Dixie Diva Blues (15 page)

“Where’s your pig?” I asked her, and she grinned.

“At home. Last time I brought her in with me she got upset when I went down the meat aisle.”

“I bet that happened in the pork loin section, didn’t it.”

Miranda nodded. “Poor Chitling. I had to give her two pints of Rocky Road ice cream before she got over it.”

While I briefly reflected on the similarities of Bitty and Miranda, she leaned close to me. “I suppose you’ve heard?”

I braced myself for gossip about Rob and Rayna. Since gossip is Miranda’s main source of entertainment as well as a portion of her income, I didn’t know quite what to expect.

“No,” I said, “heard what?”

“About that business over in Clarksdale.” Miranda’s large brown eyes narrowed at me. She sounded very intense. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Um, perhaps,” I said cautiously.

Miranda’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Oh, you know. But I recently learned a bit more about the murdered man that you may not have heard. It seems that Whittier had some rather . . .
shady
 . . . clients. Gamblers. Big-time gamblers. He kept their books. I also heard—” She looked around the grocery aisle as if expecting someone to eavesdrop while picking out chicken gizzards, and lowered her voice. “I heard that Mr. Whittier found out some quite intriguing information that these men did not want him to share with anyone.”

Since that seemed to be the obvious conclusion, I said so. She lifted one eyebrow and waggled her index finger right in front of my nose.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss this, Trinket. That’s not all I learned.” She once more scoured the nearly empty aisle lined with coolers of meat, then said in almost an inaudible whisper, “I know their names.”

Now she had my complete attention. I asked an important question: “Have you told the police what you know?”

“Of course. I made an anonymous call to the Holly Springs police department about the matter.”

I lifted my brow when she didn’t elaborate further. “And—?”

“They took down the information and said they would pass it on to the police in Clarksdale.”

“Hm,” I replied, and didn’t bother to hide my skepticism. The Holly Springs police department, while very efficient and dedicated to law enforcement, does not take well to “civilian” investigations or their unsolicited information. Despite Bitty’s recent claim to the contrary, Diva participation in murder investigations was not always helpful; frequently, I must confess, we were more helpful to the criminal than to police officers.

All that aside, I surmised that Miranda shared my opinion regarding the likelihood of our local law enforcement rushing to share information with police in another county. If we were wrong—again—they would be regarded with ridicule and amusement for taking us seriously. Jackson Lee had explained all this to Bitty before, but she still believed in Diva acuity. Bless her heart. With all this in mind, I leaped to the next logical conclusion.

“So you’re telling me this,” I said to Miranda, “because you hope
I’ll
report the names to the Clarksdale police?”

Miranda smiled. “You’re quite sharp, Trinket. Yes. How I came by these names is not important, and I know that will be one of the first questions the Clarksdale police ask you. So—”

I put up my hand, palm out. “Wait a minute. Why don’t you call the Clarksdale police yourself and give them this information?”

After a brief pause, Miranda shrugged. “Let’s just say that it’s best that I don’t endanger my source.”

“You really mean, don’t endanger yourself, right? Which means that if I, or Bitty, or Rayna, go to the police and give them these names,
we’ll
be in danger. No way. I like myself in one piece, with no one chasing after me because I opened my mouth at the wrong time. Hunh uh. Nope. Keep the names. In fact, just forget you even saw me. We’ve never had this conversation.”

“Ray Walsh and Pete Garcia.”

I put my hands over my ears. “No! No! I didn’t hear you!”

“Bailey’s Casino at Tunica. They’re pit bosses.”

I started humming crazily so I couldn’t hear any more, but of course, it was much too late. Miranda patted my arm.

“I know you’ll do what’s right, Trinket. I’m so glad we had this talk.”

I stared at her, horrified and amazed, while she turned around and walked to the front of the store and then outside. She hadn’t even purchased groceries. I’d been stalked, no doubt, so she could dump this information in my lap and run away. I immediately regretted talking Bitty into inviting her to our Diva meeting last month. I’d felt sorry for Miranda after she’d been bonked on the head—for having information dangerous to a criminal element. She’d obviously learned her lesson.

I lowered my hands from my ears. Since I was in possession of information that may help Rob, I would give it to him and let him decide what to do with it.

Rob was very interested in the information.
He wrote down the names and got on his computer at once, tapping through different colored fields until he found what he was looking for. He leaned forward to stare at the screen.

“Here it is: Raymond Walsh and Pedro Garcia, their hire dates listed for the same day last year . . . hm.”

While he studied the flat-screen monitor I looked over his head at Rayna. She had her hair pulled back and a painter’s smock over jeans rolled up to her knees. She watched him intently, then glanced up and met my gaze. She smiled.

“So what did you say to Miranda when she gave you these names?”

“I was less than thrilled, to tell you the truth. Too much information can be a very dangerous thing, I’ve learned.”

Rayna nodded agreement. “I should give her a call and thank her.”

“I have a feeling she’ll pretend she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. She was acting all mysterious and looking around as if expecting someone to be behind her. I got a bit spooked myself.”

Rob looked up at me. “You haven’t told anyone else these names, have you?”

I shook my head. “Not a chance. If this info is genuine, I figure it’s best to be as discreet as possible.”

He nodded. “Good. Don’t take any unnecessary chances. The Clarksdale police are convinced I’m the right perp, so I’ll have to think about how I want to approach this. I don’t want to give these guys the opportunity to skip town until I can get someone over there to talk to them.”

“Who are you going to send?” asked Rayna.

“Probably Craig again. He’s a good investigator and he owes me money.” Rob gave us a wry grin as he leaned back in the office chair and locked his hands behind his head. “I have to think about that these days, y’know. Gotta balance the books as best I can….” He paused and frowned. “Balance the books,” he muttered in a low tone. “I have an idea.”

