Murder in the Pachysandra

by Linda A. Lavid

  “It wasn’t exactly a visit. I didn’t stay long. There wasn’t any place to sit and he was working on caulking a window.”

  “I’m sure he appreciated your thoughtfulness.”

  “Oh, yes. When he led me to the door, he thanked me more than once.”

  Hattie smiled politely. Was Ralph being thankful for the pie or for Muriel to leave? She suspected both.

  “Anyway, it went well. Now I know whenever I bake something, I can take it over. And why stop at dessert?”

  Hattie’s breath caught. The Muriel-Ralph scenario could get gnarly.

  “So, this morning I took out my recipe book and looked up lasagna. Men like lasagna. Right?”

  Hattie thought about Orin and Howie. “Yes. I’d say so.”

  Muriel clapped her hands. “It’s settled. I’m cooking tonight.”

  Hattie didn’t want to burst Muriel’s bubble. “Sounds like a plan.” She buttoned her coat. “Ready?”

  Muriel heaved herself off the couch. “Yeah. Let’s get our groove on.”

  Foxy Roxy’s was tucked between an insurance company and Winnie’s. The last time Hattie had been inside was when it was a stationery shop. She had often gone there to select cards for holidays, birthdays, anniversaries; cards she had long since abandoned after Orin died and celebrations became more difficult to acknowledge with her newly-acquired, lone signature: Hattie.

  A sing-song chime rang as Hattie and Muriel entered. Roxanne stood at a high desk, looking impeccable in a violet sweater. She gave them a big smile. “My two favorite neighbors. About time you paid a visit.”

  Muriel bounded forward. “Better late than never.”

  Hattie looked over the crowd. It was sparse. One young man was cutting a woman’s hair. Another customer, with flat shiny papers on her head, read a magazine.

  “What can I do for you today?”

  “Make us ravishing,” Muriel said.

  Hattie smiled. “If that’s possible.”

  Roxanne laughed. “We’ll do our best, but all you ladies need are a little cherry on top.”

  Muriel beamed.

  “Is this a good time?” Hattie asked. “We’re not in any hurry.”

  “It’s perfect. Tuesday mornings are one of our slow days.”

  Darn, she hadn’t considered that.

  Roxanne clicked out from behind the desk. She wore a charcoal-gray pencil skirt with remarkably high heels in a color, Hattie could only describe as, purple peppermint. “Let me show you where you can hang your stuff.”

  After jostling out of their clumsy winter coats, Roxanne led them down a hallway to an opened door.

  “Here’s where we do our manicures and pedicures.”

  Hattie and Muriel poked their heads inside.

  “Say what?” Muriel laughed. “You got little bathtubs for people’s feet?” She looked at Hattie. “How cute is that?”

  Hattie smiled. She had never seen anything like them.

  “We have an ionizer in here so the fumes don’t become overwhelming. And you can see the color selection is extensive.”

  The expansive ledges held colorful bottles of nail polish that ranged well beyond the reds and pinks she had known.

  Roxanne turned farther down the hall and opened another door. What looked like an iron lung loomed in the center of a dark room.

  “Here’s the tanning bed.”

  Hattie didn’t see an opening on the machine. With disbelief, she asked. “Do people lie inside?”

  Roxanne laughed. “Yep. It opens up like a big suitcase.”

  Muriel jumped in. “Or a casket.”

  Roxanne laughed. “Now Muriel, don’t knock it until you’ve tried.”

  “Hattie, remember those prehistoric waffle irons where the lid would come down and the batter would ooze out from the sides. That would be me inside one of these things. I’d rather go to Jamaica.”

  The three women laughed.

  Roxanne crossed the hall and opened another door. “Last but not least is our spa room.”

  “Wow,” Muriel said walking inside. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  Wide-eyed, Hattie agreed.

  “Hattie, look at the ceiling.”

  A domed midnight sky was filled with hundreds of tiny white lights. They had entered a night-lit enchanted forest.

  “It’s all about ambience and setting the stage for a getaway retreat. I insulated the walls and have special music. Not the pop stuff that’s played in the main salon.”

