“Ready?” Not waiting for an answer, I clanged the bell—probably more forcefully than necessary.
“Since you’re new at bunco, Krystal, I’ll keep score,” I offered. “The first team to reach twenty-one points rings the bell and calls bunco.”
“Gotcha.”
We took turns shaking and tossing, but the head table, except for Nadine, seemed to be jinxed.
Failing to score—again—Polly shoved the dice in my direction. “Some folks are lucky; some aren’t.”
Krystal heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Wish I could be lucky where men are concerned. I always seem to attract losers.”
“Me, too,” Nadine grunted. “The love-’em-and-leave’em kind.”
“Ditto,” Krystal concurred. “Men are stupid creatures.”
Nadine snorted, a sound that started out as a laugh but ended as a cough.
Men are stupid creatures?
Where had that come from? Polly and I exchanged furtive glances. Were we on to something—finally? Was Nadine talking about stupid creatures in general? Or one in particular? If so, by any chance could his name be Lance Ledeaux?
Her turn once again, Nadine scooped up the dice and did her toss-flick-tumble routine. Lo and behold! A trio of twos appeared.
“Bunco! Bunco!” Polly called out, halting play.
“Wow!” I said, truly impressed. “With that kind of luck, you ought to buy a lottery ticket.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Ever win?” Behind her trifocals, Polly’s faded blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Yeah. Won big a couple months back.” Nadine polished off the last of her beer and smothered a burp. “Say, do I have time for a cigarette?”
Between all the cigarette breaks and potty stops, bunco finished later than usual. Diane stifled a yawn as she was leaving. “Sure glad the library opens late tomorrow.”
I waved from the porch as the last of my guests pulled away. Nadine, the tiara perched at a rakish angle on her head, assured me she could make it across the street under her own steam in spite of the six beers she’d consumed. I had to hand it to her. The woman could hold her booze.
Switching off the porch light, I went inside. As I placed the last wineglasses in the dishwasher, I experienced a growing sense of frustration. Instead of the rousing success I’d hoped for, the evening had been a dud. We were still no closer to finding out who wanted Lance Ledeaux dead. All we had learned was that both women subscribed to the men-are-stupid-creatures theory of evolution. And that Nadine Peterson had hit it big in the lottery.
Just where did those tidbits leave us?
Exactly nowhere.
Chapter 28
Call me an optimist, but I dialed Claudia’s number on the off chance she’d pick up. I know, I know, Pam’s hubby had seen her carted off in a squad car. Still, I couldn’t help but hope it had been a case of mistaken identity. Claudia’s phone rang and rang before switching to voice mail. I was worried sick about her. The warning bells inside my head had reached
Titanic
proportions. Disaster, disaster, disaster! Sinking, sinking!
I was proving to be a menace to myself. After putting a load of unwashed clothes in the dryer and the orange juice in the cupboard, I gave up trying to be productive. My pacing had practically worn a path in the ceramic tile. I fairly fizzed with nervous energy but couldn’t seem to concentrate. It was already ten fifteen and there hadn’t been a single word from BJ. He hadn’t bothered to return my call last night even though I asked him to regardless of the hour. I’d called his office promptly at nine and spoken with Aleatha. She was sweet as pie, but not very helpful. In fact, she was so downright sweet, I didn’t realize how unhelpful she was until after disconnecting. Tricks like that probably make for a great secretary.
I darted another look at the clock. Were the hands even moving? Maybe we’d had a power outage—one of those glitches that last a split second but necessitate resetting every darn clock and appliance in the entire house. Narrowing my eyes, I squinted at the big hand. Darn, I saw it move a smidge.
The phone rang, finally, and I made a mad dash to answer, fumbling the handset in my haste.
“Kate? That you?” It was Bill. “You sound out of breath. Everything all right?”
I sank down at the kitchen table. “I’m fine, Bill. I was just expecting a call from Claudia’s attorney.”
“Bad Jack, eh. What’s up?”
I felt like wringing my hands, which is a little hard to do when holding a phone, so I opted for a sigh instead. “On his way home from the golf committee last night, Pam’s husband saw Claudia being led off in handcuffs.”
Bill let out a low whistle. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?”
