Dixie Diva Blues by Virginia Brown

had to be a lot more involved than just the charge of vandalism. Why would Larry be so afraid otherwise?
    “No one really gets murdered over a vandalism charge, do they?” I asked no one in particular, and Bitty turned around to join our conversation.
    “Oh, Lila Tompkins’s middle boy—I think he was the middle. Maybe the third. Or fourth. Anyway, Lila’s son got run over by a garbage truck just because he hollered at the driver that he’d left trash all over the street. And then there was Riley Gunner, who got in an argument with a friend over ten dollars he owed him. Riley ended up dead, and the friend is doing life down in Parchman.”
    When Gaynelle and I just stared at her, Bitty shrugged. “So, you know, people get murdered over silly things all the time.”
    “True,” I said after a moment. “Although I can’t really think of any reason good enough to murder someone.”
    “Well, you know how people are, Trinket. They make up all these things to justify what they’ve done. Or plan to do. Now, do you think this cut on Carolann’s head needs stitches?”

CHAPTER 5
    We executed the next stage of our plan quite efficiently, I thought, even though the results were less than any of us could wish for. Bitty and Gaynelle interviewed guests in the shacks close by. Guests on the left side of the Robert Clay shack had been there when the murder occurred, but had seen or heard nothing. They’d been listening to blues music inside their shack for a while.
    “No car racing away, no furtive figures, not even a strange shadow,” Gaynelle reported as we all ate dinner in our sharecropper shack. “They said they went over to the Cotton Gin a little before ten to hear the music, and saw nothing out of place. There were a few cars in the lot, but there always is, so they wouldn’t have thought anything of a strange vehicle. And the music was loud enough that they never even heard the gunshot.”
    “Did they know who called the police?” I asked Gaynelle, and she shook her head as she added ketchup to her plate for a stack of fries.
    “No idea. They didn’t even know anything had happened until they left the bar after midnight and saw all the police cars. What did you and Carolann find out?”
    “Not much more than you. None of the employees working that night heard or saw anything unusual. There’s a bar-back I didn’t get to talk to who is off tonight but will be here during the day tomorrow. He was here the night of the murder. Maybe he can tell us something. Other than that . . . we struck out, too.”
    “No doubt the police have already talked to everyone anyway,” said Bitty, “but it still would be nice if we could find out something they don’t already know. Just to get Rob out of trouble, of course.”
    “And to prove we aren’t over the hill?” I asked around a generous forkful of my salad.
    Bitty smiled. “You know me so well.”
    “That terrifies me.”
    We finished the rest of our homemade meals, and cleaned up the small front room. Music came from the direction of the Cotton Gin.
    “Anyone feel like going dancing in town?” Bitty asked. She lolled back in one of the cane chairs, looking like a well-fed sloth.
    “Are you thinking about it?” I couldn’t help asking.
    “Not very hard.”
    I laughed. “Yeah, I’m exhausted. Who knew asking a lot of questions could be so tiring?”
    “Oh, I always knew that, Trinket. Don’t you remember when I used to work on the school paper and I had to go around and interview everybody about whether or not we wanted to vote for Homecoming Queen and King again?”
    “Yes,” I said as quickly as I could. “I remember that very well. How could I forget? You haven’t stopped talking about it in thirty-odd years.”
    Bitty looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes “That’s not true. I haven’t mentioned it in a coon’s age, and you know it. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to, then. Gaynelle, have I ever—”
    “Several