Divas Are Forever

by Virginia Brown

  “So, she put on her son’s uniform, brought the rifle she’d bought from Bitty’s sister-in-law, and waited around the corner of the depot near the freight office. No one would think anything about one more soldier. It was smoky, and there was confusion and shouting and shots being fired, and she simply took aim when she saw Royal’s uniform and shot him in the heart.”

  He paused, and I felt suddenly terrible. I’d inadvertently been the cause of Walter being killed. As if he knew what I was thinking, Jackson Lee looked at me.

  “Don’t for a minute think any of this is your fault, Trinket. Sally meant to kill Royal and would have found a way. It was Walter’s bad fortune to have taken his place, but Royal’s good fortune to be a spectator instead of participant. If she’d seen him, she may well have shot him anyway, causing two deaths.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Jackson Lee.” Kit reached over and squeezed my hand, and I smiled at him before a thought struck me.

  “Is Sally responsible for the attack on Catfish?”

  Jackson Lee grimaced. “No, that was all Sylvester Whalen. Catfish had figured it out, and he thought he could find the rifle and prove it. He made the mistake of showing up at the depot before Whalen left the work site, and started poking around. So Whalen told him he’d seen someone hide an old rifle, and if Catfish wanted to meet him after he got off work, he’d show him where. Catfish showed up prepared, but he didn’t expect two of them. Good thing Skip can’t hit the side of a barn. Sylvester got him, thought he’d killed him, and dumped him in the weeds down JM Ash Road in the industrial park. Catfish had shot Whalen in the shoulder, though, so he didn’t stay to make sure he was dead.”

  Then Kit asked, “So how did Sally Whalen get away without being seen after shooting Walter?”

  Jackson Lee took Chen Ling as Bitty handed the dog to him and settled her in his lap as he said, “She knew the police would confiscate all the weapons, so when people ran over to help Walter, she went with them. Anyone would have done, but she saw Brandon kneeling next to Walter, his gun next to him, and simply switched them. That way when Brandon picked it up, thinking it was his, his fingerprints were all over it. She wore gloves, so no other prints were on the rifle. Skip said she thought Brandon was Clayton and was very annoyed when she learned later he wasn’t.”

  He paused, then added, “She thought Brandon had seen her shoot Walter, and according to Skip, tried to ambush him at JB’s after sabotaging his car. But when he was arraigned and no one accused her, she knew he hadn’t. Brandon going to prison was a better revenge anyway. Maybe it wasn’t Royal, but I believe she intended to kill him later.”

  He glanced at Bitty. “The two rifles look so much alike, it was difficult for even the experts to agree. If we’d known the history of the Truevine rifle, we might have figured it out a lot sooner.”

  Bitty looked smug. “I just knew it wasn’t my mama’s rifle. That thing hasn’t fired in a hundred years. I thought maybe someone had switched the barrel, or somehow repaired it, but I never thought of Daddy’s rifle. After all, it’s supposed to be safely in Jackson, Mississippi, not in the hands of someone like Sally Whalen.” She looked over at me. “Do you know who her sister is?”

  I had to admit I had no idea. Bitty smiled. “Darlene Landers. Sally is her half-sister, ten years younger. I remembered that when she told Sly that Darlene said they could come for a visit. Darlene detests Sally. Calls her a half-wit half-sister, so no telling what Sally said to get her to agree. I know Darlene is glad she doesn’t have to let her visit now.”

  “I’m sure,” I agreed. “So Sally hid your rifle in the depot, knowing the police might come looking for it, and planned to get rid of it later. Why didn’t she do so before last night?”

  “Her husband Sly works construction,” Bitty replied. “He was part of those renovating the depot, so he got a key to the baggage room where she hid it. But then other workers went in there and moved stuff around. He didn’t know where it’d gone. So he gave Sally the key, and she had to wait until it was clear to look for it. She’d already been there twice without finding it. Last night she found it up in the attic where someone must have thought it belonged. I doubt they would have known there was a disagreement between the weapons’ experts, so never thought anything of it but that it was just an old rifle that belonged to the depot.”

  “And how did Jenna get roped into this? Did she know Sally killed Walter?”

  Bitty pointed to my wine glass, and I handed it to her. She sipped, and then handed it back. “Not bad wine. It turns out that Jenna really does work at an insurance company, and Sally convinced Jenna to ‘mess with’ me, as she put it in her statement, and deny my claim. She didn’t know Sally had other plans. If I hadn’t given Mrs. Tyree an extra set of my keys after locking myself out twice in one day, poor Jenna might have died in there. It got pretty hot with that tarp on the car. Who knows when we would have found her? And don’t look at me like that, Trinket. I didn’t mean to lock my keys in my car. It just happened. I’m glad you thought to look in the Benz.”

  “I didn’t. Chitling did.”

  “She did? My precious girl,” Bitty crooned, leaning over the pug. She misjudged her audience. Chitling still had her mind on the Colonel. As Bitty leaned toward her, the dog leaped from Jackson Lee’s lap into the middle of the quilt, snagging a chicken thigh off a plate, and then taking off across the yard.

