Payne & Misery

by Catherine Leggitt

  “You’re calling me at this hour to ask that?”

  I wrinkled my nose. What’s the deal about men and the time of phone calls? “It’s not early any more. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon here. And Iowa is two hours ahead of us. Please, Alan, it might be important. Tell me what you meant.”

  “Important for who?” Mumble, mumble. A spate of profanities preceded another drag on the cigarette.

  “Maybe you know something to help find Lila.”

  “Okay, okay. If it’ll get you off my back.” He paused to exhale. “I get this call a couple years ago. Can’t remember when. Lila’s bawling so hard I can hardly understand her. Something about a baby. ‘Baby’s gone.’ Then she says, ‘It was too fast.’ Then something about the boat. I ask what boat, what baby? She says, ‘Helen. Just like last time.’”

  “Helen? What did Helen do last time?”

  His tone sounded as if he spoke to a stupid child. “Offed the baby.”

  “What do you mean, ‘offed’?”

  He made an exaggerated tsk. “You know!”

  A sudden memory of my conversation with the McCarthys clunked into my brain. Maggie said Lila got agitated about Baby and said, “She did it.” The she must be Helen! “You mean killed? Helen killed the baby?”

  “Well, yeah. Sayonara, baby.”

  His cavalier attitude flooded sadness over me. “Did she tell you anything else?

  “That’s it. Sorry.”

  Maggie remembered Lila saying just like before. “She said, ‘Just like last time’? What did she mean by that?”

  “Look lady, I dunno. I only heard about one time she got knocked up. She never said what happened. I just thought she wouldn’t keep it ’cause she couldn’t take care of herself, much less a baby.”

  “Did she ever mention Baby again?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “How often do you talk to her?”

  “What are you, writing a book? I don’t keep track. She only calls when she’s down.”

  Then she should have been calling every day. Why did she quit? I needed to know more about Lila. “Tell me about her. Please. I want so much to help her.”

  “Yeah, whatever, lady. I know your kind—do-gooders. Where will you be when we really need you?”

  How could I convince him? “Alan, we’re talking about your sister. She’s out there somewhere all alone. She’s weak and frail. Please help me find her.”

  “Look, I dunno where she is. Got it?”

  “Just tell me about her, then. Maybe something you say will help.”

  “Don’t know how it could, but if it’ll get you off my case.” He filled his lungs with nicotine. “Grew up in Des Moines. Lila’s my half-sister—four years older.” Exhale. “She took care of me, ’cause Ma was never around. But she was just a kid, ya know? We fought like two cats in a sack when we was kids, but after a while, the fight left her. Like she couldn’t do it no more.”

  “What kind of person is Lila?”

  “Shy. Don’t take care of herself ’cause she don’t want to be like Ma. That’s what I always thought. Don’t care about clothes or makeup or girl stuff.”

  “How about friends?”

  “None that I heard of. She’s a loner type. Had a lot of trouble at school, mostly ’cause she didn’t go. Dropped out in her senior year, I think.”

  “What did she do then?”

  “You don’t quit, do you?”

  “Please?”

  He sighed dramatically. “I dunno, really. Cleaned houses—odd jobs, I guess. Never made much dinero, that’s for sure.”

  “How about your mother?”

  “How’s that gonna help?”

  “I don’t know. Just tell me about her, please.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Now there was a real piece of work. Always into herself. No time for Lila and me. Never made enough to pay rent, so we moved a lot. Some new crisis every day. ’Dads’ coming and going. Mostly jerks. Don’t know my old man. Just know he ain’t Lila’s. We’re not talking Brady Bunch. You get what I’m saying? I got out as fast as I could.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  “Probably more of the same. Some guy came to find me when she died. Think it was her heart, if she had one. I showed up for the funeral. Thought Lila might need me. But she didn’t want nothing from me.” I heard a whoosh as he lit another cigarette. Drag, exhale.

  “Do you know the father of Lila’s baby?”

  “I heard she got knocked up but it coulda been anybody.”

  “What about Lila’s father? Ever hear anything more about him?”