He turned back to the computer and began clicking keys. After a few moments of this, Rayna and I left the small office and retreated to the lobby. Refracted light from the overhead dome lit up the former registration desk more useful now as a bar. Two cats sat at one end of it, one of them a large gray and white tom, the other a smaller female of solid white. The female busily cleaned the tom’s ears with her pink tongue.

“Care for a drink, Trinket?” asked Rayna. “I’ve already got a bottle of a nice burgundy breathing in the kitchen.”

“I should really go home,” I began, and then struck by a memory said, “Oh no—! I have buttermilk and sweet milk in the car for Mama.”

“In this heat it’s probably ruined by now. Since you’ll have to go back to the store for more, stay and have a glass of wine with me.”

I’m usually pretty easy to convince, so while Rayna went to the kitchen I sat on one of the stools next to the bar and stroked the male cat, whose name I recalled as Merlin. His female companion gazed at me through slitted eyes and opened her mouth in a hiss that I took to mean “Go away, he’s mine.” I immediately obliged. Cat scratches can be unpleasant.

I wandered around the lobby that Rayna uses as her painting studio. Fading afternoon light fell across a painting in progress. I stopped in front of it. I recognized it as a landscape in the impressionist style.

When Rayna returned from the kitchen with two glasses of wine, she confirmed it. “I love the impressionists. So did Kate Freeman Clark, if you recall. She has several paintings over in the museum.”

“I really should go by there again soon,” I said. “Now that it’s open again after the renovations, I imagine it’s full of new artifacts.”

Rayna nodded. “I swear it has more nineteenth century clothing than the Pink Palace up in Memphis, and you know how large that museum is.”

“Holly Springs has a lot of Kate Freeman Clark’s paintings, too, I should imagine. She was very good. I wonder why she quit painting?”

“It’s a mystery. No one knows, or if they do, they don’t tell. The story goes that she just came back home to Holly Springs after studying at the New York Institute, and never painted again. The museum has a collection of her paintbrushes, chalks, and watercolors, as well as a lot of her clothes and other items she owned.”

“I bet she quit painting because of a man,” I said decisively. “They’re usually at the bottom of trouble. At least, in my experience.”

“Oh, are you and Kit not seeing each other anymore?”

I laughed.

“No, nothing like that. He’s one of the exceptions. In fact, he’s escorting me to the Hummingbird Festival this year. We’re going with Bitty and Jackson Lee.”

Rayna laughed. “Let me know if Bitty chases away all the hummingbirds.”

“If she doesn’t manage to scare them off, I’m sure Chen Ling will do the trick,” I said wryly. “So far, she’s resisted all my efforts to get her to leave the dog at home. I’ve no doubt she’ll remain true to form.”

“Strawberry Plains will never be the same, I’m sure.”

I shuddered to think of the possibilities.

After leaving the Delta Inn, I stopped at the Piggly Wiggly to get more milk for Mama. I didn’t want to chance running into Miranda again at the Big Star. Next time she might waylay me with classified information on a national level. I’d be a dead duck for certain, then.

By the time I reached Cherryhill it was dark. Daddy met me in the driveway. He had his car keys in his hand.

“I was just coming to look for you, punkin,” he said. “I thought maybe something had happened to you since it’s been so long.”

“My fault,” I replied as I got out of my Taurus sedan. “It took a lot longer than I thought it would, and I left the milk in the car and it spoiled.”

“Well, I got worried.”

I shut my car door and hauled out the plastic bags with two gallons of sweet milk and two quarts of buttermilk. “Don’t worry so much, Daddy. I’m always okay.”

“I wish you’d get a cell phone. Lately with all the trouble you and Bitty seem to get into, it’d be a relief to know you’re okay.”

“That’s it, play the guilt card on me. Normally, that would work. However, my budget just doesn’t lend itself to luxury items like cell phones.”

Daddy grinned as he took the plastic bags from my hands and we went up onto the front porch. “Then you’ll really like the surprise that came in the mail today.”

Uh-oh. “More brochures about Egypt? You do know crocodiles roam freely there, and camels are notoriously bad-tempered beasts. They spit, too. You know this, right?”

“Don’t worry, sugar. You’ll like the surprise.”

Daddy can be overly optimistic, so I braced myself for whatever was coming. Mama met us in the kitchen.

“Where’d you have to go for that milk? I could have used it two hours ago,” she said as Daddy set the plastic bags on the kitchen table, but she was smiling when she said it.

“Some of it’s spoiled and I had to go back. Where’s the surprise?” I asked instead of responding to her gentle rebuke, and Mama turned an accusing gaze on my father.

“Eddie! You told her? I can’t trust you out of my sight, I swear—”

“No, no, Anna. I didn’t tell her what it is. I just told her we had a surprise for her.”

“What I want to know,” I broke in and said, “is if this surprise has four legs and spits. Does it?”

Mama looked at me as if I’d said something crazy. “Honestly, Trinket, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours,” she said, and shook her neatly coiffed head as if trying to figure it out.

“Camels. Crocodiles. Sand and searing sun. The two of you stranded without a guide or water, calling me to come to Egypt and get you.”

“I doubt there are cell phone towers in the desert, dear,” Mama said calmly. “And speaking of that—here is your surprise.”

She handed me a small cardboard box. It had blue and white writing, and a photo of a cell phone. I still wasn’t sure what it was, since Mama has always had a habit of re-using cardboard boxes to give gifts. One year I got a blouse she’d stuffed into an old rat trap box and wrapped with gift wrap. So you can understand my hesitation as I set the box on the kitchen table and gingerly lifted off the top.

Surprise, surprise. It was a brand new cell phone.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, this
is
a surprise.”