Plain and simple, I've been had! All of us have.

  First things first. I have to be patient until Detective Langford gets to his office. I need to ask him one question.

  Then I need to get permission to visit Denny. He has all the answers. Only he doesn't know it.

  Look out, world. Here comes Gladdy Gold, Private Eye. On track at last!

  * * *

  44

  Poor Denny

  I'll bet Detective Morgan Langford hadn't had time for his first bitter cup of police department coffee before my call came in. I guessed right and he tells me so.

  "How come you're calling and how come this early?"

  I'm still rattling around in my bathrobe. I'm too wired to bother getting dressed. "I couldn't sleep. There's an important question I have to ask."

  "Not to worry. Everything's moving along smoothly. I told you I'd call and keep you in touch."

  I can tell from his voice he is giving me only half his attention. He's probably looking through his day's workload. "That's not the question. Did Denny actually confess to killing Esther and the others?"

  "Sort of."

  "What kind of answer is that?"

  "He admitted his dead mother made him do it, but he doesn't remember doing it."

  "Doesn't that answer bother you?"

  "Not really. Many psychotics admit to hearing voices."

  "Yes, but don't they usually remember doing the killing as well?"

  "Maybe it's too traumatic to remember. So he shuts that part out."

  "Believe me, if you had known Maureen Ryan, she's what he'd want to shut out."

  "Why is this suddenly so important?"

  "I need a favor, Morrie. Excuse me--Detective. I need to see Denny. As soon as possible."

  Now I have his full attention. "That's not a good idea. He isn't in very good shape."

  "Why? Didn't the marks from the rubber hoses fade away yet?"

  "Very funny, Mrs. Gold."

  "Ithought so." I feel like I'm losing him again. He's covering the phone and talking to someone who's come in and I can hear him rattling through papers. "As your possible future stepmother, I'm asking you to do this for me."

  "What did you say?"

  I knew that would grab him. "This may change everything. I can't tell you any more right now."

  "No, not that. Go back to what you said before that."

  I play dumb. "What did I say? I forgot."

  Langford sighs, and I know I nagged him into giving in. Besides, he owes me. And he knows it. "Maybe you could help. All we got out of him was gibberish. Maybe he'll tell you the truth."

  "He's already told you the truth, Morrie. At least the truth as he understands it. Denny Ryan has never uttered a lie in his life."

  "All right. All right. I'm a busy man here. I'll arrange it and let you know when."

  The sight of Denny makes me want to cry. This big man, in such a small, narrow hospital room with bars. He looks like a big bear with all the stuffing knocked out of him, frightened and confused.

  "Did you come to take me home, Mrs. Gold?" he asks plaintively.

  "I can't do that right now, Denny, but I do want to help you." Carefully I put my hand in my purse and turn on my tape recorder. I have a feeling I'm going to need it later. Forgive me, Denny.

  "I don't like it here."

  I look around at the plainness and the coldness. "I don't blame you."

  "There's no window. How can I see the sunshine? I need the sunshine."

  "I know you do."

  "Why am I here?"

  "Don't you know?"

  "Because of Mama, isn't it?"

  Denny is seated on his narrow cot, his legs spread wide, his hands splayed across his knees. How does this poor man sleep at night in that tiny bed? I sit down opposite him on the edge of the one small chair in the room. Our knees are almost touching.

  "Is that why you've been so upset lately? Because of your mother?"

  He hangs his head, ashamed. "Yes. I'm sorry I've been so mean to you."

  "It's all right. I know you didn't mean it. Tell me about your mother."

  "That's what those policemen kept asking me, and I told them but they wouldn't believe me. They got me all mixed up. Why did she have to come back? Everything was so good."

  "I believe you, Denny. When did she come back?"

  "The night before her birthday."

  Bingo! I'm excited but I don't show it. I make a quick calculation in my head. Two weeks before Selma died. "How did she come back?"

  "She called me on the phone. Ten o'clock in the night."

