Dixieland Dead

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  Setting the camera down on the counter, Deena pulled out a small notebook and began writing. “This is how it’s done on CSI.”

  “You watch too much TV.” I grabbed another towel and left it under the running cold water as I gently scraped off the remaining mask. “I’m not sure the salon can weather this, but if we do, the entire staff is going to learn emergency first aid and CPR.” I stared down at red, angry skin that was puckered and blotched. The famous peaches-and-cream complexion had disappeared with the mask.

  “Deena, squeeze the water out of that towel in the sink and hand it to me.”

  I looked up to see the worry in her eyes. Taking the towel from her, I wrapped the cool cloth around Scarlett’s face.

  “God, I hope she’s going to be okay,” she said.

  “Better start praying for good measure.”

  She groaned. “Our insurance rates are going to skyrocket for sure. The police are going to be crawling all over the place. Georgia OSHA will investigate. We could be facing a lawsuit, too. And then there’s Mama to deal with.”

  Oh crap. I’d forgotten about Mama. Her reaction to this was sure to cause me an ulcer. As co-owner of the salon, she’d have to be told, but it wasn’t gonna be easy. We were a tight-knit family. Really tight. Mama hadn’t cut the apron strings yet, even though we were grown women with families of our own.

  Wailing sirens sliced through the air. The door opened, and Billie Jo stood framed in the doorway, scissors in hand. “Hell’s bells. What’s going on? There’s more buzzing than a beehive out there.”

  I pulled her into the room. “Explain it to her, Deena. I’ll show the EMTs in.”

  When I rounded the corner, I saw two uniformed officers standing by the reception desk. “Officer Clark,” I said, breathlessly, recognizing him from this morning’s break-in. “Thank God, you’re here. Follow me.”

  He turned at the sound of my voice. “What’s the problem this time?”

  Another wave of apprehension swept through me. I wiped my sweaty palms down the front of my apron. “There’s been a mishap in the facial room. Where are the EMTs?”

  “En route. We were close by when the call came in.” He turned to his partner. “See that no one enters or leaves but the EMTs. I’ll assess the situation before calling for backup.”

  The mayor stepped abruptly toward him. “What the hell is going on? My wife is terribly upset, and I’d like to get her home.”

  “I’m sorry, but no one’s leaving just yet,” the officer said. “If needed, your wife will be checked by the paramedics. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know the details.” He swung back to me. “Show me the way, ma’am.”

  Dashing back to the facial room with Officer Clark close behind me, I jerked open the door, eliciting a cry of alarm from my sisters, both of whom were bending over the bed.

  “Back away, ladies.” Officer Clark pushed past us and felt Scarlett’s wrist. “No pulse.” He removed the towel from her face. “Good Lord, her face looks like raw hamburger.”

  I started to explain what’d happened, but he hit the dispatch button on his shoulder radio, requesting backup. My sisters and I continued to stand in nervous silence as he worked to find a pulse on Scarlett’s supine form, pausing to talk into his radio.

  “Where’s Carla?” I whispered into Deena’s ear.

  “I left her in my office with Holly,” she whispered back. “She’s so torn up about this that I was afraid to leave her alone.”

  Suddenly two paramedics rushed into the small room, shoving us farther into the corner. Feeling a sharp sting, I looked down at Billie Jo’s scissors pressing into my arm. When I touched her, she jumped away, crashing into Officer Clark. He frowned, as if just noticing we were still in the room with him. With a quick assessment of the confining space, he steered us into the hallway where a stretcher was being wheeled toward the room. He spoke into his radio again. Turning to us, he said, “Where can we speak privately? I have a few questions.”

  “We can talk in the kitchen,” I said.

  Following us into the empty room, he pulled a small pad and pencil from his front uniform pocket. “Have a seat, ladies.”

  Silently, we complied. Anxiety poured off the three of us like water from a hose. I tried to reassure my sisters with a quick smile, but failed, and pushed my trembling hands under the table.

