Baby Bunco

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  Olga sniffed back a tear. “Here. It is all I have.” She slipped three ten dollar bills into the girl’s palm, hugged her, and backed out from the hiding place. She shuffled from the alley toward her bus stop one block over, willing herself not to turn her head around. Someone might be observing, and she didn’t want to give Ra’naa’s location away. Her heartbeats quickened with each step.

  She whispered a prayer in Russian. “Father of Lights. Help us, please. Amen.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Janie drummed her fingers. “Needle in the haystack. How do we find her?” She muttered it to Mrs. Fluffy, but more to herself, though she’d never admit that. If Melody found out she might think dementia had set in. The assisted living apartment might become a reality.

  Where does a scared Hindi girl run when she’s in a foreign country? The answer flashed in her brain. To a friend. Who did she know?

  “The other maids. Of course!” Janie slapped the table with her palm causing her cat to half-dash, half-skid down the hall. Mrs. Arnold didn’t let her know how many she employed, but Olga mentioned a fleet of cars with two girls per assignment. Maybe she could persuade all the Bunco Biddies to hire out for a week. Say they admired hers and Ethel’s homes so much they wanted theirs to be just as sparkling.

  No, no. That wouldn’t do. Mrs. Arnold would certainly raise one of her penciled-in eyebrows. Janie goofed when they met. She’d pushed the woman too hard. The look on the manager’s face and the set of her jaw made it clear.

  She called her daughter. Melody told her that ever since Miranda, her assigned maid for several years, quit, a different one showed up each time to the Johnson’s. But none were Russian or Hindi as far as she could tell.

  “So you can hire just one?”

  “I always have. Mrs. Arnold has never assigned two.”

  “Interesting.” Why did Olga tell her differently? Maybe two were sent the first time and then only one after that. Now she wondered if two would show up at Ethel’s. “Thanks, Mel. Gotta run. Talk again soon.”

  Janie hung up with a deep-sighed grunt. Even if she visited Melody at the opportune time, who knew which one would show up? She protruded her lower lip and humphed as her cat wandered in the room. She scooped her up and nuzzled her fur. “Well, Mrs. Fluffy, there must be a better way.”

  She set the cat down. As she did, a tingling flashed across her face...almost a divine revelation. Perhaps Janie could talk Mrs. Jacobs into authorizing a general spring cleaning of the common areas. She straightened her shoulder blades. Yes. That might work. She paced as she rehearsed her argument in her mind.

  Exactly how long had it been since the dining chairs had a through vacuuming? What about the couches in the recreation area where they showed movies every Friday night? Bound to be popcorn and candy pieces stuck to fuzz in all the cushion crevices. Such a job would take at least three maids, and she knew the ones to hire.

  Yes, she’d speak to Mrs. Jacobs about it when she next volunteered. Plan formulated, Janie hummed as she tidied up the kitchen.

  ~*~

  “Well, what do you think?” Janie huffed slightly next to Ethel and Betsy Ann on their morning power walk. The sun peeked over the Texas Hill Country in streaks of burnt orange and pinks. A mockingbird entertained with his full repertoire of bird calls and a few mayflies fluttered over the grass at the third tee, which glistened with morning dew.

  “I agree the recreation and dining areas probably need a thorough cleaning.” Betsy Ann stuck out her tongue. “In fact, now that you bring it up I’m not so sure I want to wear my brand new bone-colored slacks to lunch. Who knows what stains and dirt they might pick up?”

  Ethel trotted backward to catch the conversation. “Will any of them talk? Olga and Mita seemed tight-lipped. Plus, how would we explain our hovering around to speak with them, distracting them from their jobs?”

  Janie sighed. “You’re right. We need to discover their names and addresses somehow so we can visit them off hours. Perhaps that punk receptionist is ditsy enough to give them to me.” Janie shrugged. “I could tell her we all signed thank you notes and wanted to mail them individually.”

  Ethel snapped her fingers. “We could put ‘address correction requested’ on them. Then when the cards are returned to us, we’d know their real mailing information.”

  Janie cocked her head to the side. “Huh? You mean purposely misprint their addresses? Most likely they’d just come back ‘return to sender.’”

