Color Me Dead
by
Constance Barker
Copyright 2017 Constance Barker
All rights reserved.
Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.
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CHAPTER ONE
We arrived in New Orleans in the middle of a gorgeous beautiful spring day. I’d printed out the directions to the hotel from the online map and they were right on.
Despite this gorgeous day, I was finding it hard to stay positive. We’d just started and already the trip wasn’t turning out to be the kind of adventure I’d hoped for. Taking them to the Louisiana Hair Expo was supposed to be a fun time with my friends and a chance to make them feel part of the hair styling world, even if just a little.
When I first thought of taking them to the expo, especially after Pete was accepted to the styling competition, it had seemed like a simple and fun thing to do. I got to reward my friends for their good work, maybe get Pete some recognition for his talent, and we’d all get a few days in the Big Easy. Being at the expo would give us a chance to see some of what was going on in our industry. There would be talks and demonstrations and we’d have a chance to watch some talented people working.
Isolated as we were in Knockemstiff, we weren’t exactly to keep up on the changes in techniques and materials. All we learned was what we read in Betina’s glamor magazines, and they tended to be sketchy and aimed at big city audiences—not exactly our clientele. When the brochure came, refreshing our skills sounded like a good thing.
Now that we were arriving in New Orleans I had begun to wonder if it had been such a great idea. The mood in the car was definitely unpleasant. Pete was getting anxious about competing—the very idea of it. Nellie was getting snappy. Betina was the only one who was enthusiastic.
“Cheer up, Pete,” I said. “This will be fun.”
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. I’ve never been in a competition before,” he said. “Not since high school.”
His stage fright came as a surprise. He did some acting with a local theater and had played a leading role rather well. Apparently, being the focus of attention when he wasn’t playing a role made him very uncomfortable. I didn’t see the difference, but he sure did. “But you are so good, Pete. And Leander is going to be there, isn’t he?” Leander was Pete’s boyfriend and a great blues musician. Having him around was supposed to help keep Pete calm.
He nodded. “Sure. In fact he caught the bus down yesterday.”
“Why didn’t he come with us?”
“He said that if he was going to come all the way to New Orleans to lend support he might as well come early and see if he could find himself a gig. He’d really like to play his blues for bigger audiences. I agree. He should have more people hear him.”
“That’s true,” Betina said.
I glanced over at Nellie, who was driving. She is my best friend as well as the salon’s manicurist and cosmetician, but her expression wasn’t reassuring. She’d insisted on driving the whole way, but during the trip she’d been growing increasingly uncomfortable, and snappy.
“Thinking about the kids?” I asked.
She nodded. “Of course. As we’ve covered the last two hundred miles of this ugly pavement my evil brain has pictured at least a thousand deadly things they could be doing already. And that’s with me desperately trying not to think about the possibilities.”
“You have a vivid imagination. They’ll be fine.”
She laughed. It wasn’t pleasant. “Unfortunately, vivid imaginations run in the family, which means the kids have them too. And since when has their survival instinct ever kicked in?”
“They are older than the last time…” Then I bit my tongue. Mentioning previous times she’d let them out of her sight had been a bad move.
“Just because the injuries were minimal the last time…”
“You unloaded Rudy’s guns didn’t you?”
“And hid the ammo.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Rudy, Nellie’s childhood sweetheart, her husband, and the father of their three boys would never intentional harm anyone, but he was the poster boy for carelessness. My daddy, who knew Rudy all too well, always said that the boy had been standing behind the door when they passed out common sense.
As Nellie parked the car in front of a hotel, she chuckled. “Obviously we are here.” She pointed to a huge banner sprawling across the entrance. “Welcome to the Louisiana Professional Hairstyling Competitions!”
“Wow,” Pete said, blinking as he looked up. “They are making a big deal out this.”
I smiled at him. “Of course they are. The more noise they make the more people attend and the money they make. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Making the event seem huge makes it huge.”
“The lemming principle,” Nellie said. “You have to shout, ‘Hey everyone, look over here at all the good stuff at the bottom of this cliff.’”
“It is bigger than I expected,” Betina said. “And it’s not just in the hotel either.” She pointed at the convention center that was attached to the side of the hotel. Another banner read: “Louisiana Salon and Hair Expo — this weekend only.”
We got out and stood by the car. We were all hesitating. Some of them were a little in shock. Getting out of the car, standing there, made it clear that we weren’t in Knockemstiff anymore. There were probably more people in that hotel than in our entire town.
“There’s no rush to get inside,” I said. “It’s just Friday afternoon. We do need to check in and we are supposed to go set up Pete’s station for the competition, but we’ve got plenty of time.”
“We have to set up today?” Pete asked. The closer we got the more his nerves frayed. I understood that. For him it wasn’t just a matter of scale, the number of people around—he was competing in the hairstyling competition. He’d never been in one before and only now was he realizing that it was a giant public event.
