I squinted into the still dark shadows in my bedroom and plumbed the depths of my memory. “Uh, kinda. But you didn’t talk to him—did you?”
“Not then. Weren’t you paying any attention at all?”
Apparently not. I sighed. “Please fill in the gaps of my memory loss.”
“Well, I left you a message on your cell phone last night, but since you’re having trouble remembering, I ran into Sandra and Bruce at the inn. I had gone over to tell Sandra I’d seen him at the airport, and voila! There he was. So I invited both of them to have wine and hors d’oeuvres with us this evening. They’ll be here at seven. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Delightful. Call me back when it’s daylight, and we can talk about it some more.”
“I can’t believe you aren’t more excited. I’ve been up all night just planning which wine and what to serve.”
“Go to bed. Get some sleep. Call me in a few hours.”
I hung up before she could share more exciting news with me. As the light on my phone faded out I welcomed the lovely soft darkness. It was cool, I had a pile of blankets on top of me, and no dog. The quiet was lovely. I’d deal with Bitty when I woke up in a few hours.
Of course, going back to sleep turned out to be impossible. Irritable after lying there waiting on sleep for over an hour, I finally gave in and got up. I wrapped myself in a terrycloth robe and stomped downstairs in my fuzzy slippers to put on coffee. To my surprise, my mother was already awake and up, and the fragrance of brewing coffee greeted me.
“Well, hello, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile. “You’re up early.”
“And yet not as early as Bitty.” I yawned and reached for a coffee cup.
“Oh lord. Do I want to know what that means?”
“She called and woke me up. Be grateful for cell phones. Otherwise she’d have woken you and Daddy up, too.”
“It’s not like Bitty to be up so early. Is she sick?”
“No, just insane. She invited Sandra and Bruce Wallace over for wine tonight.”
Mama looked astonished. “How on earth—?”
“He was visiting Sandra Brady when Bitty showed up. I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. She’d have figured out a way to bump into him somehow. Is the coffee ready?”
Two cups later I felt a lot better. I considered calling Bitty, then reconsidered. She’d call me when she woke up or had another brainstorm. Meanwhile I needed to work on being more compassionate. She was making it pretty difficult. I’m best at new emotions when I’m fully awake.
It was nearly noon by the time Bitty called again, and she picked up our conversation as if we’d still been in the middle of it. “So what do you think?” she asked when I took her call. “I can pick you up or you can drive over, whichever is best for you, but you have to let me know pretty quickly since I’m still planning the menu.”
I tried to catch up and then decided to just start at the end. “What menu? I thought this was wine and cheese, not a formal dinner.”
“It is, but you cannot serve just any ole thing to movie stars, Trinket.”
She sounded aghast. I rolled my eyes. “He’s American. Bruce probably drinks domestic beer and eats those ginormous pretzels filled with cheese.”
“An unnerving thought.”
“Isn’t it? So what gastronomic delights have you decided upon for the evening’s soirée?”
“It’s not a soirée. It’s just wine and a few people in to mingle.”
“That’s the definition of soirée. Just add some music. Who are the few people? Divas and the garden club?”
“Heavens, no. That’s far too many people on this short a notice, Trinket. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of going back to bed, if you must know. Is Mr. Wallace aware he’s going to be ambushed by a house full of salivating females?”
“Oh, Sandra told him he really must join us for wine, that I have a delightful cellar. And he seemed quite pleased.”
“I’m sure he was,” I said dryly, mainly because I had a sneaking suspicion that Sandra Brady wasn’t above sending her ex-husband to his conversational doom. It’d be a lovely form of revenge for his dumping her for a younger woman.
By the time I got to Bitty’s that evening it was right before six and already dark outside. I hoped for an early spring. I’m not really a winter person. While I do like the change of seasons, I tire quickly after a couple months of cold or heat. I’m fickle.
I’d worn my nicest navy slacks and pale blue twin-set, but Miss Got-rocks informed me I still wasn’t up to par.
“For heaven’s sake, Trinket, do you buy your clothes at Walmart?”
“Sometimes, and until last year you didn’t even know Walmart sold clothes. What’s the matter with what I’m wearing?”
She didn’t bother to answer my question but took me straight upstairs to her closet. It’s bigger than my bedroom, probably because it used to be a bedroom before she remodeled. We went to the zip code that held her scarves, and she looked me over with a critical eye before she selected a lovely dark blue and deep red patterned silk scarf from her treasure trove.
“This will do. It picks out the colors and helps hide your ugly sweater. Let me fix it for you.”
Instead of saying all the things that came to mind I stood quietly while Bitty fussed over the scarf, tying it just right, patting it into place.
“There,” she said when it was done to her standard of perfection, “now you look much better. Except for your hair . . . I think I can fix that.”
I drew an imaginary line in the dirt. “No. I don’t need a lacquered helmet. I’m fine with the loose, casual look.”
Bitty arched a brow. “Really? Just how loose and casual do you want to be?”
“Loose enough to be able to scratch my head without getting my hand stuck to my scalp. And I refuse to respond to your double entendre. Shall we go back downstairs before your guests arrive?”
“We can do that. But I have some interesting news I want to share with you first.”
