Drop Dead Divas by Virginia Brown

Rayna said faintly behind me.
    “At least she didn’t name us,” I pointed out in a lame attempt to put a better face on it.
    Gaynelle shook her head. “She didn’t have to. Almost everyone in Holly Springs knows who’s in the Divas and who’s not. Until now, we’ve managed to maintain at least the appearance of gentility.”
    While I hardly thought gentility was the right word, it was no time to argue. The column was a disaster. It was insulting. Worse, if viewed from Trina Madewell’s point of view, I could understand that we had probably scared the bejesus out of her. I looked over at Bitty.
    She still stood stock still, her eyes glittering, Chen Ling clutched to her chest like some kind of shield. The expression on her face was . . . well, frightening.
    “Bitty?” I reached over to touch her arm. “Bitty? Are you . . . are you all right?”
    “Of course I am,” she said calmly. “I’m just trying to decide who to shoot first, Trina or that malicious Miranda. Maybe Miranda. She’s fat and not able to run as fast. Yes, I can shoot her first, then drive out to Madewell Courts.”
    “Now Bitty,” said Gaynelle, “you know you cannot shoot either one of them.”
    “Oh, I’ve been going to the shooting range lately. I can do it. My aim is much better than it used to be.”
    As much as the thought of an armed Bitty terrifies me, I found it rather surprising that she’d been spending time at a shooting range.
    “You went to a shooting range without telling me?”
    “Well, I don’t tell you every thing, Trinket. You have a tendency to tattle.”
    “Only to keep you safe,” I defended myself. “Besides, you don’t have a permit to carry concealed.”
    Bitty smiled. “I do now.”
    “Omigod,” Rayna groaned. “Who do you want to hold your bail money?”
    “Just call Jackson Lee. He’ll take care of it.”
    “Elisabeth Ann Hollandale, stop talking nonsense this minute!” Gaynelle said sternly. Her use of Bitty’s full name got her instant attention. “There are much better ways to deal with this sort of thing than violence. Didn’t we all learn that lesson only a scant few months ago?”
    Gaynelle’s reference to the murders that had taken place shocked some sense back into Bitty. She nodded.
    “You’re right. I’m sorry, Gaynelle.”
    “Very well.” Gaynelle smoothed a wrinkle in her thin, silk-blend skirt and gave a brisk nod of her head.  “We will show Holly Springs and Miranda Watson that the Divas are not only ladies, but smart ladies.”
    “How do you propose to do that?” I wanted to know.
    “Simple. Instead of wasting valuable time talking to the suspects, we will use our common sense to find out which one of them really killed Race Champion.”
     

CHAPTER 6
    At first I didn’t really take Gaynelle seriously. I mean, how on earth would we be able to either prove Naomi Spencer killed her fiancé, or that Trina Madewell did it? It’s not as if we had access to the same legal avenues as the police. And they have years of experience on their side.
    While I understood that Gaynelle feels lingering guilt about one of the murders that occurred a few months back, even though she had no part in it at all, it did seem a bit far-fetched to think we Divas could redeem ourselves by finding out if Naomi or Trina was the one who had killed Race. For one thing, people who wanted to believe Miranda Watson’s vicious innuendoes were going to believe them, and nothing we could do would change that. For another thing, my brush with death and danger had led me to the conclusion that staying out of police business was in my best interests. Yes, I can be quite selfish that way.
    And finally, I was encouraged to spend my free time doing far more pleasant things. Like going to a movie with Kit Coltrane.
    On a nice Saturday night with a breeze blowing hard enough to keep mosquitoes at bay, but not so hard my hair turned me into a punk rocker, we drove up to Southaven. It’s a Mississippi