Dixieland Dead

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief. At least for the moment, Anthony would remain close by and under my surveillance until his secret came to light. I gripped her hand, squeezing gently. “I’ll talk to him, Billie Jo. If he breathes a peep, he’s gone.”

  She made no further comment, just nodded in agreement and headed off to her workstation. I made a quick stop to tell Anthony he still had a job and warn him to behave himself, then stopped at the reception desk to check my afternoon appointments, instructing Holly not to add any last-minute appointments if I had cancellations.

  “Mrs. Hart is shampooed and ready for you,” Holly reminded me.

  Annabel Hart was draped for a chemical service and seated in my stylist chair. “Good morning, Annabel. Are you ready for your perm?”

  The older woman smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to getting something done with this mop. Elmore, that’s my husband, is threatening to ship me off to Bora Bora if I don’t stop complaining about my hair. He’s right, you know. I can’t help it though.” She picked up a limp section of salt-and-pepper hair. “No body, no curl, no life. Work your magic, Jolene.”

  After consulting her chemical service card, I gathered the supplies needed and arranged them on the workstation counter. Quickly, I set to work on the towel-dried hair, wrapping each section with alternating blue and yellow rods. One side was completely wrapped when she inquired into the strange events that took place in the salon over the weekend.

  “Scarlett’s death came as quite a shock to the neighborhood,” she said in a casual voice.

  Stunned by the revelation, I paused. “Scarlett was your neighbor?”

  “Yep, I live next door to her white two-story house she laughingly called her ‘Tara.’ Beautiful home and well maintained for a single woman’s residence. She kept odd hours though. Cars comin’ and goin’ at all hours of the night. Very busy lady, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, she was a local celebrity. I heard she threw some pretty wild parties.”

  Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I could tell you some shocking stories about her famous parties.”

  “Do tell, Annabel. I’ve heard a few wicked tales myself,” I coaxed. The books I’d been studying on private investigating all agreed the best way to obtain pertinent information was to find a common interest to share. Be charming and witty, they’d advised.

  “Orgies,” Mrs. Hart declared in a low voice.

  “I beg your pardon?” I asked, totally blown away by her response.

  “Oh, you heard me right. Elmore witnessed some bizarre behavior several times—even got an eyeful of Scarlett and some man in the raw.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “They were nude? Were they outside?”

  “No, in her bedroom. Elmore had his binoculars out and could see exceptionally well into her windows. The other guests were enjoying a lovely buffet downstairs while Scarlett and her friend were foolin’ around upstairs.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The thought of this woman’s husband peeping into Scarlett’s windows with a pair of binoculars didn’t sit right with me, but I needed to know the name of her paramour, so I had to keep fishing. Boy, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

  “Did Mr. Hart recognize Scarlett’s friend?”

  “No. He said he was a young man with light brownish-blond hair and mustache. A good-looking kid—tall and muscular.”

  Hmm. I looked over at Anthony. That description matched my employee all right. And Anthony had a secret that apparently Scarlett had knowledge of. Anthony could very well be one of the men rumored to be sleeping with Scarlett at the time of her death. Could he be the mastermind behind the break-in and ultimately be responsible for her death? Highly unlikely, but I couldn’t leave any stone unturned.

  “Is that all your husband, uh, observed, Annabel…just questionable behavior behind closed doors? Anything else stick out as strange?”

  “Now that you mention it, I observed two men in black casing her place.”

  “Casing her place?”

  “Yeah. They were parked in a dark SUV across the street several nights ago. For hours they were there. Then, about two in the morning, the neighbor’s dog started barking something fierce, so I got up to see what’d stirred him up. That’s when I noticed those same two men get out of their car and disappear into her back-yard. I called the police and woke up Elmore.”

  “What do you mean when you say ‘men in black’?”

  She scowled. “These men wore black business suits, extremely sharp dressers. I believe they were FBI or some other government agency. I’ve seen their kind on TV. Distinct appearance those government people. Do you suppose Scarlett could’ve been an undercover agent? Those men didn’t look like ordinary criminals, but I called the police to be on the safe side.”

