Divas Do Tell

by Virginia Brown

  “And run into Allison Cramer? I think not. Unlock the doors. I’ll get out here.”

  “I happen to know Allison is at the police station. And even if she isn’t, she can’t say anything about us talking to neighbors, can she? We’ll pretend we’re asking about the dogs.”

  “Are you insane? Never mind. I know the answer to that. Most of their neighbors know you, Bitty. You only live two streets over. Even if you lived in another county they’d know you. You’re one of those memorable people.”

  “Thank you, Trinket.”

  I smiled encouragingly at her. “Now just let me out at your house, and I’ll get my car and go home to take care of my parents’ animals.”

  “Not a chance. The way I think it happened is that Dixie Lee rang the doorbell and when Billy Joe came to the door, bam! She shot him and dropped the gun next to him.”

  “At the door. Where anyone could see her shoot him. How did she think she’d get away with it? Most suicides don’t do that right at the front door. Most homicides don’t do that right at the front door.”

  Sounding a bit testy she said, “Okay, Miss Marple, how do you think she did it?”

  “If I thought she did it—which I don’t—I’d say she talked him into letting her into the house, then lulled him into a sense of false security by apologizing or saying she didn’t mean to do it, then when he sat down she shot him. All she’d have to do after that is leave the house.”

  Bitty nodded thoughtfully. “What about the gun? Who would it be registered to? I mean, she wouldn’t just leave it to chance that he’d have a gun so she’d have to take it with her.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard. This is Mississippi. Everyone has guns. She could have bought it at a store or on a corner. It wouldn’t have to be registered to her or Billy Joe.”

  “I’m sure the police have covered that angle. So she shoots him, then—what? Walks back to Cady Lee’s house? To Budgie’s? Has she left her car on the street somewhere?”

  I thought about it a moment. “She left her car in the parking lot at Piggly Wiggly. It’s not that far a walk from here. It wouldn’t be noticeable there.”

  “Okay, so she shoots him, calmly walks out the front door, down the sidewalk and across the street, up the block, and she’s away. Cool as that.”

  Bitty stopped the car, and I looked out the window at Billy Joe Cramer’s house. The yellow tape was gone. Someone had picked up the trash in the front yard, and the dogs were quiet behind the fence. The Confederate battle flag hung limply from its pole. It was eerily silent.

  “I don’t think it was Dixie Lee, Bitty. She strikes me as too squeamish. I’d go with Allison before I would her.”

  “It was Dixie Lee. Billy Joe was being too loud and about to ruin everything for her. She shot him and probably danced down the sidewalk afterward.”

  “Honestly, Bitty. Sometimes you’re scary.”

  “So who do we talk to first?”

  I looked out the window again. Then I sighed. “Let’s try the neighbors on the left.”

  It wasn’t until we talked to an elderly woman who lived across the street from the Cramers that we got any information at all. White-haired and about as big as a jaybird, Mrs. Whitworth let us inside.

  She had us sit down on flowered couches. I eyed a huge vase of plastic magnolia blossoms that were thick with dust and cobwebs as she did the Southern thing, offering us something to drink, a snack, asking after Bitty’s sons away at college. Then she got down to business.

  “Oh, Billy Joe used to have women come see him all the time when Allison was at work. He’d come home from his shop, and sometimes they’d meet in the front yard by her car. Those were the women he didn’t mind anyone knowing about.” She smiled, her dentures clicking as the smile got wider. “Then there were the women he’d take into the house. They’d be in there an hour or more, then the front door would open and the woman would come out, get in her car, and drive away like she’d just been delivering milk. She delivered something, all right.”

  I could tell Mrs. Whitworth was enjoying this. She probably didn’t get much company. I asked, “The day Billy Joe was killed—did you see anyone then?”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell you the same as I did the police when they asked: A woman in a raincoat and scarf showed up during lunch time. She was fairly tall for a woman, slender, blonde. I saw her long hair sticking out from under the scarf. Didn’t get to see her face, though. A pity. I could have solved the whole crime for them.”

