That night was bunco. I hoped the evening’s game would be a distraction. It’d been more than a week since Lance was shot. Instead of being reassuring, the extended radio silence from the sheriff’s department was making me increasingly jittery.
The Babes’ powers of persuasion had been taxed to the max. We’d coaxed, cajoled, and threatened, and in the end Claudia agreed to join us. She’d been in a funk ever since that fateful night-understandably, given the circumstances. But we were determined to do our darnedest to cheer her. At times like these, you needed to surround yourself with girlfriends.
My home was the designated site for the “intervention.” I’d spent all afternoon preparing for the event. While going through my recipe file earlier that day, I’d come across an old tried but true recipe for whiskey sours. This had been our friend Pete’s specialty drink. He and my husband, Jim, had once worked together, and the two men had remained friends into retirement. It helped that Pete’s wife, Elaine, and I also got along famously. I’d smiled as I concocted a batch and stuck them in the freezer. Pete’s whiskey sours had the reputation for putting everyone in a happy mood.
Next, I’d pulled out the recipe Rosalie had once given me for her favorite appetizer-Asiago cheese toast. All that was left to do was pop it under the broiler until brown and bubbly.
I stood in the great room and looked around. Dice, pencils, and score sheets. Bell on the head table. Tiny bars of dark chocolate in diced-shaped dishes. We were ready to rock and roll.
The Babes arrived right on schedule. They arrived in twos and threes, laughing and chattering with an undertone of forced gaiety. Polly, resplendent in shocking pink and lime green, came in with Gloria. Following them were Diane and Janine, who were still discussing the recent selections of Novel Nuts, Serenity’s book club. Monica and Connie Sue were next, accompanied by Claudia, looking drawn but determined. I welcomed her with a big hug, happy to see she had abandoned the black leather and figure-hugging sweaters for her more conservative style of dress. I’d know the real Claudia was back for good when her hair was no longer crayon red. The noise level climbed several more decibels as the rest filtered in.
I gave the drinks a whirl in the blender, then poured the slushy blend into glasses. “Help yourself, ladies,” I said as if the Babes needed an invitation to imbibe. The cheese appetizers were snapped up in a jiff. I caught Connie Sue practically drooling over the chocolate truffles I’d set out.
“Oh sugar, you’re killin’ me,” Connie Sue moaned. “Just killin’ me.”
Apparently unafraid of dying, Rita helped herself to a piece of foil-wrapped temptation. “I heard chocolate is good for you.”
“Only dark chocolate,” Monica informed us in that I’m-the-expert tone of voice she often adopts.
Janine nodded her agreement. “Dark chocolate contains antioxidants, the same kind found in green tea, red wine, and blueberries. I read where a study showed it lowered blood pressure.”
“But not white chocolate or milk chocolate; only dark chocolate,” Monica repeated, kind enough to remind us lest we were woolgathering and failed to hear her the first time.
Monica once worked as the office manager for an internal medicine group. Even though Janine is a card-carrying registered nurse, Monica fancies herself the last word on anything-and everything-medical. Unless it’s a glaring case of misinformation, Janine, being a kind and gracious soul, humors her.
“A chocolate a day keeps the doctor away,” Polly cheerfully misquoted. Reaching into the candy dish, she withdrew a small handful.
“Well, maybe one for medicinal purposes,” Connie Sue said with a grin. An expression of pure bliss settled over her face as she savored the rich chocolate.
Taking my cue from Connie Sue, I offered the candy dish to Claudia. “Here, honey, take a couple. They’ll make you feel better.”
“Kate’s right, you know,” Monica said, jumping in, eager to impart another morsel of wisdom. She shoved a strand of brown hair behind one ear. “Chocolate-dark chocolate, that is-releases endorphins in the brain. That’s why it lifts a person’s mood.”
“Bring on the chocolate. I sure could use my spirits lifted.” Claudia’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Bad enough Lance is dead, but the sheriff’s acting as if I killed him on purpose.”
Hearing her say that, I made up a new rule right then and there. “Anyone who so much as mentions Sheriff Wiggins gets a whopping fifty points taken off their score. Ladies,” I said in my best NASCAR imitation, “start your engines. Let’s play bunco!”
Everyone scrambled to find a place at one of the three tables. I took a seat opposite Claudia at the kitchen table, which, by the way, I appointed head table. Claudia had remembered to bring the tiara she had won the last time the Babes gathered for bunco. Also at our table were Monica, who eyed the tiara with blatant envy, and Tara. Before ringing the bell to signal the start of the round, I refilled Claudia’s glass. She might have a headache in the morning, but I was going to guarantee her a good night’s sleep.
We rolled ones. It wasn’t long before the whiskey sours kicked in and made their contribution to our little party. Amidst much giggling and laughter, we rolled twos, threes, fours, and fives. We outdid ourselves with jokes, witty repartee, and humorous anecdotes. We were ready for a spot on cable TV’s Comedy Central.
Polly’s face crinkled in confusion. “What are we rolling?”
“Pay attention, Mother, or I’m cutting off the booze,” Gloria chided. Mother and daughter had found themselves partners in the final round of the first set. “Sixes. We’re on sixes.”
“Hmph!” Polly sniffed. “I knew that. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.”
