by Jessica Beck
He stopped pacing, then stood and looked at me. “Do you think that fact has escaped the chief’s attention? No matter what you might believe, deep down he’s a good cop. He sees a lot more than you give him credit for.”
I’d never considered that possibility. “What are you saying? Is our friendship hurting your connections with the police?”
“Suzanne, they aren’t connections. They are my friends. And lately, I’ve been hearing some grumbling about where my loyalties really rest. You know what? I wonder sometimes myself. There’s a brotherhood among law enforcement officers, and sometimes I play kind of fast and loose with it.”
It was the longest speech I’d ever heard him give. I touched his shoulder lightly. “George, I’d never ask you to betray a friendship, you know that, don’t you?”
He nodded, then pulled away from my touch. “I know that, but sometimes I think maybe they don’t.” He took a deep breath, then said, “You know what? If you need me, I’m here for you. I’ll find out whatever I can.”
“I don’t want you to burn any bridges on my account,” I said.
“I didn’t say I would. But if I can help you without crossing any lines, I will.”
I started to protest when he added, “Suzanne, you’re not my mother, or my boss, or my shrink. You’re my friend, and if I choose to help you, there’s not much you can do about it. Now can I go back and eat my breakfast? I feel like a kid having to stay after school for something he didn’t do.”
“Go on. Eat your donuts,” I said, laughing as I followed him back out front. George headed back for the table, but I stopped at Emma’s position behind the cash register.
“Good, you’re relieving me,” she said.
“Not quite. We have a few more things to discuss. You can handle things here, can’t you?”
She gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up signal, then said, “If customer service is going to be part of my job description, then I want a raise.”
“As for me, I’d like a pony,” I said, “but I’ve got a feeling neither one of us is going to get our wish.”
The table was quiet as I approached, and they both looked expectantly at me. I took a deep breath, then said, “First things first. Are we all good right now?”
I got two nods of assent, which is what I’d been hoping for. We were a team.
“Okay, here are my thoughts. We need to look into Max’s disappearance, as well as Muriel’s sudden absence. While we’re doing that, we need to dig into Darlene’s life and see who might have reason to want her dead. We also need to look into Muriel’s life, because whoever killed Darlene could have just as easily been going after her.”
Grace asked, “Can you honestly think anyone could make that mistake? The two women were as different as night and day.”
“You didn’t see her lying on the ground,” I said. “I didn’t know until I saw that the wig Darlene had been wearing had slipped and some of her blonde hair poked out from underneath it. Remember, she was trying out for the lead in Max’s play, so she was emulating Muriel pretty closely.”
“Okay,” George said. “Who gets what assignment?”
“Here’s what I had in mind. Grace, I need you to ask around as delicately as you can about Darlene’s and Muriel’s finances. See if either one of them owed anyone any money, if they had large life insurance policies, or big savings accounts waiting to be inherited. Any angle that could involve money as a motive would be helpful.”
“I can’t imagine Darlene Higgins leaving much of a financial legacy,” she said.
“Honestly, I can’t either, but we shouldn’t guess. We need to know.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said. Grace glanced at her watch, then she added, “Most of the people I need to talk with probably aren’t even up yet. I’ll have to wait a few hours before I make any calls.”
George looked at me steadily for a few seconds, then asked, “So, what did you have in mind for me?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
He nodded. “Tell me what you need.”
I took a deep breath, then said, “You have the hardest job of all. I need you to find Max and Muriel.”
“Martin’s got his men working on it pretty hard,” George said.
“I know that, but none of them have your experience and expertise.”
“You don’t have to flatter me, Suzanne, I already said I’d help.” Though he was protesting the compliments, it was pretty clear he enjoyed them.
“I’m just telling the truth,” I said.
“Sure, whatever,” he said as he got up and headed for the door.
He stopped halfway there. “What do I owe you for breakfast?”
“It’s on the house,” I said.
He nodded, and then he walked out the door. George had no problem taking free donuts, something that always made me laugh, given his past job experience, and the reputation cops had for loving donuts.
That left me. I decided I needed to ask around town to find out any dish I could on Muriel and Darlene from the gossip mill, and there was only one place I could go for that, next door to Gabby Williams.
It was too bad her shop wasn’t open yet.
Grace must have had the same thought as I had. “We have to talk to Gabby, don’t we?”
“Yes, but that comes later. The first thing we need to do is get our hair done,” I said.
“Suzanne, do you really think that’s fair, since George is out looking for clues about what really happened?”
I grinned at her. “I didn’t say where we were going, did I? I’m going to call and get us the next two appointments at Wilma Jackson’s Cutnip.”
“That’s asking too much,” she said as her hands went protectively toward her elegantly styled coif.
“Tell you what. I’ll take a hit for the team, and you can just come along for the ride. How’s that sound?”
“Better for me than it does for you,” she said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Have you seen the women around town who all have the exact same hairstyle? They have one thing in common; they go to Cutnip to get their hair done.”
“It can’t be that bad, can it?” I asked, as my own hands went to my beloved ponytail.
