Some people picture retirement communities as accumulations of hearing aids, false teeth, inch-thick glasses, wigs, canes, walkers, wheelchairs and electric carts. All this is true, but many of the residents were as alert and mentally active as any teenager, and they had accumulated a heck of a lot more knowledge. And they lived a long time because of the good care they received.

Resident committees gave advice on running Silver Acres. Some residents did volunteer work for local organizations; a few still had paying jobs. I tutored math pupils; there were plenty who needed tutoring.

Which leads me to my alternate theory: If women don't take over the world it will be because dummies do-the ones who can't read or do math. They won't know how the modern technological world works and it will collapse on them. Again, I'm glad I won't be here to see it.

But to get back to my point, I had to be careful what I did, because residents of Silver Acres would be watching.

I broached the subject of murder to Tess on Monday, a typical hot summer morning, as we walked to our water aerobics class at the Silver Acres indoor pool. Tess was less than enthusiastic about me conducting an investigation. “You mean you want to go nosing around like Agatha Christie's Miss Marple? Or the detective with the funny name in those alphabet books? A is for…awful acts, B is for bad people. Those books are too gory for me.”

“I'll be discreet,” I said. “But I need you to help me. You have a certain savoir-faire that I lack, which helps in social situations, at least when you don't forget to wear your hearing aid. And you're so much better at small talk than I am.”

“So you want to make me your sidekick, eh? Well, I'm no Dr. Watson. And you're no Sherlock Holmes.”