Drop Dead Divas (43 page)

“Ah, and of course Dawn wiped it down to remove her own prints, then left it behind so Naomi would get the blame.”

“Precisely.” I stepped back as Clayton came through with the heavy silver tray full of empty glasses. “How’s it going out there?” I asked him.

He gave me a wild look. “Good god. One of those women pinched me on the butt. I think it’s getting too rowdy.”

“Wait a half hour, and if Mrs. Tyree isn’t hitting on you yet, you’ll know you’ve got a bit of time to make your escape.” I laughed when he flinched.

“Mama said we have to leave once y’all sit down to eat. She doesn’t want us exposed to too much fun.”

“Believe me, whatever Bitty has planned, you’ll be glad you weren’t exposed.”

“
Waiter!
” I heard someone yell from the porch. It sounded like Cady Lee. She gets a certain tone in her voice after the third drink. “Where are our matching waiters with the drinks?”

“I believe one of our delicate Southern magnolia blossoms is calling for you,” I said to Clayton.

Shaking his head, he pushed his way through martini-drinking flowers and into the kitchen for refills. Deelight and I laughed.

“Such nice boys,” she observed.

“They’ll grow up. Brandon is already dating one girl a little too steady for Bitty. I think she’d like to keep them in college for the next ten or twenty years.”

“Heather Lightner,” Deelight said. “She seems like a nice girl, though.”

I didn’t mention that I’d suspected her of murder. “I’m sure she is.”

“So, back to what we were discussing, why did those two decide to kill Naomi? And try to kill Miranda Watson? It still doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Murder never makes sense. Dawn attacked Miranda when she figured out Naomi had confided in her, but Cliff decided to kill Naomi when Dawn began worrying about whether or not Naomi might have seen her at Madewell Courts. Dawn wanted no connection between her and Race. Not until she got out of town and collected the insurance money. If Naomi got scared and told that Dawn had been there, it might have blown the alibi she had already established. Cliff was sure the promise of money would keep Naomi quiet until they could do something about her.”

“So Naomi knew Dawn had been in the cottage?”

“Naomi wasn’t as dumb as most people think. I guess that includes me. While she didn’t see Dawn in the cottage, she did see her walking across the grounds. Dawn, as her alternate personality DJ, did Naomi’s nails. So she knew Naomi would recognize her, and once everything came out about the insurance and her being married to Race, she would figure things out. But Naomi surprised her. Race had
told
her he was meeting DJ to sign divorce papers. Naomi put two and two together pretty fast, and decided that if Dawn wanted to avoid investigation, she’d have to pay for it.”

“And that’s when they killed her. Do you think Naomi would really have taken money from the people who killed her fiancé?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe she thought she’d turn them in to the police. A tape recorder was found in the cabin where she was murdered, and it had Naomi’s prints on it. The tape, of course, was gone.”

“She was expecting trouble, then.”

“I think she was expecting Dawn to show up, not Cliff. She probably felt she could handle a woman, but Cliff was too much for her. He strangled her and left her there on the bed.”

“And of course, that’s when we found her.” Deelight shook her head. “Poor Naomi. And her poor mother. I’m so glad you and Rayna solved the case, even though the police got the credit.”

“Well . . . let’s just say we may have solved the case, but it was by sheer accident. Thank heavens the police were way ahead of us. They’d already located the truck that ran us off the road, but did a stake-out to see who’d left it there. When Dawn and Cliff came back for it, the cops followed them to the Madewell’s barn, where they’d intended to leave it to incriminate Trina and Trisha. The killers had gone back to their original Plan A, once they’d gotten rid of Naomi.”

“Okay, here’s where it gets murky for me. Why leave their own truck there?”

“It was a stolen truck. Cliff stole it in Alabama and drove it up here. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him, and stayed hidden until time to plant the truck as evidence against Trina and Trisha.”

“If the cops knew all that, why did they wait? Why didn’t they arrest them a lot earlier? They could have killed other people, too. Like you!”

