A Body at Bunco (5 page)

Myrtle nodded her head although she swore Elaine was speaking gibberish. The hostess rule made sense but the winning and losing tables sounded like something out of
Alice in Wonderland.
She almost felt as if she were at a mad tea party, herself. The volume of laughter and talking in the small room was high and there were already wine bottles in the trashcan. She peered over at the winning table to see if her tablemate might be a March Hare or a dormouse.

To her delight, however, it was Luella White. Since this appeared to be the kind of game one could talk through, or even interrogate a gossiper through, maybe Myrtle could soon return to Sloan with something to report. She sat next to Luella, who was wearing quite a lot of what smelled like expensive perfume and a very brightly-colored blouse with a long, multi-colored skirt.

Luella’s eyes narrowed and she gave Myrtle a quick once-over. “So you want to be partners?”

“What?”

“If you sit next to me, we’ll be on a team together for the first round.” Luella’s tone indicated that she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be partnered with someone who seemed baffled by the proceedings.

That had to be better than playing on the
opposite
team in terms of gathering information. “Sure. Why not?” Myrtle scooted her chair under the table. “What’s our strategy for winning?”

Luella stared at her, her hard, brown eyes stern. “Strategy? There
is
no strategy for Bunco! There’s only luck. And someone who keeps the score well.”

“Maybe you should do that part then,” said Myrtle. “I’m just a sub.”

“I’ll handle it,” said Luella with a sniff. “It’s a big job.” She glanced around her. “Where’s the fuzzy die?”

Myrtle, who had now finished the bewildered phase and was entering the very cross and irritable stage, asked, “How should I know? I thought fuzzy dice usually dangle from unusual people’s rear view mirrors.”

“The die starts at the head table and then we pass it to players who get Buncos.” Luella rolled her eyes. She appeared to be deeply regretting Myrtle’s partnership with her.

Fortunately, Myrtle was able to counteract some of Luella’s original impression of her by spotting a large, fuzzy, fuchsia die across the room. “That’s got to be it, over there.”

Luella jumped up, grabbed the die, and sat back down, tossing it at the center of the table.

Myrtle cleared her throat. A couple of other players looked to be heading their way, so she better fit in her questions while she could. “So, Luella, how are you liking Bradley?”

Luella shrugged a thin shoulder. “It’s all right. I moved here because of Mimsy.” She gestured to a smiling middle-aged woman at another table. “Mimsy is my only remaining relative.” Luella appeared remarkably unmoved as she reported the demise of her entire family.

“I’m sure Mimsy is delighted you’re in town,” said Myrtle. “I hear you’ve gotten very involved in a lot of different activities.”

Luella said impatiently, “It’s the only way to get to know people if you’re new in town.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Say, speaking of getting to know people, you’re friends with Miles, aren’t you?”

“Friends and neighbors,” said Myrtle a bit cautiously. She had a feeling that she knew what was bound to come next.

Luella’s voice was somewhat warmer. “So you’re
friendly
.”

“That’s right. We’re
friends
,” emphasized Myrtle.

“I would love to be introduced to him. He seems like such an intelligent man. And still quite handsome,” mulled Luella.

“If you like that sort of highbrow, intellectual look, I suppose,” said Myrtle. “He does have a nice collection of antique crystal wineglasses, too.”

“Let’s get him to play at our table,” said Luella quickly.

Myrtle frowned. “I thought that only people with stars on their score cards got to start at the head table.”

“Rules are for bending,” said Luella. She took out a pen. “You only need to distract him, Myrtle.”

But no distracting was necessary, apparently, since Miles was on a mission. “Elaine divided some of the cookies onto another plate so she could have them on two different food tables,” he murmured to her. “Trying to track them all down.” He laid his score sheet and pencil down on the table and scoured the room. Luella quickly took the opportunity to mark his sheet with a star.

Myrtle sighed. “I think those are they—over on the small table near the hall door. They’re hardly poisonous, Miles. They simply suffered a couple of unfortunate substitutions.”

“You didn’t eat one,” said Miles.

Luella interrupted them. “Looks like you’re at our table, sir. And I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you.”

