Getting Old Is Criminal Part 10

Evvie leans back in her seat. "Now, aren't you glad you picked me as your partner?"

FOURTEEN.

MORE PEEPER PROBLEMS.

A s Evvie and I drive back through Lanai s Evvie and I drive back through Lanai Gardens, I find myself looking at our condos through Hope Watson's eyes. Low-rent area? Yes, I guess you could call it that. Our pretty lawns can hardly compare to the extravagant grounds at Wilmington House. The stucco paint on our buildings is getting shabby. We need a lot of repair work to fix last year's hurricane damage. No comparison to the perfection that the rich can afford. Never mind, though; it's home.

"Hey, look over there." Evvie pokes me. We are about to pa.s.s Phase Five, when I see the police car. I pull over. To my surprise, there's Morrie Langford in conversation with some of the residents. I recognize Dora Dooley, Jack's neighbor, among them. I park and Evvie and I join them.

For a moment I am startled. Morrie reminds me so much of his dad. Same tall height, same posture. Full head of l.u.s.trous brown hair, now salt-andpepper on his father's head. What Jack must have looked like in his thirties. Another jolt for me and I feel my pain once again. Morrie and I have become good friends since we met professionally. Now I feel at a loss as to how to behave with him. Does he know Jack and I have broken up?

"There's Gladdy," says Sylvia Green, a tall, usually cheerful woman I know only slightly. "Just the person we want to see."

And in minutes, we get the story. Our Peeper struck again. The woman who saw him got so frightened that they had to take her to her doctor this morning.

Dora is practically jumping up and down, pointing an accusing finger at Morrie. "You promised your father you'd catch him."

He smiles at the tiny woman. "I promised I'd try."

Morrie addresses us. "I want to help but there's not much I can do. I can't spare any cars to cruise your premises all night. Unfortunately, it's not our top priority."

"Then what are we going to do?" Alice Potts is wringing her hands.

Morrie makes a suggestion. "Perhaps putting up motion-sensor lights on every building will make a difference. He won't be able to avoid the bright lights. That might deter him."

I notice Jack's son won't look me in the eye. I guess he's already heard the news. "I'll call an emergency meeting of our phase. You do the same with yours," I say to the Phase Five women. "But installing lights will be very costly."

"This has gone on long enough," Alice insists.

"Yeah, you said that right," Dora echoes her. "Are you done now? I have to get back to my show."

Sylvia has a solution. "Maybe if all the phases chip in we can afford those lights. I'll pa.s.s the word along to all the phase presidents."

I promise to get in touch with my group right away.

Morrie gives me a cursory nod and leaves.

Evvie, watching him leave, looks surprised. "What's with the cold shoulder? What's eating him?"

Guilt, I hope. Like father, like son? Leave when the going gets tough?

As I turn into my parking spot I see Denny's old car pulled out so that Irving and Yolie can help Millie into the backseat.

Evvie heads upstairs to my apartment, but I amble over. "Hi. How is everyone?"

Everyone seems nervous, that's how everyone is.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Irving answers quickly. "We're

taking her for a checkup. And some tests. Just a checkup."

"Oh, okay," I say. "Hope everything goes well."

Denny mumbles something incoherent and Yolie doesn't look at me and I swear Irving is sweating.

Millie giggles one of her inappropriate laughs. "They're such liars." Then, as it is with her, it's as if a light goes off and she's comatose once again.

Denny rolls out of the parking area, burning rubber.

Strange.

I know one day we're going to have to convince Irving to put Millie in an Alzheimer's hospital. He looks exhausted. I know he can't take much more.

"Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I'm pretty sure Evvie and I will be getting into Wilmington House. The board might call you to confirm what we're doing."

I nod at Evvie, who is leaning so far over my shoulder in order to listen that she is practically on my lap. I'll bet s.h.i.+rley's doing the same on the other side of the phone. I listen a few moments and then Evvie pokes me, covering her mouth in order to hide her laughing openly.

"That's a very good idea, Alvin. In both our names. And very generous of you." Now I can hear s.h.i.+rley yelling, "Are you crazy?" in the background. "Thank you. We'll keep you informed."

I hang up. Evvie hugs me. "Wow! A charge account at Wilmington House!"

"Down, girl. That's to pay the rental on the apartment and for the few sundries we might need."

"Yeah, yeah." Evvie dances around the room. "I heard him. Toothpaste and hairspray, stuff like that."

"We have a fiscal responsibility to keep our charges low."

Evvie heads out the door. "I heard you. Yum yum! I just can't wait to move into our fancy retirement hotel. Maybe I'll nab some old rich guy and never have to leave again!"

Lying in bed that night, I can't stop thinking about Jack and wondering where he is. I remember how the two of us showered in our outdoor waterfall in Pago Pago. How cool the water was. The first time we saw each other naked. How his body fit so well against mine. How we teased, saying we'd wait until later, but later never came. I play the scene over and over again, each time demanding of myself that I stop. But I can't.

Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe I don't need the aggravation of having a man in my life. Everything was much simpler before. And yet- that incredible feeling of pleasure. At what price?

Now I can hardly wait to get to Wilmington

House where I can worry about Esther Ferguson's Romeo and not my own. And what price did she pay for her pleasure? Oh, such dark and dreary thoughts.

