Divas Do Tell

by Virginia Brown

  When Mira saw me and Bitty she paused then looked at Sandra. “I didn’t realize you’d invited others.”

  “Didn’t I say? I’m sorry. I’ll take your cape, dear. It’s very lovely. Versace, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” Mira went to stand in front of the fireplace, looking elegant in her slim-fitting dark green slacks and sweater. Leather boots reached almost to her knees.

  Even though she tried not to show it, I could tell she was uneasy. Maybe she knew she was a suspect in not just Buck’s death but two others. That was enough to make anyone edgy.

  “Tea?” Sandra asked her. “I have Darjeeling. I know it’s one of your favorites.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Mira.

  Mira perched on the edge of the couch next to Sandra and took the tea cup held out to her. For a moment we chatted about the movie and how the rushes looked, which scenes were the best, and how the script supervisor had mixed up some of the lines.

  “A silly mistake,” said Mira. “She should have been paying more attention. One of my lines got mixed up with one of Bruce’s, and it took Simon almost ten minutes to get things sorted out. Everything has been fast-tracked since we had to change the male lead, but Simon and Bruce have done an amazing job of recreating key scenes. Bruce is still trying to master an authentic Southern accent, though.”

  Bitty smiled and then said, “But you’re from this area, I understand, Mira?”

  Mira’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was born near here, but we moved down to Jackson when I was still a baby.”

  “So you consider Jackson your home, then,” I said, and she nodded.

  “I lived in north Jackson most of my young years. My brother attended Tougaloo College, and I went to Murrah High. When I was in a school production of South Pacific I realized what I wanted to do the rest of my life. I’m lucky to have met the right people.”

  It was more than I’d heard her say at once the entire time she’d been in Holly Springs, but I hadn’t seen her off the set much. Despite my unfavorable opinion of her, I still didn’t know if she was capable of killing anyone. She just seemed so blamed young.

  But then Sandra said, “It’s a shame about Buck being murdered. I was told it must be someone close to him that did it.”

  Mira went from uncertain child to outraged woman in a heartbeat. Her eyes flashed, her mouth thinned, and she clenched her hands so hard she broke the handle off the tea cup she held.

  “If you’re insinuating I did it, you can damn well stop! I loved Buck. I had no reason to kill him, and I’ve told that to the police a dozen times.”

  “Really? But there was no love lost between you and Abby Bloom,” I said.

  Mira stuck her chin the air. “So? She was a bitch, and I told her what I thought of her, but she didn’t hold back how she felt, either. We got into it a few times, and I’ve told the police that, too. I may have wanted to smack her, but I never considered killing her.”

  “Excuse me, dear,” said Sandra, “but I overheard you and Abby. It certainly didn’t sound friendly when you told her to watch her step or you’d run over her with a camera truck.”

  Mira flushed. “I may have said that, but I didn’t actually do it. There’s a big difference in saying something when you’re mad and really doing it.”

  She stood up. “I was invited out here for tea and to mend fences, not to be interrogated by you. I should have known better. You’ve always been a selfish bitch, Sandra, and now that your career is going down the drain you try to take as many as you can with you. Abby told me about you, and even Buck warned me that you’d stop at nothing to get what you want. Well, you’re not going to get a confession from me because I haven’t done anything. And a word of warning—don’t get in my way. I can make you very sorry you even thought about it.”

  When she started for her cape that hung on the chair next to our coats, Sandra stood up and blocked her. “You’ve misunderstood, Mira. We’re simply trying to clarify events. The police have questioned all of us. You’re the only one without a solid alibi for the first murder or for Buck’s murder. Your alibi for Abby’s murder is plausible but not set in stone. Do you see?”

  Mira shook her hair back from her face and glared at Sandra. “Oh, I see all right. You’re not clarifying anything but your own alibis. Buck told me about you and Abby getting into a fight, you know. He was going to the police, too.” She paused. Then her eyes dilated, and she looked at Sandra for a long moment. Her voice was husky when she said, “It was you. You’re the person I saw leaving the house when Buck was murdered . . .”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Sandra said sharply. “And stop trying to shift the blame to others. It won’t work.”

