A Rip Roaring Good Time by Jeanne Glidewell

morning, Dolly had jumped off the bed to settle on a pile of clothes on the floor after being disturbed several times by my tossing and turning.
    When I kick the bucket myself, Lord, please have mercy on my soul , I prayed. Let me come back as a housecat . How nice it'd be to only have to be concerned with a few things: a bowl full of food, a comfortable place─ up high preferably─ to nap, a clean litter box to poop in, and most importantly, well-trained servants to wait on me hand and paw. Even the mice could scurry all over the house, unless of course, I had a hankering to chase them down to wear off a sudden burst of energy. Ahh... what a nice life that'd be , I thought before finally drifting off into a fitful slumber.
    My sleep was rendered even more restless with a dream about eyeballs being dug out of a corpse with an ice-cream scoop, sliced in two with a knife and placed on the top of a birthday cake with a candle sticking out of each half. "Surprise!" The unidentifiable people around me shouted, as melted wax the color of fresh blood began to run down the candles and onto the whites of the eyeballs. Startled awake, I sat up in bed feeling as if a ghost had walked over my grave.
    * * *
    The situation had not righted itself as I'd hoped by the time Rip and I joined Stone in the kitchen for a cup of coffee early the following morning. Our host looked dejected as he remarked, "It just doesn't seem right to be sitting here in the morning drinking coffee without Lexie."
    "I'm sure it doesn't, my friend. We'll do our best to get her back where she belongs as quickly as possible. Any news yet?" Rip asked. I'd noticed he had descended the staircase very tenderly, rubbing his hip after each tentative step. Maybe now I could convince the hard-headed mule to make an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. We were insurance poor, having paid premiums for health care we seldom needed for five decades. It was about time we recouped some of that investment.
    "No, I haven't heard anything yet. Not a word," an impatient Stone answered Rip's question as he absentmindedly stirred his coffee nonstop for several minutes.
    We sat quietly conversing about the situation for another half-hour. Just as I finished pouring all three of us a refill on our coffee, Detective Wyatt Johnston came through the door. He looked troubled. His uniform was mussed, the top buttons of his shirt fastened incorrectly, and his hair looked like he hadn't combed it in a week. He removed his hat before taking the fourth seat at the table.
    "Bad news, I'm afraid," he began. "I heard Detective Russell tell my old partner, Clint Travis, that Lexie was expected to be formerly charged with first-degree murder later on this afternoon. Depending on several factors of course. The district prosecuting attorney will be reviewing the case beforehand to determine if charges are justified at this point."
    "How can they charge Lexie with murder?" Stone asked. "Don't they have to have some kind of compelling evidence to present to the judge?"
    "Yes, and therein lies the problem. A female party guest named Alice Runcan took several photos, utilizing her camera's flash while the lights were out and everyone was waiting in the pitch dark. And then several minutes later as the lights flashed on and we all yelled 'surprise,' she snapped one more. One of those first photos captured Lexie standing next to Trotter, handing him a goblet full of Crown and Coke. No one else was within ten feet of the two. In fact, Stone and I were the closest and we couldn't even make out Lexie bringing Trotter a drink."
    "Oh, my," Stone said softly before Wyatt continued. "The last photo, taken a couple of minutes later, according to the date and time stamp, shows Trotter spread out on the floor with blood pooling around him. Lexie is still the only one near the victim, and she's holding the murder weapon in front of her with a joyful expression on her face."
    "She'd been in good spirits all evening,