by Vickie Fee
“Thank you so much, Dylan,” I said. “It’s so generous of you both to haul all these heavy planters in for just one evening.”
Billy Jr. gave me a weak smile. I had a feeling helping Dylan out was Nell’s idea, not his. But at least he didn’t seem to be complaining.
“Glad to do it,” Dylan said. “I’ve pitched in with RR a few times and have seen firsthand the amazing way they help people.”
“Will I see you at the dinner tonight?”
“I’m still not sure yet,” he said. “We’ll see.”
Just before five o’clock, Lucinda called and insisted I come by the hotel and help walk her through her part again. I didn’t really have the time, but I couldn’t risk having her flee the scene before showtime.
I stopped by my house for a few minutes on the way to the hotel to freshen up and to grab my costume. I discerned—rightly, as it turned out—that Lucinda would hold me hostage until it was time for the dinner.
Chapter 26
Guests were beginning to arrive for the mystery dinner in their Clue game-themed costumes when I pulled up beside the country club and parked in the employee parking lot. I was behind the wheel of my SUV, with Lucinda in the backseat just like old times. We climbed out of the car, and she gave me a wink before heading to the kitchen door. I felt a twinge of nerves in my stomach, but quickly dismissed it. The show must go on, I reminded myself.
I walked through the front door, greeting some of the dinner guests in the lobby before hurrying to the dining room. I paused only briefly to admire the Residential Rehab sign beside the doors.
Winette came up behind me and touched my sleeve. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. And I continue to wonder about your sanity. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this little scheme?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, then, good luck,” she said, doubtful. “It should be interesting, anyway.”
“Oh, there you are,” Holly said. “We’re going to open the dining room doors to the dinner guests in less than ten minutes.”
I hadn’t had time to fill Holly in on our last-minute plans for the murder mystery and hoped she wouldn’t feel slighted.
“Holly, I don’t have time to explain now. But don’t be surprised about anything . . . uh, unusual that may happen during the play. It’s all planned, sort of.”
She gave me a curious look, said “Awlright, darlin,’” then moved on to apprising me of some last-minute wrinkles that needed ironing out, like a new foursome of guests who’d showed up without reservations and being short a waiter.
Holly said she had already checked with the chef, who said he had enough food to accommodate a few extra diners. I quickly conferred with Winette to make sure she hadn’t turned away any unregistered guests—I didn’t think it would be fair to let in last-minute guests if others had already been turned away. She hadn’t, so I advised the group they were welcome for dinner if they were prepared to hand over a check for the one hundred dollar donation per plate. I said this tactfully, of course.
I asked Holly if Kenny was still around. My go-to handyman had volunteered to take care of any last-minute carpentry needs that came up while erecting the sets for the play and decorating the ballroom for the dance. He’d been at it most of the day.
I spotted him double-checking some of the stage sets.
“Kenny, do you have plans for tonight?”
“Just planning to chill out and watch some lame horror movie on TV.”
“I hate to ask, since I know you’ve already put in a full day. But would you be willing to stand in as a waiter? We have one who hasn’t shown up. Since this is way above and beyond the call of duty, I’ll pay the usual hourly wage if you can stay.”
Kenny looked at me with puppy dog eyes.
“You hurt my feelings, Ms. Mac, thinking I’d accept money. I’m happy to wait tables or whatever, but only as a volunteer, right?” he said.
“I’m sorry, Kenny. I just didn’t want to take advantage of your generous nature when you’ve already done so much. Go on out to the kitchen and Holly will find you a waiter’s uniform that fits—more or less.”
As he started to walk away, I called out, “Oh, and Kenny . . .” He looked back at me over his shoulder. “Thanks,” I said.
He gave me a thumbs-up and a shy smile before heading to the kitchen.
I looked over to see that the dining room doors were open and guests were streaming in.
I stood dumbstruck for a moment, taking in the surreal sight.
