I wasn’t sure she was including my purse and other possessions in the “valuable” part of her description. That was okay. I liked my purse. It held what I needed and didn’t cost me more than most cars. I wouldn’t really miss my cell phone that much, but it was inconvenient to have to replace it. Whether I had a phone or not, I would be paying a monthly fee to AT&T, so getting another one was sensible.
When she hung up and turned to look at me, I held out a glass of sweet tea. “Have some. You look like you might need it.”
“What I need,” she said as she took the glass, “is for that punk who stole my purse and car to go to jail. The police found my car, as I’m sure you figured out, but someone had started to strip it. The police believe there’s gang involvement. The tires were burned for some god-awful reason, and my purse and other stuff weren’t with it.”
“I assume that means my purse is gone, too. A pity. I rather liked that purse.”
“No, yours is there. I’m sure that thug realized it isn’t worth much.”
I shook my head. “Who would have thought thieves could be so picky?”
“I know. I still wonder how that thieving boy got back around to the parking lot so quick. And how he knew the car was mine.”
“It could be because it was the only one in the lot, and we were the only idiots out on the battlefield in the rain,” I observed. “Or he could have been watching us when we pulled into the museum parking lot. Thieves do that. They target a place and wait for likely looking pigeons.”
“By pigeons, I assume you mean us,” Bitty said with a grimace. “I’m sure that’s exactly what we were, too. The one time I don’t carry my gun with me, and you see what happens? I get mugged and my car stolen. Are you eating my chicken salad?”
“What do you mean, the one time, and yes, I’m eating your chicken salad. Want some?”
She nodded. “Well,” said Bitty after we took our chicken salad and tea to her parlor, “that was just a figure of speech. I don’t really carry my gun all the time. But I do carry it when I think we’re going somewhere dangerous. I just misjudged the danger level.”
“I’ll say.” I focused on my sandwich. “We were pretty lucky, all things considered.”
Chitling jumped up on the ottoman and nudged Bitty’s hand holding the plate. Bitty held the plate higher. “You know, if I’d had my pistol, he wouldn’t have gotten away with my purse and my car.”
“If you had a pistol, he could have had a gun or a knife. He could have killed you or taken you hostage. Abducted you for ransom money. Or you might have dropped your gun and shot yourself in the foot. Statistics show that criminals have no scruples about taking away a person’s gun and shooting them with it, while most non-felonious people hesitate before pulling the trigger. Having a gun with you is not always the safest thing.”
Bitty was quiet for a moment. “I don’t like shooting people,” she finally said. “It’s not a nice feeling. But you have to admit, we might not be here if I hadn’t had my gun with me a time or two.”
“True,” I said. “I guess I’m ambivalent about the entire issue. Maybe because I’m the first person who would shoot themselves in the foot.”
“I keep asking you to go target shooting with me. You’d like it.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
The doorbell rang and Chen Ling barked shrilly. The dog looked at the chicken salad on Bitty’s plate and then toward the front door, obviously undecided which deserved its attention. I set my empty plate on the end table next to the chair and got up.
“I’ll get it. It’s probably Daddy with my car keys.”
Instead of my father’s familiar smiling face, a stranger stood on the porch, and I didn’t unlock the door as I looked out at him. “May I help you?”
“Is this the residence of Elisabeth Hollandale?” A tall, rangy man, he shifted from one foot to the other and kept his head down as he looked at a piece of paper in his hand.
I eyed him suspiciously. Bitty’s stolen ID could have lured any criminal to her door. He may not look particularly dangerous, but I wasn’t about to trust my judgment on that call.
“Yes, it is. Whom shall I say is calling?” I asked.
“David Smith. I brought her car.”
“Really?” My suspicions increased. Bitty had just talked to the police, and they’d said her car had been partially stripped and set on fire. “How are the tires?” I asked, and the man sounded slightly confused.
“The tires?”
