Drop Dead Divas (31 page)

“You’re very kind,’ she said. “This is our newest model, the JetBlaster 600. Do you like it?”

“Like what? Oh, this? Heavens, what on earth—stop it, precious, you mustn’t do that. No, no, don’t bite it—let
go!”

Chitling, accustomed to rubber toys that bounced and jingled, had a tight grip on the head of the penis with all three of her fangs. Bitty did her best to pry the dog loose. It was a losing battle.

In the struggle, the switch went from Off to On, and the entire penis began to vibrate at warp speed. Chen Ling was delighted, Bitty was horrified, and Rose Allgood was worried about ruining her “stock.” I was laughing too hard to notice what Carolann was doing.

About the time Bitty set Chitling down on the floor to try and retrieve the rubber dildo, a customer entered through the separate outside door into the Blue Velvet Room. It was Fate.

Chen Ling took off at a pace matched only by a roadrunner fleeing a coyote, and was out the door and down the sidewalk in a flash, dragging the still vibrating dildo that was nearly as big as she was. By this time I was near hysteria. I collapsed on the small step under the blue velvet drapes and tried to keep from wetting my pants.

Rose Allgood drew herself up into a tight knot of disapproval and announced that the charge for that item was $59.99 plus tax, and Bitty threw her hands up in the air and took off after her wayward pug. I just lay back on the nice carpeting and screamed with hysterical laughter, while Carolann Barnett seemed torn between following Bitty, waiting on the newly arrived customer, or finding a glass of water to throw in my face.

I heard later that she did none of those things, but just turned around and walked to the back of the store. At the time, I took no notice. I was just too busy pounding my fists on the carpet and cackling like an old hen with a nest full of eggs.

Some days, it’s good to be alive.

CHAPTER 17

Maybe it was the exhaustive thinking I’d been doing lately, or maybe it was just that I had finally reached the point where my brain would not absorb any more abuse, but I went to bed early that night and slept late the next morning. Not even my mother’s call up the stairs had gotten me out of bed. No, I burrowed farther beneath my handsewn quilt like a rabbit going down a hole and pretended I didn’t hear anything. It must have worked pretty well, because by the time I finally opened my eyes again and looked at the clock, it was nearly one in the afternoon.

The overhead fan whirled cool air down on me to help the central air that Daddy had put in a decade or so ago, and the quilt was just enough to keep me from being too chilled or too warm. I’m one of those people that prefer it cool at night so I can pile on the blankets and snuggle under them. I’m sure psychiatrists would have a lot to say about my quirk, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s one of my minor ones, so I’m sure they’d focus more on my bigger quirks.

Like tagging along behind Bitty no matter what madness she drags me into. There was no doubt that for the next few weeks the talk of the town would be the runaway pug dragging a flesh-colored vibrating penis with a magnificent erection down the sidewalk right at the Holly Springs rush hour. There had been two wrecks caused by people halting in the middle of the street to stare disbelievingly, one fainting spell from an elderly lady who happened to be exiting the bank when Chen Ling trotted past, and a close call with a patrol car called to the scene by someone on a cell phone reporting that dogs had savaged someone and were dragging body parts all over the downtown area.

Bitty got a ticket for violating the leash law, but on the bright side, she now owns a magnificent rubber penis to keep on her bedside table. It may have a few teeth marks in it, but it survived the ordeal in remarkably good shape. Of course, Bitty was mortified by the entire incident and refuses to discuss it.

Fortunately, she also abandoned her intention to interrogate Rose Allgood about her previous relationship with Race Champion. Life should always be so easy.

This time, however, Bitty had been thrust into the middle of two murders by no fault of her own. It was almost as if someone had planned it that way. So who—besides the two Madewell sisters—would hate Bitty enough to try and incriminate her? But maybe I was looking at it the wrong way, I mused as I watched the ceiling fan blades blur shadows on the walls. Maybe it was someone who thought Bitty was a good scapegoat because she had an alibi, or because she could afford the best attorney in town.

Bitty’s alibi was okay, but not the best. Jackson Lee Brunetti was—in my opinion anyway—the best attorney in town. So even if the police should charge Bitty with murder, she’d have little trouble being acquitted. Only circumstantial evidence at best tied Naomi to her in any but the most innocuous way.