“Not at the moment, but thanks for offering.” I knew I could count on Bill. He’d supply a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, or lend a handkerchief if need be. Sturdy, dependable, sensible. A true friend. That pretty well summed up Bill Lewis. Of course, he’d never replace Pam as my BFF, but then Pam didn’t inspire the same fluttery feeling in my tummy as Bill did.
“I wanted to let you know my buddy just dropped off Krystal’s car. It’s purring like a kitten.”
Mention of a kitten had me glancing around, half expecting to spot Tang lurking nearby and eavesdropping on my conversation. Of late, I’d seen Krystal coax him into the house. Sneaky little bugger, that cat. One look at me, he’d vanish under Krystal’s bed never to be seen again, at least not by me.
My tuna, my house
, I wanted to scream at the silly critter. I added “ungrateful” to my list of grievances.
“I know you don’t want to miss BJ’s call, so I won’t keep you. I’ll be happy to drop the car off tonight, provided someone gives me a lift home.”
“No problem,” sayeth Kate McCall, mistress of understatement. “Krystal has rehearsal, but I’d be happy to give you a ride. She’ll be thrilled to get her car back.” And so would I. This meant no more getting up early to drive her to the diner. Selfish, I know, but to me retirement means no more alarm clocks. Even when I was an early riser, I wasn’t an early riser. I’m just not hardwired that way.
“Let me know when you hear something about Claudia. And, Kate . . .” He paused. “Don’t let yourself get too upset. It can’t be good for you. See you later.”
Aw shucks, Bill sounded worried. I smiled a little at hearing that. It’s been a while since a man fussed over me—not since Jim—and I rather liked the notion. I’d been tempted—almost—to invite him for dinner, to lure him into my man trap with beef stew or chicken pot pie, but I stopped myself in the nick of time. I didn’t want to seem like a pushy broad. There’s nothing more pathetic, to my way of thinking, than a woman who sets her cap for an attractive single man and will stop at nothing to gain his affection. My thoughts circled back to Claudia. Is that what she’d done with Lance? If so, look where her machinations had landed her—free room and board at the county jail.
Another glance at the clock confirmed the electricity was still coursing through wires, conduits, and whatever, although the hands plodded along with painful slowness. Weary of waiting for the phone to ring, I grabbed a light jacket and my purse and headed out the door.
Fifteen minutes later I found myself in BJ Davenport’s office. Aleatha stopped pecking away at her keyboard, and her round dumpling of a face creased into a smile. “Hey, Miz Kate.”
“Morning, Aleatha. Is BJ in by any chance? I need to talk to him.”
“He walked in not more ’n a minute ago.” Maybe I was coming down with a case of acute paranoia, but Aleatha’s smile didn’t seem to beam quite as brightly as before. “Sorry, hon, but he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s busy workin’ on a case. You know how it is.”
Maybe I did; maybe I didn’t, but I did know I wasn’t in the mood to be put off. Aleatha sounded as though she’d taken a page from Tammy Lynn Snow’s manual,
How to Protect Your Boss from Nosy Women
. BJ didn’t want to be disturbed? I’d show her disturbed if it meant calling in reinforcements. And by reinforcements I was referring to the Babes—armed and dangerous and full of attitude.
I planted my feet firmly in front of her desk and folded my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving until I speak with him.”
Aleatha looked at me long and hard, then chuckled. “Like I always say, girlfriends are like bras. They’re there to give support.” She pointed a fuchsia-painted nail at a closed door. “He’s in his office, but if he asks, tell ’im I was away from my desk. Say I must’ve been on a potty break.”
“Gotcha.” Turning on my heel, I charged into BJ’s office like a locomotive gathering speed.
He never looked up from the papers strewn across his desk. “Dammit, woman! Didn’t I warn you—”
“We need to talk—now.”
This got his attention. It got mine, too, since I’m usually the candidate most in need of an assertiveness-training seminar. “I demand to know what’s going on with Claudia.”
BJ’s ever-present bow tie, a wild affair in bright yellow and orange, was askew, the top button of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He hurriedly ran a hand over his snowy mane and almost tipped over his coffee mug in the process. “Miz Kate,” he apologized, “please excuse my attire. Aleatha failed to inform me of your presence.”
“Aleatha’s in the john,” I stated baldly. “I want some answers, BJ.”
