Divas Do Tell (23 page)

I put our lunch on the kitchen table, let the dogs outside, and walked to the barn to see if she’d gone there for some strange reason. Bitty isn’t known as an outdoor person. The closest she gets to nature is in her flower garden with a basket and a pair of scissors. She hires people to mow her yard, trim her hedges, and plant her flowers. When she was young she had a pony that she rode all over the place, but looking back on those days I’ve realized that was just her accepted mode of transportation because she was too young to drive. Bicycles were never her favorite; it took too much energy to pedal. Her attempts at exercise were very brief.

The only living creatures in the barn were a couple dozen cats sunning in hazy shafts of light through the open door. They blinked sleepily at me but didn’t get up. It wasn’t feeding time yet, and they don’t like expending unnecessary energy. It occurred to me that Bitty is a great deal like a cat. She’s only motivated by mysterious reasons she keeps to herself, is willful and often lazy. And she’d disappeared with no warning.

When the dogs were finished with their business I escorted them back into the house and picked up the phone. I called Bitty’s cell phone. No answer. I left a message:

“Elizabeth Ann Truevine Hollandale, you better not have gone off doing something stupid. Call me back, or I’m calling Jackson Lee.”

Then I hung up. I waited fifteen minutes, and she didn’t call back. It was time to start tracking her down.

I called Rayna first.

“Have you seen Bitty?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t. I talked to her earlier though. She wanted me to come and get her.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, she just said she needed a ride to her house. Of course, I said no like you asked me to say.”

I heaved a sigh. “She knows she’s not supposed to be active yet. The doctor advised two more days of rest.”

Rayna was silent a moment, then she said, “Well, you know Bitty.”

“Yes,” I said, “I know Bitty. Dammit.”

I called Gaynelle next. “Have you seen or heard from Bitty?”

“Not since earlier this morning. Oh, I guess around ten. I told her my car is acting up. Is she missing?”

“Yes. She’s gone AWOL. I came home from work, and she’s not here.”

Gaynelle asked, “Did she have plans of some kind, perhaps?”

“Not good plans. She wanted me to go investigating with her. I don’t even know what she wants to investigate or who. I’d call Jackson Lee and ask if he’s heard from her, but I don’t want to worry him. She’s not answering her cell phone.”

“Well,” said Gaynelle. “You know Bitty.”

“That’s what scares me,” I said. “I know Bitty.” That seemed to sum it up fairly neatly. We all knew Bitty.

I had just worked my way partially down the list of Divas when my cell phone rang. I clicked off the kitchen phone and answered my cell. The Caller ID said it was Carolann.

“Hi,” I said. “You were next on my list.”

Carolann didn’t ask why. Instead she said, “Trinket, is there a good reason for Bitty to be riding a lawnmower down the middle of the street?”

I sat stupidly for a moment. Then I asked cautiously, “Riding a what?”

“It’s a John Deere lawnmower. I don’t think it’s big enough to be a tractor.”

I walked to the back door and opened it. At the side of the barn is a shed where Daddy puts the John Deere and some more equipment. Mama made him move it from the garage that used to be a stable when she couldn’t get their big old Lincoln inside without blocking herself in. The door to the shed was open. No John Deere.

“No,” I said to Carolann, “there’s no good reason for Bitty to be riding a lawnmower down the street. That doesn’t mean she’s not doing it, however.”

“I didn’t think it was Bitty at first.” She gave a little laugh. “Then I thought maybe she’s playing a role in the movie.”

“I doubt it. The only reason she’s not been completely banned from the set is that she’s become friends with one of the stars. But anything’s possible. Are you sure it’s Bitty?”

“It took a moment for me to recognize her. She’s—well, she’s not dressed as usual.”

As I listened to Carolann I grabbed my car keys, purse and my coat, turned on a light in case I didn’t get back before dark, and went out to my car. I have a Ford Taurus that I love. It’s not new, it’s not fancy, but it’s paid for, and I love the way it drives. I clicked the door unlocked with the remote and got inside, asking as I started the car, “Why? What is she wearing? And is she still on the lawnmower?”

