Divas Do Tell (9 page)

“You must harbor a lot of resentment toward her.”

“Damn right I do. She lied. She lied on the witness stand, and I went to prison for three years. I was eighteen. When I got out I couldn’t find a job anywhere because I’m a convicted felon. It was ten years before I got a job in a warehouse.” His mouth thinned into a bitter line. “I’d been accepted down at Mississippi State. I was going to be a marine biologist. Now I’m driving a forklift and supervising warehouse workers. As far as I’m concerned Dixie Lee doesn’t deserve a damn penny of all that money she’s making with the book and the movie.”

“Then you wouldn’t care if she just fell off the face of the earth, I suppose,” said Rayna, and he nodded.

“You got that right. If I could I’d be glad to give her a push. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m fixing breakfast for my grandkids.”

He shut the door, and we stood on the porch a minute just looking at each other. Then Rayna said, “The plot thickens.”

“So it does,” Gaynelle agreed. “We’re back to square one. We have three people who would love to see Dixie Lee dead.”

“Four,” I reminded them, and when they looked at me I said, “Bitty.”

“But she didn’t write the death threats.”

I shook my head. “No. Bitty’s more direct. She’d tell her to her face instead of go behind her back like that. My point is that we have no idea how many people feel the same way as they do. We could be missing a lot of suspects.”

“So who wants to tell Dixie Lee?” I asked as we got back into Rayna’s SUV. “She asked us to investigate, and all we’ve found out is that there are too many suspects to figure out who sent the letters.”

“We could always let Bitty do it,” Rayna said after a moment. “She’d enjoy that so much.”

We laughed, but it was true. Bitty would derive so much satisfaction from telling Dixie Lee she was hated by quite a few people.

“I’ll talk to Cady Lee,” Gaynelle said after a moment. “She’ll know how to tell Dixie Lee.”

“Sometimes I get confused with all the Lee names,” I said. “I wonder how their parents did it. I had moments when I called my one child by the dog’s name. And my parents were always calling us by each other’s name. It got to where we just all showed up when they called for any of us.”

“I do the same thing with my dogs and cats,” said Rayna. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had any kids.”

“Try teaching thirty of them at a time,” Gaynelle said with a laugh. “That’s one reason I chose to never have children. I wasn’t sure I could spend all day in the classroom and then go home to more sticky hands and spit wads.”

“Is that why you never married?” asked Rayna.

“Marriage can be highly overrated,” replied Gaynelle. “When it’s good it’s wonderful. When it’s not good, it’s hell on earth. I’ve been quite happy without a husband.”

“Well, I’ve been happy without my ex-husband,” I said. “I haven’t written off marriage altogether, but I intend to be a lot more cautious next time. I certainly have no intention of getting married because I like washboard abs. Youth can be such a foolish time.”

Rayna said, “I’ve been lucky. Rob is wonderful. We have our disagreements, but it never gets too nasty. Not even when Divas get arrested.”

“Rob never decided on hiring us as investigators, I noticed. I’m sure the thought of Bitty running around loose with an investigator’s license was involved in his decision.” I shook my head with a smile. “I can’t say I blame him at all. Truth be told, I wasn’t looking forward to getting involved in any of that. It can get too dangerous, and I’ve had enough of terror and bumps on the head.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Rayna and Gaynelle said in unison, and we all laughed.

By the time I reached Carolann’s shop it was nearly ten o’clock, and my energy was lagging. I made a pot of coffee in the break room at the back of the store before going out on the floor to rearrange expensive silk underwear. Carolann also sells beautiful blouses and a few boudoir items, but it’s her partner Rose Allgood who sells the really sexy stuff. By that I mean sex toys. Dildos. French panties with no crotch. Other things I haven’t examined and don’t want to know exist are neatly in glass cases in the part of the shop that’s a step down and behind blue velvet curtains. I call it the Blue Room.