When the planning committee decided to add a costume contest to the murder mystery dinner, we had tossed around a few ideas. We had discussed favorite movie characters or favorite detectives before settling on Clue as the theme. We reasoned that people could use ideas from the game or the movie as inspiration. It also gave us a chance to hand out more prizes. Instead of just one or two for best male and female costumes, it allowed us to give a best costume award for Mrs. Peacock, Colonel Mustard, and so on. We also decided to include awards for the butler and maid to bring it up to eight costume categories in all. Mrs. Cooley liked the idea so much that she decided to use the Clue characters in her murder mystery script as well.
This also let us have a bit of fun with the prize baskets. The award for the best Miss Scarlett, for example, included a gift certificate to a lingerie shop.
But the assortment of costumes I surveyed as the guests flowed into the room was more creative than I could have imagined. I spied one Mr. Green wearing a conservative green-gray suit, with matching fedora and vintage green patterned tie. I also noted a Mr. Green in a shamrock green polyester leisure suit with a wide seventies-style tie, and another wearing lime green lederhosen with a matching cape. Other characters sported similarly broad variations in their costume designs.
As if a spotlight were beamed on her, Mama swept through the door wearing a turquoise satin 1950s-style dress, with a fitted bodice and flared skirt, undergirded with petticoats, and matching turquoise pumps. Her hat was wildly festooned with feathers, including some peacock feathers. She also sported evening gloves, a matching purse, and a brooch fashioned to look like a jewel-handled dagger.
The look suited her personality perfectly.
Earl was in tow, wearing a brown suit with a peacock feather patterned skinny tie. A medal pinned to his suit pocket indicated he was supposed to be Colonel Mustard. But it was obvious to me that he was really just an accessory for my mother’s arm.
Holly called my name, jarring me back to reality, such as it was. I scurried into the employees’ locker room, slipped into a restroom stall, and quickly changed into my Miss Scarlett homage—a red A-line dress that showed a modest amount of cleavage. To accentuate my modest cleavage, I pinned a pearl brooch at the center of the neckline.
I hustled to my assigned table near the kitchen so I could check on things as needed. Larry Joe was already seated at our table, along with my in-laws and Di; there was an empty chair for Dave in case he made it for dinner. Larry Joe looked gorgeous in a tuxedo that rarely gets pulled out of the closet. He gave me a big smile that showcased both his dimples—a half smile only brings out one dimple, the left one.
“You look beautiful, hon,” he said with a lusty look that set me to thinking about giving him an after-dinner treat.
I got settled in my chair just as Winette stepped up to the mike to welcome the guests and get things rolling.
Winette was also in character, but like me had kept it understated, since as organizers we were recusing ourselves from the costume contest. She wore a simple navy blue dress and a small, tasteful hat with a single peacock feather stuck in it.
“Welcome, everyone,” she said. “We are overjoyed that so many of you have turned out to support Residential Rehab. Our major sponsors and donors are listed on your program. But I could not even begin to list all the volunteers and donors who have helped bring this evening to fruition, including the brave folks entertaining the little ones over at the church whi
le we enjoy a grown-up evening here. Please join me in giving all these generous volunteers a round of applause.”
After the clapping died down, Winette said in a solemn voice, “On behalf of the fund-raiser planning committee, we’d like to take a moment of remembrance for a member of our committee who is no longer with us. Morgan Robison was a young woman whose life ended tragically before her time. She and her family generously supported tonight’s fund-raiser, as well as many other local charities. I’d like to ask everyone to join me in observing a brief moment of silence in her honor.”
After an appropriate interval, Winette continued, “Thank you so much. Your first course will be served in just a few moments. Enjoy conversation with your fellow diners and look over your programs. As soon as the waiters have cleared the tables from the first course, the lights will be dimmed. That’s your cue to turn your attention to the sets on my left and enjoy the murder mystery featuring students from the Drama Department at Dixie High School, under the able direction of Mrs. Dana Cooley.”
