Harriet tells her it's fourA.M.

  Sophie groans at that.

  "Hello? Don't I have any say in this matter? I don't need you. I don't want you," Esther says. "Don't do me any favors."

  "Mom. This is no time to get stubborn."

  "The whole thing's stupid anyway. Who'd want to kill me?"

  From the looks on the girls' faces, I'd say, right now, four people.

  Harriet is exasperated. "Foolish old lady. Why would anybody want to kill Selma or Francie? But they did!"

  "Even if I believed all their chozzerai, you think I'd be afraid? Just let that guy come. I'll be ready." Esther makes boxing jabs with her hands as if to show what she would do.

  Sophie laughs out loud.

  "You think I couldn't?" Esther says, annoyed that they are laughing at her show of bravado.

  "Mom, please. Don't be ridiculous," Harriet says.

  Bella tries appeasement. "What have you got to lose? We could keep you company, play a little cards."

  "Big shots! Nosy old biddies. Mind your own business."

  Ida is up in a shot. "That does it. Let's go."

  Sophie and Bella jump up with her.

  Esther smirks and steers herself out of the cluttered living room and heads down the hall to her bedroom, muttering to herself. "As if I'd eat any food from some stranger! You have to be a moron!" Now she is shouting. "Like the TV show, that's my final answer!"

  Harriet shrugs. What else can we say? As we start out the door, she whispers to us. "We'll talk later."

  From the bedroom, Esther calls out again, "Don't forget to send me a present. Just don't send food!"

  We can still hear her cackling when we step outside.

  Back to square one. What's that funny saying? No good deed goes unpunished? We're going to have to find a way to save her in spite of herself. From the looks on the faces of my angry cohorts, I'd say I'll have a hard time convincing them.

  Under her breath I hear Sophie mutter, "We shoulda let Ida jab her."

  * * *

  36

  Double Feature

  How can I describe this day? Everyone is on shpilkes. Shpilkes-- an untranslatable word. It's like going crazy without going crazy. A high state of nervous anxiety. Or--as Ida calls it--ants in your pants.

  Today is the day before Esther's birthday and our hands are tied. She won't let us help her. I thought about calling Detective Langford, but what would he say? What the police always say: We can't do anything unless something happens. So, it's up to us without Esther's permission.

  The girls are driving me nuts. They are calling every hour on the hour. Do you see anything? Do you hear anything?

  At three o'clock, there are multiple knocks on my door. I can see four anxious faces through my kitchen window. Reluctantly, I let them in.

  Evvie takes the floor. "We've made a decision. We're going to the movies."

  "But first dinner," says Bella.

  "There's a great double feature at the Reprise Theater. Harriet read about it in the papers and called me," says Evvie.

  "You'll really love it," says Sophie. "Two murder miseries."

  "That's 'mysteries,'" Ida corrects her.

  "Whatever."

  I look at them in horror. "Are you trying to say we shouldn't stay home and guard Esther? Have you all lost your minds? Who's going to be able to concentrate on a movie!"

  "Me!" A unanimous chorus.

  "I can't do that!"

  "Yes, you can," says Ida.

  Sophie throws it to first. "We picked a deli right in the same minimall as the theater."

  Bella takes it to second. "We do the early bird at four-fifteen."

  Ida makes it to third. "The double feature is from four-thirty to seven-thirty. We'll be home before Harriet has to leave for the night shift."

  And Evvie brings it to the plate. "We'll be home before dark. Well, anyway, it won't be too dark."

  "Is that the movie?" I ask. "Wait Until Dark?"

  "No, that's the plan," she informs me.

  "So, tell me already." I can't believe I'm even asking. "What's playing?"

  "Sorry, Wrong Number,"Evvie says. "With Barbara Stanwyck."

  "I love Barbara Sandwich," Sophie coos. "Is she dead?"

  Bella says, "I think so."

  "Such a pity, so young," says Sophie.

  "And No Way to Treat a Lady with Rod Steiger," Evvie adds. "Perfect for this week's movie review on golden oldies. Waddaya think? What with all the murders getting in the way, I haven't had time to write one single review. My fans miss me!"