  “Lila always wanted to find him. Used to talk about it all the time. Like it would fix everything. Heard she tried real hard when she got pregnant. Don’t know if she ever did, though. Find him, I mean. I hope so. I hope he ain’t some kinda jerk.”

  Given Lila’s bad luck, if she ever did find him he probably was a jerk. He certainly hadn’t been around when she needed him.

  28

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  What Grace Woodson overheard in the beauty parlor rattled around my head all week. Maxine and Cybil—or Sylvia—might know more than they told Grace. Since I just happened to need a haircut and my roots touched up, I called for an appointment with the illustrious Maxine. The receptionist stiffly informed me that Maxine didn’t usually accept new clients. I expressed my extreme disappointment and mentioned how highly Grace Woodson had recommended her.

  “Hold, please,” the receptionist said.

  When she returned, she had managed to find an appointment, provided I could come early the next day.

  After Jesse retired, I never made early appointments, not for anyone. “How early?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  I groaned. That was early, especially since it took half an hour to get into town. Maxine better be worth it. “I’ll be there.”

  Fortified by two cups of extra-strong coffee, I exited the 49 Freeway and turned right across the Broad Street Bridge, away from downtown Nevada City. Once I crossed Deer Creek, I started looking for the address. Several stone buildings that looked like genuine relics from the 1800s lined the street. Before long, I found A Cut Above nestled against the hillside. From the looks of the rectangular edifice, I’d guess it originally functioned as a carriage house or some type of storage facility for the winery-turned-restaurant next door.

  At precisely eight o’clock, I parked the Jeep in the narrow lot beside the salon. Once inside, I stopped at the reception desk. “I’m here to see Maxine.”

  The mini-skirted receptionist looked up from her computer, fidgeting with the phone contraption in her ear. “She’s not here yet. Have a seat.” She nodded toward a seating area, which consisted of four cushioned wicker chairs arranged around a metal and glass coffee table strewn with magazines. I sat.

  A tall, skinny woman with flaming dyed-red hair and wearing tight black leggings and sling-back heels dashed in and tied on a black vinyl apron. I glanced at the receptionist. Both of them ignored me. The skinny woman took her place at the first beauty station on the right. Bottles and jars clinked as she rummaged through the pile on top of her table.

  I continued to sit.

  A youngish woman with huge hoop earrings and a streaked blond ponytail arrived next. She smiled at me but said nothing. I partially rose from my seat, but she hurried to the end of the row, yanked out the band holding her ponytail, and got busy redoing her own hair.

  Within the next half hour, four more beauticians and several patrons entered and rushed to their respective workstations. The receptionist never spoke to any of them but occasionally fiddled with her headset and computer. From time to time, she answered the phone and apparently made a few appointments. I sat and observed the busyness. The beauticians and their clients interacted as hairstyling commenced, and soon women’s chatter and laughter, water splashing in hair-washing basins, and the whoosh of blow dryers filled the room with sound. The pleasant perfume of hair products swirled thr
ough the air. Thankfully, permanent solution doesn’t stink like it used to. My eyes watered, remembering those bygone days.

  By eight thirty-five, I wondered why I bothered coming so early. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I skipped breakfast. I approached the reception desk. “Excuse me. I had an appointment with Maxine for eight o’clock. Has she been detained?”

  The receptionist frowned. “Honey, Maxine is not a morning person.”

  I hoped the receptionist couldn’t hear my rumbling stomach. “Does Maxine know we have an appointment?”

  Just then, the door opened and in sashayed a dour-faced woman wearing zebra-striped pants, black pumps with heels at least four inches high, and a tight black bustier that revealed way too much cleavage. Not exactly a work outfit in my book.

  The woman waved toward the reception desk. “Is there coffee?”

  I raised my eyebrows. It looked like she snapped her fingers at Miss Mini-skirt.

  The receptionist rose instantly and trotted away.

  The Diva never broke stride, continuing her sashay to the most prominent workstation—the first one on the left opposite Miss Flaming Red Hair. There she adjusted a leopard-print vinyl apron over her ample bosom and meticulously tied a front bow so the ends came out exactly equal. This accomplished, she appraised her appearance in the mirror. A hair-tuck here, a make-up touch there— judging by her expression, the face in the mirror didn’t satisfy her.

