“I’ve blocked all memories of that day from my mind, so don’t remind me of it.”
Bitty rolled her eyes and continued, “Billy Joe’s house is right at the corner. It’d have been easy enough for Abby to see who went in as she passed by, and it was right around the same time as he was killed.”
“If Allison had gone home for lunch, Mrs. Whitworth would have known it,” I said. “And she said a tall, slender blonde woman went in right before he was killed. Allison may be blonde, but she’s sure not tall or slender. And Abby wouldn’t have known what she was seeing so wouldn’t think anything of it.”
Bitty looked disgruntled. “So who was it then? I’m out of blondes.”
“A movie set is bound to have a lot of wigs on hand,” said Rayna. “It could have been anyone who wanted to wear a wig and disguise themselves. We just have to figure out who had the most reason to kill Billy Joe. I’m not convinced the two murders are connected. Billy Joe wasn’t the most popular guy in town. Jealous boyfriends or husbands might have wanted to kill him.”
“But what about Abby Bloom?” I asked. “Who did she make mad enough to kill her?”
“I’m telling you,” said Bitty, “Abby was killed to shut her up. Unless Tasha did it. Then she was killed because she was fooling around with Simon.”
“So we’re right back to the beginning,” I observed. “We have no idea who killed either one of them.”
“All right, so I may not know who killed Abby,” said Bitty, “but I’m pretty sure Dixie Lee killed Billy Joe. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
“I hate to say this,” Rayna began, “but the likelihood is that he messed with the wrong woman, and her husband or boyfriend shot him, or even a woman he rejected. But Bitty’s right—there’s always the slight possibility Dixie Lee shot him, too.”
While Gaynelle and I tried to recover from the possibility that Bitty might be right in her single-minded persecution—excuse me, pursuit—of Dixie Lee Forsythe, Rayna continued, “The police aren’t saying either way right now. They’re talking to Allison and Tasha and will talk to Dixie Lee again when she comes back from her book signing in Memphis.”
“Book signing, my butt,” Bitty muttered inelegantly. “She ran up there like a scalded cat as soon as she figured out she was in trouble.”
There wasn’t a lot I could say to that. It seemed to be true.
“Not only that,” Gaynelle said, ignoring Bitty’s comment, “the police took in Simon Donato as well to ask him questions. As Abby’s lover, he’s also a suspect.”
“Rob is just going crazy over all this,” said Rayna. She ate the last bite of her chess pie before she added, “He’s trying to figure out how to keep the insurance company happy and get production back on track.”
Bitty’s brows rose. “When did Rob start selling insurance?”
“Oh, he didn’t. But you know he does insurance investigations. He was asked to provide the underwriter. He assessed the risks and fixed the premium rates for the producers of the film. Since he’s local they hired him to take care of all that. If production doesn’t start again soon, the company could go bankrupt.”
“Isn’t it very unusual for an insurance company, particularly one that insures film productions, to use a local underwriter?” Gaynelle asked. “I wouldn’t think they’d do that.”
“Rob went to college with one of the company executives. They kept in touch over the years. So now he’s going a little nuts trying to make sure no one goes bankrupt and he doesn’t let his buddy down.”
“Of course,” said Bitty over her coffee cup, “if Rob was smart he’d have hired us to help him find out who the killer is so that everyone can go back to work.” We laughed, and that made Bitty cross. “Go ahead and laugh, but you know it’s true. We have a talent when we all get together. I’m sure the police would appreciate our help. I saw Rodney Farrell today, and he told me that they’re all running around and trying to find out if there’s one or two killers, and—”
“Bitty,” I interrupted, “when and where did you see Rodney Farrell?”
“Oh, I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. He stopped me in front of the Chamber of Commerce. So we had a nice chat. Anyway, he said—”
“Did you get another ticket?”
Bitty put down her cup. “Yes, Trinket, I got another ticket. I put it with all the other tickets he’s given me, and when I have too many to fit in the glove compartment I’ll give them to Jackson Lee to take care of for me.”
