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Cuff yipped behind me in the hallway as I opened the back door to leave.
Chiquita, I should go with you.
I wish, little buddy. But I can’t hide you in this tiny clutch purse.
Use the big one I can sit in. He begged with eager eyes.
I can’t wear a sling bag to a dress-up social.
I glanced past him at Jackson. “Can you help me?”
Jackson clicked his tongue. “C’mon, Cuff. You and Taffy can watch TV upstairs.” Cuff turned and trotted a few steps, turned around, and barked. Be careful, Chiquita. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
I drove the short distance across town to Vivienne’s home. The Peacocks owned one of the most gorgeous pieces of property in the area. The sunset cast bright yellow beams on the front pasture of rolling hills covered in bluebonnets. As I turned into the driveway, a No Trespassing sign warned wildflower sightseers not to cross the fence line. The beautiful lupine—an actual weed and Texas’s state flower—enchanted people with its vivid blue color and the promise of a perfect photo backdrop. Brides-to-be, wedding parties, group pictures, children and babies, pets, engagement photos, and yes, the bluebonnet fanatics. The sort who pull onto the shoulder of a busy highway to snap pictures, regardless of the dangers. Admiring the Peacock’s cobalt-blue hillside, I understood the temptation.
Dressed in khaki slacks, a sky-blue polo, and brown dress shoes, Vin surprised me when he answered the door. “Good evening, Ms. Lamarr.” He wore his usual shaggy bangs slicked to one side and secured with a bobby-pin. A circular logo with an inner star embroidered on his shirt read, Peacock Residence Staff. Wow. Vivienne’s staff wore uniforms. Following Vin down the hallway, I guessed his aunt hired him for the evening.
I hoped Vivienne didn’t expect to host a society meeting at my place. In my tiny apartment, five people would create a crowd. Maybe Pop would let me use the house. What’re you talking about, Steely? You’re not really joining this dumb group.
“This is for you to change into, Ms. Lamarr,” Vin said, handing me a bundle of white linen. “My aunt said to tell you it’s customary to remove all clothing under the ceremonial toga.” Uncomfortable with his request on several levels, I raised an eyebrow. “All clothing?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grimaced. “The blue-ribbon sash secures the toga around your waist. You can change in the hall restroom. We’ve placed hangers in there for your purse and clothing. Please leave your feet bare as well. When you’re finished, I’ll show you to the grand room.”
Leave it to Vivienne Peacock to have a grand room. So pretentious.
The hall bathroom had a large marble vanity with two sinks, a separate toilet area, and a cheetah print chaise lounge. I slipped into the linen toga—careful to leave the wire taped to my skin—secured my ribbon, and hung my clothes on a hanger dangling from a wall hook. Glancing at the full-length mirror, I gasped at the sight. Vivienne might as well have given me a parachute to wear. Petite people shouldn’t wear togas made for a giant.
“Let’s hope this is all worth it,” I whispered, dipping my head low, hoping Jackson and Agent Smalls could hear me.
I hiked up the toga, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. It felt odd walking out barefoot, but when in Rome.
Following behind Vin, I shuddered at the sound of women cackling. My insecurity spiked. I didn’t fit in with these society ladies, and joining the group under false pretenses made matters worse. When Vin opened the double doors to a spacious room furnished with white furniture, maroon and taupe accents, exotic floral arrangements, and an exquisite crystal chandelier hanging from the middle of the vaulted ceiling, the urge to turn and bolt overwhelmed me. As I prepared to duck and run, Vivienne’s voice rang out, halting me in my tracks.
“And there she is! Our guest of honor this evening! Welcome, Steely!”
The entire room of toga-clad members ogled me. They clapped and raised their glasses of wine in my direction. Like a raging river, Vivienne rushed at me in a flood of white. She snatched a glass of white wine from a server’s tray and handed it to me.
“Steely! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have you finally joining the us!” she said. The sound of her belting out my name sounded harsh and mocking. She twisted her head and addressed the rest. “Am I right, ladies?”
“Yesses,” members said simultaneously as their claps filled the room.
My knees threatened to buckle, and I had an awful fish-out-of-water sensation. “Um, thank you.” I leaned in close to Vivienne. “Am I the only new member joining this evening?”
“Why yes, didn’t I mention it earlier today?” she asked, smirking.
