She’s not Miss Marple. Her friends are no Charlie’s Angels. Nevertheless, 75-year-old Gladdy Gold and her gang of eccentric Fort Lauderdale retirees are out, about, and hunting down a killer–one who is silently stalking them. Selma Beller was the first to go–but Gladdy and her neighbors never suspected murder until another of their friends died in an eerily similar way. Now a handsome young detective won’t listen to them, Hy Binder won’t stop telling them dirty jokes, and crazy old Greta Kronk is doing everything humanly possible to make herself into a suspect. But amid the endless rounds of poolside kibitzing, early-bird specials, bittersweet memories, and interminable grocery-shopping trips, Gladdy and her gals are about to discover how the murders are being committed. And when it comes to catching this culprit–time really is running out…. “Gladdy Gold is a treasure, Miss Marple in Yiddish.  Salty. Sassy. Sunny.”–Carolyn Hart "If getting old is this much fun, maybe I won't mind! Miss Marple, move over! Gladdy's Gladiators are a hoot! Rita Lakin's witty romp through a Florida retirement community is just the thing for what ails you!" –Parnell Hall, author of Stalking the Puzzle Lady “My great aunt once told me, ‘Getting old is no fun.’ She obviously had never met Gladdy Gold! A fine debut mystery, full of humor, pathos, and even--romance. I hope to see many more.”–Robin Hathaway, author of The Doctor Rocks the Boat After being widowed at a young age with three small children, Rita Lakin began an extensive writing career, which has included staff writing on television programs such as Peyton Place, Mod Squad, Dynasty, and Strong Medicine , as well as creating original series such as The Rookies . She has won an Edgar Allen Poe award for her screenwriting, as well as receiving several other award nominations, and her two original theatrical plays, No Language But a Cry and Saturday Night at Grossingers , are still being produced around the country. 1 Gladdy Gets Going Hello. Let me introduce myself. I'm Gladdy Gold. Actually, Gladys. I'm a self-proclaimed P.I. That's right, a private eye. Operating out of Fort Lauderdale. When did I get into the P.I. biz? As we speak. My credentials? More than thirty years of reading mysteries. Miss Marple and Miss Silver are my heroines. In case you were expecting someone like what's-her-name with her "A" is for this, "B" is for that--you know who I mean, working her way all the way to Z--well, that's not me. I'll be lucky if I make it to the end of this book. After all, I am seventy-five. You think seventy-five is old? Maybe, if you're twenty, it's ancient, but if you're fifty, it doesn't seem as old as it used to. And if you're ninety, well, seventy-five seems like a kid. You ought to see those spry ninety-year-old alter kuckers trying to hit on me for a date. When I look in the mirror, I don't see that older, faded, wrinkled stranger who barely resembles someone I once knew. I see a gangly, pretty, eager seventeen-year-old, marvelously alert and alive with glistening brown hair and hazel eyes. Did you know that when you get older, and the brain cells start to turn on you, the nouns are the first to go? For example, "what's-her-name" I just threw at you. I meant Sue Grafton, and this time it only took about two minutes for my brain synapses to make the connection and pull her name out of the cobwebs of my mind. Sometimes it takes days. All the while, it was on the tip of my tongue. My poor tongue must be exhausted from all the information I keep stored there. Hey, you young ones--laugh. Wait 'til you get to be my age. Then the laugh will be on you. You'll ask the same questions we all ask: Where did the years go? How did they go by so fast? And even worse--where did all the money go? Enough with all the philosophy. The question for now is how did I get into this private-eye racket? Before I retired, I was a librarian, so if you say this is a strange career move, I would certainly agree. I was minding my own business in Lanai Gardens, Phase Two, building Q, apartment 317 on West Oakland Park Boulevard, Lauderdale Lakes, when a few of my neighbors died suddenly. Considering that the youngest of us is seventy-one and the oldest eighty-six, this is not something unexpected. I mean, everybody is on the checkout line. For example, we used to have five tables of canasta: now we're down to one. The Men's Sports Club used to fill four cars on Sunday for their trip out to Hialeah: now the only members left are Irving Weiss and his pal, Sol, from Phase Three. Even the nags that broke the guys' wallets have gone to thoroughbred heaven. 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. 2 Walking It's seven a.m. on a