Florida retiree Gladdy Gold; her sister, Evvie; and their outspoken friends at the Gladdy Gold Detective Agency return (after Getting Old Is the Best Revenge) to tackle a pair of puzzlers: the case of a peeping tom haunting their Fort Lauderdale retirement community, and the case of one Alvin Ferguson, who's hired them to prove that his elderly mother didn't die of natural causes, but was murdered at the hands of her suave lover. The latter investigation sends Gladdy and Evvie, in disguise, to take up temporary residence in the ritzy development that the alleged murdering paramour, Philip Smythe, has made his home. There's no sign that he profited from the death, but some sleuthing uncovers a suspicious pattern of similar entanglements—and similarly "natural" deaths—in his past. When Evvie begins to fall for Smythe, to her sister's dismay, she becomes convinced of his innocence even as she edges closer to danger. Beyond the skillful blend of Yiddish humor, affectionate characters and serious undercurrents—note especially the way Lakin pulls off a tricky, funny-sad scene at a grief therapy session—the simple story picks up speed and flavor with some twists worthy of Agatha Christie's archetypal dame detective, Miss Marple. (May)Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Getting Old Is Criminal (Gladdy Gold Series #3)by Rita Lakin
Gladdy Gold had reached a golden moment. There she was, soaking in a hot tub with a man she adored, far from Fort Lauderdale and her nosy neighbors…until an urgent message sent her running home. Now her exotic vacation is a memory, Gladdy’s would-be beau, Jack, is furious, and not only are the girls of the Gladdy Gold Detective Agency all alive and well
Gladdy Gold had reached a golden moment. There she was, soaking in a hot tub with a man she adored, far from Fort Lauderdale and her nosy neighbors…until an urgent message sent her running home. Now her exotic vacation is a memory, Gladdy’s would-be beau, Jack, is furious, and not only are the girls of the Gladdy Gold Detective Agency all alive and well—they’re onto a hot new murder case.
Is a retirement-home Romeo to blame for the mysterious deaths in Florida’s most luxurious communities? Gladdy and her curious kibitzers will have to go undercover to find out—covering themselves with as many fancy-schmancy airs as possible. But with Gladdy’s drama queen sister Evvie playing the role of a Palm Beach flirt, their fun and games turn deadly. For by the time the girls ID their perp, Evvie is in the arms of a killer—and loving it.…
Read an Excerpt
Alone at Last
Here I am, Gladdy Gold, happily up to my neck in warm bubbles, soaking in this wooden barrel hot-tub-for-two, drinking pi-a coladas in front of our fale, which is the Polynesian word for our picturesque private thatched hut. Remarkably, the hut has cement floors, yet is air-conditioned. Our bathroom is in the open air and our shower is a waterfall, surrounded by an exotic jungle full of vines with leaves the size of elephant ears. Wow! What bliss. What happiness.
Just a few days ago, the girlseven though we are in our seventies and eighties, my sister Evvie and our friends, Sophie, Bella, and Ida, will always be "the girls"and I had been on a bingo cruise where, much to my amazement, we not only caught a killer, but won at bingo, too. That was all well and good, but I missed my new boyfriend, Jack. Lo and behold, he turned up at the port where we docked. So Jack and I left the girls to fend for themselves on the good ship Heavenly, and now we are on this heavenly island of our own. It took sixteen grueling hours to get here, snatching moments of sleep as we leaned against each other in bumpy planes. Well worth it, now that we're here. Alone at last.
I sip the last of my pi-a colada, then lean my head back against the edge of the hot tub and sigh contentedly. The sky is beginning to darken. Dramatic slashes of red illuminate the patchy clouds. Red sky at night, I think, sailor's delight.
I had no idea how much I would like being away from everyone. What's not to like? I look around me.
On the picnic table next to the hot tub, Jack has placed the portable CD player and CD he bought at the Samoa airport when we landed very early this morning. Corny music, but what with the lack of choices in an airport in the middle of nowhere, the well-worn theme from Titanic will have to do. When we landed this morning, there was a crowd of natives greeting the plane. I guess the twice-a-week flights are a big event here.
