Bingoed (19 page)

“So,” said Essie, “it was something else altogether that caused you so much stress that you collapsed at Bingo?”

“Yup,” said Bob, beginning to sound more and more like John Wayne. At that moment, the main door opened and in walked a man whom Essie (and her three compatriots) recognized immediately. Ben Jericho strode towards Essie who was sitting behind her walker in the center of the lobby.

“Miss Essie!” he called. When he reached her side, he glanced over to the couple seated on the sofa. “Mr. Weiderley?” he asked.

“That’s me,” said Bob, reaching out his hand to the man. “Ben Jericho, I presume.”

“Yes,” said Jericho, as he shook Bob’s hand.

“My Lord,” said Bob, as he looked over at Evelyn and then back at the man standing in front of him. “You look just like Julia.”

Essie gulped. She felt a shiver run up and down her back.

“Mr. Weiderley,” repeated Jericho.

“I guess you might as well call me Bob,” said Bob, “or—Dad—if you want to. But, I understand if you don’t want to do that.”

“Uh, Bob,” said Jericho, “I don’t know what to say. It’s been like pulling teeth to discover where you were . . .”

“You went fishing, Bob,” said Essie.

“Oh?” said Bob, laughing and glancing again at Evelyn. “That’s what they call lying in a coma nowadays!”

“A coma!” cried Jericho.

“Yes, Ben—if I may call you Ben,” said Bob, “and if anyone is the cause of that coma,” he said as he looked pointedly at Essie, “I guess it would be you, Ben.”

“Me?”

“Yes, it was your letter,” said Bob, “your letter explaining that you are my son that sent me into a tailspin and evidently landed me on the floor.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ben Jericho, kneeling in front of the older man.

“Now, hey,” said Bob, motioning for Ben to get up. “It’s not as if you intentionally tried to cause it.”

“I didn’t,” said Ben. “I thought approaching you by letter first would be the best—in case you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. But I just couldn’t wait. I was so excited to meet you. When my Mom told me about you right before she died, I knew I had to find you. I’ve been trying to track you down ever since.”

“I’ve been doing some tracking too,” said Bob. “I have some investigators myself. So, as soon as I came out of my coma, I had them look into you and your company—this Medilogicos. Quite a place you have there, Ben.”

“He’s the Donald Trump of medical softeners,” said Essie, nodding.

“Indeed he is!” agreed Bob, and he and Evelyn laughed together.

“I just want you to know, Bob,” added Ben Jericho, “that you will not have to worry about your care—if you chose to stay here. I have the financial resources to assist you and I will.”

“I do appreciate that, Ben,” said Bob, chuckling, but I don’t believe I’ll need any help. I think Evelyn and I will be just fine.”

“Evelyn?” asked Ben.

“Yes,” said Bob. “Ben, meet your new stepmother, Evelyn Cudahy Weiderley.”

“Wow!” said Ben. “Instant family!”

“Maybe not the least stressful way to acquire a family,” noted Bob, “but still a joyous one!” Evelyn opened her arms and both men folded inside them as she hugged them tightly.

Essie turned and gestured to her three friends who were standing behind her gawking at the reunion scene taking place before them.

“I think we’d better leave them alone,” said Essie to her gang. The women nodded in agreement and got in line behind Essie as they headed out towards the family room.

“I’m exhausted!” said Essie. “All that sleuthing has worn me out!”

“But, Essie,” argued Marjorie, “all of the plots that you thought were afoot weren’t.”

“Yes, Essie,” agreed Opal. “Ben Jericho wasn’t a scam artist. Sue Barber wasn’t a poisoner. Violet Hendrickson . . .”

“Was a drunk driver!” said Essie.

“And did change her identity three times,” added Opal.

“But she didn’t do anything to harm Bob,” challenged Marjorie.

And Evelyn certainly doesn’t seem to be out to get Bob’s money. She seems genuinely in love with him, thought Essie.

“So she does,” agreed Essie.

“So after all,” said Marjorie, “all of our detecting work was to no avail.”

“What?” cried Essie. “To no avail? This was the most fun I’ve ever had!”

All four of the ladies laughed together and squeezed their walkers and wheelchair as close as possible for a big group hug.

Epilogue

“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.”

—William Shakespeare

Later at dinner at Essie’s table—because it was obviously Essie’s table—the four women rehashed the day’s developments.

“Miss Essie,” gushed Santos as he delivered tossed salads to all four ladies. “Is it not the best wonderful news about Mr. Bob and Miss Evelyn?” A big lock of hair fell over his forehead and he pushed it back quickly.