“No, you left out that detail.” I should’ve known Vivienne’s intentions involved making a spectacle out of me. But then again, my plan to infiltrate myself into her dumb society was equally as dirty. The only glimmer of hope now was my efforts would pay off. And I would gain information to help with the case.
“Oh, dear, it must’ve slipped my mind,” she said, belting out a chuckle. “I guess the excitement over finally having one of the Lamarr women join the society made me so giddy I forgot.”
“Make that two Lamarr women,” a raspy, familiar voice said behind us.
I turned to find my grandmother wrapped like a bulging burrito.
The society women hushed to silence.
“Gertrude? What’re you doing here?” Vivienne asked.
“I’d like to know the same,” I said.
Gertie sashayed with a wobble toward us. “I’m joining too.”
“But you’re not on the list of new memberships,” Vivienne said. “I’m afraid you must wait until next spring.”
“Check again.” Gertie stacked her fists on her hips. “Ask Frida Ulrich, your membership coordinator.” She grinned at Vivienne, looping her arm through mine. “If my granddaughter is taking the plunge, so am I.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmured to her.
“It’s okay,” she said, patting my hand. “Your father and sister will understand.” After the conversation at the supper table the evening before, I doubted it.
Frida Ulrich raised her hand. “It’s true. Gertrude called me a few hours ago, and she paid both membership fees.”
Vivienne’s face turned beet red. “As the president of the Pleasant Ladies Society, someone should have notified me.”
Frida stepped forward. “I ran out of time, and since she paid the dues, I didn’t think there would be a problem, Vivi. You’ve always said, as long as someone pays their dues and follows through with the induction ceremony, we accept them. Is there an issue with Gertrude joining?”
“Yeah, is there an issue with me joining?” Gertie shimmied herself next to Vivienne and bumped her bottom against Vivienne’s thigh. Gertie was about a foot shorter than Vivienne. It was all she could reach. Vivienne huffed. “Well, I suppose not.”
Spotting a server with a full tray of wine-filled glasses, I waved him over. I chugged the entire glass of wine, swiped a new one, and set my used glass on the tray. “Thanks, I need some liquid ambition.”
Regaining her composure, Vivienne plastered a smile on her face. “Ladies, please help yourselves to some appetizers on the center table. We have about twenty minutes for socializing, and then we’ll move on to the new member induction.”
“Inductions,” Gertie blurted out.
“Yes, right,” Vivienne said, glaring at my grandmother. “I stand corrected.” She bustled off to mingle. I emptied my second glass as I sidled up to Gertie. “How did you know I was here?”
“Daniel called and said you might need some support. Seeing as how they don’t allow men at the
gatherings, I decided to sacrifice myself for the cause. Did you remove your bra and underwear?” I nodded. “I was too afraid not to. What if someone checks?”
“Oh, they check all right.”
“Who does?”
She ignored me, her eyes traveling to the food. “I need some fuel, so I’ll be able to keep up with you during the new member ceremony. And guzzling down two glasses of wine, you should eat. You want something?”
With an empty stomach, the wine had worked its magic. The only way to survive these snooty women would be to maintain a tipsy buzz. “No, but I think I’ll mingle a bit.”
“Okay, I’ll be back.” She turned.
“Hey, what did you mean you had to keep up with me during the ceremony?” I asked her backside, but she didn’t hear me as she stumbled away. Her hearing aid must be on low. I glanced around. Everyone seemed to know each other, and this was so not my crowd. I tried to keep my hands from fidgeting and ended up clasping them in front of me. You’ve got this, Steely.
With at least eight inches of wadded linen in my fists, I ambled past three women chatting about their grandchildren. Another group of five discussed Easter festivities at their church. I saw Stacia peek into the room, and I waved. Her lower jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She didn’t bother returning the gesture and disappeared out of sight. Was she leaving? Spotting Gertie at the appetizer table, I observed her filling a plate with cheeses, crackers, and olives. She held a plastic glass of sloshing red wine between her teeth. I belted out a wine-induced chortle. My grandmother paid no mind to the wine dribbling onto the linen at her chest. Her staining Vivienne’s precious toga would no doubt cause me trouble later. But for now, it struck me funny.
As I rounded the back of the room, my ears picked up on the word I’d been waiting for: Frenchie. Like a moth near a light, I hovered nearby, listening.
“So, a seller contacted me. He said he knows Vivienne, and she gave him my phone number. I’m considering getting a puppy!” Frida said.
