Divas Are Forever

by Virginia Brown

  “Bitty, hon,” she said gently, “not only is that not possible, it’s extremely unwise.”

  “Unwise?” I echoed. “I think the correct term is stupid. S-T-U-P-I-D. Stupid.”

  Bitty shot me a disgusted glance, then cleared her throat. “It is possible. I think I know how it can be done with no one the wiser. After all, the police won’t check the evidence again until it’s time for the trial, and we can put it back before then. I’m sure it’s not the right rifle. It can’t be. Something about all this isn’t right. I just have to see if it fires.”

  “The police have already made that discovery,” Gaynelle said decisively. She’s a retired school teacher, so she always sounds authoritative. “It fires. They can’t lie about that. It’s evidence and can be challenged in court by Brandon’s attorney. It could ruin the prosecutor’s entire case.”

  Nodding, Bitty said, “Yes, I understand that. But I’ve had that rifle in my possession for years, and before it was mine it was my mama’s, and her mama’s before her, and the last time it fired was 1900. My great-uncle Jobert shot his ear off with it. Then he dropped it, a wagon rolled over it, and the rifle hasn’t fired properly since then. So, when should we do it?”

  “Not me, not in this lifetime,” said Gaynelle promptly. “I rather like life on this side of those metal bars.”

  When Bitty looked at me and Rayna, we said at the same time, “Not me!”

  “Well, I can’t do it by myself,” said Bitty irritably. “I need a distraction.”

  I shuddered. “That sounds too dangerous. Breaking out of jail would be stressful enough. But breaking in? No way. I’m not eager to spend a few years of my life languishing in prison.”

  “What can they charge you with if you break into jail?” Bitty wondered aloud. “It’s not burglary. Breaking and entering, do you think?”

  “I think you don’t even want to go down that road,” said Rayna. “Tampering with evidence is an offense all in itself. Stealing from the evidence room is still theft.”

  Bitty looked dejected. “That’s terribly inconvenient.”

  “Yes,” I said, “sometimes being a law-abiding citizen can get annoying.”

  “You’re making fun of me, Trinket.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Of all the insane schemes you’ve come up with in the past year, this one tops the entire list.”

  “Wait a minute, Trinket,” said Rayna. “There was the trip into town on the John Deere. That has to qualify as pretty crazy.”

  “And what about the time she had you dress up in men’s clothes as the owner of a unit at the storage facility? That was not only crazy but very dangerous,” Gaynelle reminded us.

  Bitty narrowed her eyes at me. This time I held my ground. “And there was the time,” I said, “that she had me help her move a corpse in a laundry cart. That was ghastly and crazy.”

  “Don’t forget the body in the carpet,” Rayna chirped. “Hiding it in the cemetery didn’t work out so well.”

  “Okay,” Bitty said rather sharply, “that’s enough. I get your point.”

  “Thank God,” said Gaynelle with a sigh. “You frighten me at times.”

  “Don’t pout, Bitty,” I said when she crossed her arms over her considerable chest and gave us a sullen glare. “We love you. We don’t want you to go to prison. Think of all you’d miss by not being here.”

  “You are all tacky, tacky people, and right now not being here holds a great deal of appeal for me.”

  “You’ll get over it,” I assured her.

  Bitty lifted her brows. “You all do recall that you have been active, if not exactly willing, participants in some of these events this past year, don’t you?”

  There was a moment of silence. Rayna, Gaynelle, and I looked at each other. Then I said, “You’re right. I guess we’re all pretty crazy. A rather disturbing thing to admit, but it’s true.”

  Bitty smiled. “See? As the Cheshire cat said, ‘We’re all mad here.’”

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who considered insanity an appalling realization.

  “I need a drink,” said Rayna, pushing back her chair.

  “Just bring the Jack,” Gaynelle suggested. “It’ll give the lemonade a nice flavor.”

  She was right. A little lemonade and Jack Daniel’s make for a pleasant afternoon in the garden.

