Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

This was proving a tad awkward. Hadn’t anyone mentioned parts of Rosalie had been dispersed in and around Serenity Cove Estates? Since body parts don’t mix well with coffee and cookies, I opted for the easy way out. “Ah, Rosalie died rather unexpectedly,” I said.

It occurred to me that as far as the information highway went, I was giving out more than taking in. What I really wanted to learn was whether Nadine Peterson was the one I’d seen skulking around with Lance behind the Piggly Wiggly. Yet Polly was certain she’d seen Lance with Krystal. We couldn’t both be right. Or could we? Nah, what were the odds of Lance being involved with two brunettes? Besides, brunettes weren’t his type. I clearly remember Claudia’s saying Lance was partial to redheads such as Marg Helgenberger on CSI. Polly must have been mistaken. The woman I’d seen him with drove a late-model silver sedan, not a beat-up Honda Civic, a car I’d come to associate with Nadine.

Time to get on with my investigation. Best to start with the easy questions and go from there. My recently arrived text, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating, had advised that to get people to talk, first get them to like you; become their friend; be charming and witty.

“So, Nadine, what brings you to Serenity Cove Estates?” I asked in my most charming and witty manner. “Do you have friends here?”

Nadine set a jar of Cremora and packets of sweetener on the table along with two mugs of coffee. “Don’t know a soul in this place,” she confessed, sitting opposite me.

Don’t know a soul? Not even Lance Ledeaux, actor and playwright? Was I mistaken and not Polly? Or was the woman an accomplished liar? Time would tell.

I took a cautious sip, careful not to burn my tongue. “There are dozens of retirement communities all over the South. How did you happen to settle on this one?”

Nadine dumped nondairy creamer into her cup, then added two packets of sweetener. I was beginning to wonder whether or not she was going to answer. She might think I was just plain nosy. Imagine!

“An acquaintance recommended this place,” she answered at last in that raspy smoker’s voice, “so I thought I should check it out. If I don’t like it here, I’ll head farther south, maybe Tampa or St. Pete.”

I wondered whether that acquaintance could have been Lance. If so, judging from the little scene I’d witnessed, the reunion hadn’t been a happy one. I took another sip of coffee and considered my next move. My guidebook had warned against breaking an established bond with the interviewee. Rather than chance that happening, I took a slight detour.

“As much as Serenity Cove Estates loves gossip, I suppose you’ve heard about the director and star of our play getting shot during rehearsal.”

She reached for a pack of Marlboros nearly hidden behind a sack of canned goods. “Mind if I smoke?” She didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out a cigarette.

Actually I did mind, but detectives have to make sacrifices to solve their cases. I noticed Nadine’s hand trembled, and I took this as a clue I was on to something.

She cursed under her breath when her Bic lighter failed after several flicks. Successful at last, she took a long drag, then blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I heard people talking in the checkout line at the grocery store.”

“Such a shame,” I murmured sorrowfully. “He was quite a famous actor, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“You’d probably recognize him if you’d seen him. He’s had bit parts in some movies and been on TV.”

In my humble opinion, Nadine Peterson seemed visibly upset, but she was trying to hide it. I needed to know why. I’d be relentless if I had to. Sheriff Sumter Wiggins, beware; I’m giving notice.

She tapped ash into a saucer I recognized as part of Rosalie’s good china. I tried not to cringe. “What did you say the guy’s name was?” she asked.

“I didn’t, but it’s Lance. Lance Ledeaux. Ever heard of him?”

“Nope, can’t say I have,” she said, taking another deep drag on her cigarette.

I smothered a cough. “Lance played a corpse once on CSI. When he was shot, we all thought he was faking it-trying to impress us with his acting ability.”

Smoke belched out of her mouth at her harsh bark of laughter. “How much ‘acting ability’ does it take to play a dead guy?”

“He was pretty convincing.”

“Has the person who shot him been arrested?”

“My friend Claudia shot him, but it wasn’t her fault,” I explained, standing to leave. “No way Claudia would kill someone. It was an accident.” I was still in denial and reluctant to admit that someone had deliberately put a live round into the chamber, knowing Claudia would fire the gun at Lance. “In due time, the facts will come to light and prove her innocent. And,” I added, “if it wasn’t an accident, all we have to do is find out who might have wanted Lance dead. Piece of cake, right?”

Even though I’d caught only a glimpse of her, I felt reasonably certain Nadine Peterson was the same woman I’d seen with Lance behind the Piggly Wiggly. Why would she deny knowing him? The question plagued me as I slowly walked home. I vowed to find the answer.

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.