Drop Dead Divas, page 27
A loud shriek accompanied her landing in the bushes. So much for stealth.
Next door, a back porch light flashed on. Rayna and I hit the ground.
I have to say, Rayna is a really fast study.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, she meowed like a cat in heat. Obviously, it isn’t a sound that’s unfamiliar to her. If there were any tomcats within a three mile radius, they were no doubt headed our way. With Bitty flopping around in the bushes and trying to get her foot unstuck from the fence, it probably sounded like a crowd of cats. Pride of cats? That collective noun thing briefly flashed through my mind right before I was smacked on the head with a stick.
“Owww!” I said. Rayna immediately drowned me out with another long moan like a love-starved feline. Bitty hit me with another stick.
“Get me loose!” she hissed, and since I was already crouched on the ground and almost eye-level with her foot, I obliged by yanking off her shoe. It had the desired effect of releasing her, and she disappeared into the tangled undergrowth. There was some thrashing around before she popped into sight again. Still on the other side of the fence, of course. She pressed her face against the wire squares and glared at me. “Not like that!”
“How else was I supposed to get you loose?” I hissed back at her.
“You could have thought of something!”
“I did! And it worked.”
Bitty threw a clump of leaves at me and missed.
“Bitty,” said Rayna in a whisper, “stop playing around and get over here!”
“I’ll go around,” I heard Bitty say, then bushes rustled and she disappeared.
Rayna's ruse of being a lovelorn cat must have worked. The porch light next door went out. We were left in the dark again. A dog barked not far away, and I felt the sudden need for a potty break.
Impossible, of course.
In the years of following my ex around the country to random jobs, I had found that with enough training, it’s possible for me to go long periods of time without having to visit gas station toilets. Perry believed it vital to get to our destination with as few stops as necessary, although we did have occasional differences of opinion on what constituted necessary. Thus, I learned that the longer I could wait and the fewer gas stations we had to visit, the less stress I endured. I put that lesson to good use now.
Rayna and I crept toward the back of the house, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Crickets stopped chirping, then started up when we passed them, and birds muttered sleepily in tree tops. There are a lot of old trees in Holly Springs. Every year a few are lost to wind and storms, but there are still plenty left in the neighborhoods.
Bitty reappeared farther down the fence. Instead of trying to climb over again, she opened the wire gate and stepped through. She met us at the concrete steps leading up to the back door. Twigs and leaves sprouted from her head like horns, and she tried to brush them away with one hand.
“We could have just come through the gate,” she whispered sulkily. “I think I got all kinds of creatures in my hair.”
“A good wash will get them out,” I comforted her. “If the peroxide doesn’t kill them first.”
“My hair color is natural!” she insisted as she followed us up the back steps.
Rayna turned on the top step and looked at us. “Will you two be quiet? I’d be amazed if the entire neighborhood hasn’t heard us by now!”
“Sorry,” I said. “Nerves.”
Bitty nodded agreement. “We do this.”
“Well, please stop! You’re making me a nervous wreck.”
When Rayna turned back to the door, Bitty and I just looked at each other and shrugged. Apparently not everyone has mine and Bitty’s ability to remain cool under pressure. It must be a Truevine talent.
After a few tense moments of feeling around the top of the door frame, Rayna's fingers brushed a key and it tumbled through the air. She managed to catch it before it fell into the flowerbed next to the house.
“How did you know to look up there?” I whispered when we were inside the house.
“Someone has to be feeding her cats. I took a chance.” Rayna clicked on the long flashlight and played it around the kitchen. It looked fairly neat. Either someone had been in to tidy it up, or the struggle between Miranda and her assailant hadn’t gotten this far. I couldn’t help a shudder at the thought of her being attacked so brutally. It must have been a terrible shock.
“Do you think it was someone she knew?” I asked as we tiptoed from the kitchen toward the front rooms. “Surely Miranda wouldn’t invite just anyone inside, and certainly not the person she was going to betray in her column. Would she?”
