Drop Dead Divas, page 25
“Is this an invitation to go with you to Canada?”
Mama looked startled. “Oh no, dear. Not at all. We just think you need a night in. Some rest.”
Actually, a night in didn’t sound bad at all. A day without dressing or thinking of anything more strenuous than whether to eat cake or pie would be most welcome.
“You’re right,” I said. “If anyone calls, take a name and number. Tell them I’m in the barn, or just out of my head for the day.” I waved my fork in the air like a baton. “I’m giving in to pure laziness!”
It was a luxury just to do nothing. After about an hour of catching up on growing my hair, however, I decided to clean out the jumbled up drawer of my nightstand. It had gotten really junky the past few months, and I hadn’t taken time to put it to order. So I pawed through shreds of used tissues, anti-diarrhea pills, a few Benadryl, TV remote, the cable remote, the DVD remote, post-its with ink scribbles, three pens without ink, a paper clip, a peculiar green rock, gum and wrappers, and a jar of face cream.
I looked more closely at the green rock. It had something attached to it, some kind of wire—wait! This was my lost earring! It had been missing since Brownie’s indulgence in a snack of jewelry and my watch, and now here it was, mangled but right here! I was thrilled. My daughter had given me those earrings for my birthday years ago, and they are very special to me. Michelle had been so proud of giving them to me, too, and if I closed my eyes I could still see her sweet face beaming at me.
This rated an immediate call to Atlanta.
Talking to her always lifts my spirits. Even though she’s a young adult with a life of her own, a job and a husband and a house to care for, she’ll always be my little girl. I don’t know if it’s because she’s my only child, or because I’ve never let go, but the years roll away once I hear her voice. We talked for fifteen minutes or so, just about mundane things like the high price of gasoline, the summer heat, and her vacation plans, and then she asked, “So what’s going on with Aunt Bitty?”
I tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Mom, Grandma already told me about the murders and Aunt Bitty being broke. I just hope she’ll be all right.”
“Bitty is always all right. She has a lucky star hanging over her head, and probably a four-leaf clover tattooed on her butt. Things always turn out good for her. Thank heavens. I don’t think I could stand the drama if they didn’t.”
Michelle laughed. “Well, she does have friends in high places.”
“If you’re referring to Jackson Lee, he’s been working overtime to keep her out of trouble and in the money. He probably needs a month’s vacation in a padded room by now. But then, so do I.”
“There’s a lovely sanitarium in Atlanta if you decide to check in for a rest.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When we hung up, I took my mangled earring to the bathroom and put it in my cup to clean later. I’d probably have to take it to a jeweler before it would resemble the other one, but at least the mystery of the missing earring was solved. Brownie could be forgiven. Not that the dog would care. He had my parents wrapped around his little brown paws, and that was all he needed.
The rest of my lazy afternoon hummed along nicely. I tidied my closet, rearranged the furniture in the glassed-in screen porch off my bedroom, listened to music from the seventies, and drank enough sweet tea to float a medium size sedan. It was excellent therapy.
By the time the sun set, I was neck-deep in a bubble bath and watching light fade outside the bathroom window. Three Dog Night sang about a bullfrog, and I hummed along quite contentedly. It was one of my favorite songs from the past, and when it got to the part about Joy to the World, I used my bar of soap as a microphone and belted out the lyrics right along with my stereo. I mean, I really got into it, sloshing water over the edge of the old clawfoot tub, my eyes closed as I acted out my fantasy of being a famous rock star.
I ended up with a flourish, slapping the water with my free hand and singing—or shrieking as my voice is sometimes called—woooo! at the end of the song. Brief silence fell.
Whatever I expected, it certainly wasn’t a male voice asking if I was all right. I shrieked for real and dropped my soap microphone into the bath water so I could cross my arms over my chest.
“Trinket! Are you okay?” came the insistent question, accompanied by a rattle of the doorknob.
