The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  “Lots of new people here tonight,” a man’s voice from behind her said.

  Deborah swirled around. The man wore khakis and a polo shirt and had the bland face to match. His smile was friendly, though, and luck of all luck, his name tag announced him as Roger M.

  She smiled. “I’m Deborah.”

  “Yes, of course, Deborah Granzer. Roger Millhouse.” He extended a hand. “I met you at the fundraiser at your house. You like games, do you?”

  His tone was innocent, but Deb couldn’t help gasping, “Games?”

  Roger quirked an eyebrow. “You know, cards, board games, all that.”

  “Why, yes,” she said and let out a breath. “Games. Of course. I wanted to find something wholesome to do in the evenings, so I thought I’d come check out game night.”

  “Very wholesome. Wholesome indeed. You like bridge?”

  Dang. “I’m afraid I don’t know bridge.”

  “How about pinochle? Or cribbage?”

  She gave a weak smile. “I don’t know those, either. I’m just a beginner.” Out of the corner of her eye she caught Claudine pretending to examine the notice board posted near the kitchen.

  “What games do you play, then?” He filled his punch cup.

  “Well. Not many. Yahtzee.”

  “That’s a game of chance,” he said. “No strategy. Anything else?”

  “I do play Euchre.”

  Millhouse’s face lit up. “No kidding. Euchre, you say? It’s been years. I’ve been dying to play some Euchre, but no one else will do it. Maybe we could get a Euchre game up tonight. Hey, Joan,” he yelled to the woman at the door. “We’re doing Euchre at table six.”

  He put a hand on the small of Deborah’s back to guide her to the table. Deborah noticed Claudine turning, purse pointed at them.

  “May I join you?” Claudine was at their side. Deborah gave an expression she hoped showed no recognition. She’d never been good at acting.

  “You bet, and we’ll need a fourth. Sylvia? Sylvia will join us, won’t you?”

  A keen-eyed octogenarian nodded. “After this hand. We’ve just about got it wrapped up.” She shuffled the deck like a Vegas pit boss, almost as well as Bobby did at the Villa.

  Claudine took the seat directly across from Roger. Deborah snagged the seat to his right. She scooted her chair a few inches closer to him, hoping they would be in line with Claudine’s purse, which was maneuvered with its top just above the table.

  “How is your firehouse project going, the family shelter?” he asked.

  Deborah’s pulse leapt. “I thought you knew. Your wife is buying the firehouse.”

  “That’s right.” Roger arranged the cards in his hand. “I don’t give her business much attention. Just an investor. I’m sure Carsonville’s citizens will step up to do what’s right.”

  Deborah had rehearsed a response with Ruby and Claudine. “It’s a shame we won’t be able to buy the firehouse, of course, but the gift from Fine Properties of Distinction was very generous, and we hope—” Hope what? She couldn’t remember the rest of her speech. She glanced at Claudine, who mouthed “very soon.” Oh yeah. “We hope very soon to begin to explore other suitable properties.” She latched eye contact with Roger Millhouse and smiled.

  “Quite sensible,” he said. “It’s fine that you’re thinking of the children’s lives. Glad we could help.”

  Deborah rested a hand on Millhouse’s sleeve. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me join you,” she said in her sweetest voice.

  “No problem.” He seemed not to register her touch at all. “I’m just glad to see ladies who enjoy wholesome pleasures. So many people would be spending the evening at a bar. Or they might be gossiping, besmirching each other’s character. Me, I never drink. Or gossip.” He shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

  Deborah pulled back her hand. She might not live a thrilling life, but this guy was a real snooze. “I bet your wife is really special.”

  “What? Oh, yes. We see eye to eye. I was lucky to find her.” He chuckled as if remembering something funny. “Every morning we have our coffee, and she circles the errors in the newspaper with a red pen. At least once a week I bundle them up and send them to the editor. He said we’re—and I quote—‘unique citizens.’ Yes, she’s a pip.”

  “Quite,” Claudine mumbled.