“She can be really smug,” Bitty said from behind me. We were creeping single-file down a hallway. “She might have thought she could handle the situation. Or maybe it was someone who didn’t have anything at all to do with the other murders, but just took a dislike to something she said.”
“I got the impression she intended to publish something startling in her column,” said Rayna. She paused at the door to the living room to turn and look at us. “Didn’t you, Trinket?”
“Well, yes, but I thought maybe it was just an apology to the Divas. That would have been pretty startling.”
Bitty snorted. “It would have been pretty miraculous. Miranda Watson has never apologized to anyone about anything she’s put in her nasty little gossip column. She has all the manners of a sump pump. Bless her heart.”
The last was added in a “knock on wood” spirit, since Bitty obviously didn’t want any bad luck to come back on her for disparaging a woman in a coma.
Rayna swung the flashlight beam toward the living room. “I’ll see if I can find those papers I saw, while you two check out the dining room.”
I hadn’t even thought about bringing a flashlight, and when I looked at Bitty, I saw that she hadn’t, either. Rather than admit our lack of foresight, I returned to the kitchen to look for a candle, or matches, or anything that would be better than alerting the neighbors by turning on the lights. As I felt my way along what I thought to be a walnut cabinet, I heard someone right behind me.
“Just wait there, Bitty,” I said softly. “I’m looking for a light of some kind.”
She didn’t answer, but I could hear her breathing as I searched around on the top of the cabinet, then on one of the kitchen counters. I saw where Miranda had one of those old wrought iron match holders hanging on her wall, the dark shape unmistakable even in the dim kitchen light. I reached inside it, but instead of matches, she had a Bic lighter. It would work just as well, I figured.
“I’ve got something,” I said to Bitty as I turned around, but she’d already gone back to the hallway.
When I reached her, she grabbed my wrist. “Where did you go?”
“You know where I went. To get a light. Here. I have a lighter. No candles, though.”
“You should have told me. I looked around and you were gone.” She shivered. “I think one of the cats is hiding in that doorway. I keep feeling it looking at me.”
I flicked the Bic, and we both squinted toward the doorway she mentioned, but the cat was gone. The tiny light flickered and danced right above my thumb. Holding the plastic tab to keep it lit wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be. Every time my thumb slipped, the flame went out and I had to restrike. Still, it was better than no light at all as we made our way into the dining room off the hall and next to the kitchen.
An eerie silence shrouded the house. I wanted to call out to see if Rayna had any luck, but didn’t want her to fuss at me again for being loud. Bitty grabbed hold of the back of my football jersey and walked so close behind me she stepped on my heels twice.
Papers were stacked on the dining room table. Several books, a bowl of artificial fruit, a Christmas wreath, vase of wilted flowers, and ceramic statue of a cat cluttered the surface, too. I went to the stack of papers, and held the Bic close enough to make out the words. It was a column from The South Reporter, but it wasn’t one by Miranda. This one had to do with a ladies’ softball team.
“What does it say?” Bitty asked right in my ear as she peered over my shoulder. “Is it the one naming the killer?”
“No, and to be honest, I don’t think we’re going to find anything like that here. If the police left anything like that behind, they’re slipping.”
“Maybe they just took one copy of it. That would be all they would need.”
“Why would Miranda print out more than one copy? I thought people did all that kind of stuff by the Internet these days, anyway.”
“Oh, I don’t know. To proof read or something, I suppose. Here. Give me the lighter. I see something on the buffet table.”
I passed over the Bic quite gladly. Holding down that plastic tab made my thumb ache. The circle of light it made was small, and while Bitty examined stuff on the buffet, I stood in the dark and waited. A mirror hung over the buffet table, and the flame reflected back in a bright circle that illuminated the leaves and twigs stuck in Bitty’s hair. She’d suffered for our cause, I thought to myself with a grin. Usually it’s me who ends up with ungodly debris in my hair, on my face, and stuck to the bottom of my shoes. The fates were smiling more kindly on me tonight.
