Dixieland Dead

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  The EMTs carried Carla out of the salon. Another officer came from the back of the shop, camera in hand. “CSU is finished in the facial room. The area is taped off and secure.”

  Bradford nodded. “I need everyone’s attention, please.”

  Our gazes fastened once more on him, but not before we exchanged anxious glances.

  “We’re moving this party to the station where you will be fingerprinted and questioned further. I know I can count on your cooperation.”

  Loud moans sprang up from the staff at his unwelcome announcement.

  “We can answer any questions you might still have right here,” I protested. “Please don’t drag us down to the station.”

  “Until an autopsy is performed to determine the cause of death, and all questions answered to my satisfaction, this case will be handled as a homicide. The salon is closed until further notice.”

  My stomach bottomed out at the thought of further financial losses. “You can’t do that,” I said in a defiant tone. “This will kill our business. We’re barely hanging on.”

  He slipped on his Stetson. “I have a job to do.”

  Curious stares from the windows of the adjoining shops followed us as my sisters and I were handed into the back of a squad car. Envisioning tongues on fire regarding our entourage, I shot Deena an I’m-gonna-kill-you-the-first-chance-I-get look. Dang, if the rest of the day continued on the same path, I might end up behind bars for committing murder after all.

  Chapter Four

  Mama Ain’t Happy

  “Stop, I say! I want to talk with my daughters,” a woman hollered out as we entered the police station.

  I turned around at the sound of Mama’s voice, speechless as she sashayed toward us in a costume from the 1930’s era. The vintage ensemble consisted of tea length, black lace over a satin dress, a large black velvet hat with an ostrich plume and veil, black stockings, black patent leather shoes, and the long, fat string of black pearls Daddy had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary.

  Deena groaned. “What’s Mama doing here?”

  “How’d she find out is what I’d like to know,” I said.

  “I called and left a message on her cell phone earlier,” Billie Jo said. “She must have come straight here from dress rehearsal. Riverside Theater is putting on Arsenic and Old Lace in November. For the Pecan Festival.” She continued to rattle on in spite of the scowl I directed at her. “Oh, by the way, Deena, Sam isn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

  “You’re babbling,” I said.

  “I’m nervous.”

  A door across the hall opened. Bradford stepped out. “What’s the holdup, Clark?”

  The officer pointed over his shoulder. “It’s their mother. She wants to talk to ’em.”

  “Oh, dear God, what’s next?” Bradford moaned as Mama barreled her way through the others until she stood toe to toe with him, cocked her head sideways, and lifted the sheer veil to study him with brilliant green eyes.

  “Is that you, Samuel Bradford? Why you grew up into a real good-lookin’ man, I must say. Could you spare a moment of your time?”

  “I’m always at your service, Mrs. Tucker.”

  Mama giggled and fluttered her eyelashes like a schoolgirl with a teenage crush. “I didn’t expect to see you when I came down here to assist my daughters in their unfortunate incarceration.”

  “No one’s being incarcerated, ma’am,” Bradford said. “Your lovely daughters, and their staff, are here to answer some questions regarding an incident at their salon. Nothing more. As soon as that’s done to my satisfaction, they’re free to leave.”

  “I’m beholden to you,” she said. “You know that they really are good Southern girls. It’s just sometimes,” Mama paused to look at us with a pained expression, “they act like they checked their common sense out at the library.” Here she bowed her head, ostrich feather dipping gracefully. “Deena sure showed a lack of judgment when she dumped you back in high school.”

  Deena flushed beet red. “Mama, everyone can hear you.”

  Bradford threw an amused look at us, tucking Mama’s hand in the crock of his arm. “Don’t you worry, Miz Tucker. You can wait in my office while Officer Clark escorts the girls down to the interview rooms. They won’t be long, and then you can take them home. I’ll personally escort you to be fingerprinted.”