  “You’re a unique man yourself,” Deborah said. Millhouse smiled blandly in response. She’d swear he didn’t even notice that she was a woman, even though she’d taken Ruby’s advice and positioned herself so he could look down her sweater. Claudine said Roger had been married three times. Maybe none of them were good enough for him. Or his wives got bored and left. “Does she—your wife, I mean—come to game night, too?” She held her breath.

  “Oh, no. It’s important that we pursue separate interests from time to time. Keeps things interesting. She has the Carsonville Women’s League, and I have my games.” He adjusted his shirt collar. “What about you ladies? What do you do in life?” he asked.

  Sylvia had joined them and pulled a deck of cards from her needlepoint bag. Claudine raised an eyebrow. “Retired,” Sylvia said. “Used to groom poodles.”

  “And you, Ms. Granzer?”

  “Me? Call me Deborah, please. I’m just a housewife.”

  “Never say ‘just a housewife,’ Deborah. Housewife is one of the world’s chosen professions. That’s my one regret, that my wife keeps so busy with her work. And you, Mary Ellen?” he asked Claudine after glancing at her name tag. “You’re a quiet one.”

  Deborah saw Claudine bite off a smile. She’d been watching Sylvia roll her eyes at “world’s chosen professions.” “I’m a stockbroker,” she said. “Possibly not one of the world’s chosen professions.”

  “But a vital one indeed and essential to the economic growth we need for a healthy community.”

  Sylvia mouthed the words “vital one indeed” and bent to her cards when Millhouse looked over.

  “How about if I deal?” Deborah said. It had been a long time since she’d played Euchre, but after several years of playing it at family holidays, she hadn’t forgotten.

  “Does everyone know the rules?” Millhouse asked.

  Sylvia nodded and handed over her deck.

  “I’m a fast learner,” Claudine said.

  “What do you say we put a little money on it, huh?” Sylvia said. “Say, a nickel a trick?”

  “Now, Sylvia, you know gambling isn’t permitted,” Roger said.

  The older woman rolled her eyes.

  Deborah dealt the cards. Within minutes, they were deep into the game, trading tricks and calling trumps. After a hand or two, Claudine seemed to do remarkably well. Sylvia, on the other hand, picked up a sour expression, especially at Claudine’s plays. Every once in a while Deborah would pull a card to toss in the kitty, and Claudine would press her knee under the table. When Deborah reached for another card instead, she let up the pressure.

  Deborah had forgotten how much she loved playing games. Her family used to rent a cabin on a lake some summers. While her mom fried up trout, Deborah and her cousins did jigsaw puzzles or told scary stories or played cards. Louie promised they’d join them some summer, but it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe next year.

  Too bad she wouldn’t be able to come back to game night once they set up Millhouse. But it was for the kids, she reminded herself. She smiled and touched his hand. “Would you like another punch, Roger?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” He shook his head in amazement. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a marvelous time.”

  “Me neither.” Deborah beamed. She wasn’t lying, either. Maybe Louie wouldn’t mind playing games once in a while. They had Sorry at home somewhere. Claudine’s purse shuffled at the edge of the table.

  “For chrissakes,” Sylvia said and tossed her cards on the table.

  “Language,” Roger said.

  “I’m going to see if I can catch a game at one of the other tables.” Sylv
ia hoisted her needlepoint bag to her shoulder and left.

  “Cutthroat, then,” Roger said. “You ladies up for it?” He glanced at his watch, a Chopard with a scratched crystal. Not bad. “Oh, my. The evening has flown. I’ve been having such a terrific time. One more hand. My wife will be here soon.”

  Claudine lifted her chin and stared at Deborah. Deborah should have drawn more out of Millhouse, but her advances seemed to bounce right off him. She drew a breath and tried again. “Oh, Roger. I’ve had such a wonderful time tonight.”

  “As have I.” He patted her arm.

  “Couldn’t we—I don’t know. Couldn’t we continue somewhere else?”

  Claudine excused herself and walked toward the hall, presumably where the restrooms were. Deborah looked forlornly after her.

  “Don’t you need to get home to your husband?”

  “Oh.” Deborah put a palm to her chest. “He’s out of town. He often is. He’s—he’s never played Euchre with me in his life. Never.”