“It has to do with evidence. The more the better. The cops were watching them and wouldn’t have let them actually kill anyone, I guess. Not if they could help it. That’s how they knew we were at the Madewell barn. Rob recognized his Jeep on the road and called it in. The police decided to wait until Cliff and Dawn returned to take them down.” I shook my head. “When I think of all those hours we spent sitting in that hole and thinking we were about to be killed, I could do some damage to Rob Rainey. But, as he pointed out, if we hadn’t been foolish enough to go there looking for trouble, we wouldn’t have found it.”

“So Rob’s working for the police now?”

“No, not really. He used to be in law enforcement before he decided to write bail bonds and run his own insurance investigation company. Since his wife was involved, Marcus Stone let him go on the stake-out and take-down.”

“I bet you and Rayna were glad to see the police!”

“Girl, you know it. I was sure we were about to be killed.”

“How can those two killers plead Not Guilty, I want to know? That’s disgraceful. And with all the evidence against them!”

“Our criminal justice system guards against injustice, but sometimes I think they can take things too far. Still, for the innocent, it’s necessary to make verdicts beyond any reasonable doubt.”

I was about to add there could be no reasonable doubt about their guilt, when I heard a familiar yapping interspersed with what sounded like pig squeals. Deelight and I looked at each other and headed for the front porch.

By the time we got there, Bitty and Miranda were in a scuffle on the porch with a pug and a pig. Try to say that three times, really fast. Anyway, Bitty got Chen Ling up and held her, while Miranda managed to rescue Chitling. It turned out the pig had tried to nibble on the pug’s flowery collar, and Chen Ling had tried to nibble on Chitling. As far as I was concerned, it was a match made in heaven. Two squash-faced greedy creatures on the hunt at the same time. What fun.

Bitty, looking a little out of breath but determined, lifted her dainty little hand and rang a bell. “Dinner is about to be served,” she called above the din of half-inebriated Divas and the recovering pug and pig. “Please go to the dining room and be seated in the chair that has your name on the place card.”

“Place cards?” I echoed. “My, my, how fancy. I wonder if there’s one for the pug and the pig, too.”

Rayna came up beside me and chuckled at my remark. “Bitty really is putting on the dog for us, isn’t she?”

“And the pig,” I reminded. “Don’t forget the pig.”

We all laughed at that, but quietly so Bitty wouldn’t hear. She’d gone to a lot of trouble, and we wouldn’t want her to think we were making fun of her. Especially since she already felt left out. I think she hated that she’d missed being in that dilapidated old barn with Rayna and me. Not that she wanted to go through hours of sitting in a black hole, but she does love the attention we got afterward.

And of course, she’s scolded me several times for leaving her at the Wal-Mart Superstore with six carts of merchandise and Jackson Lee. I understand that while the managers at Wal-Mart have extended Bitty an open invitation to return and shop any time she likes, Jackson Lee has threatened severe reprisals if she accepts. He was wise enough not to actually
forbid
her to go, of course, but said he wanted to be with her if she does so  he can help load the carts. Oh, and he also tacked on the warning that one more such shopping trip might result in a devastating depletion of ready funds in her play money account. It’s not really play money. It’s the money she plays with, and Bitty has great respect for not being too foolish now that they’ve reached a tentative agreement with Parrish and Patrice Hollandale regarding the settlement money. While the alimony checks will cease, the settlement funds increased exponentially so Bitty doesn’t have to worry about being broke, and Parrish and Patrice don’t have to think about Bitty after the payout. There can be peace in our lifetimes after all.

I also happen to know Bitty wrote a generous check to Sukey Spencer and had Jackson Lee give it to her to help pay for Naomi’s funeral expenses. In lieu of Bitty showing up for the funeral, Sukey was most happy to accept it, I’m sure. But I’m not supposed to know about that. Bitty doesn’t want it known that she felt any guilt at all over the way both she and Philip treated Naomi. After all, Naomi was under-age when the senator began his affair with her. Young girls are often swayed by older men with money and power.

