Drop Dead Divas (33 page)

To my horror, Bitty began to cry. Not loud sobs, just a silent weeping with tears running down her cheeks. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just went and put my arms around her shoulders and held her for a minute.

Chen Ling automatically assumed I was the cause of Bitty’s distress and began gnawing at my ankle, so I had to shake my leg to get her off. The determined little beast switched ankles. This time one of her three front fangs got skin instead of denim. I yelped loudly. Bitty jumped back. Chitling barked.

Bitty gave me a wild look, then saw the cause for my yelp and started to laugh. After I inspected my wound and decided I’d live, I began laughing along with her. Maybe not for the same reason, though.

“We’re a likely pair,” I said. “Both of us are crazy, but not in the same way.”

“Normally, I’d argue, but I suspect you’re right about that. So. You’ll do it?”

“Do what? Break and enter? Risk life and limb for something the police already have? Snoop where someone was almost killed? Risk running into the killer? You betcha. Just let me go home for my flashlight first. I may be late. Don’t wait for me.”

Bitty frowned. “But you have to go with us, Trinket. I already told Rayna you’d agreed.”

“You’re kidding—no, of course you’re not. Bitty . . . .”

“Don’t you understand, Trinket? I have to take control of some part of my life, or I’ll go crazy! It’s such a hopeless, helpless feeling to have my future in other people’s control, even though Jackson Lee is the best, he really is, and I was so stupid to have signed those papers without reading them carefully, but I did and now here I am without money, and people in this town are being stalked by some deranged killer that wants to kill me, too, and well—if I don’t
do
something, I’ll just go nuts, I really will!”

She stopped to take a breath and I heard myself say, “All right, all right, Bitty, but if I get killed, you have to be the one to tell my daughter. She’ll know exactly who to blame. You.”

Bitty looked relieved. “Fine. You won’t get killed. You always know how to take charge.”

“If I always know how to take charge, why am I always the one
not
in charge of these little forays into disaster?”

Bitty was looking me up and down and shaking her head. “You aren’t properly dressed for stealth. Your jeans are okay, but that shirt is too bright. You’ll have to wear one of mine.”

“Are you kidding? One of your shirts won’t even reach my navel.”

“I have bigger, longer shirts. Or maybe I could borrow one of the boys’ jerseys. They have some Dallas Cowboys jerseys in navy blue, I think. Their Ole Miss jerseys are all white with blue—what’s the matter. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you realize that what we’re about to do is against the law? That we’ll be committing a crime by breaking and entering?”

“Don’t be silly, Trinket. We won’t break anything, and it’s not like we intend to burgle the place. Rayna is pretty sure she recognized some of the pages scattered on the floor as what Miranda was working on when y’all went to visit her the other day. A visit that I was not included in, by the way.”

She held up a hand. “No, don’t feel as if you have to apologize for the oversight. I’ve gotten over it.”

“Good.” I didn’t add that I had no intention of apologizing.

Bitty turned to look at the antique French clock taking up a huge portion of one wall. “It should be dark in about an hour and a half. That gives us enough time to get you properly dressed and meet Rayna.”

“Shouldn’t we just meet her at the police station? It would save so much time.”

“You can be so droll, Trinket. Come on. We’ll pick you out a dark shirt to wear. I think Clayton has one that will fit. Your shoulders are a bit broader than his, but the sleeves are loose so it shouldn’t matter.”

I kept my opinion on having my shoulders compared to a football player’s to myself as we went upstairs. Behind door number one, Clayton’s room; clothes were on the floor, the bed, chairs, and hanging from a closet doorknob. An ever-optimistic Bitty went to the large chest of drawers against the far wall, however, and after pawing through several drawers, finally found a clean football jersey. At least, it was supposed to be clean. I wasn’t so sure.

“How long has it been since you’ve washed clothes?” I asked as we proceeded from Clayton’s room to Brandon's. “This jersey smells funny.”

“Wash clothes?” Bitty sounded a little vague.

“You have a brand new washer and dryer, I happen to know, that does everything but fold them and put them away. They’re those really big appliances in the laundry room. You know, that small room off the kitchen.”

“The boys do the laundry.”

“That explains it.”

