Divas and Dead Rebels Read Online Free Page B

deception.
    Apparently having recovered from her moment of fright, Bitty said cheerfully, “I declare, all this fuss about some missing bed linens is enough to make my head hurt. It’s really nothing, officers, and I’ll replace their things before I leave Oxford. I’m not about to let a little thing like this ruin my visit, and especially the big game. We’re favored to beat Mississippi State by six points.”
    The older officer flipped his book closed and nodded. “I hear ya on that score.”
    If there’s one thing men understand, it’s football. The game inspires a dedication bordering on obsession with far too many of them. Bitty knows this. All Southern women know this, whether young or old, married or single. Football ranks right up there with beer, guns, fast cars and Jesus. Not necessarily in that order. The Top Five of Southern males rarely varies. It doesn’t really matter which brand of beer, caliber of gun, race car driver or religious preference, pigskin loyalty is unwavering.
    Those of us who attended, or have family who attended, Ole Miss are just as fervently loyal as anyone else in the country is to their alma mater. Ole Miss and Mississippi State are long-time rivals. While they aren’t that far apart geographically, fans are about as far apart as you can get when it comes to their home team. This football game was about old rivalries as well as a ranking in the SEC.
    It wasn’t until Bitty had walked the officers across the small room to the door and held it for them while they exited with a farewell recommendation to keep the doors locked that I drew in a deep breath. I think I’d been holding it too long. I felt definitely lightheaded.
    Bitty shut the dorm room door, flipped the lock, then turned and leaned back against it. “Good God, I thought we were sunk for sure,” she said, and I didn’t know what to say in response.
    Did she mean to tell Brandon and Clayton what we’d done? I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. But then, neither had been the idea of shoving a dead man into the back of a moving van, and I’d helped do that, so maybe my judgment was impaired.
    “Boys,” Bitty said as she pushed away from the door and crossed to her sons, “did you leave a . . . mess . . . in your room before you left for class? Either of you?”
    “Well,” said Clayton, “I admit it was pretty messy when we left, but we meant to get back in time to clean it before you got here.”
    “Clay has cleaning duty this week,” Brandon said promptly. “I did our laundry.”
    “Is that why the laundry cart was in your room?” I asked.
    Brandon looked puzzled. “Laundry cart? Oh, you mean that Motel Six thing that some of the guys brought back? No, ma’am, it was out in the hallway when we left this morning. Why would someone bring it in here?”
    “It’s not the laundry cart that worries me,” Bitty said tartly, and both boys looked at her in surprise. “What do you know about the man in Clayton’s closet?”
    They both looked stunned, but it was Brandon who said, “What? Someone was snooping in here? Why didn’t you tell the police? That was probably who stole our—”
    Bitty held up a hand. “ I took your blankets and clothes, and I’ll tell you why in a few minutes. Right now I want your sworn word that neither one of you knew anything about the man in your closet.”
    “No, ma’am!” they both said in unison.
    Clayton added, “Why would we let some guy mess around in our closet, anyway? It sounds stupid.”
    The expressions on their faces were genuine, I thought, and I’d spent a lot of the summer in their company and felt pretty sure I could tell if they were lying. Not that I’m an expert on liars, because quite a few people have managed to fool me, I can tell you that. It’s embarrassing how many, in fact.
    “Bitty,” I said, “I’d like to speak to you privately, please.”
    “In a minute, Trinket.”
    “No, we need to talk now . Before you say anything