by Jeff Shelby
“Ow.” I glared at her.
“Sorry,” Emily whispered, leaning toward me. “But that's her.”
“That's who?”
She inclined her head, jerking it a little to the right. “The girl that was with Ted at Big Mama's,” she said.
I leaned back to get a look around her. My Gigi frowned at me, and I realized I’d shifted my hands out of her reach. I gave her an apologetic smile and repositioned them before returning my gaze to the woman to our right. Elsa Ahlberg was indeed sitting down in an oversized leather chair with her feet propped up, ready to have them worked on.
“Hmm,” I said, the wheels in my head beginning to spin.
Emily sensed this immediately. “Oh my god,” she said. “Do not go talk to her while I'm here.”
“I'm just sitting here, getting my nails done,” I said innocently. “It's our bonding time.”
“I know that look,” Emily said. “And I know that sound you just made.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “It means you want to go talk to her.”
“I don't make a sound.”
“Yes, you do. Jake imitates it all the time when you aren't around.”
I made a mental note to poke him in the ear when I saw him next. “Hmm.”
“He does that one, too.”
“It's the same sound.”
“Totally different, actually.”
I started to give her another “Hmm” but feared I'd learn more about myself than I ever wanted to know.
The Gigis took another twenty minutes or so to work on our nails before we were deemed finished. Emily's looked fabulously stylish and I could tell she was thrilled. Mine looked like I would wreck them the moment I got home and picked peas from the garden. But I was glad that Emily was happy and, I felt a little less guilty about not taking her worries more seriously.
Emily's Gigi met us up at the register and rang us up. I paid her, tipped enough for both technicians, and thanked her.
“Stop looking at her,” Emily whispered in my ear.
“Looking at who?”
“Ted's girlfriend,” she said. “You keep glancing over.”
She was studying her nails so I wasn’t sure how she’d come to this conclusion. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do. Don't go talk to her.”
Gigi slid my credit card back to me and I stuffed it back in my wallet.
“I'm just going to say hello,” I told Emily.
“No!”
“It'll only take a minute.”
“I'm walking home then,” she threatened.
“Good idea,” I said. “Be good for you to get some exercise.”
“Mom.”
“Emily.”
Her shoulders slumped. She knew she was defeated.
Victory was, once again, mine.
I turned around, slinging my purse over my shoulder, and took a few steps toward the pedicure station. I smiled at the woman sitting in the oversized recliner. “You're Elsa, right?”
ELEVEN
Elsa eyed me a little warily. “Yes. I am.”
Her short brown hair was pulled back by a headband exposing a wide forehead and arched eyebrows above green eyes. Her nose and mouth both seemed a little too small for her face. Diamond studs glistened in the lobes of her ears. She wore a maroon sweatshirt from the university, and gray sweatpants that had seen better days, nearly threadbare at the knees.
I held out my hand. “I'm Daisy. I work with Ted.”
She blinked several times, her long eyelashes fluttering, and something like recognition flashed through her expression. She shook my hand. “Oh, right. I'm sorry. I should've recognized you.”
“Oh gosh, no,” I told her. “And this is my daughter...”
As I turned around, the bell above was chiming and a flash resembling Emily went by the window outside.
“...was my daughter Emily,” I said. “She, uh, needed to get home fast.”
“Ah,” Elsa said, offering an uncertain smile. “Okay.”
“I, um, I just wanted to see if Ted was released from the hospital,” I said. “I went to see him and he seemed to be doing alright.”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Oh. That's good. It was such a strange thing. I didn't know what to do.”
“I'm sure.”
“I mean, my food was fine. I didn't get sick at all or anything. I didn't know if he was choking or what was happening.”
“I'm sure it was scary.”
“It really was.” She glanced at the woman working on her toes. She was bent over, scrubbing her heels with something that resembled a rock. Her hair was brown, cut chin-length, and I wondered if her name was Gigi, too.
Elsa cleared her throat. “But I...I haven't spoken to him,” she said.
“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. “Okay.”
“We aren't together any longer,” she said. Emily's eavesdropping had served her well.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I told her.
She shifted in the chair, trying to keep her legs still, but it was obvious that the conversation was making her uncomfortable. “That's okay. It was for the best, I think. We'd been...we'd been talking about it for a while. It took us some time to get around to making the decision, but it's the right thing.” She smiled at me and it was still that uncertain one, as if she were looking for approval from me. “But, obviously, that doesn't mean I wished him any ill will. He scared me half to death when he fell over.”
“Of course,” I said. It didn’t seem like the right time to point out that Ted, the victim of the crime, had been scared half to death, too. And had apparently been poisoned half to death, as well. “Of course.”
“So I was just trying to give him some space,” she said. “I didn't want to just start checking in on him so soon after we'd...separated. He knows I care, and I told him if he needs me he can call me. I'd be happy to help if he needs my help.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I said. “It sounds like, despite everything, you still care about him very much.”