Before I could say I was okay, the bathroom door swung open about a foot and Kit poked his head inside. I immediately slid down further in the tub so that only my head and knees could be seen above the bubbles.
“Fine, I’m fine!” I yelled through billows of bubbles. Several took flight and rose into the air like tiny balloons before popping. “What are you doing in here?” I demanded with as much dignity as I could muster in my situation.
“Your mother said I should just come on up, that you were cleaning and wouldn’t mind. I didn’t think she meant you were cleaning . . . well, bathing.”
Even if the water hadn’t been pretty warm, it was steaming by then since my face was so hot. Kit just grinned. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame and looked as if he had no intention of doing the proper thing and getting the hell out of there.
“As you can surely see,” I said primly, “I am in no danger of drowning. I’m just fine.”
Kit shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “you seem to be just fine, but I can’t really see . . . .”
“You can see all you’re going to see right now, Buster, so back out and shut the door! Go!” I punctuated my demand by sloshing more water over the side of the tub with my foot, and he laughed.
“This is a very interesting situation, Trinket. On one hand, the polite thing to do would be to back out and shut the door.”
I glared at him. My face was on fire and even worse—the bubbles were starting to pop. “So what’s the problem?”
“Ah, the problem is that I’m not always polite. I know that must shock you.”
“Not really.”
Ignoring me, he went on, “So I find myself torn between courtesy and curiosity at this moment. Can you see what a dilemma this is for me?”
“I can see a worse dilemma for you if I yell for my daddy. He may have trouble getting up the stairs, but he’s still pretty good with a shotgun.”
Kit was still grinning at me wickedly, and my heart did one of those annoying flips that usually leave me breathless, even at my age. Then he shook his head and did his best to look disappointed.
“Since you’ve dragged your father into this, I should tell you that he’s out back feeding the multitude of cats. However—I’ll wait for you downstairs. Better hurry. Bitty sent me out here to get you.”
Once he’d backed out and closed the door, I pulled the plug and stepped out of the tub to the bath mat. Of course, the first thing I did was lock the door. Then I said through the wood, “I’m taking today off. Bitty will have to do without me.”
“Bring a sweater,” said Kit. “Hospitals always turn up the air conditioning too high.”
Hospitals? Bitty? Wait!
“Hey!” I yelled after him, but all I heard was what sounded like my bedroom door closing. Damn.
By the time I dried off, got dressed, and got downstairs, Kit was standing out back with Daddy. Several cats rubbed around his ankles. Most of the furry flock had departed for parts unknown after being fed. As usual. I don’t know why my father persists in the belief that having lots of cats keeps rats and mice out of the barn. As far as I know, they all live happily in co-existence. I’ve seen the rat-holes in the 20 pound bags of cat chow.
“So what’s going on?” I asked as soon as I reached them. “Why is Bitty in the hospital? Is she okay?”
“Slow down, tiger,” Kit said easily, and smiled at me. “Bitty’s fine. She’s in the hospital waiting room. Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what? No, I haven’t heard anything. I told you, today’s my day off.”
“It’s Miranda Watson,” Daddy said, shaking his head. “Someone tried to kill her.”
****
Bitty sat in the waiting room of Baptist-DeSoto hospital, where not so long ago she and I had both been taken after being run off the road. Rayna was with her.
“What happened?” I asked as soon as I reached them. On our way to the hospital Kit had told me only the basic details, which was all he knew, that Miranda had been found nearly dead on her living room floor.
“Why are you here? Oh God, Bitty, don’t tell me you’re the one who found her!”
“Slow down, Trinket. No, I didn’t find her. Sit down. You’re blocking out all the light hovering there like that.”
I sat in one of the stainless steel and padded chairs. “Is she dead?”
“If she was dead,” Bitty said, “we’d be at the morgue, not the hospital.”
As I sucked in a deep breath intended to fuel a really snarky retort, Rayna said, “She’s in ICU. Doctors say it’s critical. It’s touch and go if she survives or not.”