“I assume you mean pay the fines.”
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Whatever it is he does with them. I don’t know. None of that matters right now. I’m trying to tell you all that the police department doesn’t know if they’re coming or going and could probably use our help.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I said a bit irritably. “They’ve done fine without us for years.”
Gaynelle looked at Bitty with her brows raised. “Do you ever read the local papers, Bitty?”
“Why yes, Gaynelle, why?”
“The police department has been around for some time now, and the crime rate in Holly Springs has gone down despite this past year’s rash of homicides.”
Bitty looked confused. “So?”
“So, like most towns this size we have our share of drug activity, domestic disputes, robberies, burglaries, and shoplifting. The police have managed quite nicely to solve most of these crimes. I’m not sure they would appreciate being ‘helped’ by us. Remember what Lieutenant Stone told us last time?”
“Oh, that.” Bitty shrugged. “He was just irritated at the time. He didn’t really mean that the next time we get involved in any murders it better be our own. That was a tacky thing to say. Even Sharita said it was tacky. And she’s his sister.”
“It was definitely tacky,” I pointed out, “but a heartfelt sentiment. We tread a fine line when we get involved in police procedures. Sergeant Maxwell and Marcus Stone have lost patience with us more than once.”
We all nodded agreement as Budgie appeared at our table. “Ladies, how’s everything?” she asked with a big smile. She had on an African turban to cover her hair, keep it off her neck, and a white apron over black pants, white blouse, and sensible black shoes with thick rubber soles.
“Wonderful as always,” Bitty promptly replied. “You’ve been putting a secret ingredient in your chess pie, haven’t you?”
Budgie’s smile got bigger. “Yes, I have. Guess what it is, and I’ll give you a free piece.”
“Coffee? Chocolate? Kahlua?” Budgie just laughed. Bitty persevered. “Caramel? Bourbon? Banana? Licorice, cherry, strawberry?”
I put a hand on Bitty’s arm. “I’ll buy you an entire pie if you’ll just stop guessing.”
“Oh, Trinket, where’s your sense of fun?”
Before I had to answer that someone behind me clicked their fingers in the air and demanded to be seated immediately. We were all stunned to silence. In the first place, this wasn’t Chez Philippe where diners were seated by a maître d’hôtel, and in the second place, whoever belonged to that imperial voice was just plain rude to snap their fingers. As if one, we all turned to stare.
It wasn’t that big a surprise to see Mira Waller standing in the middle of the French Market Café aka Budgie’s. I hazarded a glance at Budgie. No one has ever, to my knowledge, snapped their fingers at her and demanded she come to attention. Not since elementary school, anyway. A hush fell over the café.
Budgie recovered more quickly than I anticipated. She swept one arm toward a table in an alcove and reached for a menu from the counter. A ceramic French chef in a white lopsided hat held the menus. A canning jar sat next to the chef, ready for tips. Several dollar bills had been crammed into it. The blue and white checked tablecloths on the four-top tables held necessary condiments and tiny vases with
fresh flowers. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t even look French. But it didn’t deserve the disparaging glance it got from Mira Waller as she held her fashionable cape close to her body to keep from touching chairs as she swept to her alcove.
Mira seated herself in the chair behind the table with her back to the wall and began pulling off her gloves. She flopped them over her purse, took off her sunglasses and checked her watch. Bitty leaned across the table and hissed the value of her items as if she were reading off a shopping list at the Royal Palace.
“That Chanel purse costs over four thousand dollars, and she’s wearing Les Copains lambskin pink gloves that are nearly four hundred dollars. That watch? Patek Philippe, cheap at nine thousand dollars. Gucci sunglasses. Probably less than four hundred dollars.”
“Thank you for the Daily Report on the Rich and Rude,” I muttered. “What about her cape? No price tag on that?” I was being sarcastic since Bitty was being crass, but it went over her head.
Bitty studied it surreptitiously then said, “Versace. Less than two thousand.”
