“He shaved the cat.”
“He what?” Jinx’s brows touched her hairline.
“The cat fell asleep on his lap and he shaved off its fur.” Daisy rubbed her face. “There’s cat hair everywhere. And the poor cat, it’s hiding under the bed.”
“He shaved the whole cat?”
“The side that was exposed.”
“So the other side still has hair?” Jinx’s mouth twitched.
“Yes. The poor cat is humiliated.”
“It’ll grow back.” That wouldn’t comfort the cat.
“That’s what I told it, but it wouldn’t listen. It just hissed at me.” Daisy brushed at her sleeve and discovered the lollipop. When she pulled it free, cat hair cha-cha-chaed in the sunlight from the window. “The sitter arrived, and I left. I couldn’t take any more.”
Libba handed her the wine glass again, and Daisy drained it.
Daisy had taken the Mother Hubbard approach to parenting—she had so many children she didn’t know what to do.
“Tell me it gets easier as they get older,” she begged.
“It’s different.” Given Daisy’s children’s current shenanigans, their teenage years might break her. I cast about for a new subject. The nursery truck had pulled into my drive as I left for the club. When I arrived home, sunny yellow pansies would line my driveway. “There’s a dog in my neighborhood digging up annuals.”
Libba flagged a passing waiter and held up her empty wine glass and two fingers.
“Both Marian Dixon and Margaret Hamilton blamed Max.”
“Did you buy them new flowers?” asked Jinx.
“Max is innocent.” For once.
The waiter appeared with the wine. I considered ordering my own glass, but my bridge game was better without alcohol. So was Libba’s. An opinion I kept to myself.
That Daisy’s game suffered went without saying.
Jinx fanned the deck and drew the seven of spades.
Libba, who regularly got lucky, pulled the queen of hearts.
Daisy and I drew low cards.
As Libba dealt, I shuffled the second deck.
“Ellison,” said Daisy. “I was so flustered when I arrived, I forgot to tell you what a marvelous time we had Saturday night.”
“I’m so glad.”
“All your hard work paid off.” Her face clouded. “It’s a shame about Phyllis Goddard.”
“It is.” A shame about Phyllis, and a shame I’d found her.
“Remember that time Johnny snuck all those cheese puffs, and I didn’t know and gave him chocolate milk?”
I did not remember that. I shook my head.
She sipped her wine and straightened her shoulders. “He threw up all over the living room couches. Both of them. My husband was this close—” she pinched her thumb and pointer finger together “—to letting me reupholster in Phyllis’s fabrics.”
“Daisy,” said Jinx. “I say this with love. Until your children are older, you should upholster in oilcloth.” An excellent point. Between lipstick, vomit, and shaved cats, Daisy’s furniture didn’t stand a chance.
We picked up and sorted our cards.
“One club,” said Libba.
Jinx closed her hand with a solid rap on the table’s edge. “Pass.”
“One heart,” I responded.
“Pass,” said Daisy.
Libba peered at her cards. “Three hearts.”
“Pass,” said Jinx.
“Four hearts. Who’s keeping score?”
“I will,” said Libba.
“You. Wine. Scoring.” Jinx tugged the pad from Libba’s hand. “I don’t think so.”
I easily made four hearts, and Jinx dealt the next hand.
“How was lunch with Anarchy?” asked Libba.
“You heard about that?” Of course she had.
“First you take him to the gala, then you have lunch together at Winstead’s. Inquiring minds might wonder how serious your relationship is.” Libba was teasing. She knew precisely how serious Anarchy and I were.
“He was at the Nelson interviewing the staff. Winstead’s was the closest restaurant.”
“My source says the two of you were gawping.”
Silently I cursed Jane Addison. “Nope.”
“I know someone who’d disagree.” Libba’s eyes twinkled. “What does Frances say?”
“Frances says Jane Addison is a terrible gossip.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Jinx dealt the last card and picked up her hand.
“Speaking of gossip—” as transitions went, it was clumsy “—was Phyllis having an affair?”
