Whack 'n' Roll (11 page)

He didn’t wait for an introduction, but started right in. “I’m glad to see such a good turnout. The purpose of this here meetin’ is threefold: First of all, I hope to put an end to some of the wild rumors that have been circulatin’ con cernin’ recent findings in and around Serenity Cove Estates.”

“Does this rule out Jimmy Hoffa?” I heard Polly ask in a stage whisper.

“Shhh!” I recognized the sound as Gloria’s.

Our sheriff is no dummy. If he overheard any of this, he wisely ignored it. “Second, I want to bring you up to speed on the ongoing investigation and, last but not least, ask for your cooperation in bringin’ the perpetrator to justice.”

A murmur passed through the crowd, followed once again by hushed silence.

“As some of y’all already know, human remains were discovered by campers on Saturday at the state park.” His gaze flickered in my direction, then moved on. “Although we haven’t yet been able to make a positive identification, I can tell you the victim was female.”

Female?
The victim
was
a woman! This time the murmurs rippling through the crowd were louder and more insistent. The sheriff waited them out.

“You were right, Kate,” Connie Sue said in a low voice. “We need to make sure our friends are all in one piece.”

I grimaced at her choice of words, but Connie Sue didn’t seem to notice. “Thacker’ll just have to wait till tomorrow for pot roast.”

The sheriff waited until things quieted down. “Law-enforcement officials, myself included, believe this is an isolated incident of violence directed at one specific target.”

One specific target?
My hunch had been right
.
The arm and whatever else the campers found apparently belonged to the same person.

Bernie Mason, the jerk with the bad comb-over, jumped to his feet. “Sheriff, we could all be murdered in our beds. How do you propose to stop this crime wave?”

“One murder, sir, hardly constitutes a crime wave. My department is doin’ everythin’ possible to bring the killer to justice. Let me assure you, there is no need for panic.”

No need to panic?
Could he be a little more specific? Does this mean Shirley and Bootsy, the ladies from the Piggly Wiggly, won’t have to debate security systems versus guard dogs? Can Bootsy’s husband stop locking doors? The possibilities were mind-boggling.

“Any more questions?”

Brave man, Sheriff Wiggins. My arm shot into the air like a rocket.

“Miz McCall . . . ,” he dragged out my name.

“I heard you call for a sled on Saturday. I waited as long as I could, but never saw one arrive. Could you please explain why no one responded to your request?”

For the first time, I saw him crack a smile. His whole countenance seemed to change, to light from within. He seemed almost . . . human. “Ma’am, that might be because SLED isn’t a sled.
SLED
is an acronym. It stands for
South Carolina Law Enforcement Division
. It’s the official investigative arm of the governor and attorney general. Rest assured, SLED will, indeed, be assistin’ in the investigation.”

I could hear people in the audience titter at my inane question and the sheriff’s response. Again he succeeded in putting me in my place. Rita, sensing my embarrassment, reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Next question.”

This time it was Mort What’s-His-Name, Bernie’s golfing buddy, who stood up. “What can you tell us about the weapon?”

“Cause of death still hasn’t been established. All I can say for now is that the perpetrator has access to power tools.”

Sheriff Sumter Wiggins had just declared every man in Serenity Cove Estates a suspect.

Chapter 12

The appointed hour for the first-ever Bunco Babes Emergency Session was at hand.

“Nice outfit,” Megan said, complimenting Polly on her stonewashed jeans and stretchy top.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Polly preened, sticking out her modest bosom to emphasize the cherry red top adorned with sequins arranged in the shape of a heart. “Got it at that place you told me about at the mall. They have some really cool clothes.” She sent a meaningful glance at her daughter’s slacks. “I’m not ready for polyester.”

Gloria rolled her eyes and refused to take the bait. Apparently mother and daughter had had this discussion before. “Where’s Monica?” she asked, zeroing in on a table set for three instead of the usual four.

Monica was conspicuous for her absence. I could have cheerfully strangled her when she called half an hour ago to back out of tonight’s game. How was I supposed to find a sub at the last minute? The Babes all turned to me, waiting for an answer.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” I held up both hands palm out and shrugged. “Monica was afraid she’d get sick again if we started talking about . . . you know.”