Pete was a small town guy. He’d only ever been to New Orleans when he’d come down to see and hear Leander play the blues. Visiting, going to small clubs where you knew someone was a lot different than arriving and knowing you’d be part of the show. Conventions were a bit of a madhouse at the best of times and adjusting to the swarm of people going in and out of the hotel and convention center at the same time as the chaos and crowding of the city… well, it was a lot.
Of the four of us, I was the only one who’d actually lived in a city—and that had been Baton Rouge. I’d moved there back in my past life, right after high school. That was where I’d met my husband and gotten married, gone through beautician school and had my first job as a stylist. Eventually I learned that I’d made a good choice in going to school to learn styling but I’d made a bad one in picking my husband.
When the marriage fell through, I returned to Knockemstiff and opened my own salon: Teasen and Pleasen. During the divorce I’d made another good choice in asking for the money to open the salon instead of alimony. It gave me a new life and a clean break. It felt good to be out of the city again. Life in Knockemstiff was more relaxed and I found it easier to be myself, whatever that means. With my own business and some distance from my personal failure, I got happy again.
Even before I was sure the salon could support itself, I hired my long-time best friend Nellie Phlint. “To do what?” she’d asked.
“To be the manicurist and cosmetician, of course.”
Nellie
had loved playing with nails and makeup as long as I could remember. Totally self taught, she soon had the other girls paying her to do their nails or fix their look. When I’d asked her to work for me her response was typical. “You’ll pay me to do nails and gossip?”
“Exactly. You can be the vice president of nails and gossip.” And like that, the dynamic duo was back in the game in Knockemstiff.
Once the business started growing I hired Pete Dawson as a stylist. He was homegrown and had left Knockemstiff long enough to attend a beauty school in Shreveport before running back. Betina joined us as a trainee when she was in high school. She had an eye for what worked that Pete and I helped her learn how to translate into styles. Now she worked for us full time. A stunning redhead, Betina’s presence made Teasen and Pleasen the haircut venue of choice for men as well as women.
Time had flown by.
So, this year, thinking we should all have some fun, I’d convinced Pete to enter the hairstyling competition. “Bayou Fashion. Define the next trends in hairstyling,” the brochure had said. “You can do that, Pete,” I’d told him. “You have developed a couple of great cuts. You refine them, make them a little flashier and upmarket—what you want instead of what the folks in Knockemstiff expect. I’ll pay the forty dollars to enter and if you get accepted we will all go.”
“Party time!” Nellie had said, by way of approval. At the time she’d thought a chance to get away was just what she needed. Apparently twenty miles or so was about as far as reality let the apron springs reach.
Betina had found Pete young girls to practice on, and he’d worked hard. And here we were.
“Let’s take a little walk around before we go in,” I suggested. I was hoping that seeing the city might offer some distraction and give us a chance to stretch our legs.
“Walk across the parking lot?” Nellie asked.
“There isn’t much to see around this place,” Betina said. “I was looking as we came through and it’s mostly hotels and restaurants and parking lots.”
“Bleak,” Nellie said. “I mean, walking is fine, but through a parking lot?”
“It’s hot,” Pete said.
I gave up. “Then let’s go get our rooms.”
“And a drink,” Nellie said.
Nellie’s suggestion was the first to meet with unanimous approval all day.
# # #
Walking into the grandiose lobby, I noted that only Betina seemed impressed with the place. Of course she was the youngest. Her visions and dreams tended to be more urban and contemporary that those of the rest of us. Her taste tended toward a more over-the-top or ostentatious look. That meant she often struggled a bit with life and the commonplace hair cuts you are asked to give in small, quiet town like Knockemstiff. When the population is south of 1000, things are naturally going to be a bit more dull and conservative than in The Big Easy.
So she was excited. “What a place!” she said, turning her head to look at the ornate fixtures. The reception desk was a marble slab with seven receptionists working and there was a short line at each one. “You stay with the luggage and I’ll get the rooms,” I told them. “The reservations are in my name.”
“Anything with a view of the swamp will be fine with me,” Nellie said.
“Don’t tell me you are homesick already?” I teased.
She was and it rankled her that she was. Nellie saw herself as tough and hard, although everyone else saw her as kind, but with a sharp mind and sometimes wicked tongue. “Why do they call it that? I’m the exact opposite of homesick. I think what I am is city sick. Home is starting to sound pretty good already. Real good.”
“You’ll adjust. It’s just for the weekend. Once you relax about not being around to keep an eye on those four men of yours you’ll have a great time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. She didn’t seem convinced.
Pete and Betina stood with the luggage cart but Nellie tagged along as I got into the line. The hotel was efficient and soon I was giving them my vital personal data and entering my credit card data into the system in return for four digital room cards.
“I wondered if they’d have our reservations,” Nellie said. “There are so many people here.”
