Divas and Dead Rebels (20 page)

I put up a hand to shield my eyes and said a trifle irritably, “Your boobs are winking at me. Make them stop.”

“What? Oh, my sweater? You don’t like it?”

“The sweater’s fine. It’s just that all those rhinestones seem to be centered right at the front of your . . . rack. Really. It looks odd.”

“Honestly, Trinket, you say the strangest things.” Bitty put both hands on her hips. “Why are you here? I thought you were working today.”

“I am. And I’m here because I’ve already been interrogated by my mother and three complete strangers about why I trundled a corpse to a football game. No mention was made of you, I noted. Can you tell me why that is?”

“For heaven’s sake, how would I know?” Bitty bent down to scoop Chen Ling into her arms. She seemed a little nervous. Bitty, not the dog. Chen Ling doesn’t have a nervous bone in her body, I’m sure.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled. “Oh, I think you have an idea why that is,” I said calmly. “You know, I came over here to warn you that someone—and I had no idea who—has been spreading gossip about what happened in Oxford. I wanted you to be prepared just in case someone said something to you. It never occurred to me that you’re the big mouth spreading ridiculous rumors.”

“I did not.” Bitty was indignant. “I simply wanted our side of the story to get out before people started saying all kind of crazy things. That’s all.”

“And yet, oddly enough, people are saying all kind of crazy things. About
me
.”

“Are they? Why . . . how odd.” Bitty buried her face in Chen Ling’s furry neck. I narrowed my eyes.

“What have you been saying, Bitty? C’mon, you can tell me. And you might want to be the one to tell me before I hear it from someone else. Or read it in the paper.”

“Well . . . I might have left out a few parts here and there to a couple people.”

“Ah. A few parts here and there. I assume you mean the parts where
you
were involved in the incident of the traveling corpse. Right?”

“No, not really. Well. Not much. Oh Trinket, you know how it is, people just say mean things. I knew all this would come out now that we’ve had to make a statement about our part in it, and I didn’t want anyone to think Clayton had anything to do with the professor’s murder. If they thought I was behind moving the professor’s body, then they might think Clayton is guilty. That’s all. I didn’t think people would assume you did it all by yourself. I really didn’t.”

I wanted to be mad. Instead I just fixed myself a tall glass of sweet tea. It took a couple minutes to do that, and by the time I had taken a few sips, the entrée was ready. I really do love most aspects of modern technology.

“Are you mad at me?” Bitty asked when I took the plate she offered me.

“Not anymore. I’m over it. I just wish you’d told me what you were doing. Then I could have been more prepared. Does the police department know you’ve been telling people details of the case?”

Bitty gave me a blank look. “I have no idea,” she said after a moment. “I never thought to ask. Do you think it matters?”

“It might. If it does, I imagine we’ll hear from Lieutenant Stone again.” I took a bite of the Chicken Parmigiana and closed my eyes in ecstasy. Sharita really is good. I carried my plate from the counter to the small table and chairs under a corner window. The only window covering is wooden shutters that were open to allow in sunlight.

Bitty followed me. “Well, we’ve given our official statement, so we should be left out of this from now on. I mean, it’s not like we know for sure who killed him.”

“Thank god,” I mumbled around another bite of chicken and tomato sauce. “But I don’t think we’re completely out of the equation yet. Oxford police may want to talk to us, too, remember.”

Bitty made a dismissive motion with one hand. “Oh, they can just go by the statement we already made.”

“Right. Let’s hope they come to the same conclusion,” I said. She gave me an inquiring look, so I added, “That no one we know is a suspect. Or at least, no one in our family.”

Bitty nodded. “Amen to that, sister.”

We finished our early lunch, and before I left to go back to the shop, I told Bitty not to make any more phone calls. “Let people call you. Everything gets twisted around anyway. By the time it gets back to the source, they’ll have us both riding the corpse into the football game. That’s not fair to his widow or to us. We need to let this die down as quickly as possible.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing to protect Clayton,” said Bitty with a sigh. “I guess I just made things worse.”

“Well, not for him. And I can handle what’s said to me. By the way, you might want to give your boys a call and explain things before the gossip gets to Oxford.”

Bitty looked stricken. “Oh, I hadn’t even thought about that. I’ll call them right now.”

When I left, I was just sure she’d be more careful about what she said to whom. I can be so stupidly optimistic.

By the time I got home
that afternoon it was already dark. Approaching winter closed in early these days, and with my car window down I inhaled chilly air rich with the scents of wood fires and burning leaves. I parked in front of what used to be a stable of sorts that had been reinvented as a garage. Mama’s big Lincoln and Daddy’s Ford truck were in the garage; there was room for two more cars, but I parked outside so I didn’t have to maneuver past stacks of old fertilizer, wheelbarrows and various yard equipment that should be stored in the barn but wasn’t.

Instead of going around to the back, I went in the front door. Brownie met me in the hallway, barking ferociously.

“You can’t scare me,” I said to him. “I’ve already been hassled by a fat pug.”

For some reason that admonishment made him happy. He put his ears back on his dachshund head and his front paws up on my skirt. Since he has the longer legs of his beagle ancestry, this put him at my kneecaps. Rather surprised at this greeting, I bent to pat the top of his head. He promptly grabbed the cuff of my blouse and began to tug. No amount of discouragement convinced him to let go, and I was debating on whether to call for help or lift him high enough in the air to cause vertigo when my father appeared at the end of the hall.

“Brownie,” he said calmly, and of course, the little sniper immediately let go of my cuff.

“I was ambushed,” I said, frowning at the now frayed edges of my sleeve. “He used a bait and switch tactic on me.”

Brownie looked up at my father adoringly. His tail thumped the floor a few times, and I could tell from Daddy’s face that I’d already lost this battle.