“What do you mean
if
?” Polly asked. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “I tried to assure Monica that we’d leave out all the gory details, but she hung up before I finished.”

Polly wagged her head in disgust. “Never figured Monica for a weak stomach.”

“Did you call Judy?” Diane asked. “She always likes to play.”

“What about Barb?” Tara said, trying to be helpful.

I set out a bowl of foil-wrapped dark chocolate truffles. “Barb’s packing for a cruise with a bunch of her sorority sisters. Judy has company from out of town.”

“What about Rosalie?”

Never-Say-No Nancy’s question just sort of hung there. Kind of like the ceiling fans at Lowe’s.

When I didn’t answer immediately, the women looked at me expectantly. “I did try Rosalie,” I confessed, pouring cashews into a bowl. “Earl claims she’s visiting grandkids in upstate New York.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw Rosalie.” Connie Sue picked up a chocolate truffle, then replaced it unopened. “I used to run into her all the time at the golf course.”

Gloria helped herself to a handful of cashews, the ceiling light glinting off the collection of bangle bracelets she wore. “Seems like Rosalie was forever taking lessons from Brad.”

“Brad?” Polly’s ears practically perked up. “Who’s Brad?”

“Brad Murphy,” Pam explained. “He’s the golf pro at the club.”

“I know you ladies have the luxury of sleeping in, but I have to be at the preschool bright and early tomorrow.” Tara took a place at the head table and picked up the dice. “Shall we start?”

Nancy slid into an adjacent chair. “Sleeping in is one of the perks of retirement, my dear. We’ve earned the right.”

“Not me,” Connie Sue said. “I go to water aerobics at seven a.m.”

“I have yoga at eight,” Rita added.

“And I’m volunteering at the food bank,” Janine put in.

Good heavens! We’re an energetic group for a bunch of old fogies. What would the Babes take up next? Bungee jumping?

“The only time George and I set an alarm these days is to catch an early-morning flight when we leave on vacation,” Nancy confessed.

Amen! You go, sista!

It was time to get the ball, or in this case the dice, rolling. “We’ve all played a player short in the past,” I said. “Just remember, everyone at the table with only three players keeps their own score instead of combining scores with their partner. Piece of cake, right?”

Munchies and drinks in hand, we were ready to roll—quite literally, that is. Pam placed the tiara on her head, and we got down to business.

The first go-round we pretended to be serious bunco players. We rolled ones until Janine rang the bell and called bunco from the head table. I groaned. Diane and I had managed to accrue only six points between the two of us, which meant we switched partners, but stayed at the same table.

No sooner had the bell sounded for the next round than Rita, never one to beat about the bush, came straight to the point. “OK, Kate, put us out of our misery. Tell us what we’re really doing here tonight.”

“This better be good, sugar,” Connie Sue called from her seat. “Thacker didn’t buy into the notion of Tuesday being National Pot Roast Day.”

I tossed the dice before answering. Not a two in sight. “I was at the state park Saturday when the sheriff found
remains
.”

Polly looked at me quizzically. “Since when did you start camping?”

“I didn’t. I haven’t.”

The dice made the rounds. None of us seemed to be having much luck rolling twos.

“Kate, out with it.” It was Rita again. Of course. “How did you just happen to be at the state park when the remains were found? And don’t try to tell me it was coincidence.”

“I was loading groceries into my car at the Piggly Wiggly when I heard the sirens. I looked up and saw the sheriff’s cars racing past, so I decided to follow and find out what was going on.”

“And then what?” Pam was so busy listening to me that Rita had to remind her she had rolled a baby bunco and scored another five points.

“And then,” I continued as I watched Pam rack up even more points, “I hung around to see what was in the trash bag the dog had dug up.”

Polly leaned so far off her chair at an adjoining table I was afraid she’d fall and break her scrawny neck. “Did you see a body?”

Finally it was my turn. Zip, nada, nil. Not a two in sight. At least the other ladies at my table weren’t suffering from the same problem. “No body, just something zipped into a black vinyl bag.”

“Cool,” Polly said.

“Mother . . .”