Rose bought a former toy factory in town and has been outfitting it to make things like plastic forks as well as rubber “man parts” that I find both embarrassing and amazing. Just a peek into her side of the shop is a trip into a bizarre wonderland of different colored “man parts” of every size and consistency. It’s mind-boggling. What’s even more surprising is that Rose looks as if she’s stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, with pale blonde hair, a flawless complexion, and a cool demeanor more suitable for a socialite than a female version of Larry Flynt, the porno magazine entrepreneur.

“There are pastries in the fridge,” said Carolann as she stepped into the break room for a cup of coffee. “Fresh this morning.”

“I’m watching my girlish figure,” I lied. “Don’t tempt me.”

She grinned. She had her wiry red hair pulled up into a knot on top of her head and secured with a scrunchy hairband; huge wire hoops hung from her earlobes, and she had on green eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara thick enough to lube a car chassis. Her long tunic top and flowing accordion pleat skirt were tie-dyed in rainbow colors of scarlet, yellow, blue, and green. Plastic Mardi Gras beads hung around her neck. She gestured to the shop’s main floor.

“I’m decorating the shop with a combination of Mardi Gras and Valentine’s Day items. Come tell me what you think.”

Racks of expensive Vera Vera undergarments by Vera Wang were strategically situated to catch the shoppers’ eyes when they came in the front door. Carolann had hung a few Mardi Gras masks on one side of the shop and big red hearts and lace doily cut-outs on the other side. Somehow it worked.

“I’m not a big name shop, but I did manage to get in a limited line of Wacoal Dia and Agent Provocateur corsets,” she said.

I looked at them. They were lovely, fashioned from silk and lace, wispy undergarments that fairly shouted sex appeal. When I looked at the price tag I nearly fainted. The corsets started at $345, and the bras sold for no less than $150. Sex appeal should never shout that loud.

“Good lord,” I said. “Are these going to be regular items?”

“No, just while all the movie people are here. They have money, and you just never know when one of them might come into the shop.”

“How many of these corsets does Bitty have?” I wondered aloud, and Carolann grinned.

“Two. One in white and one in black and red.”

“Bitty does love to be prepared for every occasion,” I said. “I shudder to think what Rose has put in the Blue Room.”

“She’s not as farsighted as I am. I think she’s done very little to entice the wealthy.”

“A pity. I’m sure she’d sell out the shop in an hour if they only knew.”

“Any luck on finding out who sent Dixie Lee those death threats?” Carolann asked as we positioned the new items within three feet of the front door.

“Yes. Everyone in Holly Springs and a fifty mile radius wants to see her dead. Other than that, no, we don’t know who sent them.”

“It makes me wonder how everyone felt about her before she wrote the book. Was she always this hated?”

“I have no idea. I vaguely remember her from my teenage years. She was older than us by three years, I think. Or four. It depends on who you talk to as to her age.”

“She’s certainly made some unwise decisions in her life.”

I finished setting up the rack with the bras, then said, “Haven’t we all? We just don’t write about them in a bestselling book.”

“Have you read it yet?”

“I’ve read the first three chapters. Bitty loaned me her copy. She highlighted certain paragraphs in it, so I’ve been a little worried she might do something rash.”

Carolann laughed. “I’m shocked at the very suggestion. Bitty is such a calm person. Not at all a danger to herself or the community.”

She was being sarcastic. It’s well-known that my serene cousin carries a huge pistol and has been known to use it, although never too recklessly. Due to Diva complaints, she took classes and had her weapon registered, but that’s not always enough to protect the town. Her efforts did come in handy not long ago, but now we’re just waiting on catastrophe.

Business picked up during the day, and I didn’t have much time to think about Dixie Lee or the threats against her, although I did catch some of the excitement at the movie people being in town. It was interesting watching them set up for location shots, the camera guys setting up little tracks and adjusting all the time for lighting or the best angles.

