Dying for Dominoes Read online

  The corners of Zelda’s mouth lifted into a smile then quickly disappeared.

  “You’re teasing,” Amy said, holding Zelda’s gaze with her own.

  Rian laughed and raised her glass. “Thank goodness we’re all just stoned and not that stupid.”

  She shivered as Zelda’s laugh rang loud in the dark, and then suddenly, her dominoes victory felt hollow, like a diseased tree left to rot.

  Chapter Two

  Amy stood at the door that separated her private life from the rest of Bluff Springs. Bending down to rub Victor’s soft tabby coat, she petted him until he purred, tweaked his whiskers, and then opened the door that led from her apartment above the shop. Victor, meaning the winner of the game in Latin, was her lucky cat. He spent his days at Tiddlywinks in the sunshine of the front window or draped across the back of the wingback chair, loving every minute of attention he received from Tiddlywinks patrons. He was a beautiful Maine coon tabby, and a great draw to tourists passing by the Tiddlywinks window.

  Now dashing down the stairs ahead of her, he waited impatiently, tail snapping as the familiar scent of freshly baked crumpets and cinnamon drew her slowly down the creaking stairs.

  When she moved in, she painted the stairs bright blue and strung white Christmas lights along the handrail to light the darkness of a stairwell without windows. Her favorite places in Mexico looked like this. Azure blue paint and twinkling lights made her remember that festival feeling, and, like in Mexico, el gato waited at the bottom of the stairs.

  Opening the door that led outside, she and Victor stepped out on the sidewalk and passed under the hanging sign of the Cardboard Cottage & Company, all curlicues and painted daisies. From apartment to shop was a twenty-nine-step commute to work, including the stairs. Who could beat that! Still grinning at her victory by a landslide at the domino table—winning streak still unbroken—she hopped over the last two steps of the hopscotch drawn on the sidewalk that led to the main entrance, with Victor now meowing at the door.

  As she unlocked the door with the ornate antique key, she entered, feeling pride she had never known before this. For the first time in her life, she was anchored to a place and time. She was part of something good. Really good. Tiddlywinks was a fun business. Her home was right above the shop, and her cat was happy to greet customers all day long. She had best friends—a sisterhood if she could dare say it. Something she had never known growing up as an only child in a family as restless as gypsies. Even better, this little clutch of women carved out their lives in the most eclectic ways that were never dull, never boring.

  She patted the ancient oak doorframe as if it, too, were a loyal friend. The Cardboard Cottage & Company was housed in a Victorian-era building that, throughout the many decades, housed tenant couples who had probably argued passionately and then made love. She could feel their history in the echo of the plank floors and in the scent left behind in closets and cupboards.

  The feeling wasn’t about paranormal residue or pesky ghosts. No, this building made her feel buoyant. From the moment she entered with the sales agent, she knew the building had to be hers. She also knew she couldn’t possibly afford such a place as this.

  And yet, the pieces had fallen into place like numbers in a sudoku grid.

  The banknote had been the biggest, scariest commitment she had ever made. And she couldn’t be happier to have taken the step.

  Bluff Springs was a magical little tourist town where people came to spend a few days of quiet before returning to their busy lives in the city. Compared to cities she grew up in, Bluff Springs felt like Never-Never Land. It was Never Land. It was a quirky town in the Ozarks of Arkansas, not too far from the Missouri border. Its population barely broke six thousand, a swelling of artists and shopkeepers whose dwellings were wedged into the rock bluffs as ancient as time itself. It was a darling little town that drew people in, much like the Lost Boys of Barrie’s tale. Grateful it had drawn her in, she wasn’t moving anywhere. Not anytime soon.

  The day was still early when she opened the interior door to Tiddlywinks Players Club, knowing the other shops in the Cardboard Cottage & Company would be opening soon. The yeasty smells coming from the Crumpets and Cones bakery that also shared the building were already drawing customers to the window display outside.

