Drop dead divas, p.13
Drop Dead Divas, page 13
“Horses run in herds,” I said, “but sheep are in flocks, too. Right?”
“Termites fly in swarms,” Bitty observed.
“Witches gather in covens, dogs have litters, dolphins swim in a—pod,” I finished as I remembered the right word.
“But a gathering of hummingbirds is called a charm,” said Trina Madewell, who had come up behind us. “What do you call a gathering of Divas?”
“A delight,” Bitty said promptly.
Trina raised her eyebrows. “Hm. I had another word in mind.”
Where this came from I had no idea, but the minute I said it I knew I shouldn’t:
“A gathering of crows is called a murder.”
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and looked at me. No doubt Rayna and Bitty were remembering the crows in the pines at the cabin, but I had no idea what Trina must be thinking. Nothing nice, I’m quite certain.
I gave a little shrug. “Sorry. My mind was still on collective nouns.”
“I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour,” Trina said after a moment, and led the way through the cute little iron gate and into the cottage courtyard. I handed her the key and she unlocked the door, then stood back to let us file inside.
Still mulling over unusual collective nouns for animal gatherings, I thought a file of Divas would be appropriate in this instance. Sometimes my brain goes off on a tangent without my permission. I do the best I can at those moments.
Traces of police presence were evident everywhere. Fingerprint powder dusted all surfaces, from door frames to furniture. The cottage has a front room, a bedroom, and off to one side, a bathroom. The front room is large enough for a small sofa, a big chair, and a wall cabinet that holds a TV and DVD player. Shelves on each side are filled with books and magazines. It’s decorated in much the same style as Gaynelle's house, that cozy, shabby but still chic look that’s been so popular.
Standing in the front door, it’s easy to see straight into the bedroom. The small entry alcove holds a rack with four hooks for coats and an umbrella stand. Step from the alcove into the front room, take about ten more steps and you’re in the bedroom. The bath adjoins the bedroom. Trina followed Bitty and Rayna into the bedroom. I remained in the alcove. I get a bit squeamish about murder scenes, even the ones without a body.
I heard Bitty and Rayna asking questions, such as where had the body been, and how did the police know someone else had been there with him.
Trina said in a calm, flat voice as if she had already repeated this a dozen times, which I had no doubt she had, “He was lying right there with his body half off the bed. A pair of crotchless bikini panties were left on the floor.”
“Really? What size?” Bitty asked.
“How would I know? I didn’t get close enough to look,” said Trina in an irritable tone. “I just saw them lying there close to where his feet were, and I knew they weren’t his. They had lots of black lace.”
“Did he . . . look as if he’d been facing the doorway or the bathroom?” Rayna asked after a short silence.
“As far as I could tell, maybe the doorway.”
I saw Trina indicate the front alcove where I stood. Since it was easy to see all the way into the bedroom, it was probably just as easy to see the front door from the bed. It was a straight line of sight for anyone. But if it had been at night, would someone in the bedroom be able to see a person standing in the alcove? If the lights had been left on, maybe. If not, it would be difficult, I would think. It was shadowed even in daylight.
So I asked from where I stood, “Were the lights on when you found him, Trina?”
“Just the bedroom lights. Why?”
“No reason.” That I wanted to say out loud right then. No wonder Naomi had said she didn’t see the person shooting. They would be pretty well hidden if they remained in the alcove. Whoever had killed Race must have been either a really good shot, or really lucky. Especially if he was moving around and trying to get off the bed. Naomi was lucky she hadn’t been shot . . . well, partially lucky, anyway.
When we left a few moments later, Trina shut and locked the door behind us, then pocketed the key. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were master keys to all these cottages. If so, that would allow any of the Madewell family access to the cottage. Or any of the employees.
“How many do you have on staff?” I asked as we walked toward the house. “It must take quite a few to keep this place up so beautifully.”
“Not as many as you might think. Trisha does most of the booking reservations, and I check behind housekeeping. We only have two outside people employed. My parents prefer keeping this a family-oriented business.”