More applause.
“Be sure to take notes and confer with your dinner companions between acts. After the third act, each table will take a vote and submit a card indicating their pick for whodunit. In the fourth act, the identity of the killer will be revealed and we’ll all savor the moment over dessert.”
Gesturing toward my table, Winette said, “And please welcome our hometown television celebrity, Lucinda Grable, who is generously supporting our local charity tonight.”
Lucinda, who had remained out of sight until Winette introduced her, stepped from the hallway just beyond our table and waved and nodded to the crowd before taking a seat beside me. She was wearing a long-sleeved red evening gown. The sequins framing the plunging neckline accentuated her cleavage, not that she needed any help on that front.
Holly, seated at a nearby table with some of her friends and neighbors, had on a rather Breakfast at Tiffany’s inspired evening dress—in white, instead of black—with a double strand of pearls, elbow-length gloves, and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses. She even sported a glamorous, extra-long cigarette holder, displaying an unlit cigarette.
My in-laws were adorable as Mrs. White and Colonel Mustard in costumes Miss Betty had used her considerable seamstress skills to adapt to the theme. She wore a simply elegant boatneck white satin dress with a gauzy ruffle circling the neckline. She had customized a khaki suit jacket with service ribbons above the breast pocket for Daddy Wayne.
Like Larry Joe and me, Di had taken a more practical approach by wearing clothes she already owned. She had on a French maid’s uniform, a leftover from Halloweens past.
Four wineglasses were lined up in front of each diner, along with a water glass and coffee cup and saucer. Gloved waiters in short tuxedo jackets poured a Chardonnay and then served pumpkin-ginger bisque as the first of a five-course meal. The play would be performed in four acts, one after each course, wrapping up with dessert.
My mother-in-law was a bit starstruck, babbling on to Lucinda about how much she enjoyed her TV show. Daddy Wayne didn’t seem impressed and was even less impressed with the quantity of soup. He seemingly inhaled it in a few quick spoonfuls.
“I hope they’re going to serve us something more substantial,” he groused.
“They’re serving dinner in courses, dear,” Miss Betty said. “I’m sure you’ll be filled up by the end.”
“Maybe you should pace yourself, Dad,” Larry Joe said.
“Should’ve eaten something before we came,” he said, with a childish pout.
Larry Joe didn’t have a lot to say, but his eyes kept wandering over to Lucinda, and it seemed to me they were aimed a bit lower than her face. If I’d been sitting next to him, he’d have a big bruise swelling up on his shin. If he keeps this up, I thought, he’s going to be sleeping on the sofa tonight.
Just as the waitstaff finished clearing the soup bowls, the room lights were dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the library scene, where some members of the cast were already positioned. The others entered shortly from stage left, and we were introduced to each of the characters and learned something about them during the course of their conversation. The scene closed as the butler invited them into the dining room for dinner.
I was proud of the students.
As the spotlight was extinguished, appreciative dinner guests spontaneously burst into applause.
“Oh, Liv, I think they did a wonderful job with the kids’ costumes,” Miss Betty said.
“They do look good,” Lucinda said. “Certainly better than anything the Drama Department had when I was at Dixie High. Speaking of which, the sheriff said it would be okay, so I walked around that little cemetery at the retreat center this afternoon,” she said, turning toward me.
“Did your crew shoot some more footage out there?” Di asked.
“No, I was just hoping for some inspiration for tonight,” she said.
We were interrupted by Dave, who slid into the empty chair next to Di. He was dressed like a sheriff.
Dave spoke to everyone and said he’d probably have to slip out again shortly. “Y’all look great,” he said, with a polite nod to the rest of us before locking eyes with Di.
I filled the awkward silence by resuming the conversation with Lucinda.
“You didn’t drive all the way out to St. Julian’s by yourself, did you?”
“No, I was chauffeured by my former stalker, Sindhu. She’s been dying to do something for me, so I let her drive me there.”
