Dixie Diva Blues (18 page)

“Look, you’re the one who insisted we all get over here and ask her questions,” he said back impatiently.

“But I didn’t mean
those
kind of questions, you idiot!”

He smirked. “You don’t get to choose the questions, sweetheart. I do.”

I looked at Bitty. She avoided my gaze. I wondered if it would be incriminating were I to throttle her right there across from the court house. Since the reporter had a camera, I decided against it. Instead, I straightened my skirt, marched up to the sidewalk and retrieved my purse, then lifted my chin in the air and headed for Jackson Lee’s office door.

Once inside I went straight to the Ladies room and locked myself in. It’s a nicely appointed restroom, with soothing colors and an original painting on the wall, and a small chair to sit in while you freshen your makeup. One look in the mirror told me I needed a lot more than freshening. My hair usually stayed in a ponytail if I was dressing casual, but I’d gone to some trouble earlier and had curled it and arranged it so it fell softly around my face. Naturally, all that had been undone by my ride in Bitty’s wind tunnel. I suppose it was the hairspray I’d used, but the soft curve that had formerly brushed against my shoulders now stuck out like electrical wires.
Behold the marvel of modern chemistry
, I told myself as I attempted in vain to get it to lie closer to my head again. It was like trying to brush a straw broom. Finally I gave up.

I just sat there staring at my reflection and mulling over how things had gone so wrong so quickly.
Maybe it isn’t Bitty who attracts trouble,
I said to myself.
Maybe it’s me.

That didn’t make me feel one bit better. I decided that nothing short of wringing Bitty’s neck could make me feel better, so when she knocked on the door I debated the wisdom of letting her in.

“Trinket?” she called softly. “Trinket, it’s me. Bitty. Can you unlock the door?”

“I
can
,” I said back through the door, “but I don’t think it’s very wise for me to see you right now.”

“Oh,” she replied after a moment. “Would it matter if I said I was only trying to help?”

I thought about it for a moment. “No,” I finally answered. “It doesn’t change a thing.”

“Oh. Okay. Listen, Jackson Lee’s here and he wants to talk to you.”

“I’m not in the mood. I don’t care if I’m charged with murder. In fact, I think it may just be the answer to all my problems. I’ll get three meals a day, a free room, and even a job if I go to prison. Let the government take care of me for a while. After all that money I’ve paid in over the years, it’s time I got a little return on my investment. God knows, it’s bound to be better than I’d get from any of the banks.”

Silence greeted my tirade, and I leaned forward to rest my face against the cool marble of the vanity. I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then counted to ten again just to see if I still could. My brain didn’t seem to function as well lately as it once had. It could be age. After having hit fifty, everything was downhill anyway. Or so I was told. I’d had the overconfidence to think life was less complicated after fifty. Hah!

It didn’t surprise me at all to hear a key turn in the lock, and I didn’t lift my head when Jackson Lee stepped into the restroom. He could do what he wanted since he paid the rent, I figured. If he wanted to see a client in the Ladies room, who was I to tell him no?

“Trinket,” he said after a moment, “would you like a drink?”

“A
drink?
” I began to laugh hysterically. Apparently Bitty hadn’t shared all the details of my arrival.

Jackson Lee grew alarmed at my reaction. “Maybe I should call your parents. Or a doctor,” he said as he edged backward to the door.

“No,” I got out between gasps, “I’m fine. Or will be. Just give me a moment to recover. Really.”

I turned to look at him and he got a good look at me. I saw his eyes widen, but he’s a trouper. He didn’t say one word about my hair sticking straight out from my head. He just waited out my snorts and wheezes, and when I was through, he handed me a linen towel from a small wicker basket. Classy. No paper towels here.

“Would you rather confer in my office, or in here?” he asked when he must have thought it safe.

“Your office will be fine, thank you. I’m much better now. Is Bitty still out there?”

“Should she be?”

A cautious man. No wonder he’s such a good attorney.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Just don’t let her make a single suggestion, please. I’ve had enough of her help this morning.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, but I’ll do my best.”

Jackson Lee is a true southern gentleman. He opened the door and held it for me, and I got up from the chair and left the ladies room. Bitty stood in the waiting room with her dog held against her chest, and I saw her eyes get really big when I came into view.

“Trinket, your hair,” she began, but I felt Jackson Lee behind me do some wild gesturing and she shut up.

This may be something I can laugh about now, but at the time it wasn’t the least bit funny to me. On top of a sleepless night, the reporters, coupled with my fear of seeing my picture in the paper looking like a deranged killer, had badly fractured my sense of humor. I’m sure Mama would have understood if I didn’t find a silver lining.

Jackson Lee and I had a long discussion during which I told him everything I could remember about my actions before finding the body. He took me through the same scene several times, each time questioning me if I said something different than before. It was exhausting but thorough. Finally he lay down his pen and yellow legal tablet and nodded at me.

“Very good, Trinket. Your story stays the same except for an occasional minor detail here and there.”

I nodded in relief. “So, do you think I’ll be charged with murder?”

“No. Not once the fingerprint analysis is done and the coroner’s report is in. I expect you to be completely cleared.”

“So all this is just a precaution?”

“More or less.” He smiled at me reassuringly. “I know I don’t have to warn you not to discuss this case with anyone, and not to make statements to the press.”

“No, but you might want to have a word with your lady friend.”

His eyebrows rose. “Bitty?”

“Unless you have more than one, yes. She’s already notified the press. They met me in front of your office earlier to ask questions.”

Now, Jackson Lee is an intelligent man. If he has any flaws, it would have to be in regard to my cousin Bitty. She has him wrapped around her little finger, and he knows it. He groaned.

