Getting Old Can Kill You (17 page)

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.

M
orrie 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.

W
hy 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.”