by J. C. Eaton
“You’d think management would do something about it.”
“The management is too busy running the game than to deal with that kind of nonsense, so those women just get away with it.”
“How do you know them? Are they in the book club, too?”
“Oh, heavens no! Who’d put up with them? The only reason I know who they are is from what Lucinda and Cecilia tell me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, maybe someone will cast a Bingo curse.”
“That’s not funny, Phee.”
I stifled a giggle and continued to watch television until I was too tired to pay attention. “I’m off to bed, Mom. By the way, what are we doing for breakfast? Cereal or something here, or did you want to go out?”
“It’s Sunday. We’ll go out to brunch somewhere.”
“Sounds good. Good night.”
“Good night, Phee. And check behind the doors before you go to sleep. I heard snakes travel in pairs.”
“Then there’d be another snake at Jeanette’s place, not ours. Good night!”
Chapter 19
St. Stephen’s Church sat on the northwest corner of a major intersection with a parking lot that rivaled the Mall of America. I took my daughter to that mall once when she was eight or nine, and I swore I’d never do that again. I forgot which entrance we used and it took us hours to find the car. At least my mom and I knew which entrance we were using for Bingo.
The lot was filling up quickly. My mother was pitching a fit we might not get the table she wanted. I couldn’t imagine why on earth she had to sit in front of the concession stand when I was absolutely stuffed from breakfast. We had just left a Sunday buffet at one of the continuous care communities not far from her house. My mother insisted upon going there because “they serve every meal as if it’s about to be your last.” I wasn’t all that thrilled and told her as much when she suggested it.
“Sounds depressing,” I said.
“It’s not. Trust me. Myrna and Louise eat there all the time. They serve gourmet food and the atmosphere is absolutely delightful. Floral displays, ice sculptures, even fancy cheeses with names you can’t pronounce. And it’s less than twelve dollars. It’s like being on a cruise without getting seasick. And it’s open to the public.”
“Sure it is. They want to lure unsuspecting people into their continuous care web. I know how that goes—independent living, assisted living, skilled nursing, and then what?”
“I’ll tell you what. Prime rib. Roast turkey. Spiral ham. Personalized omelets. You can’t find that at a Denny’s.”
She had a point and off we went to The Grand Colonial. Now, sitting in front of St. Stephen’s Church, I felt like the blueberry balloon girl out of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It would be hours before I’d even dare to put a morsel of food into my mouth.
“I’m dropping you off in front, Phee. Go in and get us the card packets and good seats. I’ll find a parking spot.”
“You sure you don’t want to switch places? I don’t mind driving around for a spot.”
“No, go on in. I’ll see you in a minute.”
A steady line was beginning to form by the entrance to the social hall and I hurried over. Once inside I could see four large tables with Bingo cards and markers in assorted colors. I purchased two sets of cards (ten games) and two markers—a green one and a red one. Then I sprinted past the doorway to locate the concession stand and my mother’s table of choice.
As I headed for the table to the left of the concessions, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was none other than Jerry White, book alarmist, dog owner, and dinner companion to one Gretchen Morin.
“I thought I recognized you. You’re the lady who grabbed Izzy before he took off. So, were my directions okay?”
Directions. That’s right. I asked him for directions. I had to stop and think for a minute. Where did I say I was going? What street? As long as he doesn’t ask, I’ll be fine.
“Yes. Great. Thanks. Um, by the way, looks like you might need to have a chat with the local librarian regarding that book you were so concerned about. Did you see the news on TV Friday night? After that segment, everyone’s going to be beating down the door to get their hands on a copy. I don’t think the readers are too worried about . . . what did you call it? Oh yeah, bad juju.”
“Well, they should be worried and so should that librarian.”
I glanced toward the doorway, expecting my mother to burst on the scene at any minute, but instead, who should come charging toward us but Gretchen Morin herself. A nanosecond after he uttered the word “librarian.” Speak of the devil. I could hardly contain myself. Jerry White turned bright red and froze as she approached. I knew she was about to say something to him when I literally spared him the embarrassment of a bold-faced lie.
“Miss Morin! Nice to see you again. You remember me from the library? I was the one who had the questions about the book club.”
Gretchen stood perfectly still, trying not to make eye contact with Jerry. Like a seasoned poker player, she remained stone-faced.
“Anyway, this is . . . oh, how embarrassing. This gentleman helped me out with directions the other day.”
Jerry White immediately stepped in as if this was the first time they were being introduced. He held out his hand and said, “Jerry White, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Gretchen replied.
“Miss Morin is the director of the library. I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about. Mr. White has some interesting opinions about books.”
Both of them stood there dumbfounded.
“Well, anyway, nice seeing you two. I’d better get a table before my mother walks in.”
Turning quickly from them, I started toward the table I was supposed to grab. Then I literally swung my body around before either of them could make a move.
“Oh, I almost forgot”—I stared directly at Gretchen—“I plan to attend that book club meeting on Wednesday. Imagine the local book club selecting a book that might be cursed. I wonder who’ll own up to that. Anyway, I’ll be sure to have something interesting to tell my friends back home.”