It must have been the wrong thing to say because she laughed, a nervous little chuckle, her cheeks getting red. “I mean, I’ll come by if I'm not out on a date or something with some new guy. I…I just got Tinder.”
“Oh, well, of course.” I’d heard of Tinder but after my own incident with a dating website—the one where a date of mine ended up dead in the crawlspace of my basement—I wasn’t a huge proponent of anyone using their services.
She must have noticed my tone because her cheeks flushed even redder. “Not that I’m seeing anyone quite yet. It’s still all so new, the being single. For both of us.”
Elsa seemed sincere with what she was saying. I didn't hear or see any signs of animosity over the break-up. So even if Emily had seen some anger, that didn't mean that it had ended in anger. Ending any relationship was bound to create some fireworks, even if both parties were in favor of doing so. My own divorce, despite both of us agreeing that it was the right decision, had had its ugly moments. So I knew that cross words didn't necessarily reflect how the two parties felt about one another.
“Well, I'm glad to hear that it wasn't a contentious break-up.”
“You're all done,” the woman at Elsa’s feet said. “Your toes are finished.”
Elsa took a good look at her feet, then eased the raised part of the chair down. She slipped her feet into rubber flip-flops and gave them an approving nod.
Then she looked at me. “Goodness, no. We were just growing apart like people do. We both have different interests. When I brought it up to him, I think he was relieved that I was the one suggesting it.” She leaned forward a little in the chair. “Ted isn't exactly the most assertive man in the world, so I think it took some of the pressure off of him.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
She walked past me to the counter. “Sometimes life just takes us in different directions and we have to choose the path that's right for us. You know?”
I thought that
was a whole lot of clichés, but I nodded anyway. “I do know.”
She pulled some cash out of her wallet and laid it on the counter. “Wilma, I've got to run, so I'm just leaving my payment up here,” she called.
Wilma waved from the back and started toward the front of the salon. “You go on ahead, Elsa. We'll see you in two weeks!”
“Like always,” she said. She turned to me. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Daisy. Thank you for saying hello.”
“Likewise,” I said.
Elsa reached for the door. “And if you see Ted before I do, tell him I hope he's hanging in there.” She paused and forced a small smile. “And that I don't plan on eating with him again anytime soon.”
TWELVE
“So. What'd you think?” Wilma asked.
I'd waited after Elsa walked out, not wanting to follow her immediately out of the salon for fear she'd think I was stalking her.
“I'm sorry?” I asked.
Wilma nodded toward the door. “What'd you think?”
“Of Elsa?” I asked. “She was very nice.”
Wilma grinned. “Daisy, I run a salon. It's my job to know when people are looking for details, and you were absolutely probing there.”
I felt myself blush. “Was it that obvious?”
She leaned across the counter and I caught a whiff of garlic and onions. It appeared as though Wilma had just returned from a lunch break. “I'm a professional, Daisy. I notice everything.” She made a waving motion with her hand. “So tell me. What'd you think?”
I had no idea what she was looking for. Was she suspecting foul play, too? Or was she just fishing for information, hoping by asking me questions, I’d let her in on details she wasn’t privy to. She’d already tried that once, I reminded myself.
“I...she seems very nice. And she seemed to be genuinely concerned about Ted. So...I think she was probably pretty scared.”
Wilma stared at me for a long moment. “Well, of course she was. Why wouldn’t she be?”
“I’m not sure I get what you’re asking me.”
Wilma gave me an exasperated look. “I meant, what did you think about her story? About the break-up?”
I’d apparently had it all wrong. Wilma had moved on from Ted’s health to his love life. “Oh, well, it sounds like they just decided to go their separate ways. Elsa said it was pretty amicable.”
Wilma was shaking her head vehemently but the beehive of hair stayed firmly in place. I wondered how much hairspray had been applied to get it to behave so obediently. “Is that what she’s saying? That it was ‘amicable’?” She shook her head again. “Not exactly what I've heard.”
“It isn't?” I asked. “What have you heard?”
“Oh, lots of things,” she said, chuckling. “Lots of things.”
I started to ask another question, but then caught myself. I'd been in the salon less than an hour and I'd somehow morphed into a gossipmonger. I was turning into one of the women I’d mocked only an hour earlier. I was not very proud of that fact.
But I was curious.
“Like what?” I asked.
She tapped her fingers against the counter, then patted her hair again, checking to make sure it was all in place. “You know, she and Ted were together for quite a while. I think everyone thought they'd be getting married one day. They had their first date at Big Mama's, and he sent her flowers the next day.”
I think she must've read the questioning expression on my face.
“Elsa has been a regular for some time now,” she explained. “Both here and at the hair salon. We see her at least twice a month.” She smiled. “When you see people that often, you get to know them. They sit down and there isn't a whole lot to do while they get their nails done or their hair cut. So they talk. And we listen.”
I nodded. This was just confirmation of what I already knew.
“And guess what most folks talk about?” she continued. “Their relationships. And not just the bad stuff. The good stuff, too. That's how I know about their first date. Elsa thought it was a great first date and the flowers were very, very thoughtful.”
