for it being a bingo, plus the extra word I created by adding Z to ‘ax’…that’s another ten plus one plus eight…that’s a total of one hundred twenty-nine points. On a single word,” she said, sneering at Maxine. “I think your highest-scoring word ever was only one hundred fifteen, wasn’t it Maxie?”
“I don’t remember,” replied Maxine, still glowering at the game board as if hoping her evil eye would somehow move the tiles around to her advantage. “Now that Vivien Leigh is here, it would be rude to continue to play the game, Juanita. Let’s just put it aw—”
“Oh no you don’t, you conniving woman,” snapped Juanita. “We are going to finish this game, and you are going to accept your loss like the badass witch you are, Maxine, or Dios mio, I’ll never play with you again.”
Maxine huffed and grumbled, but she put aside the game box she’d picked up and turned her attention to Vivien. “She’s a sore winner,” she said, pursing her lips. “Because she don’t win very often.”
Juanita rolled her eyes and reached for a finger-sized muffin. “It’s your turn, sore loser. See if you can play that Q you’ve been hoarding for three turns.”
“So tell us about all those horrible things going on at the theater,” Iva said. Her eyes were bright and birdlike, and she held a delicate teacup with pink roses hand-painted on it. “Break-ins and your car getting smashed… Why, I would never have thought such a thing would happen here in Wicks Hollow.”
“You wouldn’t?” Maxine chortled. “After three murders last year, you wouldn’t think that? This place is practically Detroit now, you know, murders happening every time you turn around—and I know Detroit because I was around during those damned riots in the sixties. And proud of it! I was out there with my baton—not that I smashed any windows or anything,” she added quickly.
“Maxine, I’d be shocked if you didn’t smash any windows,” Iva said in her well-modulated, ladylike tone.
That shocked Maxine into silence as she seemed to contemplate whether Iva’s comment had been an insult or a compliment.
“Oh crap,” Vivien said involuntarily when she saw the text from Helga.
“What is it, dear?” asked Iva.
Vivien sighed. “Helga was going to drop me off at the theater this morning, as my rental car won’t be available till Monday—don’t get me started—but now she’s been called in to help with a big accident on the highway north of town.”
“Yep. Tractor-trailer did a jackknife, tipped over, and spilled a whole slew of dried corn all over the highway,” Maxine said. “They gotta detour everyone down the state route and over to the county road. Everyone’s backed up for miles and there’s construction over on the state route too. It’s a disaster. Corn everywhere. Gonna be deer feasting for months on that, then they’ll be coming after my damned hostas.
“I listen to the police scanner, you know. Can’t be too careful. Gotta keep apprised o’ what’s going on. I’ll drive you, Vivien Leigh.” Without further ado, she launched to her feet with the help of her cane. “Come on, Neety. We can finish the game later. Our director’s gotta get to work.”
“But—”
“No, no, no,” said Maxine, gripping Vivien’s arm with very strong fingers as she cut off her protest. “We’ll take you, won’t we, Neety?”
“I’ll come too,” said Iva, bolting to her feet and gathering up her handbag. “I’ve been dying to get back in there to see whether I can sense any more of the spirits haunting the place. I have a sensitivity to these things, you know.”
Vivien hardly knew what to say to this. She could only imagine what would happen if the ghost at her theater acted up while the Tuesday Ladies were there. That would not be good. “Oh, no, really, I can—”
“Ay-yi-yi!” said Juanita. “Don’t argue! Maxine’ll drive you. Besides, I want to see those ruby slippers again.”
Iva was still talking about her sensitivity to spirits as the ladies bustled Vivien out the door. As she passed by Orbra, the proprietress pushed a bag into her hand. “Good luck!” she said with a grin, and that was when Vivien realized Orbra was delighted that her front table was going to be free for customers on this Saturday morning.
“Last summer when our dear friend Jean was murdered, she was haunting her own house up over on Wicks Lake,” Iva said as the three ladies directed Vivien down the street. “I knew something was wrong about how she died, but I