Holiday Hooligans: Cozy Mystery (The Teasen & Pleasen Hair Salon Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Constance Barker

  I had been being slightly devious in inviting him. Although I enjoyed his company, this evening was more about Sarah. I didn’t want whatever might be developing with Woodley to make her feel left out. I knew that she liked Woodley, although she seemed uncertain about how to view his place in our cosmos. Was he a friend of mine? Was he like some uncle?

  And who could blame her? I wasn’t clear on that myself. Until I figured out where I wanted things to go, and learned more about what he wanted, it seemed like a reasonable idea to have them spend some time together. They could get to know each other. Just in case, was the thought in my head, although I had no idea exactly what I was thinking. In case of what?

  Things were, of course, in an incredible flux. In those rare moments of objectivity that came to me I found it hard to see how anything might develop between Woodley and me. Not that I had any objections to it. The attraction was definitely there—after all, he was a handsome and smart man, who seemed to be straightforward and, curiously enough, actually appeared to like me. But his life was in New Orleans. He worked as an investigator and traveled around the State in his work. And most of what I knew about him I’d learned as we went through not one, but two murder investigations together. I had no idea how much we might have in common, although I was learning that his tastes in music were promising.

  That wasn’t the most promising start to a relationship of any kind. Still, the fact that we’d manage to go through all that and were still dancing the dance people dance when they are sounding each other out did show some possibility.

  I knew I was incredibly flattered by his attention, and pleased to have even a trace of a social life again, I didn’t even know what I wanted. I hadn’t had a relationship with a man since my marriage ended. Of course, for a long time I wasn’t certain I wanted one. Those extreme thoughts alternated with those times when I was certain I did, but doubted I’d ever meet a man I liked again.

  It’s fair to say that not knowing what I wanted in some areas of my life wasn’t unusual for me. I did know I wasn’t about to uproot myself, leave my salon behind anytime soon even if James Woodley was as good a man as he seemed to be. And that put limits on things, as far as I could see. And Woodley… I couldn’t begin to understand his agenda. He was on a campaign to change my mind about his favorite cities, and he certainly was trying to make me feel welcome in his life.

  I was willing to go along with all that and see where it led, but that meant involving Sarah. And that always got me thinking of the craziness of our situation—my vague and uncertain role in her life. That complicated everything, and while Woodley and I were big kids, old enough to look out for ourselves, and take our lumps if we didn’t, Sarah was a few days short of seven.

  I owed it to her to protect her if I could.

  I noticed that Sarah had been looking at Woodley oddly a few times as she ate. Finally she stopped glancing at him and gave him a hard stare right across her plate of bacon-battered onion rings (a house special). It wasn't exactly health food and as I watched her stuff them in her face I promised myself I’d put more raw carrots in the girl’s lunch. Better food doesn’t exactly offset the effects of bad, but you can hope there is some kind of food Karma at work in the universe. I have to believe that I get some credit for paying attention. Besides, she likes raw carrots.

  Woodley saw her looking and paused in taking a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger to return her stare. She said nothing. “I sense a question or accusation of some sort is percolating in that cute head, Sarah. Let it out.”

  “Do you lie to kids, Investigator Woodley?”

  “I try not to lie to anyone.”

  Her nod was thoughtful. “But sometimes...”

  “It’s just that I can’t guarantee I never do, because that would be a lie. There might be times I did.”

  She mulled that over in a seven year old way. “Then I’ll ask… has someone been killed in Knockemstiff? Recently, I mean.”

  Woodley raised his eyebrows. “Not that I know of," Woodley said, putting down his burger. “Why? Do you know about a body I haven't heard of? Some rampant killings?"

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not aware of any murder.”

  “Darn.”

  “That’s the point, you see. Every time you’ve been in town before you were here to investigate a murder." She shrugged. “So I wondered if you adults were conspiring to protect me from real life again. It never works and it’s rather absurd to watch.”

  He raised a hand. “The honest truth it that I came for the holidays. I’m not working.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hope I’m not disappointing you.”

  She grinned. “Just a little. The investigations are interesting. Not that I want someone dead, or anything like that.”

  “Then it might be okay with you if I were to come around sometimes, even when nothing exciting is happening?”

  “Sure. I like you. I know Miz Jefferies is happy you're here too."

  I felt my face grow flushed as he asked the obvious question. "Is she now?"

  Sarah nodded. “She likes it when you are around.”

  He leaned forward making the two of them conspiratorial. “And she told you this?”

  “No, but I can tell."

  I had to put a stop to this. “Oh, so you think you can read me?”

  Sarah poked at her onion rings. “Sure. Easy as anything. You are an open person and you don’t hide your feelings like some do.”

  "There it is," Woodley said, grinning.

  Sarah turned on him next.” And you must like being around her too.”

  “Okay. Why do you say that?”

  “First, because you came here for the holidays and are spending time with her, which means you came her to spend the holidays with her. Second, because you find reasons to be near her even when you aren't investigating a crime.” Sarah's eyes darted from my face to Woodley's and back. “Yeah, it’s obvious that you like each other."

  Naturally that was the precise moment that Margie, the waitress, showed up to see if our endless coffee refills needed attention. “So you think these two like each other?" she asked Sarah.