I tore off down the half-circle drive and onto Truevine Road, bucking slightly over the concrete culvert as Carolann gave me a play-by-play on Bitty.

“Well, that’s just the thing. She keeps circling the court house square. Some of the movie people have been yelling at her and pulling stuff out of her way, but she just waves at them and keeps going in circles. She’s wearing a felt cowboy hat, a scarf, a man’s jacket, boots, and she has on her expensive sunglasses.” Carolann paused a second then said, “She’s mowed the court house lawn twice now and took out some of the flowerbeds. Is that in the script?”

I was almost down Truevine Road to the highway, and I took the turn on two wheels. Bitty’s not the only one who can drive recklessly, but at least I wear my seatbelt.

“I have no idea. Are the movie people still yelling at her? What are they filming?”

“I think they were filming the scene where Billy Joe and Susana meet up in front of the court house right before she leaves town. In the book they meet up to run off and get married, but we know that didn’t happen.”

“Yes,” I said as I lowered my foot on the accelerator and tore off down Highway 7. “We know that didn’t happen. Bitty’s not in the movie, either. Where is she now?”

“Still circling. Why is she doing that?”

“I have no idea. I should be there in five minutes. If she stops for any reason, don’t let her get away.”

“Is she all right?”

“Physically, probably. Mentally, she’s never been right.”

There wasn’t much Carolann could say to that.

By the time I reached the court square the movie crew had managed to pull all their cameras and dollies up on sidewalks. They stood under the overhang outside the realty office by Budgie’s café and just watched as Bitty made another circle. Daddy’s John Deere roared past in a blast of fumes and smoke. It didn’t seem to be doing well.

I double-parked my car on Memphis Street and got out with the intention of flagging down my irresponsible, hard-headed, idiotic cousin. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the curb at the front of the court house, Bitty was on the backside. So I stood close to the gazebo on the court house lawn and waited for her. She thundered toward me quickly enough, her gloved hands tightly holding the steering wheel, my daddy’s hat tied to her head with a scarf, and another scarf around her neck flapping in the wind. She was wearing Daddy’s boots, too. They looked ridiculous on her feet, coming up almost to her knees. I had absolutely no idea why she was doing this, and hoped the bump on her head hadn’t made her crazy. Any more crazy, anyway.

I stood my ground, convinced she would at least avoid me if not stop to argue. But as she got close she started yelling at me, waving with one hand for me to move. That made me mad. It was one thing for her to be stupid enough to use my daddy’s old lawnmower to get to town, and quite another to try and run me down. I had no intention of letting her get away with it.

It wasn’t until she got within three feet of me that I realized she was going to stay on the same path she’d already worn in the grass. At the last moment I managed to leap out of the way, but I landed in a big old bush planted next to the gazebo. Nothing but chewed sticks stuck up out of the ground next to it, the tattered remnants of a destroyed nandina.

Astonished as much as I was angry, I stared after her as she held on to the steering wheel and roared around the court house lawn, bumping over the sidewalks, rumbling toward College Street. It was obvious she’d gone insane. I couldn’t think how I was going to tell Jackson Lee that Bitty had finally snapped. Maybe it was the bump on the head that had done it. Maybe it was just her time.

In the South we like to say that it’s not so much the question of whether there’s insanity in your family, it’s more a question of which side it’s on. Usually that’s just a self-deprecating way of poking fun at ourselves. Now I thought perhaps it must be true. The insanity must be on the Truevine branch of our family tree. A sad realization.

As Bitty roared toward me again, I stood up out of the bush and folded my arms across my chest. If she was going to run me down, she’d just better do it. If I survived we could be roommates in Whitfield, our state mental institution. Or whatever they call it now. A Retirement Home for the Criminally Insane, maybe. Mama calls it the “nervous hospital.” She’s being kind.

