Getting Old is a Disaster - Softcover

Lakin, Rita

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0440243882 ISBN 13: 9780440243885

Verlag: Dell Pub Co, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

Septuagenarian sleuth Gladdy Gold and her gang of eccentric Fort Lauderdale retirees are out to uncover a killer while dealing with romantic mayhem and other stumbling blocks, in an all new mystery featuring Florida's oldest private detective, by the author of Getting Old Is to Die For. Original.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

After being widowed at a young age with three small children, Rita Lakin began an extensive writing career, which has included staff writing on television programs such asPeyton Place, Mod Squad, Dynasty, and Strong Medicine, as well as creating original series such asThe Rookies. She has won an Edgar Allen Poe award for her screenwriting, as well as receiving several other award nominations, and her two original theatrical plays,No Language But a Cry and Saturday Night at Grossingers, are still being produced around the country.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One


Home

The airport van pulls up between the Phase Two buildings of our Lanai Gardens condominium complex. It's a mild September evening with just a bit of drizzle coming down. I'm home at last.
I sigh happily, getting out of the van. We are back from New York and I'm so glad to be on home ground again. At the same moment I wonder—where will we all go from here?

The girls and Jack pile out. I call them girls although there's not one of them under 73—my sister, Evvie, and our three friends, Bella, Sophie, and Ida. They're also my partners in our three-month-old private eye business.

My on-again-off-again boyfriend Jack Langford, now definitely on for good, graciously pays the van driver, since the girls manage to fumble through their purses long enough, with sheepish smiles, for Jack to take up the slack. He's immediately commandeered into lugging suitcases for each one of them. Suddenly my girls are helpless? Next year's birthday presents should be smelling salts in case they decide to take up fainting. But Jack good-naturedly carries Bella's bags, along with my sister Evvie's, up the elevator in the P building, to their second-floor apartments. Then he's down again and racing across the courtyard to schlep Sophie's and Ida's things up to the third floor of building Q. The girls are always one step in front of him, rushing to unlock their doors—their idea of being helpful.

I wait downstairs for the troop movements to cease. I can foresee that there will have to be some rules and regulations as to how much they use and abuse my guy now that we are officially an item. What a relief that the girls are finally happy about our relationship, after fighting it for so long. Or are they? We shall see.

Tiny Bella is all atwitter. "It's so nice to have a man around the house," she trills off-key, hanging over her balcony and waving down to me.

"I could get used to it," Sophie calls out from across the way, patting her skirt down, trying to smooth the creases out of her lime-green velour traveling outfit as Jack lugs her stuff into her apartment.

Ida insists on carrying one of her own bags, so she picks up her small carry-on. "I'm not helpless. Yet," she tells Jack as she grudgingly allows him to wheel the other case—which, from the way it is listing to one side, looks like she packed an elephant inside.

Some of our neighbors stick their heads out to see what's going on. Not a surprise. They always stick their noses into anything anyone does at any given moment. Newlyweds Tessie and Sol Spankowitz pop out of Tessie's apartment on the second floor of Q. Is it my imagination? The reluctant husband, Sol, looks like he shrank since he got married. Not like the Sol we knew as The Peeper, who scared all the women with his lecherous snooping. Super-sized Tessie looms over him, eating pistachio ice cream from a gallon carton.

Naturally Mr. Know-it-all, Hy Binder, appears in a flash, on the second floor balcony of P. And right behind him is his parrot. I mean his wife, Lola.

"Look who's finally blown back into town," he calls out. "So how was the Big Apple? Anybody get mugged?"

"Yeah," mimics Lola, "anybody get mugged?"

Bella, standing two doors away, beams at the two of them. "No, but we were in a parade and got a medal. We had a fabulous time."

Sophie has to chime in, calling across, "And look who we met up with in New York. Our very own Jackie."

Uh-oh, here they go. My entire life will now be spilled out of the girls' eager mouths into our neighbors' ever-inquiring minds. But what can I do? I love them even though sometimes I want to paste duct tape across their lips.

Years ago, our husbands all dead—or in Evvie's case, divorced—we formed a new family unit sworn to care for one another through thick and thin. Mostly it's more thick than thin. We are an odd combination—mixed nuts is what Evvie calls us. My smart, fast-talking sister is also my best friend. Then there's Bella, our sweet, diminutive shadow, who follows us everywhere; Roly-poly Sophie, who sees herself as a fashionista, mad about clothes; and last but definitely not least, Ida, our curmudgeon and self-proclaimed man-hater.

Bella is breathless in the face of everyone's attention. "Have we got a big announcement to make."
Even Ida is grinning.

By now Jack is at my side, puffing a bit, and as the new male alpha dog of our little pack, he decides to nip this bud off quickly. "Ladies," he calls out. "We've all had a very busy day. Time to get some rest."

"Yes," Evvie says with a tad of sarcasm, "let's get some rest." I can't believe my eyes. Immediately they scamper inside their own apartments, waving cheery good nights as they do. Doors one, two, three, and four—closed and not opened again. I hold my breath in case one of them changes her mind. Jack and I stand there and wait. And finally the looky-loos retreat, too. It seems as if the show is over. But I know better. They'll all be peering from behind their venetian blinds to see what we do next.

My very tall darling bends down to whisper to me, "I can feel their eyes burning holes in me."

"Not to worry," I tell him. "They'll get bored as soon as their favorite TV show comes on."

"What do we do now?" he asks. "Do you want me to come up with you?" A reasonable question since now we are officially a couple.

"It might be a better idea if we go to our own places alone. Let's meet tomorrow and figure out a plan of survival."

"Good idea. But I don't care if the yenta brigade is watching. I am going to kiss you good night."

I'm so lucky to have this wonderful man. For a brief moment I let myself think of the life-changing events that occurred when we were in New York. It will take a while for me to absorb the truth about my husband's murder so many years ago. But it was Jack who gave this truth as his finest gift to me. It has finally brought us together—forever more, I hope.

And Jack kisses me. Beautifully. Lovingly. I cling to him, not wanting the kiss to end.

From somewhere I hear a low smattering of applause.


Jack, suitcase in hand, walks to his building in Phase Six, his jacket collar turned up against the drizzling rain. He hears a sugary voice calling out to him from the third floor.

"Hi, honeybun. Up here."

He glances up to see Louise Bannister waving a handkerchief. His upstairs neighbor is a flamboyant widow in her sixties, who, because she's a bottle redhead, is under the illusion she's a Rita Hayworth lookalike playing Gilda. As she leans over, her Chinese red robe reveals—as Jack assumes she planned—much cleavage.

"Welcome home," she says breathily. "We missed you while you were away."

"Thanks, Louise," he answers quietly so as not to disturb the other neighbors. She's hard to take, his overwrought femme fatale neighbor, but Jack has to admit that Louise is a darned good bridge player.

His eye is caught by two men coming toward the building. Both are dressed in the Orthodox Jewish tradition: Black hat, suit, and vest; full beard and mustache.

Louise calls cheerily. "Abe, Stanley, look who's home."

To Jack, the two men, both in their eighties, seem an odd pair, but they're always together. Abe Waller squints, peering through his Coke-bottle eyeglasses, and nods in recognition. Stanley Heyer smiles openly and waves in greeting. Whereas Abe is big and burly, Stanley is small and feisty. Abe speaks rarely, and smiles little. Stanley is garrulous and...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Dell Pub Co
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2008
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0440243882
• ISBN 13: 9780440243885
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 348
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: DELL; azmaibenben@outlook.com; ; CL MODESTO LAFUENTE 41; Madrid; Madrid; Spanien