  "The phone? Just like that?" I keep my chatter nonthreatening and interested.

  "Yeah. I just finished watching the wrestling show. I like that show and they really don't hurt each other, it's just for pretend." He smiles, then remembers where he is. "And the phone rang and I answered thinking maybe one of the ladies had a problem. Like last week Mrs. Fox thought she had a cricket in the bedroom but it was only the smoke alarm. She was so funny. When I came in she was standing on a chair and hitting the alarm box on the ceiling with a broom and trying to kill the cricket." He laughs hard at that and I join him.

  His face turns ashen. "But it wasn't one of my ladies. It was her !" He reaches for a cup of water and his hand is shaking. "At first I didn't believe it, she sounded so funny. I could hardly understand her. I thought somebody was playing a joke, like Mr. Hy Binder likes to fool me. But she said it was her and what did I expect, she was calling from a billion miles away. I said yeah, yeah, like they got phones in heaven. Then she got mad and yelled at me and called me Dennis like she used to when she was mad, and said I better pay attention because she came back for a reason."

  My God, I think to myself. This is not of heaven, but of hell.

  "And she tells me the names of the CDs on my shelf over my bed and the plants I got in my garden. I didn't have CDs or a garden seven years ago. How does she know all this stuff I ask her? She tells me she can see me plain from up there. She sees everything I do and hears everything I say." He lowers his head in misery. "She always could. Know everything I did."

  "Why did she come back, Denny?"

  "Because I killed her, that's why."

  Oh, no, I think. Not that. "Why do you say you killed her?"

  "Because I had this fight with her. I got mad because she wouldn't let me go to the movies, so I ran out. Then Mama ate that steak and choked on it. It was all my fault, because I wasn't there."

  "But you didn't kill her. It was an accident." Such guilt this boy suffered all these years.

  "She said I had to pay."

  "How?"

  "By killing all the nice ladies. Every night she called me. Every single night 'til it made me sick and she just kept calling me and she wouldn't let me alone. And then she left that rat in my bed. I didn't want to do those bad things, but she made me. I loved Miss Francie." Denny starts to cry.

  "Did you kill them, Denny?" I can hardly breathe waiting for his answer.

  "She said I did it when I was sleeping, but I don't remember. But I must have, 'cause they're dead, aren't they?"

  "The night Mrs. Feder died, tell me about it."

  "Mama called and told me I had to go over there right now and carry some rolls she left in the kitchen. I didn't even know there were rolls in the kitchen, but there they were in a little basket."

  Denny puts his head in his hands, shaking hard, as if to rid himself of the demon mother inside.

  I take his hands in mine and hold them. "It's all right, Denny. Tell me what you did then."

  He looks at me with tormented eyes. "I didn't do nothing. I just stood there in the kitchen. I didn't want to hurt Mrs. Feder. But if I didn't . . ." His eyes tear.

  "How long did you stay there?"

  "Maybe an hour. But I had to do what Mama said. So I went outside. I looked careful each way--she said make sure nobody saw me--so I went across the street and went inside, and just then Mrs. Feder started screaming she was dying and she ran in the street and I ran out after her."

  "Did she eat any of the rolls you brought?"

  "No. Like I told you, I just got there."

  "The garden, Denny. I need you to tell me something."

  Denny frowns, worried. "Everything's gonna die if nobody waters."

  "I promise your garden will be taken care of. The white flowers, Denny, where did you buy them?"

  He smiles. "Aren't they pretty, those whachamacallits? I always like to read the little tag that comes on them, but those flowers never got a tag."

  "They're called oleander."

  I watch his face for a reaction and there is none. He doesn't have a clue. "They didn't have a tag when you bought them? That's unusual."

  When he answers me, my heart skips a beat.

  "I didn't buy them. They were a present."

  "From whom, Denny?" I know the answer, but I need to hear him say it. When he does, I send a silent prayer to God to thank Him.

