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. Gornisht. Nothing. Nada." 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."

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 silverware.

"I think we have to follow him to Wilmington House in Palm Beach."

"But that's about an hour drive, and an hour back." Sophie brushes crumbs into the napkin in her hand. "It's not like it's around the corner."

"And it won't be so easy to get in." Evvie is in charge of the cups and saucers. "All those retirement places are enclosed and have very tight security. I can't see us just waltzing in and out. I agree we need a different approach."

"I will just have to move into Wilmington House," I boldly declare.

My statement is met by silence.

Sophie recovers quickly. "Just you?"

Ida picks up on that. "You'll need help."

Bella next. "Four eyes are better than two."

For a moment they are quiet again, absorbing this. Then Bella's, Sophie's, and Ida's hands shoot up. And in unison they say, "Me, pick me."

Evvie simply stares at them, eyes narrowing.

"First things first," I say, realizing I am now about to get into deep water. I ignore the raised hands and keep going. "I need to make an appointment with the manager at Wilmington House. I'll have to make a strong pitch for letting me move in temporarily."

"Oh, no," Evvie says with consternation, thinking back to the relatively polished attire we wore for our first visit to Grecian Villas, "my clothes aren't fancy enough for Palm Beach. I'll have to go shopping."

"Wait just one minute," Ida says. "Who voted you in?"

"Yeah," says Bella, folding her arms across her chest. "I could go. I have no pressing engagements."

"What are we, chopped liver?" Sophie finishes the round. The chorus has spoken.

Evvie turns to me. "Of course I'm going with you, Glad, isn't that so?"

Oh, boy, this is some pickle. I feel my sister Evvie is the right choice for me. We've had a lifetime of thinking alike and working so well together, but I look at those three pairs of sad eyes accusing me, correctly, of favoritism. This is a nowin situation. "Let me think about it," says the coward.

Ida stomps toward the door. "Don't bother. We know who you'll choose, so just do it and get done with it."

The others follow her.

There is a decided chill in the air. But Evvie is grinning.

And I feel rotten.

ELEVEN.

WHERE IS JACK?.

Dora Dooley is where she usually is, planted in front of her TV, which is so close to her she can almost touch it. She got up to let me in, then hurried back to her recliner, where she now sits watching her show avidly and ignoring me.

It is very hot and stuffy in here. Dora is wearing lime green pedal pushers and a matching sweater with a long-sleeved cardigan over it. She's already informed me she doesn't like air conditioning and she won't open windows for fear of a draft. I fan myself as best I can in this stifling room. I intend to get out quickly. Not only because of the heat, but because I'm dying to see Jack.

"So can you tell me a little more about the Peeping Tom the other night?" I say as loudly as I can.

"Shah," Dora says. "Wait for the commercial." I a.s.sume she's hard of hearing since the sound is turned up very high.

I sit and stew, fanning hard, as she watches a torrid love scene. The way I'm feeling, that's the last kind of thing I need to be looking at-all I'm aware of is that Jack lives right above this apartment. From what I can gather, the characters on her soap opera are both married to other people and feeling terribly guilty. However, it doesn't seem to interfere with their l.u.s.t.

Finally the commercials arrive, and the volume rises even higher. One of my pet peeves is that the advertisers do that on purpose.

Dora cackles. "Won't take long until Penelope finds out her husband, Percy, is boffing her best friend, Elizabeth."

I nod obediently.

She cups her left ear at me and shouts, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm Gladdy Gold, Phase Two. We're trying to find the man who is peeking in women's windows. You were his latest victim."

"I didn't see much. All I saw was a mask and his hand wagging his little peepee peepee at me." at me."

That's that. "Someone told me you might have gotten a good look at him."

"With my eyesight?" She indicates the closeness of the TV set.

"Your neighbor, Jack Langford, didn't see him either, I suppose."

She waves her hand at me. "Shhh, World of Our Dreams Dreams is on again. They sure got s.e.xy actors on this show." is on again. They sure got s.e.xy actors on this show."

"Well, thank you anyway." I move to leave.

