just like Rayna to exaggerate so I’d be tricked into going along with this insanity. Staying in a cabin out of a horror movie.”
“Bitty, really, this cannot be it,” I said. Rain-streaked windows had gotten a bit fogged, and I wiped a spot clear with one hand to peer out the window. “I see only one shack. Aren’t there supposed to be several? And a cotton gin? Where’s the gin?’
“I could do with some gin right now,” said Gaynelle from the back seat. She’d volunteered to come along, and had a list of suggestions Rayna had written out for us. Our mission was to be conducted in secrecy. If Rob found out, he would not be a happy man. Rayna, of course, didn’t confide in him that she had gotten us a reservation number and printed out directions. In the confusion of leaving Chen Ling, however, those nicely printed directions had been left behind in the dog’s overnight bag. Yes, she has her own Louis Vuitton overnight bag, complete with clean bibs and special treats.
“You can’t miss it,” Rayna had said when we called for directions. “There’s a gravel drive off the highway a little ways after you go under the overpass. Take it and you should see the shacks and the old cotton gin on your right.”
If not for the gray and black skies, and the hint of really bad weather coming in from across the Mississippi River, it would have been a lot easier to see where we were going. When we’d left Holly Springs the skies had been blue with fat clouds piling up overhead. Now it was just after dark and the weather had turned ugly.
Carolann Barnett, sitting in the back seat next to Gaynelle, said, “I just can’t wait to see this place! I’ve heard nice things about the Shack Up Inn, but haven’t been able to get away from the shop long enough to go anywhere. Now that Rose has come in as my partner, I finally have some free time. Isn’t this fun?”
Since Carolann is a recent member of the Divas, she hasn’t been subjected to some of the other ideas of “fun” we’ve put our membership through. With any luck, Carolann will never come face to face with a dead man while reaching for a coat hanger.
“Carolann,” said Bitty, “your hair takes up my entire rearview mirror. All I can see is red frizz.”
“Oh, sorry. Rain really does do awful things to my hair. I’ll put a scarf over it.”
Gaynelle leaned forward to put a hand on the back of the front seat. “Bitty, Trinket is right. I’m certain you’ve taken the wrong road. This doesn’t look at all like a place of business. It looks deserted.”
Bitty waved a dismissive hand. “Well, of course it does. A man was just murdered in there. No one in their right mind would want to stay in the place.”
“So what does that say about us?” I wondered out loud, but no one answered. It was a rhetorical question anyway. We already knew what was said about us.
“Besides,” Bitty continued, “this has to be it. It’s right past the overpass. It’s a shack.” She squinted through the windshield wipers. “And I think I see the cotton gin behind it a bit. Isn’t that a big building?”
“All I can see is rain,” I muttered, although I thought I saw a huge shape behind the shack. It wasn’t until a sharp bolt of lightning lit up the night sky that I realized the shape was an ominous bank of thunderheads. I scooted down in the front seat until my eyes were level with the car’s door knob. Another crack of lightning turned the air smoky white and left a definite trace of sulphur behind. I could smell it in the car’s intake vents. “That isn’t a cotton gin, Bitty. I think it’s the portal to Hell.”
“You watch too many movies,” was all she replied, though I noticed that she’d shrunk down behind the steering wheel. “It has to be the cotton gin.”
“We’re about to be hit by a tornado. We’re going to end up in Oz or Kansas,” I said. “Stop the car. I’m looking for a ditch to wait it out.”
About the time Bitty opened
“Bitty, really, this cannot be it,” I said. Rain-streaked windows had gotten a bit fogged, and I wiped a spot clear with one hand to peer out the window. “I see only one shack. Aren’t there supposed to be several? And a cotton gin? Where’s the gin?’
“I could do with some gin right now,” said Gaynelle from the back seat. She’d volunteered to come along, and had a list of suggestions Rayna had written out for us. Our mission was to be conducted in secrecy. If Rob found out, he would not be a happy man. Rayna, of course, didn’t confide in him that she had gotten us a reservation number and printed out directions. In the confusion of leaving Chen Ling, however, those nicely printed directions had been left behind in the dog’s overnight bag. Yes, she has her own Louis Vuitton overnight bag, complete with clean bibs and special treats.
“You can’t miss it,” Rayna had said when we called for directions. “There’s a gravel drive off the highway a little ways after you go under the overpass. Take it and you should see the shacks and the old cotton gin on your right.”
If not for the gray and black skies, and the hint of really bad weather coming in from across the Mississippi River, it would have been a lot easier to see where we were going. When we’d left Holly Springs the skies had been blue with fat clouds piling up overhead. Now it was just after dark and the weather had turned ugly.
Carolann Barnett, sitting in the back seat next to Gaynelle, said, “I just can’t wait to see this place! I’ve heard nice things about the Shack Up Inn, but haven’t been able to get away from the shop long enough to go anywhere. Now that Rose has come in as my partner, I finally have some free time. Isn’t this fun?”
Since Carolann is a recent member of the Divas, she hasn’t been subjected to some of the other ideas of “fun” we’ve put our membership through. With any luck, Carolann will never come face to face with a dead man while reaching for a coat hanger.
“Carolann,” said Bitty, “your hair takes up my entire rearview mirror. All I can see is red frizz.”
“Oh, sorry. Rain really does do awful things to my hair. I’ll put a scarf over it.”
Gaynelle leaned forward to put a hand on the back of the front seat. “Bitty, Trinket is right. I’m certain you’ve taken the wrong road. This doesn’t look at all like a place of business. It looks deserted.”
Bitty waved a dismissive hand. “Well, of course it does. A man was just murdered in there. No one in their right mind would want to stay in the place.”
“So what does that say about us?” I wondered out loud, but no one answered. It was a rhetorical question anyway. We already knew what was said about us.
“Besides,” Bitty continued, “this has to be it. It’s right past the overpass. It’s a shack.” She squinted through the windshield wipers. “And I think I see the cotton gin behind it a bit. Isn’t that a big building?”
“All I can see is rain,” I muttered, although I thought I saw a huge shape behind the shack. It wasn’t until a sharp bolt of lightning lit up the night sky that I realized the shape was an ominous bank of thunderheads. I scooted down in the front seat until my eyes were level with the car’s door knob. Another crack of lightning turned the air smoky white and left a definite trace of sulphur behind. I could smell it in the car’s intake vents. “That isn’t a cotton gin, Bitty. I think it’s the portal to Hell.”
“You watch too many movies,” was all she replied, though I noticed that she’d shrunk down behind the steering wheel. “It has to be the cotton gin.”
“We’re about to be hit by a tornado. We’re going to end up in Oz or Kansas,” I said. “Stop the car. I’m looking for a ditch to wait it out.”
About the time Bitty opened
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