by Gail Oust
“I think that’s sweet,” Connie Sue drawled, then looked around to see if others agreed. “Don’t y’all think that’s sweet?”
“I’m talking dead critters kind of ‘sweet.’ Tang likes to deposit gifts on my doorstep. Things like mice, a squirrel’s tail, and once, a dead skunk. Thank goodness it wasn’t a live one or you would’ve heard my scream clear to Georgia.”
“Eeuww!” Connie Sue shuddered dramatically.
“His last present,” I continued, “happened to be a dead bird.”
I refused to elaborate on the fact that said offering had arrived all but gift wrapped—or that it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill wren or mockingbird, but a canary.
Monica filled a glass with ice, then added diet soda. “Recent studies show that those of us who own pets are usually healthier and happier than those who don’t.”
What would the Babes do without Monica to keep us informed? Name a subject and she could quote a “recent study.” At times I wonder if I should forgo my beloved Law & Order and CSI and read more so I, too, could quote recent studies. But before I opt for drastic measures, sanity always returns.
Connie Sue daintily sipped pinot grigio. “Thacker is allergic to cats. He says dogs make better pets. He says they’re a font of unconditional love.”
Connie Sue was as fond of quoting her husband as Monica was fond of quoting recent studies. We jokingly refer to him as St. Thacker of Macon. “Well, Connie Sue, that’s another of Tang’s drawbacks. He’s never heard the term ‘unconditional love.’ He avoids me like the plague while cozying up to Krystal. The darn stray doesn’t realize it’s me, not Krystal, who’s the font of unconditional albacore.”
Diane looked around. “Speaking of Krystal, where is she?”
“I handed her my car keys and sent her into town for more tuna. I told her to take her time.”
“I thought we were supposed to play bunco,” Monica complained. “Where is Claudia, by the way?”
“Claudia begged off, so I asked my new neighbor, Nadine Peterson, to sub for her.” And much to my surprise, Nadine had accepted the invitation. The woman wasn’t the friendliest person on the planet, but I’d show her I’d learned a thing or two about Southern hospitality. I glanced at my watch and knew it was time to speak my piece.
“Listen up, ladies.” I held up both hands, signaling for the Babes’ undivided attention. “Truth is, I wanted to talk with you about Claudia before Krystal and Nadine arrive.”
“What’s wrong? Is she sick?”
Pam looked my way, then cleared her throat. “She’s been arrested a second time.”
“How?”
“Why?”
“What happened?”
I raised my voice and spoke over the shock, the outrage, the concern. “We can only assume the charges against her have been changed from manslaughter to murder. I have a call in to BJ, but I’m still waiting for him to get back to me. I’m afraid, ladies, if we don’t step up and do something, Claudia’s going to prison for murdering Lance. We can’t let that happen.”
“What can we do?” Gloria asked, her forehead knit with concern.
“I think we all agree that Claudia would never knowingly shoot anyone, much less kill them.”
The Babes nodded. I took this as a sign of encouragement and continued my call to arms. “I think it’s also safe to assume that none of us present that night put a bullet in Bill’s gun.”
More nods. Perhaps we should change our name to the Bobble Head Babes.
Rita folded her arms over her impressive bosom and cocked her head. “Who’d want to kill the no-good worm?”
“I saw Lance acting real chummy with a woman who looks like Krystal,” Polly volunteered.
“And I saw Lance behind the Piggly Wiggly arguing with a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Nadine Peterson,” I added. “I thought we’d start by trying to find out all we can about Krystal Gold and Nadine Peterson and their possible connection to Lance.”
“But they weren’t even there the night Lance was shot,” Janine protested.
I was afraid someone would point out the glaring error in my logic. Darn! I hate when that happens. But I refused to let a little thing like logic stand in my way. “Think outside the box, ladies. Think outside the box. Once we find motive, means and opportunity can’t be far behind. Then all we need to do is connect the dots. How hard can it be?”
