Divas and Dead Rebels (41 page)

Breck had grown up in the South where good manners are stressed. I could tell it was an effort, but he added politely, “Bitty invited me. May I please speak with her?”

It was said stiffly and somewhat sarcastically, but Gaynelle stepped back and held the door open for him to enter. “Bitty is in the living room. I’m sure you know the way.”

Since the house wasn’t that big, it wouldn’t have been difficult for a complete stranger to find the living room, but Breck just nodded as he walked through the kitchen and dining area and into the living room. Bitty stood next to the huge fieldstone fireplace. When she wants to be, Bitty can be the very model of good manners and discretion. She greeted Breck cordially but not warmly.

“Hello, Breck. Please have a seat.” She indicated a large wingback chair set at an angle to the fireplace.

He glanced around at the rest of us and shook his head. “No, I would rather stand, thank you. I want to know why you came to my house to accuse me of murdering Sturgis and Catherine. My wife is very upset.”

“As she should be,” replied Bitty without a flicker of an eyelash. “She’s married to a murderer.”

Breck looked dumbfounded at Bitty’s cool response. Then he looked absolutely furious. “Do you know I can file a lawsuit against you for slander? I’m a respected coach and a teacher with tenure, and I won’t have any slur against my reputation.”

“You should have thought of that before you murdered the professor and Mary Ann. I mean Catherine.”

I tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped anyway. When I’m nervous, I do that. Bitty’s reference to the old TV show
Gilligan’s Island
was probably involuntary, but it was still something I found funny. I glanced toward Rayna and saw her lips twitch, and I knew I wasn’t alone.

Breck Hartford’s voice rose as he said, “I already told you that I had nothing to do with their deaths, and I’m damn tired of you saying I did!”

Rayna spoke up: “What about Trisha Atwood?”

Hartford’s face went from red to white. He looked as if he’d just been shot with a stun gun. He sounded hoarse when he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“I meant just what I said. What about Trisha Atwood? Does her murder not mean anything to you?”

“Trisha died from an accidental fall.”

“You know better than that,” Rayna replied. “She was killed and her death made to look like an accident.”

“Police investigated. It was ruled an accident,” Breck retorted as he seemed to regain some composure. “Your saying it was murder doesn’t make it true.”

Rayna waved a hand to indicate the rest of us. “I’m not alone. There are others who believe as we do. And before you deny it again, remember that we don’t make these accusations lightly. We have some history of being fairly accurate.”

Breck’s laugh was more a bark of derision. “Oh yes, I’ve heard of you women up there in Holly Springs calling yourselves the Dixie Divas and pretending to solve murders. Most of the time you just get in the way of the police and hamper their investigations. It’s a wonder you haven’t already been arrested and charged with obstruction.”

Since he echoed similar complaints from not only my mother and Jackson Lee but the Holly Springs Police Department, there wasn’t a lot we could say to defend ourselves.

I had been focusing on Breck’s voice since he entered the house, and while I was pretty sure he was who I overheard talking to someone the night the professor was killed, he didn’t sound very much like the caller who had threatened my life. Of course, on the night I had overheard him assuring someone that the professor was dead, the room had been crowded with people and loud music. I couldn’t be a hundred percent certain it
had
been Breck Hartford. And that accusation may never stand up in a court of law. We had to have proof, and our elaborate charade had so far provided very little.

“Mr. Hartford,” I began my part in his interrogation, “isn’t it true that you had contact with Trisha Atwood the night she died? That, in fact, your Visa card was charged with payments to a strip club in Saltillo right outside Tupelo? Let me answer for you—yes to both questions. Trisha was a freshman still staying in the dorms two years ago, and at night earned extra money dancing at a club. She also moonlighted as a private dancer for men who could afford her, like you.”

Hartford grated, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yes. I do. Your Visa card was charged with payments at the club where Trisha worked. You had a large cash withdrawal the same night she died. Five hundred dollars. A friend of Trisha’s said she was excited that night, that she said she was going to earn five hundred dollars for private lap dances at a steady client’s house. Your credit card proves you were a steady customer. Circumstantial evidence now, but trust me, what we don’t know the police do. They’ll soon have enough to charge you with the murder of Trisha Atwood at the least, and with all three murders at most.”

A muscle flexed in Breck’s jaw. I noted that his hands had curled into fists at his sides, and his entire body was tense. “You women are crazy. And if you think I’m going to let you defame me without retaliation, let me assure you that I’ll hire a lawyer and sue you all for slander.”

“You can’t sue someone if it’s the truth,” Bitty interjected. “It’d be like suing me because I’m blonde.”

Breck flicked a glance at her. “If you’re a natural blonde, then I guess I’m a killer. But the possibility of either of those things being true is remote.”

Now, I knew Bitty was a natural blonde, although the color of her hair in recent years was largely due to an expert hairdresser. But there was such an element of certainty in Hartford’s tone that I began to wonder if we were wrong. Yet, how could we be? All the evidence pointed to him. Who else would take a five hundred dollar cash advance from his Visa account to use on a lap dancer except him? The account was in his name only. And I just couldn’t see his wife hiring him a lap dancer anyway. She didn’t seem the type to be that permissive. After all, she’d retaliated in kind when she found out about her husband’s affair with Emily Sturgis. And she knew about Catherine.

Bitty’s eyes had narrowed, and her hand went to her hips as she looked up at Breck Hartford. “I’ll have you know that I
am
a natural blonde, so that must make you a killer!”

“Prove it.”

“We will,” said Gaynelle. When Hartford turned to look at her, she nodded her head and said softly, “
Fiat justitia et pereat mundus
.”