  “They do," the precocious not-quite-seven matchmaker said. “And it makes sense because they have a lot in common.”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing wrong?” Margie’s laugh was a wonderful unselfconscious flow of music. “I’m supposed to date guys I have something in common with?”

  “Think about it,” Sarah said. “They both enjoy solving mysteries. Neither of them would enjoy the company of someone who didn’t understand the pleasure of putting the pieces together.”

  Margie topped up our coffee. “That sounds right. Say, if I meet a guy I like, would you mind if I introduced you to him, let you read him for me, see if he’s worth the trouble?”

  Sarah cocked her head, picturing it. “I suppose I could do that for you if you like. I’d have to ask him a lot of questions over a milkshake though.”

  “Fair enough, although I’m beginning to think I’d be risking you stealing him if he was really a great guy.” She stretched. “You know I sure wish someone would solve the mystery of that broken step and exonerate Pete. That poor boy should be on top of the world right now-he's in love and has the lead in the play, but it's being poisoned by all this speculation.”

  “And he got a letter from lawyers harassing him for money for Jerry’s medical expenses,” I said. “It doesn’t seem right fair.”

  "Unfortunately, from what I hear the only evidence is circumstantial and what there is doesn't help his case," Woodley said. “All the police know for sure is that someone loosened the step.

  Margie made a face. “That's because the so-called evidence is mostly gossip and the policeman was Digby Hayes. Pete was considered the main suspect even before we knew there was a crime.”

  The accusation in her voice stung Woodley. “Well, I’m here on vacation. The act hasn’t been officially labeled a crime, so the police aren’t involved.”<
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  “Well, Margie is right,” Sarah said. “You should launch a formal investigation into what happened. It’s only fair that people know the truth.”

  “You could be right about the fairness, Ms. Jameson,” Woodley said. “But there is a little matter of jurisdiction. I’m only involved in local crimes happens when the Chief invites me in, or if it’s crime that the State district attorney thinks the State or parish might prosecute. Given that, in this case, what do you think I could use as a legal basis for my interference in local matters, counselor Sarah Jameson?”

  She smiled at him. "Isn’t booby trapping a stairway to hurt a person a form of assault? And, as a member of the police, if you know a crime has been committed, aren’t you required to investigate?”

  “I suppose, if you put it that way, you are right.”

  “So put it that way,” she said, sitting back and enjoying her triumph.

  "For all anyone knows it could be an act of domestic terrorism," Margie put in. “The girl’s got a point. You need to make sure that this wasn't just the first insidious act of some terrorist cell.”

  "A terrorist cell in right here in Knockemstiff, Louisiana,” I said. "Now there is a concept to worry the justice department. If it can happen here…”

  “And why couldn’t it?" Margie was caught up in the idea now. “We have a mix of people in this town and not all of them are exactly sane. As I recall from school, we even had a chapter of the Ku Klux Klan operating here once."

  That gave me a good laugh. ”The way I understand that bit of local history, a bit over a hundred years ago, around 1867, some distant relative of the Phlint’s, a moonshiner, of course, accidentally shot a black man. He was cleaning his gun when the man showed up to buy some liquor. He accidentally spooked the moonshiner, the gun went off and the customer wound up with a hole in his arm. When the word got out through the gossip mill the Klan chapter in Shreveport sent a letter making the moonshiner an honorary member—until they found out that the Phlint family is notorious for accidentally shooting people of all races, creeds, colors, and religions, including other Phlints. They practice equal opportunity carelessness. It also didn’t sit well with them that the moonshiner treated his victim’s wounds.”

  “Still, for a time…”

  “He was part of Miz Phlint’s family?” Sarah asked. I could tell she was impressed. When you examined the history of our town closely, almost no matter where you looked a Phlint was involved in some marginal activity.

  “The very same Phlint clan.”

  “They have a checkered history,” Margie said.

  Sarah touched her nose. “If the man was a Phlint that would explain the gun going off.” She looked at Woodley. “The Phlint’s have a bad track record with guns, and they have a lot of them. Miz Phlint unloads all their guns.”

  Woodley put up a hand. “I represent the law,” he said. “I can only deal with so many villains at once.”

  “Did I see that Claude has Christmas Lattes on the special board?” I asked.

  “Yes he does.”

  “That sounds lovely. I want to try one,” I said. With the subject safely changed I hoped we could sit and talk longer. But before I could take my first sip of my latte,

  The idea appealed to everyone, so a short time later we were all sipping Claude’s idea of a Christmas coffee. Sarah had hot chocolate.

  “So what do you think?” Margie asked. “I’m not a coffee drinker myself.”

  Woodley held up his mug. “It’s not bad. But a traditionalist would point out that a true Christmas latte requires a touch more orange with respect to the amount of cinnamon,” Woodley said.

  “More orange?” I asked. “Whoever heard of orange in a Christmas latte? They should be made with nutmeg and cinnamon, some honey and marshmallows—just the way my mother made them.”

  “Interesting,” Margie said. “My mother always swore by putting in nutmeg, cardamom and cinnamon. It never occurred to me that other people would make them any other way. I figure you are all lucky Claude didn’t put bacon bits in his latte.”

