“Sanders!” Betina said, laughing. She was getting the chair ready for him. He’d come in for his weekly scalp treatment, which was little more than a head wash. He’d been happy to wait while we performed triage on Lucille Braxton, which he saw as free entertainment.
Being retired and seventy-two, Sanders wasn’t usually in a rush to do anything, unless he was running off to his sky diving class. I’m not sure that his weekly visit to Betina’s chair was about much more than enjoying having Betina’s hands on his head for a while, but who cared?. A lot of what people come in a hair salon for revolves as much around human contact in some form or another as much as it does getting a certain look. Whatever it was Sanders got from it you could tell that they both enjoyed his visits.
“So you think green hair is sexy?” Betina asked him.
“Can be. Just offering up a male point of view that might be of use in this hen house,” he chuckled. “That woman knows that she looks ordinary enough so she gets strange haircuts hoping people will give her a second look. Then she accidentally finds herself with a look that does get attention and she freaks out.” He grinned. “For what it’s worth, yes I thought the green hair made that woman as sexy as she is gonna look.”
“It made her stand out like… like a Christmas taco,” I said.
Sanders tipped his head. “I figure it says something about a person when she doesn’t mind standing out.”
“Anything good?” Nellie asked.
He chuckled. “It tells me that she is bold and exciting.”
“Which is not Lucille Braxton,” I said. “She wants people to admire her when she has a look that she likes. Most people think that way.”
He shrugged. “Just tossing in my three cents.”
“Your precious man’s perspective,” Nellie said.
“Get in the chair, Sanders,” Betina said.
The Bald Eagle grinned, rubbed his bald dome and headed toward the chair. “Well, all I can do is offer the perspective of an old guy who likes women,” he said. “You ladies get to decide if it is useful or valuable.”
“That sounds right to me,” Nellie said.
CHAPTER SIX
Lunchtime
When I took my lunch break I wanted to think, so I left to go for a walk through the park. It was cool, with the high reaching a sizzling 56 degrees, but the sky was clear and the air fresh. It felt more like fall than winter. That’s one reason Louisiana gets so many snow birds. Other than it getting cool when it rains, this is about as nasty as winter gets. We don’t get many snowbirds in this town, although they do come to Louisiana. Ellen Hart told me that on her trip to Baton Rouge she’d talked to the owner of an RV park about putting one in Knockemstiff to attract them here.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Other than sleepy, small town life, the big attraction here is the swamp. The State web site says that Louisiana has nearly two dozen state parks that offer fishing, camping, and bird watching. Now, my personal experience in the nearby parks, like Tickfaw State Park, are that they are mostly swamps. Even the web site casually mentions that people going canoeing can expect to see alligators and turtles. They don’t mention that the alligators can see you as well.
At any rate, I’m sure how that will go over with New Yorkers in Winnebagos. Ellen wasn’t sure the RV park owner in Baton Rouge was all that keen to expand to Knockemstiff so maybe he had his doubts too.
“He wondered how he’d find employees in a town of less than 800,” she said.
“I’d wonder that too,” I told her. “Most of the businesses in town are owner operated, and run with part-time help.”
So snowbird tourism, like so many things, was a definite maybe for the vague and uncertain future of Knockemstiff.
On my way to the park I’d picked up some of those green and red tacos and a spiced Indian Chai from Parambets’ store and I sat on a bench to enjoy them in the fresh air. Of course, no sooner had I sat down that I heard someone call my name.
“Yoo hoo, Savannah.” I turned my head and saw Nadine Hines approaching. Even at a distance I could see that she had heard something or seen something that she couldn’t quite contain. Gossip tends to bubble out of the woman, and working for Chief Tanner as his secretary, although she has promoted herself to the title of assistant, she hears about anything nefarious and criminal that happens. Given the nature of our little town that used to mean she’d have the juicy details of some petty crime about once a month. Our recent murder spree, if you consider two murders a spree, had wet her appetite for bigger things and now she suffered mightily during the crime droughts.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” she said. Of course, she would’ve said hat to whoever she ran into, but it was nice to hear she would seek me out.
“And now you have.”
“The strangest thing happened.”
“Do tell.”
“Janet Tikkermann went to see Ellen Hart the other day.”
“Is she selling her house?”
“No, Janet went to see Ellen in her capacity as mayor. She wanted to complain about the city’s Christmas decorations. Apparently she had nothing better to do than watch the crew put them up and she decided they were vulgar. Of course anything that even suggests Christmas offends her. Ellen told her they weren’t religious so they were okay, but Janet insisted on filing a formal complaint demanding they be taken down. Now of course the law being what it is these days, they weren’t even Christmas decoration, but holiday decorations.”
“The same tinsel and bells by any other name.”
Nadine grinned. “I suppose so, but all the wording says, ‘happy holidays’ and there aren’t any religious iconography at all.”
“Iconography?”
Nadine’s knowing smile told me she’d researched this. “I was a paralegal when I lived in New Orleans. From time to time Ellen asks me to do some research, just check out the legal background. And, according to the Supreme Court of our great country, Santas, elves, reindeer, and Mrs. Clauses are secular, not religious symbols. Crèches and menorahs are religious and have no place in the displays put up on city property.”