By the time we closed the shop at six it was dark, and the movie people had all vanished from the street in front of the courthouse. One of the shop’s customers had said they were shooting scenes at Cady Lee’s house, supposedly the childhood home of the Forsythe family and where the fictional character of Desirée DuBois grew up. Some of the book’s scenes featured the narrator, Desirée, as an observer of the events she described. From what I’d read so far, Desirée immersed herself in the lives of others only when it moved the story along. The main plotline revolved around the scandal of Billy Joe Cramer and Susana Jones—or Joe Don Battles and Sharona Smith as they were known in the book—and how Civil Rights issues affected them.

“Do you want to go over and watch them film at Cady Lee’s house?” Carolann asked, and I shook my head.

“I have to go home to feed critters. If I’m too late, Brownie tends to devour furniture and other delicacies. I’m not sure I could explain that to my parents.”

“I’m going over there for a few minutes,” said Carolann. “It’s just so exciting to watch.”

I didn’t feel a bit left out as I drove home. Watching movies being made held limited appeal for me. Bitty may be blinded by Hollywood lights, I told myself, but I was just fine in the dark.

It doesn’t take as long as one might think to put out big pans of dry cat food and open dozens of tins for cats in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They’ve got the routine figured out a lot better than I do. Some sit patiently waiting while others curl around my ankles and yammer at me until I empty the tins into shallow pie pans. There aren’t usually too many squabbles between the cats since there are a lot of pie tins to go around. While they eat I clean water bowls and refill them and make sure there are no injured cats in the beds along the walls or up in the lofts. I was lucky enough this time that there were no sick cats requiring medications so that I didn’t have wire crates with litter pans to empty and cats to medicate.

When I finished that I went in the house to turn the hound loose in the back yard. He ran around like crazy, throwing back his head every now and then to announce the fact that there’d been a squirrel, bird, or other critter in the yard. Since Cherryhill sits on ten acres surrounded by woods and fields, and the subdivision down the street has too many residents to encourage critters like possums or raccoons, we get our fair share in the yard. I waited on the deck for the dog, mentally counting to ten a few times while he finally decided to take care of his business. Sometimes he sniffs along the ground and poops at the same time, a trick not many dogs I’ve known have managed. I can’t decide if Brownie has attention deficit syndrome or is just really good at multi-tasking.

Once back in the house I went through the ritual of heating his food and putting it in his bowl on the placemat before I could tend to my own dinner. Another frozen pizza had little appeal. I decided to scramble some eggs and make toast instead.

I’d just sat down at the table when my cell phone rang. It was still in my purse across the kitchen, and I debated not answering it. Sometimes my first instinct is related to survival. When I ignore that instinct is when I get into trouble. Still, I got up and went to my purse to dig out the phone.

Bitty chirped, “I’m coming over with our outfits. We need them tomorrow, so you have to try on yours. I think you’re going to like it.”

I doubted that. “I’m eating,” I said. “Maybe we can do that tomorrow.”

“No, tonight. We have to be on the set at five in the morning.”

Black dots danced in front of my eyes. “Five in the
morning
? Who does anything at five in the morning?”

“Well, apparently, Hollywood people do.”

“That’s obscene. And I’m amazed you’re even considering it at that hour. You rarely get up until ten in the morning.”

“I’m willing to suffer for my career.”

“What career?”

Bitty sounded a bit exasperated when she said, “My acting career, Trinket.”

Good lord
.

“An acting career as an extra doesn’t sound like something I want to suffer for, Bitty. If it was later in the day, maybe I would be more interested.”

“This could be our big break, Trinket.”

“As what? Pedestrians?”

There was a moment of silence before she said, “One day you’ll thank me for dragging you out. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I would have said I was going to bed or taking a shower or just twiddling my thumbs, but she’d already hung up. Since I’m not sure I know how to twiddle anyway, I sighed and finished my scrambled egg sandwich. Brownie looked up at me expectantly. I shook my head.