I put up a hand to stop her. “No. I don’t want to hear a word about the murders. I’m tired of talking about them and obsessing about who the killer might be. Let’s go at least a couple hours without discussing Billy Joe or Dixie Lee or Mira or whoever else. Okay?”
Bitty put both hands on her hips to stare at me. “You’ll wish later you had listened to me, and I intend to say I told you so.”
“I’m willing to risk that.”
With a truce reached we went back downstairs. I helped Bitty put together the cheese and cracker tray, arranged the silver tea tray, and made sure wine glasses sparkled. Bitty checked a few bottles in the wine cooler to be sure they were at proper temps, let a bottle of red “breathe” on the counter, and fiddled around nervously with the china plates and sterling silver flatware.
“I take it we’re having thousand dollar wine again?” I asked when my cousin decided to go back down to the wine cellar. I followed her down the steps into the room her boys used when home. It looks like it was decorated by Joe Pesci, the actor who always plays a nervous little informant in the mobster movies. Nonetheless, it has potential. And a wine cellar with electronic locks and automatic temperature controls. Bitty opened it and went inside to retrieve whatever it was she’d come to get, while I waited just outside the door. I don’t like small, cool spaces that can unexpectedly close me inside. Not that I’d ever been closed up in the wine cellar, just that my life had recently become a series of unexpected accidents. Pardon the redundancy.
Bitty emerged from the wine cellar, closed the door, checked the thermostat again, and we went back upstairs with two bottles of wine I recognized.
“Why, that’s my favorite wine,” I said in surprise, and she nodded.
“I know. I ordered a case. No
point in forcing expensive wine on you when you say it tastes like old shoes anyway.”
“Well, it does,” I defended myself, “or at least, how I imagine old shoes would taste. Thank you, Bitty. You know I love zinfandel.”
She sighed. “Yes. I know.”
I didn’t point out to her that I remembered her wine palate of not too long ago when her favorite wine was zinfandel, too. She hadn’t always been a snob. It’s an acquired talent.
Just as she fluttered and fussed over the silver tray for the tenth time the doorbell rang. I went to answer it while Bitty pulled out serving utensils and checked everything on the trays yet again.
Gaynelle and Rayna were the first arrivals, coming inside smelling of cold air and spicy perfume. Both brought bottles of wine as their hostess gift, even though they knew the bottles would be set aside until the next Diva day. We require a diversity of alcoholic offerings. If our friends and families didn’t know better, they’d think we were all candidates for the twelve-step programs.
Next to arrive were Carolann and Cindy, then Deelight. Apparently Dixie Lee and Cady Lee had better things to do, which made me breathe a little easier. Bitty and Dixie Lee in the same hemisphere could be volatile.
The last to arrive was Bruce Wallace. I usurped the honor of being doorman, beating out Carolann Barnett by at least five feet. Sometimes long legs are a blessing. “I’ve got this,” I hissed at her, and she surrendered as I smoothed my scarf and opened the front door.
“Am I at the right house?” he asked a little hesitantly. “Sandra gave me this address—Sandra Brady.”
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you,” I said in as pleasant a tone as I could when my heart was beating so fast. I silently chastised myself for reacting like a teenager, but Wallace was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever met in my life. Thick blond hair, eyes as blue as the sky, and a tall, lean build that I’d seen without so many clothes in one of the movies where he played a Spartan or Trojan or one of those guys who ran around in short little skirts a thousand years ago. I managed to step aside to let him in and heard myself saying calmly, “We’re so pleased you can join us, Mr. Wallace. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a man.”
Bruce Wallace cocked an eyebrow at me and grinned. He had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. “I’m not sure that’s an endorsement for the evening,” he drawled.
“Trust me, it’ll be much worse than you think,” I said as my face heated, and I flushed from head to toe. At the very least, I could act like I’d meant to be flirtatious. “Come into the parlor,” I began, and he laughed.
“Said the spider to the fly?”
I nodded. “Something like that. May I take your coat?”
He shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to me. It felt like warm butter flowing over my hand; the leather so soft and pliant I could have been holding one of Bitty’s expensive silk scarves. Money really can buy a lot of nice things.
He paused in the wide doorway to the living room, suddenly seeming a little awkward and uncertain. Not to mention startled and pretty nervous when he saw the platoon of giddy females in the living room awaiting his every word. His driver had stayed in the car, and I got the distinct impression Bruce would rather be out there than alone in a house full of strange women. He just didn’t know how strange. Bless his heart.
“Wine, Mr. Wallace?” Bitty asked as she approached him, and he smiled.
“Yes, please. And call me Bruce, or I’ll think my father is here too.”
Bitty brought his wine and gushed over Bruce Wallace like a leaky faucet. I managed to escape to the kitchen before I said anything else stupid. I busied myself with the tray, then I took it in to the living room to set it on the ottoman. Bitty had seated Bruce in the big wingback chair that was comfortable, delegating me to take the hideous settee, as usual.