“It certainly is!” agreed Essie, and in her self-deprecating manner she didn’t even mention her own involvement in the event.

Santos zipped off to the kitchen with an even livelier skip to his step than usual.

“I guess love is in the air,” noted Marjorie.

“You mean Santos?” asked Opal. “Who’s he in love with?”

“I mean that Bob and Evelyn’s romance has inspired everyone. The whole staff is just beaming,” replied Marjorie.

Opal noticed Essie’s less than joyful expression. “What is it, Essie?” she asked.

“Aren’t you as excited for Bob and Evelyn as the rest of us?” queried Marjorie.

“Of course I am,” responded Essie. “It’s just hard to accept that none of those people who I thought posed a threat—did.” She pouted and ran her fork around her salad plate in concentric circles.

“Essie!” cried Marjorie, “You should be thrilled that it turned out that the suspects you suspected don’t deserve your . . . suspicion.”

“After all, Essie,” argued Opal, “the people you suspected were . . . are friends and staff here at Happy Haven. It would be terrible if one of them turned out to be guilty of attempted murder.”

“Or worse,” added Marjorie.

“What’s worse than attempted murder?” asked Essie, slamming down her utensil and sneering at Marjorie.

“Uh . . . actual murder,” suggested Marjorie.

Santos whizzed back and quickly removed their salad plates.

“Hey, wait a minute!” cried out Essie. “I haven’t finished with that!”

“My apologies, Miss Essie,” replied Santos, with a gracious bow accompanying his apology as he replaced her salad plate.

“No,” she shrugged. “Take it away.”

“As you wish, Miss Essie.” He retreated again.

“Really, Essie,” continued Opal, “you’re acting as if you’ve lost your best friend. You should be thrilled that everything turned out so well!”

“I know. I know,” agreed Essie. “It’s just that all that sleuthing really got my juices going.

“Which juices would those be?” asked Marjorie with a sly gleam in her eye.

“Not those juices, Marjorie,” snapped Essie, “get your mind out of the gutter.”

“It wasn’t in the gutter,” said Marjorie, “it was in the toilet.” She laughed out loud and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“My creative juices,” clarified Essie.

“I understand, Essie,” said Opal, in support. “Helping Bob and trying to figure out what happened to him gave all of us something important to do.”

“For a change,” added Marjorie.

“Yes,” said Essie. “People think all we old people are good for is just sitting around making macramé baskets and playing solitaire.”

“I hate solitaire,” noted Opal.

“That’s not the point,” explained Essie. “They think just because we’re old that we can’t contribute to society or accomplish anything important on our own.”

“Well, they’re wrong!” exclaimed Marjorie.

“They certainly are,” agreed Essie. “When three—I mean four,” and she smiled at Fay who was actually awake and apparently listening to her diatribe, “ladies put their minds together—there’s no telling what they can do!”

“And we almost did it!” said Marjorie.

“Almost!” said Essie, “We did do it! If it hadn’t been for us, I don’t think Bob and his son would ever have found each other.”

“Maybe not,” said Opal, “we certainly did keep that fire burning, didn’t we?”

“We did!” agreed Marjorie. “And Evelyn! You supported her, Essie. I know she appreciated that.”

“I tried,” said Essie, nodding.

“And, of course,” noted Opal, “if it hadn’t been for us, the escapades of Violet Hendrickson would never have seen the light of day.”

“Those escapades saw the light of day—for a brief moment—and are now back in the dark,” said Essie, “which is where they need to stay—according to Bob. Are we agreed to that?”

The women all nodded. Santos arrived with their entrees—spaghetti.

“Spaghetti is so much fun to eat!” declared Marjorie. “Like rolling worms around your fork!”

“Yuck! Marjorie!” scowled Opal.

“Ladies,” said Essie, in her calming voice. “Let’s behave!” They all dug into the heavenly marinara sauce that the kitchen had lovingly created.

“Yum!” said Fay suddenly.

“Fay!” exclaimed Essie. “It’s nice to hear from you!”

“Yum! Yum!” repeated Fay.

“A veritable monologue,” reported Opal. “What’s brought about her loquaciousness?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Essie. They nibbled in silence except for a few moans of ecstasy over the sauce.

“Essie, I was thinking,” said Marjorie after most of the plates were almost clean. “I was thinking that our wonderful kitchen might enjoy putting together a post-wedding reception for Bob and Evelyn.”

“Marjorie!” replied Essie, “What a wonderful idea! What do you say, Opal?”