“That’s good to know. I think.”
“The ACLU is big on this stuff.”
“I see, but what about objecting on grounds of vulgarity?”
“That was the other thing Ellen asked me to research. It seems that the only way that works is if the image is legally obscene. Being common or coarse isn’t sufficient, and she’d have a rough time convincing anyone that Christmas images are either of those, much less obscene.”
“Okay then.”
“But that’s not the strange part.”
“I’m all ears.”
Nadine couldn’t help but give her head a disapproving shake as she told me the details. “Later that day, Art Granger filed a complaint with city hall about the decorations too. His argument was that it was a waste of scarce city funds at a time that we really couldn’t afford to spend anything on nonessentials.”
“So two different approaches but the same get rid-of-it attitude.”
“Exactly. And, after I gave her my feedback, Ellen called an emergency meeting of the city council. Then, with me right there in her office, she called Janet Tikkermann and Art Granger both. She told them that they had considered their demands but the answer was no. She said they’d have to sue the city if she wanted the decorations taken down. She also told Art Granger that when she raised his points with the city council they voted unanimously for her to tell him to get stuffed.”
“Two firm negatives. That’s surprisingly promising action from our leadership.”
“It is indeed. But you’ll never guess what happened next?”
“The decorations disappeared overnight?”
Nadine frowned. “You rotten person. Go ahead and ruin my punch line.”
“Sorry, but I could see that coming a mile away and didn’t want to insult you by pretending to be surprised.”
“Oh. Well, that’s thoughtful
, I guess.”
“Besides I saw the decorations going up the other day and then today I noticed they aren’t there.”
“Maybe next time you could pretend to be a little surprised. Just as a friend.”
I held up my hand. “Solemn promise, Nadine. Next time I’ll try to remember to do that. In the meantime, maybe I can make it up to you.” I held up my tacos. “I’m on my lunch break, and will sit her and eat. If you run over to the salon you can catch the afternoon crowd and tell them your story before I get back. Some of them will be surprised, even shocked.”
She brightened at the prospect. “That’s a great idea, Savannah.”
And off she ran. Unfortunately it was too late to save my lunch. My tacos were soggy and my chai was cold. Still, they weren’t bad, and as I ate I finally had a chance to reflect on the missing decorations and how they fit into the larger scheme of things—the spate of Christmas robberies. Nadine’s information suggested two possible culprits, working from quite different motives. Naturally there was also the distinct possibility that neither of them had anything to do with the crimes at all. Sometimes the loud protestors, the complainers, aren’t the ones you need to watch.
It was oddly quiet in the salon when I got back. I think the sudden gossip rush had worn everyone out. That and my refusal to restock the snacks again had dampened things. It’s important to put a lid on such things. In our business the crowd is always ebbing and flowing, even at the best of times. People pack the place and later the same day you feel like you are on deserted island—or you would if deserted islands had blow dryers, old magazines, and coffee urns, that is.
Betina finished cleaning her station. “Can I leave a little early? I don’t have any more appointments today,” she said, “and it doesn’t look promising for walk ins.”
It didn’t. “Why not? I’ve already told Pete he could go early to practice his lines. So that’s fine. Enjoy what’s left of the day.”
When they left. Nellie and I sat down over coffee. Sometimes it’s nice when we have the salon to ourselves.
“I learned something today,” I said.
“Do tell.”
“This is not for general consumption, understand?”
“Gossip’s honor,” she said holding up crossed fingers.
“I mean that. For real, Nellie.”
She pouted. “Well, I guess I can glue my mouth shut.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
So I told her what I’d learned about Billy. “Cousin Billy is dealing in secondhand trees?”
“And presents. And decorations.”
“Do you believe him, that he isn’t the thief?”
“I think so.”
“Too bad.”
“Too bad?”
“Well that would mean he was stealing from the moderately well off to give to the really badly off. We’d be able to lay claim to our own Knockemstiff Santa Hood.”
“He wasn’t wearing green tights.”
“He wouldn’t look good in them anyway. Billy’s kind of dumpy. But even Ellen Hart would go for that. What a tourist attraction he’d be.”
“Unless he started visiting hotel rooms and taking items that haven’t been donated yet.”
“You don’t think he…”
“No. His story rings true.” I told her what I’d arranged with him about becoming a center for donations. “He was plenty pleased about that.”
“If he didn’t do it, then that won’t stop the thefts.”
“No, but it might keep him from being blamed for them.”
“And keep Rudy’s cousin out of jail.”
“Some of Rudy’s relatives need to be out of jail.”
“Cheeky.”
“I’m back.” We turned and saw Billy with a big jar and handwritten sign. “This is exciting, Savannah. Thank you.”
“On the table next to the telephone is a good spot. I hope this works, Billy. Helping people who need it is a good thing—just don’t deal in stolen merchandise.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Now I need to get back to work, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.”
And he left.
Nellie stared after him, the turned to face me. She held up a finger and looked at me intently. “Remember, Santa Hood is mine.”
