Hearing her say that, I made up a new rule right then and there. “Anyone who so much as mentions Sheriff Wiggins gets a whopping fifty points taken off their score. Ladies,” I said in my best NASCAR imitation, “start your engines. Let’s play bunco!”

Everyone scrambled to find a place at one of the three tables. I took a seat opposite Claudia at the kitchen table, which, by the way, I appointed head table. Claudia had remembered to bring the tiara she had won the last time the Babes gathered for bunco. Also at our table were Monica, who eyed the tiara with blatant envy, and Tara. Before ringing the bell to signal the start of the round, I refilled Claudia’s glass. She might have a headache in the morning, but I was going to guarantee her a good night’s sleep.

We rolled ones. It wasn’t long before the whiskey sours kicked in and made their contribution to our little party. Amidst much giggling and laughter, we rolled twos, threes, fours, and fives. We outdid ourselves with jokes, witty repartee, and humorous anecdotes. We were ready for a spot on cable TV’s Comedy Central.

Polly’s face crinkled in confusion. “What are we rolling?”

“Pay attention, Mother, or I’m cutting off the booze,” Gloria chided. Mother and daughter had found themselves partners in the final round of the first set. “Sixes. We’re on sixes.”

“Hmph!” Polly sniffed. “I knew that. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.”

Gloria wagged her head, a martyred expression on her face. “I suppose you’re aware you just rolled a baby bunco.”

“I did?” Polly stared in amazement at the trio of deuces she’d just thrown. “I mean I did. Good for me, another five points.”

“Bunco!” Pam sang out.

Monica grinned like the Cheshire cat in heat. I’d have to be blind not to see she planned on taking the tiara home. The woman made no bones about her coveting the rhinestone-encrusted band. I’d be surprised if she didn’t wear it to church.

Claudia and I advanced to table two. I paused long enough to top off her glass.

“Shame on you, Kate. You’re going to make me tipsy.”

“What’re friends for? Besides”-I winked-“you have a designated driver tonight-Monica.” Monica was a teetotaler except in times of severe stress. Then she ordered bourbon-straight up.

The second set began amidst a lot of good-natured bantering. We began shaking and tossing dice with more enthusiasm than finesse. This time Rita was my partner, with Claudia and Connie Sue completing the foursome. The dice made their way around the table with none of us having much luck. Ones seemed to have fallen off the planet.

“All right,” Claudia announced. “Enough of this. Let’s see if I remember any of the techniques I saw high rollers use in Vegas.” Cupping the dice in both her hands, she rattled them, blew on them for luck, then let them fly. Behold, a baby bunco appeared.

“You go, girlfriend,” Connie Sue said, cheering on her partner.

Rita and I glumly watched Claudia’s winning streak. “Never been to Vegas,” I mumbled. “Maybe I should go, learn a trick or two.”

“You oughta.” Claudia’s run of luck over, she passed the dice to me. “Vegas is a happening place. Morning, noon, or night, walk into any of the casinos, and you’ll hear the jingle of slot machines. It’s music to the ears.”

“Jack talked about going there for our twenty-fifth,” Pam commented from her spot at the head table. “Neither of us are gamblers, but I’d like to see what all the fuss is about. Maybe take in a couple shows.”

“Let my example serve as a warning,” Claudia told her. “Don’t bring anything home with you. Marrying Lance Ledeaux was the biggest mistake of my life. If I never hear the name Vegas again, it’ll be too soon. Think Vegas and I think Lance. Don’t know what came over me.”

Connie Sue reached across and patted Claudia’s hand. “There, there, sugar. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not the first woman to fall for a pretty face. And you won’t be the last.”

“He was one handsome dude all right,” Polly chimed from an adjacent table.

Claudia’s expression clouded. For a moment, I thought she was about to cry, but to my surprise, she burst into laughter instead. The Babes and I looked at her worriedly, all of us probably wondering if she was about to have a meltdown.

“Yeah,” Claudia said, regaining control, “he was good-looking, all right, but should’ve been after all the time and effort he put into it.”

“He was tall,” Polly said. “I prefer my men tall. Lance must’ve been at least six feet.”

Claudia rolled a single one, then slid the dice to Rita. “Actually, Lance was only five feet ten. He wore lifts in his shoes.”

“Oh,” Polly murmured, obviously disappointed. “We rolling ones or twos?”

I recognized Gloria’s sigh. “Ones, Mother. We’re still rolling ones.”

Monica scowled at Megan when she failed to score. “Well, Lance certainly had a youthful appearance. Claudia, you know I’d never say anything to hurt your feelings, but he looked years younger than you.”

I cast a worried glance at Claudia. Along with the rest of the Babes, I had been trying valiantly to raise Claudia’s spirits. Then along comes Monica, who practically accused her of robbing the cradle. But instead of upset, Claudia looked almost… amused.

“Lance claimed he was fifty-four, but I recently found out he was sixty.” Claudia rolled a satisfying series of ones. “He confessed he’d had some cosmetic surgery done a couple years ago.”

“He must’ve taken after Ronald Reagan,” Polly commented.

“How’s that?” Claudia asked absently.

“Except for the temples, Lance didn’t have a single gray hair on his head. I know ’cause I notice these things.”

Her run of luck over, Claudia surrendered the dice and helped herself to a chocolate. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Polly, but he colored it.”

“No, you don’t say.”

Claudia nodded. “Shortly after we were married, I found an empty box of Clairol for Men in the wastebasket.”

Connie Sue’s luck picked up where Claudia’s left off. “I always admired Lance’s California tan. Not even Brad Murphy, our golf pro, has one to compare.”

I wondered if this round would ever end. It seemed to go on, and on, and on. How long would it take for those at the head table to rack up twenty-one points? At this rate, we’d be here ’til midnight. In the meantime, the Babes were dissecting a poor dead guy more thoroughly than the coroner.

“Lance’s California tan?” Claudia hooted. “The man was deathly afraid to go out in the sun.”

Janine’s nursing background came to the fore. “Worried about skin cancer?”

“Uh-uh.” Claudia’s picked up the dice and let them fly. “More like worried about wrinkles. Lance bought his tan in a can.”

“Don’t that beat all.” Polly shook her dead sadly. “Fake tan, dyed hair, and lifts in his shoes. Tell me, Claudia, Lance Ledeaux, that his real name or as phony as the rest of him?”

“Bunco!” Monica shouted, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the round finally ended.

The clanging of the bunco bell almost drowned out the sound of another bell-the doorbell. Almost… but not quite.