico. Enough to follow him without question.

A smile plays across Ida’s face. She is pleased with herself. She has led the girls into what could be murky waters, but so far, all goes well. They are having an adventure. Which is more than what Gladdy Gold and Associates offers.

Rico actually lives in a small house. White clapboard. Neat. Painted. All good signs. Very much like all the rest of the homes.

Ida watches as the girls investigate all six hundred square feet of living space that is Rico’s home. It’s as neat inside as it was outside. The three of them practically fill up all the empty space. All the while Rico is delighted as he examines the stuff they’ve bought in Mike Gatkes’ back room.

“Great choices,” he says as he examines the Kevlar vests.

“Thanks,” Ida says, taking credit.

Rico has graciously allowed them to store their new purchases here as well.

Every inch of this small space is in use. Rico is proud of the fact that he helps support his eight younger sisters and brothers, who live with their mother in Miami. He points to photos of his family on his one small dresser.

The girls are impressed. Not only does he volunteer with the senior driving project, but he holds down three jobs.

He informs the girls of his method. Indicating the computer equipment, he explains how he goes to garage sales and flea markets, buys things, then sells them on eBay. A bicycle takes up most of another wall. This is what he uses to deliver his morning newspapers. He has a steady route that he starts at 5 A.M.

At night he delivers pizzas.

The girls applaud him for his hard work. They are really getting to like this kid.

While they sip their nonalcoholic Mojitos, with their delicious strawberry daiquiri flavor, they admire Rico’s posters of Cuba on the walls.

Rico congratulates them again on their great buys. He’s sure they’ll find good uses for everything they bought. They are ready for business.

“Ouch,” Bella yelps suddenly. “That hurts!”

Ida and Rico turn to see what’s going on. Sophie has put the cuffs on Bella.

Sophie looks chagrined. “I just wanted to see how tight they can get.”

Bella pouts. “Well, now you know. Loosen me.”

Sophie tries.

“No, you’re going the wrong way! Ouch! Ouch!”

Rico comes to the rescue. He unlocks the cuffs and frees Bella.

Bella rubs her wrists to ease the pain. “Just don’t try out the pepper spray on me,” she warns.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie says, meaning it.

Bella gratefully announces, “I think we should invite Rico to be a member of our new company. At least he knows how to safely handle our gear.”

She glowers at Sophie, who hangs her head, feeling bad about hurting her friend. “I agree,” Sophie adds.

They look toward Ida. Rico eyes her eagerly, holding his breath.

Ida puffs up. “Well, it’s all right with me. But I don’t know how he’ll find the time to work with us.”

Rico is thrilled. “You will love having me. I am so good at everything. Especially high-tech things,” he says, holding the handcuffs up and laughing.

Ida has to make sure of their deal. “You still drive us, cheap.”

“Absotively posilutely,” Rico says, purposely mangling the words.

They raise their Mojitos for a toast.

Ida says, “To Ida Franz and Associates!”

Bella and Sophie growl, but this time they don’t argue.

“So Ida led the rebellion. Ida now has her taste of power.” Morrie laughs.

Jack replies, “And we all know how power corrupts.” He laughs, too.

I add, “I’m sure Sophie and Bella want to come back into the fold, but they dare not cross her.”

We’re sitting in a favorite restaurant of ours. Greek food. Greek music. Yum, my favorite, moussaka. And that delicious lemon soup.

We’re having lunch with Morrie, now officially my stepson. Usually, my new family cop hardly ever has time off during the day, so this is a treat. I always enjoy being with Jack’s handsome son. I look at him and then at his equally good-looking dad and I know exactly how Morrie will look when he gets to Jack’s age. Tall. Salt-and-pepper hair. Big and comfortable, like my teddy bear kind of guy. Lucky Morrie.

We are talking about friendship.

I add, “We hardly see much of the girls anymore. They’re out very early and even when they’re home, they aren’t spending time with us. The most we’ve gotten out of them the few times we’ve actually seen them, Bella mentioned that they’re with this Rico boy, who is driving them around since I was no longer their designated driver. Ida wasn’t happy about her blurting out even that.”

Morrie dips his pita bread into the hummus. “Well, whatever the girls are doing, I hope they’re keeping out of trouble. I’d hate to have to arrest them for breaking and entering or something.”

That gets another laugh.

“Do you want me to do some checking up on this guy? Find out his last name? Make sure he’s legit?”

I answer, “Not yet. What’s that old political expression? Let her swing in the wind for a while. If it sounds dangerous, I’ll let you know. Bella will tell me.”

“So how’s your love life, Morrie?” Jack asks, changing the subject. He’s not one for subtlety, when it comes to his son. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Morrie actually blushes. He sighs. “All right, you twisted my arm. Yes, there is someone. She’s smart. She’s beautiful. She’s funny. But I’m keeping her under wraps until I think she can handle good old Dad’s friendly inquisitions.”

Jack pretends to pout. “Bring her around. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“Actually, Dad. And Gladdy. We’re very busy becoming good friends. Romance might come later.”

“Good thinking,” I say.

The waiter arrives with our lamb kabobs. We tuck in to enjoy them.

“My turn for quickly changing the subject,” Morrie says, chomping away. “Speaking of friends. What’s the latest with the Arlene and Joyce situation? Have they kissed and made up yet?”

Jack looks to me to fill him in.

“Actually, things are worse. Arlene is falling apart, having Joyce show up in her life. Joyce promised me she’d look around for another place to live. But I don’t get the feeling she’s looking too hard. I think she keeps hoping she can change Arlene’s mind.”

“And Seymour? Still no word?”

“Not a word,” I say.

“Hmm, strange.” Morrie passes the dolmas to me. “What’s your take on the situation?”

Jack jumps in. “Frankly, that ‘I’m looking for simplicity’ line doesn’t ring true. That woman is or was very rich. She could probably live anywhere she wants. I ask myself, Why Lanai Gardens?”

I agree. “She’s a regular windup Chatty Cathy doll with me. She blabs and blabs, throwing out all kinds of unasked-for information. As if by dazzling us with her footwork we won’t notice what’s really going on. As Shakespeare once wrote, ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’

“Wait a minute! Just wait a minute.” I wave my fork full of spanakopita in the air in excitement. “What about this? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

“Which means …?” Morrie asks.

“She said it was fate that brought her to that apartment so she could meet Arlene again. What if … what if she knew all along that Arlene lived there and she made it her business to meet Seymour?”

The two men stop eating to listen.

Jack gets it. “So she could replay her past. Joyce needed to live in the apartment underneath Arlene!”

Morrie turns to me. “When did you come up with that?”

“Actually, right now. It just hit me. That would connect the dots. If she wanted to see her old friend that badly again, this rich lady was willing to pay an easily led old man enough money to get him out of his supersafe cocoon. She assumed, and rightly, Arlene still hated her and wouldn’t see her if she tried to call her directly.

“She wanted the opportunity to win her back, so she went to all this trouble to ‘accidentally’ move into our condo.”

Jack says, “Which, unfortunately, is not going too well. Arlene’s anger runs too deep.”

I add, “What if Joyce did all of it with him and for him? It would make sense considering Leah’s description of her brother. Joyce must have taken him to get his passport, helped make the travel plans. That trip, whatever it is, cost a lot. Why else would she give this odd man that much money in order for her to live in that depressing apartment?”

“I think Gladdy’s onto something,” Jack says. “This makes more sense than thinking Seymour could do it all by himself.”

Morrie says, pleased, “Not only does your idea sound feasible, it tells us something else we haven’t yet thought of.”

Now it’s my turn to stare at Morrie.

He takes a sip of his retsina. “This means that Joyce knows very well where Seymour is. I’d bet money on it.”

As we drive up to Jack’s appointed parking spot, I see two women waving their hands frantically at us. Jack pulls in. I recognize our neighbors Fatima Baener and Elaine DeKyser, from Phase Three, rushing toward us. They are avid members of the Red Hat Society and as usual they are wearing red and purple. A large group of Lanai Garden residents belong to that unusual women’s club based on a poem written by Jenny Joseph, who wrote that when she got old, she would wear purple.

But why are they running toward us?

They can hardly wait until I get the door open.

Fatima says, “Thank goodness you’re back. We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Elaine reaches for my hand. “Plenty. All hell has broken loose in our cooking class.”

Fatima talks at the same time. “Arlene’s gone bonkers. I think she’s trying to kill Joyce.”

That’s all it takes. Jack and I are running with the anxiety-ridden women. Elaine is pulling me along.

I’m puffing to keep up. “Tell us more. How did it start?”

Both women start talking, overlapping each other’s words.

Fatima says, “We’re practicing making key lime pies and Arlene is doing okay, even though she thought we were baking lemon meringue today. Then Joyce shows up.”

Elaine says, “Joyce said that she read in our newsletter we were making key lime pies today, and since it’s her favorite, she joined us. She didn’t know Arlene would be there.”

Fatima tells us Arlene is not happy to see Joyce.

Elaine adds that Joyce tries to be nice about it.

Fatima says, “Joyce starts to remind her of how, when they were young, they used to make pies together and had so much fun.”

Elaine adds, “And Arlene reminds her, she was baking a key lime pie the day she caught that bitch—excuse the language, that’s the word Arlene used—sleeping with her husband!”

“And she didn’t say ‘sleeping with,’ either,” Elaine adds. “It’s a word I never, ever say.”

“We snuck out when Arlene wasn’t looking. We had to find you,” Fatima says, relieved.

We reach the club room door and hear shouting inside.

What a sight before our eyes as we enter. Fatima and Elaine stay put at the doorway. They don’t dare come in.

I recognize the two other members. Frances Tarvin and Sandra Litzman, both wearing aprons, stand clinging to each other at the far end of the kitchen, holding on to each other in fright.

The room is a shambles. Kitchen pots have been thrown about. A lemon-colored pie lies splattered all over the butcher block. Utensils are scattered. Other freshly baked pies sit on the stove. I’m aware of how good the room smells. How ironic—the scents of vanilla and fear.

Arlene stands at one side of the large chopping block in the center of the room. On the opposite side is Joyce, arms held up as if in submission, perhaps believing she’ll need them to deflect a blow.

What’s frightening is that Arlene is brandishing a huge, serrated bread-carving knife. My God, what’s happened to her? It’s a different Arlene. What’s changed since we last talked? The perfectly put-together lady is a mess. Her clothes and apron are covered with custard and meringue. Her hair is flying about her face and her eyes are wild and unfocused. Dear God, she looks demented.

Arlene sees us. “Gladdy,” she cries out shrilly, “tell her to leave me alone! Make her stop stalking me!”

Jack and I look at Joyce and I can read the pity on her face. She shrugs. She says quietly, “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Arlene screams, “Liar! Liar!” She slams the knife handle in her fist on the wooden block, sending pie crust bits into the air.

Jack walks slowly to her. Speaking softly. “It’s all right. Everything will be all right.” He reaches for the knife.

I hold my breath. Oh, Jack, don’t … What if … what if … I can’t bear to think it …

Arlene doesn’t seem to recognize him.

Jack says, “I’m here. Gladdy is here. We’ll help you.”

The knife quivers in her hands.

Frances stifles a cry. Sandra closes her eyes, terrified of what might happen.

Arlene hands the knife over to him, as if surprised to see what she had been holding. He slides the knife into the butcher block drawer.

I join him. Together we put our arms around her and lead her out. Her whole body is shaking. She turns once more and glares at Joyce.

She sobs. “Die, damn you! Die. I wish you were dead!”

We start to walk Arlene along the path, heading toward our own apartment, but we don’t get very far.

She suddenly pulls away. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Our worried eyes betray us.

Arlene reverses herself and heads back toward her own building. She starts to run. “Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!”

We stand still looking after her.

Moments later, we can see Joyce, head down, walking away from the club room by herself. She seems to be moving aimlessly.

Jack and I nod. Quickly, we both reach her and head her off.

“We should talk,” Jack says to her.

She shakes her head. Distraught, she cries out, “Not now. Please. Later!”

And she runs from us, too.

We have leftover pot roast for dinner. Usually a favorite dish. Especially when it’s served the next day and the juices have saturated the meat and made the taste even better. But neither of us is hungry. I move my fork absently around my plate as I listen to Jack attempting to call Joyce for the third time this evening. He hangs up.

“Still no answer.”

My turn. I attempt another call to Bella. Again no answer. I’ve left a number of messages on her machine to call me as soon as she gets in. But nothing.

“Frustrating,” I say as I get up and look out the window across the silent parking area up to her second-floor window. Still no movement.

“No kidding. Here I’ve worked myself up to playing bad cop tonight with Joyce and either she’s not answering or maybe she’s gone to some bar to forget that horrific scene this morning.”

“She’s got to come home sometime. Both of them do.”

“I’m determined to make her admit to knowing where Seymour is so that we can get him back.”

“And I’m just as determined to ask Bella to explain that remark she made at the newcomers party about having seen Joyce at an earlier time. I want to prove my theory that Joyce knew where Arlene lived.”

I start to clear the dining room table. “I don’t suppose you want dessert. Sandra gave me one of the key lime pies that she made this afternoon. She said she lost her appetite.”

Jack gets up to help me. “Well, so have I.”

“Poor Arlene. I just can’t get over the change in her. I wonder what’s going through her mind right now. Why is she so frightened? Why does she insist she’s being stalked? What could turn her into the woman standing there with a knife in her hand? Clearly Joyce didn’t know what she was talking about. This has all gotten out of control.”

We stack the dishes in the dishwasher. I soak the big pot in the sink with suds to loosen the grease.

I turn to Jack. “While we’re waiting, TV or gin rummy?”

“TV. I don’t want to think. I need mindless entertainment.”

“Ditto.”

But first, I beckon Jack to follow me. I open the front door and we go out onto the walkway.

Across the way we can see the flicker of a few TVs. The sun is beginning to set. “Listen,” I say.

“I don’t hear anything.”

I put my arm around his waist. “That’s what I mean. It’s too quiet. I feel like we’re standing here waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.”

Ida rushes the girls up the steep stairs yet again. Mike Gatkes has phoned and told them to come back to his office. Something big is happening, he says. And they won’t want to miss it.

She practically pushes Bella and Sophie from behind. They are huffing and puffing, almost hanging on to the banister, climbing on their knees, praying for the strength to make it.

Mike Gatkes paces in the hallway outside his office, waiting for them as they try to catch their breath. He glances importantly at his watch, which Ida notices has a Mickey Mouse face.

“About time. Just got a case hot off the griddle. Thought you’d like to be working along with me. We’re going on a field trip.”

He shoves his forties vintage fedora onto his head and starts skipping down the steps. “Follow me.”

The girls can hardly move. Ida weakly calls down to him, “Mr. Gatkes, wait.”

Sophie gasps, “Water.”

Bella cries out, “A chair. I need a chair.”

Gatkes looks up at them. “No time. We gotta hustle.”

The girls hold on to the banister for dear life. Half walking, half sliding, they make their way back downstairs.

Bella mumbles, “Getting old can kill you.”

“Useless, I tell you, the police are good for nothing.” Ida watches the car wash owner, Harvey Fleigel, move agitatedly along the line of rolling cars as they get soaped, washed, waxed, and dried. Ida notices that his workers ignore him. She looks again, puzzled. They kind of, sort of look like Fleigel.

They’re all talking loudly over the noise of the car wash mechanisms.

Harvey is all hands and waving arms and shrugging shoulders as he cries out his problem. “The cops come, they scribble on their little pads, and I never hear from them. And it happened again last night. Twelve dollars in quarters. All the coins, gone with the wind. Gatkes, I’m going crazy here.”

Bella whispers, “I haven’t seen that movie in years. Is it playing around here?” She mimics dramatically, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Ida hisses at her, “Shh. Pay attention.”

Ida hovers over Bella and Sophie, who are sitting on beat-up red and orange plastic customer chairs behind the low wall alongside the passing wet cars. They are fanning themselves with the Shiny Bright Car Wash brochures.

“Harvey, calm yourself,” Mike Gatkes says. “I’m here and I brought my students along to learn. I will crack this case wide open. I promise.”

Ida grimaces as he pretends to look sweetly at his students, who now resemble a bunch of wet rags. “Look around, ladies. Take notes. The car wash and parking lot are locked every single night. Harvey here closes off the chain-link fence himself. Examine the top. Barbed wire. If anyone climbed the fence, the alarm would go off. Not only that, the crook wouldn’t be able to get back out. In fact, with all the barbed wire hitting his touchas, he wouldn’t be able to sit down again for a week. Yet someone manages to sneak in every night and steal every quarter out of the candy machine.”

Gatkes points and the girls attentively follow the line of his fingers. “Voilà, the candy machine.”

Ida smirks. Suddenly Gatkes talks French?

Bella pokes Ida. “Is it all right if we ask for a candy bar? I’m getting hungry just looking at all that chocolate.”

Sophie agrees. “Good idea. We can sample the evidence.”

Ida ignores them.

“I read the printout. I know how many bars get sold, and no coins.” Harvey is getting purple in the face from so much aggravation.

Gatkes tries to calm him. “But the thief doesn’t take the bills.”

“Hah! Three one-dollar bills. Big deal. Everybody uses coins.”

Gatkes pulls Fleigel off to one side. He wiggles his thumb in the direction of his team of young workers and whispers, “You’re sure they’re clean?”

“Fugeddaboudit. They’re relatives. I inherit all the lazy dropout nephews. Besides, the machine ain’t been tampered with. There’s no way to get the coins out without my keys.”

“Ladies.” Gatkes addresses the girls. “Comments? Ideas?”

