Rex answered as if he were commenting on the weather. “First of all, I doubt anything would ever have happened to one of the dolls the way you’re proposing. Mathilde sewed those suckers up like nobody’s business, and she taught me how to sew, too, in case anything ever happened up here. But one of the reasons we hired Milton—in addition to his voice, of course—was the fact that he was pretty young and naïve and did exactly what he was told and nothing more.”

  Bax nodded but did not seem satisfied. “Okay then. I’ll take this one step further because you can’t seem to get past the world-class sewing aspect of all this. Pretend for one second that something did happen and Milton did catch on. What would have happened to him at that point?”

  Rex continued his stoic approach. “Assuming he wouldn’t have gone to the police first, Mathilde would have put out a hit out on him. Of course, it would have been made to look like an accident. Car crashes happen all the time, you know. But you have to understand that Milton handled the dolls only as long as it took to get to the delivery address. The risk was extremely small that something along the lines of an ‘outing’ would take place. The rest of the time, I guarded them jealously in the locked closet. Merrie wasn’t allowed to handle them, either. At least not the mules—just the ones for the ordinary deliveries. It was just highly unlikely that any harm would have come to either type.” Then there was a surge of emotion in Rex’s voice. “But regarding Merrie, you have to believe her and me when we both say that she wasn’t aware of any of this. Don’t punish her, punish me. I’m just trying to protect her.”

  “You should have thought of that when you got her involved in all this in the first place—with or without her knowledge.”

  “No sanctimonious lectures, please. But I’m not lying to you. She’ll be lost without me as it is.”

  “I suspect you’re overestimating yourself, but if she had no knowledge of this, then she’s as innocent as we believe Milton Bagdad is. You used them both to cover your dirty work,” Bax said. “But don’t think for a second they’ll get off scot-free, either. They’ll have to live for the rest of their lives with the parts you made them play. You and your stepmother have done some serious damage here and in New Orleans to both the living and the dead. And I’ll expect you to provide us with a list of all your cocaine customers here in Rosalie, by the way.”

  Rex was shaking his head as he closed his eyes. “You won’t like a couple of the names that show up, I can guarantee you that. I wonder if you’ll just end up looking the other way, depending upon which side of town people live on. I’m sure you catch my drift.”

  Bax and Ross briefly exchanged glances, and Bax said, “We’ll deal with that when we see the list. But here’s a bulletin for you: There are already way too many people who buy their way into and out of what they want as far as the justice system in this country is concerned. It’s time some people stopped getting free passes because they think the laws don’t apply to them or they’re above the law.”

  * * *

  Wendy had been sitting on one of the benches in the hallway outside, then rose to her feet quickly when Merrie Boudreaux emerged in tears from the interrogation room, where her recent session with Bax and Ross had just taken place. At the moment, she seemed inconsolable.

  “Here, come be with me for a few minutes,” Wendy said, sitting back down and patting the spot beside her.

  “What am I gonna do?” Merrie said, taking a handkerchief out of her purse and sniffling into it. “Here, all this time I’ve been involved in a murderous, criminal lie, and now it looks like Rex will be going to prison for who-knows-how-long. That’s what your father and your husband just told me. What can I do with my life now?”

  “I’m sure this is a shock to you. I know it wasn’t easy to hear the things Daddy and Ross had to tell you about Rex and Mathilde. Just know that they realize you were innocent in all of this and go from there. Your lawyer will help you navigate what’s ahead of you.”

  “But where do I go after this is over? My whole world has disappeared just like that,” Merrie said, snapping her fingers. “Everything I believed in and worked toward is completely gone. I was so naïve. I never asked Rex any questions about that closet he kept locked. He said it was where he kept extra cash and bullets for his gun inside a safe. And I believed him. I never thought anything about the trips we took now and then down to New Orleans to see Mathilde and pick up more of those rag dolls. We ate a lot and drank a lot, and I thought it was all because Rex knew how much I missed being down there. But it was all a lie—every single bit of it. So how on earth do I start over from all this death and deception?”

