Gail Oust - 'Til Dice Do Us Part

“Anyone home?” Polly sang out. Not waiting for an invitation, she strolled into the kitchen, resplendent in her version of grunge chic in a tie-dyed shirt and jeans-not just any jeans, mind you, but ones that came premade torn and frayed; the kind no self-respecting wife would allow her husband outside to mow the lawn in for fear of what the neighbors might think; the kind of jeans that cost mega-bucks in upscale department stores.

“Mother’s been shopping,” Gloria explained lest we’d been struck blind by Polly’s dazzling array of colors. Gloria, as though trying to counteract her mother’s flamboyancy, was dressed conservatively in gray slacks and a sweater. The forest of gold chains around her neck supplied the only hint of color.

Monica and Connie Sue were next to arrive, followed in short order by the rest of the Babes. From the noisy greetings and number of hugs, a casual observer would have thought we hadn’t seen one another in an age.

“Where’s Megan?” Tara asked Pam after disengaging herself from Polly’s enthusiastic welcome.

“She’s running lines with Eric for their big scene together.”

“Whom did you get to sub?” Rita, the ever practical, asked.

I set out the fruit and cheese tray I’d prepared. “Krystal agreed to fill in as long as I promised to keep the cupboard stocked with tuna for that darn cat that’s been hanging around. Some might consider that bribery.”

Diane poured herself a glass of wine. “It’s nice you have a pet, Kate.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’d hardly call that mangy orange fur ball a pet. Nuisance is a better word for it.”

“Why’s that?” Janine asked, sampling a strawberry.

“Well, for one thing, Tang has a generous and giving nature. A little too generous and giving for my taste.”

“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 forego 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.” 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.”

“OK,” 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.

Though I rarely win the tiara, 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.