“So that’s why you were so upset?”

“Part of the reason. The other part has to do with vanity and my skirt flying up at the wrong time. Don’t ask. I’m sure someone will tell you about it, but it won’t be me.”

I stood up. “My car is still at Bitty’s. I intend to go home and stay there.”

He stood up to walk me to the door. “Don’t be too mad at Bitty. She means well.”

“I know that. God help us all.”

He chuckled ruefully. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but don’t ask me what right now. It wouldn’t be very flattering, I’m afraid.”

Bitty, to her credit, kept quiet as she drove me to her house. I politely declined her invitation to stay for lunch. She just as politely voiced her disappointment. To be honest, I had gotten over being mad. Total weariness had set in, and my lack of sleep mixed with relief made me want only to go home and take a long, long nap. Maybe when I woke up this nightmare would be over, and all would be normal again. Or as normal as it gets for me.

So I got into my trusty Taurus and aired it out before setting out for Cherryhill. All I could think about was getting home, putting on more comfortable clothes, and lying down in the air conditioning. I felt as if I could sleep for a month and not catch up.

Just as I put my car in Drive to pull away from Bitty’s curb, a car honked behind me. I jumped a little, swore a lot, then turned to see what idiot was violating the laws of courtesy. It was Kit.

I didn’t know whether to peel away and drive like a maniac so he wouldn’t see my hair, or just throw myself onto the floorboard. I had to think fast. Unfortunately, my beleaguered brain was not functioning at top capacity. When I chose to duck down in the front seat and try to wedge myself onto the floorboards, I forgot I had already put the car in Drive.

The thing with automatics is that they don’t stop running just because the idiot—or temporarily brain dead—driver takes a foot off the gas pedal. A manual shift would do the sensible thing and choke and die.

Automatics just keep on a’ going.

So while I tried to make myself invisible, my Taurus rolled forward and down the slight incline of College Street. It was a disaster in the making. It took me much longer than it should have to realize my car had gone for a drive without a driver behind the wheel. Five to ten seconds can be a lot in such a situation, I have learned. It’s enough time to gather speed, sail through a stop sign, pass a patrol car, and end up on a sidewalk.

Kit and the policeman arrived at my driver’s window at the same time. By then I had managed to sit up behind the wheel and apply the brakes. My hands were shaking, my left eye started twitching, and I had to find a bathroom. Quickly.

“Are you all right, sugar?” Kit asked me over the policeman’s request for my driver’s license.

I think I whimpered, because he opened my car door despite the officer’s startled exclamation. I kinda fell out of the car into Kit’s arms.

“Call the EMTs,” Kit said, and I grabbed his arm and shook my head. He curved his fingers around my wrist to check my pulse, then ran his hand up my arms looking for broken bones. “Hold on, honey,” he said, “we’ll get you to a hospital.”

“No!” I managed to say forcefully enough that he stopped looking for broken bones. His hand rested on my rib cage at that point, and it was getting pretty tough to get enough air into my lungs what with his hand so near a place that had no bones at all.

“Sugar,” he said urgently, “you may have internal injuries. Just be still.”

“I’m all right,” I said, and to prove my point, pushed away his hand and got my legs up under me so I could stand up on the sidewalk next to my car. “I just . . . just had a moment of distraction, that’s all. Then my brakes went out, I think.”

Okay, it was a lie, but a small white one to keep me from having to visit Holly Springs Police Department again. I figured we were all better off if I didn’t see them any time soon, and they didn’t have to see me again any time soon.

“I don’t know,” Kit said rather doubtfully, and since he was looking at my hair I understood why he thought I must be in pretty bad shape.

“It’s a long story,” I said, and pointed at my hair. “Really. I’m fine. I just need to get my car checked out and go home. All I want to do is go home.”

My voice broke a little on the last word.

Kit took my hand in his and squeezed slightly in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay, sugar.”

“Miz Truevine,” said the policeman, “since you’re having car trouble I can call a wrecker to get you to the mechanic.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll have my daddy take a look at the brakes for me when I get home. They seem to be working all right now, since I got the car stopped before I ended up inside the bank.”

The policeman nodded, and said to Kit that his blue heeler was doing fine now on the new medicine Kit had prescribed for him, and while they chatted a moment about the mysterious ailments of herding dogs, I took the opportunity to ease back into my car. As I backed off the sidewalk and onto the asphalt, I heard Kit tell him to put his dog on a high energy food for a while and see how he did on that.

Then the policeman got back into his patrol car and Kit came back to my window.

“I still don’t like the thought of you driving all the way home on those brakes,” he said.

“I have a cell phone now, remember,” I said, and he smiled.

Kit Coltrane has one of the sexiest smiles I have ever seen, and it always makes my stomach do a little flip when he directs it at me. I’m not exaggerating when I say his smile can make a woman’s lungs stop working for at least a minute and a half. Half his clients are women with dogs that developed sudden minor ailments the minute their owners heard about the new vet at Willow Bend Animal Hospital. That’s how my duplicitous cousin Bitty first met Kit, when she borrowed Chen Ling from Luann Carey as an excuse to see if he was as good-looking as the rumors claimed.

I first met Kit under much different circumstances, although it did involve a sick dog. In fact, my mother’s beagle-dachshund mix did me a favor when he ate my emerald earrings and watch, because my first introduction to the vet certainly was memorable. He could hardly forget a deranged woman with cat-spit and straw in her hair.

“I’m sorry I was late getting to Strawberry Plains yesterday,” he said softly, and reached out to drag the back of his fingers over my cheek in a caress that nearly made me swallow my tongue. “I wish I’d been there. If I had, I just know none of your troubles would have happened.”