“Who does the meals?”
“We only serve breakfast, and have the croissants delivered daily. Someone from Sharita Stone’s catering does all that, the jams, jellies, muffins and so on. Mama cooks the eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, and makes the coffee and tea.”
Bitty looked a bit ruffled. “Sharita comes out here?”
“No, someone from her catering service does the deliveries.”
“Oh. That’s better.”
There was a note of relief in her tone. Sometimes Bitty can be a bit selfish.
“Do you know who does the deliveries?” Rayna asked next.
Trina gave her a strange look. “No, it’s usually some young man. They deliver every morning between five and six. Why?”
“I just thought that if someone was angry with Race, perhaps they might use the excuse of delivering baked goods as a cover to be out here,” Rayna explained. “Have you thought of that?”
Trina shook her head. “Since Race was killed between three-thirty and four in the morning, I doubt it would be one of Sharita’s nephews or cousins.”
“How do you know the time so closely?” I couldn’t help but ask. “I thought it’d take the police a while to find out the results.”
“Because I heard the shots. Didn’t you read the newspapers? It was all in there. I heard the first shot and thought it must be a hunter getting too close to our property, but after the second shot, Trisha came running up here to get me, all hysterical.”
“Oh,” I said.
By this time, we’d reached the house and gone through the sunroom into what must have been formerly a living room but was now the lobby. Most of the furniture must be family antiques. Some of the antiques looked a bit shabby in places, but not very chic. Upholstery was worn, and I noted pieces that should have had all their handles and chair rungs, didn’t.
Trina walked to the front door and opened it, then stood there. We immediately understood that our tour was finished. After saying our thank-yous and good-byes, we got back into Rayna's SUV parked under a white oleander. She paused, looking at the tall tree.
“How on earth did they get that tree to that size?” she wondered. “I have to bring mine inside in the winter.”
“Maybe it’s protected by the windbreak,” I suggested, and she nodded.
“Could be. It’s obvious someone has a green thumb. Oleanders do best farther south.”
Bitty, sitting in the front passenger seat, gave Rayna an exasperated glance. “Do you mind? While this botanical lesson is fascinating, I’d rather you turn on the AC!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Rayna started the vehicle and the AC blasted cool enough even for Bitty, I’m sure. “So, anyone have any ideas we can write down?” she asked as she wheeled the car out of the driveway and onto the narrow blacktop road that led to Highway 311.
“I do,” Bitty said promptly. “Trina killed him.”
Since I was sitting safely in the back seat and she couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. “You said that about Naomi, too.”
“Did I? Well, I’m probably right.”
“About which one?”
“Both of them. Maybe Naomi shot him the first time and Trina shot him the second time. Or maybe they were in on it together.” Bitty turned around in her seat to look at me. “It’s possible, you know.”
“But not probable.”
“Pfft!” said Bitty with a wave of her hand, and she turned back around and adjusted the AC vent. “What do you think, Rayna?”
“I think someone should be writing all this down. Just the facts, though. About their relationships with Race, how the cottage looks, where he was found, the panties left behind—what was on your mind about the lights, Trinket?”
She glanced up at me in the rearview mirror. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to verbalize my theory.
“Well, standing in the alcove, I could see into the bedroom pretty well. It occurred to me that at night with the lights off, someone in the bedroom wouldn’t be able to see me well, or at all. Maybe Naomi was telling the truth when she said she couldn’t see who shot Race.”
Leather made a snicking sound as Bitty turned around in the seat again to look at me. “Are you defending Naomi?”
“No. I’m just presenting an alternate theory of how things might have happened.”
“Write down the facts,” Rayna said again, and I reached for the notebook we had brought with us. The ballpoint pen stuck in the notebook’s metal rings took a moment to produce ink, and I made several scribbles before getting it to flow correctly.
“So what should I start with?” I asked when I was ready.