  I am fairly salivating. Two great classics. What am I thinking? This is crazy!

  Evvie pokes me playfully. "Admit it, you want to go."

  I am pacing now. Torn, and ashamed of myself. "We have a responsibility here!"

  "To Miss Ungrateful?" Ida says. "Why should we care?"

  "And how will you live with yourselves tomorrow if she's dead?"

  That stops them for about a minute.

  "The killer won't do anything until it gets really dark," says Evvie.

  "You know that for a fact?" I say icily. "He killed Selma around five in the afternoon and Greta early in the morning."

  Evvie smiles knowingly. "With all the noise we've been making, he knows we're watching. He'll have to wait 'til he thinks we're all asleep."

  "Some watching. He'll watch us take off for the movies."

  "Exactly. That'll fool him. But then he'll think we're trying to trick him. See?"

  See? That's about as clear as mud.

  Bella and Sophie jump up and down, grabbing my arms, pulling at me, like a couple of spoiled five-year-olds. "Please! Pretty please! Let's go."

  "All right," I say reluctantly.

  They are all out the door. Ida has to have the last word. "Downstairs in ten minutes, not a second later!"

  I can't believe I am sitting in this theater. Those lunatics I live with dragged me so fast, my head is spinning. Rushed to the theater, rushed around looking for a parking spot, fairly dragged me out of the car and raced us all to the deli, so we'd have a whole ten minutes to choke down a dry pastrami on rye. I'm amazed I don't have indigestion.

  Why did I go? Because Harriet reassures me she won't have to leave for work until we get home. Because I'm so edgy and the girls so crazed, the movies will relax us. Believe me, I hedged my bet. I called Langford's office and left him a message. What a world. Even cops have voice mail. Whatever happened to some gum-chewing tough guy saying, "Yeah, waddaya want him for?" My message was to the point. "This is the night before Esther Feder's birthday. If I'm right, she'll die tonight. I hope I'm wrong."

  I also intend to phone in between features.

  Stanwyck is as wonderful as I remember, as the bedridden invalid who overhears two men plot a murder, and I relax into supreme enjoyment. Then that delicious chilling moment when she realizes she is the target!

  Now I find myself staring at the screen. Barbara dials everyone she can think of to get help and I stare, hypnotized, at her hand as it keeps reaching for the phone. What does it remind me of? I think of Selma and Francie and someone else so long ago . . . but who?? It's been nagging at me since all of this started.

  I lean over to Evvie. "Who was it who died in Lanai Gardens years ago holding a phone?"

  "Wait a minute, this is the good part. Barbara hears someone breaking into the house."

  "Evvie, this is important."

  "What?"

  "Someone died a long time ago--"

  "In this movie?"

  "No. Pay attention. In our phase."

  "Someone we know?"

  "Yes, of course. She died trying to get help."

  "Shhhhh!" I hear from behind us.

  "Sorry," I whisper. I talk lower. "Think!"

  "I'm thinking," she hisses at me.

  "Be quiet!" someone yells at us.

  "Mind your own business," Evvie yells back. "There's a film critic sitting here, you know!"

  Someone throws popcorn at us. Ida jumps up, hands on hips. "Who did that!" she shrieks. In a moment, the manager is running down the aisle.

  "If you wanna talk, go home and watch TV!" someone heckles.

  But it all calms down quickly. This isn't our usual neighborhood theater where everyone talks incessantly throughout every movie. We must be in a theater with real movie buffs.

  I call Harriet at intermission. All quiet, she tells me. Have fun, she says.

  My mind is not on the opening credits for the next feature. I am suddenly starting to remember what I cannot believe I'd forgotten.

  And as if someone on the screen is helping direct my thoughts even further, there's Rod Steiger, a serial killer, standing in front of the portrait of the mother he hates, the reason he kills older women one after another. Putting on disguises to fool old ladies into letting him in. Leaving his trademark, lips painted on the forehead of the dead women with their own lipstick.

  We are three quarters of the way through the picture when it finally hits me. Maureen Ryan! Denny's mother. Ohmygod!!!

