Dixie Diva Blues (43 page)

“Didn’t Gwen take care of your dogs and cats while you were away?” Gaynelle asked, and when Rayna nodded, she said, “Maybe she just moved things around.”

“No, I asked her. She didn’t even go into Rob’s office at all. She didn’t have to, since the food is in the kitchen and all she had to do was let the dogs out and back in, and scoop cat trays.”

“Maybe the cats got up on his desk and moved things around,” said Gaynelle. “It happens.”

“Yes, but his office door stays shut when we’re not in there. Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t even know if I should call the police and report it or not since nothing was taken.”

“Did you?” I asked. “Call the police and report it?”

Rayna shook her head. “No, Jake came by and I told him about it, and he said he’d get someone to watch our house for a few days, just in case.”

“Isn’t he a busy little bee lately,” I remarked. “Jake seems to be everywhere.”

“Probably because he was assigned desk duty after screwing up my rescue,” said Bitty. “He hates it. He likes being out in the field. Or something like that. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying strict attention to what he said. Did you, Gaynelle?”

“Yes, I listened to him. I was still trying to stuff celery with pimento cheese while he was talking, though, so I might have missed something here and there.”

“He didn’t stay long, anyway. He just wanted to make sure I was doing okay. He sure has changed since we were kids. He used to torment us, didn’t he, Trinket?”

“Well, he’s nearly eight years younger than we are, so there wasn’t too much he could get away with, but I do remember him as being a hellion in his younger days.”

“And to think he became a policeman after always being so wild,” Bitty said, shaking her head. “Of course, he never was as mean as our cousin Jobert.”

I laughed. “You’ll never get over being left up in that oak tree, will you?”

“Never,” vowed Bitty. “Jobert took away the ladder and I thought I’d be there forever!”

Our conversation turned away from Rayna’s mysterious break-in where nothing had been stolen, to childhood nemeses. We all had a few, Gaynelle included. Where mine and Bitty’s seemed to be mostly blood-related, Gaynelle told stories about school bullies both from her childhood and her tenure as a schoolteacher.

By the time our small talk ended, I was well-fortified with coffee and chess pie, as well as enough pimento cheese sandwiches and stuffed celery to last me for a while. As usual, the chocolate had been the first thing under attack, followed rather closely by the wine. Marcy Porter had brought chicken casserole, and Deelight and Cady Lee had both brought chocolate brownies. Sandra and Cindy brought wine. It had taken four glasses of it just to get my hands to stop shaking after our ordeal in Carolann’s shop.

That’s the way it usually is. I’m fine—or my adrenaline is up—when disaster is happening, but then I fall apart later. Fortunately, Kit Coltrane had gotten wind of what had happened with Walsh, and he’d insisted upon me staying with Bitty for the night. He went out and fed the cat legions, and took Brownie home with him for safety. When he stopped by on his way home, Brownie and Chen Ling warily renewed acquaintance while Kit held me in his arms. That was the highlight of my evening. I expected the third degree from Bitty at some point. Not that I had any intention of giving her answers. True answers, anyway.

Finally everyone left and it was just me and Bitty. And Chen Ling, of course, the guard dragon. I looked around at the mess in Bitty’s kitchen.

“What do you want to do with all this?” I asked her.

She yawned and waved a hand. “Leave it. Maria comes in the morning. She’ll take care of everything.”

“What about all these wine bottles? Do you want her to think we’re alcoholics?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Not yet, but it’s beginning to sound attractive. I hate to just leave all this, Bitty. It’s such a mess.”

“I’m sure Maria will appreciate your get-up-and-go. Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”

With Chen Ling tucked under her arm, Bitty headed for the staircase. I looked around at the mess—dirty plates, napkins, wine glasses, and leftovers—and decided that I’d put up leftovers and leave the rest. Two pieces of stuffed celery and half a brownie later, I had it all put away except for the nine empty wine bottles.

I gathered them up in a garbage sack and put them by the back door leading out to Bitty’s sun porch. Her garbage cans are somewhere out back, but I had no intention of being foolish and energetic enough to trek out there at nearly midnight. It had been a long day. There was a bed upstairs calling to me. I answered the call.

I must have been asleep around three hours when something jerked me awake. I sat up, my heart pounding crazily. The guest room where I was sleeping was dark and quiet. Light from an outside security lamp filtered through sheers into the room, but that was it. My huge half-tester antique bed was high up off the floor. The guest bath door was closed, and as far as I knew, Chen Ling was safely in Bitty’s room with her.

After a few moments of quiet ticked past, I realized I must have been dreaming about something that woke me up. I lay back down again and my heartbeat returned to a pace near normal. The sounds of the house were pretty familiar to me by then, since I’d spent quite a few nights with Bitty. Her tall case clock in the first floor parlor/office that she used infrequently chimed on the hour and the half hour. It had gotten so familiar to me that I rarely paid it any attention. The house is pretty close to the railroad depot, and every now and then can be heard the rumble of a train down the tracks or the keening wail of its whistle. That line isn’t used as much as it once was, however.

Anyway, I was just drifting back to sleep when I heard a definite noise below on the first floor. It sounded like the clink of bottles rolling across a hard surface. This time I got out of bed and reached for my cell phone. I wore one of Bitty’s shapeless caftans, but it hit me about mid-calf. Barefoot, I padded softly across the wood floor, wincing a little when it creaked beneath my weight. Old houses do that a lot. I eased open my bedroom door and looked down the hallway. Bitty’s bedroom is at the very end, beyond the stairs to the first floor. There used to be another door to her room, but she remodeled and had the extra bedroom made into an enormous closet. Now it has its own address, I’m pretty sure. Or should, anyway.