I have the luggage I took with me on the cruise. Jack has nothing but the suit he was wearing when he showed up at the port. And proud of it. So, he's impulsive; I like that about him. You should see him now, wearing the wraparound skirt called a lavalava, the male version of a sarong, which he bought in the airport gift shop along with a shaving kit and a toothbrush. Winking and leering at me, he told me he wouldn't need anything else. I couldn't resist buying the matching lady's muumuu.
All day today has been prelude to right now. Dressed in our new native attire (and me with an exotic frangipani flower in my hair) Jack and I had an early lunch of island fruitspapayas, pineapple, and bananasserved to us on the porch of our quaint little thatched hut. Then a long, barefoot walk on a beach with the whitest sand I've ever seen, gathering shells and drinking those addictive pi-a coladas from actual coconuts. Whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. Mmm, wonderful. Topped off with fresh ahi tuna for dinner, caught by a local fisherman and fixed for us in the intimate candlelit dining room of our charming island hotel.
Jack's waited a long time for us to finally get away from the girls and consummate our love for each other, and he is doing his best to make it memorable.
So the scene is set. A perfect day continuing on into a magical night. Music, drinks, the smell of jasmine all around usromance everywhere. I can hear Jack whistling Celine Dion as he comes out of the hut with another round of drinks.
But am I ready? I think so. Finally. I hope I've finally put my late husband to rest. I still have little tremors, little qualms about how this will change my life. This is no one-night stand. This is a prelude to moving in together, marriage, and total commitment. I admit it: Even at my age I fear change. I am comfortable with my cozy, circumscribed life. My simple daily routine, answering to no one but myself. Who ever said falling in love was as easy as falling off a log? For that matter, what's so easy about getting on a log, let alone falling off one, and what's a log got to do with love, anyway?
At the sight of Jack coming toward me, wearing that silly, adorable lavalava, I feel my heart go pitter-patter. I instantly shut my mind off. He is so handsome and so sexy. And he wants me.
He bends to me. "Madame, a refill?"
"But of course."
He pours and then gives me a gentle kiss. "Shall I join you?"
I splash as I move to make room for him. I can't take my eyes off him, nor can he stop gazing adoringly at me.
Just as he drops his lavalava and sets one foot into the tub, we hear the muffled, tinny sound of a buglethree short, shocking blasts. Jack, startled, falls into the tub on top of me. I go under, my mouth filling with bubbles. We scramble up and out of the tub as best we can, reaching for towels to cover ourselves.
"May I approach?" The voice of a native bellboy calls from behind a palm tree. He waits for an answer: The hotel's idea of a subtle way to warn lovers in case they arewell, as we werein a state of indelicacy.
Jack and I exchange despairing looks. What timing! I shrug. Jack calls out, "Permission granted."
I giggle at his formal pronouncement and squeeze his hand. Our messenger comes forward, eyes suitably lowered at the sight of two wet, embarrassed, towel-clad guests.
The bellboy hands Jack a fax. Naturally, he's the man, so he gets it. The boy doesn't wait for a tip. There are no pockets in towels.
Jack reads it, with me looking over his shoulder.
"What!" we both shout at the same time.
The message is short and to the point: Come home. Sophie is dying.
We scramble into our clothes; Jack into his one and only suit while I quickly and unhappily choose a traveling outfit. At the reception desk we learn that the fax came from the ship Heavenly. Jack's cell phone is useless, so we have to use the hotel's phone. Jack shrugs at the irony. He found us the most out-of-the-way place to go so we wouldn't be disturbed and now, in an emergency, we can hardly reach anyone on the outside.
After endless tries, with many excuses from the obsequious manager about old equipment, time differences, and that being the charm of getting away from the wearisome world, we do manage to reach Captain Standish on the Heavenly. He informs us that Sophie was airlifted from the ship and was sent back to Fort Lauderdale with her three companions.
"What happened?" I ask him.
"Something about her heart," he informs me.
"Do you know where they took her?"
"I assume she was brought to your local hospital. So sorry."
Now the wires are crackling, or whatever it is that makes any more conversation difficult.