“Describe the cottage interior,” Rayna said at almost the same time Bitty said, “Tell how shifty Trina and Trisha were being.”
I paused. Then I decided to go with Rayna's dictation. It was no contest, really. I wrote down the details of the alcove, living room, and bedroom, including the panties on the floor. I also included that the night of the murder, there had been no lights on in the front room, just the bedroom. Then I read it back to them.
“You didn’t include about Trina and Trisha being shifty,” Bitty complained.
“I just didn’t get to that yet,” I lied. “What else?”
“Maybe note that the only outside help they have come in are two employees. Oh, and the deliverymen from Sharita’s catering.”
“Sharita’s really building up her business,” I said while I wrote down Rayna's suggestions. “She’s likely to turn into a corporation one day.”
“Like that Mrs. Fields,” Bitty said. “Sharita’s baking makes Mrs. Fields’ cookies taste like they’re made from sawdust.”
I agreed. Then I looked up at Rayna and waited for her next suggestion. It took a while. All of us went quiet as we mentally replayed our time at Madewell Courts in an effort to pick out anything unusual. Or “off the wall” as Gaynelle had said.
Something struck me while I went back over all that happened, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. There had been something said that didn’t ring true. But what was it? Ah. I hate it when that happens. I’m always afraid it’s a sign of impending senility. Usually it’s just imbecility.
“Did you write down that Trina and Trisha were acting shifty?” Bitty asked after a moment, and I sighed.
“I’m doing that now,” I said, and started writing.
Just as my pen hit the paper, the SUV jerked forward on the road and I made a long black line across my notes and nearly bumped my head on the front seat headrest.
“Hey,” I started to protest when the SUV bounced forward again. I threw my arms up to keep from hitting the back of the front seat, lost paper and pen, and gagged as the shoulder strap of the seatbelt yanked hard across my neck and throat.
Rayna started cussing, and I saw her yank hard at the steering wheel as we were tossed around inside the vehicle. Bitty’s head bobbled like one of those dolls on a spring people stick to their dashboards. I grabbed hold of the handle above the door as the SUV rocked from side to side, then it suffered another seizure in a lurching jump forward.
“Someone keeps hitting us in the rear!” Rayna screamed as she tried to keep the top-heavy car upright. “Who is that?” I craned my neck as best I could with the seat belt restraining me and caught a glimpse of a black truck. It looked huge. Chrome everywhere. Tinted windows. Dust a haze in the air. Engine roaring, sounding like a train engine, noise and fear all jumbled up together in a passing collage of images. My body jerked every time the truck hit us, and I held on for dear life.
“They’re trying to knock us off the road!” I shouted back at Rayna. “Pull over!”
“I can’t! We’ll go in a ditch!”
I looked out the window. My stomach turned over. Steep red banks fell away from the narrow road, cushioned here and there by kudzu-covered trees and bushes. There was no shoulder, nowhere to go but down an abrupt drop to a wooded creek. If we stayed on the road, maybe we could outrun the maniac behind us. If we went over the side—it wouldn’t be good.
“Duck, Trinket!” I heard Bitty yell at me, and even as I ducked I wondered why. In the next instant I heard an ear-shattering boom! and the crackling sound of breaking glass. Another boom immediately followed it, then another. Tires screeched, rocks and gravel shot into the air, and the big black truck fell back. The smell of sulphur and cordite was suddenly strong, and my ears rang.
When I glanced up, I saw why.
Bitty had a gun as big as a small rifle held in one of her hands and braced on the back of the front seat. With her other hand, she held on to the headrest for dear life. She had the most determined expression on her face I’ve ever seen; I saw her lift the gun again and automatically ducked for cover.
Kaboom!
This time it worked. I peeked over the backseat. The black truck braked to a stop in the middle of the road.
“Yee-haw!” Bitty hollered so loudly I could hear her even through the ringing in my ears. “Come get some more, you sonuvabitch!”