  Miss Mini-skirt scurried back with a steaming mug of fresh coffee, which she set on the vanity table. Only then did the receptionist speak. “Your eight o’clock is here.” She nodded my way. “Mrs. Sterling.”

  The Diva, who was apparently Maxine, continued fussing in the mirror between sips of coffee as if she hadn’t heard. After at least a full minute, she extended one arm toward me with a flourish. “Mrs. Sterling. I’m Maxine. Please sit here.”

  Not a single word about being forty minutes late for our appointment. Positively insulting! I fumed while I settled into her chair, almost forgetting my mission.

  Maxine forced a smile that showed off gleaming white teeth. “And what are we about to create for you today?” Using the royal “we”—who did she think she was?

  I cleared my throat, taking time to clear my mood as well. “I need a touch-up, don’t you think? And a new hairdo would be great too.”

  Maxine scrunched my shoulder-length hair in one hand, as if examining the slight wave that had replaced the naturally curly hair I had as a child. “How short are you thinking?”

  Short? I wasn’t thinking short. “I—”

  “I know the perfect cut for your face.” Maxine’s plastic smile never wavered. “You’ll love it. But first, the color. Tiffany?” She snapped her fingers again.

  What was with the finger snapping? I wouldn’t respond to that, no matter who did it.

  Miss Ponytail—Tiffany—appeared immediately, however, and Maxine issued directions about mixing color to fill in my dark roots. While waiting for Tiffany, Maxine studied herself in the mirror again.

  Getting to the point of my visit, I said, “Grace Woodson highly recommended you.”

  While wiping stray lipstick off a corner of her mouth, Maxine favored me with a queen nod through the mirror.

  “And Helen Sterne comes here, too, I think.”

  Maxine turned to stare at me. “How do you know Helen?”

  “We, uh, bought the house next door to her brother.”

  Maxine removed a drape from a cubbyhole in the wall cabinet above her station, shook it open, and covered my shoulders, using a clip at the neck to hold it in place. “She’s actually Cece’s client.” She nodded at the red-haired woman across the aisle. “Helen Sterne is a troubled woman.”

  Cece grimaced hearing Helen’s name.

  I spoke louder to include Cece (who apparently wasn’t Cybil or Sylvia as Grace supposed) in the conversation above the buzz in the shop. “So I gather. I’ve been worried about Lila. Such a frail person. She’s missing, you know. Apparently neither Will nor Helen are the slightest bit concerned.”

  Maxine’s “Ha!” didn’t seem as much a laugh as an exclamation.

  I didn’t know how to take that. I addressed my question to Cece. “Where do you think Lila has gone?”

  Cece shrugged.

  Maxine accepted two pots of hair-coloring paste from Tiffany and arranged them on her tray before speaking. “Helen’s been trying to get rid of that girl for years.”

  Cece continued brushing out the back of her client’s hair. “I thought after the dog incident, Lila would get the picture.”

  “The dog incident? You mean the little dog she named Baby?”

  While we talked, layers of folded foil appeared on one side of my head as Maxine’s quick fingers applied the coloring solution, folded and patted, and divided the next section with her rat-tail comb. “Helen drowned that dog, you know.”

  Chilled, I sucked in air. “What? Lila loved that little dog.”

  Cece shook her head. “Yeah, well. That’s exactly why Helen got rid of it.”

  Maxine rolled her eyes. “Helen wants Lila out for good. That girl’s just a gold-digger. She does absolutely nothing around the house. Then Will gets her this dog. Like she could take care of a dog when she can’t even take care of herself. Please. Have you seen her?”

  When I nodded, the foils swished. Maxine lifted both gloved hands into the air.

  “Sorry. I was nodding. Yes, I’ve seen her.”

  Maxine frowned and went back to work. “Need I say more?”

  Cece grinned.

  It didn’t make sense. “But dogs can swim. How did she drown the dog?”