I could tell from their expressions they weren’t easily swayed by my rhetoric. “Where is your spirit of adventure? Your sense of camaraderie for a fallen Babe?” I challenged. I envisioned myself as Napoleon rallying his troops, but conveniently ignored his dismal defeat at Waterloo. “We need to rise to the occasion, ladies, not let minor details stand in the way of victory.”
Rita scowled down at me from her lofty height. “Anyone backstage could have placed a bullet in that gun. Shouldn’t we check out everyone, including Bill, Bernie, and that new guy, what’s his name—Gus?”
“Bill swears there wasn’t a live round in the chamber when he gave the gun to Lance, so we can cross him off our list. Gus didn’t meet Lance until he started work on the set, but I’ll ask Bill to keep his eyes and ears open just in case. As for Bernie, the only thing he’s capable of killing is crabgrass.”
“Okay,” Diane said, casting a worried look toward the door. “Krystal and Nadine are due to arrive any minute. How do you suggest we go about this?”
I smiled and reached for the dice.
Chapter 27
Though I rarely win the tiara, tonight I turned out to be high roller on Who Wants to Be a Detective. The grand prize? I won the honor of exercising my dubious investigative skills on Nadine Peterson.
“All right, ladies, let’s roll again.”
And so we did. The dice made the circuit. Points tallied, Polly was the undisputed runner-up. Her assignment? Getting the skinny on Krystal Gold.
She grinned ear to ear, clearly up for the task. “Always wanted to be Columbo. This’ll give me a chance to wear the trench coat I brought along from Chicago. Good thing it’s got a zip-out lining, or I’d roast down here.”
“That’s not fair,” Connie Sue said with a pout. “You get to have all the fun. I want to help y’all, too. What if I chat up Marietta Perkins at the rec center? She was workin’ that night. That witch doesn’t miss a trick.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Marietta probably even knows what color your toenails are painted.”
“I’m pretty good around computers. Why don’t I see what else I can turn up about Lance?” Diane offered. “Maybe it’ll give us a clue as to who might want him dead.”
I high-fived Diane. “The Babes rock!”
Tara plucked grapes from the tray I’d set out. “You might start with a background check,” she suggested. “It’s amazing how much information’s out there.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” I muttered under my breath. Thanks to Steven, I knew more than I needed to about background checks. Maybe Lance would turn out to be a terrorist. A pervert. Or a deadbeat. Maybe all three.
Deadbeat? As in Down with Deadbeats? I made a mental note. The first item on my agenda would be to find out precisely what kind of cases Tennessee’s Premier Detective Agency specialized in.
The doorbell pealed just then, bringing the meeting of Bunco Babe Crime Solvers to a close. I hurried to greet my neighbor—and designated “person of interest.”
“Nadine!” I exclaimed, adopting a tone worthy of Miss Congeniality. “So glad you could make it.”
Nadine took a last drag from her cigarette, then flicked the butt into a pot of pansies on the front step. “Saw all the cars. Thought I had the time wrong.”
“The girls and I had a little unfinished business to attend to. Didn’t want to bore you with it.” I held the door wide and stepped aside. “Come in.”
I led her through the foyer and into the kitchen, where the Babes were gathered like turkey buzzards awaiting roadkill.
“Care for a glass of wine, Nadi
ne?” I asked after introductions were completed. “I’ve got a nice pinot grigio, or if you prefer a red, I’ll open a merlot.”
“Got a beer?”
“Beer? Let me take a look.” My smile never faltered. I was beginning to worry my facial muscles might stay that way. Now, I’ve never been much of a beer drinker, but I like to keep some on hand just in case—just in case of what, I’m not exactly sure. Maybe someday Bill will drop by, all hot and thirsty, after a hard day at the Rod and Gun Club. He’ll strip off his shirt, revealing a hard, toned bod, and . . .
Then, I usually wake up.
I hoped none of the Babes noticed I was flushed—a minor power surge, as I like to call them. I pulled a beer from behind the skim milk. “Um,” I said, clearing my throat, “let me get you a glass.”
“Don’t need one.” Taking it from me, Nadine twisted off the cap and chugged the brew straight from the bottle.