I crept down the hallway very carefully. Bitty hadn’t yet put down the carpets that she lays on the floors in the cooler months. During the hot summer months, she stores her expensive rugs that cost more than my car did brand spanking new. So I eased along the floor until I reached the head of the staircase. Standing at the top, it’s a straight shot down to a small landing, then the stairs go right over part of the small parlor that used to be a butler’s pantry. From past experience, I knew that the middle of the stairs was the loudest part, so I tried to stay on the edge as I made my way just far enough down to see if there was an intruder, or if I was imagining things. I had my cell phone primed and ready in the palm of my hand.

When I got to the landing, I saw the faint flicker of light, as if a candle or some other source. Since fire is always a possibility and a fear, I hesitated. Should I check it out more thoroughly, or should I call 911 and report a prowler? Bitty’s ultra-expensive, ultra-hi-tech security alarm should have gone off at the first hint of smoke. Fortunately, it’s not a part of the system that requires the house owner to remember to set it; it will go off on its own.

However, the burglar alarm was a different matter. Bitty almost always forgot to set it. It was a source of great frustration to Jackson Lee, and to a lesser degree, to her two sons. They, like me, firmly believe in Bitty’s invulnerable invisible shield that protects her from serious damage. My invisible shield has huge holes in it, rather like the holes gnawed into our planet’s ozone layer by greenhouse gases or time, whichever theory is the one that really fits.

While I stood indecisively on the landing, Fate took a hand.

The prowler stepped out of the office door and into the entry hall. I tried to shrink back into shadows on the landing. When I did, my head bumped one of the paintings Bitty has of her boys in their Confederate uniforms; they’re not that old, really. Holly Springs just has a pilgrimage every year that requires participating citizens to dress up in nineteenth century clothing to escort tourists through the antebellum homes and Civil War reenactments. Bitty commemorates every year with either oil or photographs of her twins. These line the walls of the staircase, so that as you climb the stairs the boys get progressively younger and younger.

At any rate, my head bumped the ornate gilt frame and it clattered against the wall and nearly came down. I grabbed it just in time. That action caused me to drop my cell phone, however, and it sailed from my hand over the landing railing and out into the hall outside Bitty’s office. It spun through the air like a Frisbee to land almost at the prowler’s feet. Phone and floor met with abrupt violence, and phone lost the brief tussle. Several pieces shot like missiles in different directions. The prowler looked down at the phone, then up toward the landing where I still stood in Bitty’s caftan. I caught my breath.

He was pretty tall, and had a dark beard that covered most of his face. I had a sudden sinking feeling that he had a scar on his face, too, and that he’d been the man who actually killed Larry Whittier. In the low light cast only by porch lights through the front windows and open front door, certain identification was nearly impossible. But I had the impression that I’d seen this guy before.

The prowler then did a very surprising thing. He gave me a brief salute with two fingers, and walked out the front door, letting the screen slam shut behind him. I stood and stared, not quite believing in my good fortune. This was the first time in a long while that I hadn’t had to arm wrestle some intruder before he ran away.

While I stood there congratulating myself on a narrow escape from violence, Chen Ling came down the stairs and bit me on the bare ankle. See what I mean about my propensity for premature congratulations?

“Ouch,” I said, “back off, Chitling.”

“Trinket!”

I looked over my shoulder at Bitty, who stood with both hands on her hips glaring at me in the darkness. Clad in her ubiquitous pink, with cream slathered on her face, pink slippers on her feet, and a frilly pink Zorro mask pushed back to the top of her head, she looked like a nightmare.

“You’re scaring me,” I said. “Call off your dragon. She’s getting my feet wet with her slobber.”

“
Chen Ling
heard someone out here, and I’m glad it’s you. I thought at first we might have another prowler.”

“Oh, we did. He just moseyed off a minute ago.”

“What?”

I nodded. “True. He had a flashlight and he was looking for something in your office.”

“In my office? What could anyone want in there?”

“I have no idea. You don’t keep money in there, do you?”

“Of course not. I have a wall safe for that.” She came down a couple steps and peered past me. “Are you sure there’s no one still in there?”

“Nope. I only saw one guy, but that doesn’t mean there’s not someone else, I guess.”

Bitty came down the rest of the stairs to stand close behind me. When I turned, she turned so I was in front and she was still behind me.

“Are you using me as a shield again?” I asked.

“Well, you’re a lot bigger than me,” she said defensively. “Did you call the police yet?”

“My cell phone met with a dreadful accident. I haven’t done anything but stand here and wonder just what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me, and let’s see what we can figure out.”

“You go first,” said Bitty. “I’ll stay here with Chen Ling.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved her hand off my shoulder.

“Well, someone has to be able to call for the police,” Bitty defended herself again as I went down the rest of the stairs into the entrance hall.

I flipped on the light switch, and a warm glow flooded the hall and a few feet into the parlor/office. A breeze through the open front door came through the screen and made the tiny crystal prisms of the chandelier tinkle lightly overhead. On the porch outside, the outdoor chandeliers provided more light music in the breeze.

Even before I turned on a lamp in the office I could see the mess. Drawers had been left open, the roll top on the desk was slid back, and empty spaces looked out where neatly filed papers had been in the cubbies before. Papers were strewn on the floor, and I bent to pick them up. Bank statements, charity invitations, garden club newsletters . . . for the life of me, I didn’t see a thing worth breaking in to steal.

“Just look at this mess!” Bitty fumed, and I turned to look at her where she stood in the doorway, Chitling tucked protectively under her arm.

“What do you keep in here, Bitty?”

“Oh, the usual things. Invitations, blank thank you note cards, correspondence with people, and some of my garden club notes on the upcoming pilgrimage. Why?”

“There isn’t a thing worth stealing.”

“Not unless someone wants my antique pen set. All my real business papers go to Jackson Lee’s office. He has someone handle that for me.”