Dying for Dominoes Read online

  Dying For Dominoes Copyright © 2020 Jane Elzey.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the invention of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events and actual persons, living or dead, are fabricated or entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  First Scorpius Carta Press Digital edition: May 2020

  ISBN 978-1-7346428-0-3 Hardback Edition ISBN 978-1-7346428-1-0 Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-7346428-2-7 Ebook Edition

  The interior of this book is typeset in Adobe Caslon Pro.

  Book and Cover design by Bailey McGinn

  Scorpius Carta Press

  P.O. Box 11

  Beaver, AR 72613

  For Marjorie

  “Use all the abundance you possess.”

  —Eudora Welty

  Contents

  Chapter One 1

  Chapter Two 11

  Chapter Three 21

  Chapter Four 28

  Chapter Five 32

  Chapter Six 35

  Chapter Seven 39

  Chapter Eight 42

  Chapter Nine 50

  Chapter Ten 53

  Chapter Eleven 67

  Chapter Twelve 93

  Chapter Thirteen 100

  Chapter Fourteen 106

  Chapter Fifteen 120

  Chapter Sixteen 146

  Chapter Seventeen 153

  Chapter Eighteen 158

  Chapter Nineteen 163

  Chapter Twenty 167

  Chapter Twenty-One 178

  Chapter Twenty-Two 194

  Chapter Twenty-Three 198

  Chapter Twenty-Four 207

  Chapter Twenty-Five 208

  Chapter Twenty-Six 214

  Chapter Twenty-Seven 217

  Chapter Twenty-Eight 221

  Chapter Twenty-Nine 227

  Chapter Thirty 235

  Chapter Thirty-One 254

  Chapter Thirty-Two 256

  Chapter Thirty-Three 260

  Chapter Thirty-Four 269

  Chapter Thirty-Five 271

  Chapter Thirty-Six 274

  Acknowedgements 277

  About the Author 278

  Chapter One

  “Five.”

  “Five.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Twenty-five!” Amy yelled and slapped the domino tile on the table with a loud clack. Whoo-hoo! If every game went like this one, no one was going to break her winning streak. Not this year. Maybe she was a bit over-the-top giddy, but she didn’t care. Capturing that Tiddlywinks title was worth it, even if it was only a thrift store trophy with bragging rights.

  Zelda’s hand, poised with the scorekeeper’s pen, slowly counted the pips at the end of the tiles in play. Just like Zelda to be painstakingly accurate when the score wasn’t hers.

  “Twenty-five,” Zelda agreed and marked Amy’s score.

  “Take that to the boneyard,” Amy said, playfully driving the dig deeper. “It’s your turn, Genna. Count ’em and weep.”

  “Cheeeeater,” Genna drawled, stretching the word like saltwater taffy. “You’re not winning this game, Miss Amy ‘Big Points’ Sparks. I’m taking you to the boneyard. I’m going to—” Genna stopped like an absentminded professor as she studied the domino tiles in her hand. “Dang,” she said after a long pause and shook her head. Genna pursed her lips, and the smoke from her cigarette curled around her face before it floated off in a breeze full of wisteria and birdsong.

  “No points?” Amy teased, watching Genna’s eyes narrow. She knew her tortured look was fake. Genna was almost a good sport. Almost. “You can’t make any points from that pile of bones you’re hoarding over there?”

  “Next round,” Genna promised, pointing at Amy with two manicured fingers that held a cigarette just as long and thin. “Just you wait, my pretty.”

  “Oh, you don’t have enough time in your hourglass, dearie. Unless you’ve got some hocus-pocus up your sleeve.” Which, she could only hope, Genna did not. If anyone could beat her at dominoes it would be Genna, who was a clever player an even better cheater, if she was honest with herself.

  “Aren’t you on fire today?” Zelda said. “You’re as sassy as Julia Sugarbaker after a top-shelf margarita.”

  “Sugar who?” Rian asked.

  Zelda shook her head in disbelief. “Where were you in the eighties, Rian? Don’t you remember Designing Women? They were all Southern sass, curly perms, and big earrings.”

