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

by Constance Barker

  “You’re right,” she said. As the girls arrived, she turned to Ginny. “Sarah’s mom has invited us to her birthday party on Christmas Day. What do you say?”

  Sarah and I exchanged glances. I tried not to show the pang of angst I felt at Paula calling me her mom, and she didn’t seem interested in correcting her.

  “Great!” Ginny said. Then she hesitated. “Can we? I know I don’t have a party dress.”

  “It’s informal,” I said. “All the best people will be there in clothes only fit for Sunday afternoon laziness.”

  “I’m going to be wearing jeans,” Sarah said. “Who can have fun in a party dress.”

  It was the first I’d heard of that, but I wasn’t giving up her secret.

  “Thank you,” Paula said.

  “I’m glad you agreed,” I said. “I really am. I could use more friends.”

  Paula kissed Ginny goodbye, we all promised to get to school on time and she walked off, leaving me to follow in the wake of two rather giddy girls and an old tick hound. Remarkably, when Ginny was around I got to see quite a bit more of the little girl that was Sarah Jameson.

  A sigh startled me, mostly because it was me sighing, wondering… and hoping.

  And yes, Daddy, borrowing trouble from the future.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Friday, December 23rd: Two days before Christmas

  Friday morning, as Sarah and Ginny and I followed Finn out the front door. We’d made far more rugelach that was reasonable and were each carrying a bag filled with plastic baggies stuffed with the goodies. Finnegan was happy to have the bags the girls carried at a delicious nose level.

  As we came out the door we found Woodley waiting for us. He held out his arms. “Let me share that burden.”

  “Yay!” Sarah said and the girls each handed him a bag.

  Woodley clutched them to his chest. “Now they are all mine.”

  “They are for school,” Sarah said.

  “He’s joking,” Ginny said.

  Sarah considered that. “So are you here to escort us to school or to steal the goodies?”

  “Oh that stings. I am here to offer assistance and to regale Miz Jefferies with epic tales of the happenings at open mic. It was really a good one.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “We had a fair time ourselves, didn’t we ladies?”

  “It was great, Mr. Woodley,” Ginny said. “We ate pizza, then watched old movies while we baked.”

  “Ancient movies,” Sarah said with a dramatic groan. “The original Star Trek.”

  “Ouch,” Woodley said, making a face. “Way to make an old guy feel older.”

  Ginny laughed at his expression. “You aren’t that old. Anyway, after that Sarah stomped us at Scrabble.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Woodley said.

  “She won’t let me play the way I do it best,” Ginny said. “When I play with Mom I can get away with making up words and she doesn’t dare challenge them.”

  “She makes up silly words though,” Sarah said.

  It was a gorgeous morning and we walked along chatting. “Are you coming to the school party, Investigator Woodley?” Sarah asked him.

  “If I’m invited.”

  “You are.”

  “Then I’ll be there right after the play,” he said. “I was hoping to be invited as I was told that if I showed up I would have the chance to see a fine piece of art by local artists.”

  “Sort of,” Ginny said. “Local school kid artists anyway.”

  “That sounds intriguing to me.”

  “Way cool,” she said.

  Sarah took my hand. “Tell Pete I said ‘break a leg’.”

  “I can do that very thing,” I told her. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your support.”

  “What do you have planned for your morning?” Sarah asked Woodley.

  “I have a few loose ends to tie up.” He grinned. “As you well know.”

  “She knows? What does she know?” I asked.

  “A secret plan. A simple, hopefully effective plan that requires nothing but a few phone calls and a person-to-person chit chat to execute. No real work at all.”

  “That sounds elegant.”

  “That’s because it is a Sarah Jameson plan.”

  “It is?”

  “At its core. It dovetails with some ideas you had and it is embellished with only a few minor tweaks from me.”

  “And it’s a plan to do what?”

  “Rescue Western civilization from its pathos and aimless ways.”

  “In other words…”

  “We aren’t telling!” Sarah said. “You’ll find out soon enough. Besides, there are actually two plans.”

  “Two plans. We are dealing with two distinct, yet equally important issues.”

  “All in the name of Western civilization,” Woodley said.

  Clearly mere mortals would have to wait to discover what this rather scary alliance was up to. We got to the school and I gave a reserve bag of rugelach to Mrs. Lacey to put aside for Paula. She was delighted at the girl’s offering and the three of them went off on ‘school business’ while I wandered off to work and Woodley went to execute the missions Sarah had assigned him.

  Under other circumstances…

  But I couldn’t dream of what ifs. Not now. Not until after Christmas day.

  The salon seemed all abuzz. Of course it was a busy day. We were open in the morning, then we’d planned to close so everyone could go to the play—and I gave Pete the day off. He had to prepare.

  Woodley was going to meet us at the theater and then, after the play, Woodley and I would go straight to the school and catch the end of the class party, check out the decorations and wing it after that.

  “Oh Savannah, it’s been so odd not having Pete around the salon,” Dolores Pettigrew said.

  “He’s been working on that play. You don’t begrudge him the time to get ready for his big role do you?”