  Hattie’s attention was drawn to a wall-mounted fountain. Water trickled into a pool of floating petals.

  “Lovely,” Hattie said.

  Muriel grimaced. “Makes me want to pee.”

  Hattie stiffened. Her friend’s humor could get them thrown out.

  She looked at Roxanne who continued without a second thought. “I first painted the walls, but then found these woodland panels. It’s a large area. They cozy up the place. I’ve ordered bamboo dividers to separate the stations.” Roxanne walked around the room. “Here’s the space for massage and body wraps. This section will be for waxing, facials. There are sinks in all these cabinets. I want patrons to be immersed into a unique sensory experience.”

  Like school children, Hattie and Muriel spun around taking in the sights.

  “Still a work in progress. I was hoping to be in business before the holidays, but I’m now shooting for Valentine’s Day.”

  At the far end of the room tucked inside an alcove was a large tub. Subtle lighting and candles lined the walls.

  “This is the centerpiece.” The three women approached. “It’s a hydro massage bath.”

  Muriel’s eyes widened. “This is huge. I’d even fit.”

  Roxanne smiled. “I should warn you. It’s not for peeing.”

  Muriel stalled, seemingly embarrassed. “Of course not. I would never.”

  Roxanne’s eyes gleamed playfully. “Muriel, I know that.”

  Muriel’s shoulders relaxed.

  Hattie suspected the tub had been recently used. Moist air held a scent of vanilla. Some towels and a flowery robe were puddled on the floor. Without a word, Roxanne picked them up and dropped them into a wicker hamper. Hattie and Muriel exchanged quick glances. Thankfully, Muriel didn’t say anything.

  “I’m working on the price list and interviewing staff. Please keep me in mind if you want to be pampered.”

  “Most def. Hattie, this is so exciting. And just around the corner too!”

  Roxanne led them out of the spa into the main salon. Moments later they stood in front of the young man. “This is Carlos, our very own coiffeur, colorist, and general bon vivant.”

  His flashing eyes lit up the room. “Hello my little truffles.”

  Muriel giggled.

  Roxanne continued. “The two of us will be working with you today. What would you like?”

  Hattie wanted to stay as long as possible. She blurted, “The works.”

  Muriel agreed. “Same here.”

  “Is there a special occasion coming up?”

  Hattie looked at Muriel.

  “Not exactly an occasion, but I met a man. Well, not recently. I’ve known him.”

  Carlos jumped in. “Perfect! I know exactly what men like. Muri-elle,” he said with a French accent, “I will bring springtime to your face and a goddess’s beauty to your skin.”

  A blush rose into Muriel’s cheeks.

  “…with eyes the color of stardust and plump luscious lips.”

  “Really? Okay, I’m in.”

  Roxanne smiled. “It’s settled. We’ll do a cut and color with some styling and makeup. Grab two seats and we’ll get started.”

  An hour later, Hattie and Muriel were caped and installed into chairs. Two women had left but four more gathered.

  Hattie spoke to Roxanne. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “I hope it wasn’t anything I said yesterday.”

  “Oh no. I enjoyed our visit. I hope I wasn’t too much of an imposition
. I don’t normally barge in.”

  “You didn’t barge in. It was a pleasure seeing you after my other visitor.”

  Hattie nodded in agreement. “I’m so glad we came. The last couple of days have been awful since that poor boy was found.”

  Carlos shook his head. “Yes. A shame.”

  “Did you know him?” Hattie asked.

  “No, but Roxanne was telling me.”

  Not far off, a woman reading a magazine spoke up. “He was a wonderful boy. Delivered my papers for years.”

  Hattie turned. “Same here. Did you happen to see him on Sunday?”

  The lady shook her head. “No. I heard it was a drug overdose.”

  Hattie exchanged a glance with Muriel.

  Muriel spoke up. “Not true.”

  “I could hardly believe it myself, but he was found with track marks.”

  Muriel confronted the woman. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Whole neighborhood’s talking about it.”