  Wendy rubbed her arm gently and said, “I do have something that might work for you. I spent some time with Sarah Ann O’Rourke, one of my bridge pupils, when she was at the Rosalie Women’s Shelter, and I got to know the place pretty well. They are always looking for help there. I could make an appointment and put in a good word for you with the director, if you’d like. Maybe something will work out to let you get your bearings. It’s a thought anyway.”

  Merrie dabbed at her eyes and then stared straight ahead. “But what could I do there? I’m not a nurse or a cook, or a social worker or anything like that. Isn’t that what those places need more than anything else? I’m sure I’d be unqualified.”

  “Yes, they do need all those professions represented, but I know for a fact that you can entertain. You’ve done it for both adults and children for a long time now. Many shelters and homes have an activities director who plans all sorts of fun things for the women to do. I could suggest it on your behalf. It couldn’t possibly hurt.”

  Merrie turned to Wendy with a hopeful expression on her face. “Do you think I could pull off something like that, that is, if they’re even interested?”

  “I know you could. You covered all the bases at my wedding reception, and I’ve heard people all over Rosalie rave about the parties you planned for them. Whatever else was going on with your husband behind the scenes, your role in the business was successful, legitimate work that you accomplished with a great deal of confidence. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend you to anyone I know. Plus, many of the women at the shelter bring their children to stay there with them. You’d already have a built-in audience, even if it’s on a much smaller scale.”

  Now Merrie had made the journey from utter devastation to a tentative smile. “If you could get me an appointment to discuss something like that . . . I know I’d be very grateful.”

  “It’s as good as done.”

  But it did not take long for Merrie to lapse into sorrow again. “I still can’t believe what’s happened. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it, no matter what I end up doing from here on out.”

  “It’ll take some time for you to heal up from all this. But you have to start somewhere. And whether the shelter works out or not, I know of at least one wedding and reception coming up that you can plan—the one between my daddy and Lyndell Slover, my editor. I’m sure they wouldn’t think of giving anyone else but you their business. Everything’s not as bleak as it appears.”

  Merrie’s sigh seemed to take the weight of the world off her shoulders. “I hadn’t even thought of that. But you may be right. I really don’t need Rex to plan these affairs anymore. I won’t go into it with you or anyone else, but I . . . well, I’d fallen out of love with him for any number of reasons over the years. It’s better left unspoken some of the thoughts I’ve had lately as a result of that. Let’s just say that I didn’t act on them, and I thank God I didn’t.”

  Her pause was prolonged, as she seemed lost in thought. “I don’t think Party Palooza as a brand will be viable anymore anywhere, certainly not once it gets around town what was really going on; but maybe I could offer up my party-planning services informally by word of mouth. Do you think that might work?”

  “I think you have a plan and a backup plan now,” Wendy said. “I’ll be happy to help with the word-of-mouth part, too. Something tells me you’ll be on solid footing once all the smoke has cleared.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Exactly three weeks after Wendy had begun teaching her newbies the game of bridge, she decided that it was time to integrate those who had stuck with it into the Bridge Bunch at large who met out at the RCC. With Aurelia Spangler dead and her brother, Vance Quimby, having returned to Nebraska following the solution to her murder, only Charlotte Ruth, Sarah Ann O’Rourke, and Milton Bagdad remained.

  Wendy had given an extensive amount of thought to the trio’s partner assignments and had finally settled on the following: Charlotte would be paired with the patient RCC director, Deedah Hornesby, while Sarah Ann would be teamed with Hollis Hornesby, her son. As for Milton, she decided that she would be his partner, while the often-discombobulated Crystal Forrest and her favorite partner, Verna Kaye Carmichael, would round out their table.

