Murder is Dicey

by Gail Oust

  I didn’t want to be the audience for a family feud, so I asked, “Doesn’t it bother you that an innocent man is about to spend the rest of his life behind bars for something you did?” Silly question to ask a pair of psychopaths, but any port in a storm, as my daddy used to say.

  Gwen laughed, she actually laughed, her wide mouth a scarlet slash against her pale skin. Ignoring me, she addressed her husband. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. Let’s get on with this, shall we? How do you plan to dispose of our uninvited guest?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask. My idea’s brilliant—and involves no messy clean-up.”

  “Do tell. I’m all ears.”

  “Kate, here, has an irrational fear of dentists. A fear she broadcasts to anyone who’ll listen. A pity, but the unfortunate soul is going to suffer a fatal overdose from the barbiturates she took to calm her nerves when that nasty filling came loose a second time.”

  Chances for escape were dim before, but now with two people blocking the only exit, they were downright grim. Belatedly I remembered I still wore the latex gloves I had donned what seemed like a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t leave as much as a single fingerprint behind to show I was once here. I had outsmarted myself.

  “How do you intend to explain me dying in your woodshop?” I asked, so terrified I could barely speak.

  “That won’t be a problem. According to my script, the next scene takes place in my office. Gwen is going to drive us there. I happen to keep a supply of sedatives locked away and have the means of . . . how shall I say? . . . persuading? . . . you to take them. She’ll witness how I valiantly rose to the occasion and tried to revive you.” He smiled a mirthless smile. “But, alas, my heroic efforts failed. Your death will be viewed as a tragic accident. Now”—he waved the gun at me—“move!”

  My ankles felt shackled by ten-pound weights as I stumbled to obey. I tensed at the hard press of a gun barrel between my shoulder blades and sluggishly moved toward the door. I paused for a second on the threshold, drawing in a lungful of cool night air. I caught a slight movement out of my peripheral vision but, before I could locate the source, felt another jab of the gun urging me forward.

  “Hurry up,” Baxter ordered. “If you’re waiting for the cavalry, it ain’t coming.”

  No sooner were the words spoken when a flurry of motion exploded just to my right. I heard a sickening crack followed by a bloodcurdling howl. I half turned to find Bill Lewis wielding his Louisville Slugger over Baxter, who was down on his knees, cradling his broken wrist against his chest.

  Springing into action, I scrambled to retrieve the gun that had flown from his grasp upon impact with the bat. Gwen, though stunned at first by the unexpected turn of events, dived for it, too. Luckily I was quicker. I’d like to think my reflexes were faster than the younger woman’s, but credit an adrenaline rush for the lucky save. I aimed the gun in her general direction, using both hands like I’d watched Mariska Hargitay do on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. I was shaking so much I couldn’t have hit the broad side of a barn at ten paces. But in spite of my attack of palsy, Gwen froze, apparently not wanting to chance my marksmanship—or lack thereof.

  “You okay?” Bill asked.

  I gave him a shaky smile meant to reassure. “Call Sheriff Wiggins.”

  Nodding, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. When the brief conversation ended, he came over and put his arm around my shoulders. “Sure you’re all right?”

  In the aftermath of the adrenaline overload, my teeth started to chatter and my knees wobble. If Bill wasn’t there for support, I’d be on the ground alongside the blubbering doctor. “J-j-just peachy,” I managed.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Seeing Bill’s baby blues light with approval, a slow, steady warmth began to seep through my body. Warmth from the inside out.

  A nice feeling.

  Chapter 38

  It was all over but the shouting.

  Maybe the cavalry hadn’t arrived as Baxter had been so kind as to point out, but my white knight had arrived in the nick of time armed with his trusty Louisville Slugger. Bill kept me company while I explained to Sheriff Wiggins what happened. And believe me, I had some ’splainin’ to do, as Desi used to say in the old I Love Lucy. Afterward Bill and I watched from the backseat of a patrol car while Deputy Preston hustled Dr. Death, whimpering and threatening assault charges, to the emergency room. Their final stop would be Brookdale County Jail. Gwen Baxter, looking more petulant than fearful, glared at me as she was led away in handcuffs.

