Getting Old Is Criminal by Rita Lakin

surprises me. We’d already spoken to him, and I had hoped I’d allayed his fears about how his mother died.” She pauses. “Obviously not. But I’m afraid there is nothing to investigate, Mrs. Gold. It was a sad occurrence, but not unexpected after a long and comfortable life.
    Apparently, Mrs. Ferguson was drinking champagne in her bath and fell asleep. She died very peacefully, I should think.”
    Myra jumps in. “She was found hours later by that dear Mr. Smythe, her beloved companion.”
    My ears perk up at “dear.”
    “What is your opinion of Mr. Smythe?” I ask.
    Myra gushes, “Wonderful, wonderful. The man is a saint.”
    “I would have to concur with that,” adds Mrs.
    Gordon, managing a small smile.
    Evvie glances at me. That word saint again.
    Interesting.
    “How long were they together?” Evvie asks.
    “Three wonderful months.” Myra lays one hand over her heart. “They met the first week Philip arrived, and it was love at first sight.”
    “Where was he when Mrs. Ferguson passed G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 6 5
    away?” Ida jumps in. I can see that Sophie and Bella are intimidated in this posh environment.
    They stand stiffly and silently.
    “Playing his usual bridge game with the Feig sisters and Alice Brown. You might speak to them.
    They’ll tell you how enchanting he is.” Myra can hardly hold back her enthusiasm.
    Mrs. Gordon is a bit more sedate. “All the ladies here adored him. The man was so generous with himself. On dance night, he took turns dancing with all the ladies. He was a regular Fred Astaire. On shopping days, he escorted a group of them and helped carry their bags. After all, the ratio of women to men here is ten to one, and Mr.
    Smythe is a very robust seventy-five years of age.
    Very friendly. Very healthy.”
    “Wasn’t Mrs. Ferguson jealous?” Sophie finally gets the courage to speak. “Didn’t it make her mad?”
    “Au contraire,” says Mrs. Gordon. “Esther got a kick out of all the other ladies vying for his attention. Everyone knew she was the love of his life.”
    “We’re all going to miss him. He was a shining light among us,” contributes Myra.
    “Miss him?” I ask quickly.
    “Yes,” Myra says mournfully, “he left soon after the funeral. He said he could no longer bear to be in a place where every little thing reminded him of his precious Esther.” With that, Myra’s eyes tear up.
    At my request, Mrs. Gordon reluctantly takes 6 6 • R i t a L a k i n
    us all up to the Smythe-Ferguson apartment. She explains, “I don’t usually do this. So please hurry.
    Of course, new tenants live here now. All of Esther’s things were taken out by her son.”
    I’m not going to find any clues here, but it’s good to get a picture of how they lived.
    “Did Mr. Smythe have his own apartment?”
    I ask.
    “Oh, yes, briefly, but soon after they fell in love, Esther insisted they move in together.”
    “Who paid the rent?” I ask.
    “At first they shared it, but then Esther insisted on taking it over.” Myra giggles. “She practically twisted his arm. He was such an old-fashioned gentleman.”
    We look around, suitably awed. Large, spacious, elegant. The girls are obviously shocked by the mirrored bathroom.
    “The guests seem to like it.” Now Mrs. Gordon hurries us out. “My tenants are due home shortly.
    I think we’ve been here long enough.”
    Back in her office, I ask Mrs. Gordon if she happens to remember where Mr. Smythe lived before he came to Grecian Villas.
    “Of course I do. We who have the upper eche-lon of retirement resorts know all about one another. He lived at Seaside Cliffs on the other side of the state, in Sarasota, before he came to us.”
    “And now? Do you have a forwarding address?”
    Indeed she does. “He’s moving the first week in G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 6 7
    September to one our competitors, Wilmington House in Palm Beach. Lucky them.”
    She writes down the address on the back