Divas Are Forever

by Virginia Brown

  “The lines were halfway to Marshall County, Bitty,” I said, but didn’t bother trying to correct her location miscalculation. Nesbit is fifteen miles west of Olive Branch, and Olive Branch is twenty-five miles from Holly Springs, give or take a mile or two. Mississippi is a lot wider and longer.

  “So what is this emergency?” I asked as we got to my car. I clicked the remote, the horn beeped, and the doors unlocked. Daddy had put in a new lightbulb, so I didn’t anticipate being stopped by the police for a taillight, and all was well in Taurus-world.

  Bitty-world was another matter.

  “Chen Ling is missing.”

  I absorbed that as I slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. Bitty slammed her door. Normally, I would think of something insulting to say, but still rattled at my unrequested name change and all its implications, I said, “From where?”

  “My house. Sharita was there, and Chen Ling just loves her, so I let her stay while we were out. Sharita already called Jackson Lee, and he’s coming to look for her. I’ll just die if she’s gone—or been abducted.”

  I could tell Bitty was about to ratchet up the already dire situation, so I said, “No one will abduct her. She bites.”

  “She does bite. Maybe she got away. She could be hiding and terrified somewhere and wondering why I’m not there to rescue her . . .” Her voice ended in a little catch.

  “It’s more probable that she’s on Mrs. Tyree’s back deck planting pug piles.”

  Bitty brightened. “Of course! I’ll call Sharita and tell her to go next door.”

  “I’m sure she’s doing that now. After all, how far can Chitling get so quickly?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Bitty said as she dialed on her cell phone. “Sharita? Have you checked next door with Mrs. Tyree? Oh? And she wasn’t there. All right. Oh, Jackson Lee just got there? Yes, he’ll find her. Thank you.”

  By this time we’d gotten to Pleasant Hill Road, and I could see the I-55 on-ramp ahead; I sped up a little. Even if I drove as fast as possible, it’d still take an hour to get back to Holly Springs. A lifetime for Bitty. I had faith in Jackson Lee that he’d leave no stone unturned in a search for Chitling.

  While I dodged traffic and tried to keep to the speed limit, Bitty dialed everyone in a three-mile radius of her house to enlist their help in scouring the neighborhood. Rayna said she’d go right over, bless her heart.

  “She’s taking Jinx,” Bitty said as she scrolled through her contact list to find the next victim—I mean searcher. “He’s good at rescuing people from disasters. Remember how he found that child after the tornado?”

  I did and tried to envision the poor dog’s confusion at searching for a wandering pug. But it may work out better having the dog look for her. A dog should know where another dog might go.

  While Bitty called Gaynelle and alerted her to the missing pug, I focused on the traffic and wondered when so many people had moved to North Mississippi. Most of the roads we traveled had been dirt roads not so long ago. Now they were six-lane highways. Progress wasn’t always good.

  Bitty clicked off her phone and blew out a breath. “Gaynelle is going to take a walk and see if she can spot her.”

  “That covers a good portion of Holly Springs,” I said. “I was just thinking, doesn’t Royal Stewart live close to you?”

  My effort to distract her didn’t work for long.

  “Off Randolph. There’s a rooming house there. Oh! Do you think he stole Chen Ling? Maybe he wants to hold her for ransom, or—”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that. For one thing, Royal has no reason to abduct your dog, and for another, he’d be more likely to abduct Sharita’s biscuits than any dog. I just thought that once we have Chen Ling safely home, we can pretend she’s missing and go knock on his door and ask a few other questions, too.”

  “Oh. Well, as long as my precious girl is safely home, we can ask all the questions you want. Like what kind of questions?”

  “I wonder if he’d discuss the bar fight and Skip Whalen, or even the girl they fought over. It might give us an idea if there’s enough there to warrant someone trying to kill him. If nothing else, we can at least cross him off our suspect list.”

  “Royal? Is he a suspect?”

  “No, Bitty, he’s a potential victim, remember?”