  “You’re pretty observant,” I said, and she bobbed her head.

  “I am for a fact. I don’t have much else to do until Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune come on. If I watch the noon news I get either mad or sad, and I’m too old to dwell on that stuff very long. So I leave my front door open, and when I see something interesting, I watch. Billy Joe was interesting.”

  When we left, Bitty looked at me and said, “Tall, slender, blonde. Dixie Lee.”

  I sighed. “Maybe. But would Billy Joe have really let her in? He was pretty mad. I don’t know if he’d have let her cross his threshold.”

  “Obviously, he did.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. Since the police already have this information, I say we leave this alone, Bitty. Mrs. Whitworth gave them the same description she gave us, and they’re a lot better at this.”

  “I’d like to think so, but look at how well we’ve done this past year.”

  I stared at her. We’d arrived at her car, and she hit the button to unlock the doors. “How well? Have you been paying attention? I was there. We haven’t done that well. We’ve been shot at, hit, locked in a cellar and an ice house, generally terrorized, and you think we’ve done well?”

  “We found the killers, didn’t we?”

  “By accident most of the time.” Since Bitty had opened her door and slid behind the wheel I had to get inside to continue my reminders. “We’re not that good, Bitty. I know it may seem like it to some people—apparently just you—but we stumble around like the Keystone Cops. The Three Stooges. Wile E. Coyote. That guy on Psych. People have started calling us Lucy and Ethel.”

  “Oh, Trinket, those are just people who don’t realize how hard we worked. Even Rob Rainey thought we did well, or he wouldn’t have considered hiring us as insurance investigators.”

  “Past tense, Bitty. He decided against it. He said it was too much like giving us a license to bungle.”

  “For heaven’s sake, you’re just so negative. Think more positively. Negativity breeds negativity.” She put the Mercedes in reverse instead of drive, and we shot backward several yards before she got the tank stopped. I grabbed my neck, thinking of whiplash. “Oops,” she said, put the car in the right gear, and we drove down the street while I tried to think of what to say that’d convince her we weren’t capable of investigating.

  Nothing good came to me. I’d exhausted my best arguments. Then I thought of something. “Let’s go talk to Rayna. We’ll tell her what we just found out and see what she says.”

  “Excellent idea. We’re always better as a team. I’m glad you see it my way, Trinket. Dixie Lee murdered Billy Joe, but we don’t know who killed Abby Bloom. So now we have two murderers running around town.”

  “Take heart. Maybe Dixie Lee killed them both. Probably JFK and Jimmy Hoffa too.”

  “You’re being sarcastic again, aren’t you.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  She didn’t say anything else until we got to Rayna’s house. She and Rob live in an old hotel they’ve partially restored. It sits right next to Phillip’s Grocery and across the street from the Civil War era railroad depot. The railroad station is on the historical register since it was originally built before the Civil War and added on to over the years. It has a lot of rooms on the second floor that were once rented to train passengers
on their way to other destinations. The bottom floor is the former lobby, ticket agent station, and storerooms. Trains still stop, but they’re freight trains instead of passenger, and use the white block building for personnel. The railroad station has been owned by the same family since the nineteenth century. It’s a beautiful building with curlicues and cupolas, painted red and still stately despite its age. A faded rose of an era long past.

  The Delta Inn faces the railroad station’s garden across the narrow street. It’s a two-story structure with a long porch all the way across the front. The second floor balcony has doors leading from the rooms for guests to sit outside. The interior lobby is marble and leftover gilt, with the former reception desk now serving as a lovely breakfast/dinner/Diva Day bar. An overhead dome in the lobby’s center provides lots of light for Rayna’s paintings. There’s always a canvas on an easel in front of the east window. A former baggage room serves as a place for Rayna’s cats to eat in peace as the half door stays open only on top; her big dogs tend to graze on cat food and kitty nuggets if left to their own devices.

  “Hey,” said Rayna as she greeted us. “Come sit by the fire. It’s chilly in here today.”