  “You’re bleeding,” Deena said.

  “It’s a small nick from Billie Jo’s scissors. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”

  Deena turned to Officer Clark. “My sister needs to clean up that cut. Those scissors could be contaminated.”

  “The first aid kit will suffice,” I grumbled. “It can wait until he’s finished with questioning us.”

  “No, ma’am.” He nodded toward the door. “Take one of your sisters to help you tend to your arm and then return.”

  Before we could leave, one of the EMTs came through the door, requesting to speak with the officer.

  “This isn’t going to turn out well,” I said the instant the door closed behind them. “Of all the people for this to happen to, it had to be Scarlett. God, she’s gonna make our lives hell when she recovers from this.” The EMTs would bring her back to life. They had to.

  “We have to remain positive,” Deena said. “Negative energy attracts negative results.”

  “I’m positive I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I repeated. “It started with the break-in and then Scarlett breathing fire down our necks and provoking hard feelings with our clients, and now this. What’s next?”

  “Scarlett’s gonna sue, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Billie Jo said.

  “Well, if that’s the worst of it, then I’ll be thankful,” I replied. “Paying higher insurance premiums is a small price to pay for a disaster of this magnitude.”

  Billie Jo made a face. “If you recall, I was against hiring Carla, but you and Deena were dead set on having her join the team.”

  “Carla was the top graduate in her class. She came highly recommended by her instructors. Accidents happen in this business,” Deena pointed out.

  I held up my hand to silence them. “All three of us agreed to hire her, so we all share the blame.”

  Before I could say more, the door opened. Officer Clark stood just inside the doorway. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, ladies. The paramedics were unable to revive Miss Cantrell. I’m sorry, but she’s dead.”

  Chapter Three

  Murder in Dixieland Salon!

  A flutter began in my belly. The thought of a dead body lying just feet away from where we sat scared the hell out of me, and I could see by my sisters’ pale faces that they were having the same reaction. Bitch or not, Scarlett didn’t deserve to die like this.

  Billie Jo grabbed my hand, squeezing hard. “Dead. Man, this has gone from bad to really, really bad. Dead. Damn.”

  Deena shivered. “Dear God, how did this happen?” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  I handed her a tissue from my apron pocket. “Hang in there. We’ll get through this together.”

  Officer Clark cleared his throat. “I need to take a brief statement from each of you. The Crime Scene Unit will be here shortly.”

  “Why would you need the crime scene investigators?” I asked. “Carla wouldn’t intentionally harm Scarlett.”

  “Miss Cantrell died under very unusual circumstances. This is standard procedure in unattended deaths. We’re going to treat this as a homicide until proven otherwise.”

  Murder in Dixieland Salon! My mind floundered at the implications. All I wanted was to run my business and support myself and my sisters in a peaceful, productive way. Leave it to Scarlett to throw a wrench in my well-laid plans. My sisters and I exchanged worried looks and gave our statements to him. Afterward, we joined the other staff members and clientele in the reception area.

  A tense silence fell over the salon as the paramedics wheeled out Scarlett’s body. We now sat in small groups whispering among ourselves as we waited to be q
uestioned further or released to go home. The murmur of solemn voices drifted throughout the room.

  After an hour of anxious fidgeting, the front door opened. The man entering immediately caught my attention. With a tall muscular build, he had to be six-feet-two, I’d guess, and the way he stood there assessing the scene told me he missed little of what occurred around him. He wore a black western-style blazer over a white shirt and jeans. When he pocketed his sunglasses, his steely gaze zeroed in on me and my sisters huddled together on the sofa.

  Beside me, Deena tensed. “Good Lord, that’s Sam Bradford. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. I heard he’d joined the military after high school. What’s he doing here?”

  “I suspect by the way he’s looking at us that he’s here on behalf of the WCPD,” Billie Jo said under her breath. “Whatever his past, your old high school squeeze is now definitely a cop.”