  Rian shook her head and Amy settled her shoulders. “As it happens, I know Suzanne Sugarbaker. She was a friend in high school.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Genna said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Suzanne didn’t exist when you were in high school. If you’re as old as I think you are.”

  “Okay, so I went to high school with the actress who later played Suzanne Sugarbaker. And she could have been one of my best friends, except she didn’t know I existed. She was a senior prom queen and I was a goofy freshman.”

  “Goofy I might believe,” Genna said with a grin. “You know they were all friends with Bill and Hillary.” With her lips curved into a plump crimson smile, only the faintest laugh lines formed around Genna’s mouth and crayon sky-blue eyes. Ageless was how Amy described her. Genna had been forty-nine and holding for more than a decade now. So what was it? Magic? Or the face creams she imported from France? Whatever it was, Genna looked like the youngest member of the foursome rather than the oldest.

  “And as for hocus-pocus,” Genna continued, “I have more of that in my pinky than you’ll ever know.” Genna witch-wiggled her fingers at Amy. “And then I’ve got voodoo, hoodoo, and panache in all the rest,” she added, twirling her fingers in the air in a final flourish.

  Rian laughed and held up her thumbs. “Is that like Sleepy, Creepy, and Doc?”

  Genna ignored the gibe with a huff. “This is a game for stratagem, my friends. It needs ruse and subterfuge—machination, timing, and tempo. It takes prowess . . .” Genna paused to puff her cigarette. “And some good bones. Which I do not have.”

  “Five hundred dollar words and a five-point score,” Zelda said. “I’m not impressed.”

  Amy laughed brightly. Where would she be without her best friends? In front of the television with a remote and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, most likely. Their dominoes game was the highlight of her week. Their friendship was the closest thing to sisterhood she would ever have. They gathered weekly on the deck at Genna’s house when the spring sunshine warmed the air enough to let them outdoors without a coat and gloves. Because smoking wasn’t allowed at the Cardboard Cottage, they had all agreed Genna’s deck was the best place to let their alter egos shine. Not that they were Dr. Jekylls and Ms. Hydes. They were successful businesswomen, but they did enjoy an excuse to let Sassy, Silly, and Tipsy come out to play.

  They gathered under cover of an old wisteria vine that had grown into a twisted, gnarly pergola. Today it was a fragrant purple haze, and dominoes season had just begun.

  Amy looked down at the table. The dregs of tapas and wine cluttered the glass surface where the dominoes marked a path like a Mayan tattoo. Arkansas, the Natural State, beckoned from the bottom of an ashtray overflowing with Genna’s cigarette butts and one fat roach of some of the best bud Rian had ever grown.

  Amy fingered the dominoes in front of her like a prized pile of jewels
. She loved everything about this game: the sound dominoes made against the table’s glass surface, the girls’ acerbic banter and bickering over scores, and the final coup when there was one proud winner and three sore losers.

  Late afternoon sun fell over her shoulder and flashed on the rhinestones in the dominoes. Blue-and-orange sparks of light glittered off the Swarovski pips in the dominoes set that cost her two hundred bucks.

  It was an extravagance she couldn’t afford, not since she had just bought the building and begun stocking the store. Every resource—cash and credit—was at its limit. Still, she had to have them. There was no walking away from dominoes with bling. Smiling at the salesclerk, credit card extended, she had given a silent and heartfelt plea to Juno Moneta, Roman goddess and ruler of money and minimum payments. Go, Juno Moneta!

  And today, for the third week in a row, she was winning at dominoes. Machination, my foot! Skill and luck and good bones were what it took to win.

  Turning her attention to Zelda, she asked, “How are the birthday cruise plans going? Is Zack still going to pay for it? It’s okay if he doesn’t. We can all pay our way if we don’t go anywhere too expensive.”

