Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

I nodded and turned toward the stove. “Good thing Krystal’s not working the evening shift.”

“From the expression on your face just now, I’d venture this is the first you’ve heard of the woman’s pregnancy.”

“It’s my own fault,” I said, giving the tomato soup a stir. “I should have guessed she was pregnant the second I spotted her with a box of soda crackers.”

“You’ve taken on more than you bargained for, haven’t you? How much do you know about her?”

I shrugged. “Not much. Her real name was Krystal Weindorfer. She changed it to Krystal Gold after she got out of high school. Said she’s originally from Iowa. That’s about it. Oh, yes, one more thing. She’s a sucker for scrawny orange cats with a yen for tuna.”

“And she craves anything lemon,” Bill added.

Both of us chuckled at the reminder of our almost-dessert. It felt good to laugh-nearly like the old, pre-Michigan days.

Over soup and sandwiches, we talked about this and that, impersonal things, keeping the conversation light until our plates and bowls were empty.

“What do you think will happen to Claudia?” I broached the subject we’d avoided thus far.

“It doesn’t look good,” Bill responded. “Any way you cut it, she was the one holding the smoking gun.”

“Just the same, it makes me nervous to see the way Sheriff Wiggins is pursuing the case. Can’t he understand that it was just a dreadful accident?” There I go again using the A word. I found it ever so much more palatable than murder and manslaughter. Or worse yet-homicide.

“I’m sure he’ll consider that everyone backstage had access to the gun. It wouldn’t have been all that difficult to slip a bullet into the chamber after Lance announced he was going to read the part of the villain.”

We weren’t talking the A word now. We were talking cold-blooded and calculated. Once again my mind balked at the notion. “Who would want Lance dead?”

Other than Claudia, I wanted to add but didn’t. She didn’t really want him dead as much as wanted him to leave his mitts off her life’s savings. There was a big difference-at least to my way of thinking.

“Ledeaux didn’t seem the sort to make friends easily; quite the opposite. He had a God-given talent for rubbing folks the wrong way.”

Like the brunette I’d seen him with? Even Lance and the usually even-tempered Bill had had a minor altercation before rehearsal. How many others had Lance antagonized?

“What do you suppose the gunshot residue test and fingerprinting will prove?”

“Hard to say. Somehow I don’t think the sheriff will wind up with much more information than he has now.”

I rose from the table and refilled our coffee cups. “I only wish Claudia’d never heard of Internet dating. I don’t know what possessed her to run off and marry a virtual stranger.”

“Hope she had the good sense to have him sign a prenup.”

“Monica said the same thing over breakfast the other day.”

Bill stared into his cup, his expression glum. “My brother said prenups are the only way to go for people our age.”

“They may be practical, but they don’t seem very romantic. Marriage should be based on love and trust. If you can’t trust the person you’re about to marry, whom can you trust?”

Bill smiled that sweet, shy smile I loved to see. “I told my brother exactly the same thing.”

Nice to know we were in total agreement on the subject of matrimony at least. But I refrained from saying this out loud. Lots of men get nervous at any mention of marriage. Some, I’m told, even break out in hives. What I didn’t want to do was send my mild-mannered tool guy running for cover.

“And what did your brother have to say to that?” I asked.

Bill’s smile vanished. “He said, ‘No fool like an old fool.’ Bob’s convinced people our age should exercise caution and common sense before entering into a relationship with someone they barely know. He said if feelings are real, they’d still be there.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” I sipped my coffee while pretending to give the matter serious consideration. But a different notion plagued me. Was Bill’s brother responsible for the distance between us since his return? Had Bill been brainwashed by brother Bob? How was that for a fine example of alliteration? Too bad I couldn’t find humor in it.

I began gathering the dinner dishes. “How is your brother, by the way?” I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral “Has he fully recovered from his bypass surgery?”

“Bob called to tell me he signed up at a gym.” Bill got up from the table and started loading the dishwasher. “Said he goes every day and walks two miles on the treadmill.”

In some respects Bill and I are like an old married couple. We’re as comfortable as an old pair of shoes, yet often-times there’s a certain zing to our friendship/relationship. Right now, I was ready to add a dash of chili powder to the mix. Problem was, I was afraid too much spice might give Bill heartburn, figuratively speaking. I deliberately turned my thoughts from hot to cold.

“Unless Krystal raided the freezer, we should have enough ice cream for dessert. There’s still some of that good hot fudge sauce you brought back from Michigan.” For months, I’d listened to Bill rave about Sanders Milk Chocolate Hot Fudge Sauce, a Michigan delicacy. I’d found a jar on my doorstep along with a brief note after his return. How sweet, pardon the pun, I’d thought at the time. Later, I wondered why he preferred leaving it rather than giving it to me in person. Now I wondered whether Bob was to blame.

“I feel sorry for Janine now that the play is on hold,” I said as I got ice cream dishes down from the cupboard.

Bill eased the door of the dishwasher closed. “How’s that?”

“Janine’s the new president of Pets in Need. If you recall, opening night proceeds of Forever, My Darling were going to benefit the shelter they planned to build. The group’s really disappointed the funds won’t be forthcoming.”

“That’s a shame,” Bill commiserated. “Speaking of being newly elected, I forgot to mention I’m the president of the Rod and Gun Club. One of my first projects will be a seminar on gun safety.”

A little like locking the barn door after the horse ran off, I wanted to tell him. No way will a gun safety class benefit Lance Ledeaux-or Claudia. I couldn’t rid myself of the notion that time was running out for her to be a free woman.

I kept going over and over everything Bill had said the night before. The bullet didn’t get there by itself. That fact was indisputable. If Claudia didn’t place it there, someone else did. But who? Why? I’d tossed and turned half the night pondering these questions.

I drove into Brookdale and dropped Krystal off at the diner, reminding her I’d be back later to pick her up. I’m not by nature a morning person. The alarm on my body’s clock doesn’t buzz until at least eight; on rare rainy days, even later. Nothing I like better than to snuggle under the warm covers and listen to the patter of rain on the roof. I didn’t know how many of these early mornings I could take. I only hoped Bill’s friend wasn’t just a good mechanic but a fast one.

Home again, I brewed a pot of high-test Colombian coffee. Once the caffeine started circulating through my veins, I picked up the phone and dialed Pam.

“It’s up to the Babes to save Claudia,” I said without preamble.

“Good morning to you, too,” she returned cheerily. “What do you propose we do?”

“If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be asking for help.” I grabbed the pot and topped off my cup. “Unless we do something, I’m afraid she’s going to be charged with manslaughter.”