She grasps my sleeve as I pa.s.s her chair. "Ask me anything. I'm an expert. This is my favorite show. I've been watching it since it came on in

1951. They started in kinescope and went to tape in 1964. Ask me who broke Victoria Ainsworth's heart in 1972. Errol Forsyth, that's who. He slept with her sister, Evangeline, and she tried to commit suicide."

"Very sad," I comment.

"And in 1987, Eugenia Huffington got the first face-lift on live TV." She cackles again. "That was something else. The producers on this show sure likes stuffy character names, though. Evangeline, Eugenia, Moira . . ."

Loneliness, I think. Let me count the ways people keep themselves going. Whatever gets you through the night. I should talk. I don't have anything to help me. My eyes look upward again. How did I let myself care this much? Is the pain worth it?

I can no longer breathe. I carefully extradite myself. "Gotta go, Dora. Need to check some facts with Jack upstairs."

I head down her hallway. "I'll let myself out."

She calls after me, "Don't waste your energy climbing the steps. Jack ain't home."

I turn back. "He's gone out for the day?"

"No, he's just plain gone. Took his suitcase this morning and left. Didn't say a word to n.o.body."

My stomach starts churning. No, it's not possible.

"But he did come and say good-bye to me and that he hoped I was okay after my close call with the pervert."

Gone. I can't believe it.

I walk outside, head down, lost in my troubled thoughts. Where did Jack go? Maybe to finish an unfinished romantic vacation on some other beautiful island with someone else? What was my crime? That I ruined our vacation? Wasn't I just as frustrated as he was? So I worried about my girls. Thanks a lot, Jack, for being so understanding! I'm so mad I want to spit.

"Gladdy?"

Startled, I look up and Jack is standing there. Right in front of me. Dressed for traveling. With a suitcase. For a second I think I'm hallucinating.

But, no, it is him.

I try to cover my astonishment. "Coming or going?" I say sarcastically.

His eyebrows rise and he stares at me for a moment. "I'm going away for a few days. I came back home to pick up a couple of things first."

He doesn't offer to tell me where he's going and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll ask. "I was interviewing Dora. About her Peeper." G.o.d forbid he should think I was there looking for him.

Even though I really was.

"Come on up," he tells me. "Let me drop my suitcase and I'll make us a cup of coffee."

I am torn. What should I do? Play hard to get? Indifferent? Show him how upset I am? Or just see what happens?

He doesn't wait for my answer. He a.s.sumes I'm following him, that egotist! What am I having debates with myself for? I came here to see him and here he is. Huffing and puffing, I hurry after him up the stairs.

The few times I've been in Jack's apartment, I've never felt at ease. I'm still not comfortable even though it's a pleasant place, tastefully done, definitely with a woman's touch. His late wife, Faye's. And I know he's uneasy for the same reason. As he makes coffee, I glance yet again at the family pictures of earlier times. Jack and Faye smiling up at each other with Morrie and his sister, Lisa, looking like the happy kids they were. Jack and Faye's wedding photo. How young and lovely they looked. How adoringly they gaze at each other.

Jack serves me the coffee just as I like it, one sugar and very little milk.

I thank him and he says, "You're welcome."

And here we are. I'm balanced on the very edge of the peach floral couch. He's perched on the rim of the matching armchair that faces it.

"So . . ." I'm the first to break the silence.

"So, what?"

Oy, enough already. "Sew b.u.t.tons."

"Huh?""That's what my mother used to say when we kept saying 'so.' " At Jack's puzzled look I bat my hand at him. "Don't bother trying to get it. It's a non sequitur."

"Oh. So. Sew b.u.t.tons. I get it."

I'm running out of repartee. "Jack. Where are we?"

"In my apartment."

"Funny."

He finally smiles. I do, too.

"I've missed you," I admit.

He doesn't comment. I want to reach out and touch his hands, which are folded on his lap. They are only inches away. If I touch them, he'll touch me and we'll be all right again. I can't do it and he won't. His hands might as well be back in Pago Pago. The chasm between us is too deep.

As if reading my mind, he moves his hands to the arm of the chair. "I've been doing a lot of thinking . . ."

I don't like the way that sounds. Come on, let's kiss and make up. I want to say it, but first I need to know how he feels about me.