The Twelve Dice of Christmas

by Gail Oust

  “Puh-leeze,” Polly huffed, unable to remain quiet. “I’m getting up there in years, too, but I’m still sharp as a tack.”

  “A witness says the two of you had a heated argument,” I said, forging ahead. “What was it about?”

  “Don’t remember. Don’t care. Water under the bridge.”

  “Waylon Snow didn’t die of natural causes. He was murdered.”

  “Good for him.” Bud Sanders squinted at me through eyes with impaired vision. “Woman, what the devil are you gettin’ at? You sayin’ I killed the sumbitch?”

  Polly snatched the fudge I still held. “My friend brought you a sample of her Secret-Ingredient Fudge. Bet you can’t eat just one piece.”

  Anger stained the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. “You fool women brought me candy? Don’t you know I’m a diabetic? What are you tryin’ to do, poison me?”

  “We only . . .”

  “Get out before I call the cops!”

  “Did you bash in Waylon Snow’s head with a meat pounder? Yes or no,” Polly demanded, not one to resort to subtlety.

  “Out!” With the sure aim of a major league pitcher, Bud Sanders plucked a can of Ensure from his tray table and hurled it in our direction. The can missed its target, striking the door frame before rolling across the floor.

  The crash brought a nurse’s aide running. Drat! I groaned inwardly at seeing Debbie, the woman I’d met on my first visit to Valley View Manor. “You again,” Debbie said, sizing up the situation at a glance. “Shame on you for upsetting one of our residents. As soon as I inform our administrator, you’ll be barred from further visits.”

  Mumbling an apology, Polly and I slinked out the way we’d come.

  “The old geezer might have lost his eyesight, but not his pitching arm,” Polly remarked as we climbed into my SUV. “Hey, cheer up, girlfriend, he missed your head by a good six inches.”

  But knowing that didn’t cheer me. In fact, the entire incident left me feeling downright depressed. Bud Sanders was right-handed, which ruled him out as Waylon Snow’s killer. My persons of interest list had bottomed out with zero suspects.

  Chapter 28

  I don’t know the reason why but, for me, Sunday afternoons always seem to drag. Bill and I had attended a Christmas cantata at the Baptist church that morning, then joined Pam and her hubby for brunch at the Cove Café. Afterward, all of us went our separate ways. Pam and Jack were driving to the mall in Augusta to complete their Christmas shopping, and Bill wanted to put the finishing touches on a rocking horse he’d made for his new grandson. That left me with serious choices. I could wrap a few more gifts, address Christmas cards to former neighbors, most of whom I hadn’t seen in a decade—or I could take a nap.

  Admittedly napping held the greatest appeal, but if I was spending Christmas in Ohio with Bill, I’d need warmer clothing. Ohio meant the possibility of a white Christmas—my first since moving south of the Mason-Dixon Line. South Carolina’s mild climate had been one of its biggest drawing points. My adopted state boasted an early spring, a steamy summer, a lingering autumn, and a blessedly brief winter.

  I tackled the project with determination. Along with a winter coat, I needed a hat, scarf, gloves, and probably boots. Heavier sweaters and slacks were also must-haves. While searching through closet shelves, I came across a box shoved to the rear and simply labeled Christmas. Placing it on the bed next to the pile of winter garments, I opened the lid.

  The contents brought a smile to my face. I’d rediscovered a veritable treasure trove of ornaments my family had acquired over the years. They were more than treasures; they were memories. I picked up a clear plastic globe trimmed in gold braid that held my son’s first-grade picture. Judging from his gap-toothed grin, I guessed Steven must have been six or seven. A foam ornament heavily crusted with pink glitter and purple sequins had been Jennifer’s Girl Scout project one year. Near the bottom of the box, nestled in a bed of yellowing tissue, I discovered an angel tree-topper that had belonged to my parents. The ensuing years had been kind to the porcelain cherub’s lacy gown and spun gold hair.

  The family heirloom would be a perfect addition for the tree the Babes and I planned to erect in Eula’s living room. I’d feel better making a contribution, especially since it had been my brainchild to decorate Eula’s home. No time like the present for a little road trip. I deserted the stack of winter clothes in favor of fresh air.