Music came from Brandon's room, and Bitty tapped on the door until he called for us to come in. I squinted a bit at the loud music, and Brandon must have noticed because he turned down the CD player.

“Hey, Aunt Trinket. What are you and Mama up to now?”

“What makes you think we’re up to something?” Bitty asked. “Not that I shouldn’t ask you the same thing.”

Brandon grinned at her, and reached over to take Heather’s hand in his. While he was sprawled on his bed, she sat in a chair at the desk next to him. They were both fully clothed, but he teased, “We were making mad, passionate love, and now you’ve interrupted us.”

Heather pulled her hand away and playfully thumped him on the head. “Your mother is going to hate me if you say things like that.”

“No, she won’t. She’s liberated.”

“Be careful,” I said. “Mothers are only liberated when it comes to themselves, not to their children.”

“Believe it,” Bitty said. “Do you have a clean jersey Trinket can wear? Preferably in black? A big one that will fit her wide shoulders.”

“Good lord, Bitty, they aren’t that wide,” I said a bit irritably. “I’ve been told I have lovely shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything a high school gym teacher tells you. Some of those women are very lonely. Ah, here’s one that will do much better than Clayton’s. The dirty laundry is piling up. Whose turn is it?” Bitty asked as she pulled a jersey out of the closet.

Yawning, Brandon swung his long legs over the side of the bed, stood up and stretched. “Mine. I wash and dry, Clayton folds and puts away. Heather and I have been busy lately, and I kinda forgot.”

“I’m going to be polite and trusting and not ask what you’ve been busy doing. So you can get right to the laundry.”

“Heather’s a tri-athlete. She’s been prepping and I’ve been helping. I spot her on the weights. Look at her biceps . . . come on, show Mama those muscles, girl.”

Heather looked a little flustered, but slid up her short sleeve and flexed what I thought was an impressive bicep. Apparently her slenderness was deceptive. She was just the kind of girl I’d always expected Brandon to bring home one day; pretty, smart, and athletic. He seemed really fond of her, too, something I was sure Bitty had noticed as well.

Since Bitty had been getting in her jibes at my expense, I decided a little payback was due.

“Do you think she’s the one?” I nudged Bitty and asked as we went down the hall toward her bedroom.

“Who? One what?”

“Why, the girl Brandon’s going to marry. Do you think Heather is the one?”

“Don’t get ridiculous, Trinket! He’s too young to get married. And even if he wasn’t, he certainly wouldn’t marry someone like her.”

“Why not? What’s the matter with her? She seems like just his type.”

We had reached Bitty’s bedroom, and she turned around and looked at me with narrowed eyes and both hands on her hips. “Just because your Michelle went off and got married, don’t think
I’m
ready to be a mother-in-law yet.

“I think you’d be a wonderful mother-in-law. Sort of a cross between Parrish Hollandale and Godzilla.”

“Oh lord.” Bitty’s lips twitched. Then she started laughing, and we both got to laughing so hard we ended up falling across her antique bed and giggling like two girls.

In between bouts of near-hysteria, I wheezed, “Do you remember that old black and white film where Godzilla goes to Tokyo to rescue her baby? That would be you, Bitty. You’d raze half the dorm houses in Oxford to get to your boys.”

Bitty sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped her eyes. “So would you. I’d hate to see the two of us on a rampage. I guess it’s the maternal instinct thing.”

“Or plain meanness. We have a healthy dose of both in our genes.”

After a moment, she got up and went to her closet. Bitty’s closet is the size of one of the houses I used to rent. In her first remodel, she just appropriated the bedroom next door as her closet, and had the hallway door closed up and the original woodwork reused on the closet door facing. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it had always been this way. Bitty hires really good construction people.

She turned on the overhead light; it happens to be a small, really expensive crystal chandelier. The clothes racks are motorized. Bitty presses a button, and the rack hums by at a leisurely pace so she can choose what to wear. Her shoes are on some kind of turn-table with built-in pot lights, arranged by color and style, from bedroom slippers to boots. There are wide, flat drawers that hold her costume jewelry; the expensive stuff is in the safe. Compartments hold her scarves, too. She has silk scarves that cost a fortune, and wool scarves for winter. They’re all arranged by season. I’ve never had enough scarves to arrange by season. Mine are arranged in my sock drawer.