  Her cell phone rang, and she quickly punched it to answer. Her immediate squeal let me know she was no longer pug-less. “All the way to the depot? That’s crazy. How did she get in their back yard? She did? Tell Gwen I’ll send my landscaper over to fill in the hole and replace the plants. Yes, thank you!”

  Being on the Bitty side of the conversation did not leave me out at all. I already had the picture of the Great Escape firmly in my mind. It’s walking distance from Bitty’s house to the railroad depot, unless you’re a fat old pug with bowed legs and smushed face. Then it’s a bit of a stretch. Still, Chitling had acquitted herself well, I thought, walking that far and having enough energy left to dig a hole and destroy plants.

  “I take it Gozer the Traveler is fine,” I said in between Bitty’s calls to alert the posse that the dog was found and in protective custody. I don’t think she appreciated my Ghostbusters reference. She stuck out her tongue at me. I smiled. Then she sat back with a sigh of relief.

  “Thank heavens. Gwen found her in the back yard of the depot making friends with her pit bull. And a cat.”

  I correctly interpreted that as Chitling terrorizing Gwen’s pit bull and a cat. But all I said was, “Then we have time to go by to talk to Royal Stewart before going home.”

  “I prefer going to get my precious girl first. Then we can go talk to Royal Stewart.”

  I thought about it. Faced with me, Bitty, and the gremlin, Royal might find it easier to answer questions just to get us to leave. I’m flexible. I just hoped he was home.

  First we met with Rayna and Gwen, who had a grumpy gremlin on a leash. Gwen’s family has owned the railroad depot for decades, and it’s on the Historical Register and has the former dining room renovated to cater weddings, hold meetings, and we hope—to entertain Divas one day soon. It was also the scene of the reenactment, and I couldn’t help glancing toward the front where Walter had died. It was so lovely and peaceful, with pots of flowers, hanging baskets, nice old bricks laid out in front, basking quietly in the noonday sun.

  Bitty scooped up her pouting pug and hugged her tightly. “My poor, precious girl! Are you all right? Why did you run away? Mommy’s back now, and I won’t leave you again.”

  That precluded a visit to Budgie’s for lunch, I reflected, but perhaps that wasn’t as bad as it could be. Too much of a good thing always went straight to my thighs. As I said, I’m flexible.

  All I said to Bitty, however, was, “Your precious is pooping on your white pants.”

  Bitty reacted appropriately, holding Precious out so she could finish her deposit on the grass. Rayna said, “Oh my,” and Gwen went for paper towels to wipe pug poo off Bitty’s white linen pants.

  I said, “Don’t squeeze her so hard next time,” and Bitty flashed me a peace sign. She forgot one of the fingers, but due to the unsanitary circumstances, I let it pass. I’m sure it was an oversight.

  Once Bitty and pug were poo-less if not fragrance-free, we got into my car and drove to her house. Jackson Lee was there, as well as the Franklin Benz. It sat in gleaming splendor in the double driveway that led to the garage. It still had pink bumper stickers on the rear bumper.

  Obviously having forgiven Bitty for her midnight madness, Jackson Lee gave her a big hug, then got a puzzled expression on his face. “Sugar, is that a new perfume?”

  “Chitling Number Five,” I said in between snorts of laughter.

  Bitty ignored me. “Chen Ling had a little accident, so I need to bathe her. Is Sharita still here?”

  Jac
kson Lee shook his head. “She said to tell you she had to run, but she labeled all the food and put it away for you. I’ll just wait out here on the porch while you get Chen Ling all cleaned up.”

  I figured that was his tactful way of requesting that Bitty do the same. Since I had no intention of being roped into assisting, I said, “I’ll get us something to drink and sit out here with you, Jackson Lee. Tea?”

  After I filled two glasses with sweet tea, I joined Jackson Lee on the porch. I’d left my purse on one of the chairs and moved it to sit down. My wallet fell out, and I picked it up and put it in my lap as I sat in the wicker rocker.

  “Is it legal for a DMV employee to change your name without permission?” I asked as a way of forestalling any questions about what Bitty and I might have planned. Sometimes it’s better to avoid dire warnings and disapproval.