  Ethel’s shouldered dropped. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  “At least you had an idea.” Betsy Ann jogged up to her. “I haven’t a clue.” She waggled her finger. “And don’t you dare comment, Janie Manson.”

  Janie laid her hand over her heart. “Who me? Didn’t cross my mind.”

  “Of course not.”

  Janie playfully jutted her tongue.

  Betsy Ann slapped the air near her arm.

  Ethel laughed and flipped around to jog up the incline toward the community center, her skinny, velour-covered backside swinging.

  The other two followed without saying another word. Every few steps for the next half mile, however, one of them giggled again.

  ~*~

  Janie swallowed down the butterfly that insisted on fluttering in her esophagus. She tapped on the manager’s office door. Hearing Mrs. Jacobs’ permission to enter, she opened it halfway and slipped inside.

  “May I offer a suggestion? Well, almost a request. Something for you to ponder.”

  “What is it, Janie?” Mrs. Jacobs stifled a chuckle. “You seem as antsy as a mouse in a barn filled with cats.”

  It’s only...” She motioned to one of the chairs, “OK if I sit?”

  The manager waved her hand. “Please do.”

  After settling in and smoothing the pressed seams on her slacks, Janie proceeded. “A few of us wondered how long it had been since the common areas had a thorough cleaning.”

  Mrs. Jacobs tensed.

  Janie scooted forward. “Oh, don’t get us wrong. It appears fine. As did my home, or so I surmised. When I hired those maids from Maid to Order they made me realize I’m not as fastidious a housekeeper as I thought. Oh, I dust around, mop over and tidy up, but they cleaned under couches, lifted cushions, scrubbed baseboards and used all of those vacuum attachments I had no idea did anything.”

  “I see.”

  “I turned beet red when I spotted all of the crumbs in my couch. Of course, I host the Bunco Biddies every Thursday and everyone brings potluck. Who knows how long...” She shuddered.

  Mrs. Jacobs’ mouth stretched into a minute smirk then her demeanor returned to pure professionalism. “Go on.”

  “So, I thought I ought to apologize to a few of my friends, which led to the discussion of how grungy their furniture may be. That segued into talk about the seating in the recreation room where we watch movies. All sorts of food particles could be lurking in the crevices of those upholstered chairs and sofas. What about the dining room? People eat in there three times a day and bring in snacks on Bingo nights. ”

  “I must admit, you do present an interesting viewpoint. I honestly can’t answer your question, which may mean it’s been too long. We have maintenance vacuum the floors twice weekly and the tables are wiped down after each meal by the cooking staff, but…” The manager waved her hand over her cluttered desk. “It never crossed my radar. What with the kitchen renovations in the two bedroom apartments and the floor-wide leak we had last week in the nursing facility, much less the excitement over Edwin Newman last month, God rest his soul...” The wrinkles on her brow resembled drought-stricken clay-based soil.

  Janie raised her hands in front of her, wide-spread. “Oh, I fully understand. This is why I hesitated to even broach the subject.” She snapped her fingers. “Would you let me lift that burden from your agenda? I’ll set it up with Maid to Order, get a bid, and even supervise if you’d like. I’m sure they could do it all between lunch and dinner if they brought in about four o
r five maids.”

  The woman slumped into the back of her executive chair. “Would you? What a help it would be. I’m certain I can convince the board to swing the expense. We meet tomorrow evening.”

  “How fortuitous.” Janie rose from her seat. “Happy to do so. Leave it to me. Better to nip potential complaints in the bud, don’t you agree?”

  She left her property manager smiling. Janie herself smirked as soon as she closed the door and resumed sorting the information fliers in the tract rack. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and texted Ethel. Bait taken. I’m in charge of rec. room clean.

  Ten minutes later, a short beep indicated Ethel’s response. A picture of a hand, thumbs up, appeared on the screen. Will tell others stand down.

  Janie frowned. Others? She typed, Who?

  Had four women ready to call and complain over next few days.

  Janie sent a message back. LOL, the acronym for laughing out loud, and next to it a semicolon, hyphen, and a right parenthesis. The code produced a round, winking yellow face popping into cyberspace on its way to Ethel’s phone.