Sophie pipes up, “Gladdy would call this a closed-room case.”

Bella is confused. “How could that be? We’re outside, on the street.”

“Well, it is. There’s no way anybody can get in or out.” Sophie is proud of her detecting prowess.

Ida shushes her. “Never mind about Gladdy, this is our gig. So just be quiet.”

Bella raises her hand. “I’ve got a question.”

The two men turn to her.

Bella looks duly puzzled. “Why don’t you empty the candy machine before you go home?”

Mike claps. “Good question. See, Harvey, I told you the old broads were sharp.”

Harvey puffs out his chest and beer belly. “It’s the principle of the thing. I wanna catch those guys in the act, those momzers who’re stiffing me.”

“Well,” adds Ida, in a tone she uses for fools, “at least take most of the coins out, so you only get partially robbed.”

“Nice detecting,” Mike says, clueless of her sarcasm. “But, Harvey, don’t do it yet. I got to work out a plan for how to trap them. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”

Rico arrives to pick them up from the bus stop bench where they sit waiting for him, exhausted and hungry for dinner. He parks and joins them on the bench with a small cooler he’s brought.

He opens the cooler and offers the girls Cuban pastelitos as a snack. At first they don’t want to touch them, always fearful of the unknown.

But Rico says, “Try it, you’ll like it. My mamacita baked them.” Hunger wins out, and they do. They happily lick the sweet top of the delicious coconut puff pastry as they fill him in.

Rico joins them in their snack. He comments between bites, “Impossible! No way could anyone climb over the fence. And besides, look at this street. It’s crowded all the time. Probably wild stuff going on all night long. Someone would notice a break-in.”

They glance around, taking in the street scene evolving around them.

Sophie comments, “It’s more interesting than where we live. Like a circus.”

Bella tugs at her. “Look, that guy even has a cotton candy machine.”

Rico says, “How about those cute kids dancing to salsa?” Rico applauds them and drops a few coins into a baseball cap they have lying on the ground.

Sophie comments, “They even have an organ grinder with a monkey. Can we get bananas and feed him?”

Ida is impatient to leave. The crowds and smells are annoying her. “Eat up already. This place is giving me a headache.”

“Well,” sums up their sort-of new partner, “this calls for a stakeout.”

Ida looks at him sharply. “I’m the boss. I make the decisions.” She pauses, then announces, “It’s time for a stakeout. Fast, before Gatkes comes up with his plan. Rico, how much for overtime driving?”

Rico grins. “Here’s my deal for you. I come along. One stakeout. Round trip. Free ride. Nighttime snacks from Mamacita.”

Ida makes a quick executive decision. “Done.”

“Tonight. We’ll hang out at my pad until it gets dark. Maybe around eight-thirty.”

Bella shivers with excitement. “We never get to stay up that late.”

“How about I make us pulled-pork sandwiches and we have more of that fake beer for our dinner?”

The girls look a bit perturbed at the idea of a spicy pork dinner.

Then Sophie says, “Why not! We only live once!”

With that she grabs Bella’s hands and they dance together to the Cuban music. Rico takes their hands and joins them. “We’ll have a hot time in the old town tonight.”

Sophie says, “I can’t wait. This is gonna be such fun.”

Ida shakes her head. Now she has three children to drive her crazy.

They stand in the dark back alley behind Rico’s building, getting ready to pack up his car. Ida does the last-minute checkup of what’s in their totes.

“Flashlights?”

Three sets of hands hold up their flashlights. Flick them to make sure the batteries are working. “Check,” says Rico.

“Clothing?”

All are dressed completely in black. Sophie and Bella lift up their extra-large dark shirts to show their pink and blue hoodies underneath.

“Check,” says Rico.

“Weapons.”

The lipstick pepper sprays are held aloft. “Check.”

“Sleeping items?”

“I got the blankies,” Bella says.

Ida sees Bella hide her teddy bear. She’s not about to admit she can’t sleep anywhere without it.

“I have the pillows,” Sophie remarks.

Rico grins. “Houston. We are ready for takeoff.”

They climb into Rico’s now totally stuffed little lime VW bug.

As planned, they arrive at the car wash five minutes before closing. Rico parks his car in the lot and takes a ticket from one of the indifferent nephews. He and the girls pretend to walk toward the exit. Instead, with a careful eye out so that Harvey won’t spot them as he unwinds his chain-link fence, they race to the restrooms.

“Hide,” Rico says, “and wait ten minutes.”

Ida snarls. “I was just about to say that. I’m in charge here. Hide!”

“Yes, boss,” Rico says.

In the bathroom they face a small problem. There are only two stalls. Ida grabs one and Sophie and Bella squeeze into the other. They whisper to one another.

Bella kvetches to Ida, “It’s a tight fit.”

Ida says, “Make it work.”

Ida hears shuffling noises. “What’s going on?”

Sophie says, “Never mind. I’m sitting on the closed seat. Bella is on my lap.”

They talk to each other over the tops of the stalls.

Bella giggles. “This is so much more fun than mah-jongg.”

Sophie asks, “Should we stand on the toilet seats so no one will see our feet?”

Ida says, “Brilliant idea, then they’ll only see your head.”

Sophie is puzzled. Was that sarcasm?

“I like the idea,” Bella says. “But I don’t know if I can climb up on it.”

“Or we can sit on the seat with our feet up,” Sophie suggests.

“With the lid open or shut?” Bella wants to know.

Ida closes her eyes, exasperated. “God, give me strength,” she prays.

After a few minutes, Sophie whispers, “Isn’t it ten minutes yet? I can’t even breathe in here, it’s so crowded.”

Ida says, “Okay, I think we’re safe. I doubt whether Harvey or his boys would walk into the ladies’ room.”

More noises from the other stall. Ida hears the flushing of the toilet. “Shh. Who did that?”

“Me,” Bella confesses. “Might as well use the facilities.”

All quiet at last. The girls and Rico walk around the enclosed car wash, making sure they’re alone. It is a black, clouded, starless night and they need to use their flashlights. Sophie and Bella cling to each other as they cautiously head back to his car.

“I don’t know,” Ida says. “Sitting in that small car all night is going to be a hardship. Is there anyplace else we can hang out without being seen?”

Rico says, “There are three other parked cars. We can hide between them if we bend down, but that’s not much better.”

“Not with my arthritic knees,” Sophie complains.

“Mine, either,” Bella adds. “I’ll never be able to get up again.”

Ida shrugs. “Could we stay in the bathrooms until we hear something?”

“Not good—we won’t be able to see or hear.” Rico sighs. He walks around surveying their options. He looks down the empty car wash tunnel. “But we have time. If we’ve guessed right, it’ll be the nephews who made copies of their uncle’s keys. Los stupidos will probably wait till around midnight.”

He grins, getting an idea. “Might as well give my bug a bath. It could use it.” He adds, “And the price is right.”

Ida looks askance at him. “Are you sure you should do this? What do you know about how a car wash works?”

“Piece of tortilla,” says their new partner. “What’s to know? You press a button and it washes.”

He gets back into the bug and drives slowly. The girls follow him as he makes his way to the front of the car wash. He gets the car into the starting position, lining it up with the conveyor belt.

Sophie knocks on his window. “Could I ride along? I always wanted to be inside a car when it’s getting washed.”

“Me, too,” Bella says happily.

He waves them in.

Sophie takes the front seat next to him, and Bella the back.

He rolls down his window and calls out to Ida, “Wanna come along for the ride?”

Ida, never the adventurous one, folds her arms. “No, thanks.”

Rico tells the girls to stay put as he jumps back out of the car and studies his wash options from a list on the wall. “Might as well get the extra wax job.”

He turns to Ida. “Okay. First, I’m gonna look for the faucets to turn on the water. Ida, you can help. Go in that little room over there and flip open the switch to start the motor.”

She gives him a dirty look, but rather than argue, she heads for the small room. With her searchlight, she stares at the wall filled with switches.

She sticks her head out the door and calls in a heavy whisper, “Which one? There’s a lot of them.”

He calls back to her, “How many are there?”

Ida dutifully goes back and counts. She calls out to him, “Twenty-four.”

“Then switch them all on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

As she does so, all the lights in the entire car wash suddenly go on, illuminating the entire scene. Moments later, a deafening noise follows.

Ida races out of the storage room in a panic and confronts Rico, who is on his hands and knees still searching for a water spigot. “What was that sound?”

The expert shrugs. “Must be a hydraulic drive or a water pressure pump.”

“Oh, swell, now we’re all lit up and making enough noise to wake the dead.”

A muffled scream comes from the girls as the conveyor belt starts to move the car along its rail. “Get on! Get on!” Sophie shouts.

“Hold your caballos, I’ll be right there. I found the water.” He quickly turns the water on. “Rightsy tightsy, lefty loosey,” he recites as his reminder.

He rushes back to the wall facing the moving bug and starts pressing all the buttons. The car wash begins doing its thing.

He runs along the walkway as the bug passes him on the conveyer belt, shouting after them, “Sophie! Bella! Whatever you do, don’t open the windows!”

They can’t hear him above the noise. Sophie opens her window. She calls, “What did you say?” as a huge wave of water hits her.

“Close the windows. Close them!” Rico shouts.

Terrified, the now soaking wet Sophie does so.

Ida rushes down the walkway to reach Rico, who is still following his precious bug. Ida sees the girls, their hands smacking at the closed windows, their faces twisted in horror. She sees them mouth “Help!”

Then they disappear under the flapping wings of the foamlike washing mechanism. The car is enveloped by globs of soapsuds.

Ida sneers at Rico. “Some terrific idea. Now everyone in the street can see and hear us!”

They turn to look at the cluster of people watching them. Bag ladies and drunks enjoying the free show. The audience members wave gleefully.

“Good show,” one of them calls, waving his gin bottle.

Ida grabs tightly on to Rico’s arm. “Now see what you’ve done. The police will be here any minute.”

Rico removes her clutching arm, reassuring her and changing his earlier tune. “Not to worry. No way any of those weirdos out there have cellphones, and besides, even if they did no one around here ever calls cops. And cops never come around here at night. It’s too dangerous.”

“But the alarm. Won’t it go off?”

“Only if you’re climbing the fence.”

“Well, you and your big idea about washing your stupid little car. The crooks won’t come near us now with all this light and all this commotion.”

They can hear the muffled sounds of Bella and Sophie screaming at them, begging to be let out.

Now the wax is spraying. The two girls look distorted by the pattern of the zigzagging wax buildup.

Ida yells, “Rico, get into the car and stop them!”

“I can’t,” he says, “there’s no way for me to jump on. It’s too slippery.”

“Then turn the damn thing off!”

Rico shouts to the girls as he runs alongside them. “I’m going to shut you down. Just, whatever you do, don’t touch the steering wheel.” He motions with his hands imitating the steering wheel and shaking his head from side to side.

The girls add their own signals. Sophie and Bella are both nodding their heads up and down and pointing to something somewhere behind Rico’s head.

Suddenly Sophie turns the steering wheel toward him as hard as she can.

“No!” Rico yells, “Don’t do that! I said don’t touch the wheel!”

Too late. Rico’s car jumps the tracks and everything comes to a grinding halt.

Rico groans. “We’re stuck! I’ll never be able to get my car out.”

And Ida adds, “And we’re gonna get caught here like rats in a trap. I can see the headlines now: ‘Four Stupid Crooks Arrested for Breaking and Entering.’ ”

Rico sloshes his way over to his car and opens the door. The residual water inside splashes onto him.

He pulls the girls out and yells, “Why did you do that?”

They are wet and grinning. Sophie says, “We wanted to show you.”

“What’s so damn funny?”

The two girls pant and point again.

“Squirrel,” Sophie says, almost incoherently through her laughter.

“Squirrel,” Bella says, giggling and trying to squeeze the water out of her sweatshirt.

Rico and Ida look behind them to where the girls are waving.

And there’s the candy machine with a squirrel squeezing its way out of the coin slot with quarters in its mouth.

Ida and Rico can hardly believe their eyes as the little varmint slides up a water pipe heading for the roof with its ill-gotten gains.

“Case solved,” Sophie says gleefully.

I shake myself. I must have dozed off. Jack is snoring away at the other end of the couch. The movie we were watching is long over. There’s another classic film on now. I touch his shoulder, trying to wake him gently.

He jumps up, startled.

I smile. Watching an old black-and-white movie is better than any sleeping pill. I check the time. It’s a little past midnight.

We wander into the kitchen. I boil some water for tea to help us wake up.

Jack looks out the window. Still no light at Bella’s. “We must have missed the girls coming home. She’s probably asleep by now.”

By now all of Lanai Gardens is out cold as well. As we sip our tea, we try to decide what to do about Joyce.

Jack straightens up his shirt and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m going over to her place. I don’t care if I do wake her. This madness has got to end. Maybe catching her half asleep, she’ll let down her guard.”

“Okay, but finish your tea. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m going to play the alpha male and I won’t let her talk me into a stupor. Joyce needs a tougher approach.” Jack grabs a sweater from the closet, kisses me on the cheek, and heads out.

I stand on the walkway watching Jack head for Phase Three. Just as I’m about to go back inside, my eyes are caught by a bilious green VW bug pulling up in front of our building.

To my immense surprise, out pop Ida, Bella, and Sophie, all of whom are in great spirits. They are laughing and saying loud good-nights to their driver.

My imagination is piqued. I hurry downstairs to catch them. By the time I get there, the driver has turned a corner.

The girls greet me happily.

“Hey, late birds, where have you been all day and half the night?” What’s this? They look disheveled and Bella and Sophie look wet? Is that possible? Where would they get wet? And what are those strange things they’re wearing? Sweatshirts with hoods?

Ida is haughty. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

Sophie chimes in, “We were on our first case.”

Bella finishes, “And we solved it. We were good!”

The girls high-five each other.

Sophie says, laughing so hard she can hardly get the words out, “And we caught the thieves. Well, not really, but on Rico’s phone camera. The squirrels did it!”

“Shh,” I say, “you’re waking the neighbors.”

Bella hiccups.

I ask an obvious question. “Were you girls out drinking?”

Bella giggles. “We were celebrating. I love near beer.”

“Where were you? And who’s Rico?”

Ida looks smug as she answers me. “He’s our chauffeur.”

Bella adds, “And our new partner.”

Before I can make any sense of what they’re talking about, I am suddenly aware of Jack running toward me. He looks as if the devil himself were chasing after him.

“What?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

Jack barely nods to the girls.

“I knocked on Joyce’s door and as I did, it swung open. I called out to her. She didn’t answer. All the lights were on. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went inside. And I found Joyce.

“She’d dead, Gladdy. Joyce is dead!”

By now enough people have been awakened by the unusual nighttime activity that a sizable crowd in bathrobes is witness to these latest arrivals. A patrol car pulls up and I’m surprised to see Morrie step out of it along with a policeman. The paramedic unit arrives right behind them in their truck.

Morrie greets us. “I know you didn’t expect to see a detective answer the 911 call, but when I saw the address and Dad’s name as the one who called it in, I decided to come. What happened?”

Jack answers him. “It’s Joyce Steiner. I went to see her”—he looks at his watch—“half an hour ago. I found her on her kitchen floor, dead.”

Jack puts his arm around my shoulder. He leads Morrie and his team to Phase Three. A little parade follows. The girls are a little farther behind us. The straggling group of neighbors timidly continue the march. Word has seeped out about Joyce. Naturally, they are now wide-awake and fascinated by these goings-on.

Morrie talks quietly, so only Jack and I can hear. “Could you tell anything?”

Jack answers, “No, not much. From the hallway I could see her lying there. I carefully moved close enough to take her pulse. She was gone.” And knowing what Morrie would say next, the ex-cop adds, “Except for the doorknob, I touched nothing else.”

We arrive at Phase Three. Jack and I are the only ones who are allowed to go upstairs with Morrie, the cop, and the paramedics.

Jack and I stand in the little hallway, keeping our distance, as Morrie carefully enters the kitchen.

I try hard not to look at Joyce’s dead body being checked out by the paramedics. They concur. The woman is definitely dead. They are about to cover her face and take her away, and I don’t want to watch that. I turn and concentrate on what Morrie’s saying instead.

Jack is aware of my feelings and he continues to hold me for moral and physical support. I think of Joyce this afternoon alive in the kitchen activity room fearfully standing there being threatened by a furious Arlene. I can still picture the look of pity on Joyce’s face. And now, she’s gone.

How will this affect Arlene?

“It looks as if she was in the middle of eating some pie when she collapsed,” Morrie comments, and the cop takes notes of what he says.

I shudder seeing a half-eaten slice of key lime pie there on the table. With a fork on the plate. A crumpled napkin beside it. A bitter reminder of this afternoon. Along with two almost-empty glasses of what looks like water.

“She may have had company,” Morrie continues, indicating the glasses. “Before, during, or after her demise.”

He turns to us. He looks at the expression on my face. “You know something?”

I don’t want to say anything. I fear it will make things bad for Arlene. But it’s my nature. I can’t hold back important information.

I fill Morrie in about Arlene’s behavior at the cooking class this afternoon.

“So the pie may have come from that kitchen? It doesn’t look like she baked anything here tonight. No wrappers to show she brought it from some store. Maybe it was carried up wrapped in that napkin next to the plate.”

He turns to his father. “Why were you going up to see Mrs. Steiner this late at night?”

“We’d decided to finally face her with the fact that we no longer believe Joyce accidentally found her old friend. We believe she purposely talked Seymour into moving out and letting her in. I intended to ask her if that was the truth. And if so, where was Seymour?

