Dying for Dinner Rolls by Lois Lavrisa

thought of Lucy.
    “That vase was hideous. No offense to your store and all, but you sold that here?” Annie Mae shook her head.
    “Hideous?” Scarlett sucked in a breath. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    Fearing Annie Mae might have insulted Scarlett, I quickly changed the subject. “What do you remember about the last time you saw her?”
    Scarlett crossed and uncrossed her legs at her ankles. “Let me see. She came by the day of her accident. She said her sorority group planned a dinner that night at a friend’s house.” She shifted in her seat as though sitting on pebbles. “That’s really all I know. You may want to talk with that group of hers.”
    It struck me as odd that Scarlett referred to Lucy’s death as an accident. But then again, maybe I was just oversensitive about Lucy. “Sorority group?”
    “Her Bible study group at church only meets in the morning,” Annie Mae said. “What group did she mean?”
    “Let me think.” Scarlett tapped a skinny finger against her cheek. “If my memory serves me, it had three C’s in the name, or it could have been a sorority such as the Tri-C’s? I was a Delta Zeta at UGA.”
    Then I thought for a second. “It’s not a sorority. It must be the Chubby Chicks Club. Our group.”
    “Why would any female purposefully call herself chubby?” Scarlett looked shocked. But then, she had that taut face with permanently raised eyebrows and that stretched mouth, so who really knew?
    “Um, do you see me? I’m a full-figured woman.” Annie Mae adjusted her pastel blue blouse over her midsection.
    “We aren’t even all chicks.” I grinned sheepishly.
    Scarlett folded and unfolded her hands on her lap. “Lucy was a part of this chubby girls’ club?”
    “Absolutely. And we aren’t even all female. One token male.” Annie Mae took her index finger and slid her eyeglasses up.
    Scarlett’s phone rang. With a wave of her hand, she excused herself and took the call.
    Annie Mae and I stepped out of the office to give her some privacy.
    In the hallway, packages wrapped in brown paper leaned against the wall. They all looked the size and thickness of framed paintings. One package was ripped in the corner, showing an ornate gold frame.
    A row of various-sized boxes lined part of a wall. One box sat half opened, as if in the middle of being packed up, revealing the top of a blue and white porcelain item.
    “She sure has a lot of stuff here, doesn’t she?” Annie Mae pointed to another box that was open. “Hey, look here. One of those mystery boxes.”
    “How do you know?”
    She pointed to a sticker on the side that read “Mystery box.”
    “Good going, Watson.” I patted her back.
    “Why am I Watson? Why can’t I be Sherlock?” Annie Mae asked.
    “Because you’re a doctor, remember? Dr. Watson.” I bent down and began to look through the opened mystery box.
    Annie Mae followed suit. She pulled out a small, silver windup alarm clock. “I could really use this. I like old-fashioned clocks with their soothing tick tock. Like white noise to help me sleep. It’s awfully quiet without Ernie around the house.”
    The curtain pulled open, and a freckle-faced young man walked over to us. “Hi, I’m Zachary. Can I help you ladies?”
    “We’re just waiting for Scarlett to finish a call.” I offered my hand. “My name is Cat, and this is my friend Annie Mae.”
    Zachary shook our hands.
    “How much is this mystery box?” Annie Mae lifted the box.
    “I’m not allowed to sell any of those. I sort of messed up the last box.” Zachary ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. “I don’t want to get fired.”
    “I wouldn’t want that to happen to you, either. I just assumed it was for sale.” Annie Mae set the box on the floor.
    “Why don’t you leave me your contact information so that I could call you when it’s ready to be sold?” Zachary reached over and tore a corner of brown wrapping paper off a package nearby and then pulled a black