  My arrival on Eula Snow’s front step was announced by a spate of loud barking.

  Cora’s voice was strident enough to be heard through the closed door. “Hush, Ralph! You stupid dog!”

  The door swung open, and Ralph’s barking instantly subsided when he saw me. “I hope I’m not coming at a bad time,” I said.

  “No, not at all,” Cora replied, “but if you’re here to see my sister, I’m afraid she’s sleeping.”

  “Mind if I come in?” I asked with a patented smile suitable for a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman. “I brought over an item that the Babes and I can use on the Christmas tree.”

  Cora moved aside, albeit reluctantly. “Please keep your voice down. Eula hasn’t been sleeping well and I don’t want to waken her.”

  “It’s an angel,” I whispered, handing her the box containing the tree topper. “I was searching through my closet for things to take with me to Ohio when I came across this. It’s been in the family for three generations. It’ll be perfect.”

  Cora placed the box on an end table and motioned me to follow her. “Let’s talk in the kitchen where we won’t disturb Eula.”

  Ralph padded after us, wagging his bobbed tail, and curled up under the table.

  “Honestly, Kate, I’m very concerned about my sister. I tried to convince Eula to see a doctor, but she can be so stubborn. She’s either sleeping all day or up all night. And she’s growing more and more confused.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Eula wandered into the room rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, dear, if we woke you,” Cora said. “We tried to be quiet.”

  “Kate!” Eula exclaimed, my presence finally registering with her. “How nice of you to visit. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  It had been more like days than ages, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by correcting her. “I brought you a Christmas angel I thought we could put on the top of your tree.”

  “I’m going to have a tree?” She blinked at me owlishly. “How lovely.”

  From behind Eula’s back, Cora shot me a see-what-I-mean look. “Since Eula’s awake, why don’t the two of you chat in living room while I make my sister one of the fruit smoothies she loves. The blender is terribly noisy and makes a conversation nearly impossible.”

  Eula, Ralph, and I—Ralph obviously preferred our company over Cora’s—adjourned to the living room. Eula settled into the comfy-looking recliner while I took a place on the sofa. Ralph rested his shaggy head on the toe of my shoes.

  “Everyone should have a sister like Cora to watch over them. She’s like my guardian angel.” Eula shoved on her oversized eyeglasses. “I’m such a burden these days. Everyone says it’s a good thing that I’m moving to a place where someone looks after me twenty-four-seven. Even Ralph needs someone dependable to feed him and take him for walks. He deserves an owner with a big yard and boundless energy.”

  Leaning forward, I took advantage of my time alone with Eula to ask her about more of her memories of Waylon, particularly in the days before his disappearance. I realized it was a long shot, a lot to expect from a woman suffering bouts of confusion, but I had to try. “Eula,” I said softly, “tell me what your husband was like in the days before he . . . left. Did he seem troubled or mention any business concerns?”

  Eula closed her eyes; her brow wrinkled in concentration. “No, no, not that I recall. Waylon acted like the same man I’d been married to for years.”

  “Does anything stand out in your mind about the last time you saw him?”

  “The day h
e . . . left . . . he said he’d be sure to be home on time for dinner because I was fixing his favorite—Swiss steak.” The memory brought a sad smile to Eula’s lined face. “Waylon loved Swiss steak even more than a nice rump roast. Funny, isn’t it, how I can remember back twenty-five years ago as clear as day, but not what I ate for breakfast this morning.”

  “Is there anything else you remember about the day he vanished?”

  Eula rocked back and forth, her eyes still closed. “I belonged to a quilting circle back then. Our meeting ran late that afternoon so I had to rush home if I wanted to have Waylon’s dinner ready on time.”

  “And . . . ?”

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. “And when I got home he was . . . gone.”

  I felt horrible for making Eula cry. Gone must be the saddest word in our vocabulary when it refers to the loss of a loved one. My gaze rested on the box with the angel tree-toper. “With the home tour on Saturday,” I said, hoping to divert Eula, “my friends and I plan to spend a great deal of time here. You’ll have lots of company this week.”