  “Catfish Carter is doing very well, I hear,” said Rayna as our self-therapy took effect. “I know he’s a little peculiar, but he’s very smart.”

  “A little peculiar?” Bitty echoed. “He talks like an actor in a Grade Z movie.”

  “I know. It’s odd, but I think it throws off the people he interviews, and they think he’s an idiot.”

  “They’re not alone,” Bitty muttered.

  “But he’s found out some very interesting information,” Gaynelle said. “I don’t think I ever knew about Walter’s insurance sale cheating his investors.”

  “People aren’t always eager to let others know they were fooled.” Rayna took a sip of her lemonade, rubbing one of her black labs with her sandaled foot in an absent-minded manner. “Of course, there is Brett Simon’s discontent, and he’s been very vocal about it.”

  “Isn’t he Deevine—I mean, Faith’s son?” I asked, and she nodded.

  “Yes. He wasn’t shy about telling people they’d been cheated.”

  Gaynelle shook her head. “Since he lives in Tupelo, I haven’t heard much about him.”

  “It happened several years ago anyway,” Rayna said. “It took a while to be found out. I’m not sure how Brett discovered it.”

  “Didn’t they read the will this week?” I asked.

  Rayna said, “Tomorrow. Maybe things will settle down after that. You know, even though Walter had enemies in town, I still keep coming back to the hope that it was just a tragic, senseless accident. Someone mistakenly fired a loaded gun.”

  “If that was true, the police wouldn’t have charged Brandon with manslaughter,” Bitty said glumly.

  “They only did that because the rifle was loaded with powder and fired the fatal bullet,” Gaynelle said after a moment. “Someone has to be held accountable for Walter’s death.”

  “Who would they hold accountable if he’d been struck by lightning?” Bitty asked.

  Rayna smiled slightly. “That’s known as an act of God.”

  “In Philip’s case it would have been an act of mercy.” Sometimes Bitty flashes back to the senator, her ex-husband Philip Hollandale, a cheating womanizer now buried in his family plot in Hollandale, Mississippi. It was his murder that initiated our current hobby of investigating unexpected and often violent deaths. That’s not exactly a good recommendation.

  “Do you ever hear from Parrish or Patrice?” Rayna asked, referring to Philip’s mother and sister.

  “Not in a long while. Sometimes Patrice will get drunk and call to harass me. But the last time she did that, Jackson Lee took the phone and told her he’d drag her incestuous butt into court if she kept it up.”

  “Did he really say that?” I asked, surprised.

  “Well, not in those words. That’s what he meant, though.”

  Senator Philip Hollandale was not greatly missed in our section of Holly Springs. Not just because Divas are loyal to Bitty, either. However, his mother and sister obviously miss him. I understand that. We tend to love our close relatives even when they’re terribly flawed.

  Our change of conversational topic got us away from the quicksand of Bitty’s newest scheme and on to other important matters—like Trina Madewell’s latest depredation against local society and Miranda Watson’s new male friend. When Rayna’s cell phone rang, she picked it up and stepped away from the table for a few minutes while we discussed Miranda’s last column.

  “She sanctified Walter Simpson,” Gay
nelle said with an arch of her brow. “Called the family a cornerstone of Holly Springs’ gentry.”

  “Well, the Simpsons have been here since God was a baby,” said Bitty as she studied a chip in her fingernail polish. “Not that that’s a good recommendation. We’ve had scoundrels, Yankees, and carpetbaggers take root here as well.”

  Amused, I regarded her with fondness. I’m always full of goodwill when imbibing. “It makes life interesting, Bitty, you must admit.”

  “Interesting? I guess you could call it that. I call it downright messy, cluttering up town with all kinds of riffraff.”

  Gaynelle and I looked at each other and just smiled.

  Rayna returned to the table and plopped down in her chair. She tossed her phone to the tabletop and said, “You’re never going to believe this.”

  Immediately intrigued, we all came alert. Rayna shoved a strand of dark hair behind one ear, and her big hoop earring caught the light and sparkled almost as vividly as her eyes.