Miles frowned. “No, actually, I don’t have a star on my score sheet.” He glanced over at the paper and his frown deepened. “I was
sure
I didn’t.”

“Maybe you just looked in the wrong spot,” said Luella smoothly. She beamed at him. “I’m Luella White. I’m somewhat new to Bradley.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Miles politely, still looking bemused. “Uh … sorry, I need to do something. One second.”

“He seems nice,” purred Luella.

But Luella didn’t. And Myrtle bristled at the thought of the woman getting her claws into Miles. She wasn’t even all that attractive. She wore very loud clothing, rather too much red lipstick and perfume, and looked humorless and tough as nails. Although Luella was probably Miles’s age, she looked older.

“What do you think of Bradley so far?” asked Myrtle, trying to get back on track before Miles came back with his high distractibility quotient. “Or, more specifically, what do you think of the people who live here?”

Now she had Luella’s attention. She was now giving Myrtle a curious look as she took a large sip of her wine. “Why, don’t
you
like the people who live here?” She smiled at Myrtle. The smile told Myrtle that Luella thought she was a very snoopy old woman who was a little too interested in gossip. “What I’ve found is that people are wrong about small towns. They think that nothing interesting ever happens in a small town. What they have to do is look at the
microcosm
of the small town and they’ll find plenty of things going on.”

Myrtle affected a confused look although she knew exactly what Luella was talking about. “So…you’ve found plenty of things going on … aside from the different activities you’re in? Is that right?”

Luella now looked a bit scornful. “Not at all. I mean that the
people
have a lot of drama going on. I simply learn about the drama while I’m enjoying the activity.” She glanced around the living room and then leaned closer to Myrtle. “Take this crowd—the Bunco players. You probably don’t know a lot about the people in your house, do you?”

Miles, having disposed of the rest of the cookies, was now heading their way again. Myrtle said impatiently, “Maybe I’d know more about them if you’d
tell
me about them.” She relaxed a bit again as Miles got waylaid by another admirer.

“Take Estelle over there.” Luella nodded her head toward an athletic looking woman in her forties with short sandy hair. “She’s an interesting case. Do you know what she does for a living?”

Myrtle shook her head.

“Nothing! She calls herself a storm-chaser as if she’s some sort of freelance photographer or videographer or something. The truth is that she spends most of her time taking pictures of sunshine and rainbows here in Bradley. Dead broke. And she can’t maintain a relationship to save her life. Apparently, she hasn’t even
tried
to date for years,” said Luella.

Myrtle shrugged. “Sounds like just someone trying to survive a tough economy and facing small town challenges in finding someone to date.”

Luella’s eyes narrowed. “Or take Florence over there.” She gestured to a very fluffy looking old lady wearing a floral dress and a rather bemused smile who was heading in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ve heard and seen all sorts of scary things about her. Age-related, you know.” She smirked at Myrtle.

Myrtle tried subduing her annoyance. “What sorts of scary things? Florence doesn’t seem much of a threat to me.”

“That’s because you’re not paying attention,” said Luella smoothly. “And then you’ve got Alma over there. Poor Alma.”

Myrtle was starting to get the idea that Luella was actually
not
a gossip. Not strictly a gossip, anyway. She mostly liked feeling important by knowing unpleasant things about people. Maybe she’d share it, maybe not. She simply liked
knowing
it. And Myrtle liked Luella less and less and they went on. Plus she was starting to wonder if she were going to get anything for the newspaper from her. “Do you also have dirt on Mimsy and Poppy? They would be the only other two guests that I’m not as well acquainted with.”

Luella scowled at her. “Certainly not. Mimsy is my last living relative, for heaven’s sake. Poppy is her best friend. But I can tell you a thing or two about your guest Georgia Simpson.” She nodded toward a woman with big hair, tattoos, too much mascara, and a booming laugh.

“No,
I
can tell
you
a thing or two about Georgia Simpson,” snapped Myrtle, feeling tired of this game now. “I taught her, for one thing. And she’s been in my book club for ages.”

“She’s literate?” asked Luella doubtfully.

“As I said, I can tell you a thing or two. And anyone who went through my English classes is more than literate, I can assure you.” Although Sloan’s creative spelling at the newspaper left room for doubt.

