By the time I managed to catch my balance and free myself of her flapping arms, I heard her say through mud and rain, “Ge’ oth me, ya biggox!” It was a little garbled, but I got her drift.
“Doing my best,” I muttered. “Be still a minute. I think I’m tangled in your jacket.”
“Trinket? Is that you?” she said, blinking at me with lashes clogged with mud. If I hadn’t known who it was, I wouldn’t recognize her. She was just blue eyes looking out from red mud.
“Yes, it’s me. Are you all right? I saw what happened.”
Sitting up in the thin current of water sliding over the grass, she tried to wipe her face. It didn’t work out so well. She succeeded in smearing mud from brow to chin instead. “I’m okay, just mad. That little creep stole my purse.”
“I know. Come on. I’m going to put my hands under your arms and lift you. Try to help.”
I stood up, put my arms under hers, and heaved. My heels slewed, and we both went down. I jarred my tailbone and bit my tongue. I think I said something very ugly. Then I tried again. This time I did better. I got her halfway to her feet, and she managed the rest. We clung together for a few moments, a little breathless from our exertions. I was cold, clammy, and my bare toes squelched in the mud. Apparently, I’d lost a shoe somewhere. Bitty had lost her plastic hat.
“We’ve got to get back up that hill,” I said finally. “Once we’re dry again you can tell me just what the hell you’re doing so far out here.”
Bitty wobbled a little, grabbed my arm to steady herself, then said, “I got lost. I asked that young man which way back, and he seemed so nice at first. Then he got a little pushy. He asked for some money. I might have given it to him but he got ugly, so I told him he had bad manners. Then he grabbed my purse and ran. The horrible little thug took everything. My purse, my wallet with all my money—my new purse!”
“Jimmy Choo?” I asked sympathetically as we trudged back up the slippery hill.
She clawed at a clump of grass to pull herself up the incline. “No,” she said after we stood on top of the rise. “Lana Marks. It cost more than I usually pay for a purse.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m sure you can get another one.”
“Maybe. But I liked that one. Oh, I broke a nail!”
“Come on. Let’s go call the police.”
Bitty came to an abrupt halt. “My phone is in my shoulder bag.”
“That’s okay. My phone is in my purse, locked safely in your car—uh oh—do you have the car keys?”
Bitty slowly shook her head. “They’re in my purse, too.”
“Great. Just great.”
“We can use the phone inside the Interpretive Center. You go inside. I’ll hide around the corner by my car so no one sees me.”
“Don’t worry, Princess Barbie, no one would recognize you. And the center is closed. So there goes that idea.”
“So early?”
“It closes at four-thirty. We got a late start, remember?”
“I had things to do . . . anyway, I don’t get up late every day.”
“If you got up before noon, it wouldn’t seem like it gets dark so early. Try going to bed earlier at night. That might help.”
“It’s all that daylight savings time that gets me confused,” said Bitty.
“Poor darling. Try setting your clocks ahead an hour. That’ll keep you on time.”
“Already? I thought that didn’t happen until June.”
I rolled my eyes. “That explains a lot.”
“You’re going the wrong way,” Bitty said, and we halted.
“No, I’m sure it’s this way,” I replied after a moment.
“I think it’s this way,” said Princess Pea-hen, and so we trudged off in the direction she pointed. By the time we passed the same statue twice, I had enough. I stopped.
“I’m going the other way. You can follow me, go with me, or keep walking till you reach the West Coast.”
“You’re always so irritable, Trinket.”
I just looked at her. The lacquer she uses to keep her hair from moving had gummed together in clumps that stuck straight out on one side, flat on the other. She looked like a badger.
“Really?” I said. “I cannot imagine why I would be irritable. It can’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m wet all the way to my femurs, I can’t feel my right foot, and when this mud dries it’s going to turn to cement, and I’ll end up immobilized like one of these statues.”
“Try to look on the bright side.”
“And that would be—where?”