“Trinket,” she whispered excitedly, “I think I have it! This is it!”
“What?” I was stunned. This had all seemed like a wild goose chase until now. “Let me see that. Are you sure?”
“As I can be. It has next week’s date on it, and here it says . . . oh, let me see . . ..”
I made my way around the end of the oval dining room table toward Bitty. She held up the sheet of printer paper, and as she did so, the Bic caught her thumbnail on fire.
Flame shot into the air as her long, curved thumbnail blazed nicely.
“Drop the lighter, Bitty,” I couldn’t help shouting. “Drop it!”
Bitty dropped the lighter, but her thumbnail still burned. It smelled terrible. She waved her hand frantically in the air, but that only made it burn higher.
“Stop, drop, and roll, Bitty!”
From the next room I heard Rayna telling us to be quiet, but it seemed to me we had a bigger problem on our hands than disturbing the cats. I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the vase of flowers from the dining table and dashed the water over Bitty. Of course, the wilted flowers went, too, and daisy petals scattered in her hair and on the dining room rug. The fiery thumb went out, and Bitty just stood there looking at it in the dark as water dripped from her nose and chin, and from the ends of her hair.
Then she said, “At least these are acrylic nails.”
Relieved at her calm tone, I nodded. “I’m sure DJ will be glad to work you into her schedule tomorrow.”
I heard Bitty sigh. “I’ve been trying to save money by going once a month. She’ll be surprised to see me.”
“Where’s the Bic?”
“Where’s the what?”
“The lighter, Bitty. Did you drop it?”
“Oh. Yes. It’s on the floor somewhere—oh, and the paper! It’s down there, too. I’ll get it.”
We both bent at the same time, and in the dark, bumped heads. I put out a hand to steady myself and luckily, found the lighter.
“I’ve got fire, Bitty, so be careful,” I said as I flicked the Bic. It was a good thing I warned her; she was so close her hair would have been in flames if she moved an inch. I held the lighter up a little higher and saw the paper on the wood floor. When I tried to pick it up, it clung soddenly to oak. Uh oh. This was not at all promising.
“Be careful,” said Bitty a little anxiously. “I think it got wet.”
Flickering light wavered erratically and the Bic went out. I relit it briefly. Enough to see that it was going to take steadier light to accomplish recovery of the paper without ruining it.
“We need Rayna's flashlight. I hope this paper is what we need and all our efforts aren’t wasted.”
Bitty said thoughtfully, “My leather jumpsuit is shrinking. We better hurry.”
“Good lord, Bitty.”
She creaked when she stood up, and I giggled like a schoolgirl. I swear, I could almost hear the leather drawing up. It must have been the power of suggestion, because I doubt that small amount of water would have done the trick.
Holding the Bic aloft like Lady Liberty’s torch, I led the way down the hall to the living room. I could hear Rayna going through stuff with thumps and thuds. She sounded out of breath.
“Hey,” I called softly, “we found it! We found a copy of next week’s column in the dining room. Rayna?”
She didn’t answer, just kept banging around, and as I got to the open doorway, I saw why. Rayna's flashlight was on the floor, and silhouetted against its beam were two struggling figures. One of them I recognized as Rayna. I had no idea who the other one was. Being quiet didn’t seem nearly as important as helping Rayna.
“Hey!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Stop it!”
I rushed forward as Bitty asked, “What’s going on?”
Thrashing about, both of them seemed to have hold of one another, and I looked frantically around for a weapon. Dust motes hazed the air when I grabbed what I thought was a ceramic statue to hit Rayna's attacker.
The ceramic cat statue bit me and I dropped it. Screeching, it ran out of the living room and down the hallway. I heard Bitty ask again, “What’s going on?”
