Abby dropped to the floor, and she and Willis plunged into a serious discussion on the pros and cons of various bunny names. Willis was a strong supporter of “Honey Bunny” until Abby shot it down because “everyone knows honey is for bears. Bunnies eat carrots.” Willis conceded she had a point and offered “Carrot Bunny” as an alternative, which brought nervous laughter from some of the guests. After a few more, they finally settled on “Fluffy.”
* * *
Marla Mae, now wearing a black dress and white ruffled apron, announced that dinner was ready. Dolores chimed in, “Feel free to bring your drinks with you,” and we followed our host and hostess into the dining room.
Dinner was particularly delicious, and with Willis engrossed in chitchat with his granddaughter, everyone relaxed and enjoyed themselves.
After dessert, a mouthwatering sweet potato pie, the entire group adjourned to the living room, where Dolores refilled glasses while Marla Mae served coffee and tea. Peach-flavored sparkling water appealed to me, and as Dolores filled my glass I heard Clancy Travers say, “Come on now, Abby. It’s long past your bedtime.”
I wondered if Willis would intervene. He and the Blomquists were sitting at a card table set up in a far corner of the room. Willis was intently shuffling a deck of cards and seemed to take no notice of anything else.
“Daddy,” Abby said in that singsong voice children often use when they are trying to sound cute, “can Granny Dolores read me the next chapter of The Mysterious Benedict Society before I go to sleep?”
“You can ask,” Clancy said, “but don’t be upset if Granny Dolores can’t leave her guests right now.”
Dolores set down the wine decanter and the glass she’d been filling with it. “No one will even miss me. Abby, I’m as curious as you are to discover how Reynie and his friends solve their secret mission.”
“What about our bridge game?” Willis barked. “How do you expect me to play without a partner?”
Willis instantly seized control of the room. No one spoke; no one moved.
Clancy ventured, “Well, I could sit in . . .”
Willis banged his hand on the card table. “You are joking. You play a hand of bridge like it was a game of Go Fish. No strategy whatsoever.”
Then he looked at his business partner. “I’m glad you didn’t volunteer, Norman. Your business tactics have our company hemorrhaging money. I can’t imagine how you could manage to win a rubber.”
Norman’s smile was less than sincere. “No problem. I’m really more of a seven-card-stud kind of guy.”
Marjory had turned her back on the room and was studiously gazing into the fireplace as if the stacked logs were aflame with a comforting glow. That left me as the only option. I decided to volunteer rather than wait to be recruited.
“I wouldn’t mind filling in until Dolores is ready to play.”
“Of course,” Willis said. “I should have realized. A well-traveled world-famous author—I’m sure bridge is practically a requirement in your lifestyle.”
Rather than respond that my card-playing days usually involved a hand or two of gin rummy in my kitchen with my old friend Cabot Cove town doctor Seth Hazlitt, I quickly took my place in the vacant chair and became South as partner to Willis’s North.
Of course there was no picking a card to choose the dealer. Willis dealt. The bidding went smoothly, and I was not surprised when Tom Blomquist, who sounded very confident, won the bid. I threw out the first card. Willis harrumphed when he saw my ten of spades. Candy set out the dummy hand and the game began in earnest. Tom seemed to be an astute player, which agitated Willis to no end.
I was the dummy in the next hand, which gave me time to observe that Tom had begun making clumsy mistakes. He seemed a completely different player than he was in the first round. I chalked it up to the hour growing late. Then I noticed the more errors Tom made, the more Cheshire Cat–like Willis became. I suspected there was a definite connection, and was proved correct when, after the final hand, Willis puffed out his chest and announced that he had thoroughly trounced the Blomquists.
Dolores, who had reentered the room a few minutes before, said, “Well, I am pleased to see that Jessica plays a better game than I do. Congratulations to the winners.”
There was some polite clapping, and then Marjory and the Blomquists began to take their leave. In the midst of all the hand shaking and polite cheek kissing, Willis Nickens disappeared without a word.
Chapter Three
Dolores handed me a fresh peach sparkling water and led me to a comfy settee at the opposite end of the room from Clancy and Norman, who were sharing a nightcap by the fireplace. She thanked me for taking her place at the bridge table. “Willis is a very demanding player. I hope he wasn’t too rough on you.”
“On the contrary, he seemed to save his glares and harrumphs for poor Tom, who was a nervous wreck by the time we finished playing.”
“That makes perfect sense. When he heard that Tom and Candy won the Oak Hills Duplicate Bridge Championship last year, it rankled Willis to no end. He prefers to be the only winner at everything he touches. So now whenever we have Tom and Candy to dinner, bridge is a requirement, even though I would much rather do something fun like charades. But beating a ‘champion’ at his own game, so to speak, makes Willis feel like a king.”
Hmmm, I thought. It’s more than that. Willis likes to make other people feel like they are nothing more than court jesters.
“How did story time go?”
Dolores glowed. “Well, it took more than a few minutes for Abby to unwind. But once she was in her pj’s, with her teeth brushed and pigtails untied, we snuggled on her bed and got down
