Oy vay iz Marty (Martillah) Gold, who yesterday filled a prescription for sweet, rich, old, lonely Mrs. Fenimore on West End Avenue--today she's dead from an allergic reaction. Worse yet--family-harassed Marty, who'd rather sell jazz records than pills, is in Mrs. F.'s will to the tune of ten thou. Inspector Chubb suspects Malty (who's been telling lies to conceal the fact that he ""shtupped"" a ""shicksah""), even though, according to Marty's Mom (who makes Molly Goldberg sound like Mother Seton): ""For ten thousand dollars, who can live even a year in this city? What kind of goon would go to such trouble for such a furshtunkinah amount?"" Look to Mrs. F's relatives for the obvious pill-switcher. Look elsewhere for detection, unless Manhattan atmosphere thick as day-old kugel is a desired nosh.