Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 (22 page)

40

The Cop and the Private Eye

I
walk downstairs, exhausted
and depressed from lack of sleep, to where Detective Langford is
waiting for me in front of the Feder apartment. He called half an hour
ago to tell me he was on his way over, saying he wanted to "touch base"
with me.

It is chilling to see the yellow crime scene tape across
their door. Poor Harriet. She's gone to work because she can't stand
being in the house. I can still see her agonized face when she was
called home from the hospital three nights ago. I can still hear her
shriek as she threw herself down over her mother's dead body lying on
the concrete.

"My fault," she kept sobbing.

My fault.
I think bitterly.
My fault. God
help
me.
Had I stayed home, Esther would still be alive. I would have
stopped Denny in time.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda,
as Sophie
would
say.

The girls are hovering on the second-floor balcony of my
building. They are itching to come down and talk to Langford, but too
shy to do it on their own. When they see me, the scampering downstairs
begins.

Pretending not to see them, I greet Morrie Langford.

"How's Denny?" I need to ask.

"He's still being evaluated at the hospital."

The girls all titter their hellos and Langford politely
acknowledges them. I wave them away. They ignore me. Evvie moves in
closer. "He must be so frightened," she says.

"I'm sure they have him on meds to keep him calm."

Ida is appalled. "Why is everyone so worried about him?
He's a killer."

Morrie starts to walk toward the pool area. "I want to
show you something," he says.

We follow him down the path, past the duck pond, and over
the bridge that takes us to Denny's garden. The girls follow behind us,
keeping their distance.

"With their families' permission we've exhumed the bodies
of your friends Selma and Francie. And you were right. Poisoned, both
of them." The news hits me hard in the pit of my stomach. Even though
I've always suspected it, finally knowing the truth is a jolt. I hear
the girls gasp.

We reach Denny's garden.

"And here's where he got his poison." Langford leans over
and plucks one of those beautiful white flowers I'd noticed only
recently. "Right in front of everyone's eyes."

Evvie can't stand being left out anymore. She moves in
right next to us. "A pretty flower? How is that possible?"

"A deadly poisonous one, Mrs. Markowitz."

Sophie now closes the gap and is breathing down
Langford's neck. "You mean, he made them eat a flower?" She is
incredulous. "Francie wouldn't eat a flower."

Bella, scampering over, is in tears. "How could he do it?
He loved Francie!" Sophie puts her arms around Bella to comfort her.

"How could a flower turn into poison?" Ida closing in
fast, so as not to be left out, demands to know.

"I won't go into details," Langford answers, "but it
isn't too difficult to crush the leaves and boil them down into a
substance he could put in their food."

Sophie stares at the blossoms that have overwhelmed the
garden and caused such tragedy. "Who even knows what they are. I've
never seen such things before."

Langford answers her. "They're called oleander."

"I just don't get it," Evvie says. "Denny was a happy
man. He had a good life here. He was kind to everyone and everyone
liked him. What set him off?"

"Hopefully the doctors will figure it out." Langford
starts walking back. "There's something else I want to show you. Maybe
it will help you see how disturbed Denny was."

We walk back to our buildings and, with our backs to the
Feder apartment, now stand in front of Denny's place, where the other
crime scene tape is draped.

Langford moves the tape and unlocks the door. "I have to
warn you--" he starts to say, but we've already hurried inside.

At first we can't see anything because all the blinds are
drawn, but we can smell something, and the smell is awful. We quickly
cover our mouths and noses with our hands.

"Gott im Himmel!"
Ida is gagging. "What died in
here?"

Langford turns on the lights and we look around,
horrified. At the garbage, the filthy dishes, the overwhelming clutter,
the candles and the black crepe around Maureen's portrait. And in the
center of the portrait, Maureen's face, mutilated beyond recognition.

If I were Catholic, I would cross myself. Instead I utter
a silent prayer for poor, sick Denny. Sophie and Bella are crying and
holding onto each other. Evvie and Ida are trying hard to be brave.

Langford faces us. "You all knew him, and I assume you've
been in his apartment. Was it always like this?"

Everyone is shaking their heads. "Never!" Evvie says
vehemently. "He was always proud of how well he kept it up and how neat
he was. Even his garden tools and his repair kits were always in good
order."

