Free Getting Old Is a Disaster by Rita Lakin Page A

Noon, right on the dot. She then enters Fuddruckers directly across the street. That's a surprise—the noisy youth-oriented restaurant doesn't seem her style. We manage to get a table right behind her. She orders a chicken salad and iced tea. We order a couple of hamburgers and Cokes. We let her read her book and eat in peace. While she sips her tea and before she pays the check, we get up and sit down next to her, Cokes still in hand.
      Naturally she's startled. Very quickly we introduce ourselves and remind her that we'd tried to make an appointment. When she recovers from her shock, she says, "Get away from me or I'm calling for help."
      "Please," I say, "just a few minutes of your time. We need to talk to you about the old man who held you up."
      "It's none of your business."
      Evvie smiles. "Actually, it is. He's our client." And she hands Finchum one of our business cards. I remember how Jack surprised me with these cards as a "new business" present. I've given out about eleven so far. These cards will outlive me.
      The woman accepts it with the same attitude she might have shaking hands with an alligator. "Your client? That's preposterous."
      "Maybe so, but it's true," Evvie tells her.
      "Prove it. Tell me what he looks like."
      I don't know quite what to say since we've never met our client. Nothing fazes Evvie, though; she jumps right in. "Don't play with us. You don't know what he looks like, either. He's very secretive about his appearance. He usually wears a disguise. I'm sure he was wearing one when he walked up to your window. The only thing he lets people see clearly is his gray hair."
      Miss Bun-on-top-of-head pauses, but she's not giving up yet. "You'll have to do better than that. Tell me something you know that only the police and the bank and I know."
      Evvie, former budding actress, is in her element. "Gramps, our master of disguise, comes up to your window and shows you his gun, wrapped in a sandwich. Usually turkey, and he holds the mayo so it won't be messy."
      This information startles Finchum. She weakens a bit. "It wasn't turkey."
      "All right, already," Evvie says, pretending annoyance. "So what was it? Pastrami? Baloney? What?"
      Pallie Finchum finally relents. She leans over and whispers, "It was corned beef on a Kaiser roll."
      "How much did he demand?"
      "Forty-four dollars and seventy-eight cents."
      I'm surprised by this but I don't show it. "And," I add, "he showed you the green feather and called himself Robin Hood."
      The bank teller sighs. "That's exactly what happened. My life has been hell ever since. My manager says I can never tell this story to anyone. So do the police. Why would I want to tell anyone? It was too embarrassing. But I did tell my mother. I live with her."
      "And?" Evvie asks.
      "She was so upset, she wanted me to quit. How can I quit? I need the money."
      She stands up from the table. "I have to go back to work. This robbery has ruined my job for me. Now my manager watches me all the time."
      And with that she leaves us sitting there.
      Evvie look at me. "First it was five hundred something and now forty-four and change. What in blazes is that about?"
      "One of the first things I'll want to ask 'our client' if we ever catch up to him." I stand up. "Time for another meeting to figure out what we know."

    * * *
    We're in the clubhouse with the door locked and a sign tacked on that reads PRIVATE PARTY. KEEP OUT. We need to use the chalkboard. Outside, the wind is blowing, rattling the windows and doorknob, promising a new storm. Inside, we are cozy. Evvie pops some popcorn for us in the community microwave.
      We list on the board what we know and what the police know.
      "Keep calling it out," I say, chalk in hand.
      Evvie: "He's always in a disguise, with distractions, so nobody really gets a good look at him." She hands out paper cups filled with popcorn and we nibble as we chat.
      Ida: "He