Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

“I’ll get right to the point, Mom. I talked to Jen last week.”

I mentally tried to recall the gist of my conversation with my daughter. No red flags waved in the breeze. I was home free. “It’s nice to know you and your sister keep in touch.”

“Jen’s worried about you, and so am I.”

“Whatever for? I’m perfectly fine.” Or at least I thought I was before picking up the phone. Now I was starting to have doubts.

“Jen told me you were involved with some man out for your money, your pension.”

I blinked. Man, what man? Did Lance have an evil twin? “Steven, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Jen said you’re seeing some gigolo by the name of Bill Lewis. She asked me to check up on him. See if he was on the up-and-up.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Bill, a gigolo? If I weren’t so angry, I would have laughed. “Steven James McCall, shame on you!”

Using my son’s middle name never had the same effect on him as it had on our daughter, but it had been worth a try. Maybe instead of James it should’ve been Louise.

“Jen and I are only looking out for your best interests, Mom. One can’t be too careful these days. There are a lot of guys looking for a free ride.”

I thought of Lance and kept my mouth shut.

“So,” Steven said, “I did what any concerned son would do. I did a background check.”

“You what! Please, tell me you did no such thing.”

“It’s no big deal, Mom. You don’t have to thank me.”

“Thank? Spank would be more like it.”

“No need to get upset. It’s not good for your blood pressure.”

“You had no right to pry into my personal affairs.” Oops! Wrong choice of words. I wasn’t having an affair. “I meant my personal business.”

“You’re being emotional. Background checks are commonplace these days.”

I drew a deep, calming breath. And then another. “Steven, dear, with an attitude such as yours, it’s no wonder you can’t find a wife. Where’s your spirit of romance? What about love and trust?”

“The gang’s waiting for me, Mom. I don’t have time for a lecture. Getting back to the subject-”

“By all means,” I cut in. “Let’s get back to your snooping into my privacy.”

“You’ll be pleased to know this Bill Lewis is who he says he is. His credit rating is good. Other than a mortgage, he has no outstanding debts. He was married only once. His wife, Margaret, is deceased. He has one child, a son living in Ohio. Records show no lawsuits or criminal record. He has never filed for bankruptcy, and there are no liens against his property. Seems like he lived most of his life in Battle Creek, Michigan, which, by the way, is where they make breakfast cereal. And one last thing-he isn’t listed on either the terrorist watch list or as a sex offender.”

“Well,” I said when he finally ran out of breath, “that’s certainly very comforting, but much more than I needed to know.” Whatever happened to the concept of invasion of privacy?

“If you want, Jen or I could fly out, look this guy over, give you our opinion.”

“Absolutely not!” I clutched the phone ’til my knuckles shone white. “Bill happens to be a friend-a very good friend. How would you feel if I started doing background checks on your friends Sam or Joe?”

“This is different,” he answered after a lengthy pause. “You’re a senior citizen.”

“Age has nothing to do with it. I’m not senile.”

“Of course not, Mom. I didn’t mean to suggest you were.”

I detected a hint of condescension in his voice, but before I could take him to task, he mumbled something about having to run, and then he disconnected.

I was still fuming later when I heard Krystal’s key turn in the front door. The sound was followed by an ear-piercing shriek. Instantly I ran to see what was wrong.

“Krystal…?”

She stood on the threshold, her eyes wide in horror, staring down at the doormat. Pointing a shaking finger, she managed to gasp, “It’s… it’s…”

I followed the direction in which she pointed. A container the size of a shoe box rested on my welcome mat. I forced myself to pick it up when instincts dictated I squeal like a sissy. A dead bird lay inside, its poor little head bent at a forty-five-degree angle. I stared at it in morbid fascination. I couldn’t seem to help it.

“It’s just a dead bird,” I said, stating the obvious. “Tang must’ve left it there. I’m told cats are notorious for doing such things-bringing gifts and offerings of affection.”

Krystal gazed at me as though I had taken leave of my senses. “I never heard of a cat putting his offerings in a gift box. All Tang lacked was a ribbon and a bow.”

The girl had a point. I took a closer look. There was something else strange about this picture. It wasn’t just any bird-a wren or finch-but a canary. A dead canary.

Visions of mobsters in vintage black-and-white films-Cagney, Raft, and Robinson-danced in my head. Didn’t they use dead canaries as warnings to folks who talked too much? Was the real murderer starting to get worried? I continued to stare at the dead canary. It was an omen, I decided.

But definitely not a good one.

“Have you heard the news?”

Pam was the first to arrive for bunco. The others would be along shortly. Actually, it was Janine’s turn to host bunco, but she asked me to trade since being artistic director was taking up so much of her spare time.

“What news?” The cork came loose with a satisfying pop! Tonight I was serving a nice pinot grigio-the Babes’ white wine du jour. We’d already sampled our way through a wide variety of chardonnays and Rieslings. I set the wine aside and started to dole out the sweets.

“Claudia”-Pam paused for maximum effect-“has been rearrested.”

Now it was my turn to pause, Peanut M &M’s in one hand, dice-shaped candy dish in the other. “What do you mean-‘rearrested’?”

Pam perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Jack, my Jack, happened to be driving by her place after golf committee. He saw a deputy lead her away in handcuffs.”

“Oh my God!” I moaned. “This is terrible.”

M &M’s spilled all over the counter as I threw the bag down and rushed for the phone. I dialed Claudia’s “bad” attorney, but my call went to voice mail, so I had to be content with leaving a message. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of Claudia’s being arrested a second time.

“This is my fault for being a stool pigeon,” I wailed.

“Don’t blame yourself, Kate.”

Pam picked up the scattered M &M’s and returned them to the dish. I couldn’t bear to look at them. The candies might as well have MOTIVE and MEANS printed on them

“If I hadn’t sung like a canary, none of this would be happening.” Needing to lighten my guilty conscience, I confessed to Pam, my BFF, that I’d spilled my guts to the sheriff during a brutal interrogation.

Pam scooted off the stool and gave me a hug. “Nonsense. You’re giving yourself entirely too much credit. Sooner or later, facts were bound to surface. It’s hardly classified information Lance Ledeaux was an unemployed actor who’d been spending money like crazy ever since he married Claudia.”

“It’s the last of the Big Three,” I muttered disconsolately.

“Ford, GM, and Chrysler?”

Yet another person from Michigan. I mustered a smile. “No, silly, the Big Three as in motive, means, and opportunity. Lance’s extravagant spending goes to supply motive. She already had means and opportunity.”

News Claudia had been taken into custody made my pre-bunco agenda even more imperative; more urgent. For this reason I’d lied-an itsy-bitsy white lie-and told Nadine our game started at seven thirty instead of seven. The Babes and I needed time to discuss Claudia’s case and form a plan of action. Since Nadine was unofficially a “person of interest,” she wasn’t privy to our little discussion.