A Body at Bunco (3 page)

“Don’t we need tables?” asked Myrtle.

Elaine stared at her blankly.

“You know…tables. If we’re playing games. Don’t we need tables?” asked Myrtle. Elaine must really be frazzled because she was staring at her as if she were speaking in tongues.

“Oh! Goodness. Yes, card tables would be good. I’ve got everything else—the dice, the tally sheets, pencils. And five dollars. I think I have five dollars,” mused Elaine. “I wasn’t planning on it since I was originally going to be the hostess and the hostess doesn’t pay in.”

Myrtle felt as though new revelations about the evening were happening at every turn. “Five dollars? What is this…gambling?”

“Well, the winners get a little prize. It’s all small bills, you know. Just for fun. The money goes to whoever has the most Buncos, wins, and losses.” Elaine reached over and gave Myrtle a reassuring hug…or, rather, to let Jack give her a hug, since Elaine was still holding him. “You’re frowning, Myrtle. It’s all so easy! So easy. I’ll ask Red to carry over some card tables.” She peered thoughtfully into Myrtle’s living room. “And maybe we should ask him to move your furniture around a wee bit. Just to make sure there’s enough room.”

Myrtle nodded. “We could fit a lot more people in if the furniture were all against the wall.” Myrtle frowned. “Elaine, I’ve never played Bonkers. You don’t need me to
play
, do you? Just to host.”

“No, no. I need you to play. There is some kind of weird virus going around and we’ve got people calling in sick all over the place,” said Elaine, making a face. “And, technically, not that it matters, but it’s called
Bunco
.”

“I guess I’ll need to learn the rules real quick,” said Myrtle.

Red overheard this part as he returned with what looked like a staggering amount of alcohol. He let out a peal of laughter. “No, you won’t. You know how to play bridge don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And you play a mean game of chess,” continued Red.

“I’ve been told so,” said Myrtle.

“Then you won’t have a problem in the world with Bunco,
believe
me, Mama. It’s just throwing dice,” said Red, shifting the bags to make them more comfortable.

“Like Yahtzee?”

“Not nearly as academic as Yahtzee. Nowhere
near
as academic as Yahtzee, actually. Really, this game just serves as an excuse for a bunch of nice ladies to get together and drink wine and eat junk food. That’s about it.”

Elaine made a face at Red and he winked at her as he continued inside to set down the grocery bags of wine. “It’s the truth. Although I know y’all have a lot of fun.”

Jack squirmed in Elaine’s arms and she set him gently down. He walked toward the gnomes, looking back at Myrtle for permission.

“Of
course
you may play with the gnomes, Jack,” said Myrtle, beaming at the small boy. “Can you find your favorite out there? The one with the little yellow bird on his shoulder? I don’t know where Mr. Dusty put all of them.”

Red sauntered back out to the front porch and muttered, “At least
somebody
likes those things.”

“Jack isn’t the gnomes’ only fan,” said Myrtle in a complacent tone. “You should spend some time looking out the window. You’d see all sorts of people driving slowly by the house. Like I said before, I’m a tourist attraction.”

“Oh boy,” said Red glumly.

Elaine smiled as Jack gave a happy cry at finding his favorite gnome and instantly climbing on him. “What did you name the gnome?” asked Elaine.

“Ernie,” said Myrtle. “He just looked like an Ernie.”

Red snorted. “All right, that’s my cue to leave.” But when they heard a sudden piercing yell and the sound of glass shattering in Myrtle’s house, Red immediately charged inside.

Myrtle was close behind him. A streak of black fur flew past them both.

They ran to the kitchen where Puddin was loudly fussing to the empty room. “Witch cat! Trying to clean and that witch cat jumped out at me.”

The kitchen that Puddin was purportedly cleaning was an utter disaster. There was a large, broken bottle of olive oil on the floor alongside a large broken bottle of pasta sauce that had not only spilled all over the floor, but had also splattered up on the cabinets and floorboards.

“Puddin!” gasped Myrtle.

Puddin’s small, piggy eyes were blazing with fury. “That cat jumped out and scared the living daylights out of me!”

Red sighed. “So you had to fling the two messiest things in the kitchen at the floor in reaction to it?”

Myrtle groaned. “I’d been planning to make myself spaghetti for supper. This stuff will take you forever to clean up.”

“Isn’t my fault!” snapped Puddin defensively. She glared spitefully at the mess on the floor.