  The sheriff barked orders to his men. The pole barn was draped in the now-familiar yellow crime-scene tape. SLED would arrive first thing in the morning to examine every square inch of Baxter’s woodworking shop for trace evidence. I had no doubt they’d find what they searched for. All in all, it had been an eventful night. I couldn’t wait to see the looks on the faces of the Bunco Babes when I described my exploits. As for my children, I decided mum’s the word.

  I turned to Bill and asked, “How did you ever happen to find me?”

  “If I tell you, you’ve gotta promise you won’t think I’m some kind of stalker.”

  “Promise.”

  “You’re not the only curious person, Kate,” he said with a rueful smile. “I saw you head out of town and decided to see where you were going. I was worried, you out late at night and Rosalie’s murderer still not found.”

  “If you hadn’t come along when you did . . .” I shuddered, remembering Baxter’s cold smile and even colder eyes.

  “But I did.” He reached over and took my hand, which was no longer sheathed in a latex glove. “I saw your car parked alongside the road and decided to wait it out. When you didn’t return, I thought you might’ve gotten yourself in trouble. So I went to check on you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Thank goodness you did. Baxter and his wife would have killed me without batting an eye.”

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “Not with me around.”

  I squeezed back. Who would have thought a guardian angel would have baby blue eyes and a tool belt?

  • • •

  The next day, Tammy Lynn phoned to say the sheriff wanted to see me. When I arrived at his office, she gave me a big smile and instructed me to go right in.

  “Miz McCall. Please, have a seat,” Sheriff Wiggins greeted me.

  I sat, perched on the edge of the chair poised for flight. I wasn’t sure what this meeting was all about but hoped I wasn’t being charged with trespassing.

  Somehow I didn’t think the sheriff would accept an excuse of temporary insanity. Temporary meddling, perhaps, but not temporary insanity. I plunked down the little gift I’d brought before he had a chance to launch into the business at hand.

  As with my previous offerings, he eyed the square plastic case with suspicion.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t bite—and won’t leak.”

  Frowning, he picked it up. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “It’s a download of a Law & Order episode. Pop it in your DVD player some night when there’s nothing on TV but reruns. Watch it once, and you’ll be hooked.”

  He set it down on his desk, but I could see a teensy smile play at the corners of his mouth. “Miz McCall,” he drawled in that deep, velvety baritone of his, “I feel it’s my duty as Brookdale County sheriff to warn you about the dangers of civilians interferin’ with police work. You mighta gone and got yourself killed last night.”

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Sheriff, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’m going to mind my own business. Besides, I think it highly unlikely Serenity Cove Estates is going to experience a crime wave any time soon.”

  He leaned back in his chair, appearing more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. “Just between the two of us, I wasn’t entirely convinced Mr. Brubaker killed his wife. Some things just didn’t add up.”

  “Did SLED find anything out at Baxter’s shop?�
�

  “They found blood traces all over that table saw, just like you said. I asked ’em to put a rush on the DNA, but I’m positive it’ll match Miz Brubaker’s.” He grinned at me then, a flash of perfect white teeth that could put Tiger Woods’s smile to shame. “Brookdale’s going to be needin’ a new dentist right quick. Once the D.A. offered Doc Baxter a deal, he was only too happy to confess his role in the murder and place all the blame on his wife. Both are goin’ to be guests of the state for a mighty long time.”

  • • •

  I was about to pick up my purse when the doorbell rang. I glanced at my watch as I hurried to answer it. Tonight was bunco night, and I didn’t want to be late. Gloria and Polly were hostessing, and I knew we’d spend time rehashing the events of the past couple days.