After about a quarter hour contemplating whirring fan blades and the vagaries of murder suspects, I felt refreshed enough to actually get out of bed. Really, I was getting slothful lately. It must be the heat. Days were scorchers, and even the nights muggy and too hot to sit comfortably outside.

By the time I showered and went downstairs to the kitchen, Mama and Daddy had finished eating a light snack and were still sitting at the table discussing their next trip. That was enough to make me consider going back upstairs to bed, but my stomach was empty and growling.

Empty saucers with what looked like chocolate cake crumbs sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by colorful brochures. CANADA leaped out at me from the page as I headed to the refrigerator. I held open the refrigerator door a little longer than I should, while I considered asking to go along with them if they actually went to Canada. It sounded very nice, and very cool.

What I said though, was, “I don’t see any cake in here.”

Mama turned in her chair to look at me. “For heaven’s sake, Trinket, chocolate cake should be served at room temperature. It’s on the stand. Are you having cake for breakfast?”

She said “breakfast” with special emphasis. Obviously a reminder that I had slept far too long.

“No,” I said as I pulled out an egg carton. “I’m having eggs first. Then cake. Are you planning another trip?”

Daddy answered, “We’re thinking about it. It’s so blamed hot here. We thought about going up north. Maybe seeing Niagara Falls.”

Since that sounded a lot closer than the brochure on Egypt and the Nile, I said it was an excellent idea. I felt Mama watching me as I broke two eggs into a cup, stirred them up with salt, pepper, and a slice of American cheese, then covered the cup with a paper towel and stuck it in the microwave.

“Are you all right?” she asked me a minute and a half later when I pulled my eggs out of the microwave.

“Uh-huh. Just hungry. Why?”

“You didn’t say anything about our trip.”

“Yes, I did. I said it’s a good idea. Didn’t you hear me?” I scooped the eggs out of the cup onto a small plate, and then cut a nice slice of cake to go along with them.

“Yes. I just thought you said something else.”

“Oh. No. That was all.”

Since my eggs were a little too hot, I took a bite of the cake. It was moist and delicious, gooey with lots of creamy frosting. As I licked my fingers, I looked up to see them both watching me.

“What? Can’t I have breakfast without an audience?”

Daddy smiled. “Sure you can, pumpkin. Mama and I are just—well, a little worried about you lately.”

“About me? Why?” I was dumbfounded. “I’m just fine.”

“Are you sure?” Mama asked. Her normally clear brow was furrowed in a slight frown. For a woman her age, she has great skin and very few wrinkles. I probably looked like that once. Back before I came home to Holly Springs and started hanging out with Bitty again. Before too much longer I would no doubt look like a dried apple doll, all deep, pruney ridges and my eyes nearly lost under my eyelid folds.

Rather concerned that my recent activities had hastened the inevitable, I pulled the toaster toward me and peered at my reflection. Was it just the curve of the toaster top or was my face really that shape? At least my wrinkles weren’t that bad yet. I could still see without much trouble.

“No,” I answered, “I’m not at all sure, now that you mention it. Do I look sick? Am I running fever, do you think? Maybe I’m contagious.”

Mama raised her eyebrows at me. “I do not mean
that
kind of all right, Trinket. It seems to your father and me that you’re keeping really odd hours lately. And half the time you’re not here, and when you are here, you get a phone call and rush out of the house like your tail feathers are on fire.”

“Ah. No, my tail feathers are fine, thank you. It’s just all that business about the murders, and the Divas, and Bitty’s money, and whoever it was who tried to kill us, that’s on my mind.”

“Sugar,” Daddy said, “what you need is a vacation from your head.”

“Is this an invitation to go with you to Canada?”

Mama looked startled. “Oh no, dear. Not at all. We just think you need a night in. Some rest.”

Actually, a night in didn’t sound bad at all. A day without dressing or thinking of anything more strenuous than whether to eat cake or pie would be most welcome.

“You’re right,” I said. “If anyone calls, take a name and number. Tell them I’m in the barn, or just out of my head for the day.” I waved my fork in the air like a baton. “I’m giving in to pure laziness!”