“Yes, the tires. Are they okay?” That was my crafty way of finding out if he knew what had happened to her car. If he did, then he must be somehow involved.
He shifted from one foot to the other and peered at me through the door. “The tires are brand new, so they’re okay as far as I know.”
Aha! “Who sent you here, or did you come on your own?” I demanded. “Where did you get this address, Mr. Smith?”
“What? My boss gave me this address.” He flapped a piece of paper at me. “I told you—I brought her car.”
“I’m calling the police. They might be interested in learning just how you got this address and why you’re here.”
He took two quick steps back away from the door. “Look lady, I was told to deliver the car here. If you’re not Elisabeth Hollandale, there’s no need to call the cops. I must have got the address wrong.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Who is it, Trinket?” Bitty asked from right behind me.
“Call the police,” I hissed at her. “I think he’s friends with the guy who stole your car.”
Bitty’s eyes got big as duck eggs. She stared out the closed security door, and I was glad she hadn’t switched it out for the screen door she uses in summer. This one was much sturdier. Since Bitty stood stock-still in the entrance hall, I figured it was up to me to get to the phone. I took a step back, then two, keeping my eye on the guy on the front porch, wondering why he hadn’t yet taken off. Maybe he knew we were alone, knew we were unprotected. Maybe he intended to force his way inside.
One of those fancy French phones always sits on a small table in the foyer, and I edged toward it. I heard the man say, “Are you Mrs. Hollandale? I brought your car.”
Bitty moved closer. “My car? How could you? I mean, isn’t it still impounded?”
“Ma’am, I don’t know anything about that. All I’m trying to do is deliver this car. Wait. Here’s my manager. Just open the door, and I’ll let him explain it to you.”
Before I could stop her, the security door swung open. No time for the phone. I lunged toward the alarm pad set into the wall just inside the front door. It had a panic button. About the time another man stepped up onto the porch, I hit the panic button, and all hell broke loose. Sirens blared, sounding like air raid warnings, lights flashed on and off, and the guy at the door hit the porch floor with his hands over his ears. His partner, who must have come to help, nearly fell off the steps into the yard.
Bitty waved her hands in the air and turned in a circle like a dog about to lie down on the floor, shouting something at me. I couldn’t hear her. I looked for a weapon. An ornate umbrella stand stood right by the door. I grabbed an umbrella out of it. It was a man’s heavy-duty one. I held it like a baseball bat, ready to smack either or both of those men if they tried to get inside.
“Hurry, lock the door and get behind me, Bitty,” I yelled, brandishing my weapon in a threatening manner.
She tugged on my arm, but I kept my eyes on the pair of thieves. I was tired of being a piñata for criminals. It was their turn to get knocked around. I had righteous indignation on my side.
The sirens kept blaring, the lights kept flashing, and Bitty had stepped away from me to answer the phone. I have no idea how she heard it. All I heard was those damn sirens wailing away. Then Bitty was back beside me, waving her
arms in the air, her mouth moving but the sirens drowning out everything. Before I could stop her, she stepped to the alarm system and hit the button to turn it off.
The sudden silence was heavy and smothering. My ears still rang. Bitty turned around just as the front door opened again and our visitor came inside. Galvanized by fear and shock, I swung my umbrella, and it hit the target with a solid thwack! The man staggered sideways with a loud yelp and fell against Bitty. I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from him.
“Run, Bitty,” I yelled. “Run!”
I swung blindly in the intruder’s direction, once more connecting with my target. My heart pounded so fiercely in my chest, it was nearly as loud as the sirens had been. My mouth was dry, and my lungs worked like bellows, dragging in just enough air to keep me from passing out. I was terrified.
Bitty’s face bobbed in front of me again. She waved her arms in the air. “Trinket, wait!”
What was she doing? She should be running, not putting herself right back in danger. I reached for her just as the man pushed up from the floor where my blows had knocked him, and I started to swing again. Bitty grabbed for my umbrella. I jerked it away.
