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"Things changed."

"They sure did. Francie's dead and Millie's got Alzheimer's and Joan and Sandra moved back up north. You still have Conchetta."

"Not very often. Between the library and her very big family, I hardly see her."

"My friends made room for you. I know they're not the smartest, but they all love you."

This is the first time Evvie has ever said these things, and I am touched.

"Hey, I love you all, too. You're all cute and sweet, even though sometimes you drive me crazy. I'd give you a hug, but I'd run the car off the road."

She grins. "I'll collect later."

I sigh. "I don't know, Ev, I don't honestly know what I want to do. I'll let you know when I decide."

"Yeah, you do that." Evvie smiles at me.

"You'll be the first to know." I reach for my water bottle. Evvie sips at her Diet Coke. For a few moments, we are both lost in our thoughts.

"Wanna laugh?" I say. "Guess what I just learned the other night? Jack was also a cop—a homicide detective like Morrie, not in some boring office job in 'Administration.' "

"No kidding. That's nice to know. Maybe he can protect us with that great big gun he must have."

I laugh. "Naughty, naughty. Shame on you."

Evvie pokes me in the shoulder and laughs.

I can tell she is trying to get past our past. She straightens in her seat and freshens her makeup using the sun-visor mirror.

"About this funeral . . . ?"

"It's for Josephine Dano Martinson, who died all alone in a steam room in her health spa."

"And we are going to accomplish . . . what?"

"I'm not sure. I just thought if we went there something might jump out at us."

"Yeah, a ghost."

"Very funny."

"
I
thought so."

"I mean, I thought of going to the golf course where Mrs. Sampson died or the spa where Mrs. Martinson died, but those are private places and we'd never get in. By now, whatever evidence there was is probably gone. Anyway, this funeral is outside. We can meander and not be noticed, so that's why we're going. Clear?"

"Clear as mud," Evvie says. Then she smiles. "Okay, lady detective, let's detect."

We pass the Deerfield Beach pier, so I know we are getting close.

"Look at the map; the Boca turnoff is pretty close now. Just find me the way to get to the cemetery."

We walk quickly up the slope of the Holy Order Catholic Cemetery. I can see that the funeral is already in progress. The priest is speaking of the deceased in low, seemingly heartfelt tones.

"Look at how they're dressed," Evvie whispers. "Like they're going to a cocktail party."

"Now you get to see how rich folks live."

"Look at all those gorgeous hats. And the fantastic wreaths! They must have bought out every flower shop in Boca Raton!"

"Pretty impressive."

"What's the plan?"

"Just hover in the background, try to listen to any conversations, and don't be obvious."

"I wonder which one is the husband."

"Look next to the priest," I suggest.

Evvie looks. "Nah, can't be. That guy is young. And what a build! But on the other side of the priest is a woman, so it must be him."

If that's Robert Martinson, he is a looker! He seems to be in his early forties, dressed in an elegant black summer-weight suit. Probably cost more than my car. He's got on a black straw Panama hat tilted at a rakish angle that covers some of his almost platinum blond hair and most of his face. The "shades" cover more. If the face is like the rest of him—poor Josephine, having to leave that behind.

Evvie has moved from my side. She is now practically leaning into a couple who are talking quietly. I hiss at her. "Subtle!"

She waves her hand at me as if to say yeah, yeah.

I amble about, now nearing a couple whose backs are toward me. They are both dressed in black, and the woman is holding on to a walker. They seem to be arguing softly. I get close enough to hear the man say, "Leave her alone already. At least she died happy . . ."

Suddenly I start to back away, fast. I recognize those two backs, now both in profile. I can't believe my eyes. Angelina and Elio Siciliano!

I almost trip on a tombstone as I try to get Evvie's attention. She sees me but shakes her head, annoyed. She's busy. I finally get over to her and pull her by the arm.

"Move!"

A few people glance at us, annoyed, but I get her away from there as quickly as I can. Out of the corner of my eye I see Angelina now turning and glancing toward us.

I pull Evvie behind a tree. "Just get over to the nearest grave and pretend we're visiting it."

"All right, but don't break my arm."

"We need flowers." I'm looking every which way for something floral.

"I see a bunch," Evvie says.

"Grab them!"

Evvie quickly reaches down in front of one of the stones and removes a small vase of flowers. She hurries after me.

We are now out of sight of the Martinson funeral party, and we are both out of breath.

"What was that all about?"

"You'll never believe who's here. What's that mess?" I say, staring at the pathetic wilted stems in Evvie's hand.

"You said grab something. I didn't have time to go shopping."

"Mrs. Gold? Is that you? I can't believe my eyes."

I see Angelina Siciliano moving briskly toward us in spite of the walker and the uneven ground.

"Oh, boy," Evvie whispers, getting it now. "What do we do?"

"Wing it."

Angelina reaches us. We smile phony smiles.

"Mrs. Siciliano, what a surpise," I say, and believe me, I mean it.

"What are you girls doing here?"

"Oh," I say in my best winging-it voice, "just paying respects to our uncle."

Angelina, Evvie, and I automatically glance down at the stone beneath us. It reads "Sum Wang Ho" in both English and Chinese.

Evvie, thinking fast, says, "I told you we went down the wrong aisle. This isn't Uncle Charlie!" And seeing the expression on Angelina's face at the sight of our bouquet, she says airily, "Isn't it a disgrace the way they leave flowers lying around in this condition? Now, where is that trash basket?"

