Getting Old Is Criminal Part 31

I can almost see the smile. "Gladdy Gold, you have a cell? I thought you hated progress."

"Never mind that. Just do it." I give him my number.

"Gladdy . . . I'm sorry about you and Dad." His voice is concerned, but cautious.

I choke up. "Thanks," I manage to say.

Not five minutes later, my cell rings. It's Hope Watson sounding like she's on the verge of hysteria. "Is it true? They know for sure he's a killer?"

"I'm afraid so."

"How soon will they pick him up?"

"I don't know yet. It will take careful planning. I know what you're going to say next. Don't tell anyone."

"But what about my board? I have to answer to them."

"The more people who know, the more dangerous it could be."

"I must at least tell the president of the board."

"Do what you need to, but it mustn't leak."

I can hear Hope Watson is close to tears.

I continue, "Hope, you must keep everything as normal as you can."

"All right." She can barely speak.

No more subterfuge-I need to know. "How is my sister?"

She sounds startled. "She and Philip are having a wonderful time." She can't hide her sarcasm. "They're everywhere. They're the fun couple. Everyone wants to be part of their clique."

"Good. In fact, try to add some activities that keep them surrounded by people as much as possible. I don't want anything to upset the status quo. The less they are alone, the better."

"I can't believe this is happening to us."

"You'll feel better having a policeman on the premises at all times."

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know. Soon, I think."

I don't intend to tell her about the ladies at the Roman Villas dealing with a dead body found on their premises. It's bad enough, her having the killer living in her own establishment.

I pray all these delicate manager ladies won't fall apart.

FORTY-SEVEN.

THE NEW MAN.

L adies and gentlemen, may I have your atten adies and gentlemen, may I have your atten

tion?" She taps a spoon on a gla.s.s. The eating stops momentarily as Hope Watson addresses the stops momentarily as Hope Watson addresses the dining room group. She smiles a little too brightly. dining room group. She smiles a little too brightly.

Evvie is only half listening; her attention is on Philip chatting with the woman on the other side Philip chatting with the woman on the other side of him. of him.

"We have a new resident, Mr. Donald Kincaid. He tells us he's formerly from Brooklyn." He tells us he's formerly from Brooklyn."

Donald Kincaid stands and bows. Evvie glances up. This new man is the picture of a jolly roly-poly up. This new man is the picture of a jolly roly-poly sixty-year-old, dressed in a rather loud checkered sixty-year-old, dressed in a rather loud checkered jacket. He gives the impression of an easygoing jacket. He gives the impression of an easygoing guy with no worries. "Thanks, Hope. Just to let ya guy with no worries. "Thanks, Hope. Just to let ya know, I'm single and available. And a good know, I'm single and available. And a good dancer." dancer."

There is some t.i.ttering at that from some of the ladies. Even Evvie smiles. ladies. Even Evvie smiles.

"I also spent years as a security guard at WalMart. And I even got to play Santa Claus at Christmas. Lucky I have rich kids who can afford Christmas. Lucky I have rich kids who can afford to send me here." to send me here."

More laughter. Evvie notes that he's coming across as a likable guy. Yet, there's something across as a likable guy. Yet, there's something about him . . . She goes back to her meal and joins about him . . . She goes back to her meal and joins Philip in his chat with other people at their table. Philip in his chat with other people at their table.

"So," continues cheery, bl.u.s.tery Donald, "if any of you ladies feel like you're in trouble or any of you ladies feel like you're in trouble or something, I have a great big gun, so just dial my something, I have a great big gun, so just dial my extension, five-oh-five. I will be at your apartment extension, five-oh-five. I will be at your apartment in a flash." in a flash."

The seemingly s.e.xual innuendo receives a lot of laughs. Hope pretends to be shocked. laughs. Hope pretends to be shocked.

Evvie looks up from her Dover sole. She's startled to see Donald Kincaid looking directly at her. "Remember, five-oh-five, if you need me." He "Remember, five-oh-five, if you need me." He winks, and then quickly glances away. winks, and then quickly glances away.

Did I imagine it? Evvie thinks. Was he talking to me? to me?

Evvie wakes up. She imagines she heard something. Something in the hallway. She glances at the clock. One-fifteen clock. One-fifteen A.M. Philip is sleeping, although A.M. Philip is sleeping, although restlessly. She tiptoes to the door and looks restlessly. She tiptoes to the door and looks through the peephole. She is surprised to see Hope through the peephole. She is surprised to see Hope Watson and the new resident, Donald somebody, Watson and the new resident, Donald somebody, who just moved in. The man she imagined had who just moved in. The man she imagined had winked at her. winked at her.

