Free Dixie Diva Blues by Virginia Brown Page B

went through the shoes she’d brought with her to find a pair suitable for a killer. She chose a pair of pink Nikes. Go figure.
    Once more we went through our little play. I hovered by the plaid couch, Bitty hid behind the door, and Carolann demanded entry. This time, when Carolann burst into the room as Rob, Bitty hit her over the head with the stick, and I automatically lifted my hand and fired my banana.
    That was it. That’s what was off about the whole thing. Why would Larry not have fired at the killer if it all happened like Rob said? Anyone would have done so if faced with the prospect of being killed, I was pretty sure. But no bullets had been fired at either Rob or the killer, apparently, since the police had found evidence of only one shot being fired. Had Larry fired and missed, there should be a bullet hole somewhere.
    Intrigued by my discovery, I moved toward the door. Carolann sat on the floor in front of it, and Bitty hovered over her apologizing for having actually struck her with the stick. The weapon was a wooden spoon big enough to stir a number eight washtub.
    “You were supposed to pretend, Bitty,” Gaynelle said with a shake of her head, and Bitty nodded contritely.
    “I know. I got carried away. I’m so sorry, Carolann. Does it hurt very badly?”
    “Well, it doesn’t feel good,” Carolann said as she sat up. “I dropped my cell phone-gun. Do you see it somewhere?”
    While they searched for the pretend murder weapon, I inspected the door, the wall behind the door, the frame, even the window frame. Nothing. No sign of a bullet hole. I felt sure that if there had been one, the Clarksdale police would have already found it anyway. I mulled all this over while Carolann tried to reassemble her cell phone. It had exploded into several pieces when she dropped it, battery going one way, SIM card going another, and the plastic back skidding up under the couch where I had just been standing a few moments before.
    It occurred to me as I stood in the same place Rob’s assailant had stood, that Larry Whittier must have had a clear shot at his killer. Why hadn’t he taken it? Rob had said he had a gun. Did he even try to use it? If he had, he could hardly have missed at this close range. The faint chalk outline of his body was barely six feet away.
    Several possibilities came to mind. One, that Larry Whittier was a really bad shot or extremely unlucky guy. Two, his gun hadn’t been loaded. Three, Rob had been wrong about him holding a gun. Four—and not at all likely—Rob had lied for some reason.
    I didn’t really think he’d do that. He’d always seemed a pretty honest guy, and I felt sure Rayna wouldn’t be with him if he were not.
    But the facts were that Rob’s pistol had been used, and one of the bullets ended up in Larry Whittier. So if Rob had been struck from behind, who had been holding the gun when it murdered Larry? The most likely answer was the unknown assailant behind the door. All we had to do was find him.
    “You know,” said Gaynelle thoughtfully, “it seems to me that Whittier was either part of a conspiracy and was double-crossed, or that he was forced to play along with the person who killed him.”
    I looked at her and nodded. “I’ve been thinking along those lines as well. Maybe he was the bait to get Rob in the door. But if so, why? Is there a reason Rob has been setup, or did he just stumble into a situation?”
    Gaynelle nodded slowly. “Rob never heard anyone else, but someone was hiding behind that door and hit him, so it may well be that he was lured here for some reason. Or that when he tracked down Larry Whittier, he found him at a most opportune time for the killer.”
    “What a nightmare, and all because Rob showed up at just the wrong time.”
    We looked at each other. I’m sure our minds were traveling in the same general direction, that Rob was charged with a murder he hadn’t committed because he’d tracked down a guy for a misdemeanor crime. There