“Maybe I’m just exaggerating,” she said.
After a long pause, she added, “Then again, maybe I’m not.”
My fingers trembled a little as I called Cutnip, and a part of me hoped they were booked solid through July.
Unfortunately, they’d just had a cancellation, and could take me in the next fifteen minutes.
When I told Emma I needed her to watch the front a little longer, she asked, “Where are you going? Why can’t I run your errand for you?”
“I’m going to Cutnip to get my hair done so I can snoop around,” I said as I lowered my voice.
“That’s okay, you go on ahead. Take your time, I’ll even close up at noon, if you want me to.”
I shook my head, and I would have laughed if I wasn’t so worried about what was going to happen to my hair, all in the name of the murder investigation. I’d have to keep telling myself it was something I had to do. Maybe that would keep me in the beautician’s chair. Otherwise, Wilma was going to need a hefty set of straps to confine me as she tortured my hair.
* * *
I hesitated at the door of the salon as another woman came out. Her hair sported Wilma’s signature teasing, a big hairdo that looked more at home in the sixties than it did now.
“You want to know something? I’m not so sure about this anymore,” I said. “Is it really worth it?”
“Come on, don’t be such a baby,” Grace said as she started to give me a little nudge toward the door.
“If I’m being a baby, why don’t you get your hair done instead of me?”
She laughed low enough so only I could hear it. “Suzanne, do I honestly look that crazy to you?”
Before I could come up with an answer that had just the right bite to it, it
was too late; we were inside.
There were five chairs in Wilma’s salon, and four of them were full, with one woman waiting. The place was certainly hopping. The one empty chair was covered with a black smock that had DARLENE embroidered in red on it.
Wilma nodded in our direction as we walked in. A woman holding onto her forties with both hands, she was dressed in tight black stretch pants, and I could see hints of a leopard-print blouse under her smock. Her hair had been teased into a giant ball of henna, and I could see she didn’t have to look far for her inspiration.
“As I live and breathe, it’s the donut lady herself,” she said. “Are you finally ready to get rid of that ponytail and grow up?”
My hand went to my hair as I said, “I thought I’d come by and look at some options today,” I lied. “But I’m not ready for a drastic change yet. I need some time to come to terms with it. Could I still get a shampoo and a trim in the meantime?”
Wilma waved her scissors in the air, barely missing removing a chunk of her current customer’s left earlobe. “Honey, we do everything here but change your oil.”
As Grace and I took our seats, Wilma said, “What about you, darlin’? You need a touch-up, too?”
“No, I’m good. I just came along to give my opinion on her new hairstyle. Suzanne needs my advice on just about everything.”
I kicked her foot, but nobody else noticed it.
Wilma looked carefully at Grace, then said, “That’s fine, then. You’re a little too trendy for my taste, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
I tried to bite back the laughter, and instead found myself choking. After a few seconds, I managed to get it back under control, but not before garnering some odd looks from everyone else in the beauty salon.
Grace said, “Do you want to know the truth? We can’t all pull off your style, Wilma.”
The salon owner nodded. “It’s wise of you to realize it, dear. Don’t sell yourself short, though. You do pretty good, with what you have and all, I mean.”
I expected Grace to say something biting, but she managed to smile, then said, “Coming from you, that’s a real compliment.”
I had to look at her to check, but she didn’t even roll her eyes as she said it.
Wilma took a few more snips with her scissors, then she removed the smock from the woman in her chair. After collecting her fee, she turned to me and patted her chair and said with a smile, “You’re next.”
“How about her?” I asked as I pointed to the woman who’d arrived before we had.
“Sally? She’s waiting on Mary Fran. Nobody else touches her. Come on, don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”
No, but I was willing to bet her scissors did. I reluctantly climbed into the chair, and she draped the smock around me like it was some kind of cape.
She instructed me, “Now, you just lean back into the sink and we’ll give you a good wash first.”
“I washed my hair last night,” I said in protest, suddenly wondering if this was that good an idea after all.
She sniffed it, then said, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you smell like donuts, Suzanne.”
“There are a lot worse things I could smell like,” I said. In my head, I added, “like a Parisian nightwalker like you,” but I kept that comment to myself.
She patted my shoulder, and as she did so, Wilma tilted me back until my neck touched the sink basin. “Just relax. You won’t feel a thing.”
That was kind of what I was afraid of.
As she doused my hair with warm water, I said, “It’s a terrible thing about Darlene, isn’t it?”
Was that sharp tug in my hair a comment on my question?
Wilma said, “Sorry about that, my fingers got caught in a knot. Yes, I thought long and hard about closing the shop all week in her honor, but Darlene would have wanted the show to go on.”
“That’s right,” one of the other hairdressers said as she accentuated her point by stabbing her scissors in the air. “She was a real trooper.”
Wilma said, “Excuse me for saying so, but I never thought I’d hear a word of sympathy from you towards her, Suzanne Hart.”
I started to protest when she added, “I’m not saying I’d blame you. Darlene lost her head over that Max, and even you have to admit, that man could charm water from a dry well.”
