Drop Dead Divas (16 page)

Trina Madewell looked at us with suspicion. Without all that make-up she’d worn to Six Chimneys, she was much nicer looking. She’d reminded me of Mimi, the overweight, over-made-up secretary on the Drew Carey show. I told you I watch a lot of TV, right? Anyway, with just the barest of foundation on her face, the wrinkles were less apparent, and she didn’t look quite so . . . hard. Trisha must be “the pretty one” in the family. Every family of more than one child has one of those, it seems. The one who is prettiest, or smartest, or more athletic. Emerald’s the one in my family who always stood out. Maybe that’s why I felt I had to outdo her in other ways; not always the best ways, mind you, but I felt it my duty to be noticed. I had usually succeeded, much to my mother’s dismay.

But I digress again.

There we were, standing in the lobby of Madewell Courts trying to schmooze bits of information out of the sisters. Surprisingly, it was Trisha who helped the most.

“If you’re here to talk about the murder, just ask me what you want to know. I’ve already told the police everything that matters.”

Since that was indeed why we were there, I appreciated her bluntness. Apparently her sister did not.

“Be quiet, Trisha!”

Trisha shrugged. She was about the same height as Trina, somewhere around five-four, I’d say, but much slimmer. And her hair hadn’t been dyed lifeless, but was a soft brown, shiny, and cut in a flattering style around her face. She wore jeans and a pretty blouse and looked stylish, whereas poor Trina in her overdone silk dress seemed like a dollar store mannequin. It was a startling contrast in a way, because my understanding was that the Madewell family had money. At least, once upon a time. I know the house is antebellum and probably costs a pretty penny for the upkeep, as old houses often do, and I’d heard the whispers about the Madewells turning it into a bed and breakfast because of necessity, not choice. But hadn’t someone recently said that Trina Madewell had lots of money? I’d have to ask Bitty and Rayna later.

“It’s not like it won’t soon be public information anyway,” Trisha said to Trina. “I just want all this over with.”

“It won’t ever be over with!” The ferocity in Trina’s voice was shocking.

I looked over at Rayna. As usual, she appeared calm. Bitty just looked annoyed.

Trisha ignored her sister’s fury and said, “Race was supposed to meet me in the cottage. We’d been seeing each other for a while. I had no idea Naomi claimed to be engaged to him until I heard about the scuffle at Budgie’s café. I was furious with him and intended to have it out. But when I got down to the cottage he was already dead.”

“I heard Trina and Race were still seeing each other,” Rayna said boldly. “Is that true?”

Trina’s chin jutted into the air and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not after I found out he was dating my sister, it wasn’t!”

“Bet that made you mad when you found out,” Bitty put in. “It would make me pretty damn mad.”

Trina’s dark eyes narrowed. “Yes, it made me mad. Trisha and I had a big fight over it. I was angry enough to kill both of them at that moment. But I didn’t. Now. Are you happy?”

“No. But I am satisfied. Thank you.”

That seemed to take Trina back, and she just looked at Bitty. Then she said, “You dated Race. Did
you
kill him?”

“Of course not. I thought he was an obnoxious drunk. Not at first, of course, or I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him, but he quickly proved that he was a womanizer of the worst kind. Having been recently divorced from one of those, I had no desire to get tangled up with another one.”

Bitty’s frankness silenced Trina, and she nodded. When she looked at me as if to ask if I had any questions, the only thing I said was, “May we look at the cottage?”

It wasn’t what I had intended to ask. Looking at the murder scene was the last thing I wanted, so I have no idea why I said it. Sometimes my mouth comes out with things my brain has no part in.

After a moment of stunned silence, Trisha said, “Why not? It’s not as if the police haven’t been over every inch of it already. Help yourself. I’ll get the key.”

She went behind a small desk and reached under the counter, then held out a key attached to a small disk printed with the words ‘
Cottage One
’
in a very fancy script. No one else moved, so I stepped forward and took the key from her.

“Don’t you want to go with us?”

Trisha shuddered. “No. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to step in there again without seeing . . .no. I don’t want to go.”

