The man who got out of the car was tall and slender, and he motioned us to follow him. He opened the front door of the shop with his key and we all marched inside, including Dallas. “Thanks for opening for us, hon,” Dallas said to him. “These ladies need to know if someone rented a wet suit?”
The man was about sixty, and he arched one eyebrow, inviting us to speak.
“Did this woman rent any diving equipment from you?” I showed him a photo of Kathleen on my phone.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” Tinkie asked.
“Absolutely. It’s winter. Not a lot of diving going on except for the search party looking for that drowned woman.”
He was right about that. “Is there anywhere else someone might rent a diving suit?”
Frowning, he considered my question. “Well, there are people with personal gear. Sometimes they get new equipment and dump off the old at Goodwill or a charity. Unless that’s what happened, they’d have to go to a bigger city.” He shook his head. “Or they could order online.”
In other words, what had looked like a great lead was kaput.
“Thanks for looking,” I said, about to put my phone away. I stopped. “Did any of these women buy diving equipment?” While I was there it just made sense to ask about the whole cheaters club.
He flipped through the photos on my phone until he grinned and tapped the screen. “This one, she’s an avid diver. Goes down to Florida regularly and about twice a year dives off an island in the Caribbean.”
I took the phone, expecting to see that he’d picked out Clarissa Olson, who’d already said she was a diver and had shown up at the search in her formfitting wet suit. To my surprise, the woman he’d pointed out was Tulla Tarbutton. I showed Tinkie, whose face lit up.
“Where do folks around here dive?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Rivers are muddy. Only reason to dive there is to look for something lost. The pleasure divers go south to the Gulf waters.”
We thanked the shop owner and headed back to Darla’s vehicle. “Clarissa and Tulla both dive.” I spoke softly to Tinkie.
“Do you think Clarissa or Tulla may have found Kathleen’s cap and planted it back at the B and B?”
“I don’t know what to think. Clarissa was scuba diving in the river during the search. She could have found the hat, brought it out, and left it in the hedge, maybe to lead people to believe Kathleen is still alive.” I clenched my fists in frustration. “I thought we were onto a solid lead, but now I’m not sure.”
“Let’s ask Tulla about it.” Tinkie tapped Dallas on the shoulder as she was about to slide behind the wheel. “Do you know where Tulla Tarbutton lives?”
“It happens that I do.”
“Take us there,” Tinkie said.
28
To my surprise, Tulla lived in an apartment complex on the beltway off the bypass. I’d imagined she’d have a small house in one of the older residential areas, but she’d gone for sleek, modern, impersonal, and no lawn maintenance.
Tinkie knocked on the door and then knocked again. She was antsy, and I wasn’t going to get between her and the door. She knocked a third time.
“Calm down! I’m coming.” Tulla’s voice held annoyance. Good, now we were all aggravated. And it was only going to get worse for her when she opened the door.
She stood in the doorway, feet apart. “You! What are you doing here?”
“We came to talk about scuba diving,” I said as I pushed past her.
“You two have done nothing but make my life a misery. I don’t know why Clarissa hired you, but—”
“She thinks one of her friends is trying to kill her,” Tinkie cut in. “So we’re either your best friend or the posse on your tail. It all depends on your answers to my questions.” She sidestepped past Tulla and joined me in a living room completely devoid of any personality except for a sad ficus tree that was surrounded by a mountain of dead leaves. One fell as I was looking at it.
“I’m calling security.” Tulla went to pick up her phone, but Tinkie struck first and swiped it.
“Give me that.” Tulla’s cheeks flared with red spots of anger.
“When we’re done.” Tulla didn’t know Tinkie, but had she known her, she would have been wary about that glint of blue steel in Tinkie’s wide eyes.
“You can’t—”
“I suggest you sit down and listen to our questions.” I pointed to an ugly armchair and she dropped into it. “Now, tell us about scuba diving. Have you been in the river since Kathleen went overboard?”
Her mouth opened and her eyes blinked. “How did you know I liked to dive?”
“We know a lot more than anyone suspects. When was the last time you went diving?” I asked.
“It’s been almost five months. I didn’t make my Thanksgiving trip to the Caymans this year.”
“Do you ever dive with Clarissa?”
She looked away for a split second, just long enough for me to see the hurt rush over her face. “We used to dive together. Not anymore. Our schedules conflict.”
“Did you hire Mr. Horn to dump cement in Bricey’s car?” A swift change of subject was sometimes a good tactic to throw a suspect off her stride.
“I—I,” she sputtered.
“We know you were wearing a wig that you also tried to plant on Kathleen.”
She bit her bottom lip and tears welled in her eyes. “Okay, yes. Bricey just rubbed my nose in that car all the time. I slept with Bart Crenshaw, too, and all I got for my trouble was diamond earrings and a UTI.”
“Oh, brother.” Tinkie flopped in the chair across from Tulla. “You destroyed a beautiful car because you felt you hadn’t gotten your due?”
“I thought Bricey had it insured. I just wanted to hear