The rest of us unfashionable frumps exchanged glances and eye-rolls. Meanwhile Budgie handed Mira the menu. Without looking at Budgie or touching the menu, Mira ordered hot tea and biscuits as if she were having high tea with the queen.
“I don’t suppose you have Darjeeling? Or Lapsang Souchong?” Mira asked. “And I want Monte Carlo biscuits. Or perhaps Biscuit Roses de Reims?”
Budgie, not particularly impressed, said, “We have Lipton and Luzianne. Do you want buttermilk biscuits and gravy or biscuits and jam? Those are the only biscuits we serve here.”
Mira looked up at her. Budgie stared right back, not at all intimidated by money and fame. I wasn’t that surprised. Budgie had raised her kids on her own after her no-good husband lost his job and took off for parts unknown, cared for her aging parents, and managed to eke out a living cooking for other people before she was able to open her own café. That she’d sold it to care for her elderly mother’s nursing home costs didn’t surprise me a bit either. Budgie is a Southern woman doing what Southern women have done for over two hundred years. We take care of our own the best we can, however we can. It’s not a matter of color or custom. It’s a matter of pride and determination. I don’t think we’re that much different from women all over the world.
“Just hot tea and toast, please,” said Mira in a much nicer tone and handed Budgie the menu.
“Putting on airs,” whispered Bitty with a nod of her head. “Budgie took her down a peg or two. Everyone knows you only have Biscuit Roses de Reims with champagne. Or coffee.”
I said to my cousin, “There are things you know that I could never imagine exist.” Bitty just smiled, and I rolled my eyes.
As Budgie went toward the kitchen the café noise returned to normal. Mira took out her cell phone and punched in a number, then proceeded to talk to someone in a low tone.
“She’s not very popular with the movie crew, either,” said Rayna after a moment. “I heard some of them talking about her.”
“Sandra Brady doesn’t like her. She told me Mira is rude to everyone, especially her co-stars,” Bitty said thoughtfully. “And she and Abby got into it, too. Not just over that Coke or Pepsi thing, but because Mira told Abby she was just a dime a dozen PA and could be replaced in fifteen minutes, so she didn’t need to be telling her what she could and couldn’t do when it came to dealing with her fans.”
“And you never shared that with us?” I asked Bitty. “You’re just keeping the good movie gossip for yourself.”
“Well good heavens, Trinket, it didn’t occur to me you’d be interested in that. Besides, you were with us all day anyway. You could have heard Sandra talking about it the same as I did.”
“I went out for fresh air a few times,” I reminded her, and then I thought back to the day we were at Montrose and how Abby had been on and off the set running errands for Simon Donato. She’d been upset, too, I remembered, but not about Mira. “Abby was ticked off at Sandra Brady when I talked to her, not Mira Waller. She called her a bitch.”
“Really? And you didn’t think to share that with me?” Bitty demanded.
I gave her a look similar to the one she’d just given me. “You were on the set, too, dear. You and Sandra were talking when I got up to stretch my legs, and that’s when I talked to Abby.”
“Well, I don’t know why Abby would be upset with Sandra. She’s so classy. Not at all what I’d thought a big movie star would be.”
“Not all of them are like the prima donna in the corner,” murmured Gaynelle.
We nodded silent agreement. Mira didn’t stay long in the café. She drank her tea, ate her toast, left a single bill on the table and got up and sailed out the door. Bitty half-rose to look at the bill lying on the blue and white checked cloth. Then she sat back down.
“A hundred dollar bill. Who is she trying to impress? And did you see her wallet? Louis Vuitton. A thousand dollars, I’m sure.”
“Maybe she’s just trying to make up for being so snooty,” said Rayna. “After all, she was pretty rude to Budgie.”
Gaynelle nodded. “She’s bad-mannered, yes, but she’s a wonderful actress. She was great in the movie An Original Sin. I don’t think anyone could have played the part of Eve as perfectly as she did.”