  “Nope,” Zelda said with more fervor than Amy expected. Zelda karate-chopped the air in front of her. “It’s all on his tab. I don’t care how broke he says he is. I don’t care if we cruise to Mexico or the Mediterranean, but I want to celebrate my five-oh with my best friends, and he’s going to pay for it.” She chopped the air again to accent each word. “Every. Single. Penny. Whatever it takes. Even if that includes a get-out-of-jail-free lawyer.” Zelda cast a knowing look at Rian.

  “I know my border crossing didn’t go as planned,” Rian said. “Can’t I ever live that down? I thought el cabrón meant captain, as in leader of the guard. Anyway, what’s a grand among amigas and thieves?”

  “Three grand,” Genna corrected. “Your Spanish is awful.” Genna took a drag on her cigarette and glanced at Zelda. “Wait, you said Zack says he’s broke? That can’t be true.”

  “You’re right. If he can afford a Hummer, he can afford our cruise,” Zelda replied. “I know he has money stashed somewhere. All I’m saying is he owes me this and I’m not giving in. He needs to put out or get out. That’s it.” Zelda gave the air one last chop.

  “Well, hellfire,” Genna added, her eyes darting to Rian and back to Zelda. “It’s your birthday, and you should laud the day with divertissement. I’ll even write a panegyric to read while we’re afloat.”

  “Oh jeez,” Rian muttered. “What’s a panegyric?”

  “I’m still stuck on divertissement,” Amy said. “And it’s your turn, Zelda.”

  “Hellfire,” Zelda echoed absently. Her eyes were on the bones cupped in her hand. “I can’t talk about it right this minute. I have to count.”

  “Use your toes,” Amy said.

  “Use Amy’s toes. They match the pips,” Rian mused.

  “‘Sunrise Surprise Tequila,’” she said, wiggling her toes in her sandals. “That’s the name of this color.”

  “No surprise to tequila.” Rian shivered to make her point. “After our last bottle of Patrón, Zelda slept in a canoe with a zoo of daddy longlegs. Or so she claimed.” Rian eyed Zelda with suspicion. “I, however, don’t remember a thing.”

  “We sent you home in a one-horse open sleigh,” Genna said. “The horse’s name was Charlie.”

  “We sent you home in a cab,” Amy corrected. “The cab driver’s name was Charlie.”

  “Hush . . .” Zelda warned. “I can’t count with y’all making so much noise.” Zelda closed French tips around the dominoes, dark head bouncing softly as she counted the dots. Her eyes betrayed her when she saw the play in her hands.

  “Ten!” Zelda yelped triumphantly, banging the tile against the glass, and then marked another X on the score sheet. Zelda proudly patted her hair, which was currently the color of a good batch of brownies—and not the kind that Rian made for friends enduring chemo. “Zack’s being stubborn and I don’t like it,” Zelda snapped. “I just need him to go away. Disappear. Vamoose.” She snapped her fingers. “Like magic.”

  “Hoodoo,” Genna added.

  “Hey, Houdini, work on making this disappear.” Rian lit the roach with the grill lighter, raising her eyebrows to keep them from catching fire. She handed it to Zelda, who chuckled and exhaled through pursed lips.

  A lull in their conversation drew them into the quiet as the Ozarks dusk draped over them. The sun fell behind a canopy of black walnut trees just starting to flaunt the chartreuse of their late-blooming leaves. Genna lighted the lanterns on the corners of the railing, and the deck sprang into a shadow play of light, dark, and drama. Then, putting a flame to the kindling already set in the chiminea, the fire sprang into existence, spreading its warmth and light into the darkness. With the sun now hiding behind the mountains, the temperature dropped, and they drew their sweaters around them. Rian pulled a ball cap from her pocket and covered her head.

  Their eyes sparkled in the flickering light. Shadows made gross caricatures of their movements, their arms long and exaggerated like monsters. Only the clank of the tiles remained the same.

  “I am as serious as a heart attack,” Zelda said, finally breaking the silence with a clank of her blank five. “I need to get rid of Zack. Vamoose. And y’all need to help me.”

  Amy’s stomach clenched. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Get rid of him? The silence ticked off the seconds like a chess clock in her head.

  Rian slammed the table with a double blank. “You’re a hoot! And that’s five points.”