“Good lord. Who hates her badly enough to want to kill her?” I couldn’t help asking.
“You mean besides us?” Bitty asked.
Rayna and I both said at the same time, “Bitty!”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. You know what I mean. She’s had something tacky to say about everyone in town at one time or another, and is mean enough to put it in print. It’s a wonder she gets away with it like she does. Or that someone hasn’t tried to kill her before now.”
I was really grateful for my relaxing day. It was obvious Bitty was going to try my patience.
“So,” I asked again, “why are you here, Bitty?”
“I brought her,” Rayna answered my question. “I wanted company, and your mother said you were out for the day.”
“You mean I was your second choice?” Bitty demanded.
Ignoring that, Rayna continued, “I’d thought of something else I wanted to ask Miranda, and since I couldn’t get hold of you, I just went on over to ask her. She didn’t come to the door, and I remembered about the doorbell being broke, so I started to knock. Well, the door was slightly open and it swung in. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone in at all, but a couple of her cats came to the door making a lot of racket, and I noticed one of them had what looked like red paint on its paws. So I . . . I stuck my head inside and called for her. That’s when I saw . . . saw Miranda lying on the floor.”
She paused for a moment, and her eyes got really wide as if she was seeing it all over again. I leaned forward and put a hand on her arm to reassure her.
“Oh, it was awful, Trinket. She must have put up a really good fight, because her desk was cleared like it had been turned over, and papers were all over the floor. Even the loveseat was pushed down from where it was supposed to be, and her big chair was turned over on its side. And all the blood!”
“So she was shot?” I asked.
“I guess so. There was so much blood, I suppose she must have been. The police got there and they wouldn’t say. Then the paramedics came, but I was outside answering questions for the police so didn’t hear how she’d gotten hurt so badly.”
“Do you know if she was able to say anything?”
Rayna shook her head. “Not that I know of. It didn’t look to me as if she was even alive.”
“Are you sure she didn’t just fall and hurt herself? That might explain the desk and chair being out of place.”
“But the loveseat, too? It looked as if there had been a struggle. Still, she could have had some kind of seizure, I guess, and fell and hit her head on something. It’s just that the police were asking me an awful lot of questions.”
“Like?”
“Like, did I see anyone else at her house, did I know if she had problems with anyone, things like that. You know, things that made it sound as if it wasn’t just a fall.”
I sat back in the waiting room chair and thought about Miranda. Bitty was right that the columnist had made enemies in town. Then I thought of something else.
“Do you happen to know if she’s already sent in her weekly column? You know, the one where she’s supposed to tell something big?”
“I have no idea. Why—” Rayna gasped. “You think someone got angry because of something she was going to put in her column?”
“It makes sense. Look how upset we all were because of her silly column. What if she had something really nasty she was going to tell this week? She sure made it sound as if she did.”
“If that’s true, then maybe whoever she was writing about may have gone to try and talk her out of it—”
“And decided to kill her instead,” Bitty finished Rayna's sentence. “It sounds logical to me.”
“Despite that,” I said, “I think we should see who she wrote about in this week’s column.”
“What if it’s the killer?” Bitty suggested. “I mean, the same person who killed Race and/or Naomi?”
“Surely Miranda wouldn’t be so foolish as to keep information like that from the police,” Rayna said with a frown.
“Apparently she was stupid enough to tick off somebody capable of killing her,” Bitty retorted.
“So did we,” I reminded them, and we all got really quiet for a moment. A shiver went down my back. Two people dead, someone tried to kill the three of us, and now this, a gossip columnist attacked in her own home. Someone was desperate, or getting more desperate by the day to keep from getting found out. Who on earth in Holly Springs was demented enough to do all that?
As I looked at my two friends I had the thought that whoever it was, we were way out of their league.
CHAPTER 18
“Are you crazy?” I heard myself ask even though I already knew the answer. “I’m not about to do that!”