Gloria wagged her head, a martyred expression on her face. “I suppose you’re aware you just rolled a baby bunco.”
“I did?” Polly stared in amazement at the trio of deuces she’d just thrown. “I mean I did. Good for me, another five points.”
“Bunco!” Pam sang out.
Monica grinned like the Cheshire cat in heat. I’d have to be blind not to see she planned on taking the tiara home. The woman made no bones about her coveting the rhinestone-encrusted band. I’d be surprised if she didn’t wear it to church.
Claudia and I advanced to table two. I paused long enough to top off her glass.
“Shame on you, Kate. You’re going to make me tipsy.”
“What’re friends for? Besides”-I winked-“you have a designated driver tonight-Monica.” Monica was a teetotaler except in times of severe stress. Then she ordered bourbon-straight up.
The second set began amidst a lot of good-natured bantering. We began shaking and tossing dice with more enthusiasm than finesse. This time Rita was my partner, with Claudia and Connie Sue completing the foursome. The dice made their way around the table with none of us having much luck. Ones seemed to have fallen off the planet.
“All right,” Claudia announced. “Enough of this. Let’s see if I remember any of the techniques I saw high rollers use in Vegas.” Cupping the dice in both her hands, she rattled them, blew on them for luck, then let them fly. Behold, a baby bunco appeared.
“You go, girlfriend,” Connie Sue said, cheering on her partner.
Rita and I glumly watched Claudia’s winning streak. “Never been to Vegas,” I mumbled. “Maybe I should go, learn a trick or two.”
“You oughta.” Claudia’s run of luck over, she passed the dice to me. “Vegas is a happening place. Morning, noon, or night, walk into any of the casinos, and you’ll hear the jingle of slot machines. It’s music to the ears.”
“Jack talked about going there for our twenty-fifth,” Pam commented from her spot at the head table. “Neither of us are gamblers, but I’d like to see what all the fuss is about. Maybe take in a couple shows.”
“Let my example serve as a warning,” Claudia told her. “Don’t bring anything home with you. Marrying Lance Ledeaux was the biggest mistake of my life. If I never hear the name Vegas again, it’ll be too soon. Think Vegas and I think Lance. Don’t know what came over me.”
Connie Sue reached across and patted Claudia’s hand. “There, there, sugar. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not the first woman to fall for a pretty face. And you won’t be the last.”
“He was one handsome dude all right,” Polly chimed from an adjacent table.
Claudia’s expression clouded. For a moment, I thought she was about to cry, but to my surprise, she burst into laughter instead. The Babes and I looked at her worriedly, all of us probably wondering if she was about to have a meltdown.
“Yeah,” Claudia said, regaining control, “he was good-looking, all right, but should’ve been after all the time and effort he put into it.”
“He was tall,” Polly said. “I prefer my men tall. Lance must’ve been at least six feet.”
Claudia rolled a single one, then slid the dice to Rita. “Actually, Lance was only five feet ten. He wore lifts in his shoes.”
“Oh,” Polly murmured, obviously disappointed. “We rolling ones or twos?”
I recognized Gloria’s sigh. “Ones, Mother. We’re still rolling ones.”
Monica scowled at Megan when she failed to score. “Well, Lance certainly had a youthful appearance. Claudia, you know I’d never say anything to hurt your feelings, but he looked years younger than you.”
I cast a worried glance at Claudia. Along with the rest of the Babes, I had been trying valiantly to raise Claudia’s spirits. Then along comes Monica, who practically accused her of robbing the cradle. But instead of upset, Claudia looked almost… amused.
“Lance claimed he was fifty-four, but I recently found out he was sixty.” Claudia rolled a satisfying series of ones. “He confessed he’d had some cosmetic surgery done a couple years ago.”
“He must’ve taken after Ronald Reagan,” Polly commented.
“How’s that?” Claudia asked absently.
“Except for the temples, Lance didn’t have a single gray hair on his head. I know ’cause I notice these things.”
Her run of luck over, Claudia surrendered the dice and helped herself to a chocolate. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Polly, but he colored it.”
“No, you don’t say.”
Claudia nodded. “Shortly after we were married, I found an empty box of Clairol for Men in the wastebasket.”
Connie Sue’s luck picked up where Claudia’s left off. “I always admired Lance’s California tan. Not even Brad Murphy, our golf pro, has one to compare.”
I wondered if this round would ever end. It seemed to go on, and on, and on. How long would it take for those at the head table to rack up twenty-one points? At this rate, we’d be here ’til midnight. In the meantime, the Babes were dissecting a poor dead guy more thoroughly than the coroner.
“Lance’s California tan?” Claudia hooted. “The man was deathly afraid to go out in the sun.”
Janine’s nursing background came to the fore. “Worried about skin cancer?”
“Uh-uh.” Claudia’s picked up the dice and let them fly. “More like worried about wrinkles. Lance bought his tan in a can.”
“Don’t that beat all.” Polly shook her dead sadly. “Fake tan, dyed hair, and lifts in his shoes. Tell me, Claudia, Lance Ledeaux, that his real name or as phony as the rest of him?”
“Bunco!” Monica shouted, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the round finally ended.
The clanging of the bunco bell almost drowned out the sound of another bell-the doorbell. Almost… but not quite.