  “Not yet,” he replied, laughing a little. “I take it not all went well at the DMV?”

  I opened my wallet, took out my new license, and handed it to him. He scanned it, then grinned. Really, he’s a very handsome man, and I completely understood Bitty’s infatuation with him. I wasn’t quite as sure of his reasons for returning that emotion, but then again, Bitty does grow on people.

  “European Treevine sounds very botanical,” he said, and I nodded.

  “That was my first thought. But is it legal?”

  “I’d be interested in seeing the forms of identification they used to come up with this, but I’d say, no, it’s not legal. Oh, that reminds me—I got a call from the Corinth police. They found your purse, and it has your wallet in it. They’re sending it to me.”

  “Thank heavens. I hope my identification is still there. I’d hate to have to use this license if I’m stopped by the police again.”

  “Again? That sounds ominous.”

  “Oh, I had a taillight out,” I said and took a cool swig of tea. It was sweet and delicious. And it kept me from verbal diarrhea. Jackson Lee can flush out information like Chitling can root out the last corn chip in the sofa.

  As he handed me back my license, he said, “What on earth was Bitty thinking to try and retrieve that rifle last night?”

  “Oh, she has this idea that it all hinges on the rifle, that people will continue to suspect Brandon even though he’s innocent and charges have been dropped—that goes back to her first husband, you know—and since no one has been arrested or charged yet for the murder, the town will still think Brandon is guilty.”

  “I see,” he said in the tone of a man who obviously doesn’t see, and I sympathized.

  “It was very hard on Bitty when Frank was arrested, and then, of course, when she was suspected of killing her last husband. And you must admit, people talk about us now that we have been involved in recent investigations.”

  He sighed. “That’s why I hired Carter, to keep Bitty from getting involved.”

  “Well,” I said, “he was very helpful. But Bitty has been insistent on getting that rifle from the beginning. She gets obsessed. Perhaps you noticed.”

  “I noticed. And she may have a point.”

  My ears perked up. I probably looked like an Irish setter. I blame that on the box of hair dye from Walmart. Apparently Fire Red means just that. At any rate, I leaned forward. “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s possible that the rifle she identified as hers has either been switched or possibly tampered with at some point so it fires. The experts disagree.”

  I thought that over. “So Brandon could still be accused of having fired the fatal shot?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Until it’s a certainty, I think Bitty would prefer not knowing about it,” I said after a moment.

  “I agree. No point in making things worse.”

  “Making what worse, sugar?” Bitty chirped as she stepped out onto the porch, and I hoped she hadn’t heard what he’d said about the rifle.

  I said the first thing that popped into my head: “Putting up an invisible fence to keep Chitling from wandering. After all, you already have a fence around the yard. If she figured out how to squeeze her plump butt through the bars of the fence, she’ll figure out how to turn off the electricity.”

  Bitty looked thoughtful. Perhaps I had achieved my goal. Unfortunately, that brought up an entirely new set of issues.

  “That isn’t a bad idea at all, Trinket. But then, do I want my precious girl subjected to electric shocks? I don’t think so, but I don’t want her lost or hit by a car, either. Maybe I should hire a dog sitter for when I have to leave her home. Sharita must have been frantic, and I don’t want her to feel responsible if it should ever happen again.”

  I envisioned a series of thieves and irresponsible transients drifting through Bitty’s house as dog sitters. Apparently, so did Jackson Lee. He cleared his throat.

  “Let me help you figure out which is best, sugar-pie,” he said with a smile, and Bitty smiled back, adjusting Chitling to fit under her other arm as she leaned forward to kiss him on his forehead.

  Chitling snapped at empty air, Jackson Lee recoiled, and I finished off my tea and got up to let them sort it out. He’d know what to say or do to alleviate if not prevent Bitty going off on another tangent.