  “Heavens no! I’m sure he needed the time to prepare. Besides, almost every day has been odd in several ways lately, what with all the suspicion regarding the thefts and so on. I hate that it looks like we won’t find out who was robbing us. It casts a pall over Christmas.”

  “Not a big one I hope, Dolores. After all, a thief can rob you but they can’t really take away good cheer. You have to lose it yourself.”

  “Oh Savannah, that is a good thought. I think you are right. That sounds like something I saw on a sampler once, and it made sense.”

  “Damned with backhanded praise,” Nellie muttered.

  About an hour later, the front door swung open and a breathless Leander came charging in. “It’s over,” he said. “It’s all over.”

  “What’s over? The play?”

  “No. The accusations. Pete asked me to come over here and let you all know that he’s been officially cleared of any blame in Jerry’s accident.”

  “What happened?” Nellie said.

  “Jerry’s girlfriend confessed. She was the one that loosened the step.”

  “Why would she want to hurt Jerry.”

  “It was one of those giant hurt feelings misunderstandings. She saw the girl who plays Felicity come out of his room. She wasn’t paying much attention to the play and didn’t realize that she’d been going over lines with Jerry. Anyway, she decided they were fooling around. Somehow she thought the girl was coming back that night and she loosened the step after Jerry went to his room. He spent the night alone, studying his lines and then fell coming down the next morning.”

  “And she confessed?”

  Leander smiled. “Seems that she tried to talk Jerry’s folks out of the legal action but they were stubborn. She couldn’t let this ruin Pete’s life, so she confessed. It was a gamble, but apparently all is forgiven and life goes on.”

  Nellie looked at me. Clearly she didn’t fall for the concern about ruining Pete’s life any more than I did.

  “And Pete doesn’t have to that hanging over his head during the perfor
mance,” I said.

  “It’s a huge relief,” Leander said. “The law firm sent someone over this morning to tell Pete personally and to deliver an apology.”

  “Which, knowing Pete, he accepted with no strings.”

  “Of course.” Leander sounded proud. “That’s why we love him.”

  I winked at him. “Absolutely.”

  The news lightened our spirits around the salon.

  “Now we can all enjoy the play.”

  ***

  “Was she a tough nut to crack, copper?” I asked Woodley when he came by to walk me to the play.

  “She fell for the bad cop, bad cop, routine.”

  “I thought that was good cop, bad cop.”

  “Me too, but Sarah thought this approach would be more effective. The idea is that you make the perp feel bad, and then you point out she could be in even worse trouble. Is Sarah available for teaching at the police academy?”

  “Not until she’s twelve.”

  “Our loss. Anyway, her thought was that I should point out to Trischa that by lying she was hurting Pete. Then, if that didn't make her confess, I would point out that she was breaking the law. I put that together with your idea. You said, we needed to make her feel as trapped as Pete was feeling. So, bowing to the wisdom and insight of the two smartest people I know, I told her I knew she did it.”

  “You lied.”

  “I stretched the truth. Bad cops do that. I explained to her that what she’d done could result in criminal charges. Naturally she jumped on the idea that I couldn’t prove anything. So I reminded her that she'd be asked to testify if Pete went to trial. I told her I’d make sure that Pete’s lawyer asked her if she’d done it. Perjury, lying under oath is a big deal offense and that if she didn't tell the truth before it messed up Pete's life I'd make sure I got hard evidence.”

  “And she wilted?”

  He nodded. “Apparently there is some evidence that could be unearthed, as you and the young investigator Jameson suggested.”

  “And you couldn't tell me?

  “I was co-opted. I was asked to carry out this mission on behalf of the Sarah Jameson Detective Agency. Then, of course, I couldn’t comment while an ongoing investigation was in progress. I'm sure you understand.”

  “I see. And your loyalty was the result of the promise of being bribed with Jewish pastries?”

  “As well as an invitation to Christmas dinner and a birthday party.”

  “So that’s what that was about.”

  “The conspiracy runs deeper than you can possibly imagine, I’m afraid. I think you might want to price out the cost of ‘Sarah Jameson for Mayor’ posters now if you want to stay ahead of the curve.”

  I laughed. “I’m resigned to living behind the curve.”

  My stomach churned. I was resigned to it, delighted to live behind the curve. But for how long? It was painful not knowing.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, James. Thanks.”

  “Now I’m really concerned.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve never called me James before.”

  “I’m off my feed.”

  “And that takes a lot.” Worry furrowed his brow. “Can I help?”

  “I’ll tell you everything Christmas night. How’s that?”

  “Not so great. But I’ll rein in my impatience.”

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Play's the Thing

  A lot of the town showed up for the play. It was sold out. Whether that was because people wanted to know what in the world Santa was doing with pelicans, or because they’d all heard the scandal associated with the cast, you couldn’t know. From the theater company’s point of view, it didn’t matter.

  “Can I sit with you?” Leander asked.

  “Of course.” I could see he was terrified. “Are you having stage fright for Pete?”