“Stalker?” Dave said.
“Just starstruck,” I interjected. “You know how silly some people act around celebrities.”
Lucinda and I shared a knowing look before she continued.
“It was kind of creepy being out by the lodge again, but I hope Agatha will offer me some insight tonight,” she said.
“Lucinda has agreed to take part in our little play tonight,” I said, attempting to head off any more inquiries from Dave. “We thought it would be a real treat for the audience.”
“Who’s Agatha?” Larry Joe piped up.
Clearly it was a mistake for me not to sit within kicking distance of that man.
“A ghost,” Lucinda said matter-of-factly.
That brought the conversation to a screeching halt. The waiters rescued us from the uncomfortable silence when they began serving the fish course.
Larry Joe’s dad tucked into the bacon-wrapped scallops and had cleared his plate before everyone at the table had been served. My mother-in-law blushed, her white dress emphasizing the pink tinge of embarrassment that flushed up her neck and face.
Deputy Ted entered the room and waved to attract Dave’s attention.
“Sorry, folks,” Dave said. “I hate to eat and run, but duty calls.”
“Can’t you stay for the main course?” Di said. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”
“Sorry. Maybe you could save me a doggy bag,” he said, giving her a wink as he rose from the table.
As the spotlight cast a glow on the set for the second act, the characters were seated at a dinner table as the butler served soup. Colonel Mustard was trying to flirt with an unimpressed Miss Scarlett, and Professor Plum seemed extremely interested in the circumstances surrounding the recent demise of Mrs. White’s husband. Mrs. Peacock and Mr. Green were playing it close to the vest, but the butler tossed out a couple of double entendres that let us know they were not as innocent as they tried to seem. The scene ended with all the actors racing from the dining room after hearing a loud crash from somewhere offstage.
Shortly after the house lights came back up, the servers started bringing out the main course.
“Well, it’s about time,” my father-in-law blurted out.
“Wayne, watch your manners,” Miss Betty said.
Waiters sat plates of roasted root vegetables and green beans at each place and carved the prime rib from a cart, table side.
When they offered to serve Lucinda, she declined, saying she didn’t care
for anything.
“I’ll take hers,” Daddy Wayne said.
I noticed Lucinda closing her eyes, and I gathered she was preparing herself for her upcoming performance as she had done the night of the retreat.
The men were fully focused on their medium rare beef, so Di, Miss Betty, and I took turns surveying the room and commenting on various costumes.
I searched for some of the usual suspects, curious about their costume choices.
Nell was dressed up as Miss Scarlett, although her skintight miniskirt, red sparkly tube top, and boa seemed to suggest more two-bit hooker than upscale madam. Her husband, Billy, was outfitted as a pimp-inspired Mr. Green.
Sindhu looked stunning in a predominately red silk sari, offering a classy, exotic spin on Miss Scarlett, while Ravi channeled Professor Plum in a tweed jacket with a purple ascot and matching pocket square.
Bryn was wearing a white satin strapless evening gown with matching shawl and a diamond necklace that looked like it should be locked up in the Tower of London. Pierce was wearing a tuxedo tailcoat, but could in no way be mistaken for a butler. The handsome couple looked as if they might be on their way to the opera.
Jasmine and Dylan were also in the audience. I hoped that seeing Jasmine out of jail would be unsettling without prompting our killer to bolt. Jasmine was also dressed as Mrs. White, except her version featured a white-on-white embroidered tunic with a white denim skirt and a wreath of white flowers in her hair. Dylan looked a bit like a wayward cast member from A Clockwork Orange in a white button-front shirt, white jeans, and tan suspenders, except his bowler hat was green instead of black.
“Am I seeing things, or is that Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz sitting by the door in the back?” Di asked.
“It certainly is,” I said. “Maybe she didn’t quite understand the theme.”
“I guess there’s one in every crowd,” Di said.
I noticed the mayor and other costume judges strolling from table to table, taking notes.
