Dixie Divas (33 page)

“Hollandale wasn’t the only one who voted against it,” Gaynelle pointed out.

“No,” Georgie said, “but his was the deciding vote. If he’d listened to the offers made by plant employees and CEO’s, Roger would still be in Mississippi, not off in Arizona.”

“Roger was Georgette’s companion,” Gaynelle said primly, and Georgie flushed.

“Just a friend,” she said quickly, “a good friend. He went nearly a year without finding a job that’d pay near what he’d been making as a line supervisor at the bicycle plant.”

“See?” Bitty said, waving a hand toward Georgie, “even her friend Roger has a motive for killing Philip. Not that he did, of course.”

“Well,” Melody said, “we all know no matter what you
felt
like doing, you’d never harm anyone, Bitty, even your ex-husband.”

“Thank you, Melody, it’s nice to know who my true friends are during this terrible time.” Bitty smiled. Chen Ling sulked. Then Bitty looked over at me as she fed the pug a cracker spread with goose liver pâté and said, “Some people think I talk too much.”

I sucked down an inch of white zinfandel and smiled. Agreement would be rude, but even a polite lie would sound too false.

After a moment, Rayna said, “Goose liver pâté is really bad for dogs, you know. Too rich. I had to stop, and poor Redd is just really upset about it. She loves pâté. Dr. Coltrane advised that I stick to dog food, so I started making it. Boiled chicken and long grain rice. It’s very good for them and they love it.”

“Oh my, poor Chen Ling,” Bitty said, looking stricken. “Do you think I’ve poisoned her?”

“Lord no, Bitty. But it’s not good for her. If you want, I’ll give you the recipe for dog food that I got from Aunt Anna. I bet she loves it.”

“So,” I said, more a statement than a question,” you’ve decided to keep Chitling.”

Bitty made a face. “Trinket’s being mean. She wants me to give Chen Ling back to Luann Carey, but I think she’ll be much happier here. Unless . . . unless I go to prison, of course. Then I’ll have to make sure she’s cared for while I’m . . . while I’m gone.”

The tears that suddenly welled up in Bitty’s eyes were genuine, and I felt as mean as she said I was. “Oh honey, you know I want you to have what makes you happy,” I said immediately. “I just don’t want you to get attached to an older dog, that’s all. It’s devastating when they die.”

Before I knew it, we were hugging each other, with Chen Ling squashed between us and growling. “I know, Trinket,” Bitty said, sniffling a little, “but I’d rather have months of joy than years of just okay.”

Since she’d made me cry, too, the horrible wretch, I said, “That’s the worst paraphrase of Shelby I’ve ever heard,” and we both laughed.

Gaynelle explained to a perplexed Melody, “
Steel Magnolias
. It’s a movie, and Shelby is the character who dies. One of our favorites.”

“Oh,” Melody said as if she understood, but I could tell she didn’t. Ah well. She was too young yet. Give her another decade or two, a marriage and-or child, and no one would have to explain it at all. “So, Bitty,” Melody said next, “it’s probably best y’all didn’t get caught moving the senator’s body around. That’d only make all this worse.”

A brief silence fell, and we must have all looked a little surprised, since the only ones who knew about that were the Divas involved and the police. It was one of the many facts being withheld for the moment. Melody blinked when no one responded.

“Don’t you think?” she asked a little tentatively.

“Where on earth did you hear that?” Gaynelle demanded, using her schoolteacher voice, and Melody seemed to jump a foot off the couch.

“Cindy said . . . well, I just heard . . . should I not have said anything?”

Leaning forward, Gaynelle put her hand on Melody’s arm, “No, you should not. It’s not something that needs to be said, and I’m quite surprised at Cynthia Nelson for being so foolish as to share such gossip. I’ll have a word with her about this.”

“Oh no! Please don’t—I’ll just die. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to say anything to you all, and Cindy and I are getting to be such good friends. I’d hate to ruin that with my big mouth.”

Melody looked so upset, and kept apologizing, and finally Gaynelle agreed not to chastise Cindy for speaking out of turn. “But do not say a word to another living soul about anything like that,” she added. “It could be very detrimental not only to Bitty, but to all of us.”

I noted that Gaynelle neither denied nor confirmed Melody’s information. She’s good.

Since the festive air had dissipated, they left one by one, with Rayna being the last to leave. She took Bitty’s hand in hers.