“Your purse didn’t get stolen.”
I thought about it a moment, nodded grudgingly, then struck off for where I was pretty sure the car with my purse and phone waited for our return. Bitty trailed behind me.
When we were finally in sight of the parking lot at last, I was glad because it was hard to walk in only one shoe. My other was forever left on the battlefield. I felt a pang of loss. They were my most comfortable in-between shoes, not winter shoes but not spring ones, just right for wearing anywhere casual.
As we drew nearer to the paved lot I realized something was wrong. Different. It didn’t look the same. The reason hit me just as Bitty gasped, “My car! He stole my car!”
WRAPPED IN BLANKETS and drinking cups of hot coffee, we waited for Jackson Lee to arrive at the police station. We’d flagged down a motorist—who looked startled and frightened by our appearance—and he’d called the police for us. The officer hadn’t really wanted us in his patrol car but reluctantly took us to the station. They were very nice. Bitty gave a report and sketchy description of the purse-snatcher; the police gave us blankets and coffee.
Corinth is around an hour northeast of Holly Springs. Jackson Lee showed up and greeted some of the officers as if he knew them fairly well. I imagine in his line of work, he meets a lot of the police officers in North Mississippi. When they were through slapping backs and exchanging quips, he turned and saw Bitty and I huddled in uncomfortable chairs like muddy gnomes. His eyes got a little big, but other than that, he didn’t betray his revulsion by word or expression.
“Are y’all ready to leave?” he asked. I noticed that his eyes kept straying to Bitty’s hair. It was difficult to see the blond for all the clotted mud. I was pretty sure we looked like two of those termite hills found in Africa, just mud piled up in layers to form cones.
“Past ready,” I replied while Bitty did her best to retain her composure and mask her chagrin that he was seeing her in such a state. Again. I figured he was used to it by now.
“You’re always our knight in shining armor, Jackson Lee,” she said with a bright smile only slightly marred by drying mud flaking off every time she moved her facial muscles.
He smiled back and gestured to the door. “Your carriage awaits, milady.”
“I hope it’s mud-proof,” I said and saw him flinch. He keeps his Jaguar very clean.
“We won’t worry about that,” he said gallantly.
However, I’m sure he was thinking of his pristine leather seats.
I was thinking of a shower and clean clothes.
Bitty was thinking about her stolen purse.
“It’s not a week old,” she complained as he guided us out of the station. “And I had my phone in there, my car keys, and my cash—”
“Sugar, he stole your car. It’s worth a lot more than a purse.”
“Yes, but it’s also a lot easier to find. I told them about the stickers on the bumper.”
Jackson Lee opened the passenger side door for Bitty, glanced up and met my eyes, and shook his head. I shrugged. My purse had been in that car too. I hoped for a quick arrest. No self-respecting crook would want to drive a Mercedes with a pink bumper sticker that reads: Zombie Apocalypse Go-to Girl. It has an out
line of a pink nine-millimeter. On the other side is a bumper sticker with a picture of a pug stretched out on a pink rug. It reads: I’m Too Pugalicious For You, Babe! They were Christmas gifts from her sons. I think they understand their mother very well.
By the time we got back to Bitty’s house where I’d left my car, I was doing my best to stay awake. It’d been a trying day, and I’d tossed and turned the night before. My car was parked at the curb in front of the house, and Jackson Lee thoughtfully pulled up next to it.
Before I could rouse myself enough to get out of the car, he reminded me, “Since your purse was stolen with Bitty’s car, I can call a locksmith for you.”
Bitty responded, “Not tonight. It’s too late. She can stay here. Besides, I have a plan, and I want to see what she thinks about it.”
Jackson Lee asked carefully, “What kind of plan, sugarplum?”
“Oh, it’s just something I thought of while we were waiting for you at the police station,” she replied with a vague wave of one hand. “I’m too exhausted to talk about it now, honey.”
