By Rita Lakin
She’s now not omit Marple. Her neighbors are not any Charlie’s Angels. however, 75-year-old Gladdy Gold and her gang of eccentric fortress Lauderdale retirees are out, approximately, and removing a killer–one who's silently stalking them.
Selma Beller used to be the 1st to go–but Gladdy and her pals by no means suspected homicide until eventually one other in their associates died in an eerily comparable manner. Now a good-looking younger detective won’t take heed to them, Hy Binder won’t cease telling them soiled jokes, and loopy previous Greta Kronk is doing every little thing humanly attainable to make herself right into a suspect. yet amid the never-ending rounds of poolside kibitzing, early-bird specials, bittersweet thoughts, and interminable grocery-shopping journeys, Gladdy and her gals are approximately to find how the murders are being devoted. And in terms of catching this culprit–time rather is working out….
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Extra resources for Getting Old Is Murder
As we sit down, she practically throws the pickle and sauerkraut appetizer dish at us, then hurries away like Hurricane Hannah, whirling from table to table, hurling dishes and insults with equal fervor. The deli customers consist of a smattering of families, some couples, but mostly women sixty and up. We're all of us regulars here. We study the menu avidly, as if we didn't know it by heart. Before we even get past the soups, there's Lottie, order book in hand. " "I don't know yet," Bella says warily, bracing herself for trouble.
Now, into a pair of sweats, and I'm ready to begin the morning workout, such as it is. M. and my fellow residents are coming to life. We used to go to the air-conditioned malls for our morning stroll, but not after reading those articles in the newspapers about older women being killed. Now we've decided to exercise at home. Exercise? Fast walking, slow walking, shuffling, barely moving at all; whatever the body will endure. I'm the first one out on the third-floor walkway to warm up. And that's the signal for all the others to rush out.
As I started to say--I was beginning to suspect foul play. I am convinced that these deaths to which I am referring are not natural. There is a killer stalking Lanai Gardens. Nobody believes me, certainly not the police, but I intend to prove it. But first you need to meet the rest of the gang. M. on a beautiful, very typical Friday morning in paradise. As usual I wake up a minute before the alarm goes off. I start my coffee perking--a vice I will not give up. I take out my one slice of whole wheat bread, pop it in the toaster.
Getting Old Is Murder by Rita Lakin