I perched on it, wiggling a bit to get the biggest lump squashed into submission. They were in the middle of a conversation about the movie Sandra and Bruce had starred in when they first met. Since I didn’t remember the movie or the gossip, I sipped on my lovely California zinfandel and let the conversation drift around me. Bruce had the Divas in the palm of his hand, holding onto his every word, and I was content to just sit and watch him mesmerize the ladies. No wonder he had been nominated for an Academy Award. He was a magician. It was easy to see how Sandra Brady had lost her heart to him.
“So when you first met Sandra Brady,” Carolann said in a breathless tone suitable for a long-distance runner at the end of a five-mile race, “was it instant attraction?”
“Carolann,” said Bitty with a meaningful glance, “perhaps Bruce doesn’t wish to talk about a past relationship.”
He laughed. “No, I hope Sandra and I are still good friends. She should be here soon and can answer for her own part, but I fell in love as soon as she turned to look at me. She was such a beautiful woman she took my breath away.”
“She’s still a beautiful woman,” Gaynelle pointed out.
Bruce nodded. “It must be something in the local water here, that such beautiful women are everywhere you look.”
“She was beautiful before she got here,” said Bitty. “Although we do appreciate you including us in that compliment.”
“Mississippi women are the most beautiful in the country,” he said gallantly, and we all simpered and blushed. It must have been an awful sight, all of us preening like winter geese and gazing at him with adoring fascination. As I’ve mentioned, he was quite a charmer.
We quickly ran out of wine, and I got up to help Bitty bring more. Bruce immediately got up to help us.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said when Bitty said that we could manage, and followed us into the kitchen. I think he just didn’t want to be left alone with slavering Divas.
Bruce opened two bottles of wine, proving to be expert with a corkscrew, making light conversation as he pulled corks. “This is my first visit to Mississippi, although Sandra has told me a lot about it.”
“Sandra is too kind,” Bitty said as she put more crackers and cheese on a tray. “She’s been quite entertaining while here, and though she’s never been this far south before, she’s fit right in. It’s almost like she was born here.”
Bruce looked up. “Sandra’s mother is from Mississippi.”
For a moment neither of us said anything; we were too surprised. Finally Bitty said, “I didn’t know Sandra’s family is from Mississippi. I thought she was from Chicago or up north somewhere.”
“Her mother was born in Holly Springs, I think.”
Too stunned to speak at first, I finally managed to stammer, “Are you sure? She’s never said anything about being from the South.”
“Her mother and grandparents moved away before she was born. Sandra was born in Chicago. It’s not one of those things she included in her bio. A lot of stars reinvent themselves for their bios. Since she hasn’t said anything, please don’t tell her I let the cat out of the bag. I don’t want her mad at me before I’ve been here even twenty-four hours.”
“Of course we won’t,” I said immediately, and Bitty echoed my assurance.
Bitty and I exchanged puzzled glances as we followed Bruce back into the living room with more wine and the cheese tray. I couldn’t understand why it’d never come up in our many conversations with Sandra. Even Bitty, who was apparently her new BFF, obviously had no clue. We didn’t say much as the other Divas hung upon Bruce’s every word as he began telling them about his recent trip to Italy to film a love story taken from yet another bestselling book.
I sipped wine and pondered the significance of the information that Sandra’s family was from Mississippi. It was startling news. Why hadn’t she told us? It wasn’t as if it should be top secret, after all. Had her mother lived here as a child? Had she ever mentioned residents from Holly Springs? It was mystifying as to
why Sandra hadn’t said anything about her origins. But then, if her family moved away from Mississippi at a young age it may never have occurred to her to tell anyone. After all, her personal history was in Chicago.
“So tell me,” Bruce asked, dragging me back into the conversation, “how many murders have happened, and how worried should I be that I might be next?”
Bitty gave him her brightest smile and went into pure Belle mode: “Why, absolutely no one would ever think about murdering a handsome, charming man like you, Bruce.”
Bruce looked a little askance at her. “Yet someone has been killing people in Holly Springs. Are these murders connected or random? I knew one of the people killed. Buck wasn’t a bad guy. Two murders made me think twice about taking the role of Joe Don. If it was anyone else but Simon Donato who asked, I don’t think I would have agreed to come here.”
“Well,” said Bitty, “Billy Joe Cramer was a killing just waiting to happen. Maybe his wife just couldn’t take any more. Of course, there are a couple other suspects we’ve been looking into as well.”
Lifting a brow, Bruce smiled. “So what I’ve heard is true—you ladies investigate crime?”
“I don’t know if I’d actually call it investigating crime,” I began before Bitty rolled right over me with her interpretation of our collective idiocy.
“Why, of course we do,” she said. “And we’re good, too. We’ve found the killers in a lot of recent murders.”
Bruce grinned. “So, you’re like a cross between the Golden Girls and Nancy Drew?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Bitty looked stricken for a moment—I’m sure by the Golden Girls reference since she sees herself as still a college co-ed—but then she brightened.
“Nancy Drew was my favorite mystery series when I was a girl. Did you know Carolyn Keene was just a pseudonym for several authors who wrote the books?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Bruce after a short pause when it seemed that Bitty expected a reply. “I co-starred in a TV movie made from one of the Nancy Drew books when I was just a kid. In fact, that’s where I first met Sandra. She played Nancy Drew.”
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