Between the blue sky above and the jacaranda ferns below, the suburban Miami house stood sun kissed by the rising morning sun. The lofty palms that swayed in the breeze further postcarded the picture. The addition of sweeping, low-key woodwind instruments would have made the scene sound as perfect as it looked. Another thing that would have made the view more ideal would have been if the missing high-heeled Blanche Devereaux was not scurrying through her front lawn's sprinkler system in an attempt to enter her house before her roommates awoke.

Unfortunately for Blanche it was to be a vain attempt, as her elderly friends Dorothy, Rose and Sophia were sitting at the round table in the wood washed kitchen, drinking morning coffee and listening to the sound of the front door creak cautiously open and the tiptoeing footsteps pass by the closed kitchen door. Dorothy swung the door open to catch Blanche in mid-tiptoe.

"Just getting in, Blanche?" Dorothy asked in her deep, almost singing, voice. Behind her tall shoulders, Rose and Sophia peered at the sight of the disheveled Blanche.

"Dorothy! Why, I was just out checking the mail." Blanche answered in her innocent southern belle accent. Resuming her composure and confidence, she marched past Dorothy and took her seat at the table.

Sophia spoke up, "so on your trip back from the mailbox you lost your shoes, ran your mascara, and misplaced your handbag?"

"Ma's right, Blanche. Where is your handbag? Oh my, were you mugged?" Dorothy let the kitchen door swing shut and joined the others at the table.

"You girls are not going to believe the night I've had." Blanche said, beginning to let her guard down.

"We've met you, we'll believe it. What was the young man's name?" Sophia asked.

"Dexter." Blanche answered.