“Oh dear, I would never. They have breathing issues,” a woman I’d seen in yoga class said. I tucked my chin to my chest, speaking into the microphone. “Breaker, breaker one-nine, this is Little Red Riding Hood coming in for You’re Killin’ Me Smalls and Devil Dog. Frida Ulrich mentioned purchasing The Beast. I repeat ... Frida Ulrich mentioned purchasing The Beast. Moving in closer. Over and out.” I chuckled at my attempt at CB radio speak.
“I would absolutely kill for a French bulldog,” another woman in a yellow sweater said. “Breaker, breaker, did you catch that? A Ms. Yellow Sweater would kill for The Beast. I repeat, kill. Adding her to my suspect list. Over and out.” I pushed my way in between her and Frida. Thank you, wine!
“Well, all I can say, Frida, is you better snatch the puppy up. Because if you don’t, I ...” Ms. Yellow Sweater stopped mid-conversation, slapping a palm over her mouth. “Listen to me being so tacky in front of a potential new member. Please excuse my awful behavior. We haven’t been formally introduced. My name’s Brit Buckley. You own the dog wash place, right? Do you have a business card? I’ll be needing one soon. Most of these ladies drive into the bigger cities, but I’m too busy.”
“I’m Steely, and yes, I own Scrubadub.” I gestured to my hiked toga. “I don’t have a card at the moment, but I can give you one after I retrieve my purse.” What a dumb question for her to ask when we’re literally naked under sheets. Where does she expect me to hold business cards? In my armpit? Thankfully, I kept my wine-induced snarkasm to myself.
“That would be terrific.” She flashed me a half-grin, which felt more malicious than sincere. “Brit, was it? What did you mean by ‘potential’ new member?” I asked.
Exchanging odd looks, several of the ladies in our ever-growing semicircle snickered. I wanted to tell them their uppity, holier-than-thou attitudes is why I hadn’t joined the society before. Don’t let them get to you, I coached myself. I missed Mama, but in situations like these, I missed her the most. It took everything I had not to spit out a nasty comment. Keep your mind on the pups... you’ve got this.
I redirected the conversation back to the dogs. “Did I hear y’all talking about a French bulldog?”
“Yes! Someone who knows Vivi has puppies for sale. He called me recently,” Brit said, clapping her hands like a five-year-old getting ice cream. “I’m totally getting one.”
“Oh?” I asked, knowing the guys were listening over the wire device. “Who is it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Brit said.
“You’re buying a puppy from a breeder, and you don’t know the person’s name?” another lady asked. Irritation flashed on Brit’s face. “George? Or Jeff. I can’t remember. But who cares? He has Frenchies!” She tossed her hands in the air. “I’m hoping to purchase the puppy this week.”
“I heard Melinda’s husband bought her one, but it didn’t work out, and she had to return it,” Frida said, frowning.
“Too bad for her,” Brit said.
The girl from yoga choked on her wine. “Don’t you have a heart, Brit? Melinda’s so upset, she refused to attend this evening’s festivities.”
Brit shrugged. “Well, she’s missing all the fun.”
Festivities? Fun? I wondered how much cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs these ladies ate for breakfast today. I redirected them. “Did y’all hear about the Foleys? In the paper? Mr. Foley was murdered, and the killer stole their Frenchies. And now, the reporter who covered the story in the paper is missing.” I observed their various reactions. Shock. Horror. Conceit. I honed in on haughty Brit Buckley as she stabbed her severely waxed brows into her short bangs. Her face read, So what?
Frida sucked in a breath. “What are you implying?”
Tread carefully, Steely ... “I’m not implying anything, but doesn’t it seem strange or coincidental? The Foley murder, the missing dogs and reporter, and now, someone is selling puppies of the same breed.”
“Well, yes, but the seller knows Vivi. I’m quite certain she doesn’t associate with someone who murders and steals dogs. You don’t know her like we do,” Frida said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Frida’s right. My best friend would never get mixed up in something illegal,” Brit said. I decided arguing with Vivi's fan-girls wouldn’t help me score any points with the group. “No, of course not.”
Yoga chick clutched her chest. “My younger sister went to school with Trixie Green, the reporter. I bet her family is so upset.” Her eyes filled with tears as she turned away. “I need to go call my sister.” A few seconds of pregnant silence passed as we watched yoga chick walking away with her cell to her ear.