Luella shifted a bit in her chair and reached for her purse. “Myrtle, is it all right if I smoke inside?” asked Luella in her husky voice.

Now Myrtle knew where to attribute the huskiness. And probably the reason behind the generously-applied perfume. “Certainly not,” said Myrtle, horrified. “The smoke would get into my curtains and cushions. It’ll have to be outside. Although, since we’re playing a game, I really don’t know where you’ll find the time.”

Luella said impatiently, “It’s not the kind of game where you sit still. We’ll all be moving from table to table and getting drinks and eating and using your restroom.”

“Then enjoy your smoking break in the backyard,” said Myrtle stiffly. She imagined it might be challenging to find a place to stand, if Dusty had truly blanketed the yard in gnomes.

“Break
s
,” corrected Luella. “And I may as well take the first one now while everyone’s still milling around.”

Luella left, looking irked when Miles approached the table. “Serves her right,” muttered Myrtle. “What a pill.”

Miles murmured, “Making enemies so soon in the evening?”

“You’d do well to make an enemy with that one. She has designs on you, Miles.”

“
Designs
on me? I suddenly feel as if I’ve stepped into a Regency romance.”

“Maybe you have,” said Myrtle. Elaine came up to fill Myrtle in on a text message update from Red about the plumber. Miles asked a few horrified questions about the issue, which launched Elaine into a gushing monologue on toilets, tubs, sinks, and the perfidy of plumbing in general.

Puddin had trapped Tippy Chambers by the front door and appeared to be forcing the poor woman to listen to a long list of her health problems as she medicated herself heavily with wine.

Mimsy, the middle-aged-last-relative-of Luella’s had lost an earring. “Has anyone seen my earring? It’s one of my favorites…goes with everything.” Several people from the kitchen came to help the group in the living room search for the MIA earring.

An older woman named Florence came up to Myrtle and quietly asked, “Could you tell me where the powder room is?” Myrtle pointed down the short hallway off the living room.

“Honestly, where would anyone
think
the restroom was? This place is no mansion. Isn’t it obvious that it’s down the hall?” asked Myrtle. She looked at her watch to see that fifteen minutes had gone by since the last time she’d checked. “I think it’s time to get this show on the road,” she grumbled. “Otherwise, we’ll be here all night. People are doing everything
but
playing the game.”

Miles pushed his glasses up and looked solemnly at the small bell on their table. “Just ring the bell when you’re ready. The head table sets the pace.”

“You mean I had the power to start the game all along?” Myrtle felt like Dorothy discovering her ruby slippers could take her home. Elaine stopped talking about plumbing and quickly slipped away to find her table.

Seconds later Myrtle vigorously rang the bell and sure enough, the ladies all obediently headed to their seats like little lambs. Although half of them refilled their drinks before they did.

Miles’s partner was the tough, tattooed Georgia. Myrtle smiled at this. Miles was secretly fascinated by the woman. He might pretend it was a horrified fascination, but the truth was that he seemed oddly attracted to her. Maybe his distraction would work in Myrtle’s favor, enabling her to win the game. If distraction helped at all with this sort of game.

She
wouldn’t
win without a partner, though. Myrtle glanced crossly around her.

“Where is Luella?” she hissed. “How long could it possibly take to smoke a cigarette?”

Miles took the question seriously and considered it carefully. “Well, I guess it depends on the length of the drags the smoker takes. And perhaps the length of the cigarette itself. It could vary between five and maybe seven minutes.”

“Well, this has been much longer than that,” said Myrtle. “I think we need to organize a search party.”

“Maybe she got lost in the sea of gnomes,” suggested Miles with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

“Dusty wasn’t supposed to put all of them out there,” grumbled Myrtle. It was always more satisfying to blame someone else than to think about one’s own part in a problem. “I declare, no one ever listens to instructions these days.”

“I’ll track down Luella for you,” said Miles.

“No, I will. If you go, she’ll view it as a serendipitous opportunity for a liaison.” Myrtle grabbed her cane and hurried to the kitchen and out the back door.

Dusty hadn’t lied when he’d said he put
all
the gnomes out. They were lined up next to each other and several appeared to be lying on top of other gnomes. It resembled a battlefield, post-battle.