“I didn’t even know Pasha was inside,” said Myrtle. “I know you’re not her number one fan. She must have sneaked by me when I was on the porch.” Pasha was a black cat that had taken up with Myrtle, and Puddin attributed all manner of wickedness to the feral creature. Pasha had an unerring ability to find the people who didn’t like her and mess with their heads a bit. It was a trait Myrtle admired and rather envied. “You probably startled her, Puddin. She wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“
I
wasn’t expectin’ to see
her
!”

“I’d better find Pasha,” said Myrtle. “She might have gone off to hide, as scared as she was. I don’t want to lose her again.”

Puddin called after her, “What about the floor? What about the fact that my back is thrown?”

Red followed Myrtle. He said in a low voice, “Puddin is real riled up this time, Mama. And I know you don’t want to lose her as a cleaner.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’d
love
to lose her as a housekeeper. But the fact is that there isn’t another cleaning lady anywhere around who has an opening on her schedule. Or who has a husband who does really cheap yard work.” Myrtle stomped to the front door, putting her cane down with more force than usual. “And she riles
me
up. What am I going to do with a disaster in the kitchen and the rest of the house a mess and a Bonko thing to host? I’ll have to cook something warm to serve, too.”

“It’s
Bunco
,” said Red. “And I’m sure Elaine will be happy to help Puddin out this one time, seeing as how you’re doing her a favor and everything.” He paused, significantly. “You know a place where you’d never have to clean again? Or do a lick of yardwork?”

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “Where
is
this nirvana? Oh wait. Since it’s you telling me about it, it must be at Greener Pastures Retirement Home. No thanks. I’ll pass.”

They’d reached the front door and they paused, staring into the yard. “What do you know?” said Red with a laugh.

“Would you look at that,” said Myrtle, smiling.

Pasha, the feral cat who passionately disliked nearly everyone but Myrtle, was sitting curled up in Jack’s lap as Jack sat perched against Ernie the bird-loving gnome.

“Why don’t I ever have a camera on me at the important moments?” muttered Myrtle.

“You do, Mama. Remember? Your phone has a camera,” said Red in the automatic manner of someone who has pointed something out repeatedly in the past. He pulled out his own phone and snapped a photo of the scene. “I’ll email it to you.”

“Pasha made a friend,” she said.

Elaine was sitting on the front porch step. She said, “The cat came tearing out of the house as if chased by monsters or something.”

“Or something,” said Myrtle. “Puddin can be pretty monstrous sometimes.”

“She skidded to a stop when she spotted Jack and curled up right on him as if the two of them had been lifelong friends.” They watched as Pasha leaned her head back for Jack to rub her neck. Surprisingly, the little boy very gently petted the black cat. Elaine continued, “What happened in there? Is Puddin okay? That was a lot of yelling.”

“Oh, chaos and nonsense as usual. Pasha jumped out and scared Puddin. Puddin threw an olive oil bottle and an unopened jar of pasta sauce on the floor in reaction. So now there is a huge mess in the kitchen where there was already a pretty decent sized mess to start out with. Puddin is acting as if she’s going on strike so who knows if she’ll even clean up the spill. And that still doesn’t help me with the rest of the housework that needs to be done,” said Myrtle.

Red, apparently feeling as if he might be recruited, quickly said, “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to the house and clean up our
own
mess from the backed-up plumbing. And deal with the plumber and Jack, too.”

Elaine said, “Myrtle, I’ll help you out. Your house is never as messy as you think it is. I can dust and clean off the counters and run the vacuum. It’ll look great. This is going to be a really
fun
evening.”

Even though Elaine was fairly speedy at cleaning the house, Myrtle felt the time crunch. Puddin was taking forever to clean up the spills. And Myrtle still needed to cook something. Finally, even Elaine admitted she needed to get back home to change clothes, even though the vacuuming was one main chore that hadn’t yet been completed.

Fortunately, as Elaine was walking out, there was a tap on Myrtle’s door. Peering out, she saw Miles on her front porch with his level gaze behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He was clutching a plate of brownies.

“Ready to watch the show?” he asked in his serious voice. “Oh, hi Elaine,” he said as Elaine darted past with a quick greeting.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” Myrtle grabbed the plate of brownies. “I’ll put these with the other food that Elaine brought. No time for shows today.” She squinted at Miles in appraisal. “Let’s see. Should I put you on cooking duty or vacuum duty?”