  I promise Denny he'll be home soon, and that's a promise I intend to keep.

  * * *

  45

  Scavenger Hunt

  Icall an emergency meeting of the Gladiators and they march promptly up to my apartment where the coffee and bagels are already waiting. Why is it nothing can be done without food as part of the proceedings? The girls are all atwitter. Anything out of the ordinary is met with eagerness.

  I tell them we are going on a scavenger hunt.

  "You mean like when we were kids?" Evvie asks me.

  "Something like that." I don't dare tell them about my visit to Denny and its result. It would blow them away, and within five minutes, since they are incapable of keeping a secret, everyone in the building would hear about it. That mustn't happen. What we accomplish today is crucial.

  I'm encouraging their nosiness. As Sherlock would say, the game is afoot. I dramatically announce that by the end of today they will be amazed and dumbfounded. It will be a day they will never forget. I can sense them fairly drooling with anticipation. You want to know the secret of staying alive? Stay curious.

  Well, that sure got their juices going and they started a barrage of questions, like what are we doing and why and where and when, which I immediately nip in the bud.

  "Listen, dear friends and sister. Later for questions and answers. Now we have work to do."

  I hand them each a sheet of paper and they read what's written with puzzled looks.

  "But what does it mean? . . ." starts Bella, and I shush her.

  "Just do everything it says to do, and over dinner tonight you'll find out. I know it doesn't make sense right now. It will later."

  "But--" says Sophie.

  "No buts."

  "I really, really need to ask this question," Sophie says pleadingly. "Where are we eating?"

  "No place you've ever eaten before."

  They are all so excited they can hardly contain themselves. "At least give us a name," says Bella.

  I smile. I am on such a high today that I feel silly. So, I improvise. "Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant."

  "Huh," says Ida. "I never heard of it."

  "Or you can join me at My Dinner With Andre ."

  "Who's he? You're bringing a stranger?" asks Sophie.

  "You might like the Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe ."

  "That sounds awful," says Ida.

  "Or how about Dinner at Eight ?"

  "But you said five," Bella wails in confusion.

  I stop. This is cruel, since they haven't a clue to what I'm talking about. Except for Evvie, who's beginning to catch on and is watching me as if I've got a screw loose. "I'm only teasing. You'll learn the name of where we're eating when we get there. Come on, get in the spirit of the game."

  The girls study their sheets of paper.

  "I need the applesauce crumb cake in an hour," I say to Ida. It's her finest creation. "Can you do it?"

  "Of course," she says proudly.

  "But we already talked to Meals on Wheels," Evvie reminds me.

  "Go in person. That might jog their memories," I say.

  "How are we supposed to get around? Are you driving us?" Ida demands to know.

  "No, I have my own errands to run. Take taxis."

  "Taxis?" Sophie, the cheapskate, asks in horror. "Spend our own money?"

  "All right," I say wearily. "I'll pay you back."

  "I see a lot of walking on this one," Ida points at her paper.

  "A little real exercise won't kill you."

  "Every phone booth?"

  "Every single one."

  "So, what's the prize?" Sophie asks. "For winning the scavenger hunt."

  Evvie shakes her head. "We're all doing this together, Soph. There's no winner."

  "Oh."

  "Believe me," I tell them, "you'll all be winners. Now the most important thing of all: Tell nobody anything! Talk to no one. And I mean no one. Not one person! Can you do that?"

  I get a chorus of yeah, sures.

  "This is a matter of life and death. No mistakes this time." This is my only reference to the Kronk cremation catastrophe and they hear me loud and clear. Now I get steady nods of assent.

  "Promise. Swear to me on your children's heads."

  This is the most serious of all promises, and one by one they swear.

  And we are off and running.

  * * *

  46

  Book Soup

  The girls haven't stopped talking about food the whole drive over here. Visions of pot roasts and chicken livers dance in their heads, so naturally when I stop the car at the Lauderdale Lakes public library they are puzzled. Especially since the library is closed.

