“Can you get the rec room ready for tonight’s Ping-Pong tournament and then pick up my grocery list at Publix?” Ava asked. “Maya can stay here with me.”

“We’re having a Ping-Pong tournament?” Letty asked, laughing. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Everybody here is dead serious about Ping-Pong. We’ve got folks coming over tonight from the Islander, the SeaBreeze, and the Michigander.”

“Those are motels?”

“Yeah. Ruth and Al Zofchak, they’re gone now, God rest their souls, organized the first tournament, I guess maybe fifteen years ago? They were retirees from outside of Pittsburgh. We used to have folks from seven or eight motels up and down the beach playing, but a lot of those places are long gone, torn down for condos, and of course, so are a lot of our regulars from back then. The tournament rotates among the four motels left, and this year we’re hosting.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Set up the refreshment tables and the bar, and make sure the rec room bathrooms are clean. Anita’s supposed to hit them every day, but she skips them when she thinks I’m not paying attention. The girls will be in there watching television, so just work around them. You’ll find a couple of folding tables in the closet over there. And there are some plastic tablecloths on the top shelf. Joe’s going to bring over extra folding chairs when he gets off work this afternoon.”

The Murmuring Surf’s recreation room, Ava had told her, had originally been the motel’s coffee shop. It was a low-slung concrete-block building with a fifties-era zigzag cement tile roofline and large plate-glass windows facing the parking lot.

Friday morning, she found the group Ava called “the girls” watching a taped episode of Wheel of Fortune in the lounge area, which consisted of two aging turquoise vinyl sofas, a mosaic-tile-topped coffee table, and a flat-screen television.

“Hi ladies,” Letty called out, as she pushed through the heavy glass door.

Wilona Wilson, a retired African American schoolteacher from Cleveland, was the de facto leader of “the girls,” the group of regulars who congregated most mornings to watch television together before drifting together over to their assigned lounge chairs by the pool.

Billie Feldman was one of the girls, although her wife Ruth rarely joined the group. Alice Sheehan, whose silver-white bob contrasted with her deep tan, was the third, and Arlene Finocchia made up the fourth. Today they were joined by Trudi Maples, but Letty noticed that Louise Schmidt—another retired schoolteacher, from Akron—was absent.

Wilona was hopping up and down on the sofa, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I knew it was ‘Sugar and Spice Girls.’”

Billie Feldman snorted. “You’re the only one here who ever even heard of the Spice Girls.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Alice Sheehan said. “I think my daughter used to listen to their CDs.”