  I drank in his tall form. Up until now, I hadn’t contributed to the conversation, not being able to peel my eyes from his powerful gaze. I know I shouldn’t have been, such dreadful circumstances and all that, but I was instantly attracted to my sister’s old love interest.

  “I wonder if he’s married,” Deena said in a low voice.

  “When he comes this way, I’ll check for a wedding ring,” Billie Jo whispered.

  “Do you think he recognizes me?”

  “He knows who you are,” I said with certainty.

  Bradford stepped over to speak with Officer Clark who stood next to the reception desk scribbling in his notepad. They spoke for a moment before he headed over to the mayor and his wife, seated in a couple of chairs from the kitchen in the make-up and retail section on the far side of the salon.

  From where I sat, I had a clear view of the conversation, although I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The mayor’s waving hands made it easy to guess that he wasn’t happy. He kept pointing at his wife and screwing up his face as if he’d swallowed a sour ball.

  After a few minutes, Bradford allowed the Paynes to leave. He then questioned each of the morning clients one by one, and then let them leave. I glanced at the clock on the wall—almost one in the afternoon. My stomach rumbled with hunger.

  Finally, he turned toward us where we had gathered with the rest of the salon staff in the reception area. Everyone looked paralyzed, unsure of what to expect. We’d given our statements earlier and now, according to Officer Clark, there’d be a formal investigation, presumably conducted by Detective Bradford. Well, at least we knew his reason for being here.

  Bradford nodded an acknowledgement at Deena. “I know this is difficult, but I understand you’re the one who placed the 9-1-1 call, so I’ll begin with you.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Could you give an account of what happened this morning?”

  “Carla came into my office and told me there was a medical emergency in the facial room. I immediately called for help.”

  “Did she specify what kind of emergency?”

  “No, she was so hysterical I couldn’t make any sense of what she was saying. She kept crying, so I left her in Holly’s care and went to see for myself.”

  “You then proceeded from your office to the facial room?”

  “Yes. I found Jolene applying hot towels to Scarlett’s face, and she explained the situation.”

  Bradford looked down at his notes. “So Jolene was already aware of the problem and was attempting to assist Miss Cantrell?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. As master cosmetologist, my sister is the go-to person when there’s a technical problem in the salon.”

  “I understand you’ve had quite an unpleasant history with the deceased.”

  Deena’s face paled. I opened my mouth to protest, but Billie Jo grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers hard, indicating with a negative shake of her head to keep quiet.

  “I hated her for breaking up…my marriage…but not enough…to…kill her.”

  Bradford studied her for several moments. He turned to Carla. “Start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”

  Carla stared at the detective and then at me. I nodded encouragement, knowing she was nervous. Tension blanketed the room.

  “Well…er…after performing microdermabrasion, I applied a moisture mask. Miss Cantrell fell into a deep sleep before I’d finished. The mask has to rest on her face for a full twenty minutes, so I used the time to call my mother from the kitchen.”

  He made a note. “How long where you gone?”

  “About twenty minutes. When I returned and tried to remove the mask, I knew something had gone wrong. It shouldn’t have dried to a rubbery crust.”

  “Could you explain what kind of products you used?”

  She nodded. “There’s seaweed and collagen powder. I added oatmeal and clay powder to bind it together, and of course, distilled water. I’ve used it many times and never had a problem before today. I must’ve mixed it incorrectly or one of the products came defective from the manufacturers.”

  “So you believe this was an accident caused by your negligence or the manufacturers?”

  Suddenly Carla broke down, sobbing gently. “I can’t…believe…this happened. I was…so careful.”

  Bradford scribbled in his notepad. He looked up, and his gaze roamed over each of us. “Did any of you witness any other person besides Miz Moody go into the facial room?”

  “No,” we all chorused.

  He turned to me. “I understand you were first on the scene, Miz Claiborne. Tell me what happened, beginning when you were first notified of a problem in the facial room.”

  My tongue froze when he said my name in his husky, southern drawl. His powerful gaze clung to mine. Heat surged to my face as my internal thermostat shot up a few uncomfortable degrees. Deena shifted beside me.