Bitty had scooted to one side on the lawnmower seat, still clinging to the steering wheel, her scarves twisting in the wind, bearing down on me like a freight train. I imagined myself as a brave soul awaiting my fate, chin up, shoulders back, eyes clear, and resigned to the inevitable.

It wasn’t until she got within five feet of me that I realized what she was going to do. She let go of the steering wheel, half-stood on the floorboard, then leaped at me from the lawnmower, scarves flapping like frayed wings, arms straight out, gloved hands curled into talons. She looked like a deranged hawk. I tried to avoid it, but she landed right on top of me. We both toppled backward into the bush. It wasn’t any more fun the second time than it had been the first time. I couldn’t imagine why she had attacked me.

Leaves and branches crackled under me as I floundered around with my idiot cousin on top of me. Bitty may be short, but her boobs have to weigh at least fifty pounds all on their own. Her weight was pushing me back against branches that refused to yield, and I banged my head against the side of the gazebo. If I could have caught my breath, I’d have been cussing a blue streak. As it was I just mangled a few words of protest.

Somehow Bitty got off me and out of the bush. Then she held out her hand to pull me up from the bush’s clutches. Still flailing about, I didn’t see it until she said, “Take my hand, and I’ll get you out of there, Trinket.”

She sounded almost rational. Daddy’s hat had come off her head, and one of the scarves was still caught in the bush. She’d lost her sunglasses and one of Daddy’s boots. I took her hand, but only because it was probably the only way I was going to get free. She tugged, and I finally got loose. Then I stood looking down at her. I wasn’t sure if she wouldn’t do something else equally mystifying and dangerous. Her next words dispelled my fears. Partially, anyway.

“You saved me, Trinket,” she said. “I couldn’t get the thing stopped—ohmygod, here it comes again.”

Unbelievably, the lawnmower headed straight toward us, driverless, careening around the court house as if guided by remote control. We barely escaped getting mowed down. Breathless, she pointed at the monster machine.

“How long does it take to run out of gas?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea. What happened?”

Still breathing hard, she bent over slightly, put her hands on her knees, and shook her head. “I don’t know. I wanted to come into town, but no one would come get me.” She shot me an accusing look. “You told them not to help me, or I wouldn’t have had to borrow that stupid lawnmower. I think it’s possessed. I got halfway here before I realized something’s wrong with it. It wouldn’t turn right, and I couldn’t get it to stop when I wanted, and then I got to Memphis Street and took the corner, and it wouldn’t straighten back out.”

She stood straight again. “After almost running over those movie people and destroying a few cables, the only thing I could think to do was somehow get it onto the court house lawn. I figured it wouldn’t do as much damage here. Took me three turns around the square to manage it. At least I only destroyed a few flowerbeds and some bushes.”

I glanced over at the sidewalk across Van Dorn where the movie crew, Simon Donato, Mira Waller, and Buck Prentiss stood safely out of harm’s way. “They might think differently. Those cables in the middle of the street look demolished.”

Bitty nodded. “I finally got the blades up, but I had to yank pretty hard on the lever. I did everything I could to stop the blamed thing. I even turned off the ignition and pulled out the key. It kept going. General Motors wouldn’t have needed a bail-out if they could make a car nearly as indestructible as that vile lawnmower. It’s possessed. I think it’s Christine reincarnated.”

“Here it comes again,” I said as it rounded the corner behind the court house. The wheels were at an angle, probably why it wouldn’t drive straight. It roared toward us, a thick, choking comet of black smoke trailing behind. People had come out of the court house to stand and stare at the rampaging John Deere. I was just glad Daddy wasn’t home. He wouldn’t be at all happy to see his old mower leaving a trail of nuts, bolts, and destruction.

A police car stopped in front of the court house, and two men in uniform got out. One of them was Rodney Farrell. He stood there a moment, hands at his waist resting on his utility belt, then looked over at us. He looks like a cross between Barney Fife and Opie, all grown up. He’s a nice young man most of the time. His months on the police force were beginning to mature him. I was sure just dealing with Bitty alone had aged him several years.