Drop Dead Divas (24 page)

“Bitty, I’m sure they don’t care about that. They love you, not what you buy them or give them.”

She nodded. Even though she sounded a bit sad, she didn’t look distressed, and I was glad about that.

“Well, speak of the devil,” I said when I saw Brandon open the door coming up from the basement. “One of my two favorite nephews.”

“Hi, Aunt Trinket, Mama,” he said, and grinned. “I take it y’all were talking about me?”

He came to his mother and gave her a hug and kiss, not at all embarrassed to be doing so in front of Heather, who followed close behind him.

“I’m always talking about you,” Bitty said, and smiled at Heather. “Did he rope you into helping?”

“No, ma’am. I offered. I’m pretty good with a broom and dustpan. It was the least I could do since he helped me move.”

“Ho,” I said to Brandon, “you
have
been busy while we were gone.”

“A lot busier than Clayton. He’s been lazy as a hound dog. I can’t get him off the video game long enough to do anything.”

Bitty smiled. “Don’t worry about Clayton. I’ll be sure he does his part. Is he by himself down there?”

“For now. If you want to talk to him, better unplug the PSP first.”

“Oh, he’ll listen to me,” Bitty said as she headed for the basement door.

Left alone with Brandon and Heather, I handed him my overnight bag. “I think I’m staying in the guest room now that I can walk without whining.”

He grinned and took my bag. “You got well pretty quick. How did you manage that?”

“Vodka and tomato juice,” I replied promptly. “They have amazing healing powers, I’ve discovered. I recommend it to anyone.”

“I think Mama’s out of vodka, but I do have some julep syrup in the refrigerator if you’re interested.”

“Interested? Any more interested and I’d be wagging my tail and barking.”

Heather laughed, and she climbed the staircase to the second floor with us, making small talk as we went.

“Miz B got in some new merchandise yesterday. You should come see some of the lovely things she ordered.”

“Um, I don’t know—did Rose Allgood have anything to do with the orders?”

“No,” Heather said, and giggled. “She has her own catalogue.”

“Ah, a Frederick’s of Hollywood, I presume.”

“Ma’am? I don’t think I know who that is.”

“It’s all right. I’m probably way behind the times.”

Frederick’s of Hollywood was popular when I was young. Or younger. It was a catalogue filled with . . .
unusual
. . . garments. Panties without a crotch, for instance. Strap-on dildos. Lingerie so sheer that wearing it would be like wearing nothing but lace around the throat and on the wrist cuffs. Nowadays you see stuff like that on cable TV, so I guess Frederick’s went out of business. Or is thriving on the Internet.

I had stayed in Bitty’s guest room before, and was relieved to see that nothing important had changed. It was still filled with antiques, still comfortable, and still light and airy. The high antique headboard has a lovely canopy, and a light summer quilt was spread atop the overstuffed mattress. Bitty loves antiques, but she’s practical, too. No one wants to sleep on an antique mattress, I don’t care how into antiques they may be.

Brandon set my overnight bag on a chair, and he and Heather paused in the door to look back at me. “Do you want your julep on the sunporch or up here?”

“The sunporch, please. I’m sure your mama will find me out there. Especially if she knows you’re making juleps. Extra mint in mine, please.”

“I always do, Aunt Trinket.”

Heather looked puzzled. “Aunt? I thought you were Miss Bitty’s cousin.”

“Oh, I am. We use it in the southern sense. You know.” When Heather still looked puzzled, I explained, “Any relative that’s a second cousin, third cousin, or not related at all but still included in the family is called Aunt or Uncle. You’re from down here. Doesn’t your family do that, too?”

Heather shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

“Well, it’s what we’ve done all my life, so I suppose we’re used to it. I’ll be down soon to join you. I think I want to freshen up a bit first.”

I closed the door behind them and went into the adjoining bathroom. It had been two days since I’d had the courage to look at my face, and now that I was on familiar turf, I wanted to see if I looked less like a Halloween poster and more like a human.

Bitty should really change the lights in that bathroom. They’re awful. For one thing, they’re far too bright. For another, they shine down on a person’s face so it looks like you have two chins. The shadows are terrible. But, all in all, I was healing nicely, I decided. My black eye had faded to only a faint bruise, my lips were back to their normal size, and the cut on my forehead was a pale pink line. It was important that I look fairly decent since I expected Kit would be coming over soon for a visit.

