Getting Old Is Criminal by Rita Lakin Page B

dead. You know how men are. That’s all they ever think about. Maybe he wears them out, that’s why they die. Then he leaves.”
    Bella sighs. “What a way to go.”
    Evvie laughs, shaking her head. “Ida, there must be one nice guy in the world.”
    Ida stiffens and raises her chin high. “Maybe Mahatma Gandhi . . . and he’s dead.”
    “Nicely put,” I say mockingly to Ida, but she is immune to my sarcasm. Her husband must have G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 1
    been some piece of work to inspire her bleak attitude about men.
    “But why leave?” Evvie asks. “He can probably choose his next lady friend from a hundred panting others, since he’s such a great catch.”
    “Good question,” Bella says. She suddenly grins. “You know who he reminds me of? Our Peeper. He goes from window to window looking for love.”
    “Cheaper than going from retirement home to retirement home,” says Sophie. Everyone laughs.
    “Love ain’t what he’s looking for,” says Ida snidely.
    “Maybe this Romeo guy would be embarrassed to have another hot chickie in the same place,”
    Sophie says, back on track.
    “That must be it. Well, what do you expect him to do?” Evvie adds. “Tell all the women to get in line and pick a number. Like at the meat counter?”
    “Next!” says Bella playfully, raising her hand and pretending to jump up.
    “It also would look peculiar if every one of those same chickies died,” says Sophie.
    “But they’re old. Of course they’ll die.” This from always-practical Ida.
    “You’re old, too,” Sophie points out. “You’ll die, too.”
    “So will you, so shut up. Who asked you? I’m making a point here.”
    “Girls, girls . . .” I say, to no effect.

    7 2 • R i t a L a k i n
    “Girls, stop fighting,” Evvie says loudly, rapping her spoon on the table.
    “Stupid, where’s your logic?” Ida says, glower-ing at Sophie. “How can he know he won’t die before his lover?”
    Bella looks confused. “But isn’t that sweet? He makes one woman happy, then goes off to the next. Like the Pied Piper.”
    Sophie pretends to shiver. “Don’t talk about rats. They scare me.”
    Evvie sums it up. “So what are we saying here?
    Philip Smythe is a healthy, active man in his seventies still looking for love?” She grins. “Over and over and over again.”
    “Sex!” Ida interrupts.
    “Okay, he finds someone to love and have sex.”
    This she says pointedly at Ida. “She dies eventually of natural causes. He truly feels sad and leaves.”
    My turn. “But Esther’s son is sure Philip Smythe killed her.”
    Evvie says, “He also admitted that Philip didn’t take any money from her, other than let her pay the rent.”
    “Yeah,” agrees Bella. “No motive. Gornisht.
    Nothing. Nada.”
    Evvie gets up and does stretches. We missed our usual exercise today. “You want to know my opinion? I think Ferguson is all wet. His mother died. He’s grieving. Philip Smythe sounds harmless to me.”

    G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 7 3
    Bella says, “Maybe we should tell Mr. Ferguson and give him back his money?”
    “Are you crazy?” Sophie asks. “I can’t wait to start spending it.”
    Ida has a one-track mind. “I agree with Evvie.
    Doesn’t sound like much of a case to me, either.
    This guy, Philip, has nothing better to do in his old age than get laid. For him it beats playing bingo.”
    “I resent that remark,” says the bingo maven, Sophie, still simmering.
    “Me, too,” echoes Bella. “Besides, we made big bucks on that bingo cruise.”
    “Nevertheless,” I say, “we have to find out the truth. We have to find a way to take a closer look at this man.”
    I get up and start clearing the remains of the food off Ida’s table, a signal that our meeting is near an end.
    “How will we do that?” Bella gathers up the sil-verware.
    “I think we have to follow him to Wilmington House in Palm Beach.”
    “But that’s about an hour drive, and an