“Phyllis was cheating on Stan?” Daisy’s mouth formed a surprised O.
“No one would blame her,” said Jinx. “One heart.”
I recounted my hand. “One spade.”
“You should ask Jane,” Daisy suggested. “Two hearts.”
Libba glared at her cards. “Pass.”
“I’ll pass,” said Jinx.
I led the ace of spades. “I hoped one of you—” I meant Jinx “—had heard something.”
“Nope.” Libba swept my winning trick.
I led the two of spades, and Libba took the trick with the king. She glanced at the board, then led the three of diamonds. “I doubt Phyllis fooled around on Stan.”
“Oh?” Jinx played the jack of diamonds. “Why?”
I studied the board. The queen of diamonds was high. I took the trick with the king and played another spade.
Jinx played the last spade from the board.
Libba played a trump. “She was focused on that business. She had a goal and didn’t have time for another man in her life.”
“You think Stan was demanding?” asked Daisy.
“He’s the cocktails at five thirty, dinner on the table by six thirty, iron my boxer shorts type,” said Libba.
“Aren’t they all?” Daisy’s question wasn’t a question, more of a sigh.
Libba led a diamond and Jinx played low from her hand. I played my highest remaining diamond—the ten—and Jinx took the trick on the board.
“Back to the gala,” said Daisy. “What was your favorite part?”
The way my body fizzed with excitement when I snuck upstairs with Anarchy—before overhearing sex or finding a body. I glanced out the window. The golf course was lousy with men taking advantage of the mild weather. I watched a man with mustard-colored plaid pants swing his club. His ball sliced into a sand trap. “The dance was impressive.”
Daisy nodded. “So graceful.”
“I liked that jade funeral suit.” Jinx pulled trump.
“What’s your favorite part of the exhibition, Ellison?” Daisy stared at me over her glass’s rim.
“The Tang sculptures.”
“I should have guessed. They’re so colorful.”
Jinx made her bid plus two overtricks and somehow refrained from asking Daisy about her bidding.
We played a few rubbers.
Libba ordered a bottle of wine.
We ate lunch (salads all around—although with the wine Daisy was drinking, she should have ordered a sandwich).
We played another rubber.
When we stood up from the table, Daisy swayed.
I held out my hand. “Give me your keys, I’m driving you home.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“If you take me, how will you get back to your car?”
“Jinx can follow and run me back here.”
Jinx nodded. “Ellison is right. Your husband will kill you if you die in a car accident.”
Jinx’s logic seeped into Daisy’s wine-soaked brain and she nodded.
I rounded on Libba. “Are you able to drive?”
She looked down her nose as if I had some nerve suggesting she might be impaired.
That Mrs. Bufforpington look didn’t work on me. “Well?”
She glanced at her watch. “I have a massage scheduled in fifteen minutes. I’m not going anywher
e.”
“Ellison,” said Daisy.
“Yes?”
“You have a big house.”
It was true.
“You have guest rooms.”
“I do.”
“Can I stay with you for a few years? Just until the kids are older? The cat, and the boys, and the noise, and—” She covered her mouth with her hand, unable to continue.
There was no way Daisy would leave her children. She loved them from the tops of their dastardly heads to the tips of their just-tracked-mud-on-the-carpet toes. “Karma and Aunt Sis are staying with me now, but as soon as they leave, you can move in.”
She frowned. “They’re here, and you’re playing bridge with us?”
I swung my handbag’s strap over my shoulder. “Aunt Sis does her own thing, and Karma is spending the day with Daddy. Don’t forget your purse.”
Daisy picked up her bag and tipped.
“Let me.” I pulled the thirty-pound wonder from her hands. Daisy’s purse regularly held everything from GI Joes to rolled quarters. She was prepared for any eventuality.
We said goodbye to Libba and stepped outside into a perfect spring afternoon.
“Where are you parked?” I asked.