Dinner was absolutely delicious, and everything went much more smoothly than I’d expected given that Chen Ling and Chitling were at the table, too. None of the Divas seemed to mind. It’s amazing what the properties of chocolate martinis can do.

After we ate, we progressed from the dining room into the living room, where Rose Allgood had set up a table with quite a few interesting items on it. It was something to see, I can tell you. Too bad Mrs. Tyree had left before dinner. Her reaction would have been most interesting, I’m sure.

While Brandon and Clayton had defected when we sat down at the dining table, Sharita Stone and one of her nieces served coffee and tea while Divas settled into comfy chairs or the un-comfy, antique, horsehair-stuffed settee that Bitty loves.

Rose moved to stand in front of the table, and a hush fell over the room. We all waited with eager attention to see which item she’d select, and what she would say.

There were gasps of astonishment—and some of delight and probably dismay—when Rose said that our gracious hostess, one Bitty Hollandale, had purchased all the items on display as gifts for the assemblage. Only she didn’t say it quite that way. Her style of salesmanship or showmanship or whatever you want to call it is blunt without being obnoxious or offensive. Her matter-of-fact tone is absent of any prurience, and that makes the presentation less embarrassing. Not that it would have mattered.

We giggled like sixth grade girls, and even Gaynelle Bishop cupped her mouth and hooted, “Show us the really big one!”

Chen Ling gazed at the rows of items with greedy interest, no doubt choosing the one she wanted to chew on, while Chitling the pig seemed more intrigued by the flowers of Miranda’s souvenir nosegay. Really, Bitty had truly gone all out for this meeting. I anticipated a run on the table once Rose finished her presentation and invited Divas to choose their preference among the displayed gifts, but that was before her announcement.

Smiling a little, her hands clasped in front of her as if she was giving a book report or reciting a poem, Rose said, “Now ladies, for the
piéce dé resistance
of the evening, our final items are being modeled for us by these gentlemen from a group of performers known as The Chippendales. You’ll note that each model wears a different garment, and each garment is created of tasty flavors such as peppermint, honey, cherry, and vanilla. The ingredients are natural, as well as including artificial preservatives, of course.”

Well, of course
. My eyes bulged and my tongue fell out so far it hit the bottom of my martini glass when three well-oiled models with ropes of muscles and taut, tanned skin walked barefoot into the living room. They strode across Bitty’s antique Turkish rug like lithe, graceful animals wearing nothing but edible underwear in three different styles. There was
nothing
artificial about these guys.

Somewhere, someone had turned on some music, and the low, throbbing beat kept time with the pulses of one dozen Divas, a pug and a pig. The latter two for far different reasons, I’m sure.

I think Rose added a few words about the styles of their bikini underwear, but I’m a little fuzzy about that. It really didn’t seem to matter to me that much. Or to anyone else there. Except maybe the male models. They looked a bit edgy when new mother Marcy Porter gave out with a wolf whistle and cry of “Yeah, baby,
show
me!” but kept smiling and parading down the aisle between the settee, antique chairs, and gaping women.

Then, as one of them passed by the settee where Bitty sat with Chen Ling on her lap, the pug could take no more. Before Bitty could stop her, the dog leaped down and lunged toward the nearest model. I never was sure if Chen Ling wanted to taste the edible underwear or play with the . . . shall we say,
real thing
, but there was a high-pitched male scream, a flurry of activity involving several Divas—including Nurse Sandra—offers of immediate and extensive female assistance, and the model disappeared under nurturing hands and multi-colored flowers. His counterparts looked on but offered little practical advice other than
“Run!”
before they were also required to demonstrate just how edible is thong underwear.

As Miranda Watson reported the next week in her weekly gossip column with
The South Reporter,
however, “No more shall be said here. What happens with the Divas, stays with the Divas.”

Mrs. Tyree will never know what she missed.