Drop Dead Divas (15 page)

“Why am I not shocked that you would know where to buy things like that?” I mused aloud, and Bitty just smiled.

“I am a woman of many interests. And I don’t tell all I know, either.”

Gaynelle snorted. “Yes, you do. Just not all at once.”

Bitty nodded thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. I could tell you things—”

I decided it was time to change the subject since it looked like Bitty was about to expand upon the nature of her many interests:

“Has anyone talked to the others since yesterday?”

“If you mean our cohorts in supposed crime, I have. They all called this morning to see how I’m doing. Really, just to see if I got arrested since Naomi and I haven’t been the best of friends the past two years.” Ice clinked in Bitty’s tea glass. “Good thing I have an alibi.”

“You do?” I asked, rather relieved to hear it. “What is your alibi?”

Bitty paused with her tea glass in front of her mouth. “I was with all of you, of course.”

Gaynelle broke the bad news to her. “Bitty dear, that alibi will only be good if she was killed right before we got there.”

The tea glass quivered slightly. “Oh. Well. I didn’t do it, so I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Gaynelle and I looked at each other. We were probably thinking the same thing: it wouldn’t be the first time an innocent person was charged with a murder they didn’t commit, and Bitty was a prime example.

Would lightning strike twice in the same place? I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to know the answer to that.

CHAPTER 9

Fortunately for Bitty, Jackson Lee had already done some investigating and learned that she’d been on her phone quite a bit the night of the murder. That didn’t definitely exclude her, but it made it unlikely she could have gone out to the cabin, murdered Naomi, and gotten back to Holly Springs between calls.

Unfortunately, it didn’t remove her from the list of prime suspects, either. Police, I have discovered, are naturally suspicious creatures. They may not have been born with that skill refined, but their chosen careers definitely hone that particular personality trait to a fine edge. It can be very disconcerting.

Pinpointing the time of death—TOD, Sandra called it—is a delicate procedure. Naomi’s body had been sent to the state medical examiner’s office in Jackson, our state capitol, for more exact information. While none of the basic details were expected to alter a great deal, a final report would be delivered to the Ashland police. If the TOD was narrowed down to the hours during which Bitty slept, and thus had no record of being in her own home, that would greatly complicate her life. To say the least.

Like I said before,
Déjà vu all over again
.

“So what we have to do,” Gaynelle said matter-of-factly, “is help the police find the real killer.”

Most of the Divas sat in Gaynelle's living room, a rather small space decorated in cottage chic. It surprised me a bit, since I’d always figured Gaynelle for the minimalist kind of person, but it was a pleasant surprise since this was the first time I’d been inside Gaynelle's home. I appreciate the comfort and at-home kind of decorating much more than those modern homes that are all sleek lines and hard surfaces.

Anyway, there we were drinking sweet tea and eating chips and dip, and trying to figure out a way to get Bitty off the hook. I personally thought Gaynelle's plan unlikely to work and said so.

“It has come to my attention that police aren’t necessarily grateful for help,” I pointed out. “In fact, they tend to tell you to butt out if you offer suggestions.”

Gaynelle gave me a stern look. “I never suggested going to the police, Trinket. I said
we
will have to find who killed Race, and that will most likely be the person who also killed Naomi.”

Since I couldn’t figure out how to say what was on my mind tactfully, I just said it bluntly: “I realize you feel you have to make it up to Bitty for what happened a few months ago, but you had nothing to do with killing the senator or Sanders.”

“I know that. But I should have guessed what was happening instead of being so blind.”

“We all should have, for that matter.” Rayna leaned forward to pat Gaynelle on the arm. “Unfortunately, none of us are psychics.”

Bitty sat up straighter in the big arm chair. “Oh! That’s a great idea, Rayna! We’ll go to a psychic!”

Sandra Dobson laughed, then apparently realized Bitty was serious and reached for the tortilla chips and cheese dip instead of saying what obviously had come to her mind.

To forestall Bitty’s enthusiasm, I said quickly, “No, Bitty. No psychics. Maybe Gaynelle's right. Maybe we can figure out who killed Race and Naomi, but I want to make one thing clear: I will not be a part of it unless any information we get we turn over to the police at some point. If there’s a deranged killer on the loose, I certainly don’t want to end up alone with him somewhere.”