“I can see that.”
“I think most women would've appreciated that,” she said. She paused for a moment. “But I didn't really get the feeling that their breakup was so hunky dory, if you know what I mean.”
“You mean that it was...what do you mean?”
She tapped a pen against the desk. “I mean that I'm not so sure that they were both okay with breaking up. That's not the way I heard it. Now, of course, I can't reveal my sources.”
I thought about pointing out that she’d pretty much already revealed this. But I just nodded and smiled and waited for her to continue.
“But I'm fairly certain that there may have been some hurt feelings.”
“Whose?” I asked, dropping any pretense that I had left of my own dignity.
“I can't say for sure,” she said. She must have noticed my expression because she added, “And I'm not just saying that. I'm just saying that I heard that it wasn't quite the smooth separation that she made it out to be.” She squinted at me. “I had to listen closely to see if I was hearing her right.” She shook her head. “But I definitely heard it differently.”
I thought about that for a moment. Maybe Elsa was just trying to keep the whole thing private, not wishing to air any dirty laundry to me, someone she barely knew. Or maybe she was trying to protect Ted's feelings, if he'd been the one caught off guard. Or maybe she didn't want to convey that the break-up had bothered her more than she was letting on.
Or maybe I should never have suggested taking Emily to get our nails done and minded my own darn business.
Wilma shrugged. “So it's hard to say. Sometimes we misremember things because we want to remember them differently. I'm not telling you she was fibbing.” She smiled. She must have reapplied her lipstick after eating because they were just as bright pink as when Emily and I had first walked in. “I'm just saying that I heard there was more to the story than she let on.”
The door opened and Emily poked her head through. “I mean, are you ever coming?”
I frowned. “I thought you walked home.”
“I started to,” she said. She stepped back into the nail salon and made her way to my side. The phone rang and Wilma answered it, which gave Emily the opening she was looking for. In a low voice, she said, “But then there was this weird guy on the corner and he had his hat on crooked and he was looking at me weird and I didn't want to walk by him, so I turned around and came back because I thought you'd be on your way. But you're still here.”
“I was just about to leave,” I said. “So I will be happy to escort you past the totally creepy dude who you think might be stalking you.”
“He's totally sketch.” She glanced back at the front door. “Maybe we should take another route.”
“We'll be fine,” I said. I turned to Wilma. She’d hung up and was tapping away at the keyboard, most likely entering an appointment into the system. “It was a pleasure talking to you. And thank you for the nails.”
“Anytime, ladies,” she said. “You come back anytime.” She winked at me. “For your nails or a chat.”
THIRTEEN
We walked outside the salon. The rain from the previous evening was gone, but the humidity was not. The air was thick, the sun heavy, and I was pretty sure I might melt in minutes.
“I'm serious,” Emily said, her eyes fixated somewhere in the distance. “Maybe we should take a different route. That guy could have a knife. Or a flame thrower.”
Main Street was maybe three blocks long, filled with law offices and tax firms and shops, but it didn’t go on forever. It wasn’t as if there was a maze of alleyways for a potential attacker to be hiding—or a labyrinth of possible escape routes.
“I have a better idea,” I told her.
“What?”
I pointed at the car across the street. “We could just drive home in the car we came in?”
A look of relief crossed her face. “I totally did not remember that we drove.”
“I'm aware.”
“Yeah, we should drive instead,” she said, as if there was another option.
I was about to make another smart remark when the yelling started.
At first, I wasn't sure where it was coming from. But then, as the sound escalated, it became very obvious.
Big Mama's Taco Shop.
“What is going on?” I said, to no one in particular. Emily was by my side, of course, but there was no way she’d be privy to that information, and the rest of the sidewalk was virtually empty. A woman was leaving a small boutique two doors up, and an elderly couple had just walked into the travel agency, but otherwise we were the only ones out and about.
“I don't know, but we should go, Mom,” Emily said. She tugged on my arm for emphasis.
“Hang on.”
“Oh my god. Seriously?” Her grip tightened. “Can we just go?”
The voices got louder. Two male voices. And they were not happy with one another.
I removed my arm from Emily’s grasp and took a couple steps toward the restaurant.
“Mom, come on! Just leave it. I don't want to go in.”
But I wasn’t listening. The voices were like a siren’s song, pulling me closer. I wanted to know what was going on.
After only a minute of hesitation, I peered in the front window of Big Mama’s. Bjorn was standing in front of the cashier, where customers usually waited to pay. He was going at it with another man, whose back was turned to me. Their words were muffled and I couldn't make out their words, but the volume and the hand gestures were not friendly.
“Should I call 9-1-1?” Emily asked. “I have my phone.”
“Yes, I know you have your phone,” I said, “because you are awake. And no, do not call anyone.”
The two men moved closer to each other, almost nose to nose, and now I could see the other man and I recognized him immediately. He'd been the man standing behind Wilma in line at Big Mama's the night Ted was poisoned.
