Down Home and Deadly

clutching her paper plate on her head.
    “Look it up on the I nternet,” said the other sister, who was eighty if she was a day. “You’ll see.” She turned to the hostess. “Are you going to tell us when to draw?”
    “Be patient. Everyone has to have her plate on her head before I can start,” the blond said with a pointed look at Amelia.
    The mother of the bride lifted her tanned arm and placed the paper plate on her head.
    While Tiffany was selecting the winner , I wandered over to the table to refill my empty punch cup. I picked out some almonds and cashews and put them on my small crystal plate. One of the Anderson sisters — I could never tell them apart — strolled up beside me. “Don’t you work over at that health club for Bob Pryor?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I added a few mints to my plate.
    “That poor man. I heard that he may lose everything, even his house.” She ladled some punch into her own cup and gave me a sideways look. “Is that true?”
    “I haven’t heard that.” I set my cup down on the table and nibbled on an almond. “Why would he?”
    “That hoity-toity daughter of his.” She sipped her red punch. “She’s in all kinds of trouble.”
    “Oh.” Now I knew what she meant. “You mean because the police think she might have had something to do with murdering J.D. Finley?”
    “That good for nothing Finley boy? His grandma spent her life ’s savings bailing him out of one thing after another.” She wiped her lips daintily with her napkin. “But that’s not what I meant , ” s he said impatiently. “I was talking about the gambling.”
    “Gambling?” I parroted. “I don’t know what you mean.” I glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. Everyone was enthralled with the dream house pictures. “Bob hasn’t mentioned anything about gambling.”
    “That girl of his. She’s lost a lot of money over there at that gambling place in Mississippi .” She tipped up her punch cup and downed the remains. “Tunica. That’s where she said she was when that boy was shot.” She wiped her lips. “And from what I hear , she goes there all the time. Musta cost her daddy a pretty penny.”
    “Come on everyone, sit back down , ” t he blond hostess called. “We’re going to play another game.”
    “Tiffany, you leave the room , ” s he said. “Just go out in the hall and wait awhile.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “We’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
    Miss Anderson and I walked back to find seats. Amelia scooted over to sit beside me.
    As soon as Tiffany left, we were given a piece of paper and a pencil with instructions to write as many facts as we could about her . What she was wearing, her birth date, her fiancé’s name, her wedding date — the list was long. I held my blank paper in my hand and tried to remember exactly what color Tiffany was wearing.
    “Psst.” Amelia jogged my arm. “Just forget it.”
    “Forget what she was wearing? I thought we were trying to remember.” I tapped my pencil against my teeth t hen threw a guilty look at M ama . She always hated when I did that.
    “Forget about finding out about Ricky,” she whispered as she wrote a couple of things on her paper. I’ve decided we don’t need to know.” I sneaked a pe e k over her shoulder. Oh yeah. Yellow sweater. I remembered now. Blue skirt. Surprising that Amelia had paid so much attention.
    “She’s going to marry him anyway,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “So I’m butting out.” She wrote several more items down. I resisted the urge to copy them onto my sheet.
    “Okay. If you’re sure.” I’d exhausted all my resources anyway. Seth and John.
    I quickly wrote Ricky Richards down on my paper. At least I had one answer.
    After Tiffany was called back into the room and we went over the answers, I realized that all the guests, even Carly , had listed more information than I had. And Amelia, who got every answer correct, was the lucky winner of the bow-covered paper plate hat.
    As I helped carry things to the car with Marge, Tiffany, and Amelia, Marge congratulated Amelia on having the most correct answers. “Well, she is my daughter,” Amelia said dryly. “I probably know her better than most people.” She glanced at Tiffany as she put a pile of gifts in the trunk of the Prius. “I’m aware of those little tricks she thinks she is pulling on me.”
    Tiffany turned to stare at her. “What