“Do you really think we should stay away from Miranda’s house, Trinket?” she called from her closet. I could barely hear her, so got up and went to lean against the doorframe. Her closet looks even bigger close up.

“Good lord, Bitty. Your closet should have its own zip code.”

“It is big, isn’t it? So, do you truly think we shouldn’t do this tonight?”

“Yes. Not that my opinion counts for much.”

“Your opinion always counts. I just don’t always agree. This is odd . . . I think I’m missing something.”

I looked at the closet-boutique and said, “You’re kidding. How would you know if you’re missing something? You have enough stuff in here to clothe all of Marshall County.”

“Everything always stays the same, you know, right in its place. Something’s off, and I can’t quite tell what it is.”

She looked perplexed. I shook my head.

“If the boys have been doing laundry, they probably misplaced something.”

She looked startled. “Oh, they don’t do
my
laundry, Trinket. I could never allow that. My clothes would be ruined.”

“So you still have your clothes cleaned?”

“Not same-day service. I can’t afford that. Maybe the cleaners forgot to send back something . . . here. This is out of order. Oh, and my silver Hermés scarf is missing. Hm, I haven’t worn that lately. Why would it be gone?”

“It’s probably still at the cleaners. You can call tomorrow and ask about it. Now, you were saying that you agree we shouldn’t do any breaking and entering tonight?”

“No, I was just wondering if you still feel pessimistic. We can’t wait too long, or someone will go in and straighten up and our chance will be gone. Rayna is positive that she saw Miranda's next column, and you said it might name the person who killed Race and Naomi.”

“I’ve reconsidered. If she knew who it was, she would have gone straight to the police.”

“Not if they treated her like they treat us, she wouldn’t.” Bitty pulled an outfit off a padded hanger. “They keep telling us to butt out and stay home. There’s some silly law about compromising evidence or something like that. What do you think? Will I blend in with the shadows wearing this?”

She held up a black body suit that looked familiar. I nodded.

“It worked last time we went out skulking. Wear more sensible shoes this time, though. Flats. No high-heeled boots.”

“Is that what I wore? I don’t remember.” She turned back to her closet, found a pair of low-heeled black flats, and shook her head again. “Remind me to call tomorrow about my scarf. I know it’s supposed to be here.”

I rolled my eyes and yawned. “If we’re not wearing orange jumpsuits in jail, I’ll remind you. Come on. Let’s get this over with. The sooner we find what Rayna says she saw, the better I’ll feel. But I still don’t know why I always end up doing this kind of thing with you. Have you noticed that in the past few months we’ve changed into reckless idiots?”

“Honey, the only thing that’s really changed is that everyone notices it now.”

I couldn’t argue with the truth.

****

We met Rayna at the Piggly-Wiggly grocery store. It wasn’t the quietest place. Customers drifted in and out, and the tall security lamps sprayed light over the parking area and left the rest dark. From the parking lot we could walk to Miranda’s house.

Rayna held one of those long flashlights like the police use. She was dressed a lot like me, with dark denim jeans, sports shoes, and a loose football jersey. She clicked the flashlight on and held it just under her chin so that she looked really spooky. Then she waggled her brows.

“Ready to rumble, Divas?”

“If you’re trying to scare me, it worked. Let’s go home,” I said.

“Let’s not,” said Bitty. Even in the dim light I could see her determination. “Once we find out just who is trying to kill us, everything will be better. Life will be just like it was before all this started.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but if it made Bitty feel better to believe it, I was willing to go along with that premise. I took a deep breath. “Okay, forward march! Only, try to look normal.”

Piggly-Wiggly does a thriving business. Customers wore shorts, sleeveless shirts, and sundresses, and still looked hot. We were dressed in black from head to toe.

“You know we’d have a better chance of looking normal if Bitty wasn’t dressed as Darth Vader,” I commented as we trudged across asphalt.

Rayna gave a nervous laugh. “You think?”

“You’re both just jealous because you don’t have a leather jumpsuit like mine,” said Bitty.

“Most people throw out their clothes from the sixties,” I nudged her and said, and she nudged me back with a sharp elbow.