Getting Old Is Criminal (18 page)

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“You’re on a roll. And Jack?”

“That’s a puzzle. I think you need to wait until you see him again. And you will. He’s a good man.

He wouldn’t want to make you unhappy.”

“He already has. Guess there’s no statute of limitations on getting dumped no matter how old you are.”

More sitting quietly. A gaily colored kite appears, flying lazily above us. Then it disappears over the palm trees. “Conchetta, lately I’ve been thinking of our old group. When Francie was still alive, when Millie didn’t have Alzheimer’s. Sandy and Joan hadn’t moved back north. You were always the baby in the group among us old bags.

Remember the fun we had?”

“Sure do. The concerts we went to, the lectures, the crazy Bollywood movies from India that we loved.”

“What I liked best about them is the way hundreds of people would just appear and sing and dance regardless of the plot.”

I’m starting to feel better already. I start to giggle.

“And the wild parties we had for the Oscars when we dressed up as characters from the nomi-nated movies. Remember when you came as Darth Vader and your pants dropped off when you and Sandy were having a sword fight?”

Now Conchetta is giggling as well.

“Oh, what about election nights? The scream-G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 7 5

ing and throwing popcorn at the TV set every time you-know-who captured a state.”

She hits me playfully on the shoulder. I hit back.

“Please don’t remind me. Millie, Sandy and Joan, and Francie tap-dancing to that song they wrote called ‘Chads: Dimples, Hanging, and Preggy.’ Silliness like that. Don’t get me started on stuffing ballot boxes.”

I laugh out loud. It’s the first time in a while.

How nice to be spending a relaxing time with a friend. “We don’t have much fun anymore. No, I shouldn’t say that. You and your family still laugh a lot.”

“You don’t hear us when we discuss Cuba.”

“I feel discombobulated. I want to go back when we were all together.”

“Not going to happen,
pobrecita.
You have to make do with what is. As you very well know.”

“Remember Francie always saying carpe diem?

Seize the day!”

“Yeah, and she was right. Take every day and make it count.”

“And she did. Every day was to be lived to the fullest for Francie. Now she’s gone—”

Barney pops out of the back door. “School bus with a zillion noisy teenagers. Help!” He hurries back inside.

We get up, stretch. “I feel like I’m one hundred years old,” I say.

“Me, too, and I’m only thirty-eight.”

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We laugh and hug each other and I feel a little better.

*

*

*

That afternoon I drive back to Wilmington House in Alvin’s Caddy. I feel like a yo-yo. I almost forgot to change cars. Can you imagine the looks I’d get from the attendants if I accidentally drove the old Chevy up to the entrance?

Ida will keep an eye on Sophie and report to me.

This is difficult. I feel I need to be in both places and it’s not possible. My priority right now is finding out what Evvie is up to.

Of course, that might not be so easy. When I go upstairs, Evvie is not in her room. Where has my sister gone now?

TWENTY-SIX

THE POND

T
hey are the only ones near the pond. Philip
has picked out a solitary spot where they
won’t be seen easily from the path. Evvie sits on
the grass at the edge, letting her bare feet dangle in
the cool water. Philip is at her side, holding her
hand. She wears a lovely pale yellow, strapless sundress. Her matching sandals lie nearby. As she
leans toward him, a small bottle of pills drop out
of the pocket of her dress. He quickly reaches for
them before they roll down into the water.

“Oh, goodness, I forgot my pills.”

He hands her a bottle of water and then examines the medications container. “There’s no label.”

Gently pulling the container away from him,
she thinks quickly. She could tell him the truth,
that the pills are vitamins, but then why carry
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those, when she supposedly has a life-threatening
illness? “I always carry them in a small bottle instead of dragging the larger one they came in.”

“What are you taking?” She hesitates. He smiles
and reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bottle as
well. He winks. “You tell me yours, I’ll tell you
mine.”

Evvie tries to remember what Sophie takes for
her heart. “Dijoxin.” She takes one pill out and
swallows it with water, then puts the bottle back in
her pocket. Playfully, she reaches for his bottle.

She has to divert him. She hopes he doesn’t know
that Sophie’s pill is white and quite small, unlike
the large gray vitamin.

“It’s Vicodin.”

“I’ve heard of it. What’s it for?”

“Migraines. I’ve had them all my life.”

“Oh, you poor dear, they must be painful.”

“Yes, they are.” He lookes at her bottle again.

“Is that all you take? Just the one? What exactly is
your condition?”

Her mind is working as fast as it can. “I have
my other pills in the morning.” She reaches for his
hand again. “It’s such a beautiful day; let’s not
waste it on depressing subjects. We’ll start to
sound like really old people who only want to talk
about their illnesses.”

“You are right, my dear.” He kisses her hand,
and looking deep into her eyes, he recites, “ ‘Dost
thou love life? Then do not squander time, for
that’s the stuff life is made of.’ Ben Franklin.”

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Evvie rallies. She can handle this. “How about,

‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Old Time is still
a-flying.’ Robert Herrick.”