  A nice fire burned in the marble-fronted fireplace. It smelled like cedar. Two chairs and a small loveseat were arranged in front of the hearth, with a thick rug on the marble floor. Five cats snoozed on the rug, light dancing across them as they enjoyed the heat.

  Once we were seated, Bitty and I across from each other in the wingback chairs and Rayna on the loveseat, Bitty got straight to the point.

  “Dixie Lee Forsythe murdered Billy Joe, and we need to provide proof for the police.”

  Rayna lifted her brows. She glanced at me, then looked back at Bitty. She sounded cautious when she said, “I’m sure the police will find necessary proof if Dixie Lee killed him.”

  “Now Rayna, you know as well as I do that we can do things the police are restricted from doing by law.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like snoop without a warrant.”

  “Are you suggesting we search Cady Lee’s house?” I asked with growing alarm.

  “Of course not. I’m sure Dixie Lee is too smart to take any evidence inside. I suggest we search her car.”

  “Bitty,” said Rayna, “that’s not really a good idea. For one thing, it’s against the law, and for another thing, she has a very good alarm on her car. We’d be caught before we got the door open.”

  “And what would we be looking for, Bitty?” I had to ask. “A smoking gun? The police already have that. It was next to Billy Joe.”

  “Well, good heavens, do I have to think of everything? We’d just be looking for incriminating evidence.”

  “Such as . . . ?” I shook my head. “It wouldn’t make sense to go looking for evidence against Dixie Lee, but it would make trouble. Let’s not go there.”

  “Besides,” Rayna pointed out, “we don’t have any proof at all that it was Dixie Lee.”

  “Yes, we do,” Bitty insisted. “Mrs. Whitworth across the street saw her. It was Dixie Lee.”

  Rayna looked startled. “She did? I hadn’t heard that. Did she tell the police?”

  Bitty nodded. “She did. I’m sure they’re going to arrest her at any moment.”

  “Then why do we have to do anything at all?” I asked. “If you think the police are about to arrest her, we don’t need to do anything. And Mrs. Whitworth didn’t say it was Dixie Lee. She didn’t see the face, and there are any number of women in the Holly Springs area that are tall, slender and have blonde hair.”

  “Wow,” said Rayna. “She saw someone like that go into Billy Joe’s house before the murder?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but she couldn’t see the face. She also said women come and go all the time while his wife’s at work. So it could be anyone.”

  Rayna looked over at Bitty. “Let’s see what the police do. If they have enough evidence that Dixie Lee is the murderer, they’ll arrest her. If they don’t arrest anyone, we’ll see what happens then.”

  “But what if she tries to leave town? Then what?”

  “Then the police will very likely go after her. They’re not going to allow a suspect to get away, Bitty. I think we should just wait.”

  Bitty huffed out a big sigh. “Fine. But we’re taking a chance on letting Dixie Lee get away with killing Billy Joe.”

  “So who do you think killed poor Abby?” I asked Rayna. “And why?”

  Rayna leaned closer to us, lowering her voice. “Rob would be upset if he knew I was telling you this, but everyone will know it soon anyway—Mira Waller was seen going back to Montrose after everyone left two nights in a row—one of them being the night of Abby’s death.”

  Bitty’s eyes lit up. “Really?” she breathed. “Do the police think she killed Abby?”

  Rayna shrugged. “She’s one of the suspects. Right now Tasha Donato is the main one, from what I’ve heard.”

  “So they have Simon and Tasha Donato in interrogation, Allison Cramer, Dixie Lee, and now Mira Waller? Who’s next?” I wondered aloud.

  I thought Bitty was just going to burst with excitement. Her blue eyes gleamed like lasers. She clasped her hands together under her chin and exhaled. “This really is like an episode of Criminal Minds. CSI. Bones.”

  “Not Bones,” I disagreed. “Not grisly enough.”

  “Homicide Hunter, then. With Lieutenant Joe Kenda. I like him.”

  Ignoring Bitty’s fascination with television murder programs, I said to Rayna, “She was killed at Montrose, so unless Tasha was staying there too I don’t think she’d have an opportunity to kill her. Simon might, however. Did Mira say why she went back there after everyone left?”