Brit issued an exaggerated harrumph. “If you ask me, anyone who advertises their expensive breed of dogs online or on social media is asking for trouble. I mean, think about it! There are creeps and crooks all over those platforms. People actually look for hookups online, and I’m all like, hello! Do you want to be abducted? It’s dangerous and dumb.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis.
Several ladies gasped at Brit’s insensitive remarks.
Seeing as how I helped capture a killer through a dating app back in October, I agreed with Brit on the risks of online dating. But accusing the Foley’s of stupidity took it too far. Besides, women like Brit needed a reality check once in a while.
“Brit, maybe you should think before you speak. I don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Foley personally, but others in this community do, and you can’t go around talking badly about folks. In this digital age, most small businesses market and sell online. The Foley family didn’t ask for what happened to them.”
Brit crossed her arms, shooting daggers at me. “Well, everyone’s entitled to their own opinions.”
“Maybe you should keep yours to yourself while in mixed company,” Frida said.
Vin ambled by with a tray filled with wine glasses.
Brit swiped one, her gaze lingering on the young man. She winked at him, aimed her nose toward the ceiling, and sashayed away.
With a sly smile, Vin leaned his head to the side as he watched her backside swinging.
Their flirtatious exchange disturbed me. Brit had to be at least twenty years his senior.
I noticed she stopped next to Vivienne and whispered in her ear, and they both glanced over. Feeling bold from the wine, I waved. Both pretended they hadn’t seen me and resumed chatting with others nearby. I wondered what Aunt Vivi would think about her cougar bestie preying on her young nephew.
The group of ladies around me scattered in other directions. I made a bee-line for the far back wall. I tucked my chin and checked in with Jackson and Agent Smalls.
“Breaker, breaker one-nine. Little Red reporting in. Hope y’all got all that. Brit Buckley, aka Yellow Sweater Woman, is a piece of work. I saw her whispering to Vivienne, aka The Viper. Keep your ears peeled. 10-4. Over and out.”
A dinner bell rang, causing me to jump out of my skin.
“Helloooo, ladies! It’s time for our new member ceremony!” Vivienne said, flapping her arms. “Steely? Gertrude? Meet me at the front of the room, please!”
A dizzy spell hit me as I snaked my way through the other members. Halfway to the front, Gertie collided with me, splashing her red wine down the front of my toga.
“Ugh, this is Vivienne’s!”
“Oops! Sorry,” she said, peering up at me over her grubby lenses. “You’re all blurry. Maybe I drank too much wine.”
“Here, let me clean your glasses. How many drinks have you had?”
“Four,” she said, handing me her spectacles.
“Gertie, neither one of us should’ve drunk so much.” I’d lost count of my number while conversing about the dogs. “I have a bad feeling about this.” I finished cleaning the two-year-old grubby fingerprints from her glasses and placed them on her face. “Better?”
She nodded on unbalanced bare feet. “I can see you, but there are two of you. I didn’t know you had a twin.” She snickered.
“Good grief.” I shook my head, dragging her alongside me. We headed toward the front of the room. The members had formed a semicircle facing Vivienne. Her Texas-sized grin worried me. “It’s new member induction time!” she belted out.
The society women clapped, chanting our names.
“Uh oh,” Gertie said, clasping my hand. “It’s happening.”
I turned to her. “What?”
But her lens-magnified eyes honed in on Vivienne.
“To the bluebonnet field!” Vivienne shouted, raising her fist toward the ceiling.
A roaring cheer erupted from the members.
“Maybe you should pretend to faint,” Gertie whispered beside me. “It might work.”
“Are you kidding? These gals are so riled up, me passing out might start an all-out riot,” I said, nodding to our applauders. And though my trembling legs protested, I forced them forward. “C’mon, let’s get this stupid ceremony over with.” I tugged Gertie’s arm.
“You’re the boss,” she said.
Chanting, they herded us outdoors. Careful not to trip over the bulk of material draped around my feet, I wondered if this is how it felt to walk the plank. After a ridiculous speech from Vivienne about the duties and secrecies of a society, Gertie and I repeated several verbal commitments in front of the other members with our right hands over our hearts. Vivienne’s impish eyes twinkled as she rang the dinner bell again.
Silence settled over the crowd of women like a threatening thundercloud.
“Steely and Gertrude Lamarr, it’s time for the ultimate phase of your induction! Ladies, drop your togas!”
The members cheered.
“What?” I shrieked. “Are y’all hazing us?”
“You heard me,” Vivienne’s voice cried above the chanting women. “Drop your togas!”