Dixie Diva Blues (37 page)

My cell phone was ringing when I got into the kitchen, and I caught it just before it stopped. I should have known better.

“When did you get a cell phone?” Bitty demanded. “I’ve been nagging you forever to get one, and then you go and get one and don’t even give me the number?”

“Well, I didn’t really buy one. Mama ordered it for me without telling me. And I didn’t give you the number yet because I kept forgetting to,” I lied. “Obviously, you have it now.”

“Thanks to Jake. He has your cell phone number. So does Jackson Lee. So does Kit, I’m sure. And probably Miranda Watson’s pig. I’m the only one you left out, apparently.”

“It was nothing personal, Bitty. I just can’t get used to having a cell phone. But think of it this way—if I hadn’t had it today, things might have turned out differently for both of us. And I don’t mean better, either. At least I was able to contact Jake to get help for you.”

“Yes, and you saw how well
that
worked out,” said Bitty. I had to agree.

“True. Listen, on the way home I was thinking about things, and well, I want to talk to someone about it. Is Jake still there?”

“No, he went home, so why not talk to me?”

I thought about it half a second before I knew it’d be a bad idea. “Well, it’s not the kind of thing we do well together. Is Jackson Lee still there?”

Bitty’s tone was frosty. “No. He had to go back to his office and finish up some things he was working on earlier.”

“Oh.” Silence from the other end. My head started to throb. Finally I said, “You have to be exhausted after your ordeal. I don’t want to put anything else on you right now. Maybe when you’re better we can talk.”

“Good heavens, Trinket, it’s not like I’m an invalid. I just had a terrible day. My poor hair—and so many people saw me. Was I on television like that?”

“Only for a second. No one recognized you, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you’re right. I should probably relax this evening. Jackson Lee will be back soon anyway, and he promised to baby me for a little while.”

“Oh, that’ll be new. He does that anyway.”

Bitty laughed. “I know. Isn’t he sweet?”

“As sugar,” I said, silently thanking my lucky stars that she didn’t want to pursue my reluctance to share information with her.

When will I stop the premature congratulations? You’d think I’d learn.

“So first thing in the morning, I want you to come over and talk to me about what it is you wanted to talk to Jake about, okay?” Bitty said. “Not too early, though.”

“I won’t be working,” I said. “It’s my day off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as we hung up and I stopped trying to kick my own rear end, I started feeding the furry flocks. Brownie came first because he gets very noisy when it’s past his dinner hour, and then I went out to the barn to put out food for the cats.

Pools of light from the dusk to dawn fixture were nicely bright. I was really glad Jake knew enough about electrical wires to have repaired the lines to the house. Too bad he hadn’t been a phone repairman, too. It would have been as if Garcia had never been at the house at all.

After filling cat pans with lots of dry food and cleaning out water bowls, I waded cautiously through the furry feeding frenzy to check on the traps I’d reset with what was left of the KFC. And wouldn’t you know it? There was a fuzzy little kitten looking up at me with indignant yowls. The yowls only got louder when I picked up the trap and took it to the back deck before checking the other traps. The next trap had nothing in it, not even the extra-crispy chunks of chicken I’d pried loose from Brownie’s jaws. Obviously, we had a creature with magical powers visiting the traps. The next trap still had chicken but no occupant. The final trap had a wide-awake raccoon that stared balefully at me through the wire squares. It made a growling noise when I carefully put my hand on the lever that would release it, and I hesitated. Should I? The day hadn’t been a nice one. Did I really want to end it in the emergency room?

So I did what any sensible woman would do. I called Kit.

He was at the house in less than thirty minutes, which only goes to show how his nightlife runs. Neither one of us hanker after bright lights and loud music. We much prefer soft lights and low music, preferably with a glass of wine. But enough of that.

Fortunately, I was able to shower and change clothes in less than twenty minutes, so while I wasn’t date-worthy, at least I was clean.

“Oh,” he said when he spied the disgruntled raccoon, “this is a big fellow. What’d you use as bait to trap him?”

“KFC. I was trying to trap a kitten. Well, really, Mama was trying to trap it. It’s in the other trap on the deck.”

“Now I remember. I’ll take it with me when I leave. Your mama wants me to do the usual.”

The “usual” consists of spaying or neutering, checking for heartworms and feline diseases, and giving it a good health exam. My parents are nothing if not meticulous in the care and feeding of stray cats.

Kit hunkered down by the wire trap and looked in at the raccoon. The raccoon looked back with beady little eyes and twitched his whiskers.

“Are you going to release that thing
now?
” I asked Kit in a voice that had gone squeaky. He’d reached in to release the trap door so the raccoon could escape. That didn’t seem to go over well with the raccoon. It made a funny coughing sound and clacked its sharp little teeth together.

“Well, isn’t that why you called me?” he asked, and looked over his shoulder at me. I had to think about that a few seconds.

“Yes, mostly.”

Kit grinned. “I’ll be pretty interested in hearing what’s involved in
mostly
once I get this fellow out of here. You’ve got the dog put up, right?”

“Yes, thank heavens. This raccoon is bigger than he is, but I doubt Brownie would care about that. He thinks he’s Mighty Dog.”

While Kit took the trap to the edge of the yard—our yard is designated by how far Daddy mows the grass—I went to stand up on the deck. To protect the kitten, of course. It wasn’t that I was afraid . . . okay, I didn’t want to be there if the raccoon decided to run in the wrong direction. With the way my luck’s been going, I’d be wearing a raccoon coat that bites.

It didn’t take Kit too long to convince the raccoon that freedom was a good thing. He brought the empty trap back up to the house and set it on the deck. We took the other trap with the kitten into the house, and he set it on the kitchen floor not far from the table.