  “And why would I need to be fingerprinted? I wasn’t even there,” she purred softly, deceptively. I knew she wouldn’t relish being fingerprinted, even by this great big hunk of a man who had the ability to make a woman wish his blue eyes were smiling down on her.

  “They will be compared against the prints taken at the salon,” I heard him say. “We wouldn’t want to drag you back down here for that. I’m thinking of your comfort.”

  “Should I contact the family attorney?”

  “It’s not necessary, but if it would make you feel better, then by all means do so.”

  “Since you explain it like that, I’m all yours. Now could I bother you for a cup of coffee?”

  “It’ll be my pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Are you married? Deena’s divorced now.”

  I rolled my eyes at Mama’s audacity and watched in silence as she disappeared down the hall on the arm of the detective, her giggles echoing behind her. Yep, those apron strings were being tied tighter than Dick’s hat band.

  “God, what a performance,” Billie Jo said. “Mama’s a fine actress. No wonder she landed the role.”

  Leaning over closer to Deena, I whispered, “I’m sorry she embarrassed you in front of the others. If he’s still single, she’ll have him calling you for a date. You know how determined she can be when she sets her mind to something.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” Deena whispered back. “I lied about dumping Sam all those years ago. He dumped me.”

  I patted her arm in sympathy. “He’s a good guy for not speaking up. If he calls, it might be kind of fun to go out on a date with him for old time’s sake.”

  She giggled. “He is dreamy, isn’t he?”

  Officer Clark poked me in the arm. “Sorry to interrupt, but the detectives don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  He led us down the hallway to a small waiting room. “Have a seat. Officer Graham will be right in to escort each of you to the interrogation rooms. Miz Claiborne, you come with me.”

  I followed him to a room where a squat, overweight, middle-aged man with watery brown eyes and meaty features stood up when I entered and introduced himself as Detective Larry Grant. I disliked him on sight. Sitting down in the chair he pulled out for me, I tried not to wrinkle up my nose as the scent of coffee and stale cigarettes drifted over me. He offered me a glass of water and pushed it across the table to me when I accepted.

  As I fidgeted in my chair, uncertain what to expect, the detective raked his hand through thinning hair and opened a file. Once every few seconds, his liquid gaze lifted from the report to eye me across the table with speculation before dropping back down to whatever the page detailed. The plunging neckline of my blue-jean dress acted like a magnet for the creepy detective’s swimming eyes.

  Finally, he pulled out a pen and legal pad. “Now, give me your account of the incident this morning in your salon.”

  “But I’ve already given my statement to Officer Clark and been questioned by Detective Bradford,” I complained, wanting to get out of this room and away from him.

  He tapped the file folder. “I’ve read their reports. I want to hear it again—only this time from you.”

  I saw no way to avoid the question. “Would you like me to start with the break-in?”

  “The report is here in front of me. I’m interested in what happened afterward.”

  Giving him the condensed version of my morning, I started with the staff meeting, the awkward exchange between Anthony and Scarlett, her confrontation with Cherry, the mayor and his wife, and ended with Carla showing up at my station requesting help with a problem in the facial room.


  “Do you have any knowledge of the victim’s relationship with the aforementioned persons? Any reason why there’d be hard feelings?”

  “No, I have no such knowledge.” I did, but let the detective do his own detective work. Besides, my opinion hadn’t changed. Once an ass, always an ass.

  “How long was Miz Moody into the service before you were aware of the problem?”

  “I’m not sure. Carla marked out a ninety minute block of time for Scarlett’s facial starting at nine-thirty. Scarlett arrived around nine. She likes to have a cup of hot herbal tea before her appointment. Holly wasn’t available, so I made the tea and served it about nine-fifteen. It was around ten-twenty when Carla showed up at my station frantic about the mask stuck to Scarlett’s face. I remember the time because I was finishing up with Mrs. Eisenberg’s roller set.”