I jump in at high speed before Angelina has time to wonder why we Jewish women have an uncle in a Catholic cemetery, let alone one who's Chinese. "This is your cousin's funeral?"

Evvie pipes up, piecing together the various things Angelina has told us. "The one who put olive oil behind her ears?"

Angelina dabs at her eyes. "My cousin Josephine. What a tragedy. She is married to Dominic Dano for twenty-five years. Such an angel, he was. Up from nothing, he makes a fortune in sheet metal. When he dies he leaves her very rich. Not that she ever shares a penny with her relatives."

Evvie is about to say something. I tug at her sleeve to stop her.

"Then what does she do? Does she sit around and get old and die with the rest of the widows? No. Rich old women get very stupid. She marries a dancer. Robs the cradle. Who can make money dancing? Not that he bothers to work after he marries her. She marries beneath her. A disgrace to
la
famiglia.
I hate to be catty about my own cousin, but she was no beauty. All the spas in the world didn't turn her into pretty." She shrugs. "
Faccia
brutt'.
Some tough life she had. Bridge games, cocktail parties, cruises . . . Did she ever invite me? Hah!"

"Angelina, where did you go to?" someone shouts.

We turn to see Elio, standing on a knoll, squinting down at us. Evvie and I turn our heads away quickly.

Angelina waves impatiently. "The man never gives me a minute's peace."

"Better go, Mrs. Siciliano. We don't want him to see us."

"Right. Right." She smiles conspiratorially. "Talk to you after the next stakeout."

We watch her trudge back to him. I wait until they are out of sight, then I hug Evvie. "You were brilliant! 'Down the wrong aisle! Uncle Charlie! Where's the trash can?' "

She smiles modestly. "It was nothing."

"You deserve a raise."

"Hah! I'll settle for a salary." Evvie breaks out laughing. "I really think we owe Uncle Sum Wang Ho a better bouquet than this one."

Sophie Gets Lucky

I
t's Sophie's turn to host our weekly canasta game. It's pouring outside and the afternoon sky is black, a typical Florida rainstorm with crashing thunder and flashes of lightning. But not to worry, we are cozy inside. Sophie has dozens of lamps, all brightly lit. Then again, our hostess always has too many of everything. Too many pillows on the couch. Too many doilies, too many little
tchotch
kes,
like her salt and pepper shaker collection and her miniature doggies collection. Our hostess, as usual, outdoes herself with the food, as well. Not only is there a sponge cake, but
rugallah—
not just chocolate, but raspberry and prune, too. And with coffee later, there will be pie, three different kinds—cherry, apple, and pineapple cheese. Everybody complains, it's too much! But that doesn't stop us from wolfing it all down.

The game is going as well as can be expected, and it's war. Two killer players, Evvie and Ida, determined to win at any cost. One indifferent player, me. One in there pitching, but seldom a winner, Sophie. And poor Bella. She hates to play. She has never understood this game and never will. She'd rather watch, even do dishes or scrub the toilet, anything but take the other players' abuse.

It's my turn to sit it out and I end up as referee.

"Gimme a deuce," Ida prays as she picks from the deck with her eyes closed. "Yesss," she hisses happily at Evvie. Evvie answers back with a high five.

"
Oy,
I've got
bubkes,
" Sophie moans through a mouthful of raisins.

"I just picked up a joker," Bella says cheerfully to her partner, Sophie.

"Shah!"
says Sophie. "Keep it to yourself."

"Big deal," Ida comments. "She wouldn't know what to do with it anyway." She clenches her fists. "Why do we put up with her?"

"For the same reason we put up with you," Sophie says with venom.

I try to calm things down by talking a little business. "That was really good work you girls did yesterday, finding two other women who saw Peeping Toms."

Sophie says, "And we only got through Phases Four and Six. There could be more."

Evvie slaps down a card and says, "You know who really surprised me? Eileen O'Donnell in Four. She's always the big complainer, but not a peep out of her about her peeper."

I suggest we start a chart, but no one is listening to me because Evvie cries out, "Everybody shut up. I'm going down." With that she flamboyantly starts unloading her hand.

"Way to go, partner," Ida congratulates her.

"Now watch out, Bella; they're down, so don't let them get the deck," Sophie warns her.

Bella shivers. "I don't know what to play."

"If you got a jack, play it. Their jacks are already in fifth position," Sophie reminds her.

Bella sighs. "Thank you."

"Why don't you just look in all our hands and save yourself the trouble!" Ida yelps.

Sophie gets huffy. "You two should talk. You cheaters!" She looks from Ida to Evvie.

"Sore loser," says Evvie indignantly.

"And you gloat when you win and that makes you a
sore winner!
" parries Sophie.

"Girls, girls," I say. Here we go. It's spinning out of control.

"How do we cheat?" Evvie demands to know, standing up, hands on hips.

Sophie mimics them with a vengeance.
" 'Nu,
have you seen
Hy
lately,' when you want Evvie to throw you a high card, and 'So, how's
Lo,'
when you want a low one."

Now, trying to hide my smile, even I can't resist. "Or suddenly you want to discuss
Queen
Elizabeth."

"Or
King
Hussein," adds Sophie.

Bella braves up enough to hum "
Three
Blind Mice."

" 'Tea for tw
o . . .' "
Sophie also hums maliciously.

Bella whispers, "Oh, boy, do I need
sex!
"

"You have one hell of a lot of nerve!" Evvie shouts.

Ida gets up and throws her cards against the wall. "That does it! I quit!"

The doorbell rings.

Saved by the bell. Everybody freezes, ashamed of their outbursts.

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