“You know,” said Bitty, “it could be that Mira Waller’s feud with Abby may have been about more than just professional arrogance.”
I looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“We know Simon was having an affair with Abby. What if he was having an affair with Mira, too?”
Gaynelle frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Well . . .” Bitty paused meaningfully for obvious dramatic effect, then said, “Mira was seen going into Montrose when no one was supposed to be there except Simon. Sandra said Simon Donato usually cheated with an actress, not a production assistant. I mean, it makes more sense that he’d have an affair with someone like Mira than it would Abby.”
“But he was having an affair with Abby,” Gaynelle pointed out. “That’s been established. Tasha Donato threw a huge fit about it right before Abby was killed. We know that. We know she was in town for two days before anyone knew about it, too. Apparently she’s not too bad at snooping.”
“Who saw Mira going into Montrose after everyone was gone except Simon?” I asked.
“Oh, Sandra saw her go inside. Her car was late picking her up, so she stood outside for a few minutes, and that’s when she saw Mira come walking from the back around to the front, then go inside.”
“Walking?” I mused aloud. “That’s odd. Mira always gets a car.”
“I know,” said Bitty.
For a moment we were all silent, lost in our own thoughts. Then Rayna said, “Rob may agree to me looking up personal backgrounds on not just Abby, but the other players as well. There’s Mira, Sandra, Buck, Simon, and Tasha. Oh, and Kathy Adams, although she’s not much of a threat to anyone from what I hear. She’s not well-known and doesn’t seem to be a partier. She brought her husband and child with her to the shoot, so I doubt she’s involved in all the drama.”
I was surprised. “I didn’t know that. Is her husband an actor?”
Rayna shook her head. “No, he’s a computer geek of some kind. Works from home, occasionally goes on location with Kathy. He seems like a very nice guy. They have a three-year-old girl.”
“There are so many crew members,” Gaynelle said. “It could be any of them. Maybe Abby had a boyfriend on the crew as well as Simon.”
“I think that’s doubtful. Simon wouldn’t have tolerated sharing. His personality is so egotistical he has to be first and only at everything,” Rayna disagreed.
“Then he and Mira would make a perfect pair,” said Bitty. “I have a garden club meeting, ladies, so I’m going to leave in just a mo
ment. Rayna, if you get more information for us, we can figure out who and why. My money is still on Dixie Lee for Billy Joe and probably Abby. Some people just can’t stop.”
“Stop what?” I asked. “Killing?”
“That, too. I was talking about being who they are, though. Dixie Lee has always been spoiled, vain, and egotistical. She hasn’t changed much since our college days.”
After Bitty tottered out the door in her stilettos, Gaynelle said, “Sometimes Bitty is right by default. Dixie Lee really hasn’t changed that much. Cady Lee was always the nicest of the girls. Mossy Lee was nice, too. Delta Lee never did have too much to say to anyone, so I’m not that familiar with her.”
Gaynelle had grown up in Holly Springs and taught decades of elementary school children how to read, write, and wash their hands after using the toilet. The only time she’d lived elsewhere was during her college years, and then she’d come right back home to teach. She’d been an only child, and her parents left her the house she grew up in and still lives in now. I didn’t regret my years away. There’s something very educational about living all over the country. Meeting different people and learning other customs and quirks gave me a diverse experience that I still appreciated.
“She was so much younger, too,” Rayna agreed. “Delta Lee was the youngest of the six. I think she was a change of life baby, wasn’t she?”
Gaynelle nodded. “Her parents were just too tired to insist she do all the things her older sisters did, so she grew up without benefit of the society expectations they had put on the older girls. I’m sure she was very relieved.”
I thought about that later on my way home to feed the furry legions. I’d been pretty fortunate. My parents just expected us to go to school and get an education, learn good manners and the basics of right and wrong. While I’d disappointed them with my decision to quit college and run around the country with Perry, they’d still made it clear they loved me and were proud of my growth into a self-sufficient adult. It just took a little longer than hoped for, I’m sure.
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