  As she turned on the overhead lights, the room sprang to life. Old polished wood and musty cardboard greeted her. Bookshelves lined the room, and colorful cardboard boxes and tins lined the shelves. Like a library, they spoke of other realms to explore. Like a library, Tiddlywinks Players Club was a place to recapture memories and a place to make them new.

  The best part of her shop was watching customers’ eyes light up when they spied a game they hadn’t played since childhood. It didn’t matter whether they were age sixty or twenty-nine, time turned back just a little when they turned the corner into her shop.

  It felt good to give strangers a little jolt of joy.

  While dusting the tables with her pheasant feather duster, another gift from Zelda, Victor patrolled the room before he landed in a sunny spot in the window for his morning bath ritual.

  As she playfully batted him with the duster, something caught her eye. A man was watching her from across the street—or so it seemed. He was leaning against the building, the dark calico colors of the stone wall nearly camouflaging his thin frame. He turned his head slightly, and the sun reflected from his glasses. Even though she didn’t recognize him, she raised her hand in greeting and then stopped as he turned curtly and walked away.

  She moved from the window and finished dusting then caught a whiff of her best friend before she heard the clop-clop of her Jimmy Choo mules on the hardwood floor.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Zelda called as she passed the open door of Tiddlywinks, heading for her shop. Amy followed the scent down the hall. Spice, amber, and sandalwood—deep, dark, and exotic—trailed through the air.

  Zelda’s shop, Zsa Zsa Galore Décor, wasn’t much more than a cubbyhole. The room had been a butler’s pantry in its first lifetime. Now it was a bright collage of shabby chic and upscale collectibles for the happy homemaker not on a budget. People loved Zelda’s cozy style and seemed willing to pay almost any price for it.

  An interior designer by schooling and a housewife by trade, Zelda was quickly turning her tiny shop into a lucrative business. It had been Zelda’s idea to turn each of the main rooms of the building into retail space for lease. Credit where credit was due. It was Zelda’s idea and Genna’s business plan that made it possible to secure the banknote. On top of that, Zelda claimed her cubbyhole spot, named a generous rent price, and set up shop. Zelda was generous to a fault, and those were the best kind of friends to have.

  Standing in the hallway, she watched as Zelda pulled a wagon filled with bright pillows into the hall to prop open the door, where a hand-lettered script greeted the customers:

  I like a mannish man who knows how to treat a woman—not just a man with muscles. –Zsa Zsa Gabor

  Paraphrased for the sake of space, for sure, but the sign fit Zelda, who had been married four times, herself.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have a hangover,” Zelda said to Amy when she looked up from her task.

  “I won’t, then. You know two aspirin before bedtime does the trick.”

  “Ha!” Zelda put a hand to her temple. Her dark hair flipped slightly below a rounded chin that fit perfectly with a generous smile and deep-set green eyes. “Let’s not do that again.”

  “Right,” she agreed with sarcasm. “We never overindulge on game night.”

  Zelda plumped the pillows again before arranging them just so.

  “It was a great game. And victory was mine yet again.”

  “Oh, don’t gloat,” Zelda warned. “We had enough of that last night, too.”

  The jangle of the bell on the main door caught her ear, and she looked up as a group of touri
sts made their way to Crumpets and Cones, the delicious smells likely dragging them in by their salivary glands. The last of the group entering the Cardboard Cottage lagged, coming in with a bit of odd hesitancy before turning away from the bakery and entering Tiddlywinks instead.

  “Gotta go,” she said as the visitor disappeared through the door of Tiddlywinks. “Good morning!” she called cheerfully as she entered. A man was standing at the glass curio case, his back turned to her. Turning at her words, he nodded a greeting. She stopped mid-step. The hair on her arms tingled as if pulled by a magnet. This was the same man she had noticed watching from across the street.

  As a small community, most residents knew each other by sight if not by name in Bluff Springs. She didn’t know his face.

  “Is there something specific you’re looking for?” she asked, her tone terser than she wanted.