“I’ll bring it back,” I said, and turned to look at Bitty and Rayna. They stared at me with widened eyes. Maybe they felt like I did about it, but we had the key and should not let this opportunity pass.

Madewell Courts is rather plain on the front, with only a small portico and narrow white columns, but the back yard is a jewel. It’s obvious someone here loves gardening. The original structure built in the early 1800s has been added on to, and a Victorian style sunroom looks out over sunny stretches of green lawn bordered with flowerbeds. Every kind of flower imaginable fills sun-drenched beds. Beyond those, magnolia trees spread out like gigantic umbrellas, some with their branches all the way to the ground, some trimmed to reveal shaded flowerbeds beneath. Tall ash and spruce trees strategically form a windbreak at one side of the house and lawn.

Four structures form a semi-circle at the far side of the lawn. They look a lot like quaint English cottages. They’re small, and perhaps had been sheds or servants’ quarters at one time in the past, but each is unique and has a tiny courtyard in front. Paving stones lead from the main house out to each cottage.

The remodeling alone must have cost a fortune, I thought as we made our way to Cottage One. It was at the far left of the lawn, shaded by a magnolia, and with flowers foaming over the low bricked courtyard walls.

Rayna sounded impressed when she remarked that the gardens were gorgeous. “I cannot imagine how much money all this cost,” she added.

We were obviously thinking along the same lines.

“And they have rooms inside the house they rent out, too,” Bitty said. “Wonder how much they charge and if they can really make any money way out here?”

“It’s not so far from Cherryhill,” I said, “and very close to Strawberry Plains. You know how many tourists show up every year to see the hummingbirds come to fuel up on their way to South America. People show up in just as many droves as the birds.”

“Flocks,” said Rayna. “Birds fly in flocks. Except geese. They gather in gaggles.”

“Horses run in herds,” I said, “but sheep are in flocks, too. Right?”

“Termites fly in swarms,” Bitty observed.

“Witches gather in covens, dogs have litters, dolphins swim in a—pod,” I finished as I remembered the right word.

“But a gathering of hummingbirds is called a charm,” said Trina Madewell, who had come up behind us. “What do you call a gathering of Divas?”

“A delight,” Bitty said promptly.

Trina raised her eyebrows. “Hm. I had another word in mind.”

Where this came from I had no idea, but the minute I said it I knew I shouldn’t:

“A gathering of crows is called a murder.”

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and looked at me. No doubt Rayna and Bitty were remembering the crows in the pines at the cabin, but I had no idea what Trina must be thinking. Nothing nice, I’m quite certain.

I gave a little shrug. “Sorry. My mind was still on collective nouns.”

“I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour,” Trina said after a moment, and led the way through the cute little iron gate and into the cottage courtyard. I handed her the key and she unlocked the door, then stood back to let us file inside.

Still mulling over unusual collective nouns for animal gatherings, I thought a
file
of Divas would be appropriate in this instance. Sometimes my brain goes off on a tangent without my permission. I do the best I can at those moments.

Traces of police presence were evident everywhere. Fingerprint powder dusted all surfaces, from door frames to furniture. The cottage has a front room, a bedroom, and off to one side, a bathroom. The front room is large enough for a small sofa, a big chair, and a wall cabinet that holds a TV and DVD player. Shelves on each side are filled with books and magazines. It’s decorated in much the same style as Gaynelle's house, that cozy, shabby but still chic look that’s been so popular.

Standing in the front door, it’s easy to see straight into the bedroom. The small entry alcove holds a rack with four hooks for coats and an umbrella stand. Step from the alcove into the front room, take about ten more steps and you’re in the bedroom. The bath adjoins the bedroom. Trina followed Bitty and Rayna into the bedroom. I remained in the alcove. I get a bit squeamish about murder scenes, even the ones without a body.

I heard Bitty and Rayna asking questions, such as where had the body been, and how did the police know someone else had been there with him.

Trina said in a calm, flat voice as if she had already repeated this a dozen times, which I had no doubt she had, “He was lying right there with his body half off the bed. A pair of crotchless bikini panties were left on the floor.”

“Really? What size?” Bitty asked.