They are talking softly. And looking at Philip's door. What does it mean? She and Philip are being door. What does it mean? She and Philip are being watched? Why? The man, Donald, what was it watched? Why? The man, Donald, what was it about him? He said he had been a security guard? about him? He said he had been a security guard? But he looks like a cop. A real cop. Something in But he looks like a cop. A real cop. Something in the way he stands there. At attention. Ready for the way he stands there. At attention. Ready for what? Is Watson going to throw them out for misbehavior? Something's wrong . . . what? Is Watson going to throw them out for misbehavior? Something's wrong . . .

She is pulled back into the room by the sounds of moaning. Philip is thras.h.i.+ng about, trapping of moaning. Philip is thras.h.i.+ng about, trapping himself in the sheets, seemingly deep in some himself in the sheets, seemingly deep in some nightmare. nightmare.

He's mumbling, becoming more and more agitated. "No . . . go back . . . you can't come out . . . No!" As Evvie leans close to him, his arm whips No!" As Evvie leans close to him, his arm whips out, hitting her. out, hitting her.

"Phil! Wake up!"

His arms flail. "Get back. I didn't say you could come out . . . My head . . . my head . . ." come out . . . My head . . . my head . . ."

She hears more mumbling, but she can't make out the words. Once he cries out, "Ray!" and out the words. Once he cries out, "Ray!" and then, "'To sleep perchance to dream . . .'" then, "'To sleep perchance to dream . . .'"

And suddenly it's over. Philip is sound asleep.

FORTY-EIGHT.

MISTER TEN PERCENT.

Itake the rickety elevator up to the third floor.

The building is old and smells of decay, and it is in a warehouse part of Miami I've never been to before.

I walk down the dreary hallway lit by very low wattage. I'd be afraid to walk it at night. I'm not that comfortable during the day, either.

I enter the office of Herbie Feldkin and a.s.sociates, on time for my ten a.m. Monday appointment. I don't see any a.s.sociates. I don't even see Herbie Feldkin. I do look around. It's a oneman office with a lot of very old furniture and very old faded black-and-white photos on the dingy walls, along with a number of movie posters, equally from long ago. It seems at one time Herbie had a few fairly well-known actors in his stable.

And there he is, in an old glossy black-andwhite: Ray Sullivan, a.k.a. Philip Smythe. I have to touch it to believe it. Next to a photo of a famous movie star.

"When they make it big, they leave." Herbie Feldkin, I presume-late sixties, short, bald, and stubby-enters carrying a brown bag. "That's the nature of the business."

He takes out two hot plastic cups of coffee and a couple of Danish and by removing a messy stack of Hollywood Reporter Hollywood Reporters and Varietys, he makes room on a table already decorated with discolored circles from years of hot coffee cups.

"Cream and sugar?" He indicates the little packets.

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful." I help myself.

"Don't get a lot of company, as maybe you already guessed. But I used to be a contenda," he says imitating Marlon Brando. Evvie would love this guy. They could talk movies forever. With the thought of Evvie, I grow cold. I must get this over with and get home. I feel a clock ticking in my head.

He sits down behind his scarred desk. I sit in front of him.

"This is really a set."

"What?"

He indicates the furniture. "I bought the original set of The Maltese Falcon. The Maltese Falcon. Actually I'm very rich and retired and live on Fisher Island, but it amuses me to come in once in a while." Actually I'm very rich and retired and live on Fisher Island, but it amuses me to come in once in a while."

I don't know whether to believe him or not, but I like him. He doesn't take himself seriously. Maybe the shabby suit he wears came from the wardrobe of the same picture.

"So, Mrs. Gold. You tell me over the phone you want to talk about Philip Smythe. You don't say Ray Sullivan, so I'm intrigued. I haven't heard that name in a lot of years. Not since I left my New York office in the nineties."

"Probably eleven years." I hope that stirs something.

Herbie looks surprised. "That's about right. Ray left the show-World of Our Dreams-and just seemed to disappear. I tried calling him after he got fired. Maybe I could have gotten him another job either as a writer or actor. I mean, he was still a s.e.xy-looking old guy, but in this business old is dead. Look at me. But then again, he was behaving a bit nutzoid." He makes a whirling motion with his hand. "You meant it when you said this was a matter of life and death? If it was to get my attention, it did. You don't look like you're the police."

I hand him Morrie's card. "If you want to check, call this number. I am helping with a homicide case."

Herbie brushes the Danish crumbs off his pants onto the floor. "You're jos.h.i.+ng me, right? You look like you should be living in a condo by the beach and playing mah-jongg every day."

"Close enough. But I am investigating a murder nonetheless. It's a long story; I can't fill you in completely. I'm sorry."

"And Ray is involved?"

"We think so. For the last eleven years he has been living under the name of Philip Smythe."