  Eula’s eyes sprang open. “Gracious! Have I invited them to a luncheon then forgot about it? I’ll have to make chicken salad. The ladies at my church always rave about it. I add a dash of curry for an extra touch.”

  “No need to fuss, Eula. We’ll be in and out all week decorating. Your home will be the talk of the town by the time we’re finished.”

  “How could I have forgotten the Holiday Home Tour?” Eula yawned and looked as if she was about to drift off.

  “Rest a while. I need to be on my way, but first I want to say goodbye to your sister.”

  “Whatever, dear. Ralph, here, will keep me company, won’t you, boy?”

  Ralph thumped his tail on the floor in a show of canine solidarity.

  When I entered the kitchen intending to ask Cora about her sister’s troubling state of mind, I found her standing with her back turned, spooning a powdery substance into a fruit-filled blender.

  “Cora . . . ?”

  She jerked at the sound of my voice, spilling some of the powder on the counter.

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I thought you were in the living room with Eula.” Cora’s hand wasn’t quite steady as she snapped the lid on a cylindrical plastic container and replaced it in the cupboard above the sink.

  “After the holidays, I plan to experiment making smoothies.” I gestured toward the kiwi, strawberries, and bananas on the counter. “Perhaps you can give me a few pointers. Other than fruit, what were you adding to Eula’s smoothie just now?”

  “I added maca powder,” Cora said without turning. “Maca powder is good for energy and bone health. You can order it online, but it comes in a container large enough to share.” She reached for a dish towel and wiped her hands. “Was there something else on your mind?”

  “Actually, I agree with your concerns about Eula’s confusion. It seems to be progressing rather rapidly. It’s possible she might have suffered a slight stroke. At her age those things can happen.”

  “Her condition could also be caused by sleep deprivation, but she’s stubborn as a mule. I’ll try again to convince her to see her family doctor. I’d like her to have a thorough physical before entering Valley View Manor.”

  “Good idea.” My words were drowned out by the whirr of the blender.

  Chapter 29

  As it happened, it was Rita’s turn to host this year’s annual Bunco Babes Christmas Extravaganza. It didn’t hurt any that her home was also the largest and had ample kitchen space for all the goodies. Her husband, Dave, together with the rest of the men in our lives, were sequestered at Bill’s for a night of pizza, beer, and football.

  “Put the cookies on the island in the kitchen,” Rita directed as we arrived laden with tins, baskets, or boxes filled with holiday favorites and outfitted in our colorful—but ugly—Christmas sweaters.

  “Wow!” Pam placed a collection of retro tins filled with pecan tassies next to my plates of fudge. “These look awesome.”

  “Monica and Connie Sue must have waged a contest to see who could outdo the other in the meringue department,” Janine confided. She set peanut butter blossoms in see-through bags next to an impressive array of meringue confections.

  “Monica made the meringue Christmas trees and topped them with tiny gold stars,” Gloria said, making room on the island for her buttery, sweet shortbread cookies. She’d opted for a sweater with a giant Christmas stocking.

  “And Connie Sue’s responsible for the snowmen,” Polly added, the lights on her antlers winking with every movement of her head. “I love their miniature top hats and carrot noses.”

  “I’m embarrassed by all your hard work,” Diane admitted. “I’ve been putting in extra hours at the library so I made my old standby—peanut butterscotch clusters. The kind you don’t even have to bake.”

  “The ones with cornflakes?” Polly asked, helping herself to the mulled cider. “Those are my favorites.”

  “Hey, y’all.” Claudia hurried in carrying a glossy white baker’s box. “I didn’t have time to bake either so I bought these at a cute little French bakery while I was in Augusta. They’re guaranteed to practically melt in your mouth.”

  “I cheated, too,” Megan admitted, looking more youthful than ever in a Mickey Mouse– motif cardigan. “My first attempt at baking cookies was a total disaster so I ended up buying them instead.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Janine soothed. “Baking is an acquired skill. Trust me, we’ve all had our share of disasters.”