“How would I know? I didn’t get close enough to look,” said Trina in an irritable tone. “I just saw them lying there close to where his feet were, and I knew they weren’t his. They had lots of black lace.”

“Did he . . . look as if he’d been facing the doorway or the bathroom?” Rayna asked after a short silence.

“As far as I could tell, maybe the doorway.”

I saw Trina indicate the front alcove where I stood. Since it was easy to see all the way into the bedroom, it was probably just as easy to see the front door from the bed. It was a straight line of sight for anyone. But if it had been at night, would someone in the bedroom be able to see a person standing in the alcove? If the lights had been left on, maybe. If not, it would be difficult, I would think. It was shadowed even in daylight.

So I asked from where I stood, “Were the lights on when you found him, Trina?”

“Just the bedroom lights. Why?”

“No reason.” That I wanted to say out loud right then. No wonder Naomi had said she didn’t see the person shooting. They would be pretty well hidden if they remained in the alcove. Whoever had killed Race must have been either a really good shot, or really lucky. Especially if he was moving around and trying to get off the bed. Naomi was lucky she hadn’t been shot . . . well, partially lucky, anyway.

When we left a few moments later, Trina shut and locked the door behind us, then pocketed the key. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were master keys to all these cottages. If so, that would allow any of the Madewell family access to the cottage. Or any of the employees.

“How many do you have on staff?” I asked as we walked toward the house. “It must take quite a few to keep this place up so beautifully.”

“Not as many as you might think. Trisha does most of the booking reservations, and I check behind housekeeping. We only have two outside people employed. My parents prefer keeping this a family-oriented business.”

“Who does the meals?”

“We only serve breakfast, and have the croissants delivered daily. Someone from Sharita Stone’s catering does all that, the jams, jellies, muffins and so on. Mama cooks the eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, and makes the coffee and tea.”

Bitty looked a bit ruffled. “Sharita comes out here?”

“No, someone from her catering service does the deliveries.”

“Oh. That’s better.”

There was a note of relief in her tone. Sometimes Bitty can be a bit selfish.

“Do you know who does the deliveries?” Rayna asked next.

Trina gave her a strange look. “No, it’s usually some young man. They deliver every morning between five and six. Why?”

“I just thought that if someone was angry with Race, perhaps they might use the excuse of delivering baked goods as a cover to be out here,” Rayna explained. “Have you thought of that?”

Trina shook her head. “Since Race was killed between three-thirty and four in the morning, I doubt it would be one of Sharita’s nephews or cousins.”

“How do you know the time so closely?” I couldn’t help but ask. “I thought it’d take the police a while to find out the results.”

“Because I heard the shots. Didn’t you read the newspapers? It was all in there. I heard the first shot and thought it must be a hunter getting too close to our property, but after the second shot, Trisha came running up here to get me, all hysterical.”

“Oh,” I said.

By this time, we’d reached the house and gone through the sunroom into what must have been formerly a living room but was now the lobby. Most of the furniture must be family antiques. Some of the antiques looked a bit shabby in places, but not very chic. Upholstery was worn, and I noted pieces that should have had all their handles and chair rungs, didn’t.

Trina walked to the front door and opened it, then stood there. We immediately understood that our tour was finished. After saying our thank-yous and good-byes, we got back into Rayna's SUV parked under a white oleander. She paused, looking at the tall tree.

“How on earth did they get that tree to that size?” she wondered. “I have to bring mine inside in the winter.”

“Maybe it’s protected by the windbreak,” I suggested, and she nodded.

“Could be. It’s obvious someone has a green thumb. Oleanders do best farther south.”

Bitty, sitting in the front passenger seat, gave Rayna an exasperated glance. “Do you mind? While this botanical lesson is fascinating, I’d rather you turn on the AC!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Rayna started the vehicle and the AC blasted cool enough even for Bitty, I’m sure. “So, anyone have any ideas we can write down?” she asked as she wheeled the car out of the driveway and onto the narrow blacktop road that led to Highway 311.

“I do,” Bitty said promptly. “Trina killed him.”

Since I was sitting safely in the back seat and she couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. “You said that about Naomi, too.”