Free Getting Old is the Best Revenge by Rita Lakin

funeral is already in progress. The priest is speaking of the deceased in low, seemingly heartfelt tones.
    "Look at how they're dressed," Evvie whispers. "Like they're going to a cocktail party."
    "Now you get to see how rich folks live."
    "Look at all those gorgeous hats. And the fantastic wreaths! They must have bought out every flower shop in Boca Raton!"
    "Pretty impressive."
    "What's the plan?"
    "Just hover in the background, try to listen to any conversations, and don't be obvious."
    "I wonder which one is the husband."
    "Look next to the priest," I suggest.
    Evvie looks. "Nah, can't be. That guy is young. And what a build! But on the other side of the priest is a woman, so it must be him."
    If that's Robert Martinson, he is a looker! He seems to be in his early forties, dressed in an elegant black summer-weight suit. Probably cost more than my car. He's got on a black straw Panama hat tilted at a rakish angle that covers some of his almost platinum blond hair and most of his face. The "shades" cover more. If the face is like the rest of him--poor Josephine, having to leave that behind.
    Evvie has moved from my side. She is now practically leaning into a couple who are talking quietly. I hiss at her. "Subtle!"
    She waves her hand at me as if to say yeah, yeah.
    I amble about, now nearing a couple whose backs are toward me. They are both dressed in black, and the woman is holding on to a walker. They seem to be arguing softly. I get close enough to hear the man say, "Leave her alone already. At least she died happy . . ."
    Suddenly I start to back away, fast. I recognize those two backs, now both in profile. I can't believe my eyes. Angelina and Elio Siciliano!
    I almost trip on a tombstone as I try to get Evvie's attention. She sees me but shakes her head, annoyed. She's busy. I finally get over to her and pull her by the arm.
    "Move!"
    A few people glance at us, annoyed, but I get her away from there as quickly as I can. Out of the corner of my eye I see Angelina now turning and glancing toward us.
    I pull Evvie behind a tree. "Just get over to the nearest grave and pretend we're visiting it."
    "All right, but don't break my arm."
    "We need flowers." I'm looking every which way for something floral.
    "I see a bunch," Evvie says.
    "Grab them!"
    Evvie quickly reaches down in front of one of the stones and removes a small vase of flowers. She hurries after me.
    We are now out of sight of the Martinson funeral party, and we are both out of breath.
    "What was that all about?"
    "You'll never believe who's here. What's that mess?" I say, staring at the pathetic wilted stems in Evvie's hand.
    "You said grab something. I didn't have time to go shopping."
    "Mrs. Gold? Is that you? I can't believe my eyes."
    I see Angelina Siciliano moving briskly toward us in spite of the walker and the uneven ground.
    "Oh, boy," Evvie whispers, getting it now. "What do we do?"
    "Wing it."
    Angelina reaches us. We smile phony smiles.
    "Mrs. Siciliano, what a surpise," I say, and believe me, I mean it.
    "What are you girls doing here?"
    "Oh," I say in my best winging-it voice, "just paying respects to our uncle."
    Angelina, Evvie, and I automatically glance down at the stone beneath us. It reads "Sum Wang Ho" in both English and Chinese.
    Evvie, thinking fast, says, "I told you we went down the wrong aisle. This isn't Uncle Charlie!" And seeing the expression on Angelina's face at the sight of our bouquet, she says airily, "Isn't it a disgrace the way they leave flowers lying around in this condition? Now, where is that trash basket?"
    I jump in at high speed before Angelina has time to wonder why we Jewish women have an uncle in a Catholic cemetery, let alone one who's Chinese. "This is your cousin's funeral?"
    Evvie pipes up, piecing together the various things Angelina has told us. "The one who put olive oil behind her ears?"
    Angelina dabs at her eyes. "My cousin Josephine. What a tragedy. She is married to Dominic Dano for twenty-five years.