The intruder stood up, and I saw his face just as I got the umbrella free from Bitty’s attempt to help. Rodney Farrell. Oh no. He had a cut over his eyebrow and a welt on his cheek.
He also had a badge on his chest. I’d been whaling the tar out of him while the criminals were getting away. He put up his hand and said, “Miz Truevine, what the hell are you doing?”
I tightened my grip on the umbrella handle and opened my mouth to explain, but my thumb must have hit the umbrella’s release button. It popped open with a loud snap, blotting him from my view with a large black blossom of waterproof nylon.
I looked over at Bitty. She just shrugged.
Chapter 9
“WELL, I DIDN’T KNOW Jackson Lee got them to deliver my new car from Memphis early, Trinket. I was just as surprised as you. Anyway, if Rodney Farrell hadn’t been spying on me, he wouldn’t have gotten here so quickly. I’m thinking of complaining about police harassment.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “That’s like whacking a wasp nest with a stick. You’d get them all stirred up and be sorry for it right after.”
“Maybe. Although it might be a good excuse to get inside the police station without them suspecting anything.”
“If you’re still considering your brainless scheme, forget it. It won’t work, you’ll get arrested, and it’s not even necessary. Jackson Lee is taking care of everything.”
I sucked down another half-inch of my sweet tea. Daddy had brought my keys right in the middle of all the chaos earlier. Fortunately, he’d explained to Deputy Farrell about all the trouble at the Corinth museum and smoothed over everything by adding how nervous we were about the criminals showing up. My daddy has a lot of credibility. Me and Bitty—not so much.
“I’m going home,” I said. “I want a long bath with bubbles up to the ceiling and a good night’s sleep. Things will be better tomorrow.”
“I’ll come get you in the morning. We can take a ride in my new car.”
“I’m working in the morning.”
“Even better. I’ll pick you up afterward. I think we need to go see Deelight and give her our condolences.”
“We already did that at Walter’s funeral. And Diva Day.”
“I meant condolences about being left out of his will.”
I sighed. “You’re going on a fact-fishing trip, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Well honestly, Trinket, now there are more suspects than ever about who may have wanted Walter dead. Why shouldn’t I see what I can find out?”
“Because Jackson Lee hired Catfish Carter to do that. We—and by that I mean you—aren’t supposed to ask anyone anything that has to do with Walter’s death.”
“That’s just ridiculous. How else am I supposed to talk to the recently bereaved?”
“Sounds to me like most of them are about as bereaved as you are. Take my advice—and I know you won’t—let Catfish handle it.”
“Honestly, I get hungry for hush puppies every time you say his name,” Bitty muttered. “But all right. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t see how Deelight is doing, though.”
“Only if you promise not to go around asking a lot of silly questions about who hates Walter Simpson the most.”
“I wouldn’t do that. Not in those words, anyway. Give me some credit, Trinket. I’m not a child.”
“I forget that. Sometimes it feels like we’re both in junior high again. I’ll see you about one tomorrow afternoon, then.”
Bitty walked me out to my car. Evening shadows lay low in the sidewalks, but the street lamps hadn’t come on yet. Her shiny red Cadillac sat in her driveway. I could almost detect the new car smell from the front sidewalk. My trusty five-year-old Ford Taurus is paid for and still drives great. I have no desire for a car note. It may not have a new car smell, but my insurance isn’t so high I can’t pay it, either. That was a great comfort as I opened my car door and slid into the driver’s seat. It was hot and stuffy, so I switched on the engine and lowered my window.
“Thanks for trying to save me today, Trinket,” Bitty said. “That was very sweet and brave of you.”
“Right. I assaulted a police officer with an umbrella. I must have looked like a deranged Mary Poppins.”
“You did well, Trinket. Honest.”
I looked out my window at her. She held Chitling in her arms and waved one of her paws at me. “T’ank oo, Auntie Trinket, for saving my mommy,” she cooed in a voice she obviously thought was how the dog would talk. My guess ran more toward a gravelly voice with the faint whiff of brimstone.