  For the first time, Millhouse met her gaze full on. “Oh, you poor girl. You’ll have to ask him to come to game night.”

  “I’m not sure he’d like that. He’s stubborn about his interests.”

  Roger leaned forward. “I know all about stubborn. I’d never cross Eleanor.” He started to let out a sigh, but cut it short. “My wife. Here she is.”

  Eleanor Millhouse’s heels clicked across the linoleum. She pecked her husband on the cheek, then withdrew quickly at the sight of Deborah.

  “Honey, meet Deborah. Remember her from the fundraiser at the Granzer mansion? We played Euchre all night. She’s delightful company.”

  “It’s nice to see you. Your husband is wonderful at cards.”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said curtly. “What a pleasure to see you. Honey, let’s go.” She pulled him up by the arm and led him out the door. Claudine had somehow retreated to the corner, almost melting into the paneling.

  Deborah’s heart sank. She knew Claudine had taken photos, but Roger hadn’t proven a very willing subject. Plus, she really had been distracted by the game. Euchre. It was so fun. If she and Louie had their own kids, they could start a family tradition of playing games at holidays. He hadn’t said no to children. He just didn’t say yes. Well, actually, he wasn’t saying much at all since she busted the grandfather clock.

  Out in the darkened parking lot, she found Claudine leaning against her Honda. “I’m sorry, Claudine. I tried. I even put my cleavage on view. He didn’t even look.”

  “Don’t worry. I got some photos. We can work with them.”

  Relieved, Deborah turned toward the car. It didn’t look like she’d be mad.

  “Oh, and Deb?”

  Hand on the car’s door handle, she turned.

  “Remind me to show you how to recognize a marked deck.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Ruby waited in her car across the street from Eleanor Millhouse’s office. The sun streamed through her front windshield, turning from icy cold to muggy as it hit the glass. She sipped her tea, being careful not to smudge the dark, frosted lipstick she’d so carefully applied as part of her disguise.

  Last night when Deborah and Claudine had come home, Deborah was hardly to be consoled. She seemed to think she’d screwed up somehow, but in the next breath she was asking if they had a deck of cards. Such a sweet girl, and so gifted in some ways, but…Ruby let out a breath.

  Ruby studied the sidewalk and the parking garage where Eleanor parked. Grady seemed to be able to find anything stored on a computer that had ever crossed a keyboard. A monthly deduction on Eleanor Millhouse’s bank account to the parking garage settled this one. A few people, breath steaming in the cold, holding hands up to fasten collars tighter, hurried to the office building. But no Eleanor. Not yet.

  Claudine didn’t seem so worried about how the evening had gone. Ruby had made them all Tequila Sunrises, and they’d retired to the salon to crack open Claudine’s laptop. Claudine loaded the photos from her phone-purse into the computer and started playing around with them. Ah, the magic of computers.

  At first, they weren’t promising. A large “Jesus Saves” banner spread behind Roger Millhouse’s face. Claudine wiped that out and replaced it with a dimmed background.

  “What about that cup of punch?” Deborah had asked.

  “Gone. Let’s make it a martini,” Claudine said.

  “I see him as more of a Jack and Coke guy,” Ruby said.

  With a few swipes of the mouse, the church basement had become a darkened bar and Roger’s punch a cocktail.

  “Do you think—?” Deborah had started.

  “Got it,” Claudine said. She oriented the photo so that Deborah was clearly female, and Roger was clearly delighted with her, but her identity and the fact that Roger’s delight was over his fortuitous hand of cards were manipulated.

  After an hour, Claudine pushed back from the computer. “What do you think?”

  They had three photos. One showed Roger Millhouse, drink in hand, with a stupidly happy expression on his face and a hand apparently bearing down on Deborah’s chest. In reality, Roger was diving for a card in the discard pile. Another showed Roger, eyes at half mast and lips pursed, with Deborah’s blurry face in the foreground. Deborah said he was actually lecturing about tax law. The third showed Roger standing upright and advancing a hand toward a feminine derriere. This one had required some careful photoshopping to make it work. Roger had actually been reaching for his coat, but the coat was wiped out and Deborah’s anonymized form pasted in. All in all, Ruby had to admit they were pretty convincing photographs.

