Divas Do Tell

by Virginia Brown

  Brownie greeted me at the back door, doing his happy dance so I’d let him outside to nurture tree roots and rid the yard of squirrels and birds. I stood on the back deck watching him run around with his nose to the ground and his tail in the air. His dachshund-beagle heritage kicked in frequently as he bayed at the squirrels in the treetops. They know better than to come down when he’s out. On occasion they pelt him with acorns or twigs and chatter challenges that he answers with frenzied howls. Peace didn’t resume until I ushered him back into the house.

  His clarion calls had summoned several dozen cats, and they waited with growing impatience in the open door of the barn. Since cats can obviously tell time, I changed my clothes and went back outside with a stack of new aluminum pie plates that I’d bought as food dishes. It might cost a little more, but it was a lot more expedient than washing tin plates.

  Once I finished my feeding the flocks duties, I put a frozen dinner in the microwave and fixed myself a tall glass of sweet tea. Brownie, having gobbled his chicken, rice, and dry food, licked his lips as he stared expectantly at the microwave.

  “Forget it,” I told him. “You had yours. This is mine. I don’t share. Remember?”

  I know he understands me. He pricks up his floppy brown ears and gazes at me as if to say he’s figured out how to work most human beings to his advantage. He has the head and color of a dachshund, the body-type of a beagle, and the mind of Machiavelli. I’d pit him against Henry Kissinger when it comes to foreign policies. He knows my weaknesses and how to exploit them.

  I’d just finished eating my chicken pot pie and given Brownie the cardboard bowl to lick clean when the kitchen phone rang. It was my mother.

  “How’s Italy and the Mediterranean?” I asked, squinting at the calendar and counting off the days until their return.

  “Oh, Trinket, it’s even more beautiful than we imagined. The sea is so blue and the villages so quaint, and we’ve met some lovely people.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad you’re having a wonderful time. I’m even more glad your ship didn’t sink and wasn’t attacked by pirates. It wasn’t, was it? You’re still afloat? No pirates?”

  “You’ve always had such a wild imagination, dear. No, we’re fine. We sail for Naples tomorrow so we only have a few more days of our cruise left.”

  “Four, by my count. That means you’ll be home by the twenty-eighth.”

  My mother cleared her throat. A warning bell went off in my head when she didn’t immediately agree.

  “Did I tell you we met some lovely people? Maria and Angelo Buittoni. They lived in New York for almost twenty years while he worked on an engineering project and have only been back in Italy for a few years. They have a home overlooking the sea in Portici, not far from Mount Vesuvius. We’re going to see Pompeii while we’re there.”

  “Pompeii is buried under six feet of ash and volcanic rock. Vesuvius is still active. It could blow its top at any moment.”

  “They’ve cleaned up Pompeii. Etna is active. Vesuvius’ last destructive eruption was in 1944, Trinket.”

  “Then it’s past time for it to erupt again. You’re not there, are you? You’re not in Pompeii?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  My head began to whirl. I reached blindly for a kitchen chair. “What does ‘not at the moment’ mean? You’re not going there, are you? Volcanoes spew fire. Ash. Molten lava. Where are you?”

  “Honestly, Trinket,” my dear sweet mother said to me, “you worry about the silliest things. We are just fine, and yes, we’re going to Portici to stay a week with Maria and Angelo. They’ve been kind enough to invite us, and we’ve accepted. Our flight reservations have been changed, and we’ll be home on the eighth of February. I don’t want you to worry. How is Brownie? Have there been any problems with the cats? Hello? Trinket?”

  I couldn’t get out a word for a moment. Speechless, groping for the chair to sit down in it before I collapsed on the floor, I was only vaguely aware of Brownie eating the cardboard container that had held my chicken pot pie. Finally I said, “Brownie is just fine. The cats are just fine. I’m suicidal.”

  “That’s good, dear. Your father wants to say a few words to you before we hang up.”

