Connie Sue didn’t fare much better than I. Disgusted with her lack of success, she shoved the dice toward Claudia. Scooping up the dice, Claudia rattled them as though trying to shake the spots loose. Then with a flourish she let them fly. Instantly three ones appeared. “Bunco!”

Pam rang the bell, signaling the end of the round. Claudia’s cry of triumph was met with moans and groans of despair. Since everyone gets at least one roll, Pam tossed the dice, but, failing to roll a one, tallied the score.

“That’s not fair,” Monica whined. “I only have six points.”

Amidst good-natured grumbling, we totaled points-most of which were in the single digits thanks to Claudia’s instant bunco. The winners advanced tables, except for Claudia and me, who remained at the head table.

I half stood to swap partners, but Claudia motioned me back to my seat. “Stay where you are. I’ll change places. I just want to refill my wineglass.”

A little red flag popped up at hearing this-or at least a tiny pink flag. Claudia wasn’t much of a drinker. She rarely had more than one glass of wine, and if she did, it was certainly much later than in the first round. Had Vegas corrupted her? Or was something else afoot?

“There ought to be a rule against getting a bunco on your first throw,” Monica groused.

“It’s all a game of chance, sugar,” Connie Sue reminded her as she helped herself to veggies and dip on the way to table three in the den.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I still don’t think it’s fair.”

Monica, as I said, tends to be competitive. Anyone who think she’s a bad sport at bunco should see her on the golf course.

When play resumed, I found myself watching Claudia more closely. I could see that when it came to tossing dice, she had spent some time in Vegas honing her technique. Her style definitely had more pizzazz than before. The dice fairly danced across the table each time they tumbled out of her hand. Once or twice, one of the little buggers skittered right off the table and onto the floor.