“Call me for that dog food recipe. And just be careful, okay?”

“Good heavens, Rayna,” Bitty said with a little laugh, “I’m not at all sure there’s anything bad left to happen.”

Rayna didn’t smile. “Well, there is. And I’d hate to see it happen to you. Stop poking your nose in places you shouldn’t and stay home, please. Good night, Bitty, Trinket.”

“Well, isn’t that the strangest thing,” Bitty said when she shut the door and locked it, “her sounding so . . . so much like a crossing guard. Warning me to be careful.”

“She’s right, Bitty. Think about it. Philip’s dead. Sanders is dead. And someone tried to kill me.”

Holding Chen Ling close, Bitty chewed on her bottom lip. “I’d hoped that maybe you just got lost, you know. Chen Ling ran so far so quickly—I mean, who’d have expected a little dog like her to be able to do that? And when I got back you were gone. At first I didn’t worry about it since you’re always so capable. And much bigger than Sanders, so I figured you’d just make him behave. Then when I realized you were really gone and Sanders wasn’t there, and I heard this banging noise and I got scared . . . Trinket, I’m so sorry. I left you out there alone with whoever did that to you.”

“You did exactly the right thing. Someone who’s killed twice won’t hesitate to kill a few more times, I think. You might have ended up in the cellar with me.”

“Do you think they meant to kill you?”

I’d been wondering about that myself. The blow on my head had been nasty, but not fatal. Was that on purpose, or was I meant to be dead? From the angle of the cut in my scalp, doctors in the emergency room said it looked as if a much shorter person had struck me. Jackson Lee and I didn’t want to alarm Bitty, but Sergeant Maxwell leaned toward the theory that Bitty had done it to me. Preposterous, of course.

But what really bothered Jackson Lee was how the prosecutors had shaped a damaging case against Bitty: wronged wife, an ex-husband determined to thwart her desire to get Sanders’ house on the register, and Sanders himself being an obstacle to her goal. As the only eye-witness, I was a liability, they seemed to think, so she might have wanted to get rid of me.

As I said, preposterous.

“I don’t know,” I finally said to Bitty, “but if they did mean to kill me, they might be irritated they didn’t succeed.”

Bitty’s eyes got wide. “You mean—they might try again?”

“Bitty, I can’t help but wonder if
both
of us aren’t dangerous to someone.”

I really didn’t want to frighten Bitty, but she needed to realize how vulnerable she was and how easily she could be hurt, physically as well as emotionally.

After sucking in a deep breath and apparently squeezing Chen Ling a little too hard, Bitty got up to get a cloth to clean her pants. “It’s a good thing my boys are coming home tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll make them stay here and keep us safe.”

All the air left my lungs. Now, just so you’ll know, I dearly love Clayton and Brandon. Two of the smartest, nicest, most wonderful hellions you’d ever meet. Alike as two peas in a pod, but just in appearance. Clayton is always ready for a party, gregarious and noisy. Brandon is more intellectual, but just as loud. Brandon would make an excellent attorney. Clayton would make an excellent prisoner. Brandon smokes Marlboros. Clayton smokes pot. Brandon has switched his major three times. Clayton doesn’t have a major, other than professional student. Both are very attractive to the opposite sex, and wherever they are, there are always people and beer.

So it’s understandable that the prospect of their arrival left me less than enthusiastic.

“Where on earth will they stay?” I finally squeaked as Bitty wiped pug piddle off the front of her pants.

“Heavens, Trinket, I have six bedrooms. There’s enough room. I forgot to tell Sharita about it, though, so we’ll have to run out tomorrow and get in enough food. Oh, and Jefferson is coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Did I mention that?”

“You didn’t mention any of this. Bitty, I don’t think this is a good idea at all.”

She looked surprised. “Why not?”

par There were so many reasons that I couldn’t drag just one out as the most important, so I said at random, “Too many people, frat parties, beer, cigarettes, food—does Jefferson care that you’ve been charged with the murder of your ex-husband?”

Sometimes Bitty really does focus. “I told the boys not to bring anyone home with them, that I’m not up to parties, they can’t get drunk or smoke in the house, we’re going to Carlisle’s and the Pig for food tomorrow anyway, and Jefferson is quite adamant that I’m not at all guilty so it doesn’t matter to him in the least.” She paused to take a breath, and then smiled. “See? Don’t you feel better now?”