Daisy pointed toward a cluster of pine trees. Her station wagon sat immediately in front of the pines. Given my bad luck in parking lots, it was a spot my car would never visit—too easy for someone to hide behind all those branches.
Daisy was unconcerned. She swayed in the light breeze and clutched my arm.
“I’m over there.” Jinx nodded to the opposite side of the parking lot. “I’ll follow you.”
Daisy and I tottered toward her wagon.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“What’s what?”
“That.” She pointed. “There on the curb, next to my front bumper.”
I closed my eyes. Maybe if I didn’t see it, it would go away.
“Ellison—” Daisy tugged on my arm “—someone fell.”
“No.” I opened my eyes and confirmed what my roiling stomach already knew. “She’s dead.”
Chapter Seven
“Eeeeeeee!”
If there’s one thing golfers don’t appreciate, it’s sudden loud noises. Daisy’s scream was both sudden and loud. Who knew she hid a talent for banshee wails?
Every man within hearing distance scowled at us with murderous intent.
“Eeeeeeee!” Daisy’s screams continued, her voice reaching higher notes each time she took a breath.
Cover my ears or stop her?
“Daisy—” I shook her arm “—screaming doesn’t help.”
She ignored me—“Eeeeeeee!”—loud enough to wake the dead. Not really; the corpse didn’t move a muscle.
Outraged men wearing plaid golf pants and kilted golf shoes stomped toward us.
“What is wrong?” demanded Mitchell Keyes, the man who reached us first. How dare we disrupt his game?
Daisy stopped screaming, and her silence rang as loud as her banshee wails. She pointed.
Mitchell’s gaze followed her finger, and the color drained from his face. He clutched the back of Daisy’s wagon.
“What the hell?” Taylor Ford, Mitchell’s golf partner, arrived ready to scold the woman responsible for his tee shot’s slice. “Why are you—” He spotted the body, and his voice dried up. He lifted his hands to his throat, and his mouth moved without uttering a word.
Mitchell sank to the pavement and buried his head between his plaid-covered knees.
So far, adding men to finding a body wasn’t helpful.
Tears ran down Daisy’s cheeks, and her chin quivered. “What do we do?”
I turned on my heel.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “You can’t leave me.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“The police?” Taylor screwed his eyes into tight slits.
“It’s what I do when I find a body.” It’s what anyone did when they found a body.
Taylor Ford’s gaze settled on me and his lip curled with distaste, as if I were a killer and not an unfortunate soul with terrible luck. “You date a cop.”
“A homicide detective.”
“That must come in handy.” Taylor’s sarcasm was but a dim reflection of Mother’s.
“Far too often,” I agreed.
Taylor puffed his chest. “I’ll call the police.”
I considered arguing, but Daisy’s fingers closed around my arm in a don’t-leave-me-with-a-body-or-I’ll-start-screaming-again grip. None of us wanted Daisy to scream again.
Jinx, who’d somehow missed Daisy’s screams, pulled up next to us. Her car vibrated with sound, and when she rolled down the window, Labelle poured onto the pavement. Lady Marmalade’s naughty question had masked Daisy’s banshee impression. Jinx lowered the volume. “What’s going on?”
Daisy’s eyes filled with fresh tears, and she pointed at the body.
Jinx stared for long seconds, then she shook her head. “Oh, Ellison. Not again?”
She sounded like Mother.
Jinx turned off her car. “Are you sure she’s dead?”
“She’s dead.” People with blood pumping through their veins didn’t turn pale gray. Tennis whites against that waxy gray were horrible. Even worse was the way the lavender pompoms where her Tretorns and socks met the back of her ankles mirrored her skin tone.
“Who is it?” Jinx asked.
“Bobbi Ivens,” I told her.
“Oh, hell.” Jinx rested her head against the steering wheel.
I agreed wholeheartedly.
“I’m going,” Taylor huffed.
None of us said a word to stop him.
He marched purposefully across the parking lot, and the sharp chink of his golf cleats on asphalt scudded the length of my spine, tightened my jaw, and poked at my last nerve.