  The rest of the work was to write a note to go with them that wouldn’t implicate the Booster Club, yet would make clear that “concerned citizens” didn’t favor the firehouse’s demolition and would make the photos public if Eleanor didn’t respond by their deadline. At the bottom, they included an anonymous email address for a response. Grady had assured them it couldn’t be traced.

  “I just wonder—” Deborah had said.

  “Yes?” Claudine said.

  “Well, remember how Eleanor Millhouse looked at me? Do you think she’d recognize me from the photos?”

  The chance was always there. They’d done a good job of wiping out all signs of the church basement, but that didn’t mean, one hundred percent sure, that she wouldn’t figure it out.

  “You should be in the clear, Deb,” Claudine had said. “But no guarantees.”

  “I sure can’t tell it’s a church basement,” Ruby had added.

  So here Ruby was to do her part. Her moment was coming up. A Jaguar slid into a parking space in the adjacent lot, and the occupant had Eleanor Millhouse’s queenly posture. Ruby lifted the binoculars Deborah had provided—she said Louie recommended this brand for birdwatching—and let them fall. Yes. It was her, bundled up to the nines and carrying a soft-sided briefcase. Ruby slipped her berry tea into the cup holder and waited, one hand on her door handle and the photos firmly clutched in an envelope in her other hand.

  She paused. One, two, and ready. She leapt from the car door and rushed toward the office building’s lobby on a course that would surely collide with Eleanor’s. Eleanor stopped suddenly to examine the sole of her shoe. Ruby correspondingly lagged and pretended to check her phone. When Eleanor resumed her stride for the building’s front door, Ruby hurried forward, confident in her disguise.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. Are you okay?” Ruby backed off in mock alarm.

  “I’m fine,” Eleanor Millhouse’s steely reply came.

  “Sorry,” Ruby repeated and strode past the building’s entrance as if she were headed across the street. The photos and message had been dropped. Now all they had to do was wait.

  21

  That afternoon, Ruby and Deborah sat in the dining room at the Villa Saint Nicholas and reviewed the kids’ homework. Every few minutes, Ruby checked her phone to see if Eleanor Millhouse had responded to the
note and photos they’d left. Nothing. Claudine had said she had a job to work on and wouldn’t be able to join them today, but if they got any word from Eleanor, she wanted to know right away.

  “I’ll take the math homework,” Deborah said.

  “That’s fine by me,” Ruby replied.

  “I’m good with history,” Gilda said from behind them.

  “Thanks, but we’ve got this covered,” Ruby said.

  “Oh, come on.” She rattled her walker to a nearby chair and sat down. “Besides, me and Joanie are buddies, aren’t we?”

  Joanie nodded shyly.

  “Come on, honey, show them what I taught you.”

  Suppressing a smile, the girl shook her head.

  This couldn’t be good. “What did Gilda teach you, hon?” Ruby asked.

  “Go on, show them, little sprout.”

  Joanie took a deep breath and stepped back, throwing open her arms.

  Uh-oh, Ruby thought.

  “Oh, my man, I love him so, he’ll never know—” the girl began to sing full tilt.

  Ruby had never heard her mutter more than a few words, and here she was, a regular Ethel Merman.

  When Joanie finished singing, the group applauded. Tinkerbell came running from the hall and skidded across the floor, colliding full force with Gilda’s walker.

  “Watch it, you beast,” Gilda said.

  Deborah was remarkably absorbed in Scotty’s algebra homework. “If a train and a truck are approaching each other from opposite directions—Scotty, I know this is about when they’d meet, and your equation is good, but, really, shouldn’t they be figuring out how to avoid a collision?”

  “Sure,” the boy said, setting down a bagel. “They should have worked this out before the train even left the station. Of course, it could be the train was stolen. The train-jacker was making a getaway with a car full of cattle—”

  “No,” Bobby said. He slipped his ever-present deck of cards into a shirt pocket and took a seat. “Cattle ain’t worth the boost. You got to feed them, get them to a ranch. A car full of TVs, now that might be worth it. Considering you have a getaway driver with skill in locomotives.”