  The pencil stopped. “Explain ‘stuck’.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “According to Carla, the moisture mask contains seaweed, collagen, oatmeal, and clay powder mixed together with distilled water. It lifts from the skin after it completely cools, but for some reason, this one wouldn’t. She said it was as hard as cement. I was able to remove the mask from Scarlett’s face with hot, steamed towels.”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Carla Moody is a licensed aesthetician, correct? Why didn’t she know to do the same?”

  “She told Detective Bradford that she panicked.”

  His line of questioning changed. “What kind of relationship did she have with the victim?”

  “That’s a question for her,” I said. “But I assume she maintained a professional relationship with her clients. In the time that she’s worked for us, I’ve never heard a negative word come from her regarding any of the clientele, including Scarlett. Carla is a happily married woman with two adorable children. She’s a good person.”

  “And your relationship with the victim?”

  “I tolerated her,” I answered truthfully. “Scarlett is the reason my sister is divorced. An adulterous affair, to be precise. Scarlett seduced Calvin.” A flicker of interest came into his watery eyes. “Having said that let me assure you, neither me, nor my family had anything to do with this unfortunate accident,” I emphasized. “Deena exacted her revenge in good old-fashioned greenbacks. In the divorce, she got the house, half of Calvin’s retirement, child support, and alimony. And when Dixieland Salon landed a contract with WXYB to provide beauty services for their newest star, the free advertising brought in new business. So you see, Detective, Scarlett was worth more to us alive.”

  He scribbled something on his legal pad. “You were in the room alone with the victim?”

  “Yes, I remained with Scarlett while Carla left to alert Deena to call 9-1-1.”

  “You told Detective Bradford that she had a weak pulse when you checked her upon entering the facial room. Was she able to communicate with you at all during this time?”

  Closing my eyes, I thought back until a faint memory surfaced. My eyes snapped open. “Yes, she thought someone was trying to kill her. She asked me to find the jade elephant.”

  He gave me a long, searching look before asking, “Do you have any knowledge of this ‘jade elephant’?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  He slid paper and pencil across the table. “Okay. Can you sketch out the salon with everyone in his or her place? Including clients?”

  Reluctantly, for I’m no artist, I drew a rough draft, placing the staff and clients where I’d last seen them. I slid the finished drawing across the table.

  Grant surveyed my sketch while scribbling notes. Finally, he looked up. “Thank you for coming in. You’re free to leave now, but keep yourself available for further questioning.”

  I made it to the door before the memory of this morning’s break-in resurfaced. “Wait a minute.” I swung around to face him. “What if this morning’s burglary was a cover-up?” I hurried back to the table. “You know, for the real reason? What if the mask was sabotaged? Maybe someone has a grudge against the salon and wanted an accident to bankrupt us. What if one of the staff, or my sisters and I, were the real targets and Scarlett got offed instead?”

  “I’ve gone over the report personally with the responding officers, and I can’t see a connection between a minor burglary and Miss Cantrell’s death. I remind you of the recent break-in of the establishment next door to your salon.”

  I started to protest, but he held up his hand to silence me.

  “Listen to me good, Miz Claiborne. The official statement you and your sisters gave stated nothing was taken or disturbed other than the money from the register.”

  His dismissal of my theory annoyed me. But what if my reasoning had merit? I shivered at the thought of a faceless person, or persons, out for revenge against me, my family, or even my staff and clients. Instead of Scarlett lying dead in the morgue, it could’ve been one of us.

  “But what about the thousand dollar deposit left in Deena’s unlocked office desk drawer? If it was a simple burglary, why was it overlooked?” I tried to sound casual.

  Grant leaned back in his chair, fitting his hands together. “Teenagers broke into your salon. Before they could search the office, they were spooked by passing car lights or something of that nature. Don’t go scaring yourself or others with tales of conspiracy. Unless something unexpected turns up in the autopsy, or in the samples taken from the facial room, this is going to be a classic case of accidental death in my professional opinion.”

  I stared at him in hostile silence, considering the possibility that I could be wrong. This cop had years of investigative experience under his belt. As for me, the only crime I could solve was fixing others’ mistakes when they attempted to cut and color their own hair.

