Divas and Dead Rebels (35 page)

“Here, Trinket. Take these up, will you?”

I took the two bottles of wine Bitty held out. The labels were French and Italian. I had no idea why she was restocking her upstairs wine cooler, but I also knew better than to ask. Involved explanations regarding wine usually leave me yawning. There are really expensive wines that I think smell like old shoes and Bitty claims are truly “piquant” or some other silly adjective, so I refrained from any questions. If I ever ask for a “buoyant” or an “ebullient” wine, I’ll need to check into Whitfield for a long stay. Preferably a padded cell with room service.

While Bitty closed the door to the wine cellar and checked the index and temperature controls, I made a final check of the basement doors and windows. All nicely locked. We went back upstairs, and Bitty put one bottle in her kitchen wine cooler and two others in a built-in wine rack. I got our frozen dinners out and popped them into the microwave. While we waited, we uncorked a nice burgundy to go with our Chicken Marsala and talked about everything but murder. It was quite refreshing. When the microwave beeped an announcement that our food was ready, Bitty fixed us each a tray, and we went back into the parlor to watch TV while we ate.

“Good gawd,” I said when Bitty chose a program, “when did you start watching shows named
Lizard Lick
?”

“When I saw these two guys get dipped in mud trying to repossess a truck,” she replied serenely. “It’s funny. If you don’t like it, we can always watch
Criminal Minds
.”

“Did your cable get cut off?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“Because if my only choice is between lizards and serial killers, I’d much rather read a book or discuss politics,” I said.

“Oh for heaven’s sake. I thought you liked
Criminal Minds
.”

“I do. Just not when some psycho is out there waiting for me to make a mistake so he can strangle me with a coat hanger. It’s a little too close to home.”

Bitty rolled her eyes. “Fine. Here.” She punched the remote. “We can watch people buy houses that cost as much as the national debt, if you like that better.”

I smiled. “Right up your alley. Thank you.”

A couple hours later we’d demolished our dinners and a bottle of wine and grown tired of watching strangers choose houses. I stifled a yawn and saw that Bitty’s eyes had a kind of glazed look in them.

“I hope you’re ready for bed,” I said. “I’ve got to go to work in the morning.”

“Past ready,” said my amiable cousin. “I’ll close the fire screen, and you get the lights.”

As I reached for the lamp, I heard Bitty close the mesh fire screen over smoldering embers, and we both headed for the kitchen. Chen Ling’s toenails clacked against the wood floor as she trotted behind us. I made a final check of the downstairs alarm system, but was then informed that Chitling had to go out one more time. I stared at Bitty.

“Again? She’s a leaky faucet. Have you thought of toilet training her?”

Bitty ignored me as she entered the code into the back door alarm pad. It beeped at her, and she opened the door to let Chitling down the stairs, through the sunroom, and then out into the backyard for her nightly deposit. Bright moonlight illuminated the dog as she trotted across grass still green from the summer. Security lamps attached over the garage doors flashed on, and I could see her tail curling over pink satin and her pudgy little rump as she sniffed around for a place to squat.

After several minutes passed, I nudged Bitty. “Is she looking for gold or a place to pee?”

“Don’t be so impatient, Trinket. She’s picky about where she likes to go.”

Since I was standing behind Bitty where she couldn’t see me, I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe you haven’t built her an inside mini-toilet yet.”

“I have thought about one of those little boxes planted with grass that I’ve seen for sale. Maybe I could put it here in the sunroom.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Bitty tilted back her head to look at me. “No, why would I kid you about that?”

“I dunno. Maybe because it’s one of the silliest things you’ve ever said?”

“What’s silly about providing an indoor toilet area for Chen Ling for the winter? It sounds sensible to me. It gets so cold outside.”

“We don’t live in Alaska, Bitty. It gets cold, but there aren’t many snowdrifts to keep her from going out in the yard.”

Rather indignantly, Bitty said, “We get ice and snow every winter, you know we do. Her little paws get cold. She could get frostbite.”