The words hadn’t even fully left her lips when Miles replied with alacrity, “Cooking duty.”

Myrtle frowned at him. She had the sneaking suspicion that Miles wasn’t completely impressed with her culinary ability. Which sealed Miles’s fate for the evening. “No, I think I’d better have you vacuum. Sometimes that cord trips me up. Besides, I need to assess what I have in my fridge and cabinets and see what I can cobble together a meal with.”

Miles peeked around the kitchen door and spotted the piqued Puddin muttering dire imprecations under her breath as she swabbed up the spills. He just as quickly ducked his head back out again and obediently fired up the vacuum. Myrtle poked into her cabinets and fridge while trying to skirt the fuming Puddin and the spill, which appeared to be spreading like a viral outbreak instead of being absorbed.

When Miles finished vacuuming, Myrtle consulted him. “Okay, here’s what I have. And let’s try to work with it since I really don’t have time to go to the store. So it’s milk, eggs, carrots, broccoli, chocolate chips, crackers, olives, grits, butter, and pimento cheese.”

Miles stared at her. “Myrtle, with that odd assortment, the only thing that comes to mind is chocolate chip cookies, assuming you’ve got staples like sugar and vanilla extract on hand. You should go to the store tomorrow just to get some normal food.”

Myrtle snapped her fingers. “Chocolate chip cookies. Quick and easy. Might counteract the effects of some of that heavy drinking. Perfect.”

Puddin let out a frustrated wail. “Miz Myrtle, this ain’t going to clean up. I done run out of paper towels.”

“I didn’t even know you were using paper towels! Especially those particular paper towels, which are cheap ones. For heaven’s sake, Puddin, go grab those cleaning rags from the closet. I don’t have the time or the inclination for your foolishness today.”

Puddin sullenly stomped off for the rags.

“Ridiculous,” said Myrtle with a snort. “Right when I need to be in here, too.” She started pulling out the ingredients for her cookies. But some of the ingredients were in the cabinet where the floor looked especially oily. She’d better wait for Puddin to hand them over to her.

Miles carefully wrapped up the vacuum cleaner cord on the hooks on the back of the vacuum. “Myrtle?” he asked, watching her pull out a cookie sheet.

“Yes, Miles?”

“Why, exactly, are we doing this cleaning and baking?”

“What? Didn’t I tell you?” Myrtle scowled again at the olive oil on the floor.

“No, I didn’t get the full story. Just that vacuuming needed to happen,” said Miles.

“We’re playing Bonkers tonight,” said Myrtle distractedly, opening the fridge for the butter.

“Excuse me?” asked Miles politely.

“Bonkers. Something like that. Whatever.”

“Bunco?” guessed Miles. “I didn’t know you were in a group. It doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“I’m not in a group. And I don’t know what you mean about it
not being my scene
. I do play bridge, you know. Anyway, Elaine, who has had a sudden, dire plumbing fiasco,
is
in a group. I’m hosting and apparently playing, too.” Myrtle went back in the fridge for the eggs. “Can you pull out the wine from those bags and put them out on the table with my wineglasses?”

The phone rang right as Myrtle cracked two eggs. “Shoot. Puddin, can you get that?”

Puddin shot her a beleaguered look and struggled up from the floor. She tried to pick up the receiver with the hand that was still clutching the sopping rag. It slipped from her grasp, dangling at the end of the spiral cord. She snatched it back and spat out, “Miz Myrtle’s residence, Puddin speakin’.”

Myrtle saw Puddin’s small eyes gleam as she watched Miles meticulously set out the wine bottles. “What?” asked the housekeeper. “Okay, hold on.” She pulled her head away from the receiver. “Miz Myrtle, it’s Miz Elaine. She says she had two more calls and two more people can’t come. She needs two subs and do you know any?”

Myrtle said some unpleasant words to the eggs, which had cracked in such a way as to allow eggshells in the mixture. “No, I don’t know anybody,” she muttered.

Puddin coughed in a manner she deemed delicate, but which actually sounded like a prelude to pneumonia. “Mr. Miles and me can play as well as anybody, I reckon.”

“What’s that?” Myrtle peered at the recipe card and said, “Can you hand me baking powder and sugar, Puddin?”

Puddin’s eyes were fixed on the wine table. “I said that I reckon Mr. Miles and I play Bonkers as well as anybody,” she repeated in a determined voice, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out some containers and shoving them across the counter to Myrtle.