  “Amen.” Connie Sue helped herself to a stuffed cherry tomato from a tray Rita had placed on the breakfast bar along with an assortment of savory snacks intended to counteract the sweets.

  “What are we waiting for?” Monica asked, sounding petulant. “Let’s get started.”

  Rita scanned the room, counting heads. “Tammy Lynn isn’t here yet.”

  “Sorry I’m late.” Tammy Lynn burst in right on cue, looking harried. “I’m so embarrassed by all y’all’s pretty cookies. Sheriff’s been keepin’ me busy. When Meemaw offered to make her cinnamon-sugar cookies for me to bring tonight, I let her.”

  “Hey, don’t give it a second thought.” Rita pressed a glass of cider into her hands, knowing full well Tammy Lynn didn’t care for spirits.

  Megan regarded her friend’s messy ponytail and makeup-free face. “Looks like you came straight from work. You didn’t even wear your ugly Christmas sweater.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t have time to change clothes before comin’ here.” Tammy Lynn impatiently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The office has been busier than usual what with the investigation into my grandpa’s death.”

  Connie Sue put an arm around Tammy Lynn’s slender shoulders. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Once your meemaw’s name is cleared, we’ll celebrate with a day at the spa. Mani-pedis, the works—my treat.”

  “Connie Sue has the right idea,” I chimed in. “We’ll all go. Make a day of it like we did before. Think how much fun it’ll be.”

  Claudia wandered back into the kitchen from the dining room, where she’d cornered Diane to discuss travel plans. “Honey, your grandmother is in good hands. BJ’s looking out for her—and your aunt Cora, too,” she added, topping off her wineglass.

  “How’s that?” I asked as I dug through my purse for two dollars to add to the kitty.

  Claudia sipped her chardonnay. “I don’t know if I should tell tales out of school, but your grandmother changed her will.”

  “I had no idea.” Tammy Lynn added her money to the crystal bowl designated tonight as the kitty. “Meemaw never mentioned this to either me or my father.”

  “Apparently she’s so grateful for Cora’s care that she’s decided to leave her house to her sister.”

  Polly started heaping snacks onto a small plate. “She’s leaving her house to her sister? I thought maybe one day it would go
to Tammy Lynn, who she helped raise.”

  “Well, if you think about it, it does make sense,” said the ever-practical Rita, who had overheard our conversation. “Tammy Lynn will be getting married one of these days and will want a home of her own. Something newer, more modern.”

  Turning away, Tammy Lynn half buried the small bags of her grandmother’s cookies behind the fancier offerings. “I’m not plannin’ on gettin’ married anytime soon. Eric and I broke up for good.”

  “Oh, no, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” Janine said, patting her back.

  “It was only a matter of time.” Tammy Lynn blinked back tears. “Eric believes police need to follow the evidence—even when that evidence is circumstantial and leads straight to Meemaw’s front door.”

  We gathered around her, as friends do, with words of consolation and encouragement.

  It was Rita who got the evening back on track. “Listen up, ladies, unless you plan to stay till midnight, find your seats and let’s get rolling. I suggest we play only four sets tonight instead of our usual six in order to leave time for the cookie exchange and judging the ugliest sweater. So, if there are no objections . . .”

  Apparently we were all in agreement. Fortified with snacks and beverages, we scattered to find a place at one of the three tables Rita had readied. I headed for the dining room, where I sat opposite Pam. Diane and Janine took the two remaining seats. Since our table was designated as the head table, Janine rang the bell that signaled the start of play.

  The first round ended quickly when Diane rolled a bunco for a game-ending twenty-one points. Grumbling could be heard from the other tables by those who failed to make a decent score. Pam and I were automatically demoted to table three—in other words, the losers’ table. Janine switched places with Diane so they’d have new partners in the next round.

  “Kate,” Janine called out as I started toward the living room. “I received a message this morning from Lisa Jessup, the nurse administrator at Valley View Manor. She asked me to tell my friend she’s persona non grata at the nursing home. Apparently, Bud Sanders became quite agitated after your last visit. He kept muttering, ‘Damn fool woman thinks I’m a murderer.’”