“Never mind,” I said with a sigh.

“How was your day?” Daddy asked when we reached the kitchen. He sounded a bit strained and kept clearing his throat.

I looked at him a little more closely. “I’ve had better,” I answered cautiously. “Is everything all right?”

Daddy looked around, then leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “Your mother has been on the phone most of the day.”

“Oh lord.”

He nodded. “I’m sure you have a good explanation. You know. For things.”

Things
translated to trouble. I sighed again. “I do have an explanation. I’m not sure she’ll think it’s a good one. I’m not sure I even think it’s a good one. It’s just the truth.”

Daddy nodded. “Then it’ll do.”

“I hope so.”

Actually, my mother was much more understanding by the time she came into the kitchen with a fistful of cut flowers. A few mums, some fading hydrangea blooms, and an assortment of wildflowers were put into an old blue canning jar and set in the middle of the big oak table before we sat down to talk. I told her exactly what had happened, and she nodded when I finished.

“After the fifth phone call with a different wild story about what you and Bitty did down in Oxford, I began to figure out that something was screwy about all this.” Mama reached over to pat my hand. “I do think you need to stop going to places where there are dead people, however. It’s beginning to look very odd.”

“Well, there goes my volunteer work at the county morgue,” I joked, and my mother winced. So much for trying a little levity.

“Trinket, these recent activities of yours and Bitty’s are going to end up getting you hurt very badly one day, I fear.”

I started to answer, but felt a sneeze coming on and paused. My nose itched, and my eyes began to water. I wrinkled my nose a couple times and took a deep breath. Then I sneezed loudly. Mama handed me a tissue.

“Bless you,” she said, and I nodded.

“Are any of those wildflowers goldenrod?” I asked a bit wetly.

Mama looked at the bouquet in the blue canning jar. “Oh. Yes. I didn’t even think about your allergies. I’ll throw them out.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just move them to the counter. Look,” I said around the tissue I held to my nose, “I’m sure everything will be fine. Bitty and I have talked to the police, and they know everything we know.”

“Really?” Mama turned to look at me where I stood by the counter. “You’ve both talked to the police?”

I nodded. “We have. Lieutenant Stone. He was pretty nice about it all. I’m sure this will all blow over soon. It usually does.”

“Yes, but sometimes between ‘will’ and ‘soon’ a lot of other things happen. I just don’t want you or Bitty to run into any more killers. It’s a terrible habit to have.”

“I completely agree. Fortunately, this killer is down in Oxford, and Bitty and I are in Holly Springs. There’s absolutely no reason that should change.”

Mama nodded in relief. “I hope so, sugar. By the way, Dr. Coltrane was out here today, and he said to tell you he’s still planning on picking you up tomorrow evening, so call him if plans have changed.”

Kit? Pick me up? Apparently we had a date I’d completely forgotten about. I’d call him.

When I went upstairs a few minutes later, I kicked off my shoes and sank down on my bed. I flopped backward onto my pillows and dialed Kit’s cell phone number. I felt somewhat like a teenager again, lying across my bed and talking to a boyfriend. It didn’t seem that long ago since I’d done this kind of thing, or felt this kind of excitement while I waited for him to pick up. It must seem silly, me being in my fifties and as giddy as a girl about a boy, but I guess some things don’t change that much just because of gray hair and a few extra pounds.

Kit answered, and his deep voice ignited heat that raced through my veins. “Hi, sexy,” I said in my most sultry tone, and he laughed.

“Hi yourself, beautiful.”

See why I get giddy? Any man who can call me beautiful and mean it ranks right up there with Elvis and Steve Perry, in my book.

“So what’s on our agenda for tomorrow night?” I asked when I could breathe normally again.

“Movie and drinks, or dinner and dancing,” he said. “Your choice.”

“Hm. Are there any other options? I mean since we’re doing multiple choice here, there should be at least an option C.”

“Ah, I know a cozy spot on a rug in front of a fire, free drinks included. Does that make a good option C?”

“You bet. Let me see . . .” I pretended to weigh my options for a moment, and so said, “The only movie I really want to see is one of those cartoon graphics by Disney or Pixar, I can’t recall which, and my dancing shoes are in cold storage, so that leaves—why, I guess that leaves option C.”

“Seven o’clock, my house?”

“I’ll be there,” I promised.

We talked aimlessly for a few minutes while my toes finally began to uncurl, and my heartbeat returned to a more normal pace, and when we hung up, I couldn’t stop smiling. I probably looked like an idiot, but since there was no one in my room to see, I didn’t care.

I stood up and stretched lazily. A hot shower would be relaxing, and afterward I could go through my wardrobe and try to find something that didn’t shriek
outdated
or
ugly
. Maybe Bitty was right. I really did need new clothes.

Just as I put my cell phone on my nightstand, a Hank Williams song announced another call. Kit, probably. I answered in my most sultry tone: “
Hellooo
there.”

I got a staticky silence. Then a voice said, “Yes, hello? Trinket?”

It was a female voice, so I said, “Yes, this is Trinket. Who’s this?”

“Cat. Catherine Moore. Listen—we need to talk. There’s something important I need to tell you.”

She sounded stressed, her voice strained and a bit lower than usual. I said, “Sure, Cat. What’s up?”

“No, I don’t mean now. It’s . . . I don’t trust phones. Tomorrow. Will you be free for lunch?”

“I’m off tomorrow, so I can meet you somewhere. In Oxford, or—”

“No! Not Oxford. God no, not here. It has to be somewhere else. I know. There’s a place in Tupelo. The Grill on East Main Street. Meet me there about eleven thirty. Okay?”

“All right—are you okay? You sound stressed.”

Catherine laughed a little. “That’s putting it mildly. Look, come alone, okay? And don’t tell anyone you’re meeting me. It’s not safe.”