“When there was no response to my knocking and I found the door open, I felt something was wrong and that was why I entered the apartment.”

Morrie turns to one of the paramedics. “What does it look like, Dan? Her heart?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll have to leave it for the ME to tell you.”

Morrie addresses the cop who came with him. He points to what’s on the kitchen table. “Phil, bag it all. Just in case.”

I have to know. “Just in case what?”

He turns to us. No longer just chatting with his father and his new stepmother, all business now. “You report an angry incident this afternoon. You tell me you were going to see her, wanting important information late at night. You find her door open.

“I have to take into consideration as to whether any of these possibly suspicious events played a part in her death. Was Mrs. Steiner alone when she died? Why the two glasses? Why was her door left open? Was Mrs. Steiner so bereft she had a heart attack?” He pauses. “Enough to commit suicide?”

He hesitates. And I’m horrified, sensing what he’ll say next.

“Or was it murder?”

I gasp. Oh, no, it couldn’t be.

Morrie turns to Phil again. “Nothing is to be disturbed until I send in the team. We need the photographs, the fingerprints. Meanwhile, I want this door locked and no one is allowed to enter.”

We exit the apartment and watch his cop assistant attach the all-too-familiar yellow crime tape on Seymour Andrews’ apartment door.

Big trouble ahead.

Needless to say we didn’t get much rest that night. Morrie questioned us some more. He wanted to know if Joyce had any relatives. I told him there was a daughter, Stacy, living in California, but I didn’t know her last name. Morrie was sure he’d find it when they went through her belongings.

We got into bed, exhausted, but then couldn’t fall asleep. There was so much to think about and discuss. One thing was for certain: too late now to get Joyce to tell us where Seymour was. Next there will be Leah to deal with. We decide not to mention our theory about Seymour being deceived by Joyce. It would upset her needlessly. We have to find a different way to locate Seymour.

And poor Arlene. How will she take this horrible news? She couldn’t have hurt Joyce. Yet I still have that picture in my head of her standing there with that knife. Could she? Please let that autopsy determine natural causes.

I make coffee waiting for Jack to get dressed and join me. My mind is reeling with things that must be done.

I wonder if the girls have heard the news already via the grapevine.

I have to call Evvie and tell her what’s going on.

There’s a knock on the door. Eight in the morning and it’s already beginning. I open it to the girls standing there. Serious expressions on all three faces. They appear uncomfortable.

I invite them into the kitchen. They turn to Ida, waiting for her to speak for them all, and when she doesn’t immediately, I start to pour them coffee. They sit down quickly, as if I might change my mind and chase them out. Guilt might have a lot to do with their behavior.

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.”

I have no choice but to do his bidding. I feel awful. He’s going to look for her pill bottle.

Morrie gets up from the table. His plate is empty. As is his glass. Jack did almost as well with his meal. I haven’t touched a bite.

“Shall we go?” he asks me.

I get up, start to clear the table, then at Jack’s knowing look, I stop stalling and head for the door.

As we go out onto the walkway, Morrie says, “Thank you for the lovely lunch, Stepmom.”

I smile grimly. I feel like a traitor.

Morrie looks me straight in the eye. “Please don’t inform her of anything I told you earlier.”

Of course I know that and he knows I do. But he wants my assurance. I nod my head in agreement.

Again I knock at Arlene’s door. I’m not happy having to do this. She looks better this time, showered, dressed, made up, and hair combed. That’s a relief. She smiles seeing me, but the smile fades quickly when she sees Morrie.

And two other policemen who’ve been waiting outside the door.

Morrie turns to Arlene. “Mrs. Simon, I’m Detective Morgan Langford and I’d like permission to search your apartment.”

She looks at me, defeated. “Because I said those terrible things to Joyce?”

“Something like that,” he answers.

“But why? The woman had a heart attack—”

He interrupts. “No, it wasn’t a heart attack.”

“I don’t understand why you want to search my apartment. I didn’t do anything.”

She looks to me for guidance. I say hopefully, “Then they won’t find anything that could hurt you.”

She looks up defiantly at Morrie. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

“Thank you,” Morrie says.

“Just try not to make a mess,” she says sweetly.

I walk out the door with Arlene. Morrie beckons and the two policemen enter. Jack is allowed to stay behind.

Arlene is shaking and I have my fingers crossed.

We wait at Evvie’s apartment. Strangely, now I’m hungry, but it’s nervous hunger, and I snack on the cheese and crackers she’s brought out for us.

Of course Arlene can’t eat a thing. She’s frightened and angry at the same time.

She says, “Because I hate her they assume, what? That I would kill her? That’s preposterous!”

I am so anxious that I’m not allowed to mention the cancer. I can barely stay still. The word sticks gluelike in my mouth.

Evvie keeps glancing at me. She knows I know something but I can’t tell her in front of Arlene.

We sit silently for a few minutes. Arlene begins to cry. “I have to tell you what has been going on since Joyce found me.”

Evvie and I exchange glances. She can see that something is worrying me. Later, we signal each other.

Arlene paces. “All you ever saw of me was my shouting at her and telling her I hated her and wished she was dead. But you didn’t know what she was doing to me. I meant it in the kitchen class when I said she was stalking me.”

Evvie says, “Arlene, dear. Joyce’s coming into your life has been very upsetting for you. Are you sure you weren’t distorting things?”

Arlene smiles grimly. “In front of you she played the poor misunderstood friend who only wanted forgiveness, but late at night that woman would creep into my apartment and wake me up. Every night. Very, very late to make sure nobody saw her come in. Eventually I couldn’t fall asleep at all knowing she’d come in.”

Evvie asks, “How could she do that?”

“She had a key. I don’t know how she got it. I swear to you I’m not imagining any of this.”

I ask, “What did she want?”

“I don’t know!”

Evvie continues to go along with this, even though I can see the disbelief in her eyes. “What did she say to you?”

“Horrible things. Vicious things. It was so strange. She hated me even more than I hated her. She blamed me for her marriage to Edward being a failure. She was blaming me for everything that went wrong in her life. She would sit on my bed and torment me about her sex life with Edward. She called me filthy names. If I got out of the bed, she followed me. She terrified me.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this sooner?” I ask.

She stares up at the both of us, sadly. “Because I felt threatened. She said she would hurt me if I told anybody anything. And I believed her.” She pauses. “I think she was crazy.”

Oh, poor Arlene. She will be the one they think is mad if she tells this story to the police. It will be her word against Joyce’s. If it seems unbelievable to us, how will strangers react?

Evvie says, “Even if we believe now that Joyce didn’t accidentally move here. That she found you and then trailed Seymour in order to get his apartment; why do you think she would do this?”

“Not to ask my forgiveness. To torture me, that’s what.”

So much for my guess that Joyce wanted to make up with her before she died.

I think of her body being consumed with cancer, deciding to find Arlene and then doing what Arlene says she did. Could the cancer have affected her brain? Could that, plus the morphine, literally make Joyce insane? Otherwise, her tormenting an old friend doesn’t make sense.

There is a knock on the door. Morrie and Jack enter, leaving the two cops outside.

Evvie and I look up with trepidation. They are not smiling.

Arlene sits down, holding on to the arms of the chair. Her body goes rigid at the sight of their serious faces.

Morrie holds up a small plastic medicine container in a glassine evidence bag. “Are these your pills?” he asks Arlene.

She peers at them closely. “Yes. Valium. I took them for my nerves. Gladdy suggested I should get some. I did.”

I hang my head. How much guilt can a person stand?

Morrie waves the bag. “Then can you explain why the bottle is empty?” He upends the bag to indicate it is indeed empty.

Arlene looks surprised. “That’s odd. But I only used a few. I really don’t like to overuse pills like that.”

I look at Jack and he shakes his head.

Morrie then takes out another evidence bag. “Is this yours?” He holds out the Chai necklace we’ve seen before.

Arlene says, “Yes, it is—” Then she suddenly reaches up to her neck and feels for her own necklace. It’s there. She looks confused. “I don’t understand …”

Morrie says, “I suspect this one belongs to Mrs. Steiner. I believe she’s the only one around here that has the exact same necklace as yours. We found it in one of your dresser drawers covered in a scarf. A necklace and scarf that belonged to Mrs. Steiner.”

Arlene is horrified. “Then she put it there. I didn’t!”

“How could she do that?”

“She had a key to my apartment.” She looks at me to help. But I know I mustn’t interrupt.

“The only keys we found in Mrs. Steiner’s apartment belonged to Mrs. Steiner.”

“You have to believe me …”

It’s obvious he doesn’t.

Morrie continues. “Have you ever been in Joyce’s apartment?”

“No, never …”

I hold my breath. She’s going to be caught in a lie.

“Then if we take your fingerprints, they won’t show up on a glass of water you drank in her kitchen. Right next to the slice of pie that you brought for her to eat—filled with your pills all ground up.”

Arlene jumps up, sobbing. “All right. I went there that night because she said she was leaving. She found another place, and wanted to apologize and say goodbye. I was so desperate to believe it, I went downstairs.”

Morrie comments, “She gave you a glass of water.”

“Yes, I only sipped it. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. She lied again. She had no intention of leaving.”

She stands up, unable to sit a moment longer. She cries out, “I didn’t bring any pie. I didn’t put any pills in the pie. I didn’t kill her!”

There is silence for a few moments as she stands there shaking.

Surprisingly Morrie turns to me. There’s a funny expression on his face. I’m trying to read it, but I can’t. It’s as if he’s warning me about something.

I look closely at Morrie. His eyes are sad.

He turns back to Arlene.

“You knew, didn’t you, about her having cancer?”

He waits and I shudder. He was asking me to understand that sometimes a cop has to be cruel. I can’t bear to watch him.

Arlene staggers, holding on to the arm of the couch. “What are you talking about?”

Morrie says in a low voice, “You knew she was going to die very soon. Couldn’t you have waited?”

Arlene looks terrified, like someone trapped in a nightmare.

I tremble when Morrie says, “Arlene Simon, you are under arrest for the murder of Joyce Steiner …”

As he starts to recite the Miranda, Arlene faints.

Why am I surprised? There is a huge crowd waiting outside Evvie’s building. The word has spread like wildfire. Joyce is dead and they’re bringing Arlene down to take her off to jail. Thank goodness Morrie listened to me when I begged him not to put the handcuffs on. Arlene is in enough pain. And he was so kind about letting her rest awhile after she recovered from fainting.

I walk out of the apartment with Jack and Evvie. We stand aside on the third-floor landing to let them get past us. Morrie and his cop assistant leave with Arlene being held by the arm by Morrie.

I look below and recognize the crowd. Most of Phase Two and Three are there. Of course the girls are in the group, their faces reflecting their feeling very sorry for poor Arlene. My eye is caught by Leah, standing on the fringe. She looks like she’s in shock as she watches what is going on.

When they reach the ground floor there’s a collective groan among the watchers. Then silence. Everyone stares. Poor Arlene. She looks totally defeated. The fight is gone out of her. She glances back up to where we’re standing and I see such sadness there. Then her head bows down. She doesn’t want to look at anyone else.

It’s like a bad scene out of any of the many cop shows on TV with Morrie making sure her head won’t hit the police car roof. It’s chilling to see Arlene behind the locked security screen, already looking like she’s behind bars.

They drive off.

Then everyone talks at once.

By the time the three of us get downstairs, there’s a ruckus going on.

They’ve almost separated into two camps, or so it seems. One group, the women minus one from the kitchen class. And Leah. With others from Phase Three behind them.

Our side, Sophie, Bella and Ida, and many Phase Two regulars: Tessie and Sol, Irving and Mary, Lola and Hy. Lola clutches her husband’s arm.

And the body language is easy to read.

Fatima, our red-hatter, is angry. Arms folded. “We were there. We heard her threaten Joyce.”

Elaine, her friend, adds, hands on hips, “Standing there with a knife, ready to kill her there and then.”

Hy is a sight to be seen as he stands legs spread, fists raised, reminding me of a bantam cock fighter. “Who are you to judge? That’s what we have courts for.”

“Yeah,” adds Lola. “And juries of her peers.”

Elaine says, “You’ve all seen her. At the pool. At our kitchen class. Just getting weirder and weirder. She’s a nutcase.”

Tessie pipes up, “She didn’t get nutty until Joyce showed up.”

Another voice in the crowd: “Oh, please. She’s the ice maiden. With her nose stuck up in the air.”

One of the male Canadian guests says, “That’s not true. Arlene was always a lady. A very nice lady.”

First time I’ve ever seen any of our snowbirds get involved in our affairs. Bless them.

“Oh, really?” someone else shouts out. “She was very snooty. With her fancy clothes and fancy high heels. She thought she was better than us. Who did she think she was anyway?”

Tessie snarls, “You’re just jealous, you old hags! You only wish you could look as good as she does at her age!”

Hy raises himself up to his full five feet. “I don’t care what you think about her or what you saw or think you know; this is still a free country!”

Sol gets into the act. He places himself right behind Hy. “Damn straight!”

Fatima shouts, “Yeah, and I’m free to be a witness at her trial. I know what I saw and what I heard!”

Frances Tarvin, a tough-looking woman from the kitchen group, steps forward, invading Hy’s space. He doesn’t move an inch. “She’s a murderer and she ain’t gonna get away with it!”

Hy is not one to be pushed around, especially by a woman. He reaches over and gently pushes her face away from his. Frances sends a fast fist out to punch him. He ducks. She hits Sol instead.

Sol says, “Ouch.”

His wife, Tessie, that plus-size dynamo, elbows pointed out in weapon mode, goes head to head with the aggressive Frances for revenge.

A couple of the other Phase Three residents drag their belligerent neighbor away amid cheering and booing. Depending on which side they’re on.

The Phase Two group pulls on Tessie.

Hy is on a roll. He shouts above the hubbub, “In this fine country we live in, You. Are. Innocent. Until proven guilty!”

Lola hugs him. “My hero.”

Hy always manages to surprise us. I forgive him for all the bad jokes.

People leave. Much mumbling and grumbling. Dinners are waiting. The drama is over. For now.

It will boil down to what I’ve been afraid of. It will be Joyce’s word against Arlene’s. Wait until the news leaks out about Joyce dying of cancer. All sympathy will shift to her. Being dead trumps being alive. We’ve got to do something to prove Arlene’s innocence, and fast.

Morrie sits behind his desk. Jack and I sit in the two halfway comfortable low chairs in front of him. Though Morrie and Jack are equally tall, Morrie’s desk chair is a lot more comfortable than the one Jack is in.

Forget that we’re family. This is police headquarters and we are here on serious business. We report on that frightening crowd scene that took place after Morrie carried Arlene away. “And it’s been like that for days now. That’s all everyone talks about and thinks about. And has opinions about.”

Jack comments, too. “And our opinion is that knowing Arlene, we still find it hard to believe she could commit murder.”

I reach over and take his hand.

“All right,” Morrie says to us, being sympathetic.

“I appreciate that you like the woman. But I have to deal with the facts in this situation. At this time everything points to Arlene as having killed Joyce Steiner.”

I have to ask, “But aren’t you even going to try to find out if anyone else could have killed her?”

Morrie is sorry. “We believe we already have the right person.”

I try another tack. “But what about Seymour? How does he fit in?”

Jack concurs. “We were hired by Leah to find her brother and she still expects us to do the job. We’re sure that Joyce knew where he was.”

Morrie says, “Look, there’s nothing wrong with citizen help. Especially from the two of you. In fact, I can easily make Dad a consultant due to his having been a police detective. Which means he gets to sit in on all meetings.”

“Fine with me,” Jack says, crossing and uncrossing his long legs trying to get comfortable in his chair.

Morrie says, “You and your group of lady PIs can continue to investigate. As long as you share whatever you find.” He smiles. “Just don’t make me look like a dope if you solve the case before I do.”

We smile. Feeling more relaxed now.

I add, “As long as you share with us.”

“Dad is free to divulge whatever comes up in my meetings unless I inform him that there is a very good reason not to. Fair enough?”

“Yes.”

“One way you both can help your case and mine is to find out anything else you can about Joyce. Her purse revealed nothing. She had a cellphone with no contact list on it. Surely she had a lawyer to handle her affairs or maybe someone as executor of a will. Interesting, though, we couldn’t even find her driver’s license. Or any kind of papers in her car.”

“That’s another thing,” I say. “Doesn’t that show that someone is getting ready to kill themselves, by cleaning the slate, so to speak?”

“Maybe so, but there’s too much evidence that confirms it was murder. ”

Jack tries again. “Maybe she got rid of everything so you wouldn’t be able to learn the truth about her.”

“But what truth?” Morrie asks.

“We’re definitely going to find out,” Jack promises.

I ask hopefully, “Is there any chance Arlene would be allowed out on bail?”

He shrugs. “Depends on the judge. Most judges would not set bail on a murder case. And besides, the fact that she has relatives living in New York and Chicago, he might see her as a flight risk and could set any bail at an impossible amount.”

Not good. Not good at all. I can’t imagine how to help her with that. I watch Jack get up to walk around a bit to relax his cramped leg muscles.

“Can I pace with you?” I ask him.

“Sure, why not.”

Morrie says, “Arlene still hasn’t picked a lawyer. She keeps interviewing and turning them away. She needs to do it as soon as possible.”

Jack says, “We’ll talk to her and see if we can help.”

Morrie gets up and walks toward the door. “Take a five-minute break. I need to see someone down the hall for a moment.”

We stretch when he leaves.

I look at Jack in despair. “But if she isn’t allowed to go home! How long can they keep her there? That’s awful.”

“I know, but let’s keep calm and take things one at a time. Everything will work out.”