“I mean how awful,” Polly quickly amended, though she didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

“Bunco!” Janine’s voice boomed out for the second time.

With my dismal score, I stayed where I was while others rotated tables and partners. Once everyone settled again, Rita attempted to get us back on track. “Kate, are you trying to say that the reason for this emergency bunco game is to tell us you were there when the sheriff found the remains?”

I gave up all pretense of concentrating on the game. So did the rest of the Babes as they turned to listen to what I had to say. “Actually, I called all of you together to elicit your help finding Claudia and Vera.”

“Isn’t that the sheriff’s job?” Gloria asked.

“You heard Sheriff Wiggins this afternoon. He asked for our cooperation. Practically begged for our help.”

Diane idly rolled the dice between her palms lest they grew cold in the interim. “What can we do?”

“All we know for sure is that the victim is female. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m worried sick about Claudia and Vera. And if that isn’t enough, Rosalie’s been gone too long. I know I’ll sleep easier knowing they’re all OK.”

“Amen,” Pam murmured.

“Ladies, we have our work cut out for us.” I stood. Suddenly I felt like a general rallying his troops to battle. Eisenhower on D-day. Patton at the Battle of the Bulge. Custer at Little Bighorn. “The sheriff probably has dozens, maybe hundreds, of missing persons to track down. It could be days, or even weeks, before he starts checking into Claudia, Vera, and Rosalie. I thought we might speed things along. See if we can track them down ourselves.”

“How?” several of the Babes chorused in unison.

“We need to do an investigation of our own.”

I could see some nods, some frowns.

“Where would we start?” Tara ventured.

I looked from one worried face to another. “By chance, does anyone know how we might contact Claudia’s sons?”

“I know one’s a surgeon in Chicago,” Janine volunteered.

“The other’s an engineer,” Gloria said. “Seattle, I think.”

“We could start there,” Diane said in a burst of enthusiasm. “I worked the reference desk back in Florida. I’m good at research.”

“I’m good with computers,” Megan volunteered. “I’ll help Diane.”

“Great!” I wanted to clap my hands and applaud. Now who was behaving like a cheerleader? “That leaves Vera,” I continued, warming to my role of general. “I found out Vera recently divorced an abusive husband. I also learned that Lisa, her daughter, is expecting her third child soon.”

Tara looked thoughtful. “If her daughter has young children, maybe someone at the preschool knows her. I can ask around. Discreetly of course.”

“And I’ll take it upon myself to find out more about Rosalie—discreetly of course.” I sank back down and picked up the dice. The Bunco Babes had come through again. I knew they wouldn’t let me down.

The game resumed where we left off. We rolled our way through a series of fours, fives, and sixes. I eventually worked my way up to the head table along with Connie Sue, Polly, and Megan.

“C’mon, baby. Mama needs a new pair of shoes.” Connie Sue blew on the dice for luck. Megan grinned when she failed to score.

“Don’t know about the rest of you, but I got the shivers when the sheriff said the perp had access to power tools. Yuck!” Polly grimaced.

“Hey, sugar, how about turning on the ceiling fan?” Connie Sue loosened a button on her blouse. “I’m having another of those hot flashes.”

I got halfway out of my chair before I remembered. “Sorry, Connie Sue, but I can’t. It’s broken.”

“Did you ever get hold of Bill?” Pam called from the neighboring table.

“He dropped by yesterday afternoon. Told me it was the motor. Said I needed to buy a new fan, and he’d install it for me.”

“Bunco!” Megan rang the bell.

Nancy got up to refill her glass with soda. “Bill Lewis?”

“That’s right.” I noticed most of the girls were sticking with soft drinks tonight. The wine went mostly untouched. Shows how serious they were about finding our missing friends.

“Bill’s in the Woodchucks with my husband,” Rita commented. “Dave said he just got reelected president. Says he has every power tool known to man. Even more than Bob Vila on
This Old House
.”

Access to power tools?
The sheriff’s words flashed across my brain like a neon sign at a cheap motel. I glanced around the table, but no one made eye contact. The Babes didn’t have to be psychic to read one another’s minds. Not only Bill, but every man who owned so much as a simple saw, was suspect.