Divas Do Tell (42 page)

She rolled the tea table into the living room; two couches sat parallel to the fireplace with a large coffee table between and easily reachable by all. Wingback chairs covered in red damask had been drawn close to the hearth, flanking it.

“Did you hear about Mrs. Whitworth?” Bitty asked when we had our tea cups filled and slices of cream cake on our dessert plates.

Sandra looked at us over the tea cup she held to her mouth. “No, I didn’t. Has she been able to remember what she saw that might help identify the killer?”

“We don’t know. She was attacked and almost killed the other night. They have her under heavy sedation until it’s safe enough to allow her to wake. She was pretty badly injured. At her age it could be fatal.”

Sandra’s eyes grew wide. “Good heavens!
Almost
killed? That’s awful! Who do they think did such a terrible thing?”

“The police haven’t said. I have my own ideas, however,” said Bitty. “It must have been either Dixie Lee or Mira Waller.”

“There’s no proof against either one of them, Bitty,” I said.

Bitty looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Neither one of them has an alibi for that night, and the only reason Mrs. Whitworth would be attacked is because she remembered an important clue from the day Billy Joe was murdered.”

“And how do you know they don’t have an alibi?” I countered.

Bitty smiled. “Because I checked up on them. Dixie Lee told Cady Lee that she was going for a drive alone to clear her head and didn’t come back for over four hours. Mira didn’t show up on time for her last scene, and when she did arrive she was flushed and flustered according to my source.”

“And your source would be . . . ?” When she didn’t reply I set down my tea cup and gave her all my attention. “Look here, Bitty, you’re always looking for proof to support your theories instead of looking for facts.”

“So?”

“So you should look for facts first, then form a theory. You know that. We’ve been over this before.”

Sandra looked from one of us to the other before saying, “Well, since I hear Mira’s car door slamming, you’re going to have one of your suspects right here to interrogate. This should be informative.”

Bitty nodded. “I’m pretty good at finding out things. As long as Trinket doesn’t make me dress up as a maid or pretend to be a gambler, that is. Disguises never work out well for me.”

“And they do for me?” I demanded incredulously. “At least you never had to hide in a shop filled with dildos while some maniac is hunting you down.”

“That was your fault. Besides, you knocked him out with one of those dildos, so you shouldn’t complain.”

Sandra laughed. “You two are a scream. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you or the other Divas.”

“And you’ll probably leave Mississippi swearing to never return,” I said. “I was told the filming is almost over, is that right?”

Nodding, Sandra said, “I filmed my last major scene with Bruce today. I’m going to relax for a day or two while they screen the reels and see if I need to redo a scene. Then I’m headed home.”

“You’ll just have to come back to see us sometime,” said Bitty.

As the doorbell rang and Sandra got up to answer it she said, “I’m not sure that will be possible.”

Mira came into the living room shaking rain from her hair and cape. Without the movie make-up she usually wore she looked very young and vulnerable. It was difficult for me to think she might be a ruthless killer. But I suppose that’s how many killers are, able to morph into the person next door to hide their deadly natures. It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong. Lethal charades had fooled me before.

When Mira saw me and Bitty she paused then looked at Sandra. “I didn’t realize you’d invited others.”

“Didn’t I say? I’m sorry. I’ll take your cape, dear. It’s very lovely. Versace, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Mira went to stand in front of the fireplace, looking elegant in her slim-fitting dark green slacks and sweater. Leather boots reached almost to her knees.

Even though she tried not to show it, I could tell she was uneasy. Maybe she knew she was a suspect in not just Buck’s death but two others. That was enough to make anyone edgy.

“Tea?” Sandra asked her. “I have Darjeeling. I know it’s one of your favorites.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Mira.

Mira perched on the edge of the couch next to Sandra and took the tea cup held out to her. For a moment we chatted about the movie and how the rushes looked, which scenes were the best, and how the script supervisor had mixed up some of the lines.

“A silly mistake,” said Mira. “She should have been paying more attention. One of my lines got mixed up with one of Bruce’s, and it took Simon almost ten minutes to get things sorted out. Everything has been fast-tracked since we had to change the male lead, but Simon and Bruce have done an amazing job of recreating key scenes. Bruce is still trying to master an authentic Southern accent, though.”

Bitty smiled and then said, “But you’re from this area, I understand, Mira?”

Mira’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was born near here, but we moved down to Jackson when I was still a baby.”

“So you consider Jackson your home, then,” I said, and she nodded.

“I lived in north Jackson most of my young years. My brother attended Tougaloo College, and I went to Murrah High. When I was in a school production of
South Pacific
I realized what I wanted to do the rest of my life. I’m lucky to have met the right people.”

It was more than I’d heard her say at once the entire time she’d been in Holly Springs, but I hadn’t seen her off the set much. Despite my unfavorable opinion of her, I still didn’t know if she was capable of killing anyone. She just seemed so blamed young.

But then Sandra said, “It’s a shame about Buck being murdered. I was told it must be someone close to him that did it.”

Mira went from uncertain child to outraged woman in a heartbeat. Her eyes flashed, her mouth thinned, and she clenched her hands so hard she broke the handle off the tea cup she held.

“If you’re insinuating I did it, you can damn well stop! I loved Buck. I had no reason to kill him, and I’ve told that to the police a dozen times.”

“Really? But there was no love lost between you and Abby Bloom,” I said.

Mira stuck her chin the air. “So? She was a bitch, and I told her what I thought of her, but she didn’t hold back how she felt, either. We got into it a few times, and I’ve told the police that, too. I may have wanted to smack her, but I never considered killing her.”