  “He doesn’t seem smart enough to have them on his own,” he said, laughing. “It’s ironic. I love being on stage. Never a tremble. I feel like people have come to sit in my living room to listen and I just welcome them.”

  “And your performances come across exactly like that—there’s an intimacy.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad it's noticeable. Anyway, all day now I’ve had the jitters, feeling like I was going on without any rehearsal, no sense of what I’d do. And I’m not even the one going on the stage.”

  “You feel vulnerable for him.”

  “I guess.”

  “And if you sit on the edge of your seat, worrying about how people respond, Pete will sense that.”

  “What do I do?”

  I took his hand. “Leander you are going to have to put on a play of your own. A one-man play starring a supportive lover who is excited and proud. One who is so certain that the play will go well that he sits in the audience as a brilliant beacon of confidence.”

  “That’s poetic.”

  “I probably stole it from somewhere then.”

  “I could use that in a song.”

  “Have at it.”

  As things turned out, the play was a smash from the opening curtain. Within minutes Leander wasn’t having to pretend at all. Pete showed a little nervousness in the beginning, losing control of his voice for a moment, but a glance at Leander smiling, giving him the thumbs up, smoothed that out, and he played a young lawyer perfectly.

  The play was funny. I can tell you the lawsuit had to do with midair collisions and failures to file flight plans, and a lot of jokes at the expense of airlines, but I don’t want to ruin the ending for you. That wouldn’t be right.

  I can tell you that even Rudy Phlint was laughing so hard that tears ran down his face. I thought I saw a smile on Art Granger’s face, but I might be mistaken. At that moment I was seeing the best in everyone.

  We all met the cast after the play to congratulate them. Pete was limp with exhaustion and Leander hugged him. So did I.

  “I think I saw that girl playing the lawyer with Jerry in Paudy one day just after the play started rehearsals,” Nellie mused. “That Trischa might not have been so far off base after all.”

  “That doesn’t justify what she did,” I said.

  “It doesn’t?” Nellie grinned. “No, of course it doesn’t. I mean, unless…”

  “Nellie!”

  Woodley and I returned to the salon for Finnegan and set off for the school.

  As there aren’t many students in Mrs. Lacey’s little school, the party was quite low key. There was some yucky punch and the various offerings the children or their parents had made. There were signs on the dishes, telling what they were and their relationship to the holiday.

  I recognized Sarah’s handwriting on the sign for a nearly empty plate. “Traditional pumpkin pie rugelach: a Jewish pastry of Ashkenazic origin. It is very popular in Israel, commonly found in most cafes and bakeries with the fancier kinds popular during Hanukkah. These were prepared by Sarah and Ginny, with assistance from Savannah Jefferies.”

  “That’s your girl,” Woodley said with pride.

  My heart ached and that wrench in my gut tore at me again.

  Other parents milled about the room and I introduced Woodley to the ones I knew; others we introduced ourselves, with Woodley explaining that he was Sarah’s guest.

  The displays the children had made were scattered around the room and we drifted about looking at them. They ranged from simple posters to standard Christmas scenes.

  As I wandered, I noticed Woodley talking to Paula. I wondered what they were talking about. The conversation seemed far more intense than the chit chat that went with admiring the artwork of seven-year olds.

  Then Ginny came over and took my hand. “Did you see what we did yet, Miz Jefferies?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Can I show it to you?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “That one,” she said, pointing. I looked and saw a gingerbread house. It was obviously made of
cardboard but was rather elaborate, especially compared to the work the other children had on display. Given the ages of the artists, the attention to detail was incredible. It had some of the lack of perspective that you expected from a child, but I don’t know a lot of adults who could do a better job.

  The house had three rooms. The front wall was removed so you could see inside. One room had a sparse manager scene in it. It was labeled “Christmas”; one had a family of dolls gathered around a menorah — the nine-branched candelabra that held the candles. It was labeled “Hanukkah.” Another room showed a small temple that featured a family in front of a what I realized was a human creature with five heads—all of elephants. A sign said: “Pancha Ganapati: a five day holiday of the Hindus from December 21 through December 25th. Each day celebrates a different aspect of Ganesha.”

  In front of the house were small dolls wearing robes. A small sign there said: “Mawlid, the birth of the prophet Mohammed is celebrated in a carnival manner, large street processions are held and homes or mosques are decorated.”

  A larger sign over the house said: “These families celebrate together in many different ways.”

  “Impressive,” Woodley said. Sarah was holding his hand. She’d brought him over.

  “Some of the small things like the Ganesha Ginny made up on her own before I went over,” Sarah said. “Isn’t it cool.”

  “Very nice.”

  “She made it out of clay and she showed me how to make things. I made the trim for the house and some other things. We made the house together.”

  “That’s impressive and thoughtful too.”

  “The idea was Ginny’s. I think she wishes she had more family here.”

  My stomach really knotted then. The mention of family hurt, reminding me that I’d never told Sarah the news. Now I had to. “I got call from your mother the other day.”

  She tensed but her face showed no reaction. “Okay.”