The kitten hissed and spat, eyes so big it looked terrified. Kit soothed it with some soft words, and gingerly pulled out the little scrap of fur and claws. It took to him immediately, cuddling close to his chest.

“You’re amazing,” I said and he grinned.

“Better at some things than others.” He waggled his brows at me.

I got a funny feeling inside. He does that to me. I got some dry cat food and a bit of chicken, put it in a saucer, and we tucked the kitten in Mama’s laundry room for the night. Kit bent over the kitten for a brief examination and pronounced him pretty healthy. “All he needs is some lab work and then neutered.”

When he straightened up, I asked him if he wanted a cold drink.

“Sure. Whatever you’ve got is good.” He shoved a hand through his hair, and crinkled his dark chocolate eyes at me. Really, there are men in this world who can cause heart palpitations with just a glance. He’s definitely one of them.

Somehow I managed to pour us both some sweet tea, and led the way to the living room. The TV remote was still on the coffee table where one of the officers had left it. I had no intention of turning on the television. Bad things happen that I didn’t want to hear about right then. Nor was I interested in seeing me and/or Bitty on Channel 5 News.

“So,” said Kit as he sat next to me and casually put his arm around my shoulders, “tell me about your day. I hear it was pretty eventful.”

“To say the least.” I tilted my head and looked sideways at him. “How did you find out about it?”

“I watch the news on occasion. Today was one of those occasions.” He grinned at me and shook his head. “I have never in my life known two women more prone to drama and danger. The military could use both of you.”

“I’ve often thought that about Bitty. She must have an invisible shield around her. Very little touches her. It slides right off. Unless, of course, she’s broken a fingernail or her hair is a mess. Then it’s strictly tragedy. Bitty’s Teflon. I, unfortunately, am Velcro.”

“Oh, I’d say you don’t do too bad. Is Bitty still going to target practice?”

I paused with my tea glass touching my mouth. “I have no idea. Why do you ask? Is there something else I should worry about?”

“Not necessarily.” He touched the nape of my neck with his hand, a light caress that sent shivers down my spine and all the way to my toes. “It’s just that—well, they haven’t caught those guys yet. You know.”

“If you’re trying to comfort me, it’s not working.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He grimaced. “Look, I’m not really good at tiptoeing around about something. So let me say straight out that I’m worried about your safety.”

“That makes two of us.” I had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. No wonder this didn’t feel over yet. It wasn’t. Walsh and Garcia were still at large, and still dangerous. “But since I gave them what they wanted, I doubt they’ll bother me or Bitty,” I said as what I considered a reasonable response. “Right?”

“You sure of that?”

No. I wasn’t. There was the threat of Big Al, for one thing, whoever that was. He wanted to break Bitty’s neck. While most of the time he might have to stand in line for that privilege, no one I knew really wanted that to happen. And then there was me—I was pretty sure I didn’t want anything to happen to me, either.

Kit seemed to read my mind. He squeezed my hand. “Sugar, I’d feel a lot better if you didn’t stay here alone.”

“Are you offering to stay?”

The words were out of my mouth before I thought about it. For a second I didn’t know what to do. Should I laugh like I’d made a joke? Should I try to do a Southern belle routine that would make us both laugh since I’m really bad at the Southern belle thing?

Before I could make up my mind, Kit took my tea glass from my hand and set it down on the coffee table next to his. Then he took my chin in his hand and whispered, “I’d be honored.”

Oh boy.

CHAPTER 18

My parents called me at six the next morning. Since I wasn’t really used to being awakened by a cell phone, I slept through the first two calls. It was the third call that I finally answered, and I’m sure I sounded bilingual.

“Muwwo,” I think I said, or something very similar sounding. My father’s voice in my ear was loud.

“Trinket,” he yelled as if he was hollering at me across a ten acre field, “Trinket, are you there?”

“Mbawa,” I said next, which he translated as
Yes, I am here, Father dear
.

“Well, it’s about time we got through. What’s the matter with the house phone? A recording says there’s trouble on the line.”

“Rubber on rine,” I replied. My eyes wouldn’t quite open for some reason, and it felt as if a twenty pound weight was on my chest.

“Dang those construction people. Always digging up phone lines and disrupting our service,” Daddy said next. “I ought to start charging them nuisance fees. Well, your mother wants to talk to you.”

I used the index finger of my right hand to pry up one eyelid. It was still dark in my room. My ancient Big Ben alarm clock’s illuminated hands pointed to 6:06. Of course, I could have slept all day instead of it just being early morning. But I was pretty sure Little Brown Dog would never have let that happen. He’s a stickler about meal times. Then I realized that the twenty pound weight on my chest
was
Little Brown Dog. He coughed in my face to let me know he was there.

If I could have moved, I’d have shown my appreciation for the timely update by depositing him on the bedroom floor, but by then my mother was on the phone.

“Trinket? Have you got a cough? It sounds terrible. I hope you’re not coming down with the flu.”

“No foo,” I managed to say. “Hoad on,” I got out next, and took the phone away from my mouth to say what was necessary to remove the canine growth from my chest. I know that dog can understand me. He always recognizes when I’m teetering on the brink of a hissy fit.

I heard the thump as he hit the rug beside my bed on all fours, then the click of his toenails across the wood floor to the door. Apparently he’s learned how to work door knobs. Either that or I’d forgotten to close the door all the way before coming to bed the night before. He stuck his nose in the crack, the door swung wider, and he ran out.

Which reminded me—where was my overnight guest?

“Trinket,” I heard Mama saying on the cell phone, “what are you doing?”

I put the phone back to my ear. “Nothing, Mama,” I said, coming wide awake in an instant. “I swear.”

“Don’t swear, dear. It’s unladylike. Have you caught the kitten yet?”