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hearing, are the first to glance up.
        "Over here." The voice manages to rise a decibel or two.
        Now everyone responds. An elderly wisp of a woman stands at the pool gate, seeming almost too fragile to hold on to her metal walker. Her back is hunched slightly, and she looks as if a strong wind would carry her away. She's dressed completely in black, including the kerchief on her head. She must be sweltering in that outfit. "I'm looking for Gladdy Gold."
        All eyes automatically turn to me as I put down my puzzle and walk toward her. "I'm Gladdy."
        Needless to say, the girls climb out of the pool and line up behind me, my little ducklings all in a row.
        "Your neighbors told me where I could find you."
        "They would," Ida mutters into my back. "Ask them when we go to the toilet. All our neighbors know that, too. Y entas! "
        I ignore Ida. "What can I do for you?"
        "I am looking for a detective," the woman says, and then adds worriedly, "if the price is right."
        In a flash, Hy is at our side, dragging one of the plastic pool chairs. "Here, missus, have a seat," he offers, helping the woman into the chair. He positions himself right next to her. An instant later, here comes Lola, gluing herself onto her husband as she leans in.
        Everyone around the pool shifts slightly to the left. My unofficial staff. Unwanted. Uncalled-for. The other inhabitants of Phase Two, determined to get into the act whenever they can. Tessie, ever so casually, moves her chaise a little closer. Mary puts down her crocheting. Barbi and Casey openly stare. Even the Canadians have folded their newspapers. All gape and listen intently.
        The little woman puffs out her chest and grips the arms of the chair. She shouts, "I'm eighty-two years old and I don't need this agita in my life! My old man, maybe he's cheating on me! And I want to know who the puttana is!"
        Ahhh . . . I hear a collective sigh of recognition behind me. A problem they can all relate to after years of watching Oprah, Sally, Geraldo, and the rest.
        "Hah!" says Hy with great delight. "The old man is dipping his wick somewheres else!"
        The woman stares up at him. "What did this fool say?"
        "Hy! Butt out," I say.
        He shrugs, feigning hurt. "I'm trying to lend a hand here."
        "Maybe he's lonely," Lola contributes.
        "Maybe he's not with a woman, " says Mary darkly. She's still pretty traumatized over John.
        I have to nip this group intrusion in the bud. Now.
        "Shall we go to my office?" I say to the woman in black. Helping her out of the patio chair, I reposition her behind her walker and firmly move her out the pool gate.
        As we leave, my girls scamper to keep up. I hear another sigh in the background. This one of disappointment. Followed by a buzz of complaints from the neighbors left behind and pointedly being left out.
        Tessie whines, "Didn't I ruin my best bathing costume chasing after our murderer? Where's the gratitude?"
        "Wait a while," says Hy complacently. "She'll figure out she can't do without us."
        "Right," adds Mary. "She owes us. Big time."
        I tell you, it's not easy being a star.

    5

    The Case of the Little Old

    Lady from Plantation

    W e are in my dining room, which I suppose I
          can now officially call my conference room. My minuscule kitchen, because it has a phone, is the office. Such are our business quarters.
        The girls were so excited I could hardly contain them. This may be our first case with some zip to it. The lady in black, who has introduced herself as Mrs. Angelina Siciliano from Plantation, also seemed about to burst a blood vessel.
        Obviously whatever's been bothering her has been building up for quite a while. I sent the girls home to get out of their wet bathing suits. And I excused myself to put on dry clothes and left Mrs. Siciliano drinking