  Much to my amazement, I found Earl Brubaker on my front step. A new and vastly improved version. Hair neatly trimmed. Clothes crisp and clean. And not a single nose hair in sight.

  “Earl! What brings you here?”

  “I’m taking off for Poughkeepsie first thing in the morning. I wanted to thank you before I left. Here,” he said, shoving a clay pot into my hands.

  I stared down at a beautiful peach-colored orchid. “Earl, it’s lovely. Thank you, but you really shouldn’t have.” I didn’t have the heart to tell the man about my deplorable absence of a green thumb.

  “It’s the least I can do for someone who saved my life.” His brown, basset hound eyes looked suspiciously bright. “You’re the only one who believed in me. Everyone else thought I killed Rosalie.”

  I felt my own eyes well up. “Are you going to return to Serenity Cove?”

  “I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “I only know I want to spend some time with my daughter and get to know my grandkids.”

  “But what about your orchids while you’re away?” I asked, mentally crossing my fingers and hoping he wouldn’t entrust me with their care.

  “Your friend Rita’s a master gardener. She said she’d be happy to look after them for me.” With a final wave, he turned and walked down the steps.

  Later, just as I predicted, the first forty-five minutes of bunco were spent reviewing everything that happened since four of us Babes made a startling discovery while golfing. At last, Gloria picked the brass bell from the head table and rang it.

  “Ladies! Let’s play bunco.”

  And so we did. Monica went home that night wearing the tiara, but I felt as though I was the real winner. After all, Bill was coming over tomorrow night for a home-cooked meal. What man can resist pot roast?

  Excerpt from Roll Over and Play Dead

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  the second book in Gail Oust’s

  Kate McCall Mystery Series,

  Roll Over and Play Dead

  Chapter 1

  “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 required. Dice just make it look serious. Shake, rattle, and toss. No previous experience needed. 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. Each to 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 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 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 forty-something 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 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.

  Rita, big and buxom, fanned her face with her hand. “He’s gorgeous. I feel a power surge coming on.”

  A bevy of oohs and aahs and isn’t-he-handsomes followed the picture from one set of hands to another. Claudia beamed, basking in Lance’s reflected glory. “He’s so
mething all right. My own personal hunka-hunka burnin’ love.”

  “Not bad for an older guy,” Megan Warner concurred.

  “Watch your tongue, child.” Claudia gave Megan’s arm a playful swat. “Didn’t your mama teach you to respect your elders?”

  Pam rushed to her daughter’s defense. “When you’re only twenty, Claudia, even Justin Timberlake is getting a little long in the tooth.”

  Perky, blond, blue-eyed Megan happens to be the darling of the Warner family. She’s currently taking online classes and working part-time as a receptionist for the new dentist in town while trying to decide what to do with the rest of her life.

  Finally it was my turn to worship at the Altar of Lance. “You gals are right. Lance Ledeaux is one hot dude.” That is, if one’s taste ran to the superficial. Not mine. I’ll take Bill Lewis, my handyman charmer in a tool belt, any day of the week over movie-star handsome. I passed the glossy to Janine, the Babes’ very own Jamie Lee Curtis look-alike with her slender build and cap of short-cropped silver hair. A registered nurse, Janine is our go-to person for all things medical.

  Janine’s brows puckered in a frown. “His face looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.”

  Tara, the other youngster of the group at thirty-one, scooted closer for another look. Tara is Rita’s daughter-in-law. She’s staying with her in-laws while her husband, Mark, is deployed overseas. “Now that you mention it, he does look familiar.”

  “Of course he does, sweetie,” Claudia cooed. “He’s an actor. A well-known actor, I might add.”

  “An actor?” we exclaimed in perfect eleven-part harmony.

  “That’s right. Did I forget to mention I married an actor?”

  Claudia’s expression was guileless as a cherub’s. But I wasn’t buying the innocent act. She had deliberately withheld this little tidbit, going for shock value instead. And judging from the awed looks on our faces, her ploy had worked.