Ida continues, "But we haven't been in here in a very
long time."

After a lengthy silence, I ask if we can get a cleaning
crew in. That is, if they're through searching.

"We'll be finished after tomorrow," he says. "The doctors
will be here to see this, and it will be part of Denny's evaluation."

"He went crazy, that poor boy," Bella whispers. "And
nobody knew."

I feel defeated. I look at this abomination. I don't
want to believe Denny is a killer. How can I deny his guilt now?

41

M Is for Mothers
and Murder

I
t's a fairly nice memorial
service and a very large turnout at the clubhouse considering that
Esther Feder did not have any friends. Oh, everyone manages to find
some kind words to say for Harriet's sake, but you can sense the strain.

Residents of all six phases of Lanai Gardens show up and
no wonder, considering all the excitement. They are still reeling from
the information that is slowly trickling out day by day. They really
were murders! And Denny Ryan, the killer! That such a thing could
happen here . . .

All of us from Phase Two are attending the service. Enya
is seated by herself as always. I can see her lips moving, saying
Kaddish for the dead. Irving brought Millie with Yolanda's help. Millie
is going though a bad stage and Yolanda is becoming indispensable to
Irving. He adores her now, and she truly has become a member of his
family.

Tessie is greatly subdued now that she realizes her
beloved friend Selma had indeed been murdered. And everyone loved
Francie, so that realization is a bombshell. It was bad enough thinking
of losing her to a heart attack, but cold-blooded murder . . .

All in all, it's a solemn ceremony and it's not just
Esther being mourned here today.

I am ashamed to say I am sitting in the back row, not
wanting Harriet to see me. How can I face her feeling all this guilt?

The service is over, and as we all leave the clubhouse, I
hear my name being called. Twice.

I hadn't even realized he was there, but it's Jack
Langford calling as he walks toward me.

At the same time Harriet speaks my name as well. Alas,
she reaches me before Jack does. Jack backs away. I shrug, indicating
to him that I am trapped. He pantomimes phoning me. I nod and he leaves.

I look around for the girls, needing a buffer, but they
are here and there chatting with neighbors, busily filling in the
blanks for those who came in late to our tragedy.

"Can we talk, Gladdy?" Harriet asks in a plaintive tone.
I'd rather not, but how can I say no?

"Of course," I say.

We stroll along the path leading back toward our
building. We pass Denny's garden, and I quickly avert my eyes from the
sight of those beautiful, deadly flowers. Harriet stiffens, so I assume
Detective Langford has told her the results of the autopsy.

We find a bench under a palm and sit down. We are silent
for a few moments.

Finally she says, "I desperately need to talk to
somebody, and you are the one I thought of."

"I'm here and I'm listening."

"I am so angry at myself," Harriet says. "God help me,
it's all my fault Mom is dead. And I'm going to have to live with that
the rest of my life."

I stare at her in amazement. Here I'm bracing myself for
her condemnation of me and she says
she's
at fault?
"You?
It's me. I failed you terribly. It's
my
fault your mother
died," I blurt out. "If only I'd been there . . ."

She takes my hand in hers. "Oh, no, don't blame yourself.
You tried to warn us. It was one thing to talk about the others getting
killed just before their birthdays, but I never believed it would
happen to Mom. Never. How could I have been so blind?"

"No one wants to believe the worst. It's only human."

"But I sat in meetings with you, and we even talked about
the coincidences with Denny. Then I just denied it all. I'll never
forgive myself."

Poor Harriet. She was saying all the things I'd been
saying to myself. We both made so many mistakes.

"I hope in time we can forgive ourselves," I say.

"Dear God. I hope so." She turns to me and I can see the
anguish in her eyes. "You know what's the saddest part of all? That she
pretended to be crippled so I'd stay with her. And I had to find out
this way--the way she died--running down the street. Oh, my poor mama,
didn't she know? I would never have abandoned her!"

"I'm so sorry, Harriet."

Again we sit silently, then Harriet speaks once more.
"I've made a decision, Gladdy. I'm putting the apartment up for sale.
Ring up another victory for Mr. Sleaze." Harriet chokes on a laugh at
her sorrowful attempt at a joke.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I can't live here anymore. Everywhere I turn I see Mom's
face. I feel haunted."