  ~*~

  On Thursday, promptly at 1:30 PM, the cleaning crew arrived. Janie waved when she caught the eye of Olga and Mita. Two other women joined them—a blonde who looked to be in her mid-twenties with her hair tightly twisted into a bun and a Hispanic woman whom Janie surmised must be in her early thirties. Perhaps a supervisor? She spoke for the others. “My name is Mrs. Hernandez. Where do you wish us to begin, ma’am?”

  Janie gave them the grand tour which included the sun room, the recreation area, the dining hall and the snack bar. As Mrs. Hernandez wondered the rooms and made notes on her clipboard, Janie pulled Mita aside.

  “Are you OK? You seem worried. Remember, I’m here if you need help.” She slipped her mobile phone number into the girl’s palm again.

  The maid’s deep coal-colored eyes rounded. She moved away to stand next to Olga. After a questioning glance from her friend, Mita lifted her fist and opened it enough for Olga to determine what it entailed. Next, she stuffed it into her pant pocket.

  Janie curled her fingers into her palm, with thumb and pinkie extended, and put her hand to her own ear. She mimed the sentence, “Call me,” and gave the Russian girl a warm smile, which she returned. Groundwork set. Now if only the two would take her up on her offer.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Both Olga and Mita skirted Janie the rest of the day. Occasionally, one of them would glance toward her direction but then zip their attention back to the task at hand. A few resident onlookers gathered to observe the work with nods and happy grunts. A couple of “It’s about time” comments floated in the air and one of the Bunco players, Annie Schmidt, promised to write Mrs. Jacobs a glowing letter of thanks.

  Janie jumped at the offer. “Why don’t we go down to the dollar store and buy a packet of thank you notes. We can have everyone sign them tonight before we roll the dice. I’ll find out how to deliver them to each of the women cleaning today.”

  Annie gushed. “What a grand idea. You do come up with excellent ones, Janie, my dear.”

  She felt her cheeks warm as she caught Ethel’s smirk and thumbs-up sign. A small amount of guilt for being so manipulative crept into her throat. She gulped it back down with a wave of her hand. “Stuff and nonsense. That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

  “Well, I volunteer to purchase them. I’m headed to the mall anyway, and there’s a wonderful gift shop which stocks unique and artistic cards.”

  “How thoughtful, Annie. Thanks.”

  Ethel whispered close to Janie’s ear as Annie turned to leave. “If they resemble the blouse she bought at that boutique recently, heaven help us.”

  “The purple, pink and lime green thing she wore to Bunco last Thursday?”

  Ethel nodded. “She purchased it because it was unique and artistic.”

  Janie groaned.

  ~*~

  Never had Janie seen such glittery note cards in all of her life. Blue and pink butterflies fluttered over fuchsia and orange flowers bent to catch the stylistic bright, yellow sun rays. Inside, each read, “You brighten my world.”

  “I thought it appropriate, don’t you agree?” Annie beamed as she clutched her hands over her waist. “They cleaned so well everything shined.”

  “Absolutely.” Janie dashed her friend a grin as she rubbed the glitter from her palms and signed the inside flap under the inscription of the first card. Then she rose tall and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention as they milled around the Bunco tables and buffet. “Ladies. I’m sure most of you perused the common areas and saw what an amazing job the maids from Maid to Order did today. Well, guess what? Annie here,” she placed a hand on the woman’s arm, “got thank you notes for each one of them. Wasn’t that sweet?”

  Positive murmurings ensued as ladies dangled their plates around the potluck selections.

  “I’ll leave these cards on the coffee table, so please sign them when you get a moment. We will take thirty minutes to eat and start Bunco at seven sharp, as always. Thank you.”

  The twelve sat at three tables of four, pink dice poised and ready after all had sampled at least a half a helping of each dish. Except desert. Sweets time always happened during the fifteen-minute break between rounds four and five. The group voted it in two years prior to allow everyone’s tummy to settle before stuffing it once again. Tonight, the butterscotch brownies with a Crème Brûlée frosting caught many an eye. But all agreed Betsy Ann brought the best dessert of the evening—cherry cake chopped into squares and decorated with strawberry icing. Half-cut miniature marshmallows resembled the dots on the dice. She swiveled her tray for all to view. “I found it on that website where everyone posts recipes.”