  “What?” Bitty demanded when Rayna’s teasing pause drew out too long. “What aren’t we going to believe?”

  “Remember the Simpson will we were just discussing? Well, that was Deelight’s sister Faith who called. I had the day wrong. It was read this morning. Apparently, Sammy Simpson was left the entire estate—house, furnishings, stocks, bonds, and every single thing right down to the last nail in Walter’s coffin.”

  For a moment none of us said anything. I don’t think we even breathed. Then Bitty said, “Walter Simpson must have lost his mind before he died. I’ve never heard of such a thing. The Simpson family always leaves the house and contents to the oldest surviving direct heir, and the rest of the family gets different bequests. Walter was big on tradition. Did he get dementia before he died? Maybe he killed himself at that reenactment.”

  Bitty suddenly sat up straight and clutched her throat. “That’s it! Suicide! Walter killed himself, and Brandon had nothing to do with it!”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was fairly unlikely that Walter managed to shoot himself in the chest with a rifle from twenty feet away. Rayna tactfully intervened.

  “I’m sure Jackson Lee will take that under consideration, hon,” she said. “Anyway, now the entire Simpson family is in an uproar about it. People are threatening to contest the will. Poor Deevine is crushed, not so much because she didn’t get anything as she is because her son is so upset, he smacked Sammy right in the mouth and made him bleed all over the conference table. There’s talk of Sammy filing assault charges as well as the family suing Sammy.”

  “Well, Jackson Lee was Walter’s attorney, so I’m sure he can settle everybody down,” Bitty said. “Maybe there was a mistake with the will.”

  Rayna shook her head. “This is where it gets really good. There was a codicil filed up in Desoto County with another attorney.”

  “What?” Bitty looked surprised. “Walter always used the Brunetti firm. He wouldn’t go somewhere else, especially up to Desoto County. Does Jackson Lee know about this?”

  “Jackson Lee was the one who had to read it to the family.”

  “Is that legal?” asked Gaynelle. “Can there be two lawyers? Who brought in the codicil?”

  “It was delivered by special courier to Jackson Lee’s office yesterday afternoon.”

  “So why did Deevine—I mean, Faith—call?” I asked after a moment.

  “She wants to see if Rob will recommend an investigator. She’s speaking on behalf of the rest of the family. Deelight must be just as crushed as the rest of them.”

  “An investigator? You mean the family is really going to fight the will?” Bitty looked intrigued. “This promises to be quite an event.”

  “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Gaynelle murmured. “Why would Walter do that?”

  “Faith said the rest of the family thinks Sammy coerced him. He was with him for three years and had a lot of influence over him.” Rayna looked thoughtful. “It’s possible he got him to sign a codicil. I’m sure Jackson Lee will check with the other attorney.”

  “No one had influence over Walter,” Bitty said. “He was an ornery old coot who didn’t like many people and not many liked him.”

  “Bitty!” Gaynelle and I said in unison. Then I added, “You can’t go around saying things like that when Brandon is a suspect in his death.”

  “Yes, Trinket, I know that. I’m only saying it to y’all. Everyone in town already knows it anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes. Rayna took another drink of her lemonade.

  Gaynelle said, “This certainly put a new wrinkle in everything. Don’t you all think?”

  “Well, this is going to get good,” said Bitty, and we all looked at each other and shook our heads.

  Gaynelle dropped us off at Bitty’s house after we left Rayna’s. She drove her pale blue 1985 Cadillac Seville instead of her Toyota and leaned across the long bench seat to look out the passenger side of the window at Bitty.

  “Now Bitty, don’t you go and do anything foolish. Just let Jackson Lee and Catfish handle Brandon’s case. You have to trust their judgment.”

  Bitty nodded. “I understand, Gaynelle. Thank you for worrying.”

  I intercepted Gaynelle’s glance and sigh of resignation. Yes. Bitty understood. What she would end up doing was another thing entirely. I shook my head and followed Bitty up the walk.