I rolled my eyes. “Good lord, it’s Zuul, The Gatekeeper, demigod of destruction.”
“Looking for The Keymaster to Gozer,” Bitty said right back. We know our movies.
“Goodbye, Zuul. Keep away from the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”
With our homage to Ghostbusters over, I pulled away from the curb and smiled halfway home. Bitty is just as crazy as I am, and I don’t necessarily mean that in a bad way. We aren’t dangerous. Just annoying. And quite often, we’re lucky enough to be right about our suspicions when in the general vicinity of a murderer. Or is that unlucky?
After arriving home and giving a lengthy explanation to my parents about all that we had become involved in just in the past twenty-four hours, I went upstairs for my bubble bath. It was pure luxury, lying in the old clawfoot tub with my feet up on the curved edge, listening to music from my CD player I set atop the wicker hamper, letting my mind drift lazily along. I avoided any thoughts of the current situations, instead thinking of my daughter over in Georgia and the recent news that she’d gotten a promotion at her job. I was thrilled for her, especially since she’s also taking college classes at night. Michelle has always been a hard worker.
I must have dozed off thinking about her. Suddenly she was there, smiling at me, telling me how excited she was to have a great new job and studying for her master’s in business ed. And best, she said, was the fact she was going to have a baby. I was going to be a grandmother! I was half-terrified, half-euphoric. I danced around, then stopped to smile down at my grandson in my arms. I already loved him as much as I did my daughter. He was beautiful, with blond hair like my mother had in her youth, big blue eyes, and a smile that promised a lifetime of joy.
It was one of the best dreams I’ve ever had.
While I’m not exactly ready to be a grandmother yet, I know that when Michelle does have a baby, I’ll be thrilled. Grandparents get the best in their grandchildren, no responsibility and all the fun. It’s one of the perks for having survived your children’s adolescence with some sanity and money left. If you’re very, very lucky.
I was sitting at the kitchen table
telling my mother about the dream when the phone rang. It was Kit, calling on the house phone to ask me out to dinner. Not being completely stupid, I said I could be ready in fifteen minutes. He laughed and said he’d pick me up in an hour. There are times when I have the best of both worlds.
It was a beautiful spring night. The sky was clear and full of glittering stars, and the wind was cool and just brisk enough to keep away hungry mosquitoes. We sat at a table outside the restaurant in Red Banks, having fried catfish, hush puppies, and coleslaw. Candlelight flickered, and tiny bulbs lit up the patio. Kit smiled at me, and my heart did a rapid little thunk-thunk-thunk. There went my sixteen-year-old reaction to him again.
“I hear you’ve been keeping busy,” he said.
“Already?” I sighed. “You heard correctly. I’ve been with Bitty. She always has an activity planned whether it’s sensible or not.”
“Her extracurricular activities give me heartburn. Jackson Lee must have ulcers.”
“He’s made of sturdier stuff than that. After all, he’s used to the company of murderers and arsonists. I hardly think Bitty would affect his health. It’s me she’s killing.”
Kit grinned, and I thought again how handsome he is. “You’re made of sturdier stuff than that, too,” he said. “You amaze me at times.”
“Because I live through Bitty’s manic schemes? I’m like a cockroach. I have the ability to survive nuclear disasters.”
“Let’s hope that ability isn’t needed again in the future.”
I tilted my head to the side. “We’re talking about Bitty, right? She’s a walking disaster. I don’t know how she comes up with the things she does, but sometimes, she even makes some off-the-wall scheme seem plausible. That’s usually right before everything turns to mud.”
Kit lifted his beer in a salute, and I clinked my glass against his. “To less mud and more blue skies,” he said, and I nodded.
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Too bad about Walter,” he said once we’d finished our dinner and walked out to his car. “I heard the reading of the will was exciting.”
Divas Are Forever Page 14