Divas Do Tell (22 page)

Startled, I recalled the woman with the baseball bat and murder in her eyes. “Why do you say that?” I asked him.

“All those blamed dogs they let just run loose and annoy everyone are rescue dogs and always up to date on their shots. If one of them gets hurt she brings it in right away for treatment. The dog won’t even be hurt bad enough to see a vet, but Allison brings it in because she’s worried that it might be in pain.”

Since my brief experience with Allison had not been very reassuring, it was interesting that she’d be thought of as soft-hearted. It gave another dimension to her that I hadn’t considered. It’s often too easy to take people at face value, to believe what you hear or read about them without bothering to look deeper into who they are. I’m guilty of that more than I like to admit.

Kit sat up. “Here comes the doctor.”

Bitty’s doctor strode down the corridor. Two nurses followed closely behind him, and then went behind the curtains where Bitty lay in the bed. A moment later Jackson Lee came out, and he saw us and walked down to where we sat. He slung his long frame into a chair and heaved a sigh.

“That girl is going to be the death of me yet,” he said without preamble. I nodded. I completely understood his sentiment. He rubbed at his eyes, then ran a hand over his face. “Her car is pretty smashed up. I think it can be repaired, but I’d rather she trade it in and get a new one with the insurance. She won’t agree. She won’t even hear a word about it.”

“It’s the Franklin Benz,” I said, and he looked over at me. “No sentimental value, except that she had to fight long and hard to get back part of the money he owed her. The cash settlement wasn’t nearly all of it, so she asked for and got the Mercedes. It’s her trophy. A reminder that she won.”

Jackson Lee nodded. “Ah. Now I understand. Well, I’ll just have to see if it can be repaired so she’ll be safe in it. I don’t want her hurt when she hits the next curb or pole.”

“Bitty does forget to follow the rules of the road,” I said, and we both shook our heads.

When the doctor came out after examining Bitty he said they were going to keep her overnight to be safe. “She got a pretty good cut on the head that needs a few stitches, but I think she’s just rattled. We’re going to do some more X-rays and maybe a CAT scan.”

“Is that the one where you see if she has any brain waves?” I asked, and he grinned and shook his head.

“No. Are you suggesting we do an MRI?”

“In light of the fact she can’t seem to read the simple word STOP on a sign, it might be advisable. I’ve been telling her for months she’s brain-dead.”

He chuckled. “She may need an optometrist to check her vision if that’s the problem. I advise bed rest for the next few days, however. Does she live alone?”

I sensed a trap. So I asked cautiously, “Why?”

“I’d rather she not be by herself. She doesn’t have a concussion, but after something like this the patient can have a few days of confusion. She is definitely going to be sore. Airbags may save lives, but the sudden pressure of forcible air against the body can be a bit painful.”

I looked at Jackson Lee. He looked back at me. “I can stay with her tomorrow, but I have a big case down in Jackson the next day that I have to prepare for before I leave. I’ll hire a nurse to stay with her until I get back.”

Sighing, I shook my head. “You know that Bitty would drive a nurse into a nervous breakdown. It wouldn’t be the first time. She can stay with me. With my parents out of town I have to take care of their pets, and it’ll be easier if she comes to my house. She can sleep in their bedroom. It’s on the first floor, so she won’t have to go up the stairs like she would at her house.”

“There’s the matter of her—”

“Dragon. I know. Chitling and Brownie like each other. We’ll all be just one big happy family. I can hardly wait.”

Jackson Lee raised an eyebrow, and Kit smothered a laugh, but I put on my brightest smile and pretended it was all just wonderful. It was the least I could do for Jackson Lee. He worries.

BITTY WAS PEEVISH. She’s not a good patient. She sulks. She gripes. She balks at taking medicine and at taking it easy. I don’t blame her, but it can get very trying.

“It’s an antibiotic, Bitty. You have a gash in your head and three stitches. This will keep an infection away.”

“You know I don’t do drugs, Trinket.”