“Now that’s an angle I hadn’t really considered,” said Rayna. “I just assumed it was a woman who killed Race. You know, the whole love triangle thing. What if it was a man? Someone in Naomi’s past who was angry because she got engaged to Race?”

“Then why would he kill
her
after Race was out of the way?” asked Deelight. She shook her head slowly. “That would defeat the whole purpose of killing Race.”

“What if Naomi was there and saw him kill Race? She’d be a witness against him. Maybe she told him she was going to the police so he killed her.” Cindy leaned forward. She sat on the comfortable sofa next to me, and I felt her tension as she gestured with a half-eaten chip. “He lured her out to the cabin with a promise of a night of passion, maybe, or to tell her he would leave, or wanted to beg her forgiveness—whatever excuse he used, she went out there and he strangled her!”

“You watch too many soaps,” Cady Lee observed. “If Naomi knew he was a killer she’d be stupid to meet him anywhere.”

“Well,” said Bitty, “she
was
stupid.” When we all looked at her she said, “What? Just because she’s dead doesn’t change the fact she was dumb as dirt. Bless her heart.”

“Cady Lee’s right,” Gaynelle said after a moment. “Naomi wouldn’t have gone to meet someone in such a deserted location if she was afraid of them. Fear trumps stupid every time.”

“So either she went out there to be alone and hide, or she trusted this person.” I thought about that a second and then added, “Or he followed her and surprised her.”

“Yes, that last part makes the best sense, I think,” Gaynelle said. “Whoever killed her must have snuck up on her and surprised her.”

We all went silent for a few minutes, mulling over the options and no doubt thinking about how horrible Naomi’s last minutes must have been. In something like this, it didn’t really matter what kind of person she’d been; no one deserves to be murdered.

“Well,” Bitty said after a moment, “she didn’t put up much of a fight. I mean, the cabin looked pretty clean. Nothing broken, no chairs overturned, or anything like that. She was just lying on the bed with her face to the wall like she was asleep. It wasn’t until I grabbed her shoulder to turn her toward me that I saw . . . saw she was dead.”

To keep Bitty from dwelling on what must have been a horrible shock, no matter how she felt about Naomi, I said quickly, “Then she obviously didn’t feel threatened by this person. Or they killed her while she was asleep.”

Rayna leaned forward. “Bitty, think a minute. Did it look as if she’d tried to fight off anyone? I mean, were her nails broken or did she have cuts or bruises?”

Bitty gave Rayna a blank look, so it was Sandra who answered. “When I checked for a pulse, all I noticed was that she had a couple broken fingernails. She was lying atop the blankets, and if I remember correctly, she had on a nightgown. Not lingerie, but a plain cotton one, like you buy at Wal-Mart. It was sleeveless, I remember that.”

“Wal-Mart sells
clothes
?”

Bitty’s question let me know that she wasn’t as traumatized as I’d feared. I gave her a reassuring smile. “Yes, dear. If you’re a good girl, one day I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, I’ve been in Wal-Mart,” Bitty lied. “Lots of times.”

“Not shopping for clothes, I bet,” Deelight said, and we all nodded in agreement. Even Bitty.

“Back to the murders, please.” Gaynelle is really good at keeping us on track. “I’ve thought this over, and I have some ideas on how to proceed.”

“Wait. Let me get some more tea,” I said.

My conversational detour to the kitchen took us all in there, where we refilled tall glasses with sweet tea, replenished the chip bowl and dips, then returned to the cozy living room. White slipcovers drape over big comfy chairs, and the long sofa is one you just sink into so that it’s hard to get up if you’re pregnant or just have a big tummy. Thankfully, my stomach isn’t quite that big yet, or I would have had to homestead Gaynelle's sofa. Blue and yellow are her predominant colors in the room, with wainscoting painted white and a soft yellow on the walls. Since it’s an antebellum cottage, it has wonderful wood trim, also painted white, and dentil-detailed molding at the ceiling. Very clean and fresh looking, and not at all what I’d imagined Gaynelle would like. Just goes to show you, you cannot judge people by their appearances.

Gaynelle sat in one of the fat chairs with white slipcovers and blue toile pillows. She crossed her legs at the ankles, looking very much the prim and proper school teacher in her loose silk blouse, straight fitted skirt, and snazzy espadrilles. Well, maybe not so prim.

