"Now this is a pill." Dick Teig showed us a long, elliptical tablet the color of a Vienna sausage. "Dolobid. I get a touch of arthritis every now and again."

"Voltaren," said Lucille, flaunting a triangular pill the color of French's mustard. "I have osteoarthritis in my pinkie."

"Pravachol," said Helen. "For high cholesterol."

"Cotazym," said Dick Rassmuson, popping a pill that looked like a baby gherkin into his mouth. "My pancreas can flare up every so often."

I noticed that Jane assumed the look of a hovering mother hen as she watched everyone pop the pills she'd probably supplied for them.

"Atarax," said Lucille, flashing a purple pill. "For anxiety."

She was probably worried the rest of her lips were going to disappear.

Shirley lined up all her pills on the table and pointed to each one in succession. "Dong Quai for hot flashes. Fo-Ti for high cholesterol. Gotu-Kola for poor circulation. They're not prescription drugs. They're herbal supplements."

Jane made a horrible gasping sound beside me.

"I believe in a more holistic approach to health," Shirley confided, even though to me it sounded more like the Chinese take-out approach to health.

"I take an herbal supplement, too," Dick Rassmuson offered. He held up the tablet, then looked as if he wished he hadn't.

"What's it for?" asked Helen.

"It's...uh...You know. Men take these pills sometimes when they want to improve their...their stamina."

"I know what it's for," cried Shirley, waving her hand in the air. "It's called Yohimbe, and it's for impotence. I know everything there is to know about herbals. But I'm not sure you should be taking a pill to boost sexual performance if you're on heart medication. Did you check with your doctor?"

The top of Dick's head turned scarlet. "Well, a man's gotta perform, because when he doesn't, there's no tellin' who the little woman is going to find to take his place."

This caused Lucille to grow red-faced. She slammed down the lid of her deluxe daily pill reminder and shoved it back into her canvas bag. "Men think it's all about sex. Well, it's not. It's about having someone make you feel special. It's about having someone actually talk to you without blowing cigar smoke in your face! Andy Simon may have cheated on his wife, but he knew how to make a woman feel like a woman."

Unh-oh. Was Lucille admitting she'd had an affair with Andy? Had Dick found out? Oh. My. God. Had Dick Rassmuson killed Andy for sleeping with Lucille? Or were Louise and Helen and Dick all part of the plot?

My twisted triangle was turning into a trapezoid.

Jane Hanson set her cereal spoon down. "We recently received a new video on marital fidelity in the store. It's in aisle two next to--"

"Oh, shut up," said Lucille. "Did anyone ever tell you you talk too much?"

I stood up and glanced at my watch. "Oops. Would you look at the time? The bus leaves at nine. Gee, I hope we're not all late."