Before either of them could say anything, I raced over to the table on the left of the concession stand, tossed the Bingo cards and markers on top of it, and sat down as if I was taking the last spot in musical chairs.
Seconds later, my mother had seated herself next to me. “Don’t be obvious, but look at the table to your right,” she whispered. “I’m surprised they haven’t staked a territorial flag in the middle.”
I turned my head and tried not to giggle. A large plastic troll with orange hair sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by three or four smaller trolls with green and red hair. Some sort of unicorn was a few inches away near a bottle of Fiji water. And that wasn’t all. The table sported a lineup of card dabbers and rabbits’ feet in assorted colors. And if that wasn’t the end-all, someone had actually brought their own tablecloth. And not your run-of-the-mill kind either. This one was white with green shamrocks and leprechauns.
“I see what you mean,” I whispered as my mother tore off the first sheet in her card packet.
“I told you, Phee. Listen, I spoke to Cecilia and Lucinda on my way in and told them that if they noticed anything suspicious, they are to let me know.”
“Suspicious? Like what? Someone swiping a Bingo card? They’d get crucified in here, no disrespect intended.”
“No, suspicious as in the conversations they overhear. You’d be surprised at what they can find out in two hours.”
“Well, I found out something as soon as I came inside the door. Remember that first night when we were eating at the Italian restaurant? Well—”
Just then the announcer introduced the game and my mother shushed me.
“You can tell me later. The first game goes quick. It’s just a straight line.”
I only knew of two kinds of Bingo games—the straight line and covering the entire card. I was out of my league in the first ten minutes as
the announcer introduced the “Roving L” and the “Postage Stamp.” It went on from there, with all sorts of variations and no winners from anyone at our end of the room, including the “lucky table” next to us.
“Intermission is going to be at the end of this game,” my mother said. “I’ll cover your card. Go and get us some popcorn. It doesn’t have many calories. And diet soda. You’ll never get the chance once they call intermission. Hurry up.”
She was right. No sooner had I arrived back to our table when a veritable stampede of people headed straight for the concession stand.
“This makes a school cafeteria seem like a Victorian tearoom.”
My mother simply muttered “uh-huh” and swallowed some of her soft drink.
“Did Lucinda or Cecilia say anything to you?” she asked.
“No, not really. Well, Lucinda said it was nice to see me again and she introduced me to Cecilia. But if you’re referring to anything about the book or unexplained deaths, then no. They didn’t mention anything. By the way, Mom, was Cecilia ever a nun?”
“A nun? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact everyone here is dressed real casual in floral tops and pants and she’s wearing a white blouse, a long black skirt, a black sweater, and believe it or not, black hose. And her hair is pulled back into a bun that couldn’t be any tighter.”
“Cecilia doesn’t like to stand out. Besides, she says it gets cold in here because someone keeps turning the air-conditioning down.”
I didn’t want to get into the irony of what my mother just said, so I sort of acknowledged her and looked around. It was impossible to see the concession stand. The crowd had engulfed it completely as my mother continued to chomp on her popcorn.
“Don’t worry. If they hear anything out of the ordinary, they’ll let me know.”
She continued snacking while I looked through the other cards, wondering what bizarre pattern the announcer would call next. Shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth, I continued to stare at the crowd. It was starting to dissipate.
“FIVE MINUTES UNTIL THE NEXT GAME. IF YOU NEED TO USE THE RESTROOM, NOW WOULD BE THE TIME.”
Unbelievable. They actually had to tell people when to use the restroom.
“If I had to go to the ladies’ room, I’d just go.”
“And leave your game card? You don’t know who you can trust.”
“It’s just a game, Mom.”
“Tell them that,” my mother said, her arm making a wide sweep across the room. Just then, Cecilia gestured back, waving frantically at my mother.
“Keep an eye on my cards in case the game starts. I’ve got to see what she wants.”
My mother got up, walked to the other side of our table, and took two or three steps toward the concession stand. She was too far away for me to hear anything, but it didn’t matter. I knew she’d repeat everything Cecilia told her verbatim. In fact, I was counting on it.
The room got suddenly quiet as my mother returned to her seat. Her voice was low, but I heard every word.
“The librarian had an argument with some man. Bald. Dark mustache. Cecilia overheard everything because the two of them, the librarian and the man, were standing right next to her, off to the side.”
“Did Cecilia say what they were arguing about?”
“Only that Gretchen said, ‘You’re making things worse.’ And then the man called her a name Cecilia refused to repeat. But Cecilia heard the man say he was the one who arranged for the TV interview with Nina Alvarez.”
“Was that all she heard?”
“Yes. Shh . . . it’s starting.”
I didn’t say anything as the announcer kept calling out numbers. Four more Bingo games were played and still no winners from our side of the room. I turned slightly to see how the table next to us was reacting. One of the women picked up an orange-haired troll, smoothed its hair, and re-positioned it while another lady sprinkled some of the Fiji water on the table. And here we were, worried about a book curse.
“NEXT GAME UP AND GRAND FINALE—CRAZY LARGE KITE!”