  He didn’t respond.

  “We have games from every era. We have new games, used games, even vintage games,” she explained, trying to brighten her tone, then motioned to the curio cabinet. “We also have collector’s items. As you can see, we have a few rare games from antiquity.”

  The glass cabinet, a curio dug out of Zelda’s basement, had a glass front and a hefty lock. Its shelves held a modest collection of items for collectors who wanted games when pieces were made of ivory or bone, glass, or marble. There wasn’t a huge calling for these higher-ticket items, but they were worth the investment when they sold.

  The man scrutinized the case and then turned to look at her. His sharp nose balanced thin wire-rimmed glasses. He was tall and wiry in his frame, too. His gray trousers and white button-down shirt were wrinkled and looked at least a decade out of date. When he peered at her curtly from behind his glasses, his eyes seemed to land on the burn scar that ran along her hairline, then he glanced away.

  Her skin prickled. Everything about this man made her uneasy.

  She stepped forward and put on her best shopkeeper smile. “What can I help you with today?”

  The man worked at pulling a smile into place. “I need a gift for my nephew,” he said finally. His tone was sharp, his voice a nasal tone as if his glasses pinched his nose. “Something a nine-year-old would find . . .” He paused. “Suitable.”

  “A video game, perhaps?” she said, motioning to a collection of them with a step in that direction.

  “No,” he said abruptly. “Something more useful—educational, perhaps . . .”

  “Will he be playing with friends or something more solitary?”

  His hesitation spoke volumes. Scanning the shelves for possibilities, she felt his presence behind her.

  “Ah-ha!” Pulling a box from the shelf and setting it on the table nearby, she watched his expression as she dusted off the box.

  “This is a Gilbert Chemistry Experiment Lab Kit. Maybe you recognize it? It’s from the 1950s.” Her mood shifted. Even she was uplifted by its playful magic.

  She ran her hand across the cover, brushing across the detailed lithographic image of a mid-century dad and son earnestly engaged in an experiment. The kitchen dinette where they sat in the picture was covered with tools and beakers that spoke of a 1950s idea of the future. Lifting the latch that secured the bright orange metal case, she opened it as if it were a sacred tome.

  The case revealed three compartments. Reaching out, she touched the glass jars set in a cardboard cutout frame before stepping back to give him room to explore the box for himself.

  “This is what any nine-year-old would covet,” she said with assurance. “There are twenty jars in all. Each is labeled with whatever chemicals are needed to expand a young boy’s mind, if not blow up his mother’s kitchen,” she said and chuckled out loud at the thought. “Everything from magic tricks to crime detection. Just what a lonely boy needs.”

  His continued silence made her question her choice. Usually, she homed in on the right game for the right person. Usually, people were excited when they made a find like this. As excited as kids at Christmas.

  He reached out and touched the jars, and the gesture had more tenderness than she expected. She hit the mark after all! Wasn’t she the Vanna White ready to reveal the hidden letters.

  “This is quite special. As you can see, this side of the kit holds the test tubes and the test tube holder. And this other side has all the tools and instructions.” She read from the box, “Everything needed for a glass-blowing experiment, fingerprint crime detection, and chromatography for analyzing chemicals with color.

  “Here are the instructions, still intact.” She held the booklet out to him, surprised when his eyebrows rose as he accepted it. “It’s copyrighted in 1956.”

  “Where did this come from?” he demanded.

  She flinched then forced a smile. He wasn’t going to spoil her day, odd duck that he was.

  “I buy much of my inventory from estate auctions. Why do you ask?”

  He touched the case again but didn’t answer.

  “I’m guessing you recognize this as a Gilbert kit. As in A. C. Gilbert. He started the Mysto Manufacturing Company in the early 1900s.” Accepting the booklet from his outstretched hand, she replaced it in the box. “Gilbert was a magician, and his best friend was John Petrie. I think you’ll recognize that name, too.”

  He nodded.