It was a luxury just to do nothing. After about an hour of catching up on growing my hair, however, I decided to clean out the jumbled up drawer of my nightstand. It had gotten really junky the past few months, and I hadn’t taken time to put it to order. So I pawed through shreds of used tissues, anti-diarrhea pills, a few Benadryl, TV remote, the cable remote, the DVD remote, post-its with ink scribbles, three pens without ink, a paper clip, a peculiar green rock, gum and wrappers, and a jar of face cream.

I looked more closely at the green rock. It had something attached to it, some kind of wire—wait! This was my lost earring! It had been missing since Brownie’s indulgence in a snack of jewelry and my watch, and now here it was, mangled but right here! I was thrilled. My daughter had given me those earrings for my birthday years ago, and they are very special to me. Michelle had been so proud of giving them to me, too, and if I closed my eyes I could still see her sweet face beaming at me.

This rated an immediate call to Atlanta.

Talking to her always lifts my spirits. Even though she’s a young adult with a life of her own, a job and a husband and a house to care for, she’ll always be my little girl. I don’t know if it’s because she’s my only child, or because I’ve never let go, but the years roll away once I hear her voice. We talked for fifteen minutes or so, just about mundane things like the high price of gasoline, the summer heat, and her vacation plans, and then she asked, “So what’s going on with Aunt Bitty?”

I tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Mom, Grandma already told me about the murders and Aunt Bitty being broke. I just hope she’ll be all right.”

“Bitty is always all right. She has a lucky star hanging over her head, and probably a four-leaf clover tattooed on her butt. Things always turn out good for her. Thank heavens. I don’t think I could stand the drama if they didn’t.”

Michelle laughed. “Well, she does have friends in high places.”

“If you’re referring to Jackson Lee, he’s been working overtime to keep her out of trouble and in the money. He probably needs a month’s vacation in a padded room by now. But then, so do I.”

“There’s a lovely sanitarium in Atlanta if you decide to check in for a rest.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When we hung up, I took my mangled earring to the bathroom and put it in my cup to clean later. I’d probably have to take it to a jeweler before it would resemble the other one, but at least the mystery of the missing earring was solved. Brownie could be forgiven. Not that the dog would care. He had my parents wrapped around his little brown paws, and that was all he needed.

The rest of my lazy afternoon hummed along nicely. I tidied my closet, rearranged the furniture in the glassed-in screen porch off my bedroom, listened to music from the seventies, and drank enough sweet tea to float a medium size sedan. It was excellent therapy.

By the time the sun set, I was neck-deep in a bubble bath and watching light fade outside the bathroom window. Three Dog Night sang about a bullfrog, and I hummed along quite contentedly. It was one of my favorite songs from the past, and when it got to the part about
Joy to the World
, I used my bar of soap as a microphone and belted out the lyrics right along with my stereo. I mean, I really got into it, sloshing water over the edge of the old clawfoot tub, my eyes closed as I acted out my fantasy of being a famous rock star.

I ended up with a flourish, slapping the water with my free hand and singing—or shrieking as my voice is sometimes called—
woooo!
at the end of the song. Brief silence fell.

Whatever I expected, it certainly wasn’t a male voice asking if I was all right. I shrieked for real and dropped my soap microphone into the bath water so I could cross my arms over my chest.

“Trinket! Are you okay?” came the insistent question, accompanied by a rattle of the doorknob.

Before I could say I was okay, the bathroom door swung open about a foot and Kit poked his head inside. I immediately slid down further in the tub so that only my head and knees could be seen above the bubbles.

“Fine, I’m fine!” I yelled through billows of bubbles. Several took flight and rose into the air like tiny balloons before popping. “What are you doing in here?” I demanded with as much dignity as I could muster in my situation.

“Your mother said I should just come on up, that you were cleaning and wouldn’t mind. I didn’t think she meant you were cleaning . . . well, bathing.”

Even if the water hadn’t been pretty warm, it was steaming by then since my face was so hot. Kit just grinned. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame and looked as if he had no intention of doing the proper thing and getting the hell out of there.