Divas Do Tell

by Virginia Brown

  I heard Bitty say, “But wasn’t Mira having an affair with Simon, too? Are you sure? I think Gaynelle may have seen someone else. Is she positive? I mean, based on shoes, can a positive identification be made?” Then she gasped. “No! That bitch!”

  Bitty doesn’t use that word lightly. I listened with growing interest. What dreadful thing could have caused her to use the epithet so freely? It had to be something serious. I could see her face flush as she seethed. I grabbed the screaming tea kettle off the burner and set it aside.

  “What?” I asked. “Why is who a bitch?”

  Bitty looked over at me and said, “Mira has shoes exactly like mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She may be a murderer, but she’s only a bitch if she has shoes like yours? Priorities, Bitty, priorities.”

  “Trinket, that is a priority. Maybe not as important as catching a killer, but I paid a lot of money for those shoes and had the only pair in Holly Springs like them. Until now. Now I’ll have to give them to a thrift store or something.”

  “Sell them on eBay,” I heard Rayna say. “What size are they? Maybe I can wear them.”

  Bitty put the phone back to her ear. “Five and a half. I used to wear A width, but now I like to be comfortable so they’re B.”

  I thought about my size nines, eight and a half in some styles, D width for comfort. I’m big-boned. Really. At five nine I’d look rather silly with size five feet. Still, sometimes Bitty makes me feel like an Amazon. Sometimes Bitty calls me an Amazon. Sometimes I call her shrink wrapped.

  It works for us.

  “When you’re through talking about shoes,” I said loudly, “maybe we can get back to the subject of Mira Waller and Buck Prentiss.”

  “Someone is getting cranky,” said Bitty to Rayna, and after a brief moment discussing the difference between expensive shoes and cheap ones, she hung up my phone and handed it to me. “I think we should do a stakeout. You know, hide and wait and watch and see what Mira does next.”

  I stared at her. “A stakeout. Like the police do? Sit in a car and watch the house while our suspect goes out the back door? Is that what you mean?”

  “Not exactly. Why did you turn off the tea kettle? I thought we were having tea.”

  “It’s getting late. I think I’ll go home.”

  Bitty looked dismayed. “Did I upset you? It wasn’t the shoes, was it? I mean, expensive shoes aren’t your thing, but I know you like to do investigations.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “You don’t know me at all, do you? I don’t like to do investigations. I don’t like being scared.”

  “It’s not scary to just sit in a car and watch people. I have binoculars.”

  “Just what do you have in mind, pray tell? Do you expect her to go skulking around like a character in a B movie? Hiding in shadows?”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t expect her to do anything like that at all. We just have to follow her.”

  “Bitty, I hate to rain on your parade, but we could sit in a car and watch her for a week, but unless she’s a serial killer on a rampage, it’s not going to help anything. Besides, you’re just mad because she has shoes like yours.”

  She crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Fine. Then you think of something.”

  “I will, but you can bet it won’t be sitting in a car waiting for someone to commit murder. I’ve tried that. It didn’t work out well.”

  “You’re just easily discouraged. Are you really leaving?”

  “Yes. I’ve had enough excitement for the day. I have animals to feed and TV to watch.”

  “Okay. Maybe we should go talk to Buck Prentiss next. What do you think?”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “That might be helpful. We can’t let on we know about him and Mira, though. We’ll just see what he has to say.”

  Bitty looked much happier at the thought of doing something. As I drove home I thought again that she needed another hobby or a real job. Left to her own devices, she thought of too many stupid things to do.

  I hate it when I do the same stupid things I get mad at Bitty for doing.

  Chapter 15

  “I’M NOT SURE I feel comfortable with this, Bitty.”

  My dear cousin completely ignored my concerns but stuck her hand through the crook of my arm and held tightly. “All the downstairs lights are on, so he’s probably alone.”

  We stood outside the house Buck Prentiss was renting. I had a list of questions to ask, but in retrospect, wasn’t at all confident we’d do more than just annoy the hell out of him. It seemed to be our usual result in such situations.