“Excuse me, dear,” said Sandra, “but I overheard you and Abby. It certainly didn’t sound friendly when you told her to watch her step or you’d run over her with a camera truck.”

Mira flushed. “I may have said that, but I didn’t actually do it. There’s a big difference in saying something when you’re mad and really doing it.”

She stood up. “I was invited out here for tea and to mend fences, not to be interrogated by you. I should have known better. You’ve always been a selfish bitch, Sandra, and now that your career is going down the drain you try to take as many as you can with you. Abby told me about you, and even Buck warned me that you’d stop at nothing to get what you want. Well, you’re not going to get a confession from me because I haven’t done anything. And a word of warning—don’t get in my way. I can make you very sorry you even thought about it.”

When she started for her cape that hung on the chair next to our coats, Sandra stood up and blocked her. “You’ve misunderstood, Mira. We’re simply trying to clarify events. The police have questioned all of us. You’re the only one without a solid alibi for the first murder or for Buck’s murder. Your alibi for Abby’s murder is plausible but not set in stone. Do you see?”

Mira shook her hair back from her face and glared at Sandra. “Oh, I see all right. You’re not clarifying anything but your own alibis. Buck told me about you and Abby getting into a fight, you know. He was going to the police, too.” She paused. Then her eyes dilated, and she looked at Sandra for a long moment. Her voice was husky when she said, “It was you. You’re the person I saw leaving the house when Buck was murdered . . .”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sandra said sharply. “And stop trying to shift the blame to others. It won’t work.”

Mira shook her head slowly. Her voice slurred slightly as she said, “But I saw you. I just didn’t know it was you. And then . . . and then I saw Buck lying on the floor, blood was everywhere . . . and there was nothing I could do. That’s when I ran out. I didn’t even think about shutting the door. I told the police a man ran out of the house because that’s what I thought I saw that night. It
was
you, wasn’t it?”

Paralyzed by their accusations, I couldn’t move, could only stare at them as they faced each other. Not even Bitty moved. We sat there like rocks waiting for Sandra’s answer.

Even before she lifted a brow and laughed, I knew suddenly that it had been her, and that she was the “man” Mrs. Whitworth had seen at Billy Joe’s door. I didn’t know how I knew it, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“My dear little Mira,” Sandra drawled, “you’re not nearly as dumb as you look after all.”

Swaying, Mira put out a hand to steady herself, fingers clawing at the back of the chair holding our coats. She blinked several times and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then, without warning, she slipped to the floor in a dead faint.

“Well,” Sandra said cheerfully, “one down, two to go.”

A cold chill swamped me as she turned to look at us, and that’s when I saw the pistol she held in her right hand. Oh, damn . . .

Chapter 21

BITTY SOUNDED cross when she demanded, “What are you doing what that gun, Sandra?”

“I’d think it was rather obvious, Bitty. Now just do as I ask, and this will be over with quickly. I’ve had to make a few changes in my original plans, but I’m flexible.”

“You’re crazy,” I said. “Especially if you think you can get away with this.”

“Of course I can. I’ve done my research rather carefully.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Bitty said, “This is ridiculous! Is this some elaborate joke or something?”

“If it is, I’m going to have the last laugh. Now take this rope and tie up Trinket first. Then you can tie up Mira in case she comes to before I’m ready.”

Bitty did her best mule impression, standing still and staring at Sandra and the rope she held out with an obstinate expression I’ve grown quite accustomed to seeing. “No. I’m not tying up anyone.”

Sandra said calmly, “You can tie up Trinket, or I can shoot her. Either way will work out. It’s up to you.”

Getting shot is not my idea of fun. “It’s okay, Bitty,” I said. “Do what she tells you.”

Sandra smiled. “Very good, Trinket. You’re being sensible.”

“No, I’m being practical. When we don’t come home on time someone will come out here looking for us.”

“No, they won’t. You didn’t tell anyone you were coming out here, just as Mira didn’t tell anyone she was coming out here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do know that. If nothing else, I’m a fairly good judge of character.”

I didn’t say anything. She was right, but that didn’t have to mean I’d admit it. At least let her think it was a possibility. To stall for time since Bitty had never been in the Girl Scouts and didn’t know the first thing about rope tying and knots, I looked at Sandra and said, “You were born in Chicago, weren’t you?”

She nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Yes, I was. That’s in my bio. Everyone knows that.”

“Yes, but not everyone knows that your real father’s name is Billy Joe Cramer.”

Sandra’s smile vanished completely. “If you’ve read my bio,” she said coldly, “you’d know that my father’s name was Samuel Brady, and I was born in 1977.”

“No, your stepfather’s name was Brady, and you were born in 1969. You’ve shaved eight years off your age, and quite well, too. No one suspected you’re much older than you claim.”

Shrugging, she said, “So you’ve learned my big secret. I’m older than people think. As far as I know that’s not a criminal offense.”

“No, but murder is, and you shot Billy Joe Cramer as sure as I’m standing here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mira shot him, and she killed Abby and then Buck. And she’s going to shoot both of you and try to shoot me before I can shoot her. She’s quite a little serial killer.”

I tilted my head to one side as Bitty slid the rope around my wrists and tied them behind my back as Sandra instructed. “That’s your plan? To get the three of us out here and then claim Mira is the killer? It’ll never work.”

“Of course it will. Unfortunately for all of you, you’ll be dead and unable to argue any differently.”

“This is the worst murder plot I’ve ever heard. Holly Springs’ police aren’t nearly as dumb or backwater as you seem to think.”

“It worked beautifully in
Magnificent Melrose Murders
,” she said. “I played the part of the wronged heroine. In the movie I survived to tell the police what really happened. Alas, that won’t be the case for poor Mira.”