I rolled my eyes. That had been a point of debate at times. I tried again. “This isn’t a street drug. It was filled at Tyson’s Drugs. You’ve been going there all your life. Do you think they’d give you a dose of meth or heroin? Take it.” I held out the pill on its little china saucer again. The capsule rolled to the edge. She took the capsule, popped it in her mouth, and took a big swig of her sweet tea. Then she smiled.

“Thank you for being so patient with me, Trinket. I know I’m grouchy. I just hate lying around and doing nothing. I feel like a slug.”

“That’s okay. What are friends for?”

It was a lovely day, almost spring-like. Sunshine, cool winds, decent temperatures. I’d opened the windows to let in fresh air. Mama’s curtains belled out in the breeze. Bitty sat on the couch in the parlor, a light blanket over her lap and Chen Ling sitting like a small furry Buddha next to her. On her other side, Brownie sat with his nose in the air, sniffing.

“Are Aunt Anna and Uncle Eddie on their way home?” she asked, and I shook my head.

I hadn’t told her of their latest plans. Sometimes it’s best to pretend you don’t know something so you don’t worry too much. I play that game with myself a lot. Lately, more than ever before in my life.

“They met new friends and are staying over an extra week,” I said.

Bitty eyed me. “New friends? Well, that sounds interesting.”

I read between the lines. It was nice knowing we thought along the same lines. I envisioned international kidnappers holding my parents for ransom. Using them for science experiments. Sending them into space to see how septuagenarians handle the absence of gravity.

My parents envisioned a lovely stay in a sun-drenched Italian villa.

I’ve come to the realization that I’m the Walter Mitty of my generation. I concoct wild, improbable scenarios in my fevered brain. The main difference is that I don’t act them out. Oh yes, and that they will never really happen.

Bitty, on the other hand, does her best to act out the improbable situations she dreams up. It can be twice as frustrating as just replaying them endlessly in my mind. So I wasn’t that surprised at her next idea. Dismayed, yes, but not surprised.

“We should let people think I’m in the hospital or a coma while I stay here. Then I can investigate, and no one will suspect me.”

“Investigate what?” I asked.

Bitty waved a hand. “Stuff. You know. Mira Waller is behind some of this, I’m pretty sure. It’s just too convenient that she’s always around when there’s a murder.”

I sat down in Daddy’s big cushioned recliner. “What?”

“Mira Waller. I’ve been thinking about this, Trinket. It was on my mind, and that’s why I didn’t see that truck at the stop sign. Look at the evidence—Mira Waller doesn’t like any of the crew or any of the actors, either. They don’t like her. Why? There have to be valid reasons for mutual dislike.”

I raised my brows. “You don’t always have valid reasons for disliking someone.”

“Nonsense. They may not seem valid to you, but they’re valid to me. Anyway, here’s a young actress on the brink of becoming a huge star. She’s cast in a movie based on a bestselling book and sees a chance to get her dream. Then Dixie Lee mucks it all up by killing Billy Joe. Maybe Mira knows it’s her, maybe she doesn’t. But you have to admit that it’s pretty convenient she can’t account for where she is at key moments.”

“She can’t?”

Bitty slowly shook her head. “No. She can’t. Rayna has been able to find out some interesting facts about little Miss Mira. For instance—she says her hometown is Jackson, Mississippi but leaves out the part where she was born around here and lived in Holly Springs until elementary school.”

I’m sure my eyes got wider than dinner plates. Bitty smiled.

“Why wouldn’t she have mentioned that?” I wondered aloud. “Who are her people?”

That’s an old Southern way of asking who her family connections are, by the way.

Bitty’s smile got wider. “Her mama is Ruby May Wilson’s niece. You may remember her—she used to work for the Forsythes a long time ago.”

I nearly fell out of Daddy’s recliner. The Forsythe family had long employed the same family of Holly Springs’ residents to work in their home. It went as far back as Reconstruction, I think. The unique thing was the girls in the family were usually named after precious stones. Ruby. Sapphire. Pearl. Opal. It’s one of those inexplicable Southern customs like including a Confederate general’s surname in all your children’s forenames.