  Mira shook her head slowly. Her voice slurred slightly as she said, “But I saw you. I just didn’t know it was you. And then . . . and then I saw Buck lying on the floor, blood was everywhere . . . and there was nothing I could do. That’s when I ran out. I didn’t even think about shutting the door. I told the police a man ran out of the house because that’s what I thought I saw that night. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Paralyzed by their accusations, I couldn’t move, could only stare at them as they faced each other. Not even Bitty moved. We sat there like rocks waiting for Sandra’s answer.

  Even before she lifted a brow and laughed, I knew suddenly that it had been her, and that she was the “man” Mrs. Whitworth had seen at Billy Joe’s door. I didn’t know how I knew it, but it was the only thing that made sense.

  “My dear little Mira,” Sandra drawled, “you’re not nearly as dumb as you look after all.”

  Swaying, Mira put out a hand to steady herself, fingers clawing at the back of the chair holding our coats. She blinked several times and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then, without warning, she slipped to the floor in a dead faint.

  “Well,” Sandra said cheerfully, “one down, two to go.”

  A cold chill swamped me as she turned to look at us, and that’s when I saw the pistol she held in her right hand. Oh, damn . . .

  Chapter 21

  BITTY SOUNDED cross when she demanded, “What are you doing what that gun, Sandra?”

  “I’d think it was rather obvious, Bitty. Now just do as I ask, and this will be over with quickly. I’ve had to make a few changes in my original plans, but I’m flexible.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said. “Especially if you think you can get away with this.”

  “Of course I can. I’ve done my research rather carefully.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, Bitty said, “This is ridiculous! Is this some elaborate joke or something?”

  “If it is, I’m going to have the last laugh. Now take this rope and tie up Trinket first. Then you can tie up Mira in case she comes to before I’m ready.”

  Bitty did her best mule impression, standing still and staring at Sandra and the rope she held out with an obstinate expression I’ve grown quite accustomed to seeing. “No. I’m not tying up anyone.”

  Sandra said calmly, “You can tie up Trinket, or I can shoot her. Either way will work out. It’s up to you.”

  Getting shot is not my idea of fun. “It’s okay, Bitty,” I said. “Do what she tells you.”

  Sandra smiled. “Very good, Trinket. You’re being sensible.”

  “No, I’m being practical. When we don’t come home on time someone will come out here looking for us.”

  “No, they won’t. You didn’t tell anyone you were coming out here, just as Mira didn’t tell anyone she was coming out here.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do know that. If nothing else, I’m a fairly good judge of character.”

  I didn’t say anything. She was right, but that didn’t have to mean I’d admit it. At least let her think it was a possibility. To stall for time since Bitty had neve
r been in the Girl Scouts and didn’t know the first thing about rope tying and knots, I looked at Sandra and said, “You were born in Chicago, weren’t you?”

  She nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Yes, I was. That’s in my bio. Everyone knows that.”

  “Yes, but not everyone knows that your real father’s name is Billy Joe Cramer.”

  Sandra’s smile vanished completely. “If you’ve read my bio,” she said coldly, “you’d know that my father’s name was Samuel Brady, and I was born in 1977.”

  “No, your stepfather’s name was Brady, and you were born in 1969. You’ve shaved eight years off your age, and quite well, too. No one suspected you’re much older than you claim.”

  Shrugging, she said, “So you’ve learned my big secret. I’m older than people think. As far as I know that’s not a criminal offense.”

  “No, but murder is, and you shot Billy Joe Cramer as sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Mira shot him, and she killed Abby and then Buck. And she’s going to shoot both of you and try to shoot me before I can shoot her. She’s quite a little serial killer.”

  I tilted my head to one side as Bitty slid the rope around my wrists and tied them behind my back as Sandra instructed. “That’s your plan? To get the three of us out here and then claim Mira is the killer? It’ll never work.”