“Here is what I think we should do,” she said. “We’ll divide into groups of two or three. Each group should focus on one area of investigation only. Once a day we’ll compare notes. Whatever has been discovered will be discussed and dissected, then we’ll decide what’s important and what’s not.”

She looked at me, and I knew what was coming.

“Trinket, you and Rayna will be with Bitty. Your plan is to talk to Trina or Trisha Madewell and see what you can find out about their relationships with Race Champion.”

“Good god!” Bitty burst out. “Are you nuts? Trina Madewell? After what she did? I would rather just shoot her than have to talk to her.”

Gaynelle pursed her lips disapprovingly. “That is one reason I decided you’re to remain in the company of Rayna or Trinket most of the time. You have a lamentable tendency to act upon emotion rather than reason. You and Trina have a history. She’ll most likely talk to you, and perhaps betray herself in the process.”

Bitty muttered under her breath
Who died and left you in charge?
But I ignored it, as I‘m glad anyone else who heard her did, too.

“Cindy,” Gaynelle went on, “you and Deelight and Sandra live fairly close to one another, so I think you three should find out what you can from Naomi’s family. If she had any ex-boyfriends with a temper who might stalk her, that sort of thing. Sometimes people will tell friends or neighbors what they would never tell police, so listen for any kind of off-the-wall comment that might be important.”

“What do you consider an off-the-wall comment?” Deelight asked in between licking cheese dip off her fingers. It does have a tendency to drip, and no one wants to waste good cheese dip, especially when it’s Pancho’s.

“Oh, something along the lines of, ‘Well, I told her not to date Leroy or whoever, but she didn’t listen.’ That sort of thing.”

“So that leaves you, Cady Lee, and Marcy Porter,” Bitty said. “What are you all going to do?”

“We will talk to Race Champion’s family and current—or ex—girlfriends. That should keep us pretty busy. By the way, does anyone know how Marcy is doing? She’s missed the last two Diva meetings. Not counting Sunday’s excursion. Is she all right?”

“Yes and no,” said Cindy. “Morning sickness.”

“Ohhhh,”
most of us said in unison, but from different perspectives, I’m sure. My perspective is more like
Thank god it’s not me.
I’m pretty sure Cindy and Deelight think it’s sweet, but they’ve still got kids at home and haven’t yet experienced the heady taste of freedom that comes with knowing you don’t have to wipe dirty bottoms or deal with surly teenagers. Not that my daughter was ever surly. Well, not for long, anyway.

Gaynelle, ever the mistress of any and all situations, merely said, “I’ll make sure I have plastic bags in the car.”

“So when do we start this?” Rayna asked. “Some of us work or volunteer.”

“We start tomorrow. Each team will choose their own times, but at ten each night we should be able to phone in our reports. Just write down things that you find out, and one of you call it in.”

It sounded too much like high school to me. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted anything to do with written reports. But when Rayna stood up and said, “Everyone agree?” we all stood up and lifted our tea glasses at the same time, bumping them together.

“Agreed!” I heard myself say in unison with the Divas.

It occurred to me that we may have all just agreed to put ourselves in danger of being run out of town on a rail. After all, some people get belligerent when asked nosy questions. Guns are prevalent in Mississippi. A lot of people carry, whether in their purse, pocket, or a rack in the back of their truck. Maybe Sherman Sanders had loaded his shotgun with rock salt pellets, but most people use live ammunition. Did I really want to go around knocking on doors and asking rude questions?

I would just have to do a Scarlett, I told myself, and worry about that tomorrow.

****

It didn’t take Rayna, Bitty and me long to find out that Trina and Trisha Madewell did not regard our visit as polite. Or necessary.

We stood in the lobby of the large house turned bed and breakfast and did our best to appear non-threatening.

“Really,” Rayna said, “we just wanted to correct the impression you must have gotten of us at Six Chimneys. We feel terrible you were frightened. It was all just a big misunderstanding. Wasn’t it, Bitty. Bitty?”

A little belatedly, Bitty muttered, “Yes. Terrible. Misunderstanding.”

I just stood there with a big fake smile on my face since I could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like a lie or ridiculous. Not that white lies and silliness have ever slowed me down before, but this was important. I didn’t want to screw it up.