  Maxine swiveled the chair a quarter turn and pumped a couple times with her foot to raise the position before shifting to the other side of my head.

  Cece continued. “Helen wheedled an invitation to Tahoe with them, then talked Will into letting her drive the boat.”

  Maxine raised her eyebrows. “Pilot the boat.”

  Cece shrugged. “Whatever. She threw that throttle into high gear and headed for the middle of the lake. That’s where she ‘accidentally’ nudged the dog into the water. Can you imagine? Lila went berserk. You know how icy that water is? I guess Will had to hold Lila back to keep her from jumping in. Helen pretended to circle back to look for him, but for some reason they never found him until after he drowned. Wouldn’t surprise me if Helen beat that dog down with an oar or something.”

  Maxine’s lacy metal earrings jingled when she shook her head. “That’s our Helen. Little dog never had a chance.”

  Shivers of shock trickled down my spine. An image of Helen’s cold expression in the hardware store flickered to mind. What kind of person would intentionally drown a helpless dog? This woman must be even worse than I’d imagined—heartless and unspeakably cruel.

  Maxine and Cece chattered on about another client whose cruelty to animals had bordered on criminal. Eventually the police prosecuted that woman. What would it take to convict Helen of the murder of this poor, defenseless dog?

  After the foils were wrapped and I’d spent a few minutes under the dryer, Tiffany washed the color solution out of my hair. Apparently, in this salon, if you were a diva like Maxine, you had people wash hair for you. Tiffany escorted me back to Maxine’s chair—a fluffy white towel wrapped around my wet hair.

  “Now for the ‘magic’ part.” Maxine’s shears went snip, snip.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready for “magic.”

  While Maxine sectioned and cut, they continued the stories exactly where they’d left off before I went under the dryer. Maxine turned me away from the mirror while she cut the front. Feeling cold air at the base of my neck where I hadn’t felt it for some time, I worried just how short this new “do” had become.

  Cece continued talking while she adjusted her client’s chair. “I heard they just found Lila’s little dog in the back of Will’s brown Buick.”

  I jerked my head her way, causing Maxine to lift he
r hands again. “Why didn’t they just bury the poor little dog?”

  An unladylike snort escaped the Diva’s lips. “See how insane that whole bunch is? After the dog drowned, Lila insisted on fishing him out of those cold waters. Can’t imagine how they ever found him. Must have taken hours. Then she took him home. Made a shrine in the basement with an altar and candles. Kept the dead dog there until Will couldn’t stand the stench another minute.” She turned the chair a quarter turn and lowered the seat a couple of pumps. “So he stuck the dog in the trunk of the car. I guess he intended to dump it somewhere.”

  Cece joined the guffaws. “But Lila sat behind the car with the trunk open for days and nights, mourning.”

  Maxine shook her thick black hair, making the earrings jingle again. “Unbelievable!”

  When she finally stopped fussing with my hair, she stood back a moment to admire her creation. “You’re going to love this!”

  Cece nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve done it again, Max.”

  Maxine whipped the chair around so I faced the mirror.

  In that instant, all words drained from my mind.

  Short red, blond, and brown spikes stuck out all over my head. Short. Red. Blond. And brown. Spikes. In varying lengths, with the longest parts at my cheeks.

  I blinked hard at my reflection, hoping to dislodge this image and make my old familiar hair materialize in its place.

  Tears filled my eyes. “Oh … my!”

  Maxine beamed. “I knew we’d love it.”

  I gulped over the lump in my throat. “It’s … a bit shorter than I anticipated.”

  Maxine handed me a large round mirror and swiveled the chair so I could see my hair from every angle. It looked even more hideous from the sides, if possible—like an explosion at the clown factory. I felt numb.

  “Wait until you see the colors outside in the sunshine,” she was saying.

  Yes, that’s it. I needed to get outside. Fast. “How much do I owe you?”

  She rattled off a figure that would have normally made me joke about taking out a loan to pay her. Instead, I wrote a check with a shaky hand, gathered my belongings, and fled, praying that no one I knew would be in town to recognize me.