  “Of course it will. Unfortunately for all of you, you’ll be dead and unable to argue any differently.”

  “This is the worst murder plot I’ve ever heard. Holly Springs’ police aren’t nearly as dumb or backwater as you seem to think.”

  “It worked beautifully in Magnificent Melrose Murders,” she said. “I played the part of the wronged heroine. In the movie I survived to tell the police what really happened. Alas, that won’t be the case for poor Mira.”

  “But why involve her? She didn’t do anything to you. Billy Joe was cruel to your mother and abandoned both of you. I can understand that. But Abby—I assume she saw something, and you killed her. Apparently Buck suspected you so he had to die—why Mira? She’s innocent. So are we. You have no reason to kill any of us.”

  Sandra lifted her shoulders in another shrug, but the gun barrel never wavered from us. “Abby saw me that day. I was so careful with my disguise—a blond wig, man’s trench coat, and this gun. Apparently it was those damn boots I wore. I never thought anyone would recognize them. I never intended to hurt either of you. It was going to be just me and Mira out here, but you both know too much, so you’re necessary collateral damage.”

  A light went on for me. “So that’s what Mrs. Whitworth remembered? How did you find out that your cowboy boots were recognized?”

  “I ran into her in the grocery store when I went in to buy Moon Pies and an RC Cola. My mother used to say how much she missed them, that the ones in Chicago just weren’t the same, so I decided to taste them for myself.”

  “Your mother is Susana Jones.”

  After a brief hesitation, Sandra nodded. “Yes. That was her maiden name. She married my father after I was born. I never knew until a few years ago when I was going through some of her things after she died. That’s when I found out about Billy Joe. She’d saved some letters, a picture of him and her together, and my first birth certificate. She’d put his name on as father.”

  Bitty pulled tightly on the rope around my wrists, then tugged at the knot. “There,” she said. “She’s tied.”

  “Come here,” Sandra said to me, and when I walked the few steps to her, she turned me around and tested the knot herself. “It’s tight enough. Now, come and tie up Mira.”

  Bitty was spitting mad. I saw it in her eyes. Normally that would be a cause for alarm. Now it was rather heartening. When Bitty’s mad, she’s often at her most articulate and creative. Since I couldn’t see how we were going to get out of this situation, I hoped she’d find a way.

  “At the risk of sounding like a bad movie,” she said as she knelt next to the unconscious Mira, “you’ll never get away with this.”

  “Lord, that does sound like a bad movie.” Sandra laughed. “I do hate doing this to you and Trinket, Bitty, but y’all left me no choice. Bruce told me that he’d mentioned to you about my family being from Holly Springs. I knew it was only a matter of time before one of you said something or connected the dots. You do see, don’t you, that it has to be this way?”

  “No. I don’t.” Bitty jerked at the rope around Mira’s wrists. “You’re a sociopath. You have no conscience at all.”

  Sandra sighed. “Well, I suppose understanding was too much to hope for, but it is what it is.”

  Bitty glanced up at her. “Damn right it is what it is! And I can promise you this: that you will always have to look over your shoulder if you kill us. Not only the police but Jackson Lee will come after you with everything they have. You’ll always wonder—did they finally get enough evidence? Were they able to find the proof needed for an arrest? Did I make a mistake?”

  “I have no intention of making a mistake,” Sandra said sharply. “I’ve thought all this through quite carefully.”

  “Apparently you’re not as careful as you like to think, or you wouldn’t have left witnesses to your visit when you killed Billy Joe,” I pointed out.

  Sandra jerked her gun. “That stupid Abby thought she could make me sweat before she went to the police. Idiot. She should have been doing her job that day instead of sneaking off to meet Simon. Then she wouldn’t have seen me walking up the street to Billy Joe’s house. I don’t know how she made the connection, but she did.”

  “And Buck? How did he find out?”