  The weather had turned cold again, a damp, bitter chill that went bone deep. I shivered. Not even my thick wool coat kept out the icy wind. I clapped my gloved hands together with a muffled popping sound. “Okay. Let’s get this over with before I change my mind and go back home. It’s late, and I’m tired.”

  “Since when has eight at night ever been late, Trinket? Are you getting old?”

  “Since I came back home and got involved in more idiotic schemes than I ever did as a kid, and yes, I’m getting older. Emphasis on the er syllable. I’m not at the nursing home stage yet, so don’t count me out, but I worked early today, went home and took care of a crowd of cranky cats and a neurotic dog, and now here I am with you and Chitling when it’s twenty degrees, and all I really want is a warm blanket and hot drink.”

  “Really, just ask a simple question . . . come on.”

  She shifted the sling across her chest to one side. With her bulky coat, dog-in-a-sling, hat and gloves, plus her high-heel boots and wool pants, she would have been at home in any local igloo. “You look like Randy from A Christmas Story,” I said, and she narrowed her eyes at me. A little pink hat with DV embroidered on the side perched atop her blonde cotton candy hair.

  “I do not look like a tick,” she said in reference to my observation. “I’m wearing a winter jacket, not a snowsuit.”

  “Ah. My apologies.”

  We crossed South Memphis Street and went up the bricked walkway to the front porch. I lifted the brass knocker and clanked it against the strike pad. It made a dull metallic sound. No one answered, so I rang the bell. It shrilled loud enough to wake up the dead in Hilltop Cemetery two blocks away. I jumped. Chitling barked.

  Bitty grabbed my arm, held tightly as I tried to recover from the sudden fright. “That’s a terrible doorbell,” she said after a moment, and I nodded agreement. We waited a few minutes.

  Then I said, “If that doorbell didn’t get him to the door, no one’s home. Buck must be out somewhere doing what young men do at night when they’re rich and famous. Let’s go.”

  “Not yet. Knock on the door again. Not the knocker; it wouldn’t wake up Chen Ling. Use the doorbell.”

  “No way. I’ll knock. Then we’re leaving.”

  I curled my hand and hit the wooden door with my gloved fist. To my surprise it creaked open. I just stood there a moment. Chill bumps joined the cold bumps already dancing down my spine, and I took a step back. Not Bitty. She took a step forward.

  “Oh good, it’s open. We can call for him.”

  “Not me, Shaggy. You and Scooby-Doo go right ahead. I’ll wait out here.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Trinket. This house isn’t haunted. It’s right down the street from Cady Lee’s house. And all their lights are on, and their cars are in the side driveway.” She shifted the sling across her chest to one side. “I’ll go in. If he’s in the shower or something it might be better if only one of us calls for him.”

  “At the least.” I swept my arm out to indicate the partially open door. “Go right ahead.”

  Bitty tripped lightly into the house in her high heel boots, armed with pug and audacity. I leaned against the doorframe and waited for one of two things to happen: Buck Prentiss would
be outraged that Bitty had barged into his house, or he wasn’t home.

  I was completely unprepared for the third thing.

  Bitty screamed, a high-pitched sound that obviously startled her dog. Another scream was accompanied by the yodeling pug. I cast caution to the wind and flung open the front door, prepared to do battle to save my cousin from an angry man or a spider. Those were the only two things I could think of that might make her scream like that.

  Boy, can I ever be wrong.

  I wasn’t three feet into the house when I spotted Bitty standing at the foot of the staircase staring down at something. That ruled out a spider. She’d already be dangling from the crystal chandelier if it had eight hairy legs. When I got closer I caught a glimpse of blond hair, red shirt, and bluejeans sprawled across the last three steps. Uh oh. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “Bitty?”

  When she whirled around to look at me her face was white as a freshly bleached sheet. I reached for her, and despite Chitling’s grumpy protest I pulled her toward me out of harm’s way. Then as I looked at the man on the steps, I realized that he couldn’t harm her. He was past doing much of anything.