“I agree,” said the tall, somber looking member of the group. “Let’s suggest it to them.”

“We’ll need a theme,” said Marjorie.

“A theme?” asked Essie.

“Yes!” explained Marjorie, “every wedding these days is built around a theme. Don’t you watch David Tutero? You could have a seaside theme, or a roses theme, or an all black and white theme . . . or. . . or any kind of theme you want.”

“You’d want a theme that Bob and Evelyn would like,” noted Opal.

“Yes. What do you suppose that would be?” asked Marjorie.

“I know!” shouted Essie, holding up her hand.

“What?” asked Marjorie.

“Given recent events, I suggest a Bingo theme!” she exclaimed.

“How perfect!” cried Marjorie.

“With Bingo cards as placemats,” offered Opal.

“And we can throw Bingo tiles instead of confetti!” added Marjorie.

And Sue Barber can read the wedding vows like a Bingo caller,” said Opal.

“Only one thing we don’t want,” cautioned Essie.

“What?” asked Marjorie and Opal together.

“We don’t want the groom to pass out if he wins!”

Santos rushed back to their table and presented each lady with her own goblet of hot fudge sundae.

“Yum!” squeaked Fay again.

“She’s getting downright talkative,” said Opal.

“It just goes to show what being among friends will do for you!” said Essie.

Santos bent down and whispered in Essie’s ear. “Miss Essie, can I talk to you? I’m afraid that someone is trying to sabotage me. In the kitchen, Miss Essie. I thought maybe you could help . . .”

And, of course, she could . . . and she would.

###

Recipes from the Happy Haven Kitchen

Chocolate Pudding Cake

1 cup flour

1/4 cup granulated sugar

3 TB cocoa

2 tsp baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup milk

2 TB vegetable oil

1 tsp vanilla

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup cocoa

1 and 3/4 cups boiling water

Heat oven to 350°. In a bowl, mix together flour, sugar, 3 TB cocoa, baking powder and salt. With a fork, mix in milk, oil and vanilla. Spread the batter evenly in a lightly buttered 9-inch square baking pan. Combine brown sugar and 1/4 cup cocoa; sprinkle over batter. Slowly pour boiling hot water over batter and brown sugar-cocoa mix. Bake cake for 40 minutes. Let cake stand for 5 minutes. Spoon into dessert dishes or cut into squares. Top cake with ice cream or whipped topping.

Croque Monsieurs

8 slices white bread

4 ounces
butter
, softened

4 slices
ham

4 slices
gruyere cheese

2
eggs
, slightly beaten

1 TB
water

salt

fresh black pepper

Spread bread slices with some softened butter, make 4 sandwiches, each with one slice of ham and one slice of cheese. Press them firmly together. Beat eggs with the water, add the salt and pepper to taste, and dip sandwiches into the egg mixture, coating all sides well. Heat rest of butter in a heavy skillet. When melted, fry sandwiches for about 5-8 minutes, turning once. Serve immediately. You may place Croque Monsieurs into a buttered baking pan and bake in a moderately hot oven—350°—turning once, for about 10 to 15 minutes.

Bingoed
is the first book in the
Essie Cobb, Senior Sleuth
, M
ystery
series by Patricia Rockwell. Ms. Rockwell is also the author of the
Pamela Barnes Acoustic Mystery
series.

Patricia Rockwell has spent most of her life teaching. Her Bachelors’ and Masters’ degrees are from the University of Nebraska in Speech, and her Ph.D. is from the University of Arizona in Communication. She was on the faculty at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette for thirteen years, retiring in 2007. Her publications are extensive, with over 20 peer-reviewed articles in scholarly journals, several textbooks, and a research volume published by Edwin Mellen Press. In addition, she served for eight years as editor of the
Louisiana Communication Journal
. Her research focuses primarily on deception, sarcasm, and vocal cues.

Dr. Rockwell is presently living in Aurora, Illinois, with her husband Milt, also a retired educator. The couple has two adult children.

If you enjoyed reading about Essie and her adventures, you might like to try the
Pamela Barnes Acoustic Mystery
series—also by Patricia Rockwell. In her first outing,
SOUNDS OF MURDER
, Pamela tracks down a wily killer using only the sounds she finds on an accidentally-made audio recording of the strangling death of one of her colleagues. In
FM FOR MURDER
, she assists the police in identifying the murderer of a local disc jockey who is shot on-air. In her latest caper,
VOICE MAIL MURDER
, Pamela has to figure out who stabbed a football coach to death, using only voice mail messages from three unknown women on a cell phone found near his dead body.