  Maybe it would have been better if Mama hadn’t chosen that moment to let Brownie out into the yard, but apparently he spied Chitling with chicken and took off after her. I’m sure he just meant to help her find her way back, but the result was that both dogs raced across the empty field next to the house and into the woods. While the men went to retrieve them, looking less than pleased, Bitty and I shared a glass of wine.

  We chatted for a few minutes before Bitty said with a sigh, “Sometimes things work out better than hoped, don’t they?”

  “I guess that depends on whether you’re Darlene or Sally,” I replied and took a deep sip of my wine. Bitty held her left hand out to me. I raised my brows. “You still have five fingers. Or is that four fingers and a thumb?”

  “Ring finger, Trinket.”

  I looked. A slender gold band circled it. I nodded. “Nice.”

  She glanced down, muttered something under her breath, then used her thumb to twist the band. A diamond as big as a robin’s egg came into view. It had two small rubies on each side. I gasped.

  “You’re engaged?”

  “A pre-engagement. I want to take my time and so does he.”

  “If this is a pre-engagement ring, I don’t even want to think what an actual engagement ring will look like.” I took her hand and inspected it. “It’s perfect, Bitty.”

  “I know.”

  “So I take it the two of you worked out your little difference of opinion?”

  “Oh, that.” She waved her hand, the diamond catching sunlight and flashing messages to an OnStar satellite. “I misunderstood him. He’d never be so mean as to ask me to stop seeing any of my friends, but he does want to help me channel my energies in a different direction. You know, like art, or cooking, or a book club with my friends, something like that.”

  “Uh huh. I would ask what you have in mind, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “Oh, you’ll see. I think I have a perfect idea for our next Diva Day.”

  I reached for the wine bottle. I would have asked for details, but our stalwart hunters of pugs and pups returned, bearing their prey home. It wasn’t pretty. Obviously, the prey had won round one. Jackson Lee and Kit looked bedraggled and worse for wear.

  The dogs, however, rode securely in each embrace, eyes closed in satisfaction, smiling as they probably planned their next coup. Really, I want to come back as Bitty’s dog in my next life. It may be a short life, but it would be wonderful.

  Chapter 19
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  “WHAT ON EARTH,” I exclaimed, pausing just inside the railroad depot dining room. It’s a large room with a high ceiling, white-painted walls and woodwork, and huge blow-ups of novel covers everywhere: on easels, hanging from the ceiling, perched in the tall alcove windows; smaller ones decorated each cloth-covered table. Some were tasteful, some were lurid, some exotic, and some plain trashy. I gravitated toward the last.

  A nearly nude man with rippling muscles looked down at the woman kneeling in front of him, his hands in her hair. It was very suggestive. I was very intrigued. Nice theme.

  We had all been sent invitations that requested we come dressed as one of our favorite romantic fiction characters. I had chosen Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s fame. I felt rather silly with my hair in a twist, pearls around my neck, and a tiara borrowed from Bitty, but I loved the long cigarette holder, elbow gloves, and slinky black dress.

  “Trinket, where have you been?”

  I turned to answer my cousin’s siren call and came nose to navel with a muscular man wearing a breechclout; to my sorrow, it was a life-size cardboard replica of one of the romance novel heroes I’d been admiring. The real thing eluded me. The cardboard cutout waggled.

  “Don’t just stand there, Trinket, help me with this thing,” Bitty complained.

  So I licked it.

  Glaring at me around the ribcage, Bitty said, “Stop that! You’ll lick the ink off. Take this and set it somewhere strategic. I have more to bring inside.”

  “Who are you supposed to be?” I asked, eying her. She wore a skintight white dress and jeweled cap on her head and, of course, high heels. I couldn’t imagine who she was supposed to represent.

  She smiled. “Mata Hari.”

  “That’s not fiction. Or romantic.”

  “It’s not?”

  I rolled my eyes. “She was executed by firing squad for being a German spy.”

  “But the book made her so glamorous—oh well, I’ll make her romantic.”

  “If anyone can pull it off, I suppose it’s you,” I said, and she blew me a kiss.

  I carried my trophy across the dining room. Several fantasies flitted through my head as I placed him against a wall across from the entrance. He should be admired. It’s my understanding that real models pose for romance novel covers, and the artist provides the costume, or lack of one, according to the book requirements or artistic preference. They may not all be like Fabio, but they are all muscled and gorgeous. I approve.

  Perhaps Bitty’s book club idea would prove to be successful, after all. I’d had hints of what she planned in the past few weeks, but she’d refused to divulge details, just saying, “You’ll like it.”

  She was right.

  By the time she brought in all the cutouts, with a little help from Brandon and Clayton, who refused to carry the male models but had no problems with carrying in the females, she had about fifteen situated around the dining room. There were some from Faulkner novels, just to honor the man who had once sat in this very dining room watching train passengers board and disembark, and Hemingway and Tennessee Williams, but most were romance novels. Naturally, she had included the Fifty Shades novels as well. That should provide conversational starters for the uninitiated. If there are any women left in America who haven’t heard of Fifty Shades, that is, which I doubt.

  Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara cutouts were stationed just inside the front doors, so there would be no mistaking the theme for the day: romance. Trust Bitty to think of that. Since she had gotten “pre-engaged,” she’d been like a teenager with her first love; it was all about the wedding that would happen sometime in the next five years, and where it would be, and what she would wear, and did I think summer or winter better, and off-white might work—until I had taken to avoiding her. I finally suggested a ladder and elopement. She took the hint.

  So now it was mostly all things romance, and I was very happy for her that she had settled on Jackson Lee. They were wonderful together. I was happy with Kit, and it promised to be a lovely summer.

  There are times I’m an optimistic fool, but all indications were that it would at least be a lovely Diva Day. The afternoon weather was perfect, sunshine and warm, but not too hot.

  Divas began arriving: Marcy Porter as Jessica Rabbit again, Cindy Nelson as Maleficent or Bellatrix Lestrange, we couldn’t quite decide, Cady Lee Kincaid as Pocahontas or Princess Tiger Lily, and Gaynelle as Cinderella; all arrived at the same time. Marcy and Cindy were immediately captivated by the cardboard cutout hunks, while Gaynelle admired Rhett and Scarlett, then moved on to Boon Hogganbeck and Corrie from Faulkner’s The Reivers. I have no idea where Bitty found cardboard cutouts of Steve McQueen as Boon and Sharon Farrell as Corrie from the movie, but they were perfect. Cady Lee discovered the hero in the breechclout and snagged a passing Clayton to take a selfie of her. I had the impression a selfie was a photo one took by one’s “self,” but then again, what do I know.

  Behind me, Rayna said, “So where are the characters from the Fifty Shades books?”

  “Ask Bitty,” I replied. “This is her show.”

  “That’s frightening. Remember the Chippendales?”

  I certainly did. We looked at each other and smiled. Then we found a table near the front where any action was likely to take place. A crystal water pitcher sat in the middle of the table, and crystal glasses glistened in the light through the long windows. Flowers in crystal vases had been placed on each table, along with canapés on small plates, and delicious fragrances emanated from the back area where food was prepared. A buffet table stretched halfway across the front of the huge room.

  “Who are you?” I asked Rayna, trying to guess her assumed identity.

  She smiled. “I started out as Elizabeth Bennet but then decided that Emma is more my style.”

  I nodded, appreciating her practical choice; the long skirt, modest blouse, and wide-brimmed hat fit Rayna. We watched as more Divas arrived, guessing who they were supposed to be, drinking chilled water and snagging canapés off silver trays. Carolann and Rose arrived together, both wearing Zeigfield girl costumes, reminiscent of F. Scott Fitzgerald novels, and joined our table. Gaynelle found us, looking very pretty in a ball gown and glass slippers. She even wore a tiara atop her hair and had colored it with blond streaks. Talk drifted to Bitty’s engagement, then turned to the recent murder at the depot.

  “Poor Deelight was so upset,” said Gaynelle as she held a shrimp canapé, looking at it critically. “After all, Walter was her grandfather. And then the trouble with the will—I hope I convinced her to join us.”

  “So do I. But it’s turned out all right now, hasn’t it?” I asked.

  “Well, Sammy relented and allowed everyone to have the items they were promised after Faith and Deelight apologized for all the trouble, but I think it was Jackson Lee’s involvement that really turned it around. He pointed out that Walter’s doctor said he was suffering from dementia, so the codicil could be called into legal question, and it was best for all if they came to some kind of amicable agreement.” Gaynelle smiled. “So they did.”

  “That’s a relief,” Rayna said. “I’m just glad it’s all over with now. Life can go back to normal. Whatever that is.”

  Leaning forward, Carolann said in what passes for a whisper with her, “I heard that the entire Whalen family is going to jail. Sally’s sister wants to take possession of the house, since it was in the Landers family for a long time, and she says it should stay that way. Mr. Landers just died a few years ago. Darlene’s mother remarried when she was very young and they raised her.”

  “I thought Darlene lived up north with her husband,” said Gaynelle and held up her canapé to look at it in the light.

  “Oh, she does, but grew up in Oxford after her parents divorced. She always came back here for the summers to spend time with her father, so
I suspect she thought the house should be hers, since her father divorced Sally’s mother, too. They left town when Sally was in junior high. Sally came back after he died to live in it, but of course, there was a squabble about that. It ended up that the court let her stay since he was Sally’s father, too, and he hadn’t said which daughter could have it. Gaynelle, what are you doing?”

  “Is there something the matter with that canapé?” I couldn’t help asking, and Gaynelle held it out.

  “Does this remind you of—of anything?”

  Rose Allgood took one off the tray, then laughed. “Naughty Bitty. I wonder who she had create these canapés.”

  I looked more closely and started fanning my face with one hand. “Oh my—is that what I think it is?”

  Carolann hooted with laughter. “Butterfly shrimp with that dollop of pink cream cheese looks like something out of an erotic movie. I haven’t seen that since my last boyfriend.”