  Buck Prentiss lay head-first on the gleaming heart pine floor, his neck at a crooked angle and his blond head smeared with blood. A broken glass lay close, a twist of lemon still inside. I couldn’t say anything for a minute. Buck’s eyes were closed, his face gray, and I didn’t want to touch him but had to see if he still had a heartbeat. I knelt, tried the pulse at his wrist, and knew he was gone. I stood up and looked at Bitty. I shook my head.

  “We’re too late.”

  “We should leave,” Bitty said, her voice sounding thin and high. “What if the police think we killed him? They always suspect those who find bodies. Maybe we should—”

  “Elizabeth Ann Truevine Hollandale, if you even think about moving him I’m going to tie you to a chair in the front parlor.”

  Bitty blinked up at me. “Honestly, Trinket, you say the oddest things sometimes. Did you bring your cell phone? We should call the police.”

  Thank heavens. At long last, a sane response from Bitty finding a dead body.

  BLUE LIGHTS STROBED the night. Drawn by the commotion, Cady Lee had come down and seen us standing there and immediately joined us. Lieutenant Marcus Stone had Bitty and me out front under a huge magnolia. Its massive limbs were cut about six feet up; brown pods and dead leaves crackled under our feet as we waited beneath its spreading shelter.

  The county coroner’s van pulled up and waited at the curb. EMTs brought out a gurney with Buck’s body in a bag, and they loaded it in silence. That was when Simon Donato showed up, stepping out of the black Escalade before his driver had it completely stopped.

  “What the hell?” he demanded. “Who’s in charge here?”

  Lieutenant Stone looked over at him. “I am.”

  Donato strode up to Stone and asked tersely, “Is it true Buck Prentiss is dead?”

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  “How did he die?”

  “We’re still investigating.”

  Simon Donato let loose a string of invectives that left me awe-struck. He could really speak his mind in the most inventive phrases. None of which moved Stone to anything more than a soft, “I’d watch your tone, Mr. Donato. Some of us country bumpkins can get a bit pissed at bad language.”

  Donato clamped his mouth shut, turned, saw me and Bitty, and said, “Why are you here?”

  “They found the body,” said Cady Lee before either of us could speak. “And they’re very upset so don’t need to be involved any more than they already are.”

  “If they found the body, they’re already too involved.” Donato stepped close. He was tall but lean and had a wiry intensity that I found a bit intimidating. “Where did you find Buck?”

  Lieutenant Stone was within hearing but he didn’t seem inclined to interfere, so I said, “At the bottom of the stairs. I think he fell.”

  Donato nodded. He looked a little relieved. He zipped up his open jacket and tucked his red wool scarf inside the collar. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He had the air of a man set to linger a while. He made me uneasy, and I wished he’d go wait somewhere else.

  “Oh, here comes my sister,” Cady Lee said, and I looked past Simon to see Dixie Lee talking to an officer at the end of the walkway. Like Bitty, she was wrapped in enough clothing to stop a bullet, just as stylish, and when the officer let her through she sashayed toward us as if making an entrance. I think Bitty dislikes her so much because they’re a lot alike. Dixie Lee had made it plain she considers Bitty a cheap copy.

  “What’s going on?” She pulled her coat more tightly around her and looked at her sister.

  Cady Lee said, “Buck Prentiss is dead.”

  Dixie Lee’s eyes widened. “Oh no! How—an accident? Or . . . or is it something else?”

  “We’re not sure,” I said.

  “So why are you two here—oh, I see. You’re investigating. If there’s anything I can do to help,” Dixie Lee began, and before Cady Lee or I could say anything Bitty intervened.

  “It’s a police investigation, dear. I’m afraid you wouldn’t be much help.”

  “Really.” Dixie Lee eyed Bitty for a moment.

  I sensed trouble. I was cold, shaken to the core at yet another death and not in much of a mood to separate two prima donnas trying to out-bitch each other. So I said, “This is a police matter, not our investigation. We just happened to be the ones who found Buck.”

