Divas and Dead Rebels (26 page)

“She’ll let you know,” said Bitty serenely, and I jerked my hand back just before Chitling decided that I’d crossed some imaginary canine line. Her teeth clacked together on empty air instead of me.

“Have you been training her to attack?” I asked. “I don’t remember this dog being quite so . . . irritable . . . when you first got her.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Trinket, she’s just a little dog. Stop whining. I swear, the older you get, the more you act like Great-aunt Imogene.”

“That’s a horrid thing to say to me,” I pointed out with great indignation. “Aunt Imogene was mean to everyone. And she dipped snuff. She sat in a rocking chair on the front porch for thirty years telling anyone who’d listen that the world was a wicked place, and we were all going to hell.”

“I know. And that was on her good days. You don’t want to end up like her, do you?”

“She lived to be a hundred and three. Every six months she’d summon family to her ‘death bed’ to say goodbye. After about five years of that, Daddy said we could stop going. I was glad. She used to make me clean out her spit can.”

“
Ewwww
,” said Bitty, and laughed. “She tried to get me to do it once. When I accidentally spilled it in her lap, she never asked me again.”

I looked over at Bitty. “There were great depths to you even back then,” I said with grudging admiration. “I never thought of that.”

“I’m not always scatterbrained, you know.”

The way she said that made me realize that maybe I tease her too much about having “blonde” moments. I resolved to stop. Well, cut back, anyway.

“I know,” I said. “You’re a lot smarter than most people give you credit for. I forget that sometimes.”

Bitty looked pleased. “Thank you, Trinket. I know I get crazy ideas and do some silly things, but sometimes I’m right, you have to admit.”

“I’ll admit that, if you’ll admit that I’m not really too tall and dress cheaply.”

There was a long pause, then Bitty said, “Oh my.”

Why do I even try? I narrowed my eyes at her, but since she didn’t even look my way, my evil stare was wasted. So I exchanged evil stares with Chitling, who never shies away from a confrontation. I hate losing a staring contest to a dog.

I crossed my arms over my chest and tapped my fingers against my elbow and looked out the window for a good ten miles before Bitty offered the proverbial olive branch: “Is this the Tallahatchie Bridge that Billy Joe McAllister jumped off in the song?”

“No,” I deigned to say after enough time went by that she knew I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. “That bridge is in Yalobusha County—no, wait. Leflore County, by Greenwood.”

“Oh. I wonder what he threw off that bridge.”

“Some folks said it was the girl’s ragdoll.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it was just a song.”

“Really? I thought it was a true story,” said Bitty. “Hollywood even made a movie about it.”

I looked over at her. “They made a movie about Francis the Talking Mule, too, but I’ve never heard a mule say a dadgum thing.”

“Remember Mr. Sanders’ mule?” Bitty asked. “If he could talk, I wonder what he would have said the day he got his head stuck in that pot of chicken and dumplings.”

I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. Then Bitty laughed, and we were over our contentious moment just like that. Best friends and blood relatives seem to do that sort of thing quite often.

“Speaking of talking mules,” I said after a moment, “I wonder who that was I overheard talking about someone being dead. I’m convinced they were referring to the professor.”

“Could be,” Bitty agreed. “Do you think it was Breck Hartford?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to hear him talk again to compare. I’m not so sure I want to get that close to him despite what I promised Catherine.”

“It could be done, though. Did you tell Cat about it?”

“No, there was never a reason to mention it to her. Maybe now there is. I guess we’ll find out when we find her.”

“If we find her.”

I looked at Bitty, and she glanced at me. Neither one of us said aloud that we may not find Catherine, or find her alive. It was too grim a thought.

It seemed like only a few minutes later that we hit the Oxford city limits. By then I had formulated a plan of sorts. First, we would drive by Catherine’s house. If it wasn’t cordoned off by police tape, we’d poke around and see what we could find. Rayna was looking up her vehicle information for us, and if she hadn’t called back by the time we looked around Catherine’s house, then we’d go get some breakfast while we waited.

As luck would have it, there was no police tape strung around her house, not even a patrol car outside. Apparently the Oxford police had decided there was no emergency. From the outside, it certainly looked safe and secure. It wasn’t even eight yet, and the street was quiet. Trees filtered the morning sun, leaves drifted softly to the ground, and I saw an older man come outside in his robe to get his morning paper. Just a familiar scene in a small town neighborhood.

Catherine’s house is a two-story traditional kind of home, with fieldstone outer walls and surrounded by lots of trees. The walkway goes in a curve from her driveway up to the porch, flanked by mums in bloom and scarlet foliage in front of evergreens. My idea was to march right up to the front door as if we’d come for a visit.

I put my hand on the car door handle. “Why don’t you leave Chitling to guard the car while we see if we can get inside?”

Bitty gave me a horrified look. “Where someone can steal her?”

Trust Bitty to worry more about her dog than she did a fifty thousand dollar vehicle. I refrained from rolling my eyes as I tried logic: “Yes. I’m sure there’s a huge black market for fat, elderly pugs. If you wouldn’t weigh her down with ten pounds of diamonds and velvet, she’d be worth a lot less. It’s cool outside, and we’re going to be skulking around. Leave her in here where she doesn’t get—” I’d started to say, “—in our way,” but then I realized that Bitty, being as contrary as she is, would immediately claim that Chitling wouldn’t be in our way at all. So I said, “—too stressed if we run into trouble,” instead.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. I wouldn’t want her to get stressed out if we have a problem.”

“Good. Crack the windows for fresh air.” I got out of the car while Bitty punched the window buttons to give Chen Ling plenty of fresh air. She glared at us anyway. When Bitty shut her door, Chitling began to yodel at us. She yodels very loudly. If anyone was trying to sleep late in the neighborhood, they were out of luck. So much for stealth.