Krystal, her dark hair pulled back and fastened with a banana clip, breezed in. “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” she said, sounding out of breath. “As long as I had wheels, I stopped by the diner to see if May had finished next week’s schedule.”
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.” Tara headed toward the card table I’d set up in the great room. “Some of you get to sleep late, but I have to get up early to stay ahead of a bunch of four-year-olds at a day-care center.
“Sugar lamb,” Connie Sue crooned, “some of us have earned the right to sleep ’til noon if that’s what our little hearts desire.”
“Chalk it up as another perk of retirement,” Gloria said agreeably, topping off her wine. “Right up there alongside of Medicare and Social Security.”
“Six Saturdays followed by a Sunday,” Janine quipped.
Rita patted Tara’s back. “Retirement is a reward, honey, not a punishment.”
Polly hooked her arm through Krystal’s. “Kate said you’ve never played bunco, dear. Let me show you the ropes.” I didn’t miss the wink she sent my way.
Smiling, I followed Polly’s shining example. “Come into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly. “C’mon, Nadine. You can be my partner at the head table.”
Connie Sue and Diane joined us. I could tell from the gleam in her eye that Connie Sue was committed to the Free Claudia Campaign. And I knew Diane would uphold her end as well. Nadine was toast.
I rang the bell. “Let the games begin.”
I didn’t have to wait long before Connie Sue made the first move.
“So, Nadine,” Connie Sue, former Miss Peach Princess, purred so sweetly that visions of magnolias danced in my head. “Tell us a little about yourself. I’m just dyin’ to know more about you.”
“Ain’t much to tell.”
Connie Sue wasn’t easily put off. “I don’t believe that for a minute, sugar. Why don’t you start by tellin’ us where you’re from?”
“Tennessee.” Nadine picked up the dice and promptly rolled a trio of sixes—a baby bunco. When she failed to score on her next toss, she slid the dice to Diane.
Tennessee? Um, that was odd. It occurred to me—belatedly—that for someone raised in the South, Nadine didn’t have much of an accent. If I had my little black book next to me, I’d make a note of this. But I suspect that would’ve been too obvious. Discretion was key. Maybe Nadine was the one in need of a background check. If I weren’t so miffed at Steven, I’d ask his advice on various Web sites.
Diane picked up the conversational ball and tried an end run. “You still have family there?”
“Yeah.” Nadine picked chocolate from the dish—dark chocolate, of course, to forestall another of Monica’s lectures—and peeled the foil. “A daughter.”
“A daughter,” Connie Sue cooed. “How nice. Children are such a blessin’, aren’t they?”
Nadine shrugged. “I guess.”
Our skill at bunco matched our skill at drawing out useful information. Unfortunately, thumbscrews weren’t an option. Diane racked up an impressive two points before passing the dice to me. My luck was nonexistent, so I slid them to Connie Sue, who fared no better.
“You ladies are pathetic,” Nadine said in her raspy smoker’s voice. “Let me show you how it’s done.” Giving the dice a careless toss, she flicked her wrist and let them tumble. Three ones appeared as if by magic.
“Bunco!” I yelled, banging the bell to signal the end of the round.
Nadine held up the empty beer bottle. “Don’t s’pose you have another?”
“Sure thing,” I said, scrambling to comply. Maybe alcohol would loosen the woman’s tongue since all else failed. I didn’t feel the teensiest twinge of guilt as I brought out another cold one. A quick survey of the fridge showed I had four more waiting in the wings. If need be, I’d duck out for a beer run.
“I need a potty break.” Krystal streaked for the nearest bathroom.
“Good time for a cigarette.” Nadine headed for the door, already digging through her pocket for a lighter and a pack of smokes.
Janine rolled her eyes. Tara groaned. At this rate, it was going to be a long night. “Everyone agree to one set tonight instead of the usual two?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t hear any complaints.
The women returned, Krystal looking less pained and Nadine reeking of cigarette smoke, and we shifted places. Since Nadine and I were winners at the head table, we stayed where we were and Polly and Krystal joined us.
“Ready?” Not waiting for an answer, I clanged the bell—probably more forcefully than necessary.