“Yes, but how will it end for poor Arlene?”

He puts his arms around me and hugs me. “We will do all we can. Besides, we’re an unbeatable team. Right?”

“Right.” We kiss.

Morrie walks in on us. He grins. “We’ll have none of that around here. I might have to arrest you for indecent behavior.” He goes back to his chair.

We return to our seats, smiling.

“Where were we?” Jack asks.

“Next,” Morrie says, “I just heard this morning from the Sausalito police that they went to the home of Joyce’s daughter, Stacy, last name, Wilson, in order to inform her of her mother’s death. They learned from their live-in help that Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and children have been traveling around Europe for a month. She expected them home soon, but she didn’t know when and she didn’t know how to reach them. So I left your phone number and an urgent message to call when they return. I’m sure it would be easier on her hearing from compassionate people like you rather than a tough, cold cop.”

Jack says, “All right with us.” He looks at me and I nod my agreement.

Morrie gets up. “That’s it for now.”

We get up also. Jack stretches his back, trying to straighten it out.

Morrie walks us to the door. “Keep in touch.”

I say, “Don’t worry, we will.”

Morrie says, “May the best man, and/or woman, win.” He winks at Jack. “Is it all right for me to kiss my new stepmother?”

Jack shrugs. “Be my guest.”

I take my parting shot at Morrie. “Just remember all the fairy tales you read as a kid. The stepmother was always the meanie. So look out.”

With that he gives me a big kiss on my cheek, while laughing.

I sure do love both my men. I know Morrie is doing his job, but this is hard to bear.

The sign we tacked up on the door of the rec room announces a closed meeting—with a title: “For the defense of Arlene Simon. Anyone with information contact Gladdy Gold.”

In typical fashion for any get-together of Gladdy Gold and Associates, there is food. Always food. Corned beef and pastrami deli sandwiches, pickles, coleslaw and potato salad, and always a favorite, Dr. Brown sodas.

Also a new acting member. My Jack. The girls are very impressed that Jack, named as consultant, gets to sit in on police meetings. That’s a big leg up.

And another new interested party, Rico Leon. Ida lets us know that although our businesses are now two separate entities, we are united for this cause. Rico has been invited to join us. Sophie and Bella add that they are considering Rico to be their new partner for the still contested name Ida Franz and Associates. Their team insists Rico is invaluable and definitely on our side and can be trusted. He is their hero since the success of solving the car wash mystery. Squirrels, indeed.

After debating over these two newcomers, then officially welcoming both, we start the business at hand. Arlene’s case.

The girls, between bites of sandwiches, are still reeling over the fact of Joyce having cancer. They agree, it’s bad news for our team. The sympathy will all be for Joyce, seen as the poor dying friend wanting to make up, and cruel Arlene rejecting her with venom. It’s an uphill battle.

“Okay,” I say. “We all agree on flyers. We will divvy them up and put them on bulletin boards in every Phase of Lanai Gardens.”

Evvie, as secretary, takes notes. She reads back what we’ve decided so far to put in the flyers. “ ‘Any information concerning Arlene Simon, Joyce Steiner, and/or Seymour Andrews, please get to us. This rec room will have someone in attendance here every afternoon from two to five. We need your help.’’ ”

Sophie interjects, “The mah-jongg group was very gracious about giving up their weekly game here and are temporarily meeting in Phase Four.”

Bella claps.

Evvie nods and continues reading the flyer. “ ‘We are looking for anyone who has information about Seymour Andrews leaving Lanai Gardens sometime around three weeks ago. He would have been carrying a suitcase. We are guessing he left late at night and might have been picked up by a cab or car.’ ”

Sophie comments, “I just don’t understand why the cops don’t do all this.”

Jack answers her. “Because as far as they’re concerned, they have their killer. They have evidence. They have motive. Arlene has no alibi. It’s up to us to prove they’re wrong.”

I take over. “Joyce managed to leave practically no information about herself, but we now know where she lived. With Jack’s ability with a computer, he has located her former address on the waterways. We should canvass that area, talking to neighbors and getting any info on her there.”

I look at my darling. “Jack, your report?”

Jack says, “Naturally, nobody lives in a vacuum, and we’ve found out the name of her business manager. Gladdy and I will get in touch with him. As it seems that Joyce was wealthy, it was highly probable someone managed her money. And hopefully, he’ll lead us to the executor of her will, assuming she made one.”

“What about the cooking class?” Evvie asks. “Granted we know three of the women who were in the ill-fated kitchen event are against Arlene, but there was one other, Sandra Litzman.”

Bella raises her hand. She always does that to ask permission to speak. “Sophie and me know Sandra. We can talk to her.”

Sophie agrees.

Evvie nods, says, “We need to know more about the key lime pie incident. Whose idea was it to make the pies? How come Joyce knew they were baking that particular pie that day? We now know how bad a memory that food evoked for Arlene. Why did she even go that day? Since Joyce wasn’t a member, how did she find out what they were planning? Who cleaned up the room afterward? What happened to the rest of the pies?”

Ida, taking her own notes, looks up. “Got all of that. We’ll find out.”

Rico gets into the act. “I can’t believe that nobody ever noticed Joyce going up to Arlene’s apartment late at night. You tell us Arlene says it was every single night. Someone has to have seen them. We should be asking everyone on those two floors. In fact, we should talk to everyone in Phase Three.”

Bella and Sophie smile at their protégé.

Rico has something else to say. The guy who loves cars brings up an interesting point. “What about the Jaguar? It’s still in Joyce’s parking spot.”

“Good question. We have to find out what to do about that.” This from Ida, proud of him. What magic spell has that cute young guy cast over our girls? But he does seem eager to help.

“Good idea,” I say.

Ida adds, reaching for a Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray Tonic, “I can’t believe how secretive that Joyce was. She talked and talked about herself, but told us nothing.”

Evvie agrees. “What other family did she have? Who were her friends? Enemies? Somebody has to have wanted her dead. Who was it? If it was a stranger, was he ever seen on our premises? We don’t know anything.”

I say, “She was hiding behind all those words and we have to find out what really went on in her life. We still haven’t been able to reach her daughter, Stacy. Funny, when I walked in on Joyce that day, she was talking to Stacy in California about the continued problems building her guest house.

“Then, when I started to ask her how she met Seymour and got his apartment, she suddenly cut me off by saying she had to call Stacy back right away because she was leaving to take her kids to the dentist. Yet according to her maid, Stacy and family were traveling in Europe at that time. She couldn’t have been talking to her in California. Was she even talking to her at all, or was that an out-and-out lie?”

There’s a knock on the door. Evvie goes to unlock it. Hy and Lola are there. Lola announces, “We have something to offer. Can we come in?”

They are made cautiously welcome. Hy immediately spots our raspberry rugallahs for dessert. Sophie says, “Help yourself.”

While chewing, Hy announces that he has an ex-brother-in-law who is a criminal defense lawyer. “Never lost a case,” he says with pride.

Ida asks, “Ex?”

Lola says, grinning, “He was married before me, if you can imagine.”

“A major mistake,” Hy admits. “Dumped her, but stayed friends with her brother.”

Lola blushes. “I rescued him.”

Hy gives her a quick peck on the cheek. “My soul mate.”

Ida sneers. She cannot stand affection shown in front of her. “What’s your point?”

Hy looks at her with disdain. “I am willing to go to him and ask for his help. Arlene needs a top lawyer.” He smiles proudly. “If I ask David, he’ll help.”

Sophie asks, “Won’t he be expensive?”

“He owes me. I once loaned him money in his early days in practice. We’re talking pro bono here.” He looks jeeringly at Ida. “That means free of charge, in case you didn’t know.”

Never at a loss for a snappy comeback, she says, “I watch the same lawyer shows you do, smarty-pants.”

Before they come to verbal blows, Jack steps in. Always a calming influence. “That would be great, Hy, if you can manage it.”

“Have another rugallah,” Bella the peacemaker says.

Looks like a good time to stop. I announce the meeting is over. “Everyone, let’s get the show on the road.”

The girls pack up any leftover food and the fight to save Arlene is in full swing.

We have a busy day planned, Jack and I. We’re going to visit Arlene in jail and then head for the address where Joyce lived before she entered all of our lives and caused chaos. Jack even has a meeting with one of Dr. Edward Steiner’s old nurses who’s willing to speak to us. We overslept a bit. A quick hit of coffee and toast and here we go, because we’re getting a late start.

Once out on the walkway we are aware of an unusual noise for a Sunday morning. We look over our railing and what a sight meets our eyes!

The courtyard where everyone’s cars are always parked has been emptied. Except for Jack’s and my cars, conspicuously the only ones left and now surrounded. The area is strangely crowded with people. There is an air of a carnival with balloons flying from palm trees and lampposts. And music ringing out from somebody’s boom box. It’s not a holiday. What’s going on? It reminds me of our midyear tailgate-garage sales. Tailgate, because we have no garages. But this isn’t the right date.

Tables have been set up. Mostly card tables, some actual kitchen tables carried down for this event. People are lined up in front of them. There are signs but they are under our walkways, so I can’t read what they say. Further staring shows me that the girls are gathered behind one table. Bella glances up, sees us, and pokes Sophie. The two of them wave happily to us. Ida is busy handing someone something. But what? One hand giving, the other hand taking?

Tessie and Sol are behind another table. Hy and Lola, another. My heavens, even the Canadians have a table! I recognize neighbors from many of the other Phases.

Jack and I stare at each other. Well, we have to go downstairs anyway, so we’ll see what’s going on. And even more important, how do we rescue one of our cars out of that mob scene?

All is revealed by the signs behind each of the participants: “Save Arlene.” “Sign the petition telling the police they have the wrong person.” “Donate money for her lawyer.” That one, I note, is behind Hy and Lola’s table.

We look at the booth nearest to us. Tessie is having a bake sale. She makes wonderful homemade breads and must have been up at dawn to have baked this many. And they are selling like hot-cakes. They smell divine.

Somebody is a beader and beaded crafts are another hot item. That’s from Kim Chang from Phase Four.

The Canadians are selling Canadian objects. I’m curious and I check them out. I greet Nigel and Elizabeth, who vacation each winter in a flat, as they call it, on the first floor of our building. Elizabeth smiles when I ask where they got goods from Canada so quickly. She laughs. “Dearie,” she says, “we’ve accumulated far too many ‘odds ’n’ socks’ as is. Great excuse to clear out the bins.”

There’s Jack’s old neighbor, Dora Dooley, from Phase Six, before he lost his apartment in the hurricane. She’s serving pink lemonade and chocolate chip cookies.

Jack had disappeared from my side, but then I see him. He’s chatting with someone selling rare books, as I can tell from a sign. I walk over to his table. The man doesn’t look familiar. Jack tells me he’s actually a dealer, with a shop on University Avenue. He heard about our plight from his aunt Lillian, who lives in Phase One and was happily donating sales to our cause. Jack has already bought something. A fairly rare copy of one of Horatio Alger’s rags-to-riches novels.

By now, I’m near tears. I wish Arlene could see what’s being done on her behalf. Jack, reading my mind, takes out his iPhone and snaps some photos. Yes, he even has one of those gadgets.

I finally reach the table where the girls are, assisted by the now ever-present Rico. All of them are wearing colorful aprons, including Rico.

“I’m amazed,” I say. “How did you all put this together so fast?”

Ida says gleefully, “Actually this is Hy’s doing. Why should you be so surprised? Let’s see—we have six Phases. At least one yenta living in each one. The word spread like cream cheese on a bagel.”

“So what are you selling?” I ask.

Bella proudly shows their wares. “Remember when we did crafts? We still have leftover pot holders and decorated kitchen towels and aprons.” She indicates the ones they’re modeling. “We’re doing good.”

A sign over another table catches my eye. It reads “We Take Care of Our Own.” And behind it there’s Sandra Litzman, who lives next door to Arlene. And was also at the kitchen debacle. She tells me she already gave Sophie and Bella a report of her view of what happened that morning. She has no idea who decided on the baking of key lime pie that day. She got a note to bring ingredients, which is what they usually do when someone has a preference, but she doesn’t remember who sent it.

Interesting. I wonder if any of the women actually knew who sent that note. Must check on that. Again, coincidences always plant red flags in my mind.

I try another question. “Since you live next door to Arlene, did you ever hear anything? Did you ever see Joyce go into Arlene’s apartment?”

She shakes her head sadly. “No, never. I wish I had, but I’m such a sound sleeper, even the hurricane we went through didn’t wake me.”

There are tears in her eyes. “When I was sick, it was Arlene who took me to doctors and hospitals. And bought groceries when I couldn’t get around. I don’t know what I would have done without her. This terrible charge against her is a lie. She couldn’t hurt anyone.”

I am touched. I keep this in mind if Arlene ever goes to trial and needs character witnesses.

I thank her for her efforts and move along. I spot Evvie in front of a table manned by Irving and Mary. They have the petition asking to free Arlene. People are lined up to sign. I greet the two of them, thanking them. Mary, the nurse, has another signup sheet. She’s offering consultations on using medications. How kind of her.

I pull Evvie off to one side.

I look at her in amazement. “You knew all about this and didn’t tell me?”

“No, I swear, I’m as surprised as you are. I’ve been asking around. The word is Hy pulled all of this together. He’s still so mad at those gals who fought with him the other day. We forget that before he retired he was a manager of a big furniture store. He knows how to organize.”

“Amazing. All of this so fast. But why didn’t he tell us? Hey, we have enough junk in our storage closets to fill more than one table.”

“No kidding, I don’t know, but I can guess. Maybe he’s intimidated by Jack. Not the least of which is Hy’s size compared to your over six-footer. But also that he was a cop.”

“Really,” I say, smiling. “How delightful.” I get a kick out of the idea of anyone intimidating Hy.

Jack comes over to me, pointing at his wrist-watch.

I tell Evvie we have to be on time for our visit with Arlene.

“Give her a hug for me. If you’re allowed to.”

“Will do.”

“Spoke to Joe this morning.”

“How is he?”

“Just great. He says he’s gone into second childhood with the grandkids. Misses me. Thinking he might come back next week.”

“Sounds wonderful. What are you up to today?”

“I was going canvassing neighbors, but Hy just informed me he needs me.”

“He gave you a job here, too?”

She smiles. “Hy put me in charge of collecting the money at the end of the sale and of making sure nobody changed their mind and is keeping their profits.”

I laugh. “That’s our Hy.”

Just as we are about to rescue Jack’s car, I hear someone calling my name. It’s Leah, hurrying toward me. Jack and I exchange glances. He’ll let me deal with her while he extricates our surrounded vehicle.

She reaches me, out of breath. “No more weekly postcards. They stopped coming! Nothing since last Monday,” she says, almost choking. “Something terrible must have happened to my Seymour.”

I put my arm around her. “Leah, dear, don’t fret so. Maybe he’s somewhere away from any mailbox. We will find him. I promise. We will not let you down.”

Even as I’m consoling her, I think to myself, The coincidences are piling up. I feel we are getting close to something important. So the postcards stopped coming the day Joyce died. Did the postcards stop because Joyce is dead? There must be some connection.

Leah, tearfully, heads back home.

Jack waves. He’s managed to free up the car. I hurry to join him.

I’ve been to police headquarters many times for meetings in Morrie’s office, but I never found myself in the separate jail section of the fairly new modern police headquarters on Oakland Park Boulevard.

Morrie has arranged for us to visit Arlene. I don’t know what to expect other than what I’ve seen in many movies. I could picture myself leaning in and speaking to her through bars with an attached phone. Both of us whispering, looking tense and secretive. But I’m pleasantly surprised. We are directed to a large room not unlike our rec room at home.

There are many plain tables and chairs that could seat six, and that’s about it in the way of decor. The walls aren’t painted the bilious greens also seen in cop shows and movies. They’re actually a peaceful beige.

Naturally a couple of police guards stand watching, but all in all, not an unpleasant place. Easy for me to say, but it must be unbearable for Arlene.

Many of the tables are taken during these visiting hours.

We see Arlene and she is talking to a man and a woman who look like they’re in their late fifties or sixties. They resemble Arlene so I’m assuming her son and daughter have come to see her. It’s been a long while since they’ve been down to visit, but I remember them as being a close and happy family.

Arlene looks perturbed, as if she’s been having an argument with them.

“Maybe we should wait,” I say to Jack.

But Arlene has spotted us and she waves us over. She looks all right, but I can tell from the dark circles under her eyes, she is not sleeping well. Even in jailhouse clothes, Arlene manages to still look stylish.

“My son and daughter,” she says, introducing the people at her table. “You remember Bobby and Nicky.” She indicates us. “These are the two wonderful people I’ve told you about. Jack and Gladdy Langford.”

We all shake hands. Jack and I sit down next to them.

Nicky clutches her mother’s hands. “I’m so sorry we haven’t visited often enough, Mom, but with our jobs and the kids …”

“It’s all right, you’re here now. And look at the mess I’ve made.”

Nicky says, “Don’t say that, Mom. There’s been a terrible mistake. You’ll be free soon.”

Bobby turns to us. “Please talk some sense into our mother. We want to help pay for all her expenses, whatever they are.”

“I don’t want your money,” Arlene insists.

“We don’t care. We will do whatever it takes to get you out of this jail. You’re innocent.”

Arlene looks sad. “The police don’t think so. I may be going from jail to prison. For a long time. Not that I think I’d last that long in such a dreadful place.”

She says these terrible words with a trace of irony.

“But you didn’t do anything,” Nicky says.

She manages a smile. “You’re just biased.”