  “He heard me and Abby arguing that day at Montrose. I thought everyone had gone, but then one of the key grips, Jason or Josh or something like that, came back for his stuff. After he left I confronted Abby in the bathroom. I suppose that’s what Buck heard, us yelling at each other. She just wouldn’t listen to me . . . I tried to tell her she’d made a mistake, but she laughed and said she could recognize a snake when she saw one, and that she was going to the police. So I hit her with a bat that was leaned up against the wall. She stopped laughing then.”

  “I imagine she did,” I said after a moment of shocked silence at her matter-of-fact recital of the heinous crime.

  I was aware of Bitty kneeling beside Mira, saw her left hand move toward our coats and purses in the chair where Sandra had put them, and my heart skipped a beat. If I could only keep Sandra talking maybe Bitty could reach her purse and pistol.

  “Did you know Abby was still alive when you left her on the bathroom floor to bleed to death?” I asked. “She crawled toward the door trying to get out.”

  “Yes, I heard that. If she’d just listened to me she wouldn’t have suffered. I can’t be held responsible for her stupidity.”

  Amazed by her callous indifference, I still managed to say calmly, “But you can be held responsible for her death. What about Dixie Lee? Does she know what you’ve done?”

  Sandra shook her head. “That’s a stupid question. If she knew anything she’d be here too.”

  “So we’re the last people you’re going to murder? I doubt that. You can’t kill everyone who might suspect you. Is that why you came to Holly Springs, to murder Billy Joe?”

  “Partially. After I read the script I knew I had to play the part of Darcy Denton. It was made for me. It was a way to honor my mother for all the wrongs done to her when she was so young.”

  “And killing Billy Joe and two other people—how does that honor your mother?”

  Sandra’s eyes flashed fire at me. “He seduced her, got her pregnant, then abandoned her, and the entire town stood by and did nothing! He deserved what he got. When he went for his pistol I was just a little faster. That’s when I got the idea for a suicide. I made him give me his gun, and he knew, right before I pulled the trigger,
that in a way it was Susana killing him for what he’d done. The fool. He begged for his life, even peed his pants when he saw it wasn’t going to do him any good. I think she’d like that.”

  “Do you? Somehow, I think Susana would be appalled at what you’ve done. From what I heard she was a sweet, caring girl. Yes, she was foolish in believing Billy Joe, but she paid for that mistake. You, however, you were brought up in a loving home. Even Darcy Denton would be horrified by what you’ve become. She tried to save you. Instead, you’ve become a monster.”

  When Sandra sucked in a deep breath I knew I’d gone too far. I don’t know what she might have done if Bitty hadn’t managed to get to her purse and the pistol. Sandra turned just as she pulled out the forty-five, and they both fired at the same time. The percussion deafened me for a moment, and I hit the ground on my knees, terrified and hopeful.

  Two more shots blasted the air, and I cringed. Then Sandra kicked Bitty’s arm, and the pistol went flying through the air and landed in front of the fireplace. Bitty scrambled after it, but Sandra was quicker and got to it before she could. She snatched it up, then hit Bitty in the head with the butt. When Bitty slumped to the floor I screamed.

  Sandra whirled around, breathing hard, her lips drawn back in some kind of wild snarl as she glared at me. “Damn you both! You’ve ruined my plan . . . I have to think. Dammit. All these bullet holes everywhere and two guns instead of one . . . okay. I know what to do. Stay where you are, or so help me I’ll shoot you in both knees.”

  I stared helplessly at Bitty. She looked lifeless, draped half over the hearth where she’d lunged toward her gun. Blood dripped from her head to the hearth rug. It was too soon after her last injury, and I feared this one might have severely damaged her if it didn’t kill her. Not that it would matter if Sandra got her way. She obviously had a scene worked out where she would be the innocent victim and Mira the killer. We were to be bystanders, I imagine. I watched her drag Mira toward the couches, then kneel down and press her pistol into her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle. That was when I noticed she’d put on gloves and was having trouble getting it done just as she wanted.