Or naming your daughter Eureka May Truevine after the Eureka Truevine Methodist Church when it’s going to cause that daughter endless explanations her entire life, repeating over and over again that the name Trinket is derived from Eureka because your older brother was too young to say Eureka properly and—well. You get the picture. My twin sister Emerald never had to suffer the trials I did with my name, even though my young daughter used to call her Auntie Em. The
Wizard of Oz
and flying monkey jokes had to be almost as annoying to her as the Eureka jokes are to me.

My parents have a lot to answer for.

Bitty looked like the cat with a canary under her paw. “Mira Waller isn’t honest. When someone isn’t honest about the little things, they aren’t honest about the big things.”

I agreed, of course. It’s true. “Do you remember what Aunt Imogene used to say?”

“Clean out my spit can?” Bitty guessed.

“That too. But I’m talking about when she used to tell us, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them.’ Do you remember that?”

Bitty nodded. “I do. Mama used to say that, too.”

“I know. Well, if you’re right, Mira has shown us who she is.”

“Does that mean you’re going to help me investigate?”

“No. I still think we need to let the police do that.” She looked so disappointed I had to add, “But I’ll help Rayna gather evidence. I’m just not going to snoop on people and risk my life and sanity running around town, hiding behind garbage cans or peeking in windows.”

“I do
not
hide behind garbage cans, Trinket.”

“Remember sneaking into Miranda Watson’s house that time? We hid in the bushes like stray cats and nearly got caught.”

“Bushes aren’t the same thing as garbage cans.”

“Close enough,” I said. “I hesitate to ask only because I’m not sure I want to hear your answer, but exactly what, who, and how are you planning to investigate?”

“If you’re not going to assist me, Trinket, I see no need in divulging my methods to you. You’re either in or you’re out.”

“If that’s supposed to make me beg to be included, it’s not working. Memories of past efforts are still too fresh in my mind.”

“Fine,” said Bitty a bit petulantly.

I just smiled. I know when I’m better off.

Bitty sniffed. “I’d appreciate it if you took me home in the morning, Trinket.”

“Not a chance. I promised Jackson Lee you’d stay here with me until the doctor said you could get up again, and he said you’re to have two more days of quiet and rest.”

Bitty narrowed her eyes at me. “I think I know better than that doctor how I feel, and I feel just fine. I want to go home.”

“No, you want to go making a nuisance of yourself somewhere by investigating murders that you shouldn’t be worrying about. And don’t even think about calling any Divas. I’ve already told everyone that you’re to have complete bed rest.”

“Sometimes, Trinket, you are not very nice.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I know.”

The next morning before I left to go in to work, I made sure Bitty had everything she needed: sweet tea, pills carefully laid out on the kitchen counter, frozen dinners ready to be put in the microwave, remote to the TV, snacks, all the animals fed, and all the liquor hidden. Some medications just shouldn’t be taken with Jack Daniel’s; I don’t care what Bitty says about it.

Since her Franklin Benz was wrecked and her BMW safely in her garage in town, Bitty had no transportation. As I’d already cautioned most of Holly Springs that she was supposed to rest, I felt pretty secure in thinking she would still be there when I got home.

I constantly underestimate my dear cousin.

I left the lingerie shop for home after my four hour shift. It’d been quiet most of the day, and there hadn’t been much reason for me to stay. I stopped and picked up lunch for Bitty and me then I headed down Highway 7 to Truevine Road and Cherryhill. It was a nice January day, sunshine but cool, and I rolled my windows down to let the breeze clear out stale air and my brain. I’d been on overload lately. It was nice to just let my mind drift. There wasn’t much traffic on the highway—a few cars, a truck or two and a farmer out on his small tractor—so I got home fairly quickly.

No one greeted me at the back door except for a grumpy Buddha and a squirrely dog. Both looked up at me expectantly as I called for Bitty. The TV was off, her lap blanket neatly folded on the couch, my parents’ bed made, and her small overnight bag that cost more than most people made in a week was still on the chair in their bedroom. The only thing missing was Bitty.