“Poor thing,” said Bitty, pausing with a worried look back at her yowling pug. “If I didn’t know she hates loud noises, I’d give in and take her with us.”

It didn’t occur to me what Bitty meant by that last until we were up on the front porch. I started to ring the bell, but Bitty stopped me. “Wait. I have to be ready if there’s an intruder still inside.”

“What are you talking about?” Then, as she stuck her hand into her Gucci purse, I knew what she meant about loud noises. I barred the door with my body. “If you brought along your cannon, Bitty Hollandale, you can just go sit in the car with Chitling. I’m not about to be shot by mistake or arrested on purpose.”

Bitty paused. “Don’t be silly. I’d never shoot you by mistake.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me. I don’t want to be shot on purpose, either.”

“Suppose the intruder came back. Who would you rather run into, him or me?”

When I mulled that over, Bitty got exasperated. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Trinket, I’m not going to shoot you! I’ll just leave it in my purse. Does that make you feel better?”

“Safer, anyway. Besides, if there’s an intruder, the police would have found him last night.”

“He may have come back. He might be lying in wait for us right now.”

“Only if he’s some kind of homicidal maniac or serial killer. Any self-respecting killer would be far away from here by now after the police have been out looking around for Catherine.”

“Just try the door and see if it’s open first.”

“I imagine police are very good about locking doors.” Still, I tried it, and as I’d suspected, it was locked. I gave it a hearty rattle. “Let me ring the bell. If Catherine’s home, I’m sure she’d rather us do that than just break in.”

“Oooh, are we going to do that?”

“It was a figure of speech. No, my dear, we are not going to break in.”

“Then why are we here? I thought we came to see if Cat’s all right.”

“We did. Don’t make me go through this again. We don’t need to break in if we have a key.”

“Well, we don’t have a key, and I don’t know how you think we’re going to go in unless we climb through a window. I’d give you a boost, but I can’t afford a broken nail. Besides, you’re too heavy for me to lift.”

“We are
not
going through a window, Bitty.”

“If we don’t go inside, how are we expected to find out if she’s okay?”

I felt like smacking her but said with more patience than I felt, “I never said we weren’t going inside.”

When we’d stepped up on the front porch I’d noticed a rock that looked different from the others. If it was what I thought it was, an emergency key should be attached to the backside. I felt around it to see if there was a latch or indentation for a finger to pry it open. Since I had to bend over and squat down to reach it, I was at a disadvantage.

“Here, Bitty,” I said, and stood up to show her the rock. “See if you can open it with one of those daggers on the end of your fingers.”

“Open a rock? Are you kidding? I’d break a nail.” She sounded indignant, so I shrugged.

“Not if you don’t want to, but I thought since we came all this way it’d be nice to be able to get inside.”

“I don’t know how you think taking rocks off her porch is going to help. Isn’t that vandalism?”

I finally snapped. “Will you stop arguing and just see if you can pry open this damn rock? I think it’s got a door key inside it!”

“Oh. It’s one of those. Why didn’t you say so?”

Bitty bent over, stuck a crimson-coated fingernail into the indentation and popped it open. A key fell onto the flagstone porch with a muted clink. She picked it up and gave it to me, frowning at a tiny chip on the end of her nail.

“I just hate it when that happens,” she muttered, and I ignored her as I tried the key in the lock.

It clicked, and I turned the knob. The door swung open without a sound. I stood in the opening for a moment trying to decide what to do first. Behind me, Bitty stepped up so close I felt her breath on my back and her purse nudging my kidneys.

“What do you see?” she whispered.

“Shadows. My eyes are trying to adjust. Wait. I see some furniture. I still think we should ring the bell or call for her before we go all the way inside.”

“And I still think I should be armed.”

“No.” I took a few tentative steps inside. No one hit me in the back of the head or shot me, so I took a few more steps, then a few more until I stood on carpet. It was eerily quiet. There was a faint smell that I couldn’t quite place. Sort of sweet, but a little nauseating at the same time.

“Do you see anything?” I whispered to Bitty, but she didn’t answer. “Bitty?” I half-turned and saw her still in the doorway. I put one hand on my hip. “Are you coming, Mrs. Braveheart?”

“Can I pull out my gun?”

“No! Stop dawdling.”

“It’s not dawdling if I’m just trying to be cautious,” said Bitty as she took a few steps inside. She sniffed the air. “Something smells funny.”

“Yeah. I smell it too. What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea. And I don’t want to think about what it could be, either. Do you see anything out of place?”

I’d walked from the entrance hall into the living room. A floor to ceiling fireplace dominated one wall. Parallel to it were two matching white couches, sitting atop a bright rug spread over beige carpet. It was very dimly lit. Curtains were drawn over the living room windows that looked out on the street; a dining room was opposite, facing the back. A large kitchen was on the right, with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. Double French doors looked out on the backyard, and light came in through them. As my eyes adjusted to the change in light, I saw that one of the French doors was half-open.

My heartbeat escalated. The police wouldn’t have left it open. Unless Catherine had returned, no one else should have opened that door. The hair on the back of my neck tightened, and I got the awful feeling that we weren’t quite alone.

Almost afraid to turn around, I made myself glance back to see if Bitty was still behind me. She hadn’t moved from the entryway. The door behind her was wide open, and she was in silhouette. She had her purse clutched in both hands and held up almost to her chin as she stared at me.

I put my finger up to my lips to indicate she should be quiet, and sucking in a deep breath, I forced my feet to move forward. There was only one way to find out if we were alone, and that was to act like I had no idea anyone else might be close.