'Til Dice Do Us Part

Table of Contents

 

“Feisty and intelligent, Kate is an admirable protagonist with genuinely clever detective skills. Far superior to the typical cozy, this uniquely capricious mystery will engage readers from the very first page to the surprising conclusion.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

 

“A delightful amateur sleuth . . . spunky Kate and her BFFs are filled with so much energy that people half their age will admire them. Gail Oust provides a complex whodunit.”

—Follow the Clue

 

“A quick read with an engaging heroine who is smart and eager to learn and help her friends and neighbors. . . . The mystery is well plotted and there are enough red herrings to keep readers from figuring out ‘who did it’ too early on. This is a fine start to a series.”

—The Mystery Reader

 

“A fine thriller of elderly investigators.”

—
Midwest Book Review

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, April 2010

eISBN : 978-1-101-18651-0

Copyright © Gail Oust, 2010

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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In a production of any sort, there are always people behind the scenes who help make it a success. I’d like to take a moment to thank those who so generously shared their expertise during the writing of
’Til Dice Do Us Part
. Sometimes it really does take a village.

First on my list is Suzanne Burnes, professional photographer, neighbor, and friend. You truly are kindness and talent personified. Next comes Jim Montgomery, lieutenant, Detroit Police Department, retired. Who else would have arrived on my doorstep armed and dangerous and ready to prove the big bang theory? Any errors are mine alone. Then there’s Fran McClain, my all-time favorite steel magnolia. Your wit and wisdom of how things work in a community theater helped me pull this off. I can’t mention community theater without thanking the cast and crew of the Mighty Arts Players of Savannah Lakes Village. In the same vein, thanks to Bess Park, artistic director, Greenwood Community Theatre. Both of these groups graciously allowed me to be a mouse in the corner during rehearsals. Thankfully, no one broke a leg—at least not while I was around. Bob Stockton, I appreciate your PR help. I’m happy you can be easily bribed with food. And not to be left out, John and Ann McNab for sharing the exploits of “that darn cat.” Sorry I had to turn him orange, but we all know why. Angela Koski, you rode to my rescue with your timely list of abbreviations. No one knows texting better than a teenager. Thanks, everyone!

I can’t forget to give special mention to the Babes’ very own fairy godmother, my wonderful agent, Jessica Faust at BookEnds, LLC.

And last but by no means least, my hubby, Bob, who never minds late dinners and will even eat burnt offerings. Thanks for patiently listening to the trials and tribulations of imaginary characters in return for hearing about your great drives, mind-boggling chips, and missed putts. It’s a fair exchange.

“Yoo-hoo, everyone! I’m baaack!” Claudia Connors Ledeaux burst into the room, looking larger than life in a black leather mini, matching waist-length jacket, four-inch stilettos, and flaming red hair.

The Bunco Babes and I were momentarily rendered speechless. No mean task, let me tell you. The Babes like to talk even more than we like to play bunco, our favorite dice game. We excel at both.

Tonight we were gathered at Pam Warner’s for our bimonthly get-together. Granted, some may think bunco a silly, mindless game, but it’s right up our alley. No skill, no finesse, no strategy. Dice just make it look serious. Shake, rattle, and toss. No previous experience required. The game couldn’t be simpler.

“Claudia, honey, welcome home,” I told her as my addled brain began to function again. I jumped from the sofa and ran to give her a hug. “We missed you.”

“Kate McCall!” Claudia exclaimed, returning my hug. “Missed you, too.”

Claudia is the twelfth member of our little band of bunco players. Several months back, she ran off with a man she met on the Internet. But she couldn’t get away from the Babes. We pride ourselves on being well informed. If cell phones were an Olympic event, we’d be medalists. According to all accounts, this guy, Lance Ledeaux, was unemployed, light on money, and heavy on charm. When he and Claudia first hooked up, he’d been residing in Atlanta, a mere one hundred fifty miles to the west as the crow flies. The pair took off in a rented RV ostensibly to visit the Grand Canyon. Somewhere along the way, their plans took a detour. The pair got hitched in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator in a little chapel off the Strip. Vegas, I heard, was the closest they ever got to a natural wonder. To each his own, I suppose. The lovebirds have just returned to take up residence here in Serenity Cove Estates, a retirement community for “active” adults.

I stepped aside to let the others have a turn. I used the opportunity to study Claudia more closely. There were other changes besides the hair color. Her style of dress had undergone a transformation as well. Instead of the usual trendy but classy fashion she had favored in the past, she now opted for flamboyant bordering on flashy. And flashy, as we all know, rhymes with trashy. Of course, bless her heart, I’d never say anything to hurt her feelings.

“Your hair . . . ,” squeaked Polly, our septuagenarian. “It’s so . . .”

“Red,” Claudia supplied with a grin. “Like it?”

“Yeah, red. That’s the word I was looking for.” Polly turned to Gloria, her daughter, and asked, “Do you think I’d look hot with red hair?”

“Mother, really,” Gloria said with a weary shake of her salt-and-pepper bob that set her hoop earrings swaying. “Isn’t it enough to be blond at your age?”

Polly fluffed her curls. “Can’t blame a gal for wanting to maintain a youthful image. Maybe I need a new man in my life.”

Connie Sue, the Babes’ perennial Southern belle and former Miss Peach Princess, peered back toward the foyer. “Speakin’ of men, where’s that bridegroom of yours, honey chile? We’re all just dyin’ to meet the man who swept you off your feet.”

Claudia shrugged out of her leather jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair, revealing a shape-hugging emerald green sweater that showed considerable cleavage. “Lance is dying to meet all of you, too. He’ll be along later.”

“What made you decide to return home this soon?” I asked.

Diane, a fortysomething brunette and the local librarian, helped herself to a small handful of cashews from a dish on the coffee table. “Last I heard, you were planning to stay in Vegas until spring.”

“What can I say?” Claudia shrugged diffidently. “Plans changed.”

Bunco temporarily forgotten, Pam patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Sit down. Tell us all about this new husband of yours.”

Claudia didn’t need a second invitation. “Better yet, I’ll show you.” She plunked herself down next to Pam while the rest of us crowded around, eager to get the skinny. After giving her mini a tug or two to keep it from riding up her thighs, she dug through a handbag large enough to be considered carry-on luggage. “Here’s my honey,” she said, extracting a five-by-seven-inch glossy in a gold-embossed leather folder.

Worming my way to a better vantage spot, I craned my neck for a peek. It wasn’t a simple snapshot, but rather a professionally posed photo—the sort I’d guess that went into the portfolio of an actor or model. Not that I’m an expert, mind you, but if I were an actor or model, it’s the kind of photo I’d stick into my portfolio. Personally, I like to keep things simple when it comes to pictures of loved ones. I thank the good Lord on a regular basis for the invention of the digital camera. No more headless bodies of friends and relatives for me. No, sirree. Not since the kids gave me one of those cute little ones hardly bigger than a credit card on my last birthday.

“He’s certainly handsome,” Pam murmured before passing the photo to Rita.