A thrum of foreboding quivered inside me, but I was too tired to panic. I was covered in mud from my head to my feet, my clothes were ruined, and my right foot was cold. My left shoe was glued to my foot with red sludge. I had no phone, no purse, no money, no credit cards, or car keys. At the moment, I didn’t really care. Concern would come in the morning.
Since Bitty often forgets to set her alarm or even lock her doors, I was a little bemused to see Jackson Lee had a key to the front door. He let us in, reminded Bitty to set the alarm when we went to bed, kissed the tip of her nose—the cleanest place on her face—and told us goodbye.
Bitty called after him, “Don’t forget to pick up my precious girl in the morning,” and he called back that he wouldn’t dare forget.
She shut the door and turned to look at me. “Chitling is spending the night out, I presume,” I said.
“I talked to Luann Carey, and she went and got her from the groomer’s. She goes to bed early, so Chen Ling will spend the night with her.”
Luann runs a small rescue for pugs. She was responsible for matching Bitty up with her little gargoyle, a match made in puggy heaven, I might add.
After calling my parents, I headed for the stairs. “I’m going up to shower. I hope you still have that flower muumuu that fits me in the guest room.”
“I bought some more things, and they’re in the chest of drawers. Help yourself. I’ll meet you back down here after we’re clean. Put your clothes in the washer. Sharita came the other day so there’s plenty in the freezer. I’ll pop something in the oven, and we can have dinner.”
“Wine?”
“Of course.”
I smiled. I can always count on Bitty to have the necessities of life close at hand.
Showering was pure luxury. I shampooed my hair with Bitty’s expensive shampoo, used her conditioner, then wrapped myself in a thick white terrycloth robe. The chest of drawers held a pair of lounging pajamas in size Trinket. They actually fit, and I was rather proud of her for choosing the right size. She likes to pretend I’m six feet tall and weigh a lot more than I do. I like to pretend she’s an empty-headed munchkin. We’re both wrong but close enough to the truth to be within calling distance. She’d also chosen a nightgown, a shapeless muumuu, socks, and some nice things from Carolann’s shop for me. Bitty can be very generous.
When I went downstairs, Bitty was already in the kitchen, and something was in the oven that smelled good. I’m not really comfortable with Bitty using anything but the microwave since she has a tendency to set food on fire, but at least the oven would contain any flames.
“What do I smell?” I asked as I joined her after putting my clothes in the washer.
“Chicken cordon bleu, broccoli, carrots, and wild rice. I’ve already poured the wine.”
“Riesling?” I asked as I lifted my glass and tasted it. “Nice. Not too tart or too sweet.”
I set the small kitchen table with one of Bitty’s many sets of dishes, using her everyday flatware and cloth napkins. She doesn’t like to use paper napkins. They’re “bourgeois,” in her opinion. I’m more practical and less elegant. It might seem lazy to prefer throwaway napkins instead of nice cloth ones, but I don’t have a maid to do the washing at my house either. It’s me or Mama in charge of the laundry. Neither of us is particularly inclined to do extra work unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Use the potholders that match the serviettes,” Bitty said as I placed condiments on the small round table.
I looked at her. “If you’re going to use British terms, at least use the accent. And since the Queen can’t make it tonight, excuse me if I don’t match potholders to serviettes.”
Bitty just laughed. “I think the Queen refers to them as linen. I’m not sure. I guess I’m too tired to think straight. We’ll both feel better once we’ve eaten.”
I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the food was on my plate and the delicious scent tickled my nose. There was very little conversation as we ate like longshoremen shoveling in the food. Delicately, of course, as befits the flower of Southern womanhood. Right. Fortunately, there were no witnesses to our piggy party.
After we loaded the dishwasher and refilled our wine glasses, we went to our favorite spot to relax, her small parlor. I groaned as I put my feet up on the matching ottoman to the plush overstuffed chair. “I can’t believe the day is ending on a high note after all the trauma.”
Bitty nodded. “It was awful. I should have waited for a better day to take the photos of the park.”