"Listen. You don't need to convince me. Of course you
should move. And to someplace cheerful, where there are younger people
and especially younger men . . ." I attempt a smile at that. "You've
given up all these good years for your mother; now it's time to live
your own life."

I hear these tired old cliches coming out of my
mouth, but that's what cliches are--truths retold.

Harriet reaches over and kisses my cheek. "I knew you'd
understand. I just didn't want to hurt everyone's feelings. You've all
been so good to me. And oh, how I'll miss all of you."

We shed a few tears and we both feel better.

We continue our walk, hearts lightened, and Harriet asks
my advice about condos and where to live and is open to my suggestions,
and I am more than happy to try to help her.

Harriet has forgiven me, but I'm not sure I can forgive
myself.

42

Feeling the Blues

T
he girls are cranky. I won't
take them anywhere. Sophie insists her cupboard is empty. Ida must get
to the bank. Evvie needs to get to the newspaper office. I just want
everyone to leave me alone.

Sophie humphs at that with, "Who do you think you are,
Garbo?"

Ida snaps, "Just because you're a big shot, you're too
good for us now?"

And Evvie adds her bit. "What's eating you?"

I don't know. Yesterday I felt fine. Today I feel
terrible and I don't know why. I have no patience for the girls. I take
my phone off the hook. The designated driver, wallowing deep in
depression, is not available.

I need to think. I sneak out and go to my sanctuary, the
library.

No easy getaway. The celebrity must be waved at and
yoo-hooed at and smiled at by one and all, in homage paid to the smart
person who realized there was a killer in our midst. Just what I need
when I am feeling so confused. I try to avoid everyone, but good old Hy
grabs me by the arm as I reach my car. Needless to say Lola is her
usual five steps behind.

"My fedora's off to you, Glad. You got some kind of
balls. Who knows how many more of you old broads he would have iced."

"Gee, thanks, Hy. I'm glad I lived long enough for such a
glowing compliment."

"Lola and me, we knew there was something hinky about old
Denny. We would have said something but we didn't want to get the kid
in trouble."

"I commend your sensitivity." I sidle past him and get
into my car.

"Didja hear the latest dumb blonde joke?"

"Some other time." I rev up the engine, hard, and Hy
nervously moves out of the way. Taking my opportunity, I quickly drive
off.

At the library, my two buddies greet me warmly. I almost
relax in their comforting demeanor. They, of course, have heard the
news--the grapevine is working overtime. They want to know what they can
do to help. But there is nothing. I confess my agony over avoiding
dealing with Denny when I knew he was emotionally in trouble.

"All the symptoms of a breakdown were there right in
front of me. Why didn't I act? I have no excuse."

Conchetta pours me the inevitable coffee. "Hey, maybe
it's because you're only human. Or maybe you can't take care of the
whole world all by yourself. The girls are enough of a handful for one
person, don't you think?"

"Or maybe it's because I'm getting old and careless. The
damn synapses work slower now. It takes forever to react in time."

Barney hands me a doughnut. "Don't go there. It's not
true. You made an error in judgment."

"Esther is dead. Harriet's lost her only relative. And
Denny's life is over. I don't call that an error. I call that a
tragedy."

"I don't mean to belittle your pain," Conchetta says,
"but can't you take this to the next level and maybe you'll feel
better? It's over. The killings are stopped."

"I've tried to tell myself the same thing, but it doesn't
work. Something still feels out of whack."

I pace agitatedly up and down along the shelves of books
as Conchetta and Barney watch me with concern. Books, my old friends,
are of no comfort to me now.

"What's bothering you?" Conchetta asks.

"Something. But I don't know what."

"Quick! What pops into your head?" Barney asks. "Don't
think, just say it!"

I wheel around and face the both of them.

"It's too damn pat!"

I surprise myself at my intensity and at the words that
jump out of my mouth so totally unexpectedly.

My friends watch me, waiting, as in my mind I feel a
settling.

"It's not over," I say quietly, and I feel the tight
muscles in my back begin to loosen.