“Oh, much.” My sarcasm went unnoticed. “Do you still have that prescription of Valium, by any chance?”

Bitty just laughed. I’m not known to take even an aspirin, so if I feel the need for any kind of medication, then the pain is unbearable or the doctor unmovable. I much prefer the medication that Mother Nature has given us: fermented grapes or barley and hops. And of course, chocolate.

I took half a bottle of wine and entire bar of dark chocolate up to my room and proceeded to self-medicate the hell out of myself. Don’t scoff until you’ve tried it.

When I woke the next morning, it was to sweet, blessed peace. No awful sound marred the morning, one of those late March days that lets you know Spring has sprung. Birds chirped merrily in the tree tops outside my window, soft golden light streamed through window glass and sheers, and I could have sworn I heard angels singing. The heady aroma of brewing coffee teased me downstairs to find a singing angel in the kitchen.

“Sharita, aren’t you here a day early?”

“Two,” she replied with a laugh. “I had a cancellation, so I let Miss Bitty talk me into coming in an extra day.”

“Has Bitty already been downstairs?”

“She drank three cups of coffee and left an hour ago.”

In the act of reaching for a coffee mug, I stopped and turned to look at Sharita. “Tell me you’re kidding. She left?”

“And took Yoda with her.”

Normally, I’d have found that amusing, but the thought of Bitty being on her own with her mouth well-oiled and primed made me nervous.

“Did she say where she was headed?”

“To see Jackson Lee.”

That made me feel a little better. I poured my coffee, and wondered if I should mention to Jackson Lee my persistent belief that General Forrest had something to do with Philip Hollandalee s death. Probably not, though it would make an excellent insanity defense if needed.

“I shouldn’t have slept so late,” I said, and sat at the kitchen table to sample one of the freshly-baked cinnamon rolls Sharita put into the biscuit warmer. “I swear, Bitty and I are taking on each other’s bad habits. She’s getting up early now, and I’ve started sleeping late.”

Sharita agreed. “Bitty certainly has changed lately. Guess I would, too, if I was the only suspect the police were looking at for two murders. I wouldn’t sleep at all.”

“That makes sense. What was that you were singing before I got down here?”

“
My Lord, What A Mornin
’. My grandmother used to sing it on days just like this one. It seemed appropriate.”

I had to agree. “It’s lovely. I thought I heard angels singing down here.”

“You ought to come over to our church sometime. I think you’d like it. We do a lot of singing.”

“I may do that. I love to sing.”

“You’d be most welcome. We need a new alto in our choir.”

With the new information I’d learned about Forrest, I decided to ask her a bold question. “What do you know about General Nathan Bedford Forrest?”

That surprised Sharita. She stopped stirring whatever it was she had in a big bowl that looked awful and smelled heavenly, and turned to look at me. Any fear that I’d insulted her by asking such a question disappeared when she said, “He wasn’t always the terrible man a lot of people claim he was, not according to my granny, anyway. Granny’s grandmother was born to slaves, and after the war, it was General Forrest who gave her granddaddy a mule and enough money to buy seed corn. Times were bad for everyone back then, black and white. Except for scalawags that came in like buzzards to buy land and property out from everyone.”

“Like Sherman Sanders’ family?”

Sharita nodded. “That’s right. You know, my granny still says that her granny talked a lot about The Cedars, and how the family who owned it before and during the war lost it to Yankee carpetbaggers. One of them was a former soldier who came to Holly Springs with General Grant, a lieutenant, I think. He came back after the war ended and paid the taxes on The Cedars, and got it right out from under the family’s nose. All their men had been killed, and only the women were left. Not that they could have paid the taxes anyway. There were a lot of bitter feelings back then, and for a long time afterward. The Richmonds claimed they’d had the money to pay the taxes but the Sanders got the tax men to stall just long enough so they could take illegal possession. Put the womenfolk and kids right out, with only the clothes on their backs. Didn’t let them take a stick of furniture with them, either. Not even the kids’ doll babies.”

“Do you think the Richmonds really had the money for the taxes?”

Shrugging, Sharita said, “My granny says they did, but how could they? Confederate bills were worthless by that time, anyway. Worth more now than they were back then.”

“A shame. There are hundreds of stories like that all over the South. Probably a few up North, as well, but of course, they didn’t go through Reconstruction.”