  Muriel huffed. “The whole neighborhood is wrong.”

  Ignoring Muriel, the woman continued. “It’s a problem no one is talking about. The high school. A lot of goings on over there.”

  Hattie interjected. “Do you know if anyone actually spoke to him on Sunday?”

  The woman shrugged. Another piped in. “Heroin.”

  “Excuse me?” Hattie said.

  “It’s an epidemic. Cheaper than prescription drugs.” One woman said.

  “I saw a program on TV about it…” Another woman added.

  Soon the conversation turned into a heated discussion about drugs, kids, rap music, with Muriel leading the charge. Off track with little to add, Hattie kept quiet. Her plan to garner information about Jason wasn’t panning out.

  Roxanne broke the silence. “What do you normally do to style your hair?”

  Hattie was embarrassed to say. “I wash it.”

  Roxanne nodded politely.

  “I then dry it with a towel.”

  “Excellent! Blow drying your hair can make it brittle. Do you use conditioner?”

  “Conditioner?”

  “It’s used after shampoo. I’ll give you some. Now I’d like to cut it so you don’t have to do anything. Just blot your hair with a towel, add a little spray and scrunch.”

  “Sounds like I could manage that.”

  Roxanne looked at Hattie through the mirror. “It will be short, but modern and easy to maintain. It will be a change, but I think you’ll be very pleased.”

  Muriel called out. “Do it, Hattie.”

  Hattie agreed and took the plunge.

  After a few minutes, one woman spoke to another. “Where did you hear it was drugs?”

  “My neighbor Marilyn from across the street. Her daughter goes to the same high school.”

  Muriel butted in. “Jason died on our very own street. We’ve spoken with the detective himself and he said nothing is certain until the testing comes back.”

  Another woman called out. “He had drugs on him and a lot of money.”

  Hattie turned around abruptly. “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “Well,” she said, “my son-in-law who works at Winnie’s called me and told me to keep my doors locked. And that he heard there was a serious drug problem in the area.”

  Muriel piped in. “Since when?”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s fairly evident now. I mean if Jason, the nicest kid around was found with drugs, who else is involved? Tip of the iceberg, I’d say.”

  Roxanne suddenly became silent.

  Muriel huffed. “He was an exceptional boy. How can people be so quick to judge?”

  “Facts are facts.”

  “You want facts?” Muriel looked to Hattie. “Tell them.”

  Hattie didn’t want to elaborate, but someone had to set the record straight. “I found him in my backyard.”

  The women grew silent.

  Hattie took a deep breath. “Something was clearly very wrong.” She relayed to everyone what she had seen.

  When Hattie finished, the woman closest asked. “How awful. So, what are you saying?”

  Before Hattie could answer, Muriel blurted out. “That poor child was murdered.”

  The woman reared back. “Murdered? Here? That’s not possible.”

  Another woman piped in. “Doesn’t sound like a murder to me.”

  Hattie looked at the woman. “How so?”

  “Was there a struggle? You didn’t see any bruises on him.”

  Muriel interjected. “Nonsense. He was wearing a coat, lying on the ground. There could have been plenty of bruises. Just because Hattie didn’t see any doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.”

  The woman shrugged. “Just sayin’. I watch a lot of police shows and when someone’s murdered there’s plenty of physical evidence.”

  Muriel spoke up. “Like what?”

  “For one thing. Were there any defensive wounds?”

  Hattie felt stupid. Defensive wounds? “What do you mean?”

  “Cuts or bruises on his hands that he would have used to protect himself during an attack.”

  Hattie slumped. There was no evidence that she had noticed. He looked like he had fallen.

  The woman continued. “Jason was a young man, tall and strong. Don’t you think he would have tried to defend himself?”

  Muriel piped in. “Maybe it was a surprise attack. Came up suddenly.”

  Hattie got quiet. If Jason had been shot, it could have happened from a distance. But if he died from an overdose, it had to be close and personal. Either he didn’t have time to react or hadn’t noticed what was happening. A chill ran through her. Or…could he have known the killer?” A chime interrupted her thoughts. She looked toward the door.