  Die were rolled to see who won the privilege to sit at the head table and then the middle one. The high scorers moved up while the lower scorers stayed in place, with the exception of the head table. That group reversed the order so the winners remained in their place of honor. Losers had to move to the third table and work their way back.

  With the ding of the pink rhinestone covered bell, the groups rolled as many ones as possible until someone at the first table got three of them for a Bunco, worth twenty-one points. Then the shuffle occurred and the second round, rolling twos, commenced. On the evening went until the last Bunco of three sixes. Scores were calculated and applause given to the one who incurred the most points and the one who rolled the most Buncos.

  No money ever exchanged hands since everyone lived on a fixed income. Instead, the two winners were exempt from bringing food the next week. Tonight, Mildred and Roseanne received the accolades, though a few groused when Roseanne rolled a Bunco of fives on her first roll.

  “Luck. Pure luck,” she crooned as she popped another marshmallow from Betsy Ann’s cake in her mouth.

  Then it happened again. She rolled a Bunco of sixes on her second hand. She ducked and giggled as wads of score cards launched in her direction.

  Ethel collected the dice from the tables and zipped the baggie closed. “Wild night, huh?”

  Betsy Ann agreed. “That’s what I love about Bunco. You never know, do you?”

  Mildred leaned in. “Remember last week when we all became stuck on twos for fifteen minutes?”

  Everyone groaned.

  After good-humored, mild gossip, the group exited at a quarter until nine, just in time for Ethel to catch her favorite British mystery series on public television. When the broadcast station moved it from Saturdays to Thursdays two weeks prior, Ethel had waffled between it and Bunco. Janie offered the solution. They’d view it at her house, and Ethel would stay to help clean up afterwards. With cozy chamomile teas in hand, they settled in for the who-dunnit from across the pond.

  The plot involved a couple from 1920’s India who had been raised in what was then called Bombay. The star-crossed lovers, a daughter of a merchant and a half-breed of a lower caste, decided to kill everyone who stood in their way of
matrimony. After ten years of presumably accidental deaths, only a matronly aunt in Salisbury, England remained. She keeled from a massive stroke. Because the elderly woman had filled in the permission to be an organ donor on her driving license, the coroner had performed a toxicology screen during the autopsy. Cobra venom had been slipped into her hot chocolate.

  Janie tilted her head onto her hand. “Hmm. This reminds me. I need to contact Blake. He never fully explained the findings on that girl slaughtered behind the store.”

  Ethel switched off the television. “You think she’d been given drugs before they, well, you know?” She made a vertical motion down her chest.

  Janie swallowed the last of her tea. “Well, how else would they cut her open? A botched C-section would be excruciating without anesthesia. I think she passed out before she bled out.”

  “Well, naturally. Lose enough pints, and you go into a coma.”

  “No, Ethel. I meant her assailants gave her something to knock her out so they could perform the act. Or they clicked her lights off permanently and then did their butchery.”

  “Ah. Yes. I suppose they could’ve done that.” She grabbed their tea cups and headed to the kitchen to rinse them out. “Easy to administer too large a dose of painkillers or send a few bubbles of air through her veins with a syringe. But wouldn’t that kill the baby as well?”

  “I think not, if they retrieved it fast enough.” Janie slapped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Administering drugs with a syringe?”

  “No, well, yes. An emergency service vehicle would offer plenty of equipment and opportunity, including a cooler to store the organ.”

  “So you’re saying they did all of this in an ambulance?”

  Janie smirked. “Perfect cover, don’t you think? What if this ring of thieves intercepts the 9-1-1, calls off of the band radio broadcast, and snuffs out the victims in order to steal their organs? Then they sell the kidneys on the black market. Betsy Ann and George’s articles confirmed there’s no way the current demand can meet the legal supply. Waiting lists are years long, and some people don’t want or have the time to slowly move up the list.”