  We all agreed that the absence of bacon in a latte was something to be grateful for.

  “And they say that the holidays bring people together,” I said.

  * * *

  When we finished dinner, Woodley appeared at my side, to hold my coat for me. Then he did the same for Sarah, who accepted his chivalrous treatment as if she expected it. “Why, aren’t you the gentleman?” I said.

  “I try to be, even though it often gets me dirty looks from women in the city.”

  “Fortunately for you we are a bit backward here in small towns. Chivalry hasn’t become a dirty word yet.”

  “Then does that earn me the right to walk you ladies home from the Tavern?”

  “I don’t know about rights, but it earns you an invitation.”

  He grinned. “One that I eagerly accept.”

  I was liking the way things were going. Woodley’s attentiveness seemed sincere. I swallowed nervously. Believing that he might like me for more than my inquisitive nature and deductive reasoning made me feel vulnerable and I hadn’t dared risk that since my marriage. On the other hand, if felt incredibly good. Enjoy it while you can, I told myself. “I hope you do feel like walking a bit. Whenever I’m out at night I like to swing by the salon on my way home and check on things.”

  He held out his arm, his elbow toward me. “I think I can manage to keep up.”

  Behind him, I saw people watching us curiously. With Sarah walking on one side of him, holding his hand, I tucked my arm around his strong arm and smiled up at him. “I’ll just bet you can.”

  And we went out into the dark night.

  The sky was crystal clear. It was cool enough to be bracing, which was good as I’d allowed myself a second beer and felt a bit light headed, which I could pretend was a result of the beer. I looked up at the stars overhead, seeing Orion crossing above the city hall. Knockemstiff has few streetlights and on a night like this they do less to make things illuminated and more to give the streets a strange quality, as if we were walking on the set of a movie—one of those old movies with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers or Rita Hayworth, where he would suddenly start dancing, swinging on light posts and all that. I didn’t expect Woodley to have that sort of streak in him, which was probably good, as I was no Rita Hayworth, but the magical sense was there.

  We walked in a wonderful, peaceful silence until we suddenly heard someone roaring in anger. We stopped, tipped our heads back and stared at the lean figure of Janet Tikkermann scolding a group of carolers who were staring at her with astonished looks.

  “You are a menace!” she told them.

  “Is there a problem?” Woodley asked.

  “That goodness, a policeman. Yes! Of course there is!” Janet Tikkermann screamed the words sounding hoarse. “These people are wandering the streets creating havoc and chaos.”

  “They sing,” Sarah said. “Like Leander, only much different kinds of songs.”

  “It’s a disgusting display of religious nonsense,” she said stiffly.

  “Then ignore them,” Woodley said.

  Suddenly she seemed to become aware of our presence for the first time. She looked at the crowd that she was collecting, staring at everyone almost as if she was coming out of a trance. “Carolers,” she said.

  “Yes ma’am,” one of them said nervously. “Can we go to our concert now?”

  “Yes,” she said standing stiffly upright. “Get along with you. Get out of here-off the streets.” Then she turned and walked off without another word.

  “That was interesting,” Woodley said.

  “Good word for it… interesting. Her anger seems to be getting worse.”

  “She definitely has something against Christmas or Christmas is triggering some rage.”

  “What are you doing for Christmas, Mr. Woodley?” Sarah asked.

  Her question surprised me and I was curious to see where she was taking this.

&nbs
p; “Why I’m spending it here in Knockemstiff.”

  “That’s very general. I mean Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

  “I hadn’t really decided.”

  Sarah looked at me. “Then you should come to our house. We are having eggnog and opening our presents on Christmas Eve.”

  “So you are part of that crowd?”

  “Partly because the next day is my birthday.” She grinned. “That’s my excuse any way. I would be pleased if you came to my birthday party in the afternoon on Christmas Day.”

  The corner of his mouth rose up. “Sarah Jameson, I’m delighted to be invited, but I think Miz Jefferies has everything planned.”

  “I have very little planned,” I said. “Christmas Eve is just a get together time and you’d be welcome. As far as the birthday party, Sarah can certainly invite anyone she wishes.”

  “I haven’t a lot of friends, but I’d like them to be there.”

  “I’m a friend?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Then I would be delighted to accept both invitations.”

  “We will have a big feed, our Christmas dinner during Sarah’s party,” I told him. “Bring an appetite.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wednesday, December 21st: Four days before Christmas

  I was feeling the pressure of time. Not just Christmas, but even more we needed to resolve the issue of what happened to Jerry Walker before the play opened. That was Friday, so the next morning, once I’d opened the salon I left Nellie in charge.

  “Off to investigate,” I told her.

  “If you are investigating something related to a play, do you say ‘break a leg,’?”

  “Give the situation, I don’t think so.”

  “Then go get ‘em tiger, or whatever.”

  Before I could meet Woodley I had to take Sarah to school. We’d agreed to wander over the boarding house and look into the incident that put Jerry Walters in a cast and Pete in the lead role of the play. We wanted to look at the stairs ourselves. We couldn’t depend on rumors for this.