We disconnect from Captain Standish, then try calling the two hospitals nearest to where we live. No Sophie Meyerbeer listed at either of them. No answer in Sophie's apartment. Or Evvie's. Or Ida's. Where the hell can they be?
I say the words, but they're choking me. "We have to go home."
Jack nods. "But there isn't a plane until next Monday."
The manager, who has never left our side, says cheerfully, "You're in luck. The last flight out today leaves in two hours. If you wish to leave, I can book you on it. Of course you'll have to pay for your one night."
"Of course," says Jack bitterly. I know it's the night we won't have that rankles.
If Evvie were here watching us gloomily huddle together on the airstrip in the steamy night air, waiting to board the little puddle jumper, she'd remind me of the movie Casablanca.
She'd utter that famous line, We'll always have Paris. But we can't even say we'll always have Pago Pago.
Another sixteen or so hours of miserable plane travel. Jack and I make small talk to avoid what we both would rather not discuss. When we get home should we call from the airport or just grab a cab and go? Hopefully it won't take too long to get my luggage. Once again we sleep fitfully. And I worry. What could have brought on the attack? Sophie's never had that happen before. How bad is it? Why can't we locate any of the girls? I am in turmoil and agony.
I try to console myself that she is with Evvie, Ida, and Bella. Bella won't be of much use, but Ida and my sister are levelheaded. They can handle things. Or if Sophie's recuperating at home in Lanai Gardens by now, everyone in the entire Phase Two will attend to her. I bemoan the fact that I take my girls for granted. None of us think of our age and what lies ahead. Especially Sophie. She has such a love for life. She never complains. She's always smiling and good-natured.
Please, God, let her be all right.
Somebody once told me a story about a friend who kept buying airline tickets and making hotel reservations. "How can I die," she asked, "when I'm booked for France? Or Israel? Or wherever." For Sophie, it's going downtown to buy yet another colorful, coordinated outfit.
Jack holds my hand most of the trip, bless him.
When we arrive at the Fort Lauderdale airport, the baggage is slow in coming out, as usual, which adds to our anxiety. The heat is suffocating hottypical for late August. I already miss the coolness of our island getaway. Finally we're on our way home.
We hurry out of the cab as soon as it pulls up in front of my building. And there's Tessie, her frizzy black hair bouncing as she throws her newspapers in the trash barrel. My luck, she's wearing one of her typical muumuus to hide her large size. The irony of a muumuu here is not lost on Jack.
"Tessie. Where's Sophie?"
Tessie looks at us curiously. "Where do you think she is? She's in her apartment with the rest of your gang."
"Thanks." I run past her. I can't wait for the elevator. I rush up the three flights with Jack right behind me.
Tessie yells after me, "Hey, Gladdy. Where's the fire?"
We hear raucous laughter coming from inside Sophie's apartment. And at the same time it dawns on me that Tessie didn't look worried.
No one hears us knock. The screen door is unlocked so we walk in, Jack and I still schlepping my suitcase. Silence falls as we step into the bedroom and they see us. Astonishment flashes across every face.
There roly-poly Sophie is, propped up in bed, dressed all in lavender: nightie, bed jacket, and ribbons in her matching lavender hair. Looking very healthy. Holding court. Eating chocolate. The girls surround her, seated on kitchen chairs and munching on goodies. Her bed is a riot of fashion magazines and candy boxes.
"What are you two doing here?" Evvie asks, amazed.
"I thought you were ill," I say to Sophie, with ice in my voice.
"False alarm," answers Sophie gaily. "Pacemaker needed adjustments."
"But how did you know?" Evvie asks, frowning at me, sensing something is not right or we wouldn't be back this soon.
"You missed all the excitement," Bella says in her usual whisper. "We all got to ride in a helicopter."
"I thought I would faint," Ida adds, patting her tight bun. "You know how easy I get motion sickness. I closed my eyes the entire trip."
Sophie admonishes, "And you missed all the good scenery."
"And unfortunately we missed the last bingo session of the trip," Evvie says, aiming her annoyance at Sophie.