“And I could get bitten by a King Cobra, but both those possibilities are pretty remote.”

“Don’t be so heartless. Honestly, Trinket, sometimes you’re just plain ornery.”

I couldn’t argue with that. She’s right. So I said, “I’ll just go on upstairs while you wait on Princess Poo-poo to get through with her business. Remember to set the alarm as soon as she comes back inside—never mind. I’ll come back and do it.”

Bitty put both hands on her hips and glared at me. “I’m not a child or an idiot. I think I can manage to set the alarm without your expert assistance.”

I hesitated. She was right in that she could set the alarm. The problem was that she usually forgot. This was a sticky situation. Dare I rely on Bitty to set the alarm?

Just as I opened my mouth, Chitling gave a shrill bark that startled both me and Bitty. We jumped at the same time. Bitty started out the door, calling for the dog. When I moved to follow there was a loud crash in the area of the garbage cans. My heartbeat went into triple time. I grabbed for Bitty and held on to the sash of her robe.

“No! There’s someone out there. Come back inside, quick!”

Bitty jerked free of my grasp. “Not without my dog, I’m not. Chen Ling! Chen Ling! Come to mama!”

Before I could grab her again, Bitty took off across the yard. One of her slippers flew off and landed on the brick driveway. She didn’t even slow down. I stood frozen in the doorway, uncertain whether to follow Bitty or stay where I was. The pug was in the middle of the yard, still barking so shrilly I was surprised paint didn’t peel off the side of the garage.

“Bitty!” I yelled after my brainless cousin as she headed straight for her yowling dog. “At least be careful!”

I wasn’t sure what she was to be careful of, but there must be something that had the dog so upset. Every time she barked again, her two front paws lifted off the ground as if to give more weight to her indignation. The garbage cans rattled even louder.

Bitty reached the dog in record time, despite the loss of a slipper, and scooped her up from the grass and into her arms. Chitling struggled, still barking loudly and trying to escape her rescuer. The hair on the back of my neck tingled. I strained to see what could be disturbing the dog, but had already talked myself out of going closer to investigate. Even with the motion-sensor lights on the garage, I had no intention of putting myself in danger. Not with the warning about my possible demise still ringing in my ears.

So I held open the door for Bitty and barking pug. Whatever was in the garbage cans could stay there as far as I was concerned. I felt the same way about Bitty’s slipper, but she obviously didn’t since she scooped it up on her way back.

By the time she reached me, Bitty was gasping for air. Chitling was still yodeling over her shoulder in the direction of the garbage cans. Just as I pulled the door closed behind Bitty, I saw a shadowy form dart from the garbage cans and across the driveway. When it passed beneath the security lamps I recognized the portly shape of a raccoon. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cuss.

I decided to do neither. I waited until we were both up the sunroom steps and in the house with the door shut and the alarm engaged before I said, “I saw the intruder.”

Still breathless, Bitty flashed me a startled glance. I nodded. “Chitling needs to learn the difference between burglars and wildlife.”

“What . . . are you talking . . . about?” she got out in little gasps for air.

“A raccoon. Granted, it does look like a bandit with the little mask it has, but it was rummaging in your garbage cans, apparently, and that’s what scared Chitling.”

“A . . . drink,” Bitty said next. “I need a . . . drink.”

Feeling much better now that I knew no insane killer lurked in the yard, I poured Bitty a Jack and Coke. Ice tinkled against the glass of the tumbler as she drained it in one long swallow. Chitling glared at me from the safety of Bitty’s arms. Her little pink nightcap was askew on her head.

“More?” I inquired politely when Bitty held out the empty glass. She shook her head.

“No. That’ll do for now.”

I set the glass on the counter. “Feeling better, then?”

“No. You nearly scared me to death, Trinket! Why did you panic like that?”

“Me? Panic? It was your dog that went berserk out there, not me.”