Jack asks, “What happened in court? What about your lawyer?”

Arlene manages a small smile. “He’s very good. And kind. Bless Hy for helping me like this. I could never have afforded him. And someday I hope to pay him back.”

Nicky says ruefully, “Here’s a woman who hurt my mother over fifty years ago, a woman we never met, and yet she was able to put our mother into this hellish situation.”

“I did it to myself,” Arlene says. “If only I had kept my cool, as the kids say, maybe none of this would have happened. I made a damn fool of myself in front of everybody.”

Nicky says, “Tell Mr. and Mrs. Langford why we were quarreling. Let them be the judge. You haven’t answered their question. Tell them what went down in court.”

“My new lawyer tried to get me bail in spite of the odds against it.”

Bobby comments, “He was great. The prosecution was arguing that because it was murder, she was too much of a flight risk. And the judge was agreeing.”

Nicky adds, “But this David Rice was elegant and funny. He said a woman of eighty should not have to live in a jail cell, and besides, she can’t run that fast. She didn’t seem much like a flight risk to him. He got the judge to smile. But the judge would only agree if the bail was $100,000 …”

Arlene overrides him and says sadly, “It doesn’t matter. Even the fifty thousand down payment is still out of the question.”

Bobby appeals to us. “Talk some sense into her. We’ll find a way.”

Arlene is adamant. “I am not allowing you to mortgage your homes and take my grandchildren out of college. No. I won’t let you do it.”

This is when Jack takes out his camera phone and shows Arlene what’s been going on today back home. She looks at one photo after another of her neighbors rallying to help her cause, then tearfully passes the phone over to Nicky and Bobby.

Arlene starts to sob. “Bless them. Bless them all. But they’ll never be able to raise that much. It’s hopeless.”

A low bell rings, signaling visiting hour is over. The tables empty out. Arlene stands up and kisses both her kids. They hug for a few moments. And then she hugs us.

The inmates are herded out. Seeing the devastated look on Arlene’s face as she turns away is heartbreaking. We leave with Bobby and Nicky. None of us speaking, lost in our own troubled thoughts about Arlene’s fate.

As we drive along, I can’t stop thinking about that sweet woman in jail. It’s not fair. I am convinced Arlene would never hurt anyone. Jack and I talked for a while with Nicky and Bobby outside, in the parking lot. All of us needed to get out of the police station and breathe fresh air.

They gave us the number of the hotel they are staying at, but they did have to get back home soon. They thanked us profusely for all we were doing, and we promised to keep them informed. I wish we were able to give them more hope.

I don’t know what we expect to find, but I feel we need to see where Joyce lived.

We are making our way through a very exclusive area known as Sunrise Key on the Intracoastal Waterway. Breathtakingly beautiful homes with an incredible water view. Very private, very exclusive. Expensive cars in and out of garages and, ditto, yachts or sailboats on nearly every dock. I can just imagine how these mansions might look inside. Models for Architectural Digest, one and all.

Jack breaks into my reverie.

“Here we are. This is the Steiner house.” We look at the famous architect’s exquisite three-level designer house situated right at the water’s edge. At first we hoped someone was living here and we’d try an excuse to be invited in. Maybe. But the house was empty. We tried calling a realtor hoping to find out who bought it. But since the deal was not yet closed, the information stayed private. Interesting, that fact. I wonder if the new owners will find out that the previous one was murdered.

But we did learn something. Houses around here start in the low millions. Dr. Edward picked the right specialty. Plastic surgery paid very well.

Besides, if we really needed to go inside, Morrie could arrange that. But I bet sneaky Joyce hadn’t left anything inside that would reveal something we’d need to know.

We turn around as a tourist boat lumbers by. These houses are a must-see during the season. People on the deck wave to us, so we give them a cheap thrill and pretend we live here. We wave back.

“Yeah, sure,” I say with tongue in cheek. “Joyce couldn’t wait to leave her three-thousand-square-foot home and move into Seymour’s pathetic apartment.”

“Considering that we now know the state of her health, she knew she wasn’t going to be there very long.”

Sad but true. “Let’s see if any of the well-to-dos are at home. Unless they’re on the adjoining golf course or in the country club having cocktails.”

“Do I hear some envy?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “We live in our own country club. We have sports. Hey, bocce and badminton are very popular with the over-sixty crowd. Don’t we have cocktails, too, for those of us who aren’t on meds that say no booze?”

I give him a quick kiss. “Never mind. I can dream, can’t I?”

“Besides, what would you do with three thousand square feet?”

“I was thinking along the lines of a bowling alley.”

Jack smiles.

After snooping around as much as possible, but not seeing much since all the blinds are closed, we make our way back to the car. We drive over to the next and nearest McMansion. Dogs start barking. The sprinklers are on. Two cars are in the driveway. A brand-new BMW and an old battered Honda Civic.

Owner and maid? I make an educated guess. And indeed a maid answers the door.

We introduce ourselves to a small, round-faced young woman who might be Cuban and ask to talk to anyone who’s home. Concerning their neighbors, the Steiners, we inform her. She closes the door on us after telling us she’ll be right back.

The maid returns with a tall, slender good-looking woman. Are rich women always thin? She’s a kind of Lauren Bacall type. Long, lean, and leery. She’s dressed in some white leisure swirling gauzy caftan outfit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe. She stands in the half-open doorway, hands on hips.

“Are you police?” she asks.

Jack says, “No, we’re private investigators.”

Before we can show ID or explain why we’re there, she beats us to it.

“You want to discuss the Steiners? He was a letch and she was a witch. That’s as much gossip as you’ll pull out of me.” With that she turns and walks back inside. All I get is a quick glimpse of the entry. Huge round marble table in the center with an enormous bouquet of flowers. I’m sure they’re freshly real and not plastic. And a staircase that would have made Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara proud.

We head back to our car on the pseudo-cobblestoned driveway. “That went well,” I say. “A real no-nonsense type of rude person.”

“Excuse me …? Por favor.” Someone is calling after us.

We turn and the maid is following us. “You want to know something? My sister, Consuela, worked for the Steiners. I am Lydia.”

We introduce ourselves. “Anything you could tell us. We are working with the police. Mrs. Steiner just died.”

The woman crosses herself. “Madre mia … My sister will be sad. At least for la niña. The daughter, Stacy. It was not a happy household. Much shouting.”

“Can you tell us more?” I ask.

With a backward glance to make sure she’s alone, she says, “There was a terrible night. My sister, she was getting ready for serving for a party. It was before the guests arrived. The doctor got so angry at the wife, he ran outside with her running after him, screaming and calling him names. He jumped in his boat, and he wasn’t thinking good. He wrecked it on the dock. It was like that a lot of the time.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“De nada,” she says. “I must get back.”

We shrug. Nothing really accomplished, but we are getting a picture of the late Mrs. Steiner. Very different from the act she put on with us.

Jack comments, “Someone famous once wrote about the rich being possessed by their money.”

“Probably Shakespeare. He said everything worth remembering.”

“I don’t think that was his line. But anyway, enough of the idle rich. I don’t believe we’ll find out too much else. I’ll drive you back and then I’ll head for Dr. Steiner’s former office nurse who said she’ll talk to me.”

“Good plan.”

We get into his car and drive off.

I sigh. “If not a bowling alley, an indoor pool. The three thousand square feet.”

Jack smiles.

A mile or so later, I say, “I can’t believe we’re making jokes.”

Jack quotes again, “ ‘Laugh and the whole world laughs with you …’ ”

I recite along with him, “ ‘Cry and you cry alone.’ ”

“Also not Shakespeare,” Jack says.

“Definitely not Shakespeare.”

Jack drops me off at home. I’m looking forward to some iced tea and maybe a short nap. The outdoor flea market/garage sale is winding down. Most of the tables are gone. The balloons are still twisting in the breeze. I wave to a few people and keep going. That cool bedroom with just a sheet to cover is calling out to me. But that’s not to be right away.

I run into Tessie, who is carrying her bread machine. She informs me that Evvie told her that if she saw me, she should tell me to meet them in the cooking-class room and hurry up. All of that without taking a breath.

Oh, well. No nap for the weary. I take the path to the building that holds our club rooms.

Not only Evvie, but the girls are there, too. As are the four other original members of the ill-fated cooking class. Fatima, Elaine, Frances, and Sandra are looking perturbed. They have teacups in front of them. But no one seems to be drinking.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I enter.

Evvie informs me they are at an impasse even though she found out something interesting. “The club works by someone deciding what they want to cook and sending the suggestion in advance in order for the others to bring ingredients.”

Ida jumps in. “The cooking club members assumed they all got the same note to bring ingredients for key lime pie. But Arlene was confused. Her note said lemon meringue. And here’s the thing. None of them is the writer of the note.”

Sophie takes a turn. “And their notes are always handwritten. And usually signed. This was done on a computer. With no signature.”

Fatima, who is leaning against the fridge, is still negative. “So Arlene could have used one of the computers in the tech club room.”

Sandra makes a face. “Arlene was as dumclueless as we are about high tech.”

Fatima crosses her arms, still not convinced.

Sandra continues, “And why would she have done that? She would never have come to class if she knew that was the recipe for the day.”

Elaine adds, as she sips her tea and makes a face—the tea is cold—“So maybe Joyce sent it. She was still trying to get Arlene to talk to her. She figured maybe with us around …”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Evvie. “She had to know how much it would bother Arlene.”

Elaine, taking Fatima’s side, insists, “I’m sure she didn’t think she’d get that frazzled, unless there is something very wrong with Arlene.”

Ida says, getting huffy, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before they erupt into something angrier, I step in. “Then what happened? Arlene had her outburst and then what? After I left.”

There is a pause. I assume they are trying to recollect.

Evvie asks, “Did Arlene leave?”

Sandra says, “She left with Gladdy, but she came back a few minutes later, crying. Joyce had already left. Nobody said a word.”

There is a silence. What are they leaving out? I say, “There’s more. Keep talking.”

Frances shrugs. “I went home next. I had enough.”

Sandra says, “I tried to comfort Arlene, but she wouldn’t let me.”

Elaine says, “I looked around the kitchen in disgust. I was furious. I said who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

Sandra says, “That’s when Arlene spoke again. She apologized and volunteered, since she felt she was the cause of it.”

Fatima puts down her teacup and heads for the door. “That’s when the rest of us left. She ruined our class and I’m not about to forgive her. And I’ve had enough of her tantrums.”

She exits and Frances and Elaine immediately follow.

Sandra, our only ally, shrugs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, so I mumbled something kind to Arlene and walked out, too.”

“So Arlene was left alone in the room?” I ask.

Sandra says, “Yes.”

Evvie asks the next logical question. “And did she clean it up?”

Sandra sighs. “Not really. When we checked later, we could tell she did a little bit. Some of the pies were gone. I assumed she dumped them down the garbage disposal. But I guess it was all too much for her. She didn’t do a good job. And worst of all she left the kitchen door unlocked. We never do that. We have expensive stuff in here, like our Cuisinart and cappuccino machine.”

We thank her and she leaves, wishing us well. At the door, she smiles. “And don’t you forget to lock it when you leave.”

For a moment our group is silent.

Finally Ida comments, “Another nail in Arlene’s coffin.”

Bella shudders. “Yuk. Couldn’t you find a better way to say that?”

Evvie says, “But if the door was left open someone else could have come in.”

Ida says, “Like who? Joyce? What for? She wouldn’t want the pies.”

Sophie says, “Maybe the one who murdered Joyce did.”

Everyone heads for home. No one wants to talk any longer.

Everyone has left the kitchen even more confused than when we went in. On the way home, Evvie and I stop to pick up our mail. In my mailbox I find a note. It’s from our ex-Marine Cane Fu instructor, Merrill Grant. Evvie reads over my shoulder. Merrill writes, “Saw your flyer. I did see Seymour leaving one night. He did have a suitcase with him. I was coming home from a late pinochle game and just as I was entering the Lanai Gardens front gate, I saw a Jaguar stop and pick him up. He didn’t hesitate to get in. Seemed like he was waiting for this ride. A man was driving. Sorry I didn’t get a good look at him because I wasn’t paying attention. I hope this helps you. Call me if you need to talk.”

A man? Evvie and I look perplexed.

This is a whole new thought. Did Joyce have an accomplice?

Evvie and I go up to my apartment just as Jack arrives. He reports that he didn’t have too much time to speak to the nurse since she was only on a short break, but he thinks it was very illuminating.

I defrost a chicken casserole for dinner later as we listen to him.

Jack loosens his tie and takes off his jacket. He pours himself a glass of water. “The nurse hated working for Dr. Edward Steiner. She was a married woman and very religious. She felt Steiner was unethical and had the morals of an alley cat. He obviously was sleeping with some of his patients. Unable to stand it much longer, she called him on it and asked how he could betray his wife like that. His arrogant answer was that his wife had her own lover. So it evened out. Besides, he told her, they had an ‘open’ marriage. The nurse didn’t believe him. She’d seen and heard many a screaming tantrum from the very jealous Mrs. Steiner, who dropped in many times, probably hoping to catch him dallying with his patients. They both knew she couldn’t stay any longer. It was right after that she quit before he could fire her and got the job she now has.”

“The plot is thickening,” I say.

“More like sickening,” Evvie comments.

Jack says, “I made another call. So tomorrow we have an appointment with Joyce’s business manager, Kenneth Ryan. I told him Joyce was dead. He sounded shocked. He said we caught him just in time. He is flying off to Hong Kong on a business trip tomorrow, but he definitely needs to see us. She left a will and he’s the executor.”

“Bingo,” says Evvie.

Jack adds, “I know Morrie will want to come with us.”

I heat the oven for the chicken. “And I know what he’ll say when we catch him up. Everything so far is circumstantial and won’t stand up in court. I hope this guy has something we can use.”

As we expected, Morrie listens patiently as Jack and I catch him up. We tell him what we know as we drive to the executor Kenneth Ryan’s office. Morrie is interested in what we’ve learned so far about Joyce’s background. But her fights with her hubby seem irrelevant since he died some time ago. So she had a temper, so what? Well, at least we know Seymour was picked up to begin his travels by someone he knew. At least he wasn’t kidnapped. It was probably Joyce’s Jaguar. But the driver was a man? It was dark. Too bad Merrill couldn’t describe him.

Additionally we’ve helped prove that not only Arlene but Joyce also had access to the key lime pies in the empty kitchen. But that doesn’t change Morrie’s mind about Arlene’s guilt. We were right. Everything is still circumstantial.

“About the daughter, Stacy,” Morrie says, “the Sausalito police tried again to reach her. This time the maid said she did hear from her and the family was due back in about a week. They left another message to call both them and you.”

I tell him, “We’ve been phoning her house, since she hasn’t tried to reach us, but this time we got the answering machine, so hopefully she’s returned.”

He can tell I’m distressed that there’s a daughter out there who doesn’t yet know her own mother has died, so he changes the subject. “What’s the background on this guy we’re meeting?” he asks.

Jack says he Googled him. “He’s a business manager with a law degree and another in accounting. Pretty successful it seems. In a high-rent district of Boca Raton. Has some well-known wealthy clients.”

We arrive at the affluent Congress Avenue address, so we’re not surprised at the fancy digs. The office appears as if it was designed by a professional who knew how to stage an office. All of it is done ultra modern in shades of black and white. Even the photos of early Boca are black and white. Very dramatic.

Kenneth has a suite that includes the usual front receiving area, private office, and conference room.

Kenneth, a man in his fifties, looks deliberate as well. The suit is expensive. As are the shoes. The haircut just right. To me he is on the downside of good looking. Probably considered handsome when younger. Maybe too much booze over the years, I’m guessing by the reddish veined nose. There is weariness to his demeanor.

He greets us himself. “I can’t tell you how shocked I was at the news of Joyce’s death.”

Morrie says what he’s had to say hundreds of times as a cop, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kenneth shakes his head as if to indicate, Don’t say any more. He can’t take it.

Kenneth hands us his business card, and Morrie passes back his police identity card, Morrie explaining that “since these two people,” indicating us, “are strangers to you, you might want a person of authority to be here.”

We introduce ourselves, saying we knew Joyce, but for only a short while.

He beckons us to follow him. “Very thoughtful of you. I was wondering about who was coming to see me.”

As we tour our way along his hallway, we express our admiration of his perfect decor. Kenneth thanks us. And remarks that Mrs. Steiner was his decorator. “That was her avocation, besides being a wonderful wife and hostess.”

I think to myself, Joyce has at least one admirer. I guess he missed all the good fights. But I do find it interesting that Joyce had a lucrative career. And it may also be that he and Joyce knew each other for a very long time. What was their relationship?

We follow him into his office.

“I gave my secretary a few days off, since I’ll be away, so I hope no one wants coffee.”

I almost expect him to offer us liquor. He doesn’t, but when he mentions coffee he instinctively looks to the elaborate wet bar where bottles of booze are in abundance. I read somewhere that’s a sign of an alcoholic or someone on his way to it.

Morrie says smoothly, “We know you have a plane to catch today. We’ll try not to take too much of your time. You’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes, I am. Quite late. Have you ever been to Hong Kong?”

We all shake our heads no.

“Extraordinary place. Not to be missed. I heartily recommend the Peninsula Hotel if you do.” He looks at me and smiles. “But the Star ferry to Kowloon calls for a very strong stomach.”

Hmm, how did he know I get seasick? Maybe he assumes it because I’m a woman. Or he’s just being condescending. Hong Kong is not in our budget.

Jack smiles wryly at me. Do we look like the kind of people who could afford such an expensive trip? Is Kenneth Ryan playing us?