I turn on the TV and catch a comedy show.

I will not let Jack get me down.

FIFTEEN.

NO ESCAPE FOR.

THE WICKED.

L ike fugitives, we tiptoe our way to my car, ike fugitives, we tiptoe our way to my car, looking every which way to make sure we aren't seen by the girls. Evvie and I are going to prepare for the big move into Wilmington House. First stop: shopping for ritzy clothes. We only have a couple of days-I hope we can find something.

Frankly, I didn't think the Wilmington board would vote us in. But I guess the convincing argument was that they desperately needed to know if they had inadvertently allowed a killer into their midst. I'm sure they tried to look for an out in Philip Smythe's rental agreement, but the first and last month's rent must have been already paid. And I'm sure his former records and bank statements reaffirmed he was more than able to afford to live there.

Evvie is merrily singing Gilbert and Sullivan under her breath. " 'With catlike tread upon our prey we steal . . . tarantara, tarantara! . . .' " She stops. "Oh, oh." She points toward my car, where three determined figures stand with crossed arms and grim faces. Evvie mutters under her breath, "Guess the yenta grapevine told them we were heading out." Then she waves with phony cheerfulness. "Hi, girls, what's up?"

"Going somewhere?" Ida asks. "I thought you had mah-jongg this afternoon."

"Just not in a mah-jongg kind of mood today."

"More like in a spending-a-rich-guy's-money mood?"

"Lay off, Ida."

I feel terrible. Ever since Evvie abruptly announced she was going with me before I could tactfully pave the way, I have felt so guilty. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could take you all with us, but it's just not possible."

"We know that," Bella says, her arm around Sophie. "It would be silly to have a mob hanging around."

"But you could use us as accessories around the fact," says Sophie, in her inimitable way of expressing herself.

"You're not mad anymore?" I feel so relieved.

"Of course not," says Bella. "You need to leave some of the troops back at the home office. The Peeper case is still hot on the griddle."

"In fact," says Ida huffily, "we've already arranged the multi-condo meeting, so there. We are very capable of running the shop without you."

I have a feeling they've already had one prideful meeting without Evvie and me. To come up with these fancy words to throw at me. Good for them. They've got s.p.u.n.k.

But Bella is hurt. "Why didn't you invite us along today? You know Soph and me are good with fas.h.i.+ons."

Sophie nods vigorously. "Versace. Dior. Pucci and Gucci. Hey, we saw The Devil Wears Prada The Devil Wears Prada last year with that wonderful Meryl Streep. I'm a regular fas.h.i.+onista." last year with that wonderful Meryl Streep. I'm a regular fas.h.i.+onista."

"We can't afford them," I say. "We can't spend that kind of money. It's not fair to Mr. Ferguson."

Ida imitates him. " 'Money is no object.' I say spend."

"I know that," says Sophie, "but I know how to recognize a knockoff, and I know where to find them."

"Yeah," Bella adds, "you need us. The two of you dress like it's still 1945."

"Thanks for nothing," says Evvie hotly. "Besides, the styles always come back. Now it's called retro."

Ida laughs. "You are going to make great big fools of yourself. Those rich ladies will smell WalMart and run for the hills."

Bella and Sophie pull me toward the car door. "Not if we can help it."

This is not just a thrift shop-it is an upscale thrift shop, clothing donated by women with do-re-mi who have tired of their casually worn attire. The girls are having a ball. Sophie and Bella are pulling things off the rack faster than Evvie and I can try them on. Trying to match us to our new personas. Even Ida has caught the excitement. I see her hiding behind a mirror, holding a last-season Donna Karan up to her body and daydreaming.

I've decided to go for sleek and sophisticated. A quietly rich woman who keeps to herself a lot. One who watches things from the sidelines. Evvie is going for raffish abandonment. Her chance to act on a stage at last. She chooses to play the role of a former socialite who landed a rich husband. Maybe many rich husbands. And she outlived them all.

"Get a load of this," Evvie says gleefully, holding up a three-strand "diamond" necklace.

Sophie, the jewelry maven with the son in Brooklyn Heights who taught her everything about gems, examines it closely. "A really good imitation. You can pull it off, Ev. If you pretend to believe it's real, they'll believe you," says the expert. "It will go beautifully with this Givenchy scarlet red c.o.c.ktail dress and matching boa. And the Jimmy Choo knockoff shoes."

By now the checkout counter is piled with clothes. I wait with bated breath for the total. I worried needlessly. As it turns out, two hundred dollars and change for two wardrobes. I'm impressed. Sophie and Bella high-five each other.

While they shopped and tried on and giggled and chatted, they planned.

"Have we got a surprise for you this afternoon," announces Sophie to Evvie. "The perfect opportunity to try out your new personas. Are we all gonna have fun!"

The staff of the senior recreation center in Margate has tried to make the ordinary gym look festive. Balloons float above the small tables and rickety chairs set up for this four p.m. event. Two facing chairs at each table. Photos from magazines of young, happy-looking couples are taped onto the walls. There is much giggling among the waiting women, ranging in ages from sixty-ish to ninetyish, who line up against the wall. They have clearly dressed up for the occasion.