Death at a Discount

ONE Like many couples married for decades, the Worths had created little vignettes which they brought out on occasion to demonstrate exactly who they were. This evening the Worths were attending a large party introducing potential new members to the Hancock Field Club. Scott Worth, posed with one elbow resting on an ornate marble mantel, a glass of Scotch in hand, was repeating a favorite anecdote to an attentive audience. "The license plate on the BMW I gave her last Christmas says it all. sheshops. Get it? She shops. And, boy, does she. My wife is the original shopaholic. Clothes, jewelry, furniture, imported appliances, art knickknacks, you name it. And she can tell you the most expensive place to buy one--hell, buy a dozen--of anything. The only thing Amanda hasn't bought yet is a cemetery plot." There were some appreciative chuckles. Amanda Worth spent a fair amount of money to look younger than her fifty-odd years. It was hard for anyone to imagine her buying--or needing--land in a cemetery. "These days she's shopping for some sort of Oriental temple to go in the backyard. Since I make sure she has everything she wants, I don't know what she's going to pray for--unless she wants to ask God to keep me making the big bucks!" "Then your wife must be happy about that new outlet mall opening tomorrow," a young man, who had apparently never heard this story before, suggested. "Are you kidding? Amanda doesn't know what an outlet is. The wastebaskets are stuffed with sale circulars from Bloomingdale's and Neiman Marcus. But does she go out in search of a bargain? No way! My wife, bless her, pays full price. That's right. Full price!" He repeated the words in case anyone had missed his point. Susan Henshaw and Kathleen Gordon were sitting on the outskirts of the group gathered around Scott and, by mutual consent, they got up and drifted toward the bar in the corner. "An Oriental temple? Could Amanda be thinking of practicing Buddhism?" Kathleen, a gorgeous blonde in her early forties asked, obviously amazed. "Who knows? I'm sure we'll hear about it in time. We always hear about Amanda's latest outrageous purchase. You know, whenever Scott starts telling that story, I get an urge to dash out and buy a cemetery plot," Susan said. She was older than her friend, and she was pushing her shoulder-length brown hair off her face. "Why? Because you're so bored you want to kill yourself?" "That's a thought, but the reason is that it would be the first time I ever owned anything before Amanda did," Susan explained, reaching for a handful of salted nuts. "Put those down," Kathleen ordered. "You're trying on swimsuits tomorrow, remember." "How much difference could six peanuts and a filbert possibly make?" Susan asked, glancing down at the nuts lying in her palm. "You won't stop there. No one stops with one handful. And there's temptation everywhere. Look around." They were in the large reception room of the Hancock Field Club's clubhouse. Like many private clubs on the East Coast, the founding fathers (two bankers, two lawyers, and a manufacturer of a popular brand of health tonic made mostly from grain alcohol and sugar--and anything but healthy) had insisted the architects emulate the large Tudor manor houses of England--or, to be more accurate, had insisted the architects create the ambience they imagined would be found in the large Tudor manor houses of England. Walnut paneling, gray slate floors, and two massive marble fireplaces flanked the room where dozens of little tables had been set up. Club members and their guests were drinking cocktails as they waited for the doors to the ballroom to open indicating that dinner was served. Each of the little tables was draped with a snowy linen tableclothWolzien, Valerie is the author of 'Death at a Discount' with ISBN 9780449006306 and ISBN 0449006301.