  “I don’t know her reason for going back, only that she did. No one was supposed to still be there. Simon was at the Forsythe house directing a scene. Abby was killed around five or six. It was already dark by then. I don’t think anyone saw who went in or out after the crew all left.”

  I thought of the young woman with a lump in my throat. “How was she killed? I mean . . . did she see it coming, do you think? I heard death wasn’t instant. I hope she didn’t suffer.”

  “Someone hit her in the head with a baseball bat. She probably lost consciousness immediately.”

  My spine started to tingle. I echoed, “A baseball bat?”

  Rayna nodded. “It was left at the scene. One of the crew members said he’d left it in the kitchen earlier in the day.”

  I looked over at Bitty. Now her eyes positively glowed. She made me think of a bloodhound on the scent. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her nose twitch or hear her start baying.

  She turned to look at me. “Baseball bat. Allison Cramer. Dixie Lee Forsythe—connect the dots, Trinket.”

  Honestly, I couldn’t argue.

  Chapter 11

  IT WAS ALL OVER town like wildfire about Tasha Donato spying on her husband and the PA. It held just the right elements of intrigue, adultery, and Hollywood to be the main topic of conversation for those of us inclined to such pastimes.

  We sat in Budgie’s once again, Gaynelle, Rayna, Bitty, and I while we hashed over the few details we knew and those we suspected. The café was still busy with people in town to make a movie and the people in town to watch those making a movie, even though production had been temporarily suspended. Sandra Brady was holed up in her suites resting; despite being a suspect Mira Waller was reported to be spending a lot of money in Rose’s side of the lingerie shop, Buck Prentiss had gone fishing at Chewalla Lake despite the weather, Kathy Adams only had one more scene to shoot before she was through with her part, and Cady Lee and Dixie Lee were said to be staying in a room at The Peabody Hotel up in Memphis. I didn’t blame them.

  “Well, I don’t care what anyone says,” Bitty insisted, waving her fork for emph
asis, “I’m as sure Dixie Lee killed Billy Joe as I am that Miranda Watson’s dark roots are always showing.”

  “If Miranda Watson shows up with bleached roots, you’ll have to eat those words,” I said. “Finish your pie first. It’s going to taste a lot better than crow.”

  Bitty ignored me. “Since Tasha Donato is in town, she may have killed Abby, but I’m not at all sure of that. Allison Cramer certainly had the opportunity and the weapon.”

  “What would be her motive?” asked Gaynelle. “Allison didn’t even know Abby.”

  Bitty shrugged. “Maybe she went back for her bat, and Abby tried to stop her. Or maybe Abby knew something about Billy Joe’s murder—that’s it! Dixie Lee did it. She had to.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked. “Dixie Lee had no motive at all to kill Abby.”

  “Don’t you see? Abby must have seen Dixie Lee go to Billy Joe’s house, and threatened to tell what she knew. So Dixie Lee picked up the baseball bat and hit her.”

  After a moment Rayna said, “Well, that’s within the realm of possibility, of course. I’m not at all sure it’s what happened, though. Dixie Lee doesn’t seem the physical type.”

  I agreed. “True. When Allison confronted her with the baseball bat Dixie Lee just stood there. Even when I yelled at her to run she couldn’t do anything but stand there like a pole. It was up to me and Bitty to keep Allison from braining her with the bat.”

  “It’s still possible,” Bitty insisted. “What if someone recognized Billy Joe’s killer? What if that someone was Abby? If it wasn’t Dixie Lee, it could have been Allison who killed him. Maybe Abby saw her going in the house. She had to pass almost right by there on her way back from Montrose at just the right time to see the killer go inside.”

  I looked at Bitty curiously. “How do you know?”

  “Don’t you remember, Trinket? Mira Waller was whining about it before our big scene. She said crafty was out and Abby was supposed to bring her a Diet Coke on her way back from Montrose, but she brought Diet Pepsi instead. Mira was really bitchy about it.”