  “Together they created toys that appealed to the curiosity and fantasies of boys of this age and era. Back when boys wore cowboy boots and girls danced ballet.”

  She folded the panels and replaced the latch. “Although there were millions made, they are hard to find now. Especially in this condition.”

  “How much?” he barked.

  “One seventy-five,” she replied without hesitation.

  The man jerked his hand away from the box. And then, as if he had no other choice, he lifted his worn leather wallet from his pocket.

  Bingo. She did have a knack for knowing people and their games. She smiled and rang up the sale, noticing that his eyes swept over the locked curio cabinet yet again.

  “Can I show you something from this case? Has something caught your eye?”

  He glanced at her and then the case.

  “No. Nothing.”

  Though anxious for him to leave, her curiosity was piqued.

  “Are you visiting family in town?”

  “No.” He pulled the package from her proffered hands.

  “Just passing through?”

  He pushed his frames up his slender nose, smudging the glass with his fingers.

  “Yes. You could say that.”

  “Ah, just my lucky day, then.” She smiled warmly. “Fair luck and fond memories,” she called as he exited her shop, bag in hand, without another word.

  Chapter Three

  It was almost lunchtime when Rian O’Deis slipped in to open her shop in the Cardboard Cottage & Company. Amy looked up as Rian passed by Tiddlywinks’s door.

  “Better late than never,” she called, but Rian seemed not to hear.

  Directly opposite Zelda’s pantry, the Pot Shed was the bastardized leftovers of the original kitchen, with one east-facing wall window and three rough brick walls whitewashed at some point in history. The glass panes of the window were so old they distorted the view almost like a Toulouse-Lautrec cocktail of absinthe and champagne.

  Ablaze in light and color, the store was fragrant with culinary, herbal, and medicinal plants warming in the sun. A large wooden potting trough filled with potting soil emanated its earthy scent. Surrounding the trough were brightly colored pots stacked on the floor beneath the ceiling fan that squeaked along with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra playing softly in the background.

  Save the Bees popped from the front of Rian’s goldenrod yellow shirt, tucked neatly into belted Levi jeans. Yellow laces in her black high-top sneakers matched her shirt.

  Amy poked her head in the doorway
, one foot in and one eye watching her shop entrance.

  Rian stood with her hands on her hips.

  “What are you doing?” Amy asked.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Ah, a senior moment.”

  “Precisely,” Rian answered. “I’m wounded from last night’s domino game. Wounded and sore. You bested us with your double fives and slayed me with your pimento cheese.”

  Amy smiled. Yup. Bested, boasted, and slayed.

  “What are you doing?” Rian asked. “Besides looking like the cat who ate the rat. Or is it the cheese? Jeez, my brain is wounded.”

  “It’s a canary. The cat ate the canary. And I came to ask for your help. I need you to hold the ladder while I get a box off the top shelf.”

  “What you want is to hold the ladder while I get something off the top shelf.”

  They both looked up as a woman entered the Cottage in a soft rustle of skirt and canvas shoes. Thin and pale, her head was covered with a silk batik scarf, her blue eyes sunken into dark circles.

  “Becky,” Amy greeted her softly, reaching to hug her gently. Her bones felt fragile beneath her pink cotton shirt. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise.” Her smile stretched across a face still beautiful despite illness. “It’s good to be out and about.” She knew why Becky was there.

  “I can’t stay but a minute,” Becky said to Rian. “Harold dropped me off at your doorstep. He’ll be back and fretting if I stay too long.”

  Rian nodded and pulled a shortbread tin from her canvas bag. Wrapped with a bright yellow handkerchief, the four ends were tied in a knot in the center, making a soft cloth handle. A prayer card for Saint Peregrine hung from the knot by a piece of jute twine.

  “Baked fresh this morning,” Rian said, putting the tin in Becky’s hands.

  “Thank you. Bless you. It makes a world of difference, you know.”

  Becky left a single bill on the counter as she left the room and then was gone with the same soft swoosh of cotton.