  Daddy got on the phone, and before I could even bleat out a plea that they not surrender to the madness of staying away longer he said, “You have no idea how much it means to us to know you’re there taking care of everything, punkin. We don’t have to worry about unreliable people or things going terribly wrong. Is there anything you want us to bring you when we come home?”

  I’m not sure what I answered. I was having an out of body experience. Or maybe it was just an out of mind experience. After the call ended I sat there for who knew how long holding the dead phone and staring into space. By the time I regained my senses enough to hang up, Brownie had consumed the cardboard bowl and half a paper napkin I’d discarded. I have no idea how he got it off the table. I took the tattered, damp remains and put them in the garbage can in the broom closet, shut the door, then went straight for Mama’s old computer. It sits in a corner of the den near a window. I powered it up, clicked on Google, and read all I could about Mount Vesuvius and Mount Etna.

  I knew more than I ever wanted to know by the time I clicked off the computer. Mama was right. There had been no cataclysmic eruption of Vesuvius since 1631. However, the Italian government expects an eruption in the near future and has made plans to evacuate all those who aren’t incinerated in the first pyroclastic explosion. Portici lies on a small bay at the very foot of Vesuvius. Hardly comforting.

  Someone should write a manual on how to care for elderly parents who are still mobile enough to visit far-off destinations and max out their credit cards. My expectations run to forays to Senior Citizen Centers, while theirs obviously run to exploring live volcanos. Really, we needed to meet in the middle. It was getting unnerving, to say the least.

  After a hot bath and three glasses of wine, I felt much better. I had settled onto the couch with the TV remote and Brownie. It wasn’t that I’d invited him to sit next to me. I apparently have an allure for him that he can’t resist. Too bad it’s never worked that way with men. My current relationship with Kit Coltrane aside, I’m not exactly the kind of woman to draw men with devastating beauty and sharp wit. So when he called, I picked up my cell phone with a smile and a sigh.

  I thumbed the Mute button on the remote and answered in my sexiest voice, “Hello, handsome.”

  “Trinket?”

  “Yes, Kit?”

  “Oh. I didn’t recognize your voice. Is everything okay? You sound hoarse.”

  So much for trying to sound sexy. I cleared my throat. “At the moment, everything is just fine.”

  “That’s good. When I saw the accident I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or even there.”

  I sat up a little straighter. “I’m at home. What accident?”

  “No one has called you?”

  “About what? What accident? Where? Who?”

  Kit said calmly, “I’ll come and get you. Just stay there. I’m sure she’s fine, but we’ll go to the hospital anyway.”

  “Hospital? She who? Bitty—is Bitty okay?”

  “Bitty’s car hit a telephone pole. She was taken to Alliance Hospital emergency room.”

  Chapter 12

  ALLIANCE HEALTH Care system is a forty bed hospital for general medicine and surgery. It has an emergency room with well-qualified physicians and staff. For major traumas, patients are transported to The Med in Memphis or Baptist DeSoto in Southaven. Since Bitty was at Alliance, I was pretty sure she wasn’t seriously injured.

  Bitty was still in the emergency room when we arrived. She’d been put in a curtained-off area and in a bed with chrome metal sides. I went immediately to her side. Her eyes were closed, her blonde hair had a dent in one side, and she was
very, very pale. She was so white I was instantly alarmed.

  “Doctor,” I called. “Nurse!”

  Kit, who had remained discreetly on the other side of the curtains, drew one back and looked in at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I pointed to Bitty. Even in the dim light afforded by a single lamp on the wall she was so pale it looked as if she’d lost all her blood. “Look at her—she’s deathly white.”

  Kit stepped closer to the bed. He peered at Bitty then looked at me. “That’s chalk from the airbag. It’s all over her, see?”

  I squinted at her. He was right. A fine dusting covered her face, hair, and what clothes I could see under the sheet pulled up to her chest. Relief seeped through me and I nodded.

  By that time Bitty had opened her eyes. “Is that you, Trinket?”