“He’s got a way about him, I won’t deny it,” I said, trying to keep my temper in check. I was there for information, not to defend what little there was of my ex-husband’s honor.
“Just between us girls, I knew that man was trouble from the first day he got his driver’s license,” Wilma said. “I tried to warn Darlene about him, but she just wouldn’t listen to me.”
I got a sudden whiff of the shampoo before she put it in my hair, and I smelled bananas and apricots, a powerful and pungent aroma. If I had my druthers, I would have kept the deep fried scent.
As she rubbed it into my scalp, she said, “There now, isn’t that better?”
“Hmm,” I said, not trusting myself to speak.
As she rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, I decided to dig a little deeper.
“Wilma, do you know anybody who had a grudge against Darlene?”
“Do you mean besides you, sugar?” she asked.
I fought the urge to protest my innocence again. “Yes, besides me.”
“Funny you should ask. The chief asked me the same thing.”
“What did you tell him?” I asked as I wiped a bit of the errant shampoo away from my eyes.
Wilma seemed to think about it, then said, “Nobody’s ever had a problem with her, and that’s the truth. Besides her one little slip with Max, she was a good girl.” Wilma hoisted me back upright, wrapped a towel around my wet hair, then studied my face for a few moments. “Let’s see, I think the most attractive cut for you would be my specialty. I call it the Cascade. Isn’t that lucky for you? Dear, it will do wonders for you, and you’ll finally look your real age, instead of like one of the kids.”
There was no way I was going to put up with that. I’d seen too many of Wilma’s cascades walking around April Springs to ever want one myself. I glanced over at her clock. “Oh my gosh. Is that the time? Wilma, I hate to do this, but I’ve got to run. I’ve got a dentist appointment I forgot about completely. I’ll come back another time, I promise,” I said as I ran the towel through my hair a few times, then shoved that and the smock into her arms. “How’s ten sound for the wash?”
“I charge twenty,” she said coldly.
“Seriously?” I asked as I pulled another ten from my thin wallet. “Okay. Gotta run now.”
Grace met me at the door, and once we were outside the shop, I used my fingers to scrub my still-wet hair back and forth in the cold. It was freezing, and I quickly regretted abandoning the towel.
Grace grinned at me and said, “You’re going to get pneumonia, you know that, don’t you?”
“That’s still better than getting one of her specialty hairdos. She’s got a lot of nerve calling it a cascade. It’s more like an avalanche, if you ask me.”
The salon door opened and one of the stylists, Cynthia Trent, came out with a towel in her hand. I’d gone through school with her brother, Tom, a nice guy who’d ended up going to Duke and was now a doctor in Charlotte. Most of the girls had been more interested in the bad boys at our school, and most of us regretted the choices we’d made back then. If I’d known then what I knew now, I would have dated more math majors and fewer aspiring actors and wannabe rock stars.
“I was hoping you’d still be here,” she said as she handed me the towel.
“Thanks, Cynthia. You’re a lifesaver,” I said, then ran the fresh towel through my hair until it was dry enough to hold me until I could get home and finish the job.
As I handed the towel back to her, I said, “That was sweet of you.”
“Wilma just lied to you,” the stylist said, her voice barely above a whisper, though there was no one near but Grace.
“The s
hampoos are really just ten, aren’t they? I knew it.”
Cynthia shook her head. “They’re twenty, all right. That’s not what she lied to you about. Darlene had one enemy in April Springs, at least one that I knew about, and you deserve to know who it was.”
BREAKFAST PUFFIN MUFFINS
These treats are a nice change of pace from deep frying everything, and bake in the oven. They’re perfect for a quick snack or a bite on the run. Light in texture and flavor, these are a real hit at my house!
INGREDIENTS
• 1⁄3 cup margarine or butter, soft
• 1⁄2 cup sugar
• 1 egg, beaten
• 2 cups flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1⁄4 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spices
• 3⁄4 cup milk, whole or 2%
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon nutmeg
• 2 ounces raisins (optional)
DIRECTIONS
Blend margarine, sugar, and beaten egg together until the mixture is smooth. In a separate bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, salt, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, and nutmeg together. Add the dry ingredients and the wet to the milk, alternating and mixing as you go. If you’d like, now is the time to add the raisins to the batter.
Fill the muffin cups halfway (I always use liners), then dust the top of each muffin with cinnamon sugar (1 tablespoon granulated sugar for 1 teaspoon of cinnamon) before you put it into the oven, which should be preheated to 350°F. Bake for 18–22 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out of the center of each muffin clean. Cool the muffins on a rack for five minutes before removing them from the pan.
CHAPTER 7
“Who are you talking about?” Grace asked.
Cynthia glanced back toward the door, then admitted, “Wilma herself. She thought Darlene was stealing from her here at the salon, and they had a horrible fight just before Darlene was stabbed. If you ask me, it’s a little too much of a coincidence that she turns up dead just a little later, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I said. “Why tell me, though? Did you talk to the police?”