  He gave a slight frown. “Please answer the question.”

  I released a pent-up breath. “Mrs. Eisenberg was in my chair when Carla told me a mask was stuck to Scarlett’s face.”

  “The time?”

  “Approximately ten-twenty or so.”

  “Okay, what happened next?”

  “Well, I immediately checked it out. I couldn’t have Scarlett waking up with a mask stuck to her face. She didn’t respond when I tried to wake her. I found a weak pulse and sent Carla to tell Deena to call 9-1-1. I started applying hot towels to soften the mask. I removed what I could and applied a cool towel to her face to soothe the blistered skin.”

  “All right, go on.”

  “There’s nothing more to add. Officer Clark arrived and took over, and the paramedics soon after.”

  He studied me for several seconds and then turned back to Carla. “Could you tell me why, as a licensed aesthetician, you failed to try all ways to remove the mask, such as the hot compresses Miz Claiborne spoke of?”

  “I panicked.”

  “A witness reported hearing an argument coming from the facial room,” he continued without pause. “A woman allegedly threatened to kill the victim if she didn’t back off from her husband. Would you have any knowledge of this?”

  Carla sprang to her feet. “I…didn’t…mean to…kill her,” she said in shallow, quick gasps. The color drained from her face, and she slumped to the floor, hitting her head on the edge of the coffee table.

  Officer Clark rushed over from the reception desk to join the rest of us bending over the crumpled girl.

  “Holly, get a wet cloth,” I ordered sharply. “Carla, honey, wake up.” I patted her pale cheeks.

  “Who would’ve thought our little mouse capable of devouring the big, bad cat?” Anthony said.

  “Shut up,” I hollered. “Carla wouldn’t harm a soul. Not on purpose.”

  “Maybe you should share your true feelings about Scarlett with the detective,” Mandy Brown snipped at Anthony from her position on the floor beside Carla.

  Anthony glared at our nail tech—his lips thinned into a tight, angry line. “And how many times have I heard you call her a man-steal
ing bitch?”

  Antagonism spread like wildfire on a hot summer day. The other stylists joined in with their own negative responses.

  Bradford yelled for quiet. “Clark, get a bus down here.”

  Deena climbed to her feet. “We’ve had a terrible shock.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “We are all strung out and frightened by Scarlett’s brutal murder.”

  “Deena!” I rose from the floor as if propelled by an explosive force, horrified that it might be murder. “Don’t say another word.”

  “Keep quiet,” Bradford ordered. “Go on, Miz Sinclair, and tell me why you suspect foul play.”

  Quiet stole over the room as the faint wailing of the ambulance grew stronger and the seconds ticked by. As soon as the moment presented itself, I was gonna give my sister an earful. To suggest to a homicide cop that Scarlett’s death had been anything other than an accident was asking for more trouble than we already had.

  Thank God, help arrived before Deena could do further damage. Several police officers joined Officer Clark, and we sat silently as the paramedics checked Carla’s vitals. After several minutes of working on her, they told Bradford she would be transported to the emergency room for treatment.

  “Jolene.”

  I spun around in the direction of Deena’s soft voice, bristling like a porcupine. “Thanks to your big mouth, the police are going to think one of us killed her.”

  “Well, one of us did,” Billie Jo said as they loaded Carla onto a stretcher. “I knew something was gonna happen sooner or later. That girl shouldn’t be mixin’ so many products together. This isn’t a chemist’s lab, you know.”

  Anthony snickered. “So you’re psychic now?”

  Billie Jo flushed. “Pack up your things, Anthony—you’re fired.” Her expression made it clear we dared not oppose her decision.

  There was a chorus of enthusiastic assent from the staff. Anthony Vogel wasn’t well-liked among his peers. His competitive nature made him obnoxious, overbearing, and nasty even as he declared his innocence of ever stealing another stylist’s client. Which he did on a regular basis.