Baroque and Desperate by Tamar Myers Page B

chorused.
    â€œGood. When the lucky player finds the item in question, he or she must report to me immediately. They must not delay, even to consort with his or her partner. Is that clear?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” It seemed an odd rule, and one that could not possibly be enforced, but, hey, it was her game.
    â€œBecause you see,” she said, eyes brighter than ever, “each player gets only one guess.”
    â€œ One guess?” We were beginning to sound like one of the responsive readings at church.
    â€œIf someone makes a wrong guess, they are out of the game.”
    We even gasped in unison.
    Edith, the oldest, got up the courage to speak first. “But that’s so unfair, Grandmother. My Albert doesn’t know the first thing about antiques. He’s bound to waste his guess, which means essentially that my team only gets one.”
    â€œYou could have brought in an expert,” Tradd said smugly. “Then you would have three guesses.”
    Edith glared at her brother. “What about poor Alexandra? She doesn’t even have a partner. The poor woman must be in shock.”
    I turned to stare at Alexandra along with the rest. She seemed both unperturbed and disgustingly beautiful to me.
    â€œWell, dear?” her grandmother asked gently. “Are you in shock?”
    Alexandra displayed her million-dollar smile. “I’m fine, Grandmother. Really, I am. It’s only a game, after all, isn’t it?”
    Mrs. Latham smiled. “Precisely. A game, that’s all it is. A game with rules and clues. And now my dears, it’s time for the first clue. The item in question is somewhere on this property.”
    Albert raised his hand. “You mean it could be hidden in the woods?”
    â€œDon’t be tedious, dear.”
    Edith glanced at her husband. “She means ‘yes.’ The woods is her property.”
    â€œWhat about the sky?” C.J. asked.
    The rest of us contestants froze.
    â€œWell, it’s possible, you know. Once, when I was a little girl, Granny Ledbetter couldn’t find her dentures for almost a week. Couldn’t eat anything but grits and gravy. Turns out Cousin Orville tied them to a helium balloon he got at the carnival. There they were, floating above her head the entire time.”
    Mrs. Latham stared at C.J. “Is that so?”
    I prayed C.J. wouldn’t launch into a commercial for Cousin Orville’s pig teeth dentures.
    C.J. returned the matriarch’s stare unabashedly. “Yes, ma’am.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief, and somewhere in Georgetown a candle was extinguished.
    Mrs. Latham actually chuckled—either that, or a bullfrog croaked beneath her chair. “Well, I’ll remember your fascinating story if I ever misplace my dentures. In the meantime, are y’all ready for another clue?”
    To my astonishment, Albert removed a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. Sally one-upped him by fishing a small tape recorder from her pocketbook.
    â€œThe item in question is in plain sight.”
    Heads spun. The frog croaked again.
    â€œI didn’t mean in here , necessarily. Although, it is quite possible—probable even, given my fondness for the room—”
    â€œIs that another clue?” Harold whispered loudly to Sally.
    â€œShhh.” Sally nodded in her grandmother-in-law’s direction.
    â€œAs I was about to say,” Mrs. Latham said, glaring at her grandson, “the item in question isn’t hidden. Rather, it is displayed.”
    â€œLike in ‘The Purloined Letter,’” C.J. burbled.
    â€œExactly.”
    C.J. turned to me triumphantly. I did my duty and poked her in the ribs. The girl was getting too big for her britches. Who knew they taught Poe in Shelby?
    Rupert regarded his literate partner warily. “What’s this about a pearl-lined letter?”
    â€œNever mind,” said his grandmother. “She can