He had wanted to come see me in Memphis, but I begged him to reconsider. My purple and blue bruises had turned a very ugly yellow and my lips were still puffy. I wanted to wait until I could put on makeup. Yes, I guess I am vainer than I ever thought I’d be. Still, what woman wants a man she likes to keep seeing her at her worst? Not many I know of, that’s for sure.

When I got downstairs at last, Gaynelle and Rayna were on the sunporch with Bitty. They already had mint juleps in their hands, so I knew I was behind before I got started. Within thirty seconds, Brandon placed a sterling silver cup in my hand. To keep my fingers from freezing, the cup was inside a small, intricately wrought holder with a handle like a coffee cup. Very nice. Juleps are mostly ice anyway, flavored with just the right amount of bourbon, sugar, and crushed mint. Bitty keeps the sugar syrup in a pitcher in the refrigerator year-round. Just in case.

I listened to Gaynelle and Rayna while I sucked the ice against my front teeth and enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of bourbon and mint-flavored sugar syrup. It is a most refreshing drink for a hot summer afternoon, I can tell you.

Stretched out on one of the lounge chairs with fat cushions, a ceiling fan whirring overhead and a cold drink in my hand, I appreciated the moment for what it was and let their voices fade into the background. I already knew most of what they were discussing anyway, since I had picked Gaynelle's brain clean of information before ever starting back to Holly Springs.

The Divas assigned to question Naomi’s family had learned that since meeting Race, she’d dated no one else. Not even once. She had been head over heels for him. So that ruled out any jealous man from her past; or almost ruled it out. There could always be some nut lurking out there like a stalker, I soon discovered.

The most interesting information had been gained by Gaynelle's group when they questioned Race Champion’s family. It was pretty well known that Race was a terrible womanizer, and no one in his family argued that point. However, his younger brother claimed Race was being stalked by someone, and it had spooked him pretty bad. That information was helpful and fascinating. No, the brother didn’t know who it was, but he knew she’d made a habit of following Race around. She’d even come to their house in Ashland once, but no one had seen her. The only way Race had known about it was the note she’d left in the cab of his truck.

Too bad the brother couldn’t find the note, or that would have been a great help. As it was, however, the information gave us a bigger picture of what might have been going on. Maybe Naomi hadn’t had a stalker, but Race had.

I pondered the likelihood of a man as big and beefy as Race being afraid of a female stalker. Had it been a woman connected to an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s, perhaps? Someone jealous of her that her family didn’t know about, or pretended not to know about? But if they did know who it was, they’d be more likely to tell so suspicion wouldn’t smirch the memory of their daughter/sister. They’d want to clear her name of any kind of suspicion about murdering Race—wouldn’t they?

“Trinket. Trinket!
Trinket
—don’t you agree?”

I blinked and looked over at Bitty. “Agree to what?”

“I knew you weren’t listening. I can always tell you’re off in the ozone when you get that glazed look in your eyes. We should just let the police handle everything. Don’t you agree?”

Normally I would have immediately agreed. It’s always best to let professionals handle matters, especially when one of the matters is murder.

This time I wasn’t so certain. For one thing, I had a personal stake in it now. Someone had tried to kill us. Whoever it was hadn’t cared that we had family, or that none of us were guilty of anything more than snooping—they’d decided to be judge, jury, and executioner. I didn’t like that.

When I shook my head, Bitty’s mouth fell open. She’d obviously been sure I would agree with her. “No,” I said, “I think this time it’s personal, and I intend to find out what I can. Not that I intend to go snooping where I shouldn’t, though. I’m not brave enough to do that. Or stupid.”

As usual, Bitty recovered quickly from her surprise. “Well,” she said, “
I
do not intend to do any more investigating. Especially not after what Gypsy told me.”

“What gypsy?” Rayna immediately wanted to know. “You know a gypsy?”

“Her name is Gypsy,” I explained before Bitty could. “But she could be a gypsy, I suppose. I’m not sure of that.”

“As I was saying before Trinket so rudely interrupted,” Bitty continued, “I was told by Gypsy to beware. So beware I shall be.. Besides, I have troubles of my own that demand all my attention right now.”