Every number came up except ours. I had to resist the urge to poke my mother and tell her that we should go shopping for plastic trolls.
“N–forty-two! THAT’S N–forty-two!”
“BINGO!”
The voice came from clear across the room. “BINGO!”
“Phooey,” my mother muttered. “We didn’t win the game.”
“What Cecilia overheard is better than us winning.”
Mom’s eyebrows seemed to furl, and I knew she was weighing what I had just said.
“I suppose you’re right. Come on, we’ll take the small exit door by the quilt display. We won’t have to elbow our way through the crowd.”
She was right about the exit, but not the parking lot. In a matter of seconds, we joined an endless throng of people walking toward their cars. Everyone except the two people I wanted to spot. I knew Gretchen and Jerry were up to something, but hunches, premonitions, and bad feelings don’t solve mysteries. They just widen the web.
“I know those two are guilty, Mom. Bad juju my you-know-what. Where did you park your car?”
“Off to the left, by the corner of the lot.”
I looked around and the parking lot was worse than the one at the Stardust Theater a few nights ago.
“Why don’t we just grab a seat on one of those benches by the memorial garden and wait a few minutes for this place to clear out. These drivers are making me nervous. I don’t know how you can stand it.”
“Make sure your insurance is paid up. Look, there’s a shady spot over there.” My mother pointed to a low-hanging mesquite tree with a long concrete bench in front.
I sat and watched the “near misses” in the parking lot. “I can’t believe Cecilia remembered everything they said. You were right, Mom. Verbatim. How’d she acquire that kind of skill?”
“She’s a retired school secretary. You’d be surprised at the skills she has.”
“I’m telling you, I think Gretchen Morin is orchestrating this. It’s a great way to cover up a murder by leading people on to believe all those women died from a book curse.”
“But Gretchen didn’t seem to believe there was a curse. Remember what she said during that TV segment?”
“Oh, I remember all right. She played it downright cool. Too cool. Even when Nina Alvarez mentioned giving the book as a gift to your enemies.”
“None of this makes sense. And why would Gretchen hide the fact she knew that man. What was his name? Oh yes, Jerry White. Why would they act as if they didn’t know each other?” she asked.
“Darned if I know. Like I told you before, I’m not very good at this.”
The parking lot started to clear out and we made our way to my mother’s car. I was still holding up hope I’d catch a glimpse of Gretchen with Jerry as the Bingo game let out. It turned out to be impossible with that huge crowd and the number of exit doors, even though I kept a good lookout from our spot on the bench. Now the only people trickling out of the doors seemed to be the staff.
My mother got unusually quiet and I knew what that meant. She was hatching a plan for me to snoop around in another unlikely place. What would Nate do? I figured I was sleuthing as best I could with information garnered from Cindy in the dog park, Gretchen at the library, the sugar cane box from the realty office, and the bizarre ramblings from Jerry White. Not to mention the Kirksons and Edna Mae’s neighbor. I get extra credit for the Kirksons. If it was a paying job, I’d demand time and a half. I was trying to get the unpleasant thought of the Kirksons out of my mind when my mother tapped my elbow with hers.
“I have a thought, Phee, and before you say anything, hear me out.”
“Like I have a choice.”
“Very funny. I think you need to do some more surveillance at the library.”
“Surveillance? This isn’t the Pentagon.”
“And good thing, too, the way they conduct business. Look
, honey, all you need to do is some discreet snooping around. You probably won’t even run into the librarian. She’ll probably be sitting at her desk. So, I suggest, and it’s just a suggestion, that you mill around the stacks and listen to people’s conversations. The people who patronize the library are there all the time and you’re bound to uncover something. Oh. Try to listen in on the conversations from the library clerks. If any of them are part of this, they won’t be able to keep their mouths shut.”
“Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. You really do want me to spy on people.”
“Not spy. Nose around. There’s a difference.”
If there was a difference, it had to be as subtle as hell. I’d never hear the end of it, so I agreed to add the library to my unending list of places I had no intention of frequenting ever again. I spent the rest of the day reviewing my notes, thinking up aliases I could use, in case all else failed, and rewriting my information chart. By the time I closed my eyes, I was exhausted.
At precisely 2:34 a.m., according to my iPhone, I bolted out of a deep sleep, wide awake. Not the groggy, sleepy wakefulness that came with morning, but a full-blown I’m-on-my-feet-and-raring-to-go that would not allow me to get back to sleep. Rather than toss and turn, I decided to get up, take my papers out again, and give them another look-over.
If this was what insomnia was like, just shoot me now.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I used the dimmer switch to give me just enough overhead light above the kitchen table. The last thing I wanted to do was wake my mother or, heaven forbid, the dog. He gets grouchy when you wake him. I spread the papers and my carefully crafted chart in front of me and started to look them over when headlights shone down the street.
Who’d be coming home at this hour? There wasn’t a heck of a lot of nightlife in Sun City West. I walked over to the kitchen windows, making sure the plantation shutters were only partially opened, enough for me to get a good look. It was a sheriff’s car, and it was stopping right in front of Herb Garrett’s house. I dimmed the light above the table to get a better peek.
