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into the pool. The girls walk back and forth across the shallow end, splashing a lot. I do two laps and I'm done. And I'm out. Such is swimming exercise.
        Pretty Barbi addresses Evvie. "So, what movie are you seeing this week? I can hardly wait for the review."
        Evvie, the in-house critic for our weekly free newspaper, is on a mystery kick since we've gotten into the P.I. biz. Last week she did a hilarious review of Hannibal. Evvie wrote: "The monster who likes to eat people is back again. Maybe he should do a cookbook." She sounded deadly serious; I couldn't stop laughing. This week she'll be reviewing a French mystery. Who knows what she'll do with that.
        "Wait and see," she chirps. "But I promise it'll be gory."
        "Hey, girls, didja hear this one?" And Hy is at us like schmaltz on chopped liver. God help us, he's learned a new joke off his e-mail. It will be offensive as usual.
        "So, Becky and Sam are having an affair in the old age home. Every night for three years, Becky sneaks into Sam's room and she takes off her clothes and climbs up on top of him. They lay there like two wooden boards for a couple of minutes, then she gets off and goes back to her room. And that's that. One night Becky doesn't show up. Not the next night either. Sam is upset. He finally tails her and, waddaya know, she's about to sneak into Moishe's room. Sam stops her in the hall. He's really hurt. 'So, what's Moishe got that I ain't got?' Becky smirks and says, 'Palsy!' "
        Hy grins at us, thrilled with himself. Affronted as usual, the girls turn their backs on him and paddle away. I look down and concentrate on my crossword puzzle.
        "What? What'd I do? What?"
         "Schlemiel!" Ida hisses under her breath.
        "Hey, did you read this?" Tessie asks. She's now drying off on her chaise, her nose deep in today's Miami Herald. She half reads, half condenses: " 'Mrs. Margaret Dery Sampson, sixty-four, of West Palm Beach, died early yesterday morning on the seventeenth hole at the Waterside Country Club where she was golfing with three friends. Mrs. Sampson, "Meg" as she was known to all who loved her, died suddenly of a massive heart attack.' "
        The group reacts with shocked surprise. The heiress is well-known. Our group has followed her colorful rich-girl antics for years. She married into the famous Dery shipbuilding dynasty. It was one of Florida's most extravagant weddings.
        Reading the society news around the pool is a daily ritual. I only half listen. I am stuck on 33across.
        Tessie continues. " 'Mrs. Sampson, an active member of Florida society, was known for her charitable works. She was an avid sportswoman and a bridge enthusiast. Widowed three years ago, she is survived by her second husband, Richard Sampson.' "
        "What a pity," says Evvie. "You'd think with all that exercising she'd be in perfect health."
        "Never mind that. Think of all that money she didn't get to spend," Ida adds.
        "But she left a nice, rich widower," says Sophie. She picks up a tube of sunblock off the ledge of the pool and slathers her face and shoulders. "Maybe he'd like to meet a nice, poor widow. Like me."
        Ida takes the sunblock from her as Sophie turns to let Ida do her back. "Dream on."
        Sophie twists around. "What? I'm not good enough for him?" She pushes Ida's hand away. "You're making me into a greaseball."
        Ida slaps the tube back into her hand. "Do it yourself. As if a rich guy like that would even look at a nobody like you."
        Sophie hands the tube to Evvie. "And you know what? If he's old and ugly I wouldn't want him anyway."
        Evvie applies cream to Sophie's back. "What's old, anyway? Look at us."
        This gets my attention. "Bernard Baruch, the famous statesman, said, 'Old is always fifteen years older than you are.' "
        "Hello?" It is a wobbly little voice, and the Canadians, who still have all their