“Yes, Bitty is to beware of a flashlight,” I interrupted cheerfully. “Or carry one. Gypsy didn’t specify, so we’re not sure which it is.”

“Trinket Truevine, you know very well that’s not what she meant. She said I must watch out for the darkness behind the light.”

“That could mean anything, Bitty. She could have meant you need to watch the street lamps come on for all we know. She just acted strange, that’s all.”

“Since when did acting strange upset you? We all act strange.”

“We all
are
strange,” I corrected. “But she’s on a different level of strange. It’s not the same thing at all.”

Even Gaynelle agreed with that last comment. “Psychics operate on another frequency entirely, Bitty. An interesting phenomenon. But we are straying from our main purpose, and that is to figure out who is behind the murders of Race and Naomi. Find the killer, and we find out who tried to kill you, too. I’m sure of it.”

I was sure of it, too. Normally, I’m not a vengeful person. Oh, I can be bitter and bitchy, certainly, but I don’t go out of my way to right a slight or perceived slight. I prefer to let time and fate do it. It usually settles matters long before anything I could do would have an effect. No, I do not consider myself vengeful at all. Yet something about the cold, calculated murders and our attempted murders got to me. It took a truly warped individual to commit such acts.

“Do you think Trina and Trisha Madewell are capable of killing Race?” I asked Gaynelle. “Either separately or together?”

She thought about that for a moment, tapping her fingernail against the silver rim of her mint julep as she pondered my questions. Then she shook her head. “Not really. I think in a heat of passion, yes, threatening to shoot him would fit their personalities. But the actual deed? Not unless it was accidental.”

“Well, you’re dead wrong about that,” Bitty said decisively, not even seeming to recognize her pun. “Trina Madewell is quite capable of murder.”

“On what do you base that belief?” Rayna asked.

Bitty blinked at her. “Well, look how vicious she was about getting the winning bid on Six Chimneys. And getting The Cedars out from under me for the pilgrimage. Not to mention what she went and told the garden club, and now that horrid Miranda Watson at
The South Reporter
. If she doesn’t have a murderer’s soul, I’ll eat my Sunday hat.”

“You better have a Sunday hat made of bread and cheese, then,” said Gaynelle. “I don’t think Trina did it.”

“What about Trisha?” I couldn’t help reminding them. “Do you think she could do it?”

Gaynelle frowned slightly, and contemplated that question while she sipped from her julep. “Trisha is largely an unknown quantity to me. I know Trina mainly because we sat together on the social committee at church. So I cannot say for certain if Trisha is capable or incapable of murder. It does not seem to fit her personality, but I could be wrong, of course. I have been wrong about people before, you know.”

We tactfully let that last comment lie unremarked. It was obviously still a painful subject for Gaynelle.

“There does seem to be a lot of animosity between the sisters,” I said. “Especially when it came to the subject of Race Champion. Trisha seemed much more forthright to me about matters, while Trina—and here I’m going to contradict myself and sound just like Bitty—sounded defensive and secretive.”

“
Aha!
” said Bitty.

“That doesn’t mean she’s hiding anything more deadly than a secret wish to smack her sister in the head with a loaf of bread,” I continued as if Bitty hadn’t
aha
-ed me at all. “And she’s probably defensive because she’s been asked dozens of questions by the police, and invited to tea just to find out gory details, and now she suspects the entire town of having ulterior motives.”

After a moment of silence, Bitty commented, “You come up with great scenarios and then shoot them down. Why do you do that? Can’t you just stick with one theme?”

“I’m thinking out loud, Bitty. I trust you three to pick apart my theories and find the flaws. What we end up with should be pretty much solid facts without any kind of personal emotions coloring them.”

Bitty flapped a hand at me and yawned. “I’m tired of playing Law and Order with the rest of you. I have to figure out how to save myself from complete ruin, so I shouldn’t be wasting my brain cells on things we already pay the police to do.”

I looked at Gaynelle and Rayna, who both kind of shrugged as if to say,
Well, that’s Bitty for you.

A little irritated by her attitude, since I thought she should care more about some nut running people off the road, not to mention killing two others, I said, “Of course, we should have thought of that, Bitty. Why on earth would we want to think of anything but your lack of enough money to buy a dog more diamond collars?”