Kenneth indicates we should sit down. We do. He takes his seat behind his white marble desk. Marble seems very popular around Boca. His desk chair is an Eames design in black. The office seems excessively neat. No papers anywhere, except for a blue folder on his desk that could be the will. What is this absence of things reminding me of? I’ll have to think of it later. I need to concentrate on that will.

He expresses his concern. “I have to say, your news about my client was not unexpected. I knew Mrs. Steiner was very ill. It was only a matter of time. She was quite important to this office. I’m so surprised I hadn’t already heard the news. What were the circumstances of her death?”

Morrie takes charge of the meeting. “Mrs. Steiner wasn’t living at Sunrise Key at the time. She was residing at a one-bedroom apartment in Fort Lauderdale on Oakland Park Boulevard. A sublet as it were.”

Kenneth lifts very bushy eyebrows, showing surprise. He knows that’s a lower rent area. “How very peculiar.”

Morrie says, “Then I assume you hadn’t been in touch with her for a while.”

“I did speak to her a few weeks ago to ask how she was feeling. She said she was doing as well as could be expected, as she put it.”

“Did you talk with her on her home phone?”

He thinks for a moment. “I believe I did.”

I keep watching this man very closely. From my angle I can see his legs under his desk. He is tapping one leg—a nervous tic? Well, he’s busy and does have to catch a plane. He’s probably hoping we won’t stay much longer. Aha, another quick glance at the bar. Or is it that he can’t wait to hit that bar the minute we walk out?

Morrie takes a breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, I have shocking news. Mrs. Steiner did not die of cancer, she was murdered.”

It’s almost as if Kenneth turns pale. His face twists into a horrific grimace. “What? What are you saying? You can’t be serious.”

“Very serious,” says Morrie.

“Who? What? Why?”

“We have a person of interest being held. I’m sorry I can’t go into further details of the case.” Morrie is being cautious. “It’s a long story. However, as you can imagine, it is necessary for us to see the will.”

Kenneth shudders. Then pulls himself together. “Of course. You must get in touch with me when the body will be released. I’ll have to cut my trip short.”

“It will be a while,” Morrie assures him.

He starts to open up the blue-covered file, then stops, looking pained. “Sorry. I can’t quite get my head around Joyce’s death. You must give me a moment. You can understand.”

“Of course.”

We stay quiet. Jack and Morrie glance around the room. I can’t take my eyes off him. His eye twitches.

He finally says, almost tearfully, but regaining his professional demeanor, “Knowing I was going to be traveling, I have provided the name and phone number for you of the estate lawyer who drew up the will. He can handle any questions you have for me. He can file the death certificate with the probate court. And of course, he can reach me if necessary.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Morrie says.

He hands us each a copy of the will.

I want to leap up in shock, but I hold myself back. What? I can’t believe what I’m reading. I have to reread it twice before it sinks in. Joyce Steiner left everything in the world she owns to Arlene Simon!

The three of us exchange amazed glances. The date of the will was a month ago.

Kenneth says, “I must explain. I’ve known all these years that Joyce was searching for a dear old friend. I was quite surprised when she came in and told me she’d found her at last and this was her wish. To make up to her for a mistake she made years ago. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to do this; she was originally intending to donate everything to her favorite charity. Her comment was that the charity is fine without her contribution. Giving to her dear old friend would make Joyce very happy. It seemed quite important to her.”

Jack and I look at each other. Unbelievable!

Morrie continues reading slowly and carefully. He, too, is totally amazed.

Jack speaks. “There is a list of her holdings?”

“Yes, of course. The money accrued on the house just sold in Sunrise Key. The money from the sale of her Jaguar, as well. The yacht. All her stocks and bonds. Her property investments. Her assets as an interior designer. She was a shrewd businesswoman. Mrs. Simon will be a very wealthy lady.” He smiles. “Won’t that be a wonderful surprise for her?”

I can’t stand it. I lose my cool. I have to know. “How much is all that worth?”

He studies another sheet on the desk. “My balance sheet totals Mrs. Steiner’s assets to $11 million, to round it out.”

Ohmigod!

Kenneth stands and starts moving us to the door. “I really must get cracking here. Lots of odds and ends to take care of.” He shakes his head, still pondering the incredible. “Murdered. Poor dear Joyce.”

We all three get up. Even Morrie is stunned. Who knows from that kind of money!

On the way home I keep hearing those numbers in my head. We’re quiet for a while, dumbfounded. Then I cry out, “Somebody say something! I can’t stand it!”

I turn to Morrie. I can’t hold back my thoughts. “You know what he didn’t say to you? What everybody always says—you’ll find the killer, won’t you?”

Jack asks Morrie, “Do we tell Arlene?”

“No.”

Morrie has two things to say. “First I need to find out whether Arlene knew about the will. That she’s the beneficiary. Talk about motive. Eleven million motives.”

I can’t bear to even think what the other is.

“And?” Jack asks. The suspense is excruciating.

Morrie states for me what he’s sure Jack knows, “The law says, and I’m paraphrasing it, a convicted felon may not gain profit from his or her crime.”

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” Jack says softly.

Evvie and I wait in my car, which is in a shady spot in the jail parking lot. The day has the kind of heat that makes you want to never leave your air-conditioned home. But Arlene is expecting us and every visit is so important to her. The AC in the car will have to do. We’re a little early and have to wait until it’s the exact moment until they open the doors. We are killing time with the help of a thermos of iced tea and a couple of cookies.

Evvie is still reeling from the news about the will. “Eleven million. She could build her own city. She could give jobs to hundreds of people just on the interest alone. She could build a world-class hospital—”

I interrupt her. “Enough already with your list of fantasies. I can’t stand what we’re doing here today.”

Evvie comments, “I still think Morrie was some chicken, leaving it to us to draw it out of her.”

“He chose us rather than him having to interrogate and intimidate her. He knew we’d be kind.”

“It was bad enough to have to reveal the Valium. What if she did know about the will? I feel like a Judas already.”

“To add to your Bible metaphor, if she did know it, it will be like handing him Arlene’s head on a platter.

“I can’t stand it that we’ll be helping the prosecution.”

Evvie, the movie critic says, “I’m trying to remember that picture we saw when the comic was being helped by friends and they just kept making things worse. He kept saying, ‘Don’t help me. Don’t help me.’ It was very funny.”

“I don’t remember and this isn’t funny.”

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

I feel bad about not having shared this incredible piece of news about the will with the girls, but we’re not allowed to tell them. Morrie has instructed us not to give out that information and we keep our promise.

“You know they wouldn’t be able to keep that a secret anyway,” Evvie says, reading what’s on my mind as usual. “It’s just too big. It will ooze out of one of them some way. Even I can barely stop saying it. Eleven million. Eleven million.”

“Please let it happen that Arlene does not know about the will.”

The entrance line is starting to move. We close our thermoses and whisk the cookie crumbs off our skirts. The jail has a dress code. Very bland outfits only.

We brace ourselves as we climb out into the stifling humidity.

Of course Arlene is very happy to see us. She thanks Evvie for coming also. Unlike anyone else, Arlene has put on some makeup. To cheer herself up. Or, as she told me, a habit. A need not to give in to the depression around her. Evvie looks around the room, taking it all in the way I did the first time I came. Glancing at the other visitors. Feeling what it must be like to be a prisoner in this place. Seeing the desperation. The tears. One could almost smell the fear.

We exchange glances. Arlene doesn’t belong here.

Arlene blurts out her news. “They were trying to set a court date for as soon as possible. But at the arraignment, Hy’s lawyer friend got a continuance so he’ll have more time to prepare.”

Evvie comments, “Well, that’s good.”

Arlene isn’t happy. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes it could take months. I don’t know how much more I can stand living like this.”

I feel bad for her. We’re all a long way from being able to raise the bail money. She looks thinner. Her cheeks have become hollow. She probably isn’t eating much.

Evvie says, changing the subject, “Sorry I didn’t meet your kids. I guess they had to go home.”

Arlene tears up. “It will be hard for them. Worrying from far away, not knowing what’s really going on.”

Arlene, also wanting not to stay on that topic, asks for some new gossip, so we cheer her up as best we can.

Evvie reports, “Since Hy put together the tailgate sales, everyone’s been coming up to say good things to him. That swelled head of his will be ten times bigger by the time this is over—”

Evvie stops short at the expression on Arlene’s face.

“That was insensitive of me. I meant by the time you get out of here. And I know you will.”

But Arlene manages a smile. “It’s all right, dear. I know things will turn out well because so many people are sending out prayers for me.”

I’m very aware of the short time we have left before the buzzer rings us out. I have no choice. I grit my teeth and dive in.

“We had a meeting with Joyce’s business manager. Joyce left a will.”

Arlene shrugs. “Yes, oh, that. I remember in one of her wild raving night sessions she told me she left everything to me in her will. I laughed out loud. Sure. That’ll be the day. But then right after it, that crazy woman said I’d never get to spend it.”

Evvie gasps.

I sigh. She did know. God help her. But what about that last remark? “Did she say why you wouldn’t get to spend it?”

“No, I ignored it, as I did every other mad thing she told me. As if I could believe she even had eleven million dollars.”

I hear Evvie next to me groan.

Arlene knew about it and, unhappy spy that I am, I must report it to Morrie.

But Arlene continues. “In front of everyone she pretends she loves me. Then she comes to me at night and screams at me. What kind of madness is that? Another time she was blaming me for her marriage failing. How was I supposed to do that? And frankly, as far as I’m concerned, she and Edward deserved each other.”

She stops to drink water from her plastic cup. I pity this poor woman with no one to talk to in this awful place.

“Another nutty thing she did. I was trying to clean up the mess I made in the kitchen that awful day and who should come in? The damn troublemaker said she wanted some of the pie to eat. What nerve! I practically threw it at her. Joyce got me so distraught again. I never did finish cleaning up.”

Evvie and I exchange glances. Joyce took the pie up to her apartment. Not Arlene.

I ask her another question. “Why did you go down to Joyce’s apartment the night she died?”

Arlene reaches for a tissue in her pocket. She clenches it, almost ripping it. “Because I was stupid. I knew better than to believe her, but she said she gave up. She was leaving. She’d found another apartment. She wanted to say goodbye in person because she would be gone by tomorrow.”

How sinister. She knew she’d be dead by the next day.

“But of course it was another of her lies. I only stayed a few minutes.”

And Joyce got her to conveniently leave her fingerprints on a glass of water.

The warning bell rings. Five minutes left. Arlene talks faster.

“I keep asking myself why. What’s the point? You know, I sit in that cell for hours, what else is there to do but think and think. I look back and go over our friendship. In my mind, as I was growing up, I thought we both felt the same about each other, but it really wasn’t that way at all.

“She always wanted what I had. If I ordered the chocolate milkshake and she the vanilla, she’d say she changed her mind and wanted my chocolate. And she did that with clothes, jewelry, anything I had. And I always gave in to her. It was the same with boyfriends.

“After she’d seduce the guy I was dating and take him away, she’d drop him. Then she’d always announce she never liked him anyway.

“Why was I so surprised when she went after Edward? I bet she tried before we were married and was annoyed she didn’t succeed.”

The room is empty. A guard is coming toward us.

Arlene stands up and speaks faster.

“Even when we were very young her parents both worked, so she had the key to their apartment. We’d play in her room—fantasy games with our dolls. She always had to be the princess and I’d have to be her maid.”

The guard reaches us. We are out of time. She takes turns hugging each of us, holding on tightly.

As the guard leads her away, she calls out one last question, “Why won’t the police believe me?”

Arlene’s question had me in tears. Even though Evvie, Jack, and I have tried to convince Morrie, he still holds firm. Where’s our proof? We are now determined, even desperate, to convince Morrie, and therefore the police, about the utter improbability that Arlene could have committed this crime.

I called him for an appointment as soon as we returned from the jail and begged him to make it soon. He agreed to meet us the next day when he could fit us in. In the very late afternoon. I was on pins and needles waiting. I gathered Evvie and all the girls together.

Morrie has agreed to hear us out one more time, which is kind of him. He’s willing to listen to our thinking and feelings on the subject. He doesn’t expect that he’ll change his mind but out of respect, he’s here. We are going to present this case from Arlene’s point of view.

We meet in our living room armed with pizzas and drinks. The girls are on their best behavior. I’m now part of Morrie’s family, but he is still a cop, after all. Even though the girls do know there’s a will, they have accepted our instructions to not ask about it.

I feel strangely optimistic. I sense we are getting close, but to what I don’t know.

Jack had suggested that I start it with the list of our pros. He’d jump in later.

I ask that everyone listen with the understanding that nobody interrupts until I finish. Then I stand up and begin.

“Yes, Seymour was picked up. Our witness says he saw a man driving a Jaguar. Coincidence? Joyce had a Jaguar. And where was he taking him? Who is the mystery man? We think Joyce had an accomplice. But an accomplice to do what?

“Yes, about the kitchen. Who wrote the note asking to make key lime pie? Who else could it be but Joyce? In order to get Arlene to lose her temper yet again in front of witnesses? Later, when Arlene was in the kitchen cleaning up, Joyce arrived. Arlene insists she did not take any pie. We believe Joyce took the pie. Why? To torment her even more? Or for something more insidious?

“Arlene swears she was visited by Joyce every night. Saying terrible things to her. It’s very possible that Joyce did have a key to her apartment.”

I reiterate the many things Arlene knew because Joyce told them to her in a middle-of-the-night rage. “Joyce admitted she set all of this up—finding her, getting Seymour to leave, moving in right below her to re-create the living quarters they occupied when they were very young. She admitted planting her scarf and the necklace. And she could have easily gotten the Valium as well.”

Morrie is keeping his word. He’s actually taking notes.

“What kind of person would do all that? Can you really believe Arlene Simon could make this up? We’ve known her for years. There is no way she could suddenly invent this convoluted, bizarre story.

“Nor could she possibly kill someone no matter how troubled she was.

“Joyce was able to set up scenes where she knew Arlene would behave badly. At the welcome party. Pretending she had just discovered her long-lost friend when in fact she moved in knowing where Arlene lived.

“At the pool. Joyce just happened to think her pool was too crowded? No, she tracked Arlene to our pool.

“At the kitchen club. The strange notes, none of which were written by the women there. Joyce had to have sent them. Arlene getting the note that said lemon meringue pie because Joyce knew she wouldn’t have shown up otherwise.

“It wasn’t Arlene who forced these confrontations. It was Joyce every time who managed to show up where Arlene went. Even when she was hiding from Joyce. Arlene said she stalked her day and night. During the day, playing the sweet friend who only wanted to make up. Knowing how badly it would affect Arlene. At night, gaslighting her. Making her vulnerable during the day being sleep deprived.

“Yes, Arlene was told about the will in one of those middle-of-the-night rantings, but she thought it was a vicious joke. Why would Joyce tell her about the will?”

I glance over at Morrie. He is paying very careful attention.

“So that the police would think it was the motive. And then Joyce drops the hint that Arlene would never get that inheritance. Joyce knew very well that the law would prevent her from collecting. She made that will out as the final trap so that Arlene would be suspected of murdering her.”

I have to stop. My mouth is dry. I down a full glass of water. I’m aware of how still the room is.

Ida can’t stand it. She takes the opportunity to quickly toss in a question. “So who gets the money if Arlene doesn’t?”

Jack answers her, “A favorite charity was named.”

Ida is puzzled. “That doesn’t make sense.”

I continue my impassioned plea. “You’re right, Ida, it doesn’t. Because here was Joyce talking about her dear daughter in California where she was invited to live. And how happy they all would be. How come Stacy wasn’t the one she left the money to? How come Stacy wasn’t mentioned at all?

“I realize now Joyce lied to me. The day I went up to Seymour’s apartment, she said she was on the phone talking to her daughter, Stacy, in California. But we’ve learned since that Stacy was traveling in Europe then and couldn’t be talking about what was happening with the cottage, or taking her children to a dentist that day.

“Arlene saw a very different side of Joyce at night. A woman who might be certifiably mad.”

I nod to Jack and let him continue. I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s his turn to jump in.

“What about her business manager? There was something off about him. Is it possible Kenneth Ryan knew more? His response to being told that Joyce was living here didn’t ring true. His client and very old friend, even the decorator of his office, just dumps everything to come to Lanai Gardens? She leaves a three-thousand-square-foot designer house and he is only mildly surprised that she’s moved into Seymour’s place? Perhaps he already knew that.

“How about the fact that her ‘beloved’ daughter, Stacy, was not in that will? He knew that, too. He knew where Joyce was and why.”

Ida can’t help it. She has to blurt out again, “I never believed her cockamamie story of wanting the simple life. In Seymour’s ugly apartment? She could have gone to a spa, or a retreat, even a convent for goodness’ sake …” She stops, remembering she wasn’t supposed to break in. “Sorry.”

I smile. “But again you’re right. It’s quite a stretch of the imagination. And something about Kenneth having to go on this sudden business trip feels like a red flag.”

Jack continues. “And since when does a businessman go on a long-distance trip and tell his secretary to take the time off? Wouldn’t he want her to stay and take care of the office?

“Why has Seymour stopped sending postcards? Is it connected to the date Joyce died? Has something bad happened to him?”

There is a pounding on the door. We glance around in surprise. We aren’t expecting anyone else.

Evvie goes to answer, and almost as if on cue, there’s Leah, like a whirling dervish, dashing into the living room, hair flying. She is waving a small package. She doesn’t even acknowledge the other people or that she’s intruding on something private. She looks only at Jack. And me. The people she hired.