He continues it. “ ‘And this same flower that
smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.’ ”

It’s a strange moment. Evvie is sorry she chose
that poem; she had forgotten those next chilling
lines, yet Philip seems pleased. How charming that
he loves poetry as much as she does. It was poetry
that got her through the lonely years at school
when she felt so awkward and unattractive. And
when she wasn’t reading poetry, she was acting.

Her shy, real self would disappear while playing
the wonderful parts onstage. Cruel queens, famous
heroines, and gorgeous debutantes: that’s when
Evvie came alive. On the stage. But it all came to
nothing, Evvie thinks bitterly. Her parents had for-bidden her to pursue a theater career. She was expected to pick some neighborhood boy and get
married.

Philip leans closer to her, his lips nearly touching hers again. She pulls away slightly. Being outdoors makes her nervous. What if someone should
come along? She has to change the mood. “You
have such a beautiful voice, Philip. Did you ever
have professional training?”

“No, my dear, these are the affectations of
English private schools. Or as they call them, public schools.” This time he kisses her lips gently.

Footsteps crunch along the nearby path and
Evvie instinctively pulls away.

TWENTY-SEVEN

THE BUSYBODY

It takes me a while, but finally I find Evvie sitting on the grass next to the pond. I hurry toward her, and then stop when I realize she is not alone.

She is with Philip. They are holding hands and looking longingly at each other. Evvie is wearing another expensive-looking new outfit, something sexier than the clothes we originally bought.

I hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to intrude.

The more sensible part says this is a job and I’d better check up on my assistant. I pretend to be strolling and just happen to see the happy couple.

Now I get to play the hypocrite.

“Evelyn. Philip. Hello, there.” My voice is an octave higher than normal. I am fairly trilling.

Evvie startles and, caught off guard, throws me a G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 8 1

dirty look. Philip immediately stands up, dusts his pants, and breaks out the charm.

“Gladys Gold,” I say quickly, before he realizes he’s never seen me before. “We met Saturday night. At the mixer.”

Naturally, he won’t admit he doesn’t recognize me. “But of course,” he says. “Though it was rather crowded.”

“Yes, wasn’t it? But such fun.”

He gazes down at Evvie. “It certainly was.”

Luckily there is a bench right next to them, so I perch at the edge. If I sat down on the grass, I’d never be able to pull myself up. I indicate Philip should sit again, but he doesn’t. “Don’t let me disturb you,” I babble on. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you when we spoke that night, we had something in common.”

“Really?” He is losing interest, but what I’m about to say should grab his attention.

“Oh, really?” Evvie adds, her voice like ice.

You, too, sister dear. This ought to teach you not to be so smart. “Yes, my niece, Myra, works at Grecian Villas. You know, she works for Mrs.

Gordon, the manager? Myra told me so much about you.”

There is the slightest twitch in his eyes, but he pretends delight. “Yes, of course I remember her. A lovely lady. Very kind.”

My dear sister is sizzling. I can always tell when she is angry because her earlobes turn red. Evvie 1 8 2 • R i t a L a k i n

reaches out to Philip. “Philip, dear, we have to leave.”

He gallantly helps her stand as I glare at Evvie from behind his back.
Don’t you dare,
I mouth to her angrily.

Evvie, spiting me, puts her arm through his and starts to lead him away. “So sorry. We have an appointment,” she says to me, ever so sweetly.

“Yes, we must hurry,” Philip agrees.

As Evvie pulls him along, I stand and grab on to his other arm. “Yes, I must also. I’ll walk back with you.” Without missing a beat, I say, “So tragic about poor Mrs. Ferguson, wasn’t it?”

His step falters momentarily. “Yes, indeed. She was a lovely lady.”

He has a one-track mind, this Romeo. Everyone’s such a lovely lady.

Philip picks up the pace. I wonder why. Can it be he doesn’t want to discuss lovely, dead Esther Ferguson?

We reach the lobby. “Which way are you going, Gladys?” he asks. Whatever makes me think that if I say right, he’ll be going left? “Oh, toward my room.” I point with my right hand.

“Well, then we’ll have to take leave of you.” He fairly pushes Evvie toward the left. I grip his arm a little tighter and glare at Evvie.

“Have you ever seen that darling TV show where Donald Trump tries to hire an assistant?”

Evvie knows it very well. She loves that show.

G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 8 3

“Isn’t it funny when he looks straight at the poor loser and says real loud, ‘You’re fired’?”

Get it,
Evelyn
? You’re fired.

With that I let go of Philip’s arm. That should leave them both reeling. I wonder what lies he’ll tell Evvie about Grecian Villas. Assuming she’ll speak to me again and let me know what he said.

I’ve learned one thing about him. He doesn’t want anyone to know about his past. If he is really guilty, he must assume no one has figured it out or they’d be after him by now. Lighting this match under him should get some results. He’ll be very wary of me. We’ll see.

And hey, sis—I hope you got my message.