  My car was still at the curb, sitting idle until I got the extra set of keys from my bedroom at home. I’d already called Daddy to bring them. While I’d canceled my debit card, I would have to go to the DMV to replace my driver’s license. I didn’t relish that inconvenience.

  “Do you need a ride anywhere?” I asked my impulsive cousin as we went into her house. “I know you don’t have a car right now, and Daddy is bringing me my extra set of car keys.”

  Bitty set Chen Ling on the floor and punched in her alarm code. Jackson Lee insisted she use it, especially since her house keys and address were now in the hands of thieves. She might come home, and the house would be entirely cleaned out. He’d made her an extra set of house keys, but the locksmith hadn’t yet arrived to change out all her locks.

  “Who knew we’d have to go to all this trouble?” she asked. “Just because some idiot robs me, now I have to cancel all my credit cards, put alerts on my bank accounts, and get new keys for everything. I just hope that thug doesn’t ruin my car before I get it back.”

  “I assume there’s been no word?”

  She sighed. “Not yet. But it hasn’t been twenty-four hours, so I haven’t lost hope.”

  “Next time we decide to walk in the rain, we’ll need armed guards, I suppose.” Suddenly I was struck with a horrible thought: “Bitty—were you carrying your gun in your purse?”

  “No, it didn’t fit in the smaller purse. I left it at home. A good thing, in light of what happened.”

  “I’ll say. I’d hate to think some idiot is running around Corinth armed with your gun, credit cards, and car.”

  “As opposed to just running around armed with my credit cards and car?”

  I laughed. “I guess. He can’t do much good with your credit cards now, so we can hope he stops at a traffic light and a cop pulls up behind him and recognizes your bumper stickers.”

  “That’s wishful thinking, but we can always hope.”

  It was cool in the house, and our footsteps echoed on her wood floors as we crossed to go in to the kitchen. Bitty has one of those state-of-art refrigerators with French doors on top and the freezer below. It serves ice and water on the door and has another smaller door that opens to reveal most frequently used foods or drinks. Like sweet tea. A glass pitcher of lovely golden-brown tea beckoned my attention. I had just taken it out while Bitty got glasses from the cabinet when her house phone rang.

  I finished pouring our tea whil
e Bitty answered the phone. Then I opened the refrigerator door and browsed a bit, finally deciding on chicken salad. I carefully opened the plastic lid. All may not be as it seems in Bitty’s fridge at times. I’ve nearly eaten dog food twice. Of course, the dog food is home-cooked—boiled or roasted chicken, green beans, and sometimes rice—but just the thought of eating dog food makes my stomach churn.

  Fortunately, the chicken salad was people food. I could tell by the grapes and pecans, not allowed on Chen Ling’s new diet. I plopped a big chunk onto a plate, only half-listening to Bitty as I wondered if she wanted some too. About the time I turned to motion to her, she let out an excited squeal.

  “Already? You’re wonderful! How is it? What?”

  I immediately figured her Franklin Benz had been located. From the expression on her face, I also figured it wasn’t in the best shape. She confirmed my suspicion with her next words: “Was it completely stripped?”

  Good lord, I thought.

  “Thank heavens. Why would they burn the tires? But it’s okay other than that—did you find the little punk who stole it? I want that skell in jail.”

  I rolled my eyes. Our Law & Order addiction was carrying over into our other lives. We have always been TV fans, but sometimes the line between real life and fantasy blurred a bit too much. If it didn’t, I’m sure neither one of us would ever for a second think we were qualified to investigate murders for any reason. A combination of unrealistic belief in our own abilities coupled with an overdose of optimism has gotten us in too many unpleasant situations.

  I recognize this. Bitty doesn’t. I’m not sure which one of us is the bigger idiot: me for being aware of our idiocy and doing it anyway, or Bitty for not having a clue. It’s a toss-up.

  One more reason Jackson Lee craftily maneuvered us into leaving the investigating to an actual licensed investigator, I’m sure. He’s really good. I was fine with that. I’d had my fill of getting too close to dangerous people.

  “Was my Lana Marks purse in it?” Bitty asked the caller. “Or anything else valuable?”