Jinx watched him until he disappeared inside “He’s calling for help?”
“Yes.” Daisy’s voice was hardly a whisper.
“Why didn’t you call Anarchy?” Jinx asked.
“Taylor insisted on calling. The dispatcher will send Anarchy no matter who phones.” Poor Anarchy. If there was a murder at the Country Club, he caught the case. Always.
“What killed her?” asked Jinx.
Did she not see the bruises circling Bobbi’s neck? “Strangled. Like Phyllis.”
Daisy’s knees gave way, and she crumpled to the pavement.
I knelt next to her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.
“Is it the same killer?” Jinx demanded.
I adored Jinx, but she wasn’t helping. Daisy was gulping for air, and the asparagus tinge of Mitchell’s skin promised a stomach in full revolt.
I shifted my gaze to a flower bed filled with pansies tilting their faces toward the spring sun. “Daisy, do you want to go back to the clubhouse?”
Daisy shook her head.
Jinx smoothed her palms over her cheeks and into her hair. “Two women strangled within a few days of each other. This can’t be a coincidence.”
Daisy moaned and rocked on her knees. “What if a stranger is targeting us? Killing us?”
“There were no strangers at the gala.” I meant the words as comfort, but Daisy stiffened.
“That makes it worse. That means the killer is someone we know.” Daisy’s taut shoulders shuddered. “Who wanted them both dead?”
Mitchell lifted his head. Slowly. As if its weight was too much for him. “Someone needs to tell Ted.”
Did he expect me to do it? “The police will inform Ted.”
Mitchell stared at the sea of lush green grass. “He’s on the course.”
Daisy’s head bobbed. “Mitchell’s right. He teed off as I arrived.”
Oh, dear Lord. I looked longingly at my Triumph, parked far from Bobbi’s body, far from other cars. If I’d let Daisy drive herself home, I might have skipped this drama.
Taylor and the club manager burst out of the clubhouse and raced
toward us.
Taylor looked pleased with himself, as if exerting influence energized him.
Patrick, the club manager, looked sick. When he spotted Bobbi’s body, he stumbled. “That poor woman.”
“You should cover her,” said Taylor. “Is there a spare tablecloth?”
“I imagine the police would prefer you not touch the body.” I kept my tone mild.
Taylor scowled at me.
Sirens, distant but growing louder, pierced the air.
“Daisy, do you want to go inside and sit?”
This time, she nodded.
“Jinx, a little help?”
Jinx got out of her car and together we lifted Daisy off the concrete.
“Patrick, if the police have questions, we’ll be inside.” They could manage the police, Taylor, who puffed with self-importance, and Mitchell, who still carried an avocado hue on his skin. He was, after all, the manager.
The three of us lurched toward the clubhouse.
“Ellison,” Daisy whispered. “This is awful. How do you do it?”
“I never set out to find a body.”
“It’s horrible. Poor Bobbi.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I bent my neck and focused on our feet. Daisy dragged her slightly scuffed ballet flats. Jinx wobbled in her pumps. My loafers soldiered on.
We entered the clubhouse and led Daisy to the ladies’ lounge.
“I’ll go find us coffee,” Jinx offered.
“Scotch,” said Daisy. “Neat.”
A smile settled briefly on Jinx’s face. “Now you’re talking.”
Daisy and I sat, stared out the windows, and watched the police cars race up the club’s long driveway.
“They’ll have questions,” I told her. “Lots of them.”
“I don’t know anything.” She laced her fingers and tapped her hands against her sternum. “We found her together.”
“You’re sure she wasn’t there when you arrived?”
“I would have noticed a body.”
“You were distracted.” Jinx had returned, and she pressed a glass into Daisy’s shaking hand.
“Not that distracted,” Daisy snapped. She took a long sip of scotch and shuddered as the fire hit her throat. “Tennis whites against black asphalt draw the eye.”
“Where is she?” The voice carried from the hallway.
I sighed and wished Jinx had brought me a scotch, too.
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