  It was cool and quiet in the house as I replenished my tea. Overhead ceiling fans shed a cool breeze, the air smelled faintly of garlic and lemon due to Sharita’s recent culinary expertise, and the old house nestled comfortably around me as I wandered into the front parlor where Bitty kept a sofa and plush chair, desk, chair on wheels, ferns, and business papers. It looked out over the front porch, and I saw Bitty sit down next to Jackson Lee and settle Chen Ling in her lap. This could take a while. I considered a nap. I regretted leaving my book at home, a marvelous romance about a medieval knight and his damsel in distress. Then I wondered if I should go and interview Royal Stewart myself. It might be best. Bitty and Chitling could be intimidating.

  I retreated to the hall and the fancy French phone on a mosaic table to call Rayna. She could give me his exact address. I briefly explained my mission when she answered, and she offered to go with me. Perfect.

  It took only a moment to negotiate the Bitty gauntlet with vague references to seeing how Rayna was doing and I’d be right back, and thankfully, Jackson Lee aided my cause by asking Bitty if Sharita had baked any of her famous muffins or made Aunt Sarah’s pimento cheese. Saved.

  Rayna came out of the house before I could even turn off my car engine and got into the front seat and buckled up, smiling at me. “I’ve missed engaging in skullduggery. Thank you for thinking of me, Trinket.”

  “You must not have heard of my recent name change,” I said as I maneuvered my car out into the street to turn around and head back toward Randolph Street. As with most things in my life since my return to Holly Springs, it was a lot funnier in the retelling than it had been in the experience, so that Rayna giggled all the way to Randolph Street and the boarding house. We parked on the street, and I looked at the steep staircase leading up to the second floor. It had been an obvious add-on once the old home was turned into a boarding house, and I didn’t quite trust the rickety-looking stairs.

  “Are you sure those are safe?” I muttered as I followed Rayna across the yard. It had been neatly mowed and trimmed, flowers grew in tidy beds, but the stairs were a nightmare waiting to happen.

  “Probably not,” Rayna replied cheerfully. Of course, she’s the kind of person to whom bad things are considered learning experiences. Which doesn’t explain why she’s still hanging out with me and Bitty and is a founding member of the Divas. You’d think she’d have learned by now that lightning can and does strike in the same place more than once.

  Still, I followed her up the narrow, steep steps to the tiny landing at the top. I clung to the side-rails while she knocked on the door. Royal came to the door, his dark hair tousled, and
looking sleepy-eyed.

  “Oh, did we wake you?” Rayna asked pleasantly, and he shrugged.

  “I worked late last night but need to be up anyway. Aren’t you Rob Rainey’s wife?”

  Rayna smiled. She’s one of those beautiful women who can enchant men and probably random frogs with just a smile, and he stepped back to invite us into his efficiency apartment that was little more than a room and kitchenette. It was surprisingly neat and tidy. My gaze was immediately drawn to an antique rifle hung on the wall. It looked very similar to Bitty’s.

  While I walked over to look at it, Rayna said, “We hope you can clear up confusion for us on the reason you went to jail the night before Walter Simpson was killed.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and caught the puzzled expression on Royal’s face. “I’m not in trouble for something else, am I?” he asked.

  “Heavens, I hope not,” Rayna replied with her most beguiling smile. “We just can’t help thinking that somehow that fight is connected to the mess surrounding Brandon Caldwell.”

  “Yeah, I heard all charges against him were dismissed. Glad to hear that. It wouldn’t have been Brandon involved in that fight with Skip, anyway. Clayton was the one who Skip tried to beat down over Jenna a while back. Skip can’t ever tell the twins apart.”

  That got my immediate attention. “Were Brandon and Clayton at the bar that Friday night too?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just for a little while, though. Clayton saw that Skip was drunk and mean and figured it was a good time to leave.”

  “But you stayed,” Rayna said, and he grinned.

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t mind a little scrap every now and then, and Skip asks for it when he’s been drinking. Besides, after Clayton and Skip got into it at the last reenactment, I figured he might have it coming.”

  A dozen different ideas rattled in my brain. None of them concrete, just crumbs that had little connection to facts. But I still asked, “What reenactment was that?”