“Absolutely not!” I clutched the phone ’til my knuckles shone white. “Bill happens to be a friend-a very good friend. How would you feel if I started doing background checks on your friends Sam or Joe?”

“This is different,” he answered after a lengthy pause. “You’re a senior citizen.”

“Age has nothing to do with it. I’m not senile.”

“Of course not, Mom. I didn’t mean to suggest you were.”

I detected a hint of condescension in his voice, but before I could take him to task, he mumbled something about having to run, and then he disconnected.

I was still fuming later when I heard Krystal’s key turn in the front door. The sound was followed by an ear-piercing shriek. Instantly I ran to see what was wrong.

“Krystal…?”

She stood on the threshold, her eyes wide in horror, staring down at the doormat. Pointing a shaking finger, she managed to gasp, “It’s… it’s…”

I followed the direction in which she pointed. A container the size of a shoe box rested on my welcome mat. I forced myself to pick it up when instincts dictated I squeal like a sissy. A dead bird lay inside, its poor little head bent at a forty-five-degree angle. I stared at it in morbid fascination. I couldn’t seem to help it.

“It’s just a dead bird,” I said, stating the obvious. “Tang must’ve left it there. I’m told cats are notorious for doing such things-bringing gifts and offerings of affection.”

Krystal gazed at me as though I had taken leave of my senses. “I never heard of a cat putting his offerings in a gift box. All Tang lacked was a ribbon and a bow.”

The girl had a point. I took a closer look. There was something else strange about this picture. It wasn’t just any bird-a wren or finch-but a canary. A dead canary.

Visions of mobsters in vintage black-and-white films-Cagney, Raft, and Robinson-danced in my head. Didn’t they use dead canaries as warnings to folks who talked too much? Was the real murderer starting to get worried? I continued to stare at the dead canary. It was an omen, I decided.

But definitely not a good one.

Chapter 26

“Have you heard the news?”

Pam was the first to arrive for bunco. The others would be along shortly. Actually, it was Janine’s turn to host bunco, but she asked me to trade since being artistic director was taking up so much of her spare time.

“What news?” The cork came loose with a satisfying pop! Tonight I was serving a nice pinot grigio-the Babes’ white wine du jour. We’d already sampled our way through a wide variety of chardonnays and Rieslings. I set the wine aside and started to dole out the sweets.

“Claudia”-Pam paused for maximum effect-“has been rearrested.”

Now it was my turn to pause, Peanut M &M’s in one hand, dice-shaped candy dish in the other. “What do you mean-‘rearrested’?”

Pam perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Jack, my Jack, happened to be driving by her place after golf committee. He saw a deputy lead her away in handcuffs.”

“Oh my God!” I moaned. “This is terrible.”

M &M’s spilled all over the counter as I threw the bag down and rushed for the phone. I dialed Claudia’s “bad” attorney, but my call went to voice mail, so I had to be content with leaving a message. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of Claudia’s being arrested a second time.

“This is my fault for being a stool pigeon,” I wailed.

“Don’t blame yourself, Kate.”

Pam picked up the scattered M &M’s and returned them to the dish. I couldn’t bear to look at them. The candies might as well have MOTIVE and MEANS printed on them

“If I hadn’t sung like a canary, none of this would be happening.” Needing to lighten my guilty conscience, I confessed to Pam, my BFF, that I’d spilled my guts to the sheriff during a brutal interrogation.

Pam scooted off the stool and gave me a hug. “Nonsense. You’re giving yourself entirely too much credit. Sooner or later, facts were bound to surface. It’s hardly classified information Lance Ledeaux was an unemployed actor who’d been spending money like crazy ever since he married Claudia.”

“It’s the last of the Big Three,” I muttered disconsolately.

“Ford, GM, and Chrysler?”

Yet another person from Michigan. I mustered a smile. “No, silly, the Big Three as in motive, means, and opportunity. Lance’s extravagant spending goes to supply motive. She already had means and opportunity.”

News Claudia had been taken into custody made my pre-bunco agenda even more imperative; more urgent. For this reason I’d lied-an itsy-bitsy white lie-and told Nadine our game started at seven thirty instead of seven. The Babes and I needed time to discuss Claudia’s case and form a plan of action. Since Nadine was unofficially a “person of interest,” she wasn’t privy to our little discussion.

“Anyone home?” Polly sang out. Not waiting for an invitation, she strolled into the kitchen, resplendent in her version of grunge chic in a tie-dyed shirt and jeans-not just any jeans, mind you, but ones that came premade torn and frayed; the kind no self-respecting wife would allow her husband outside to mow the lawn in for fear of what the neighbors might think; the kind of jeans that cost mega-bucks in upscale department stores.

“Mother’s been shopping,” Gloria explained lest we’d been struck blind by Polly’s dazzling array of colors. Gloria, as though trying to counteract her mother’s flamboyancy, was dressed conservatively in gray slacks and a sweater. The forest of gold chains around her neck supplied the only hint of color.

Monica and Connie Sue were next to arrive, followed in short order by the rest of the Babes. From the noisy greetings and number of hugs, a casual observer would have thought we hadn’t seen one another in an age.

“Where’s Megan?” Tara asked Pam after disengaging herself from Polly’s enthusiastic welcome.

“She’s running lines with Eric for their big scene together.”

“Whom did you get to sub?” Rita, the ever practical, asked.

I set out the fruit and cheese tray I’d prepared. “Krystal agreed to fill in as long as I promised to keep the cupboard stocked with tuna for that darn cat that’s been hanging around. Some might consider that bribery.”

Diane poured herself a glass of wine. “It’s nice you have a pet, Kate.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’d hardly call that mangy orange fur ball a pet. Nuisance is a better word for it.”

“Why’s that?” Janine asked, sampling a strawberry.

“Well, for one thing, Tang has a generous and giving nature. A little too generous and giving for my taste.”

“I think that’s sweet,” Connie Sue drawled, then looked around to see if others agreed. “Don’t y’all think that’s sweet?”

“I’m talking dead-critters kind of ‘sweet.’ Tang likes to deposit gifts on my doorstep. Things like mice, a squirrel’s tail, and, once, a dead skunk. Thank goodness it wasn’t a live one, or you would’ve heard my scream clear to Georgia.”

“Eeuww!” Connie Sue shuddered dramatically.

“His last present,” I continued, “happened to be a dead bird.”

I refused to elaborate on the fact that said offering had arrived all but gift wrapped-or that it wasn’t a run-of-the-mill wren or mockingbird, but a canary.

Monica filled a glass with ice, then added diet soda. “Recent studies show that those of us who own pets are usually healthier and happier than those who don’t.”

What would the Babes do without Monica to keep us informed? Name a subject and she could quote a “recent study.” At times I wonder if I should forego my beloved Law & Order and CSI and read more so I, too, could quote recent studies. But before I opt for drastic measures, sanity always returns.

Connie Sue daintily sipped pinot grigio. “Thacker is allergic to cats. He says dogs make better pets. He says they’re a font of unconditional love.”