Not bothering to answer, I grabbed a real statue this time. It was a happy Buddha that I cracked over the head of the person struggling with Rayna. The Buddha didn’t break and the person didn’t collapse, but did let go and stagger a few feet. I followed with the happy Buddha and aimed for the head again. This time, the person turned quickly and thrust the heel of his hand under my chin before I could hit him. I dropped like a sack of flour, still holding on to the statue.
Above me I heard Rayna swearing and saw her sports shoe flash past a few inches above my nose. At least, I think that’s what it was. My vision was blurred and it was dark, and the flashlight on the floor was shining directly into my eyes. It could have been anything. Whatever it was, it connected with the bad guy and I heard him grunt. For some reason, the grunt sounded odd. As grunts go.
I could hear Bitty calling from the hallway, “What’s going on?”
“Come back here, you coward!” Rayna yelled as the bad guy headed for the front door. “Come on! You wanna fight? We’ll fight! Come back here!”
“What’s going on?” Bitty yelled.
“Oh, hell no!” Rayna shouted. “Get your butt back here!”
The front door swung open and banged back against the wall. I rolled over on my side just in time to see whoever it was escape. Rayna was right behind, and disappeared into the night.
“What’s going on?” Bitty demanded loudly.
I moved my jaw from side to side and was gratified that it still worked. The guy had a healthy punch, that was sure.
“Dammit, what’s going on?” Bitty shrieked.
With Buddha clutched under my arm, I managed to get to my feet. I was woozy but functioning. I leaned against what felt like the loveseat, and finally answered Bitty:
“I hear police sirens.”
CHAPTER 19
Some days you’re the hammer, some days you’re the nail. Bitty, Rayna and I sat at the police station feeling like the nails.
We had been questioned—I thought of it more as interrogation—separately, and then together. Finally the police must have been satisfied with our versions of the story and allowed us our phone calls.
Bitty called Jackson Lee, and Rayna and I decided it would be better for us if we just quietly got a ride back to our cars. The less known about this, the easier it would be for us. We were already facing charges of illegal entry, violating a crime scene, and a few other things that Jackson Lee would sort out.
One thing about Jackson Lee, he can get to the heart of a thing very quickly when he chooses. Once we were in his car, he said, “You ladies are going to end up in jail or dead if you don’t stop your amateur snooping. If that’s what you want, keep it up.”
None of us said anything. We all knew he’d made a very valid point.
It wasn’t until he dropped us off at the Piggly-Wiggly that we said anything to each other. We all thanked Jackson Lee profusely, of course, and Bitty paused at his car window to talk to him in a low tone before she joined us.
“Well,” I said, “I guess we need to put away our detective badges and whistles.”
Rayna nodded. She was still miffed that she hadn’t been able to catch the guy who attacked her. He’d just disappeared between the houses. Fortunately, he hadn’t hurt her, but she was pretty sure she’d landed a few good blows before he got away.
“I just wish I could have gotten a good look at him,” she said now, frowning.
“It was that ski mask. All I could see was that he wasn’t real tall and he was pretty skinny,” I said in commiseration. “You almost got him, though. Too bad we didn’t get what we needed. I guess we’ll never know if what Bitty found was it.”
Coming up behind us, Bitty said, “Did I hear my name?”
I turned to look at her. “You did. We’ve decided to hang up our detective hats. We don’t seem to be very successful.”
“Speak for yourself, Doctor Watson. You may call me Mister Holmes.”
“You sound more like Charlie Chan. I hope you don’t regard tonight as our crowning achievement.”
“Maybe not yours, but then, you left without the prize.”
“What on earth are you talking about? We left because the police came and asked us to leave. Not very nicely, either.”
Bitty began to unzip the top of her leather jumpsuit. I put up my hands to block the sight. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Trinket. I’m not undressing. But, since I don’t have any pockets, I had to improvise. Look what I have!”
She produced a folded sheet of paper with a flourish worthy of any operatic diva, and we were immediately impressed.
“You got it!” Rayna said. “Oh Bitty, you’re so clever!”