"But we're covered," Bella adds gleefully. "The Bingo Dolls are playing for us. We left them money."
Sophie playfully throws a candy bar at Evvie. "I said I was sorry. I can't help it if I got sick. I needed to get back to my darling Dr. Friendly."
I can feel Jack behind me, stiffening. I don't dare turn to look at him.
Sophie continues, "And he was right there waiting at the hospital for me, bless his heart."
With a cash register clicking away in his head, I think unkindly. Special run to the hospital. Click. Overtime. Click. Quick exam. Click. I'm surprised Dr. Friendly didn't make her stay overnight, like all the other times, and take yet another angiogram and who knows what other expensive tests and procedures. I think he is one step above being a quack, but Sophie worships him so no one is allowed to say a bad word about him.
Bella giggles behind her hands. "Just like dialing nine-one-one. Only more exciting." She reaches for another jujube.
"One-two-three, he checked me out, gave me a new prescription, and sent me on home. Now I take Dijoxin."
Bella adds, "Now she takes ten pills a day."
"I don't mind," Sophie coos. "If my darling Dr. Friendly"
But I'm not about to let her off the hook. "I tried calling and never got an answer."
Sophie looks puzzled for a moment, then brightens. "I turned off the ringer so I could sleep."
Jack's voice cuts through the levity. I was wondering when he'd reach the point where he'd had enough. "Who sent the fax?"
Everyone looks up at him, bewildered.
"What fax?" Evvie asks.
Jack searches every face, but sees only surprise. Except for Bella, who suddenly drops her candy box onto Sophie's lavish pink bedspread.
Oh, no. I see where this is going.
Bella raises a shaky hand. All eyes are on her. "I did."
"Why?" Jack snaps at her.
Her thin, reedy voice gets even softer. "Because Gladdy always worries if someone doesn't tell her if someone was sick and someone . . ." Bella stops. She's run out of clarity.
Evvie is amazed. "When did you do that?"
"When everyone was packing. I went up to the captain . . ."
Quick-witted, quick-moving Ida is also astonished at such unusual action from our timid friend. "You went all by yourself to the top deck and found your way back to the cabin by yourself?"
Tiny Bella grins with pride, holding her five-foot-tall frame erect in her chair. "The captain said he'd send a fax for me. I told him what to say and then he picked a cute sailor to take me back." She blushes. Bella always blushes when she's the center of attention.
Meet the Author
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 as Peyton Place, Mod Squad, Dynasty, and Strong Medicine, as well as creating original series such as The 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.
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This is my third book by Rita Lakin and I've enjoy each one. Gladdy and her gang of senior sleuths have you laughing out loud. I found it difficult to put this book down until the last page and then I wanted more. Now, once again, I can't wait for the next book in this series. What a delight!!
They might be living in a Fort Lauderdale retirement community Lani Gardens, but the women of the Gladdy Gold Detective Agency live life to the fullest with gusto. Led by the irrepressible Gladdy, they take on investigations though they are not licensed sleuths. Currently the distaff detectives work on the case of the Peeping Tom, a men seen looking through the windows of the female residents, but stays in the shadows so has not been caught. --- Mr. and Mrs. Alvin Ferguson hire Gladdy to find proof that his nonagenarian mother died at the hands of Lothario Philip Smythe. However, since the woman had heart trouble and there was no evidence of foul play, the doctor ruled natural causes. Alvin¿s wife believes her mother-in-law died from a heart attack as well. The detective agency learns that Philip will be in the Wilmington House retirement community so Gladdy and her sister Evvie go undercover as residents to fathom whether he is a killer. As Evvie falls in love with Phillip, evidence begins to surface that he is not what he seems. Gladdy is desperate to save her sister before someone kills her. --- This geriatric chick lit mystery is a charming and exciting amateur sleuth tale starring the golden girls. The storyline revolves around senior citizens who are portrayed as having more energy than many middle age people (at least this reviewer). Gladdy possesses her full faculties with a mind sharper than a kosher butcher¿s knife. Her relationships with the women of her agency involve friendship, trust and caring though in some ways she is the grandmotherly hen. --- Harriet Klausner