  Roxanne called out. “Hey Scott.”

  Scott beamed. “Hey Roxanne. How you doing today?”

  “Fine.”

  He walked to the desk and placed a rubber-banded package of mail onto the counter. Glancing at Hattie, he squinted and smiled. “Mrs. M., is that you?”

  Hattie looked into the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Her hair stuck out every which way like a pink porcupine. “I think so.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Feeling silly, Hattie braved a smile. “Getting a makeover.”

  Scott’s glance passed from her to Roxanne. “You’re in great hands.”

  Roxanne spun the chair, evaluated Hattie’s hair, and snipped a few more ends.

  “Hey, Scott,” said the woman by the table.

  Scott turned. “Hey, Mrs. Castle.”

  “So, do you think the paperboy was murdered?”

  Scott reared back. “Murdered? Where did you hear that?”

  The woman pointed to Hattie. “She found him and thinks he was murdered.”

  Scott’s eyes widened in Hattie’s direction. “Wow. Did the police find something?”

  Muriel’s booming voice interjected. “The police are worthless.”

  Scott looked beyond Hattie. “Muriel? Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “Dumb clucks. As my mother would say.”

  “Did you speak to the detective?” Scott asked.

  “He hung up on us. Public servant! My arse!”

  “Jeez, Muriel. They’re just trying to do their job.”

  Hattie stayed quiet. The last thing she needed was to get between Scott and Muriel.

  Muriel continued. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  Scott sighed. “Whatever you say.”

  Mrs. Castle spoke up. “There was no sign of a struggle.”

  Scott nodded. “That’s certainly a consideration.”

  “Plenty people get killed without a struggle,” Muriel said. “Not brain surgery.”

  “Really,” Scott said. “How?”

  “Poison for one. Drowning. Suffocation. Shall I go on?”

  Scott rolled his eyes.

  “Or how about being pushed off a bridge, down the stairs.”<
br />
  Scott laughed nervously. “I think this conversation is too early in the day for me.”

  “That’s the problem with people,” Muriel chided. “They’re closeminded.”

  For the first time, Scott stared Muriel down. “Okay, Muriel. What do you know that the police don’t?”

  Muriel grew quiet.

  Scott continued. “For a murder you need material evidence. Manner of death, along with a motive. And that’s just the beginning.”

  Hattie glanced at Muriel. Her friend’s face was getting red. Not a good sign. Please stay calm.

  “Police then have to find suspects, round them up, gather evidence, see if they have enough for an indictment, then go to court and prove the case beyond reasonable doubt. You don’t do that in three days.”

  “Blah. Blah. Go ahead and defend them.”

  “All I’m saying—”

  “Who are you trying to protect?”

  Scott reared back. “Protect? What are you talking about?”

  The woman by the table called out. “My cousin works for the police. I’m gonna call him. See what he knows.”

  “Good idea,” Muriel said. “They need to be held accountable.”

  Scott shook his head. “I can’t imagine they’d talk about an open case.”

  “My dear boy,” Muriel’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “that’s the problem. It’s already a closed case from what I can tell.”

  Mrs. Castle called out. “Whatever. All I’m saying, if it’s a murder, the community needs to know.”

  Scott gave an exasperated sigh. “Suit yourselves.” He headed out and waved to no one in particular. “Have a nice day ladies.”

  After the door closed, Muriel looked at Hattie. “That guy annoys me. So goody two-shoes.”

  Roxanne spoke up. “Let’s take a break.”

  “He’s a jerk. Always has been. Always will be.”

  “Now Muriel,” Roxanne said. “Please, can we talk about something else? What do you think about your hair?”

  Muriel crooked her head. “It’s kinda dark.”

  Carlos jumped in. “Have you been to Paris lately?”

  “Not since the Concorde bellied up.” Muriel said dryly. “If a flight is longer than three hours, I’m out.”

  He stooped to her shoulder and gazed into her reflection. “My little pomme. It’s about contrast. Too light and you would disappear. This shows off your beautiful skin.”