“I found this,” she says shrilly, “in Seymour’s mailbox. It must be from him. I opened it and it’s one of those tape thingies.” She immediately hands it to Jack. “Maybe it’ll tell us where my Seymour is.”

Jack takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and takes the article out of the mailer with it. It’s a DVD. There is no note. He immediately hands the wrapping in the handkerchief to Morrie. We three exchange glances. I notice that there are no stamps on it. No return address. We are thinking the same thing. It wasn’t mailed. It was placed in the mailbox by someone who had a key.

Leah is hysterical. “I can’t work Seymour’s TV set. It’s too complicated. You have that kind of equipment. Gladdy, you have to play that for me. Right now!”

We try to calm her by telling her there are people here and we’re busy, but she’s having no part of that.

I look at Morrie. “Morrie?” I don’t know what he would want us to do.

He nods. “Go ahead, play it.”

Jack is still teaching me how to deal with CDs and DVDs and TiVo and On Demand and cellphones that take photos. I haven’t gotten it down yet. So I leave it up to my expert.

Everyone now marches into our Florida room, where the TV is. And it’s plenty crowded what with all of us in this small space. Evvie settles Leah in my rocker. The girls squeeze onto my rattan couch. Evvie and I crawl into the small loveseat. The guys, being gentlemen, stand.

Jack inserts the DVD into its slot and does whatever it takes to change it from TV to DVD.

Everyone is holding his breath.

What we see immediately is Joyce’s face filling the entire screen. Joyce speaks slowly and earnestly, looking directly into a camera.

Sophie gasps. Bella grabs her hand. Leah leans far forward, as if to climb into the TV set.

Joyce begins. “If you are watching this, then I’m already dead. I’ve been murdered.”

With that, Morrie says quickly, “Dad, turn it off!”

He does so, fast.

A shock wave runs through the room. What is this?

Morrie turns to the startled group. “Ladies, I have to ask all of you to leave. This is obviously a police matter.”

With a little grumbling, the girls climb out of their comfortable seats and head out. Ida sort of rounds them up. “Come on. We gotta go.”

Bella is petulant. “We’re gonna miss the best part.” But she allows Ida to push her along, too.

Sophie grabs one of the pizza boxes. “This goes with us,” she announces.

Leah looks totally puzzled. “Where’s my Seymour? Isn’t he on that thing? Why do I have to leave? What does it mean?”

Jack gently takes her by the arm and leads her out, soothing her as best he can. He hands her over to Evvie, knowing she’ll take care of her.

Evvie exchanges glances with me. Translation: I’ll be able to tell her about the recording later. She exits with the wailing Leah.

Jack and I are alone in the room. I ask Morrie, “Do you want me to leave also?”

“No, the two of you will watch with me.”

Jack returns and we settle down to stare at what’s in front of us.

He starts it up from the beginning and we hear again: “If you are watching this, then I’m already dead. I’ve been murdered.”

Needless to say, we are riveted to the screen. Forty-two inches of Joyce in HD reciting to us. High definition, as I’ve been taught.

“I am putting this on record because if I die tonight, you need to know the facts. I came to Lanai Gardens specifically because I wanted to see my dearest and oldest friend, Arlene Steiner Simon, before I died of the disease that was eating away at my body.

“I knew it wouldn’t be easy, because I hurt her deeply. But I soon realized it was hopeless. When she pulled a knife on me in the kitchen class, it reminded me of when she did the exact same thing fifty-five years ago. She didn’t kill me then, but I now knew she intended to finish the job this time.

“I could have told her I was dying in order to get her sympathy, to save myself. I refused to buy her with pity.”

She shifts her body slightly. Tears begin rolling down her face. The camera seems to tilt to another angle. “It’s all right. I don’t care anymore. I’m glad she’s putting me out of my misery. I can’t take any more of the pain. The morphine makes me feel awful. She’s called to make a date with me late tonight, so no one will see her come down to my apartment. I know she took one of the pie slices with her. I know what’s she going to do and I accept my fate. I deserve to die. I only hope in time she will forgive me and herself.

“Please don’t punish her.”

The recording ends with Joyce bowing her head.

The screen fades to black.

Jack turns it off. We are silent for a few minutes.

Morrie shakes his head in despair. “Very bad for Arlene.”

I sit stunned. Jack and Morrie look at me to get a response.

Finally I put my hands together. Slowly I clap. “She should get an Academy Award for that performance.”

Morrie stays for dinner. Each of us drinks more wine than we eat food. We merely pick at a quick salad I threw together. We’ve discussed everything over and over.

I comment, “She moved her face when the phony tears began to fall and the camera moved with her. She didn’t intend to move. She wanted it to look like she set the camera on a table and let it photograph her. Someone was holding that camera and filming her, but who? I’m sure now there is an accomplice. And I bet we know who it is. Where did she find a place to get a blank DVD and film it so fast and find someone to photograph her so quickly on the day she died? Obviously, this was planned ahead.”

Morrie paces around the dining room table, wineglass in his hand. “When the prosecution shows this to a jury, it’s all over. I don’t know which is worse, the recording or the will.”

I take a few sips of my chardonnay. “Let’s examine Joyce’s very busy day. She goes to the kitchen class in the morning, knowing her letter worked. Knowing Arlene will have a fit when she sees what they are baking.

“And Arlene does blow up at the sight of her. Sleep deprived and angry. Joyce picked this day on purpose.

“So Joyce then races out to meet with her accomplice, who has all they need to photograph the very thing that will destroy Arlene. I wonder where they meet. It wouldn’t be in Kenneth’s office. Too risky.

“She rushes back home and puts it in Seymour’s mailbox.”

Jack jumps in. “Then she calls to invite Arlene to her apartment. Arlene would never have gone there. So she used the only excuse that would possibly tempt her. Joyce pretending to say she gives up and wants to say goodbye. Please come down for a few moments, says the spider to the fly. Even if Arlene had doubts, she still would have gone just to hear the words she’d been waiting for. She might have thought not to go alone, but whom could she call in the middle of the night?”

Morrie comments, “Joyce must have been tempted to leave the DVD on the table with the water glass and the poisoned pie. Joyce was smart enough to know we’d see it as too pat. All the evidence neatly lined up to be found alongside her dead body.”

I say, “She knew Leah would open Seymour’s mailbox as soon as she was gone.”

Morrie paces. “My God,” he says, “if all of this is true, it’s diabolical.”

Jack shakes his head. “It’s premeditated murder. Only she’s committed suicide and made it look like murder. Setting it up so Arlene would be destroyed.”

I add, “And the ultimate slap. Joyce dangles the will she’s set up to be used against Arlene in her trial. She knows the law, that Arlene would never be allowed to receive that money as a felon. The arrogance of that woman, admitting to Arlene that she’ll never get the money.”

We are silent for a long while. Morrie finally says, shaking his head, “And it’s still all circumstantial.”

I manage a small smile. “But at least you’re on our side now.”

We sip our wine, thinking our own thoughts. But, finally, I need to say this out loud. “What must it have been like for Joyce? Sitting at her table, having just gotten Arlene’s fingerprints on the glass. Was part of her tempted to tell Arlene exactly what she was going to do? Maybe invite her to stay and watch her old friend die? But no, her need to ruin Arlene was too strong. What were her last thoughts as she ate the pie she had laced with Valium? Did she eat each bite slowly? Was she afraid? Did she regret anything? Who did she think about? What were her last thoughts? How did she feel about dying all alone?”

Unexpectedly, I begin to cry.

The three of us talk well into the evening. Plotting how to undo the horrific damage Joyce Steiner has caused. Finally we have a plan.

The key is Kenneth Ryan.

Morrie says, “The first thing I’ll do is find out exactly what flight he took to Hong Kong. We need to know just when he planned this business trip. We’ll get his bank records, his phone records, find out how often he was in touch with Joyce during this period. Interview his secretary and find out why he didn’t have her stay to run his office while he was away.”

Jack eats what’s left of the salad. “We could also get a photo of him and show it to Merrill Grant and see if he recognizes the man who picked Seymour up.”

I stack the dishes, ready to take them into the kitchen. “Yes. And surely Stacy must be back by now. Joyce’s daughter hasn’t called, probably because she was busy after coming home from a long trip and perhaps didn’t think it was important.”

Jack comments, “But a call from the police concerning her mother? And she doesn’t call?”

I start clearing the dishes. “And this fact really fascinates me. I can’t wait to find out why Joyce didn’t leave her estate to the daughter she loves.”

Jack adds, “We may never find out the truth about that. We have to find Stacy. We have a lot of questions for her.”

Morrie is about to put down his wineglass. “We have a busy day tomorrow. I better head out.”

Jack teases, indicating his glass, “Are you sure you can drive? We wouldn’t want you to be picked up by the cops for DUI.”

I can’t resist adding, “And have to walk that silly line in front of your peers. It would be so embarrassing.”

“Ha-ha,” Morrie says. “I’ve been nursing this one drink all evening, smart guys. I think I can manage to get home in one piece.”

We smile and exchange hugs.

“Tomorrow we clear up this mess,” he says, lifting the wineglass in a toast.

We do the same.

“Tomorrow,” Jack says.

Amen.

Things are moving very fast and furiously. With Morrie’s police team doing the legwork, answers are coming in practically every hour on the hour. Morrie keeps us in the loop all day long. Every so often Evvie and the girls drop in to hear the latest news reports. Needless to say we’re very excited.

Kenneth was definitely the key. He lied about everything. His phone records show he was in constant discussion with Joyce since she moved into Lanai Gardens. They were so sure of themselves, they didn’t even bother to hide their tracks by using prepaid cellphones.

He wasn’t going to Hong Kong. He never intended to. Based on the way this trip was ticketed, he bought it the night Joyce died. He knew she was dead before we notified him. He knew we’d discover that he was the person holding her will. So he needed only to wait for us to meet with him, spin his prepared story, and—poof!—he was gone.

Apparently Kenneth Ryan had the entire fortune. Joyce’s house sale profits. And the Jaguar. And the yacht. All her properties. How did he manage to keep that information secret? It doesn’t matter now. All the profits went away with him. All eleven million, and as he arrogantly told us, whatever more that would round it out. All gone. There was no money left in his or Joyce’s bank account.

Our boy transferred all his funds to his next destination, his new home. Not Hong Kong. And where did he move to? Dubai, United Arab Emirates. And why there? It’s all about extradition. The United States can’t bring him back on any charges.

His secretary had a lot to say. Mr. Ryan had been acting oddly for a long time. He was constantly going to “meetings” but never told her where or when or with whom. Very unlike him. He used to have her keep detailed records of all his appointments, but that changed suddenly. She suspected he had a secret place where he went quite often. She had no idea where. We assume he was with Joyce.

Kenneth made a number of practically overnight trips overseas for very short periods of time. His secretary didn’t know where.

He also told her just before he left that he wouldn’t be back for a long time. She was now looking for another job.

A new shocking piece of information: Morrie contacted the lawyer we were told would handle Joyce’s affairs from now on, a man named Jeffrey Finch. Mr. Finch had a different will from the one we were given to read. Apparently Joyce came in and changed the earlier one, thereby canceling that one out. This new will stated that if Arlene Simon was disavowed because of criminal charges, it all went to Kenneth Ryan.

Apparently Mr. Ryan took a jump start on his inheritance.

We questioned the validity of such a document. Could Joyce’s lawyer write up a will that makes him the beneficiary? No, legally he couldn’t. But Kenneth and Joyce thought of everything. He didn’t prepare this last will; this Jeffrey Finch, who did not know Kenneth Ryan, was the new executor of her estate.

The stunning news keeps coming in.

After an exhausting day of absorbing one shock after another, Jack and I collapse on our sofa, reeling from the information about this incredible plot that these two people concocted. Probably hadn’t been difficult for Joyce to entice Kenneth into assisting her. He had those eleven million as his reward for helping Joyce destroy Arlene’s life.

The phone rings and we don’t want to answer any more calls. Too tired to explain to one more person what had been going on.

We let it ring and the answering machine clicks on. “Hello,” we hear a woman’s voice, “this is Stacy Wilson calling from California. You’ve been trying to reach me …?”

Jack and I sprint for the phone. I am closer. I quickly press the speaker button, so we both can hear.

“Yes, hello,” I say breathlessly. “My name is Gladys Gold. We live in Florida. My husband and I have been trying to reach you for some time now. Did you speak to the Sausalito police?”

“No,” she answers. “I was more curious to find out why total strangers were also leaving messages for me.”

Jack speaks. “Hello, Stacy. My name is Jack Langford. But didn’t the police leave word that it concerned your mother?”

I hear a sound that makes me think she’s lighting a cigarette. There’s a rather long pause. We wait. Then she speaks again. “Yes, they did, but frankly I had no curiosity and wasn’t the least bit interested in hearing anything pertaining to my mother.”

Jack and I look at each other. What’s this?

I say as gently as I can, “We called, sorry to be the ones to inform you, to say your mother has died.”

Another pause. I’m beginning to get a feeling about what is coming next.

Stacy laughs, causing herself to cough. Definitely a cigarette raspy cough. “Hell,” she says, “I thought she died years ago!”

Now we’re the ones needing to pause. What do we say next? But Stacy saves us the trouble.

“And more to the point, as far as I’m concerned, my mother has been dead to me since I was twenty-one, when I was finally able to break away from my parents. That’s when I got married and moved to California, getting as far from them as I could.”

I might as well go for it. “But before she died your mother said she was going to move to California and live with your family in a guest cottage you were building for her on your property.”

The laughter this time gives her hiccups. “What guest house? There is no guest house. My looney-tune mother was not coming to Sausalito to live with me and my husband and children. Over my dead body before I’d let that happen. What had that witch been up to?”

Jack comments, “Frankly, we’re stunned hearing this. We believed her story.”

“That’s not too hard to understand. My parents could turn on their devious, charming personalities when they wanted to get their way.”

Her tone is sarcastic now. “Let me fill you in about my life with Mummy and Daddy. Doctor Edward, as he liked to be called, was too busy. He was never home, and I learned to be grateful for any precious moments he bestowed upon me. Which were few and far between. Mom, on the other hand, was toxic. She was a horror. Luck of the draw. I had a sick mother who should have been institutionalized. She was the mother from hell. When she met my husband-to-be, the witch even tried to seduce him. That was the last straw.

“When I got married and moved out, I never looked back again. Frankly, it always amazed me that I turned out normal after those two misfits finished raising me. I was lucky I was able to choose a decent, caring, sane man and was able to love someone.” Stacy laughs again. “I may have married a doctor, too, but I was smart enough not to marry a surgeon.”

When Jack and I are finally allowed to get a word in, we tell her that her mother has been murdered.

Stacy’s response is chilling. “What took so long?”

She adds, “I have no intention of coming to any funeral. Please don’t call again.” Wow!

Later in the day, we report on the Stacy call. Morrie is as astounded as we are. Then we get this further update from him.

“Guess where Kenneth Ryan went to on his almost-overnight short trips to very faraway places? Sydney, Australia, Fiji, Tahiti, and Hawaii. Sound familiar?”

To mail four postcards of a posing Seymour, to make sure the stamps were real! Very expensive trips as part of their devious plot.

Yes, the postcards stopped the day Joyce died. And Kenneth left the country. Seymour never got to travel, after all.

Why did Kenneth assist her? Who knows? Did he love her so much that he helped her plan the murder/suicide plot? Maybe blackmail. Did she have something on him that forced him to assist her? We may never find out.

Or maybe he did it for eleven million dollars and change.

We now know all we need to know except for one very important fact.

What did they do with Seymour? For the first time, I’m beginning to fear for his life.

We decide to make a party of it. We’re dressing up. Cocktail party dresses. Makeup. High heels, sort of. The works. Guys are actually wearing suits. We don’t care that it’s only ten in the morning.

We’re forming a convoy. Nine cars are in our parade, carrying four to six people each. The neighbors from all of the Phases are up early, busily making signs to wave and attaching balloons to each auto.

Yesterday a man arrived at Phase Three with what looked like his girlfriend. Why that assumption? He was obviously rich and old and driving a Rolls-Royce. She looked like a Vegas showgirl. We doubted it was his daughter. They came to pick up Joyce’s Jaguar and had the key and ownership papers to prove it was his. The papers were signed by none other than Kenneth Ryan. The showgirl moved over and drove their Rolls-Royce. He climbed in and took the wheel of his brand-new Jaguar.

Of course it reminded Hy of a joke. Very off-color, but the punch line was something like, Get out, you and the horse you rode in on.

After they drove off, that renowned cynic of Phase Two, our very own Ida, commented, “He’s definitely a doctor. A surgeon for sure.”

We had a good laugh at that.

Anyway, we’re finally ready. Jack, Evvie, and I are in the lead car. Jack’s car. Not a Jag, but his very old (he calls it vintage) Caddy. The girls are riding along with Hy and Lola. Third car, Tessie and Sol, Irving and Mary. Even some Canadians have joined us. Fatima and Elaine and Frances are with us, after sheepish apologies. Sandra rides with them.

Just about everyone is carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Jack leans his head outside our car window. “Ready,” he calls out, waving his arm to signal the line of cars behind him.

A chorus of “Ready!” floats back at us.

Hy has to put his own spin on it. “Wagons ho!” he calls out.

We arrive at the Fort Lauderdale jail. We wait. Some stay in their cars, with the air conditioners on; others step out carrying their signs.

The jail door opens. There she is. Arlene is free. Morrie is with her. Horns honk. Signs are being waved. “Welcome home, Arlene!” Women bring her their bouquets, hugging her and filling her arms with flowers.