“You are just being negative. You hoped they wouldn’t have them and there wouldn’t be any rooms available and we’d have to go home.”
Nellie gave me a weak grin and a graceless shrug. “Not until I had a couple of drinks and you drank iced tea so you could drive home.” She nodded at the passcards the woman was sliding toward me. “No such luck though.”
“We are in adjoining rooms,” I told Betina and Pete. When we’d talked the plans over back home Betina and Pete had agreed to share a room, while Nellie and I shared another.
“I’ll call Leander when we get unpacked,” Pete said. “I want to see how his hunt for work is going.”
“It would be great if he got a gig while we were here,” I said. It was true. Not only did we all like his soulful music, nearly everyone in town liked Leander himself. Knockemstiff’s first (as far as anyone knew) and only blues man was a popular man in our little town.
“Is he having any luck?” Nellie asked.
Pete sighed. “He says when he gets here, he’s just another black bluesman in the city trying to hustle a gig. It’s been rough. Translating his tiny fan base in Knockemstiff into something that the booking agents think will be a draw is a bit of an uphill battle.” Pete grinned. “I have to remind him that he did well at that club that Investigator Woodley got him booked into at New Years. They have a house band, but they are interested in him playing there once in a while.”
James Woodley, a Parish investigator, was based in New Orleans and had become a fan. He’d come to our little town to catch a murderer or two. While he was around I’d managed to catch something too. I’d gotten to like him. Now, hearing his name made me think of the last time he was in town. We’d spent some nice time together over Christmas. We hadn’t even had to have the excuse of solving a murder—he’d come to town to see me, and Sarah Jameson, my seven-year old charge.
That was quite a change. The first time we’d met Investigator Woodley he had considered me a prime suspect in his murder investigation—a fact he cheerfully reminded me of from time to time. Now we got along well, but cultivating a long-distance relationship was hard. It was awkward to maintain at best, and I found it difficult to determine how I felt about him or what I wanted to happen. With him living in New Orleans and me a refuge from the city, we lived in quite different cultures.
We learned we got along well and liked each other, but I hesitated to let the relationship develop. I’m a cautious soul, I guess. Nellie calls me chicken.
At any rate, when I told him we’d be in the city for the weekend, he’d promised to get in touch. No matter what doubts I might have, I was definitely looking forward to seeing him. Part of me wondered if my eagerness to come to this expo and prod Pete into competing was just an excuse to see him again. If not, it was a contributing factor.
Pete rolled the luggage cart into the elevator and we went up to the sixth floor. I handed out the passkeys for the rooms. Nellie looked at hers and laughed. “This hotel can’t even afford keys?”
“These are all the rage,” Pete said. “They are much more efficient than real keys and cheaper to replace.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m just exercising my inalienable right to be a grumpy traveler.”
“She needs a special set of things to be comfortable,” I said. “I’ve asked the hotel to send up a screeching kid for you to yell at from time to time.”
“I could’ve brought one along if that was all it took.” Then she grinned. “Unless you're allowed to strangle the one the hotel provides.”
I poked her in the ribs. “No such luck. Just for that nasty comment I’m cancelling the order. You go ahead and let that grumpiness take meaningful shape in this complex city environment.”
“You’re in a chipper mood,”
Nellie said. “That’s totally disgusting.”
Betina touched Nellie’s arm and giggled. “Of course she’s chipper, Nellie.”
“Why?”
“Think for a minute. Who do we know who lives in this city?”
“James Woodley!”
“Right the first time. All this expo stuff is a smoke screen. Savannah brought us here because then she has a chance to see her beau—that’s why she is chipper.”
Pete laughed. “Beau? Now there’s a word I haven’t heard outside of old movies in like… forever.”
“It’s a nice word,” Betina said, looking hurt. “And what’s wrong with old movies?”
“Nothing, but you should know what it really means before you use it casually.”
“What does it mean?”
“The escort of a woman who is concerned about how he looks.”
“You mean like a gigolo?” Betina asked.
“Not really,” Pete said. “More like a dandy.”
“Hot boyfriend works for me,” Nellie said.
Pete said, “I only know because I looked it up after watching one of those old movies.”
Betina was still a little shocked. “So Beau Bridges…”
Pete shook his head. “Bad name choice.”
Betina let that go and smiled. “Well it doesn’t matter, but I think that’s why Savannah is in a good mood. She gets to see James Woodley without anyone having to die first.”
“That would be a first,” Pete said.
“Hey, he came at Christmas just to visit,” I said. “No one died then.” I was a little uncomfortable at having my relationship with the man as the focus of all this attention. “I’m cheerful to offset all your gloomy conspiracy. You are the only other one that seems to be enjoying herself, Betina.”
The irony that almost every time James and I saw each other was when a murder was committed wasn’t a good thought. If Knockemstiff hadn’t suddenly had a crime wave that was all out of proportion to its population, we would never have met.
Color Me Dead Page 1