  I grabbed the hand she held out. It had an IV in it, attached to a bag on a pole, and I avoided the plastic tubing as I held on to her. “Yes, honey. It’s me. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I hit a telephone pole. My Franklin Benz . . . it’s totaled.” She started to shake her head but winced at the motion and stopped. “I’m just glad I didn’t hurt anyone. Rodney Farrell was right. I’m a menace.” Tears leaked from her eyes and made ragged paths through the chalk dust on her cheeks. She closed her eyes again.

  I patted her hand. “It’s okay, honey. Cars can be repaired or replaced. The main thing is that you are okay.”

  Bitty sniffled. I kept hold of her hand until Jackson Lee arrived. He rushed right to her side, and I could tell from the look on his face that he was scared and relieved at the same time.

  “Sugar,” he said softly, “it’s me.”

  Her eyes opened. “Oh Jackson Lee, I’ve made a mess of things again.”

  He held her other hand and laid it against his cheek. For such a big guy who has the reputation of a shark in a courtroom, Jackson Lee has very tender moments. I released Bitty’s hand and stepped back. It was a private moment, and I felt like an intruder.

  Kit met me in the corridor. “How did you find out about her accident?” I asked.

  “I had an emergency that kept me late at the clinic. I was on my way home when I saw her car and the police. For a minute I thought there’d been another murder.”

  “Bite your tongue. We’ve had more than our share lately.”

  He slid an arm around my waist and walked me to a bank of chairs against the far wall. “It’s all the movie people in town. They’ve been stirring up old memories and hate.”

  “Except for Abby’s death. That trouble came with them.” We sat in the uncomfortable chairs in the dimly lit corridor, and I leaned my head back against the wall. “I just can’t imagine how awful Dixie Lee must feel that her book has caused such hard feelings.”

  We’d talked about the murders on the way to the hospital, neither of us wanting to dwell on Bitty until we knew how she was doing. With my worst fears calmed, I returned to the topic on most of Holly Springs residents’ minds.

  “Do you think Billy Joe’s wife killed him?” I asked Kit and turned my head to look at him. He’s tall, with dark hair sprinkled with gray at the temples and dark eyes that I love to get lost in. Since I’m tall it’s always nice to be able to look up at a man. It makes me feel rather feminine.

  Kit looked back at me, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment he said, “It’s always a possibility. It’s no secret that they fought all the time. Billy Joe ran around on her, drank too much, and was generally unpleasant. So I wouldn’t be surprised. Yet . . . somehow I don’t think so. Allison had put up with it all these years, and unless he did something too drastic I can’t see her shooting him. She’s too soft-hearted, for one thing.”

  Startled, I recalled the woman with the baseball bat and murder in her eyes. “Why do you say that?” I asked him.

  “All those blamed dogs they let just run loose and annoy everyone are rescue dogs and always up to date on their shots. If one of them gets hurt she brings it in right away for treatment. The dog won’t even be hurt bad enough to see a vet, but Allison brings it in because she’s worried that it might be in pain.”

  Since my brief experience with Allison had not been very reassuring, it was interesting that she’d be thought of as soft-hearted. It gave another dimension to her that I hadn’t considered. It’s often too easy to take people at face value, to believe what you hear or read about them without bothering to look deeper into who they are. I’m guilty of that more than I like to admit.

  Kit sat up. “Here comes the doctor.”

  Bitty’s doctor strode down the corridor. Two nurses followed closely behind him, and then went behind the curtains where Bitty lay in the bed. A moment later Jackson Lee came out, and he saw us and walked down to where we sat. He slung his long frame into a chair and heaved a sigh.

  “That girl is going to be the death of me yet,” he said without preamble. I nodded. I completely understood his sentiment. He rubbed at his eyes, then ran a hand over his face. “Her car is pretty smashed up. I think it can be repaired, but I’d rather she trade it in and get a new one with the insurance. She won’t agree. She won’t even hear a word about it.”

  “It’s the Franklin Benz,” I said, and he looked over at me. “No sentimental value, except that she had to fight long and hard to get back part of the money he owed her. The cash settlement wasn’t nearly all of it, so she asked for and got the Mercedes. It’s her trophy. A reminder that she won.”