  In fact, Verna Kaye, who worshiped Crystal’s restoration of Old Concord Manor, along with the resurrection of its gardens at the hands of the talented hipster, Arden Wilson, was practically the only player in the entire club who was willing to put up with her forgetful antics and poor play. Not only that, she dressed up for an ordinary game of bridge as weirdly as Crystal always did, and in all other meaningful ways functioned as her sycophant deluxe.

  But Wendy had a method to her madness in that she figured if Crystal followed form, then she and Milton would have a much better chance of winning the day. She wanted nothing more than for Milton to enjoy his first outing as a full-fledged member of the Bridge Bunch, while she was certain that Deedah and Hollis would mentor Charlotte and Sarah Ann, respectively, at the other table.

  The cards hadn’t even been shuffled for the first deal, however, when Crystal, dressed in a sparkly formal gown, opera gloves, and her hair teased and swirled beyond normal salon practices as usual, took the stage.

  “I just cahn’t think of what to do,” she began in that faux British accent of hers, which she exaggerated further by talking through her nose. “They’ve arrested my godnuh, Arden Wilson, for possession of cocaine. Everyone knows he’s the best godnuh around. He did wonders first for Miz Liddie Langston Rose until her death, and then I hired him to come make a showplace of Old Concord Manor again. Now, tell me, where am I to find anyone like Arden here in Rosalie or anywhere else, for that matter?”

  “I can’t help you with that,” Wendy said. “There were rumors that Arden might be on drugs back when he was working for Miz Liddie at Don Jose’s Retreat. He was probably on the list that Rex Boudreaux turned over to the CID when they solved the murders of Aurelia Spangler and Earl Jay Doxey. As you already know, my husband and father and I all had a hand in solving those cases.”

  “I’m well aware of that accomplishment, and kudos to you all for putting all that dreadful druggery to bed,” Crystal said. “Wait . . . is that a word? Druggery? Or do I mean thuggery?”

  Wendy struggled mightily to keep a straight face. “Thuggery is a word. Druggery is not.”

  “But they do rhyme. Do I at least get any credit for that?”

  “Only if you’re writing a Dr. Seuss book,” Wendy said, pleased with herself for finding just the right response. She could only take so much of Crystal’s calculated obliviousness.

  “What about drudgery? Is that what I could have meant?”

  “I’m not a mind reader, Miz Crystal, but, yes, drudgery is definitely a word.”

  “Anyway, cahn’t they make an exception in Arden’s case?” Crystal continued, getting back on track. “Or put him on probation or something? He never bothered to teach me a thing about what all he did to keep my flowers and bushes and trees up to snuff, so other than watering with a hose, I know nothing about keeping greenery alive. I can see my beautiful goddens just going to rack and ruin.”

  Wendy sensed that she needed to take control of the situation immediately, or they would never get around to playing bridge. It would soon turn into a one-woman show starring Crystal Forrest doing an imitation of Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. “Now just calm down. I’m sure there’s someone who works for one of the nurseries here in town who can help you out in the interim.”

  “You mean while Arden serves some misbegotten sentence in prison somewhere, don’t you?” Crystal continued, her voice approaching a nearly hysterical pitch.

  “What you mentioned before is possible. He could get a suspended sentence or be put on probation for a first offense. I can ask Ross about it if you want, and then I’ll get back to you.”

  “Oh, would you please do?” she said, clasping her hands together dramatically.

  “I’ll be happy to.”

  But it wasn’t over, and they hadn’t gotten any closer to playing bridge yet. “What if something dreadful happens to Arden in prison? He’s a young lad, and they say that the young ones don’t fare well behind bahhz. What if he’s maimed or killed, or something even worse than that?”

  “There’s something worse than being killed?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Let’s don’t go there.”

  Crystal shuddered. “Indeed not.”

  “In any case, you’ve been watching too many crime shows on TV.”