Arlene cries. Everyone cries. She is overwhelmed by an ocean of happy tears.

Hy meanders over to where Jack, Evvie, and I are standing. He puffs out his chest and says, “Too bad she lost all those millions. I was hoping she’d spring for dinner.”

We are sound asleep. The phone rings. Jack, eyes still closed, groggily reaches for it. He answers.

“Yeah, hello?” He yawns.

What time is it? I squint at the clock: 6 A.M.!

I jump up into a sitting position and grab his arm. Any calls at odd hours must mean something’s wrong. With someone somewhere.

“Who is it?” I pull at his arm. He slides himself up. “Will I accept charges on an international call? Where? Dubai?”

I hit him on that same arm. “Say yes!”

He might be too groggy to remember, but I bet I know who’s calling. Who else could it be? We don’t know of anyone else in Dubai. I lean into him and he lowers the receiver so I can hear, too.

“Yes, I accept.” We wait through static and foreign languages until we hear a familiar voice.

“Mr. Langford?” he asks.

Early as it may be, Jack’s sense of humor is awake. “Mr. Kenneth Ryan, I presume?”

Kenneth is all business. “Get a pen and paper,” he orders.

“What time is it where you are?” Jack asks, waving at me, trying to make me hurry. I scramble for something to write on.

“Two P.M.,” he says. “Cut the small talk.”

I run my hands through whatever is on my bedside table. What I come up with fast is a bookmark holding my place in my bedtime reading. Then I scuttle through the drawer for something to write with.

“How’s the weather?” Jack asks, stalling. “Hot. It’s always hot,” Kenneth answers, annoyed.

“Come on back home and we can make it even hotter for you.”

I punch Jack again. “Don’t make him mad, he’ll hang up,” I whisper.

“Write this down.” Another order.

Pencil gripped tightly, I write whatever Jack repeats. It’s an address.

“You took your inheritance too soon,” Jack says. “Your scheme didn’t work.”

“It worked well enough for me.”

“You now owe Arlene Simon eleven million dollars, rounded out.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“You can never come home again. Ever.”

Kenneth hangs up.

“Stay cool,” Jack says sarcastically to the dead air.

“Oh, no! Why didn’t we ask him where Seymour was?”

Then we look at each other and start moving. Fast!

I’m already out of bed and grabbing the first outfit I can get my hands on. Jack’s right behind me. It’s got to mean what we think it means.

“Where the heck is Mariposa Street?” I ask.

“Morrie will know. I’m calling him as soon as I’m dressed.”

I’m ready. I don’t care what I look like. I run my fingers through my hair. That’s good enough.

“I’ll make some coffee,” I call out to him even as I’m running down the hall.

Morrie is used to getting up at all hours. He picks us up in about twenty minutes. We ride with him in his car, each holding a coffee cup to help wake us up.

I thought I knew our neighborhood, but I don’t know this street even though it is only ten minutes from where we live.

It’s an old neighborhood with small stucco houses. We’re holding our breath, not knowing what to expect. I pray it isn’t a dead body. Somehow, even though Joyce and Kenneth were willing to destroy Arlene’s life, I hope they couldn’t commit an actual murder.

The house is in the middle of the block. Rundown, peeling paint, shutters broken off, needing a lot more than just a new paint job. It looks abandoned, but we know it’s not.

We move slowly behind Morrie, who is looking every which way, observing everything, to be ready for whatever might happen. It’s a cop thing. His hand is on his gun holster, but he hasn’t snapped it open.

The shades are all drawn in the front. We tiptoe into the backyard, pushing open a squeaking, broken chain-link gate. Those windows there are covered, too. We return to the front and climb up the three steps leading to the door. Morrie tries the knob. It’s locked. We search around the obvious places for a hidden key. Kenneth didn’t oblige us with that information. Nothing under a flowerpot with a dead plant in it. Jack feels along the top of the door frame, another possibility. Nada under the tattered doormat.

Morrie shrugs. “Might as well ring the bell.”

A few minutes go by. Morrie is groping in his pocket for the tool he carries that will open the lock when we hear a voice from inside.

“Who’s there?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s alive.

Jack nudges me to answer. A woman’s voice would be less threatening.

“Seymour, is that you?”

A pause. “You’re not Joyce.”

“No, I’m not. Joyce couldn’t come.” Well, that’s not a lie.

“Where’s Kenny?”

Kenny? We look at one another. A nickname for a kidnapper? He knows both their names. In mystery books, kidnappers wear masks and hide their identity. If a mask falls off, their victim is a dead duck.

They never meant to kill him.

“Kenny couldn’t come, either. He had to go on a trip.” That’s close enough to the truth.

“Who are you? Are you from the show?”

What’s that about?

“It’s Gladdy. Gladdy Gold, your neighbor from Lanai Gardens.”

Silence. I can almost hear him thinking as he processes what this means.

Finally, “You didn’t bring my sister, did you?”

His voice is tremulous.

“No, Leah is still at home. But I’m here with Jack … and his son, Morrie.” No need to use the cop word. Yet.

We hear the turning of locks. One. Two. Three and the door is opened.

And here’s Seymour. At long last.

Seymour, dressed only in baggy shorts and a not-too-clean undershirt, walks us through the apartment. Very little in the way of furniture. A musty smell from a house that hadn’t had windows opened in a very long time. The fifties-style kitchen is sparse. Pockmarked linoleum. A portable mini-fridge only. No stove, but a small microwave. A plain wood table. One chair.

We pass the bedroom. Just as sparse. A cot. Period. Seymour’s few clothes are in a neat pile on the floor.

And then we get to the living room. What a difference.

There is a video camera. Now we know where the death scene played by Lady Macbeth was taped. A screen covers one wall. On another, a backdrop hangs from ceiling to floor, featuring—lo and behold—a rear projection of the Sydney Opera House in Australia.

There’s also a TV and many DVDs stacked on a table along with props, such as a fishing net and baseball caps, from four different countries.

How did they ever get him to stay here?

Seymour asks poignantly, “Did you bring any food? I’ve run out. Kenny was supposed to go shopping today.”

Well, Kenny won’t be doing any more shopping in the future, either.

What good chocoholic wouldn’t have a couple of Hershey’s Kisses in her purse? I offer my small supply to Seymour, who rips the silvery paper off and eats them hungrily.

Morrie contributes a Power Bar he keeps in his pocket for those times on duty when he can’t get any food. It, too, is grabbed. “Shall we sit down and talk?” he suggests.

Seymour climbs into his moldy-looking recliner chair, the one in front of the TV set.

I sit gingerly on a scratchy, ratty-looking couch.

Jack takes the one plain wooden chair from the kitchen. Morrie stands.

This house reminds me of Seymour’s apartment, only worse.

Which finally helps me remember what I was trying to recall a few days ago. Except for a few clothes, Joyce had nothing. Even her purse had been emptied. Kenneth’s office was cleared out as well. They wanted to leave nothing behind. The two of them knew they were going away, permanently. How ironic. They both moved on to a place from which they can never return!

Seymour looks at Morrie. “You look familiar. Were you on one of the shows? Maybe the bachelor one where you got to pick a wife?”

Morrie says no.

Jack smirks at his still-unmarried son. “Don’t I wish.”

Morrie throws him a dirty look.

“Then are you another producer of our show?” Seymour asks Morrie.

“What show is that?” Morrie asks, feeling his way.

“Why, our new reality show.”

Now it all clicks into place. Seymour’s scrapbook in his apartment. All those DVDs. They lured him in with his passion.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” Jack asks Seymour. “I have to make an important call.”

Seymour is magnanimous. “Go ahead. You showbiz people are always busy.”

I grin at him, knowing what my kind husband is going to do. Attaboy, Jack, call Leah and tell her her brother has been found.

Jack nods and walks back outside with his cellphone.

I ask, “Tell us, how did you meet Joyce?”

He brightens. “I was taking my usual walk in Lauderdale Park and this very nice lady comes up to me and hands me her card. I still have it here.” He reaches into the pocket of his shorts and hands me a crumpled business card.

I read it aloud for Morrie. “ ‘Joyce Smith.’ ” Smith? Well, that would work for a made-up name. I continue to read. “ ‘Producer Survivor Productions. Hollywood, California.’ ” No address listed. No email. No phone number. They had him at Survivor.

Seymour is animated. “My very, very favorite show! Do you know it? These lucky people get to travel all over the world and have adventures!”

I remember turning it on once for thirty seconds where some grungy-looking people dressed like bad Tarzan imitations were eating fried ants. That was enough for me.

Seymour continues, wringing his hands in excitement, “She wanted me to try out as a contestant for her new show. Me, Seymour, going on TV!”

Morrie moves it along. “So she brought you here …?”

“Yes. It was Kenny who picked me up that night. Kenny Jones.” He grins, proudly. “In his fancy Jaguar.”

They sure did choose original names. Smith and Jones. Poor Seymour. Because it was an expensive car, he got in with a stranger. The joke was on him and he didn’t get it.

Seymour rhapsodizes on. “He’s the other producer. It was so exciting. I was told that I had to keep everything a secret. Not tell anybody I know or else I was gonna be”—here he stumbles on the big words—“instantly disqualified.”

“And what were you doing here?” I ask.

“Well, it’s very complicated. They had to take pictures of me in different places to let the studio people see if I was photo—If I looked good in pictures. So they dressed me up and had those things on the wall. They didn’t have the money to send me to those expensive places, so this was how they did it.”

Little did he know Kenny was living his fantasy for him. Too bad they didn’t let Seymour make those four expensive trips to four faraway places, just to make sure a postcard was stamped!

“Seymour, dear,” I say to him, “why couldn’t you share your secret with your sister, so she wouldn’t worry about you?”

Suddenly, here’s a different Seymour. Agitated. “Why should I? She would have said no. She always said no to anything I wanted. I was going to tell her after my audition was over. After I got the part.”

“So your producers let you hide here, away from Leah,” says Morrie. And that’s why he stayed.

Jack has returned and is smiling. I can’t wait to hear what Leah said. Later.

Seymour is animated once again. “Yes, wasn’t that nice of them? And they were willing to cover my rent till we were done with my screen test.

“When are they coming back? I want to know if I made the cut. That’s what they called it—making the cut. I want to know if I’m starring on their big new show, Death Defiers.”

The three of us exchange glances. Who was going to break the news to Seymour that a Hollywood contract was not in his future? I didn’t envy that person.

Seymour searches our faces eagerly.

I nod to Jack. You do it. I don’t want to be the one. Jack nods to Morrie. He’s not the authority figure here. His son is. Morrie shrugs. He has no choice. He takes the responsibility. He’s works up his courage to give Seymour the bad news.

But Seymour beats us to it. He’s been staring at each of us as we look unhappy. He jumps out of the recliner. He is near tears. “I get it. Joyce and Kenny sent you to do their dirty work, didn’t they? I didn’t make the cut. I’m not going to be in Death Defiers.”

He scrabbles for his DVDs, grabbing for all of them, dropping some of them. “Get me out of here. Take me home!”

Showbiz is a cruel mistress.

Evvie and I are invited to the big event. We are seated in the front row on folding chairs with a few strangers sitting next to us. Rico sits there, grinning like a proud relative.

It’s graduation day at the Mike Gatkes Private Eye Academy.

We were told by the girls not to say a word, no matter what we saw, so I’m predicting some kind of entertainment.

Ida pokes Bella and Sophie to straighten their backs as they stand at attention in front of the chalkboard. They smile at us.

Mike Gatkes, in speech mode, emotes as he holds their three certificates aloft. “Congratulations on completing your Mike Gatkes Private Eye Course with flying colors.”

We politely applaud. This is the first time we meet Gatkes. What a character, what a phony. But if he made the girls happy and didn’t soak them too much for his “expertise,” it was harmless. Gatkes is a most unfortunate name. It means men’s winter underwear with a back flap. In Yiddish.

Gatkes drones on pompously. “Go bravely out into the world of crime, knowing you are well equipped to stop any abomination, any abuse, any corruption, any evil, any felony, any illegality, any transgression, any wrongdoing wherever and whenever you come upon it. I salute you.”

Which he does with a clicking of his heels. The girls are handed their certificates. And a huge print of the three of them holding what looks like a stuffed squirrel.

Happily, they thank their teacher.

Evvie and I are about to get up, but there’s more going on. So we watch and listen. It’s a bit puzzling. Evvie shrugs. Whatever.

Sophie mumbles, gazing at her certificate. “He spelled my name wrong. What’s so hard about Meyerbeer?”

Ida shushes her. “Never mind.”

For refreshment, there’s cookies and punch.

As they imbibe, Ida corners Gatkes. “Mike, about the reward you got from Fleigel …”

“A mere pittance …”

“Not so. Harvey found three hundred dollars in quarters up on his roof. I suspect he was very grateful.”

“You would deny a man his living wages?”

“We solved the case.”

Mike grumbles, “A lucky happenstance. Whadda you want?”

“How about you cancel our credit card purchases and we’ll call it even.”

He sighs. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”

Just as we’re about to stand up, thinking the show had actually ended, the door to the office suddenly flies open with a slam bang against the inside wall.

We sit back down again.

Everyone turns to look. A very skinny guy who seems like he doesn’t eat much fairly leaps into the room. He wears a gray sweatshirt with a hood that covers much of his face. There is fire in his eyes, a determination in his stride. He reminds me of that actor who always plays great slimeballs, Steve Buscemi.

“I’ve got you, Gatkes,” he cries out in an unfortunately squeaky voice.

Mike throws up his arms as if to protect himself and backs farther into his room, trying to get away. “No, no,” he gasps.

The intruder reaches into his jacket.

Sophie panics. “He’s got a gun!”

Bella seems to faint, daintily, falling onto Mike’s faded brown horsehair sofa.

Ida keeps her cool. She knocks the guy down.

A finger could knock that guy down.

Rico jumps off his chair, going immediately to her side. They turn him over. Rico holds him down. Ida whips out the handcuffs. Sophie positions herself in front of him, legs and arms akimbo, brandishing a lipstick. A lipstick?

“Drop your gun!” Ida the “bad cop” snarls.

“You really ought to do as she says,” “good cop” Sophie pipes up.

Rico is busy getting the cuffs on the squirming man.

“I got no gun. Get offa me,” the intruder cries.

“Oh, yeah,” Rico sneers.

“Take it out of my pocket and look, you idiots.”

Rico reaches around and removes what’s in the guy’s sweatshirt pocket. He retrieves a narrow folder.

“Oops,” Rico says, holding it high for all to see.

“It’s a summons,” the Buscemi double shrieks. “I work for a lawyer whose client is his wife and these are papers summoning Gatkes to divorce court. I’ve been chasing after this flake all week.”

Embarrassed, they remove the handcuffs and help him up. Sophie attempts to brush him off. That rug really is dirty.

He pulls away from them and pushes the papers into Mike’s unwilling large paws.

With that, the process server heads out the door. “I oughta sue,” he growls.

Bella comes to. She stares at the quiet group. “What did I miss?”

Evvie and I applaud as we get off our chairs.

The girls turn to look at us as if we are nuts.

“Nice play,” I murmur as I grab a chocolate chip cookie.

“Good theater,” says Evvie, grabbing a Fig Newton. “Polish it up a bit and you could take it to Off Broadway.”

We leave, giggling all the way down the long, dark staircase.

A week later Ida comes to us, the girls trailing behind her. “Too much paperwork,” she says. “I’m willing to give up Ida Franz and Associates and return to the Gladdy Gold agency.”

The girls are happy. Evvie and I are happy. I’ll break the news to Jack later. After he’s had a good dinner. We are a family again.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, thanks to Lois Leonard, my mechutainista. She knows why.

Thanks to Betty & Roger Eggleston of Florida, yet again. Squirrels, indeed!

And to round up all the usual suspects:

Caitlin and “good” Nancy again and again and again

My sons, Gavin & Howard or Howard & Gavin. Get it? And Alison, of course

Camille, Peg, Jonnie, who help me get it right every time

Sister Judy and the Tucson Voyager fans

And all the great “sisters” in SinC and the pals in MWA

To Margaret and the Women Who (still) Walk on Water in Wisconsin

And lots and lots of friends and readers giving continuous support. Thank you all!

Table of Contents

Cover

Other Books by This Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Introduction to Our Characters

Best Friends

1 - The Honeymooners

2 - Meanwhile Back at the Condos

3 - The Return

4 - Bill of Divorcement

5 - Arlene Tells Gladdy

6 - Detective School

7 - Friday Night Welcome Party

8 - Friendship

9 - The Married Couple

10 - Where Is Seymour?

11 - Ida Franz and Associates

12 - The Pool

13 - Seymour’s Apartment

14 - Shopping Spree

15 - At Rico’s Pad

16 - Lunch with Morrie

17 - The Cooking Club

18 - A Waiting Game

19 - The Candy Machine Case

20 - Stakeout

21 - End of Quiet

22 - Morrie Arrives

23 - The Plot Thickens

24 - Arlene Reacts

25 - Evvie Comes Home

26 - Morrie Brings Bad News

27 - Morrie and Arlene

28 - The Roar of the Crowd

29 - Our Meeting with Morrie

30 - The Dream Team

31 - Surprise!

32 - Visiting Hours

33 - The Rich Lady

34 - Back to the Kitchen

35 - The Business Manager

36 - Where There’s A Will

37 - Morrie Listens

38 - You Ought to Be in Pictures

39 - Chasing the Facts

40 - Tomorrow

41 - A Wonderful Day

42 - Seymour

43 - A Star Is Born

44 - Graduation Day

Acknowledgments