“With my blessings.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday December 14th: Ten days before Christmas
It took a little extra time to get back to the salon after dropping Sarah off at school the next morning. An ecstatic Mrs. Lacey wanted to bend my ear over how wonderful the decoration Ginny and Sarah were making was.
“Those girls are amazing. Their project is clever and creative. It really captures what I asked them to do.”
“Good. Show it to me.”
“That’s not possible,” she said. “It isn’t finished. Besides parents aren’t allowed sneak previews. You can see the decorations Friday afternoon when you pick up the kids after their Christmas party. I wanted to tell you to make sure you would plan to spend a little extra time admiring the handiwork of this class.”
“Now that you’ve got my interest can’t I get a sneak peak?”
“Sorry.”
“Waiting until then is an unbreakable rule?”
“Totally. And one the children made, not me, so my hands are tied.”
That, naturally, settled the matter.
When I got back to the salon Mel Krisller was in Betina’s chair getting a haircut. Mel owns the used car dealership. He insists that everyone pronounce his last name “Chrysler, like the car.”
Mel’s in his thirties, late thirties; he’s reasonably attractive and a flirt. Since he flirts so openly, even right in front of Tina, his wife, no one takes it too seriously. He was one of Bettina’s regulars. I was sure that she could handle a man like that as well as anyone, probably better. She had more experience with men, and with a broader array of men that I did, for sure. In fact, either she enjoyed the interaction with him, or didn't mind pretending she did.
Fortunately, Mel's engaging and outgoing attitude went beyond flirting. He tended to be upbeat about things almost everything, and even when times were rough he'd smile and say, "This too will pass.” It was a cliche, but one he seemed to think made you feel better. I figured that right now Betina could do with anything that raised her spirits.
Mel and Tina had moved to Knockemstiff about five years ago. Old man Tyler had the car lot then, but he wanted to retire and “get the hell out of Dodge," as he put it. He'd lived here all his life but hadn’t been happy about it. So Mel and Tina bought the dealership from Tyler as part of a package that included his house.
Persistent rumors had it that Tina’s father paid for it all. Whether that was to give them a leg up toward financial stability or to get them out of Delhi no one knew for sure, and Tina wouldn't be drawn out on the subject. Even a prolonged siege by Dolores Pettigrew couldn't unearth the real story.
Naturally it didn’t matter in the least, or the only reason it mattered was because no one would talk. Gossips have some traits in common with interrogators — neither likes having information withheld, no matter how useless or trivial. Other than having this minor mystery hanging over them, the couple had fit in seamlessly. Mel's flirtatious manner gave the wags plenty of material for salacious speculation, which is, of course, the choicest kind, so they were welcome. But at the moment little could compete with the gossip and countervailing theories regarding the Christmas thefts.
The delivery of our new tree and ornaments managed to do the nearly impossible, make the speculation roar even hotter.
“Has to be the Grinch,” Mel was saying. Betina was cutting his hair. Everyone turned to listen to his argument. In an equal opportunity gossip center even the new folks are listened to.
“Why is that?” I asked. I was honestly curious how people came to their conclusions about events and people. Much of the time the reasoning, if you could call it that, didn’t make any sense to me at all. I though
t for a moment about objecting to him referring to Janet Tikkermann as the Grinch, but it was a lost cause. Everyone was calling her that now. Besides, she was acting the part. It was her own fault that she got the nickname. She was being so incredibly strident about eliminating almost anything Christmassy that she was annoying everyone. If she wasn’t the thief, that wasn’t good for her because it was making a lot of people point to her as the prime candidate. It was almost too obvious.
Mel held up a hand. “Well, the way I see it, the thefts have gone hand in hand with her complaints. I hear she was in here telling you that you shouldn’t put up the decorations just before they were stolen.” He gestured at our new tree and some vaguely Christmas looking pictures that Mrs. Lacey had gotten the school kids to make for us in some sort of solidarity gesture to hold us over until the new tree arrived. “I have to say the handmade things are nice, though.”
“We like them.”
“Anyway, stands to reason that her objections led to action.”
“So if Janet Tikkermann is taking things, where is she storing all the loot?” Nellie asked. “The woman lives in a tiny cottage.”
Paulette Strickland sat in back flipping through a celebrity magazine Betina had brought in. It featured famous people spending Christmas at upscale beach resorts, which gave them an excuse to wear almost nothing. I think the point was to make everyone else jealous. She looked up. “Another question, one that could be related, is where is Billy getting all the stuff his is giving to the poor?”
“He finds things,” Betina said.
“Then he sure is good at finding,” Paulette said. “I was out shopping the other day and I ran into Billy. While we were talking several people came up and thanked him for making their Christmas possible. Unless Mrs. Lacey is paying him a lot more than I guess she is, he can’t be doing that out of his pocket.”
I pointed at the donation jar and Billy’s new sign. “He’s been actively collecting. Maybe people are being more generous than we all expect.”
“I don’t know,” Paulette said. “But I do wonder just how much he’s giving away.” She considered the possibilities. “What if someone were stealing things and giving them to the poor? An otherwise decent person might think he was righting some wrongs.”
Holiday Hooligans: Cozy Mystery (The Teasen & Pleasen Hair Salon Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Page 6