  Wendy caught Milton’s gaze across the table and saw that he was smiling back. She was glad that he didn’t seem fazed by Crystal’s antics so far. “I’ve seen Mr. Wilson’s work at your home, Miz Crystal,” Milton began, “and I agree that he is one helluva gardener. Maybe they’ll go easy on him since he has contributed substantially to tourism here in Rosalie. I believe your gardens at Old Concord Manor get raves from the tourists all the time.”

  But instead of soothing her, Milton’s praise just seemed to inflame Crystal all the more. She was even fanning herself with her right hand, a gesture she frequently trotted out when she wanted to be the center of attention, which was always.

  “Exactly. And that’s why I cahn’t afford to lose him at this point in time. You should’ve seen the goddens when I first started restoring the house. Nothing but weeds and dead bushes and twigs and just a ghost of what they once were. I researched what they looked like in their prime at the Historical Society’s Photography Display of Old Rosalie at the First Presbyterian Church, you know. But Arden brought them back to life, and now they’re the talk of the town. I cahn’t afford to lose that grahnd honor, so I’m just beside myself.”

  Wendy decided to try another ploy, one she thought might just work. “Do you not want to play today? I can call up one of the subs if you’d like. Or someone from another table whose dummy can bid for us, and you can go home and lie down until your attack of the vapors lets up.”

  Happily, that seemed to put out the flame. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m not feeling up to snuff when I said I was beside myself. Of course I want to play. I always want to play. I do so want to get better at this game, you know.”

  “I’m sure we all want that for you,” Wendy said, while giving Milton a sly wink. After all, she had taken him aside well before the game to try to explain Crystal Forrest to him, hoping against hope he would be somewhat prepared for whatever she threw at them.

  “Well, then, let’s draw for dealer and get this show on the road,” Crystal said, sipping the mint julep Carlos Galbis had prepared for her.

  As it happened, Crystal drew the highest of the four cards—the king of hearts—and therefore became the first dealer. It was no surprise to anyone, however, when two people ended up with thirteen cards, while the other two—Milton and Wendy—had twelve and fourteen, respectively.

  “Have I misdealt again?” Crystal said. “Now, why does that always seem to happen to me?”

  “A matter of concentration, I’d guess,” Wendy said, as evenly as possible. “But don’t worry about it. Milton can just take one of my extra cards, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “I just hope I get some faces and points. The kings, queens, and jacks all ran away and hid from me lahst time,” Crystal added. “Do you think it’s possible the gods of bridge don’t like me?”

  Wendy told Crystal politely that she was not to even consider such a possibility, but her own internal monologue kept on reviewing the question. For nearly three years running, her not unreasonable ambition to become a competent bridge player had been either delayed or obstructed by the far more serious subject of death—and not due to natural causes. It was a sobering fact of life for her, but she had dealt with all the challenges admirably and had become Rosalie’s most famous amateur sleuth of record as a result.

  Still, it was her fervent hope to be allowed to play bridge in peace—with nothing more eventful to deal with than an underbid, an overbid, a renege, or a miscounted trump. If that was to be the case, she was off to a great start with Milton as her partner. After Crystal’s misdeal was straightened out easily, Milton went on to bid his hand perfectly—one heart—which she was able to support with a two-heart bid. The partnership had gone on to bid game at four hearts, and Milton had played and made the contract, plus an overtrick.

  Then, the first time she was dummy, Wendy wandered over to the nearby table where her other two protégés—Sarah Ann and Charlotte—were sitting, and she promptly did some kibitzing.

  “Don’t worry. They’re both acquitting themselves beautifully,” Deedah told her as she approached quietly.

  “It’s actually been very exciting,” Sarah Ann said while following suit with a club during the current hand. “I’ve won a game, and so has Charlotte. We’ve kept everything in mind that you taught us.”

  “Absolutely correct. We haven’t let you down, teacher dear,” Charlotte added. “Though I have to admit, I was very nervous at first.”

  “Yes, I dearly wish now I’d had you for a bridge instructor from the beginning,” Hollis said with a dramatic flourish. “I’m afraid I was flying by the seat of my pants when I first started out decades ago.”