  “Wait? What? Gone as in divorced? Or, gone as in dead?” Amy asked.

  “There’s nothing better than a dead husband, I’ve been known to say,” Genna offered, poking Rian with the butt of the lighter. “Seeing how I’ve buried two. God rest their souls.”

  “Nothing better than a stiff husband, I’ve known you to say more than once,” Rian countered.

  “Oh, this is good! This could be ‘The Viagra Murder’!” Genna drummed her fingers over an imaginary keyboard. “The headline reads: Stiff, Stiffer, Stiffest. If it lasts more than four hours, consult your medical examiner.” Genna giggled. Then she laughed harder, drawing everyone’s full attention. Then her breath stuck in her throat and then Genna snorted wine out of her nose.

  Everyone howled.

  “If you were completely serious—” Genna said, catching her breath.

  “Which you’re not,” Amy interrupted. “Zelda is not serious.”

  “We could host a murder mystery party where no one would know who killed him,” Genna continued. “We could hold the party at Tiddlywinks and invite the whole town.”

  “That’s wrong on so many levels,” Rian said. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  Genna shook her head. “Nah, that won’t work. Dead isn’t that easy.”

  Rian rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you just said dead isn’t that sexy.”

  “I said, dead isn’t easy. You need a hearing aid.”

  “I need another drink,” Zelda added.

  “We need coffee,” Amy argued and quickly left the deck.

  The routine was familiar in Genna’s kitchen. She leaned against the counter, mesmerized by the drip. The coffee brewed while she stewed. What was Zelda talking about? Divorce? Or something more sinister? Did she want him gone? As in dead and gone? Or just out of her life? She knew the marriage had soured as Zelda often complained that Zack was demanding and secretive.

  If Zelda wanted Zack out her life, he had to go. Vamoose! We’ll show you vamoose, Zack Carlisle!

  Amy returned to the table, satisfied with her solidarity, bearing an insulated pot and four mugs like a warrior bringing spoils of war. She found the three of them uncharacteristically quiet. Handing Rian a mug, she silently marveled at her hands. Always so clean for so
meone who dug in the dirt for a living. Rian leaned back in her chair, cradling the cup in front of her chest, and then turned her gaze toward the horizon of dark mountain peaks, a faraway look in her espresso-brown eyes.

  The evening had taken a strange turn, and Amy wanted desperately to recapture the gaiety and lightheartedness of the game. She noticed Zelda’s fingers toying with her bracelets, realizing, even in the flickering light, that the stylish collection of bangles covered bruises that had not yet yellowed on top of bruises that had. Zelda lowered her gaze and shuffled the jewelry in place.

  “Dead could be easy,” Rian said finally, bringing her gaze back to her friends. “It’s getting rid of the dead that gets you caught in the end.”

  “That’s because dead bodies weigh a lot,” said Genna with confidence.

  Know-It-All Genna, who weighed all of 120 pounds in wet jeans.

  Rian shook her head, scattering her shoulder-length brown curls. “Bodies don’t weigh any more dead than they do alive. They say the soul weighs twenty-one grams, so a body may even be lighter dead.

  “If you believe in souls,” she added.

  Zelda cleared her throat. “Then what do you mean it could be easy?”

  “No one gets caught in the killing,” Rian continued. “They get caught afterward trying to get rid of the body. Maybe someone finds it rolled up in a carpet. Or dumped in a shallow grave when a coyote drags out a femur.”

  “You watch too much Crime Time TV.” Amy wished they were talking about anything else.

  “And you work for Dial-a-Psycho.”

  She felt her chin jerk in defiance. “I do not. I don’t have psychic powers. I have, I have . . .”

  “You have too many points in this game,” Genna snapped. “Are you using your psychic powers to predict the dots?”

  “I’m not psychic.”

  “What do you call it then?”

  “A pain in the butt. Just like you.”

  Zelda leaned forward and whispered, “How do you get rid of a dead body?”

  Genna leaned in and whispered, “We put it in a suitcase and drop it overboard on the cruise. I have a big one and it’s on wheels.”