  ****

  Mama was wiping fingerprint ink from her stained fingers when we joined her in the front waiting room of the station. Her green gaze narrowed in on me. “I want to let you girls know how upset I am with the present state of affairs. How did this happen, Jolene?” Her voice raised a notch. “Murder! What are people going to say when word gets out?”

  “Please stop saying murder. We’ll talk about this later when we don’t have an audience,” I said, angry with her questions after what I’d been through with Detective Bulldog Grant.

  Billie Jo touched Mama’s shoulder. “Who cares what anyone thinks or says?”

  “I care. You should too. This scandal could do irreparable damage to the salon, not to mention our reputations.”

  “I don’t give a hoot about our social acceptance,” Billie Jo retorted.

  “No one asked you,” Deena snapped back. “I agree with Mama. We have a reputation to protect.”

  As the middle sister, I knew Deena enjoyed being the center of attention, a place usually occupied by me, as the eldest, or Billie Jo, as the baby of the family. Daddy had treated us all the same, but Mama wore blinders when she looked at Billie Jo, which accounted for our fierce competitive nature. There were times when I was tempted to shine the spotlight on my baby sister’s earlier explorations off the path of proper Southern manners, but since my own past was littered with questionable behavior, I decided that now wasn’t the time or place for such enlightenment.

  I stepped in between them. “Y’all are both right, but we really should be getting outta here.” Tilting my head toward Dixieland’s staff listening to every word, I visualized the wheels turning in Anthony’s head as he soaked in tidbits of information to be sold or bargained off to the highest bidder. Since he’d come to work for us, I learned how much he prided himself in his ability to bounce out of bad situations with his pockets padded. Recognizing this repulsive personality trait, I’d hesitated reprimanding him because he was one of Whiskey Creek’s most sought after stylists. Women loved him, and his appointment book showed it. Too bad Billie Jo had fired him. Replacing him and his clientele was downright unthinkable in this economy. The salon desperately needed the greenbacks this silver-tongued devil brought in.

  “I�
��m in the mood to shop,” Mandy said. “Can I catch a ride back to the salon with you?”

  Was she kidding? Shopping? After what we’d been through? Mandy must have a heart of stone to be unaffected by Scarlett’s untimely demise. Casting a dubious look at her, I thought about my earlier suspicions of a faceless person harboring a grudge against us personally or the salon. Could the despicable individual be one of the staff?

  “I’m parked close by. There’s plenty of room for everybody.” Mama’s voice dispelled my thoughts for the moment.

  Deena’s cell phone rang, and she moved a short distance away to speak in private. A minute or two passed before she rejoined us.

  “That was the hospital. Carla’s being admitted for a psych evaluation,” she said. “When she regained consciousness in the emergency room, she was confused and delusional. She also suffered a concussion from the fall. She’s been sedated and is resting now, but they haven’t been able to reach her husband. My number was listed as her work contact, so they called me to see if I could come down to the admitting office and bring her insurance information.”

  “Poor child needs her mother at a time like this,” Mama said, pulling out her cell phone and scrolling down her list of contacts. “Beth Stevens is on a committee with me at church. I’ll see if I can reach her.”

  After several unanswered rings, she left a short message for Beth to call her as soon as possible, leaving out any information which might cause the woman unnecessary worry.

  “Can we leave now?”

  We turned at Holly’s voice and followed Mama out to her SUV. She drove to the salon and pulled into the crowded parking lot, staring for several seconds through the plate glass window at the empty salon that should’ve been open for business.

  The employees were anxious to leave, so Deena instructed them to check with her on Monday evening as she was unsure just how long the police intended to keep the salon closed for the investigation. They agreed and climbed into their cars, driving off in different directions.

  After the employees scattered for the weekend, Deena turned to Mama. “Do you suppose it would be all right to inspect the shop? It won’t take but a minute. I’m sure they left a mess, and it’ll need to be cleaned before we reopen.”