  Jackson Lee nodded. “Ah. Now I understand. Well, I’ll just have to see if it can be repaired so she’ll be safe in it. I don’t want her hurt when she hits the next curb or pole.”

  “Bitty does forget to follow the rules of the road,” I said, and we both shook our heads.

  When the doctor came out after examining Bitty he said they were going to keep her overnight to be safe. “She got a pretty good cut on the head that needs a few stitches, but I think she’s just rattled. We’re going to do some more X-rays and maybe a CAT scan.”

  “Is that the one where you see if she has any brain waves?” I asked, and he grinned and shook his head.

  “No. Are you suggesting we do an MRI?”

  “In light of the fact she can’t seem to read the simple word STOP on a sign, it might be advisable. I’ve been telling her for months she’s brain-dead.”

  He chuckled. “She may need an optometrist to check her vision if that’s the problem. I advise bed rest for the next few days, however. Does she live alone?”

  I sensed a trap. So I asked cautiously, “Why?”

  “I’d rather she not be by herself. She doesn’t have a concussion, but after something like this the patient can have a few days of confusion. She is definitely going to be sore. Airbags may save lives, but the sudden pressure of forcible air against the body can be a bit painful.”

  I looked at Jackson Lee. He looked back at me. “I can stay with her tomorrow, but I have a big case down in Jackson the next day that I have to prepare for before I leave. I’ll hire a nurse to stay with her until I get back.”

  Sighing, I shook my head. “You know that Bitty would drive a nurse into a nervous breakdown. It wouldn’t be the first time. She can stay with me. With my parents out of town I have to take care of their pets, and it’ll be easier if she comes to my house. She can sleep in their bedroom. It’s on the first floor, so she won’t have to go up the stairs like she would at her house.”

  “There’s the matter of her—”

  “Dragon. I know. Chitling and Brownie like each other. We’ll all be just one big happy family. I can hardly wait.”

  Jackson Lee raised an eyebrow, and Kit smothered a laugh, but I put on my brightest smile and pretended it was all just wonderful. It was the least I could do for Jackson Lee. He worries.

  BITTY WAS PEEVISH. She’s not a good patient. She sulks. She gripes. She
balks at taking medicine and at taking it easy. I don’t blame her, but it can get very trying.

  “It’s an antibiotic, Bitty. You have a gash in your head and three stitches. This will keep an infection away.”

  “You know I don’t do drugs, Trinket.”

  I rolled my eyes. That had been a point of debate at times. I tried again. “This isn’t a street drug. It was filled at Tyson’s Drugs. You’ve been going there all your life. Do you think they’d give you a dose of meth or heroin? Take it.” I held out the pill on its little china saucer again. The capsule rolled to the edge. She took the capsule, popped it in her mouth, and took a big swig of her sweet tea. Then she smiled.

  “Thank you for being so patient with me, Trinket. I know I’m grouchy. I just hate lying around and doing nothing. I feel like a slug.”

  “That’s okay. What are friends for?”

  It was a lovely day, almost spring-like. Sunshine, cool winds, decent temperatures. I’d opened the windows to let in fresh air. Mama’s curtains belled out in the breeze. Bitty sat on the couch in the parlor, a light blanket over her lap and Chen Ling sitting like a small furry Buddha next to her. On her other side, Brownie sat with his nose in the air, sniffing.

  “Are Aunt Anna and Uncle Eddie on their way home?” she asked, and I shook my head.

  I hadn’t told her of their latest plans. Sometimes it’s best to pretend you don’t know something so you don’t worry too much. I play that game with myself a lot. Lately, more than ever before in my life.

  “They met new friends and are staying over an extra week,” I said.

  Bitty eyed me. “New friends? Well, that sounds interesting.”

  I read between the lines. It was nice knowing we thought along the same lines. I envisioned international kidnappers holding my parents for ransom. Using them for science experiments. Sending them into space to see how septuagenarians handle the absence of gravity.

  My parents envisioned a lovely stay in a sun-drenched Italian villa.