“Well, really, all this fuss over a little raccoon. I swear, I nearly peed myself out there trying to get Chen Ling before some sadistic monster grabbed her, and you just stayed in the house yelling at me.”

“No point in both of us getting killed,” I said mildly. “Besides, someone had to stay alive to call the police.”

Bitty just looked at me, and her bug-eyed dog snorted in my direction. I gave Chitling a stern look. “That’ll do, pig,” I said.

Bitty’s lips twitched. She recognized my quote, of course, since both of us were hopelessly addicted to even kids’ movies like
Babe
.

“You should be saying that to Miranda Watson’s pig, not to my precious Chen Ling,” was all Bitty said, and I knew I’d been forgiven my act of pure cowardice.

“I doubt Miranda would recognize the quote. I’m tired. All this exercise has made me exhausted. Can we go to bed now?”

“Lead the way, Tonto,” said my fearless cousin, and I promptly headed for the staircase before she could think of something else for us to do. Behind me, Bitty clicked off most of the lights, leaving on only the kitchen nightlight. Light gleamed through leaded glass windows into the entrance hall, reflections of the porch chandeliers shifting gently in the evening wind. A single light gleamed on the second floor landing, one of those lamps with a thick shade that provided just enough illumination to see where you were going, but not enough to see obstacles like doorstops.

When I stubbed my toe on a heavy flatiron outside one of her boys’ bedroom doors, I muttered something under my breath but didn’t slow down. Bitty laughed softly.

“’Night, Trinket,” she said as she headed toward her room, and I went in the opposite direction to my guest room.

“Goodnight, Valerie and Scooby,” I said back.

“
Rut ro
,” Bitty replied with another laugh, and then I heard her bedroom door close behind her.

Once I was safely in the guest room with its half-tester bed, canopy, and full bath, I took my shower and changed into my nightgown. It was flannel and worn thin through the years, but one of my favorites. I’d also brought my big, fluffy slippers. They were a lot newer and looked as if they’d once belonged to Big Foot. I didn’t care. Comfort was a major thing with me lately. I might sell lovely lingerie during the day, but at night I was a devoted slob. Unless a date with Kit was imminent, of course. Then I took advantage of my store discount and donned slinky silk. There’s something indulgent and decadent about the feel of silk next to my skin. I do love my creature comforts.

Bitty’s antique furniture creaks and groans at times, but the mattresses are pure twenty-first century. A nice pillow-top cushioned my aching body, and by the time I turned out the light and my head hit the feather pillows, I was asleep.

Unfortunately, my restful slumber was short-lived, and a real-life nightmare took its place.

Chapter 18

A noise woke me from my deep, sound sleep. It was a furtive bump in the night, like a mouse scurrying across the floor. Groggy, I lay there for a moment listening to the house. Old houses have their own peculiar noises, creaking of boards, the settling deep into the foundations, but those are oddly comforting sounds.

This wasn’t.

Tension worked its way down my spine. My muscles began to ache from being so tight, and as quietly as possible, I sat up in the bed. Windows let in plenty of moonlight through billowy sheers. Furniture sat darkly against the walls. I blinked to clear sleep fog from my vision, but saw nothing out of place in my room.

Slowly, I lay back down in the bed and stretched out. My imagination must be to blame, I figured. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had enough on my mind lately. Time stretched into the night, but even though I held my breath, I didn’t hear the sound again. At last I began to relax. Sleep hovered within reach, and I closed my eyes.

It seemed like I’d just barely gone back to sleep when a brittle sound jerked me awake again. Irritated, I decided to get up and see what had made the noise.

I’d barely swung my feet over the side of the bed when I heard it again. This time it sounded as if someone had dropped something. Since I knew the house alarm had been set, I figured it was probably Bitty scrounging around in the kitchen for a midnight snack. I might just smack her for scaring me. Or maybe I’d join in the feast. I didn’t bother with my slippers, but crept barefoot out my bedroom door and down the hall.