He tossed down his pen and shoved aside the legal pad. From the resigned expression on his pink, wrinkle-free face, I could tell he knew I wasn’t going to budge until I got some answers. “Forgive me, dear lady, where are my manners? Please make yourself comfortable.”
I perched like a sparrow on a clothesline at the edge of the comfy-looking client chair he indicated. “The Babes and I are the closest thing Claudia has to family here in South Carolina. And families stick together . . . no matter what.”
“True, true. Can’t argue with that logic.” He folded his hands over his rotund belly and stared at me across the cluttered desktop. “’Fraid the news isn’t good, Miz Kate; not good at all.”
My stomach twisted into a knot big enough to hold an ocean liner in port. “Just how bad is it?”
He pursed his lips, studying me for a long moment, sizing me up no doubt to see if I was a fragile flower or a steel magnolia. “The charge against Miz Claudia has been changed.”
“Changed to what?” I heard a fragile-flower quaver in my voice.
“Murder. First degree.”
His words held me spellbound, unable to move, almost unable to think. I needed a moment to process that Claudia stood accused of murder in the first degree.
Eventually I became aware of BJ regarding me strangely. He had a should-I-ring-for-the-smelling-salts look on his face. I stiffened my spine and sat up straighter. I’d become a steel magnolia or die trying. “What happens now?”
“Apparently Sheriff Wiggins convinced the prosecutor that Claudia had a strong motive to kill her husband.”
“First degree?” I echoed. “Isn’t that premeditated?” Cell by cell, the synapses in my brain started firing again. I shuffled through my mental filing system of old
Law & Order
episodes, wishing I’d taken notes instead of simply watching. Maybe I should learn Microsoft Excel and design a spreadsheet. I’d enter such items as criminal charges, clues, and evidence. I’d be so organized, the FBI would beg to study my method.
BJ continued, his cool gray eyes never wavering from my face. “The fact Bill Lewis and Monica Pulaski both swear the chamber of the Smith and Wesson was empty at the beginning of rehearsal that night means someone—the killer—deliberately and with malice aforethought brought the bullet to the scene and placed it in the weapon. Hence, premeditation.”
I felt heartsick.
“Miz Claudia was rearraigned this morning before Judge Blanchard and a bond hearing was held.”
“So she’s out on bail?”
He shook his head. “Sorry to say that’s not exactly the way things went. Judge Blanchard happens to be, pardon the expression, a hard-ass. Miz Claudia’s bond was revoked. She’ll be a guest of the county until she comes up for trial.”
Claudia in jail? This ship was definitely going down, all hands lost at sea. “Why didn’t you call me?” I cried, my voice sharp with anger. “My friends—the Babes—and I would have been there to offer moral support, if nothing else.”
“I tried to convince her y’all would want to be there, but Miz Claudia was adamant. She made me promise not to call any of you. Said she didn’t want y’all to see her sent to jail. Sorry, Miz Kate, but I was obligated to honor my client’s request.”
“Of course,” I murmured. “Can I visit her?”
Glancing around, I understood why Brookdale County Jail wasn’t listed as a tourist attraction. I’d never been inside the county jail before—or, for that matter, any other kind of jail. I’d hoped to keep my record unsullied. Before being allowed into the visitors’ room, I’d been patted down, wanded for weapons, and had my purse searched for contraband by a prison guard who bore a striking resemblance to Jabba the Hutt.
All dingy green cinder block and worn brown linoleum, the place, in my humble estimation, was in dire need of a serious makeover. Air freshener would also have been a boon. It reeked of stale—stale sweat; stale hope. A waist-high partition and sheet of grimy Plexiglas separated the visitors from the inmates. I took a seat on a hard-backed wooden chair and prepared to wait.
Eventually a door buzzed open on the opposite side. I barely recognized the woman who emerged in the rumpled orange jumpsuit. It broke my heart to see Claudia this way, bereft of makeup, her hair combed but not curled, and with dark circles under her eyes. She was followed into the room by an armed guard, a fortysomething female whose ample figure strained the seams of her beige and brown uniform. The guard took up a post just inside the door in case Claudia wanted to make a break for it.
“Hey,” I said, mustering a smile.
“Hey, yourself,” she answered. “I almost told the guard to send you away.”