  Bitty shifted her pug to one side, then leaned forward and said to Simon Donato, “Don’t worry, Mr. Donato. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”

  Donato stared at her. “What do you mean by that? I thought it was an accident.”

  “Cause of death hasn’t yet been determined. He could have fallen down the stairs. Or not. We won’t know until the coroner’s report comes out. That may take a day or two. The angle and trajectory of the body are suspicious for it to have been a simple fall. I’m fairly certain that a homicide investigation will be necessary.”

  Bitty actually sounded professional. I was surprised. And alarmed.

  “Good lord, Bitty,” said Dixie Lee, “I’ve heard all about how you’ve almost been killed a few times. You’re not exactly qualified to investigate. After all, you barely graduated Ole Miss with a three point average. I could do a better job without even trying.”

  Simon Donato and I took a step back at the same time. Cady Lee got a glazed look in her eyes. I went cold from my head to my toes.

  Bitty’s eyes narrowed, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She looked positively feral.

  “Why, Dixie Lee,” she drawled, “how on earth would you know anything about police procedure? Your law enforcement experience has been confined to mug shots and time spent in the drunk tank. Unless you count that streetwalking charge.”

  Dixie Lee’s breath hissed between her teeth like a snake whisper. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her coils rattling. “The streetwalking charge was a mistake, as you very well know, and the only reason I was taken in for DUI was because my friend was over the limit and driving. I had nothing to do with any of that.”

  “Well, bless your heart. Maybe those Tokyo businessmen were mistaken after all. I did hear they were quite captivated by your horizontal talents, however.”

  “That’s a lie, Bitty Hollandale, and you know it.”

  “Not according to Oxford police records, dear. You’re very well known in certain circles. I heard you’ve entertained more than one foreign businessman and—”

  That was as far as she got before Dixie Lee screeched and flung herself at Bitty. I’d been expecting something like that since the first verbal salvo had been fired. Apparently, so was my dear cousin.

  She
half turned so that Dixie Lee met her side instead of her face, and she brought up an elbow at the same time. It caught Dixie Lee right in the chest. She staggered backward. I reacted by reaching for them, but before I could step in and interfere Lieutenant Marcus Stone was there with his imposing command and bulk. It effectively deterred Dixie Lee from another assault. She would have just bounced off him anyway. Beneath his jacket and shirt he wore a twenty pound flak vest and muscles of steel, I was pretty sure.

  While I waited to see what would happen next I could have sworn lightning flashed and thunder crashed, but the sky had been clear, so it was doubtful.

  Cady Lee grabbed at her sister before Lieutenant Stone could restrain her. “Please forgive Dixie Lee. She’s been so stressed lately, with all that’s happened—she’d never attack someone if she was in her right mind.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Normally, neither Bitty nor Dixie Lee would actually go so far as to get into a cat fight; college days were behind them. It was the “right mind” part that was open for interpretation.

  Lieutenant Stone looked exasperated. “You need to go on home, Miz Kincaid, and take your sister with you. These two ladies will be done here pretty soon and don’t need your help.”

  I assumed by “two ladies” he meant me and Bitty, and was rather relieved that he hadn’t referred to us in stronger terms. As Cady Lee and Dixie Lee turned to leave, a blinding barrage of flashes went off, catching us all by surprise.

  I turned, squinting, and that was when I saw a small group of photographers clustered at the curb. Behind me Simon Donato cursed, then muttered, “Blood-sucking paparazzi.”

  Of course. Any reporter getting wind of a murder would be here anyway, but that the victim was a well-known and beloved movie star would get them here even more quickly. Local and national news trucks should arrive at any moment. This was big news in a small town and big news everywhere. Buck Prentiss had made a number of movies as well as the cover of People magazine as one of the handsomest men in the world. It had probably been a big coup to get him in this movie, and now he was gone. It’d be difficult to replace him if they decided to go ahead with the movie. All that was now up in the air, I imagined.