We stood in Bitty’s kitchen on the afternoon after Miranda Watson was attacked. I’d brought two jars of canned tomatoes that Mama insisted Bitty have, though she’d have no idea how to use. I set them carefully on the countertop.
“Don’t be such a chicken, Trinket. Besides, it was your idea and we need you.”
“Bitty Hollandale, you should be in Whitfield. I never said we should break in to her house. And I don’t believe for a minute that Rayna has agreed to this insanity.”
“She said she would if you would. It’s the only way we can find out who attacked Miranda. Hush, precious. Mommy will feed you as soon as Aunt Trinket says yes.”
“Tell Precious not to count on Aunt Trinket for her dinner.”
I eyed the pug and Bitty with equal irritation. At least the pug had a good reason for being vocal. Her grunts, growls, and howls sounded almost human. Unlike Bitty.
“It’s not as if whoever bonked Miranda on the head will return to the scene of the crime,” Bitty said in a patient tone. “Her editor said no column was turned in, her laptop is missing, and Rayna said she was pretty sure she saw some print-outs that looked like her column.”
“It could have been last week’s column. Or last year’s column. Besides, the police have already searched the house and probably taken anything that may point to who attacked her. If she put it in her column, you can bet Lieutenant Maxwell has read it.”
“Has it occurred to you that whoever whacked Miranda on the head and tried to strangle her is the same person who shot Race and strangled Naomi?” Bitty paused to put Chen Ling on the kitchen floor. “If Miranda wasn’t so fat, she’d probably be dead now. A scarf was wrapped around her neck tight enough to cut off her head, I heard. Of course, that was after she got smacked with a brass paperweight. It’s a wonder she didn’t lose too much blood to live, but maybe overweight people have more blood. Do you think?”
“You’re a ghoul, Bitty. Miranda’s lucky to still be alive.”
“If you call being in a coma alive. She might come out as a vegetable. Not too much different than before, maybe.”
“A cruel ghoul, at that.”
Bitty paused. “Well, I suppose you’re right. It was unkind of me to say that last. But she really did write some hateful things about people, you know. The punishment fits the crime.”
“And someone got mad enough to try and kill her for it. I’d say that’s beyond the punishment fitting the crime.”
“So, you’ll help us tonight?”
“No. I’ve been on your little investigatory adventures before. You always escape unscathed, and I always end up wounded and smelly.”
“Good heavens, Trinket. You make it sound like I plan it that way.”
“Not at all. You just have very efficient guardian angels. Mine are always off on a cloud somewhere, not paying the least attention.”
Bitty opened an aluminum packet of dog food for Chen Ling and scooped it onto one of her good salad plates. Then she set it on the floor. The pug immediately attacked it with all three of her teeth.
“What happened to her special diet?” I couldn’t help asking.
“You know I’m broke now. I have to buy her food off the grocery shelves. Isn’t it awful? My poor little Chen Ling.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sell a few of her diamond collars and you can buy her enough food for a year.”
“Sometimes you can be so unkind. I put the honeymoon cabin up for sale today.”
The way she said it told me how much it hurt her to part with it. I felt ashamed of myself for making light of her financial difficulties.
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. I know you hate to sell it.”
“Yes. I do, but it has nothing but bad memories for me now. Worse, I know I won’t get anywhere near what it’s worth. Or what it cost me to build it, anyway. But Jackson Lee seems to think now is the best time to put it on the market, so I did.”
“Has he been able to make any headway on those papers you signed?”
“He’s negotiating a new deal with the vampires. They’re remarkably tenacious for creatures who must live in caskets all day.”
“That’s never been proven,” I said, and couldn’t help laughing. “Mrs. Hollandale has been seen in daylight several times.”
“Not his sister. Patrice lurks in dark corners like some big, hairy spider waiting on its next meal to stumble into her web. Even at Philip’s funeral she stayed inside, if you recall.”