  I give no explanations. I walk to the back entrance, I knock three times for dramatic effect, and it is unlocked for us by Conchetta. With Barney right alongside. I do the introductions. Conchetta Aguilar and Barney Schwartz meet my girls. They all shake hands, most bewildered. And even more so when Barney identifies them by the books they read that I take out for them.

  "Bella," he says. "The lady of the romance novels. Large print. And Evvie and her Hollywood biographies and Ida who likes best-sellers and Sophie who likes Reader's Digest ."

  Evvie beams. She's getting into the spirit of this. "So that's what you meant when you called off the names of restaurants. They were book titles. And a few movies, too."

  I wink at her, but Ida is not pleased. "OK," Ida says, hands on hips. "Just what is going on here?"

  "Yeah," says Sophie, whose mind is never far from the subject of food, glaring at me, "I thought we were going out for dinner."

  "We are out. And we are going to have dinner. What we have to do tonight is very private, and this is as private as we can get."

  "I brought in food that I cooked at home," Conchetta says cheerfully, leading us into the main reading room. There along the checkout counter are hot plates with an assortment of covered dishes. "I hope you'll like Cuban food."

  There is much consternation at this.

  "What's Cuban food?" Bella asks nervously.

  "Hot and spicy," Barney says mischievously.

  Conchetta jabs him. "You know I kept the spices down."

  The girls peer suspiciously into each pot as Conchetta lifts the lids and identifies them. " Potaje de frijoles negros, masa de puerco fritaswith mango sauce, fried plantains and rice, with boniato and chimichurri." She opens all but the last.

  "I never eat beans," says Ida, recognizing only one word. "They give me the gas."

  I grab a plate. "Well, I'm excited here. I can hardly wait to try these."

  The girls continue to hang back, except for Evvie who also takes a plate. "Hey, I'm game to try anything. What's a plantain, Conchetta?"

  "Like bananas."

  "And chimi . . . whatever?"

  "That's a green sauce with garlic and lime juice you can dip your bread in. I'll finish translating. The masa de puerco is a pork dish. Boniato is sweet potatoes. Mojo is another sauce. And the potaje is a wonderful black bean soup."

  So Conchetta, Evvie, Barney, and I pile up our plates, but there is no forward movement from the others.

  Barney breaks into laughter first. "Let's put the girls out of their misery," he says as he unveils the contents of the last pot. "Stuffed cabbage, for the less adventurous of the Jewish delegation. Compliments of my mom."

  Needless to say there is a rush on the stuffed cabbage.

  "Save room for the apple strudel afterwards," he adds, grinning.

  As we spread out at the library tables, which Conchetta has set prettily for us with tablecloths and linen napkins, I glance over the pages Barney hands me: their research on oleander. I nod vigorously. "I knew it!" I say victoriously.

  "You were right on target. From the time the victims ingest, they go through severe abdominal pain and heart palpitations, paralysis, then death."

  "But it takes an hour or so before they die, and that's the big issue here," I say.

  The girls look at me, befuddled.

  "Isn't it about time you filled us in, Glad?" Evvie asks. "Why are we getting phone numbers of telephone booths and visiting Meals on Wheels?"

  "In a moment, the big picture." I smile as I see Bella and Sophie, one by one, taking tiny portions of Conchetta's food, liking what they taste and coming back for more. Not so Ida, of course. "Did anyone at Meals remember anything?"

  "You were right about going to see them," Evvie says. "One volunteer remembered that on the date that Selma died, someone ordered a meal, then at the last minute came in and insisted they better deliver it themselves to a frightened elderly aunt. He remembered it because it never, ever happens that way."

  "Good. Good. Could he identify the person?"

  Evvie shakes her head. "He didn't think so. All he remembers was someone in a baseball cap and sunglasses."

  "But at least we know it happened. And the phone booths? How many did you find?"

  "Five of them, between Lanai Gardens and across the street at the Florida Medical Center," reports Sophie.

 

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