“Since you’re new at bunco, Krystal, I’ll keep score,” I offered. “The first team to reach twenty-one points rings the bell and calls bunco.”
“Gotcha.”
We took turns shaking and tossing, but the head table, except for Nadine, seemed to be jinxed.
Failing to score—again—Polly shoved the dice in my direction. “Some folks are lucky, some aren’t.”
Krystal heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Wish I could be lucky where men are concerned. I always seem to attract losers.”
“Me, too,” Nadine grunted. “The love-’em-and-leave-’em kind.”
“Ditto,” Krystal concurred. “Men are stupid creatures.”
Nadine snorted, a sound that started out as a laugh but ended as a cough.
I wondered where Men are stupid creatures had come from. Polly and I exchanged furtive glances. Were we on to something—finally? Was Nadine talking about stupid creatures in general? Or one in particular? If so, by any chance could his name be Lance Ledeaux?
Her turn once again, Nadine scooped up the dice and did her toss-flick-tumble routine. Lo and behold! A trio of twos appeared.
“Bunco! Bunco!” Polly called out, halting play.
“Wow!” I said, truly impressed. “With that kind of luck, you ought to buy a lottery ticket.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Ever win?” Behind her trifocals, Polly’s faded blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Yeah. Won big a couple months back.” Nadine polished off the last of her beer and smothered a burp. “Say, do I have time for a cigarette?”
Between all the cigarette breaks and potty stops, bunco finished later than usual. Diane stifled a yawn as she was leaving. “Sure glad the library opens late tomorrow.”
I waved from the porch as the last of my guests pulled away. Nadine, the tiara perched at a rakish angle on her head, assured me she could make it across the street under her own steam in spite of the six beers she’d consumed. I had to hand it to her. The woman could hold her booze.
Switching off the porch light, I went inside. As I placed the last wineglasses in the dishwasher, I experienced a growing sense of frustration. Instead of the rousing success I’d hoped for, the evening had been a dud. We were still no closer to finding out who wanted Lance Ledeaux dead. All we had learned was that both women subscribed to the men-are-stupid-creatures theory of evolution. And that Nadine Peterson had hit it big in the lottery.
Just where did those tid
bits leave us?
Exactly nowhere.
Chapter 28
Call me an optimist, but I dialed Claudia’s number on the off chance she’d pick up. I know, I know, Pam’s hubby had seen her carted off in a squad car. Still, I couldn’t help but hope it had been a case of mistaken identity. Claudia’s phone rang and rang before switching to voice mail. I was worried sick about her. The warning bells inside my head had reached Titanic proportions. Disaster, disaster, disaster! Sinking, sinking!
I was proving to be a menace to myself. After putting a load of unwashed clothes in the dryer and the orange juice in the cupboard, I gave up trying to be productive. My pacing had practically worn a path in the ceramic tile. I fairly fizzed with nervous energy but couldn’t seem to concentrate. It was already ten fifteen and there hadn’t been a single word from BJ. He hadn’t bothered to return my call last night even though I asked him to regardless of the hour. I’d called his office promptly at nine and spoken with Aleatha. She was sweet as pie, but not very helpful. In fact, she was so downright sweet, I didn’t realize how unhelpful she was until after disconnecting. Tricks like that probably make for a great secretary.
I darted another look at the clock. Were the hands even moving? Maybe we’d had a power outage—one of those glitches that last a split second but necessitate resetting every darn clock and appliance in the entire house. Narrowing my eyes, I squinted at the big hand. Darn, I saw it move a smidge.
The phone rang, finally, and I made a mad dash to answer, fumbling the handset in my haste.
“Kate? That you?” It was Bill. “You sound out of breath. Everything all right?”
I sank down at the kitchen table. “I’m fine, Bill. I was just expecting a call from Claudia’s attorney.”
“Bad Jack, eh. What’s up?”
I felt like wringing my hands, which is a little hard to do when holding a phone, so I opted for a sigh instead. “On his way home from the golf committee last night, Pam’s husband saw Claudia being led off in handcuffs.”
Bill let out a low whistle. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?”