“Oh noooo,” Rayna screamed loudly, and I turned back just in time to see a big wall of kudzu loom right in front of the SUV. She jerked the wheel hard left, and the SUV went to the right, dipped, back wheels spinning, and the engine died. Kudzu leaves pressed hard against the windows as we smacked into whatever was hidden behind the tangled vines. My body slammed hard against the car door. Then it got very quiet.
I drew in a deep breath. Dust and smoke rose up around the vehicle. Bitty had been tossed to the floorboard. Rayna sat like a statue behind the steering wheel. I saw her nostrils flare in and out.
“Are we all right?” I asked in a loud whisper. My ears still rang, and all sound was barely audible. I saw Rayna's head turn and her lips move.
“Don’t anyone move. Stay on the floorboard, Bitty.”
“I dropped my gun,” came a muffled voice from the front floorboards. “Do you see it?”
“Yes. Be still.”
“Like this?” Bitty snapped. “My ass is on the floor and my feet are hanging over the backseat!”
It was true. I saw her Aigner flats dangle near my face.
“Listen to me, dammit! The rear end of this truck is hanging over the edge of the road and if you—oh!”
A low rumbling beneath the SUV made the entire vehicle quiver, and slowly, slowly, it began to slide backward. As if in a made-for-TV movie I saw the kudzu leaves shudder and fall away as we began to slide down and down, it seeming to happen in slow motion.
“Hang on!” someone screamed, then there was nothing but chaos, red dirt, an ear-splitting shrieking of metal, and the smell of fear thick in the air. With a nauseating roll and drop, we bounced down the side of the ravine like a child’s toy. I remember thinking that this wasn’t a nice way to die, then we slammed hard against something and everything went dark.
CHAPTER 10
I don’t know what woke me. It could have been that I was hanging upside-down from my seat belt like a vampire bat and all the blood had rushed to my head. Or it could have been the strong smell of gasoline. Or even that my seatbelt was cutting into my boobs and making it hard to breathe. Whatever it was, I knew I had to get us all out of that SUV.
The vehicle was tilted at an odd angle, kind of nose-down and leaning to the driver’s side. Red dirt and crushed kudzu were all I could see out that side, so that left the passenger side as a possibility. If I could get my window open, maybe I could unfasten my seatbelt, then unfasten Rayna's, and get us both out. Rayna slumped over the steering wheel, her face turned toward me, her eyes closed. A fine white glow covered her, and for a moment I panicked. Was she dead? Could it be that people . . . glow . . .right after they die? Then I saw her deflated airbag. It cushioned her head against the steering wheel. When her nostrils flared slightly I knew that she was breathing. But Bitty?
My heart lurched. Her door was ajar. Had she been thrown out and . . . and been rolled over? Ohgodohgodohgod, I started praying in a kind of moan, let her be okay!
I fumbled around for the latch to the seatbelt, but it was really difficult. Since I was sort of just hanging there, I had to do it blindly, feel around for the latch by twisting my arm backward. It took forever, but finally I found it. Then it took another forever before I could get the blasted thing to free the metal latch that held me suspended. When it finally slid free, I immediately dropped like a stone.
Now I was half-on, half-off the seat and in the floorboard. My right arm bent at an odd angle, and when I tried to use it to push up, sharp pain shot up all the way to my shoulder. I yelped.
Maybe my yelp woke Rayna. She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttered, and from my awkward position, I could see her try to push away from the steering wheel.
“Wha—?” she muttered in confusion.
“We ran off the road,” I said, only it came out all smushy for some reason. That was when I realized I must have smacked my face on something, because my lips were swollen and I’d bitten my tongue. I tasted blood. It was not nice.
Rayna shifted position slightly. Then she seemed to really come to, because she immediately leaned forward and turned off the SUV’s ignition. It must have been an automatic reflex.
“Bitty? Trinket?” She sounded hoarse.
“Trinket here. Bitty not. You okay?” It was the best I could manage with my lips all puffy and my tongue uncooperative and painful.
“Yeah . . . I think . . . so.”