“You took pictures?”
“I got some half-decent ones, I think.”
“Any pictures of your mugger?”
“Maybe. I won’t know until I get the camera back though.”
“Ah,” I said. “You put it in your purse.”
“Afraid so. I just hope the police find my car soon, before that jackass sells all the stuff in my purse and my car. Who robs people in a national park?”
“People get robbed every day in cemeteries, parks, grocery stores—even nice places like Oak Court Mall where you go shop in Memphis. That’s what happens when they don’t have jobs, food, or a decent place to live. And of course, there are plenty of rich people who steal, but they do it with real estate, manipulating stocks and bonds, or passing punitive laws.”
“Well, I don’t like it. I don’t want people going hungry, but I’d have given him money if he hadn’t been so impatient. May he rot in prison.”
“I’ll drink to that.” We toasted the hopefully imminent incarceration of her mugger. Then we toasted to Jackson Lee’s future successful defense of Brandon, and then we toasted random people and events until we had gone through two bottles of wine and were so relaxed, I felt quite giddy.
Bitty chose that moment to drop her bombshell. I must say, she picks the path of least resistance at times.
“So I’ve been thinking . . .” she said. Being under the influence of delightfully fermented grapes, my warning bells failed to respond.
“Do tell,” I said merrily, still blissfully ignorant of the foolish scheme about to be unveiled.
“Being at the battlefield today made me think of the reenactment when Walter was shot. I saw all those cannon, all the battery fortifications, and the weapons in the Interpretive Center and how much alike they all are. So I think we need to check the rifle the police have in the evidence room to be sure they have the right one. That’s the only rational explanation.”
Still in my alcohol haze, I said, “That sounds reasonable. Jackson Lee can get you in there to inspect it, I’m sure.”
Bitty shook her head. “No, I mean we have to take it from the evidence room and do our own examination.”
For a moment I still didn’t understand. “Hire your own ballistics expert.
He’ll be able to verify if it’s the rifle that fired the bullet that killed Walter.”
“Trinket, you’re not listening. I have to see if it’s mine. Brandon said he thinks it is, but he only sees it once or twice a year. I’m the one who’s most familiar with it. We need to get it out so I can bring it here and study it for a little while, try to fire it. Then I’ll put it back.”
“Wait a minute—are you saying what it sounds like you’re saying?”
“I don’t know. Does it sound like I’m saying I want to repossess my rifle for a while?”
“It sounds like you’re saying you want to break into the police station and steal the evidence.”
Bitty nodded. “Then yes, I’m saying what it sounds like I’m saying.”
Flabbergasted, I could only stare at her in shock. No amount of alcohol could make that scheme sound any better, I was pretty sure.
Chapter 8
“WE’VE GOT TO talk her out of it, Rayna. Gaynelle, can you help?” I pleaded. We sat in Rayna’s garden, drinking lemonade in the warm sunlight, all traces of rain gone from the skies.
Both Divas stared at Bitty as if she’d suddenly grown an extra head. It would have been nice if she had. Maybe the new head wouldn’t be prone to stupid ideas.
Finally, Gaynelle said, “So Bitty, tell me once more how you came to this decision?”
“Well, we had gone to Corinth to take some papers to one of the members of a UDC group for their next reenactment, and she asked me if I had seen the new markers installed and suggested I might want to photograph them to show to donors. So I did, but after I got mugged and my car was stolen, we ended up at the police station. It was while we were there, waiting on Jackson Lee to come after us, that it occurred to me that if all those cannons and guns in the Interpretive Center look so much alike, the gun from my family could be easily mistaken for another. After all, over three hundred thousand Enfield rifles were used by both sides during The War. The most common was the 1853 model. Just like my rifle. So I need to go get it for a while.”
A moment of silence followed her explanation. Gaynelle and Rayna looked stunned. I completely understood their reaction. Rayna recovered from her shock first.
Divas Are Forever Page 12