  The pieces are falling into place.

  I hit Evvie on her shoulder. "Tell the girls we're leaving!"

  "But we're at the thrilling part. Steiger is going after George Segal's girlfriend, Lee Remick!"

  "Now! Meet me in the lobby."

  I race out to the lobby bank of phones and I dial Harriet's number as fast as I can. The line is busy. Come on, Harriet, get off the line! Or is the phone off the hook because Esther knocked it down as she tried calling for help? I try to calm my hysteria.

  The girls tumble out into the lobby, grumbling. This is unheard of. They never leave a movie in the middle. I ignore their complaining. I'm out the door, so they follow.

  "We've got to get back now. We've got to stop him."

  "Who?" Evvie asks.

  "Denny," I say, choking on my traitorous words. There's no more denying what's been staring me in the face all along. Denny's gone bad. "He's going to kill Esther!"

  They stop dead in their tracks, but I'm still moving.

  "Come on," I yell. "We haven't a minute to waste!"

  Quickly, panting with exertion, they run to catch up with me. They are incredulous and frightened now.

  We reach my car as I am groping in my purse for my keys. I can't find them. I always put them in the outer pocket. Otherwise I'd go nuts digging for them every time. They have to be in there!

  Evvie shoves me nervously. "Open the door already!"

  I hiss at her. "I can't open the door because I can't find my damn keys!"

  They are not where they should be, and now I grope anxiously all through my purse. Nowhere! And then I see them. Dangling from the ignition. In all that hurry I locked my keys in! The girls look where I am looking, then back at me, sheepishly.

  God keep me from committing murder, as well.

  * * *

  37

  Stuck in the Minimall

  By now we have quite a crowd of kibitzers around us. Testimony to boring lives, that everyone in the Hollywood minimall has stopped whatever they were doing to witness these little old ladies' embarrassment at being locked out of their car. I am not embarrassed, I am livid. With passersby either jeering catcalls or giving us bad advice, the scene is only adding to my aggravation.

  Advice like get a piece of gum and stick it on a stick and drop it down the window. Gum, hard to come by in a group heavily into dentures. A stick, equally hard to find in a concrete shopping area. And the so-called window opening? Merely a sliver of air space.

  A reedy voice calls out to us, "How come you don't carry an extra key? I do."

  "Gimme permission to smack her," Ida says under her breath.

  The girls hover close to me, waving their hands helplessly.

  "But how do you know it's Denny?" Bella whispers behind my head. The girls can't get over the bombshell I threw at them. I can't get over that we are trapped here in this stupid minimall.

  "Remember how Maureen died?" I answer, unable to hide my irritation at them.

  "Maureen?" Sophie asks, befuddled. "She's been dead, what--six, seven years? What's she got to do with this?"

  "Maybe everything."

  I have sent Evvie back to the theater to call the auto club. I'm waiting anxiously for her to report back.

  Everyone's favorite suggestion is to get a hanger, bend it and push it through. So where do we get a hanger at this time of night? I gaze longingly at Betty's Better Dresses, which is five feet from where I'm standing, and count all the hangers through the locked store windows.

  I am desperately trying to control my temper, impatience, and anxiety, but I'm not doing too well.

  "I knew we shoulda listened to Hy. He told us to get a car phone," Sophie says, hitting me on my back. "Single women need a car phone to be safe."

  "And where would the car phone be right now?" I say icily. "In the locked car, that's where!"

  "Then we shoulda got a cell phone," Bella whines. "But no, you have to hate progress. And besides, my feet are hurting."

  Evvie returns, looking dejected. "Auto Club said forty-five minutes, give or take."

  "Then maybe we should call a policeman," says Bella.

  "Yeah," Ida says bitterly, "I can just hear us on the nine-one-one. Emergency. Send a cop quick. Tell him to bring a hanger."

  Bella continues worriedly, "Maureen died of a heart attack, didn't she?"

  "But don't you remember," I say, "she was eating a piece of steak and they thought maybe she choked on it?"

  "So?"

  "God. I can't believe we didn't remember this before. Food. Isn't this all about food?"