Not being up to date on my Latin, I had no idea what she’d said until Breck said, “The wheels of justice turn slowly, but grind exceedingly fine.”

“Almost.” Gaynelle smiled. “‘Let justice be done though all the world perish,’ is the translation from Ferdinand the First, Holy Roman Emperor.”

A mirthless smile played on his lips as he regarded Gaynelle for a moment with an expression I couldn’t read. Amusement? Irritation? A combination?

“A history lesson along with accusations of murder,” he said finally. “A most intriguing afternoon indeed. I regret that I cannot stay longer, but since I have already wasted an hour of my day listening to crazy conjecture, I intend to go home and call my lawyer.”

“Do that,” said Bitty with a smile. “You’re going to need him.”

Hartford looked momentarily taken aback by her comment, but recovered quickly. “I suggest you call yours as well. If you say one word of this tripe to anyone, and it gets back to me, I’m going to sue all of you for everything you have or ever will have. Keep that in mind.”

It was deflating. I could see our one chance to get a confession or incriminating evidence slipping away. And there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

We were all standing in the living area and had been so intent on trapping Breck Hartford that none of us, not even him, heard the back door opening. It wasn’t until a voice from the kitchen/dining area interrupted us that we knew someone had come into the house. And it wasn’t just any someone. It was Victoria Hartford.

Since I was facing the dining area, I saw her step into the living room. She looked much different than she had earlier. She was wearing navy blue sweats, athletic shoes, and a dark blue knit cap on her head.

“Well,” she said so loudly it made me jump, “isn’t this cozy.”

Breck turned, looking surprised to see his wife. The rest of us froze. Victoria had obviously come prepared. She had a pistol the size of Bitty’s pointed directly at us, and no one wanted to move. It went through my head that she thought we were going to haul him off to the police or maybe tar and feather him. She must have come to his rescue to stop him from confessing, and would drag him out before he could say anything that might be useful.

It never occurred to me that she had a very different plan.

Sounding annoyed, Breck said, “Vicky, what are you doing? Put that thing down and stop being stupid.”

“Did you tell them anything?”

“Of course not.” He glanced at Gaynelle and added, “There isn’t anything to tell. I was just about to leave. You don’t need that gun. They won’t try to stop me.”

“Good God, Breck, you’re so damn stupid,” she said sharply. “Can’t you see that they already know too much?”

“They don’t know anything, and won’t if you’ll just keep your mouth shut,” he grated between clenched teeth.

“As usual, you want to wimp out on me. Again.” Victoria gestured with the gun. “Tie them up. I thought of a way to do this on the drive out here.”

“Did you follow me?” Breck demanded. “I told you I’d take care of this, and you didn’t have to worry.”

“I didn’t need to follow you. I’ve been out here before. What? You think I didn’t know about your affair with Catherine? Please. I know more about you and your silly flings than you ever dreamed. I know about
all
of them.”

Breck had an expression on his face like she’d hit him with a two-by-four. He shook his head after a moment. “This is no time or place to talk about all this, Vic. We can discuss it at home.”

She waggled the barrel of the gun at him. “We’ll discuss it when this is done. Get some duct tape and tie them up. Just their hands. They’ll have to walk to the van.”

“Dammit, Victoria, stop talking! You’re always talking! Can’t you just
shut up
?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say to her. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her eyes narrowed with fury. She took a step forward, and I noticed that the barrel of the gun was shaking in an alarming way.

“Shut up?” she repeated softly. “You’re telling me to shut up?”

“Hell yes, I’m telling you to shut up! You’re going to ruin it all with your stupid big mouth!”

I wanted to tell Breck Hartford that if he kept talking to her that way he was liable to be in serious trouble, but I didn’t dare open my mouth. Victoria Hartford was a woman on the edge, and I was slightly amazed that her husband couldn’t see it. When I stole a glance at Rayna and Gaynelle, I saw that they were well aware of her instability.

Bitty, however, took a step forward to confront Victoria. “Listen, I don’t care if you two argue, but I’ve had enough of this. You both need to take it outside. Or home.”

Victoria didn’t even look at her. Her gaze was on her husband. But she let Bitty know that her interference wasn’t going to be tolerated: “You say one more word, and I’ll shoot you, Bitty.”

Wisely, Bitty stopped where she was and clamped her lips tightly together. I was so proud of her.

Breck stared at his wife in obvious disbelief. “Have you lost your mind? Are you
trying
to get us arrested?”

“If it were left up to you, we’d already be serving time in Parchman. Can’t you do anything right? Why is it always up to me to clean up your messes? Why do I have to do
everything?”

Her voice rose on the last word to almost a shriek. I stood transfixed by her rage. Her face was contorted into something almost unrecognizable.

“Vic . . . calm down.” Breck cleared his throat, and I saw the alarm in his eyes as he put out a hand as if to touch her, then let his arm fall to his side when she gave a sudden jerk as if repulsed. “It’s going to be okay. Just remember why we had to help, okay?”

“Oh, I remember why we had to help,” she spat at him. “Because you’re always a no-show. No matter what Bret did, he could never measure up to you, never be as good as his father because you were the football hero, the only one in the family to graduate from college, the first one to ever become a professor. But did you ever show up for him? For our son? Were you ever there at one of his baseball games? You even missed his high school graduation because you were off with your slut of the month. And then had the nerve to show up afterward to act like the big shot, taking pictures, pretending to be what you should have been all along—a good father. Oh yes, Breck, I remember why we had to help. Do you?”

Despite the chill of the unheated house, beads of sweat dotted Hartford’s upper lip, and his jaw muscles flexed. He sounded slightly hoarse when he said, “I did what I could to keep him from going to jail. I risked my own freedom to help, so don’t forget that.”