Demon Hunting in Dixie. Lexi George

disturbed, Adara. Is there a problem?” Brand asked.

      “Yeah, there’s a problem. Dwight Farris is missing in action, and he’s the dead guy. I don’t know how things work where you’re from, but around here, we don’t usually have a funeral without a body, not without the police and the district attorney being involved.” She pointed a finger at Shirley and Bessie Mae. “Those two are the wife and girlfriend of the deceased. Shirley’s the one on top with her dress up around her waist. She’s Dwight’s wife. The other one is the girlfriend, Bessie Mae. The latest girlfriend, I should say. Dwight believed in spreading the love, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we get here this morning and Dwight is nowhere to be found. Shirley thinks Bessie Mae stole him, maybe to have one for the road.” Addy shrugged. “And that’s not the worst part. Turns out Shirley already removed Dwight’s pocket rocket. Seems she has ideas of keeping Dwight all to herself in the hereafter.”

      Bitsy stiffened. “Adara Jean, do not refer to that particular part of Mr. Farris’s anatomy as a pocket rocket. It’s vulgar.”

      Addy felt her cheeks grow warm. “Sorry, Mama.”

      Brand frowned. “Pocket rocket? He was armed?”

      “No,” Addy said. “I was talking about his . . . his, you know.”

      “I do not know.”

      “For crying out loud, don’t make me say it in front of my mama! She’ll have a fit.”

      “Adara, I am not being purposefully obtuse, I don’t—” He stopped, his expression growing pained. “Oh. I see. She unmanned him. Not a common mourning ritual in this realm, I hope?”

      “Certainly not.” Bitsy straightened her skirt. “Corwin’s has been in business for more than fifty years, and nothing, nothing like this has happened before.”

      “Tramp!” Shirley yelled, pounding Bessie Mae’s head into the floor.

      “Sicko weenie whacker,” Bessie Mae flung back.

      Hooked together like a couple of love bugs, they rolled into a standing spray of snapdragons, Queen Anne’s lace, and asparagus ferns, and sent it crashing into the floor.

      Addy winced. “There goes another one.”

      “I will handle this,” Brand said.

      He strode across the room to the two snarling, spitting women, and touched each of them on the neck. They stiffened and went limp. Bessie Mae rolled off Shirley and flopped onto her back. She stared up at Brand like a gigged fish. Shirley stared at him, too. Her tiny pink mouth formed a perfect “o.”

      “Guck,” Bessie Mae said, gaping at Brand.

      Plink, plink. Shirley’s Kewpie doll eyes opened and closed. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her dress was wadded up under her armpits, her Playtex 18-hour bra showed, she’d lost a shoe and there was a big hole in one of her support stockings.

      “Am I dead?” She gazed up at Brand with a worshipful expression on her plump, pink face.

      “No.”

      He helped Shirley to her feet. Gravity kicked in, and her dress slid down, but even the forces of nature could only do so much. The garment caught on her hips and hung there.

      “You sure? ’Cause you look like an angel to me. I was thinking maybe I’d done been raptured like Dwight, praise the Lord.”

      Brand helped Bessie Mae wobble upright on her purple stiletto heels. Her rhinestone barrette dangled over one bruised eye. “Raptured?” she said. “What are you on about, Shirley? Dwight ain’t been raptured.”

      “Then where is he, you slut monkey? Did you take him?”

      “I didn’t take him, you crazy old bat. Tell you what happened though. Dwight probably got up and left when he saw what kind of cheap-ass casket you plan on burying him in. You always were a tightwad. I’m surprised you didn’t dig a hole and stick him in the backyard. Spring for something better than a shoe box and some tissue paper, and maybe he’ll come back.”

      “Cheap?” Shirley screeched.

      “Please, ladies, no more.” Bitsy looked close to tears. The chief of police and a second officer stepped through the door with Shep at their heels. Bitsy’s expression eased. “Carl, thank goodness you’re here.” She hurried over. “I’ve been at my wits’ end.”

      Chief Carl E. Davis smiled at her. “Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, Hibiscus, we’ll get this all sorted out.”

      Addy blinked. Hibiscus? Nobody called Mama by her given name, not even Daddy. What was going on here? Did Bitsy have a boyfriend? The very concept was mind blowing.

      “Oh, Car-lee,” Bitsy said, “it’s been awful. First we find out Dwight’s body is missing, and then these two start fighting and nearly destroy the place. I am so upset.”

      Car-lee? It wasn’t Sugar Scrotum, but in the Bitsy universe it was close.

      The chief patted Bitsy on the hand. “There, there, Hibiscus, you let me take care of this. Everybody stay put, until Officer Curtis and I sort this thing out.” He pointed to a man sporting a powder-blue tuxedo jacket and a mullet who was trying to ooze out of the room. “That means you, too, Dinky Farris. I want to talk to everyone here.”

      Bitsy gave him a misty smile. “Thank you, Car-lee. I know I can count on you.”

      He motioned to the other officer. “Dan, you stay here with these good folks while I talk to Ms. Brown and Mrs. Farris in another room.”

      “Right, Chief.”

      “The Magnolia Room is available, if you like,” Bitsy said quickly.

      “That will be fine.” He gave Bitsy a conspiratorial wink and ushered Shirley and Bessie Mae out into the hall.

      Bitsy turned back to them. “Well, this has certainly been an interesting morning. You handled that rather well, Mr. Davinci.”

      Addy’s stomach lurched. There was a speculative gleam in Mama’s eyes when she looked at Brand. “Dalvahni, Mama.”

      “Of course, Mr. Dalvahni. What is it you do for a living?”

      Oh, Lord, the interrogation had begun. “He’s in the military, Mama. Special Forces.”

      “I knew it. That’s where he learned that Jedi nerve pinch thing, isn’t it? My, that was impressive.”

      “It’s a Vulcan nerve pinch, Mama, and a Jedi mind trick.”

      Bitsy waved her hand. “Whatever. I’m sure Mr. Dalvahni knows what I mean.” Her lips settled in a determined line. “I want to know all about you, Mr. Dalvahni. Where are you from? Who are your folks?”

      “I told you, Mama, he’s here for the Farris funeral.”

      “Oh, yes, that’s right.” Some of the sparkle left Bitsy’s eyes. “Kin to the Farrises are you?”

      “No.”

      The sparkle sprang back to life. “Of course you aren’t related to them. Silly old me to even ask,” she said. “Are you a friend of the family, then?”

      “No.”

      Bitsy tapped her foot. “Not a big talker, are you, Mr. Dalvahni.”

      “No.”

      “He’s on assignment, Mama.”

      “Assignment?” Bitsy’s eyes widened. “It’s that Dinky Farris, isn’t it? Did you see that hair and that awful coat he was wearing? Powder-blue crushed velvet. In the summer. To a funeral.” She shuddered. “Tacky. What’s he into, drugs?”

      “Drugs” became the longest word in the English language when Bitsy said it. Druuuugs.

      “I do not know this Dinky Farris. I hunt the djegrali.”