  And another, "So?" This from Ida.

  But Sophie is finally starting to get it. "Wait a minute . . . she was holding the phone when they found her. Oy vay!"

  "Do you remember the date?"

  "Who can remember that far back?" Bella says.

  "I don't mean the actual date. I mean the event."

  Evvie makes the connection. "Oh, my God, it was the night before her birthday!"

  "Yes! I'm so stupid! Why didn't I remember?"

  "Cause your memory is shot, that's why," adds Evvie helpfully.

  Every minute that passes frightens me. I need to know what's happening back at Lanai Gardens!

  * * *

  38

  No Way to Treat a Mother

  D enny stands in the middle of the living room, unable to catch his breath.

  No matter how hard he tries not to look at it, he can't help himself. Slowly, he turns to face his mother's portrait. He feels her eyes following him everywhere. He wants to get out of there, but he can't get his feet to move. It's like those dreams he has when his mother is chasing him with the clothesline that she used to use to tie him to his bed. His feet would go numb and she would always catch him and do all those terrible things to him.

  The phone rings. Denny jumps, terrified. Sweating freely now, he stares at the phone hypnotically. Stop ringing, he begs. Make it stop ringing. He puts his hands over his ears but he can still hear the ringing. Save me, he mutters under his breath. Someone save me. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he answers.

  "Hello . . ." He is shaking so hard he can barely stand. "But it's not ten o'clock. . . ."

  "I know I'm a bad boy. . . . I know. . . ."

  "In the kitchen? When did you put them there?"

  "Please, no, don't make me . . ."

  "I can't. . . . I can't. . . ."

  "Yes, Mama. Right now."

  Denny hangs the phone up and walks into the kitchen where a small basket, prettily decorated with a lace cloth, sits there just where she said it would be. And right next to it are his keys, the ones he lost.

  Slowly, sickly, he moves back into the living room. He can feel his anger and his impotence rising up in him like bile in his throat. His hand reaches for his toolbox nearby. He opens it and grabs for a screwdriver. In rage he leaps for the portrait and gouges out his mother's face. "No more . . . no more . . ." he sobs.

  * * *

  39

  Death by Poppy Seed

  Ikeep looking at my watch as if that will make any difference. The cab we called still hasn't arrived. Neither has the auto club. By now we've lost our audience, and the minimall is nearly deserted. The girls are huddled in a doorway, shivering in the cool night air.

  I am beside myself. There is still no answer at the Feders, only the same busy signal. Why can't I reach Harriet? Something is very wrong.

  I've called Irving. No answer. He is already asleep, early as usual. With the phone locked away from Millie. I tried Tessie. Not home. I better call Hy . . .

  A trio of teenagers walk by. They clank from all the metallic piercings they have hanging from various body parts. Their boom box is booming some ugly-sounding rap.

  "Hey, old ladies," one of them calls sarcastically, "waitin' for some action?"

  They are very big and scary, but I am at my wit's end. "Yes," I say, ignoring the innuendo. "Do you know how to break into a car?"

  "Are you crazy?" Ida shrieks.

  "No, desperate," I tell her.

  The boys stop, amused. You can see it in their faces. This ought to be fun. "It'll cost ya," says a huge lump of lard with black and white zebra stripes painted across his bald head.

  "How much?" I ask, trying to keep cool while my legs are shaking.

  Ida hides behind me. "Don't talk to them. Maybe they'll go away."

  "Twenty large," the purple-haired one says, sneering.

  I attempt a sneer myself. "How about five small?"

  The girls are gasping, all of them now crowding behind me.

  Zebra Stripes erupts into laughter.

  What few people are still around quickly move as far away as they can.

  Bella tugs at me, terrified. "Tell them we don't need them," she whimpers.

  I shrug her off. "But we do."

  The third one, with dreadlocks and a lime green crocheted skullcap, walks over and surveys the car with a most professional air. I think he's the leader. "Give the ladies a senior discount, Horse," he says, and that starts another outburst of hilarity.

  "Fifteen," says Purple Hair, aka Horse.

 

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