  I cleared my throat, uncertain how to respond. The suggestion that Scarlett could possibly be a secret government agent had caught me off guard. But in reality, I knew very little about her, and anything was possible. Be prepared for the unexpected—things aren’t always what they seem, the PI books had said. Annabel’s observations certainly were unexpected, but welcome. I would document and analyze all information for further investigation.

  “Could you describe these men to me, Annabel?”

  “I thought I just did.”

  “You gave a general description of their apparel. Were you able to get a good look at their faces?”

  She swiveled around to face me, her face mirroring curiosity. “You’re asking the same questions as the police, and I’ll tell you like I told them. Even as they passed under the bright streetlight, they were too far away for me to see their features clearly. They were big and bulky men—one black, one white.”

  “Were the police able to apprehend the men?”

  She righted herself in the chair so she faced the mirror. “Naw, they took off when Elmore started waving his spotlight into Scarlett’s back yard.”

  “Did you or your husband think to take down their tag number for the police?”

  “And leave the safety of my house? We’re young at heart but old in body. I forbade him to risk his life for a tag number.”

  “Where was Scarlett during all the commotion?”

  “Asleep, I assume. I could see the cops knocking on her door from my front living room window. It took her a few minutes to answer. They disappeared inside, so we went back to bed.”

  For a few seconds, I digested the information and thought of possible questions, but her expression showed she had nothing further to pass along. I allowed her to fill the empty space with useless chatter as I doused her hair with perm solution and secured a plastic bag around her hair.

  When I handed her a magazine, a subtle atmospheric change occurred around my station—like the air pressure had suddenly compacted into a tiny square space. The background salon noise disappeared. My ears popped, causing me to blink several times to dispel sudden dizziness. Through my hazy state, the screeching voice of Reverend Leroy Masters rose to a keening wail. The magazine fell with a smack on the hardwood floor. Annabel’s startled expression clashed with mine in the mirror.

  Whirling in confusion, I ran over to the reception desk where Deena screamed at Holly to turn down the volume on the radio or shut the dang thing off.

  “I can’t shut the dang thing off,” Holly yelled, her hand involuntarily turning the volume higher.

  And, not surprisingly, superimposed over the receptionist’s hand were the ghoulish fingers of Dixieland’s resident ghost.

  “Oh great,” I said. “Scarlett’s back.”

  ****

  The shop was quiet when I stepped through the back door juggling a box of pastries with one hand and shutting out the early Wednesday morning humidity with the other. With an hour to spare before the salon opened, I hoped to prevent a repeat of yesterday’s fiasco by having a chat with Scarlett if she’d show. At home last night, I’d tried every trick to persuade her to materialize. My psychic developmen
t had suffered a serious setback when I’d failed to produce even a whisper from her. I had a call in to Madame Mia for more advice, but I hadn’t heard back from her yet.

  Yesterday morning, the whole salon had been in an uproar after Scarlett’s wicked antics. Odd events kept happening, and I knew she was behind it all. And now everyone was upset with one another—Holly with both me and Deena, Billie Jo at Holly for lost clients, and so on.

  Onella, Anthony’s client, now had cotton-ball hair because Scarlett had set an additional ten minutes on the timer during perm processing. Anthony, frazzled, accused Mandy of the crime, and she in turn accused him of being a lousy hairstylist. The two had to be separated by Billie Jo, who stopped them before the first punch could fly.

  Then, to really set things off, a curious client had decided to peek inside the facial room at the exact moment Scarlett decided to rearrange the room. The woman had run through the salon screaming that the salon was haunted before collapsing in a dead faint by the hair dryers.

  The fire station across the street responded in record time, and the ambulance carted away another spooked client. One of the firemen dared to ask me if we were going to make this a habit. They were even taking bets on how long it would take before they had to respond to another call at the haunted beauty salon. He even boasted about the size of the pot as fellow firefighters around the city wanted a piece of the action.

  And all this before lunch.

  I flicked on the light switch by the back door and made my way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee to go with the pastries. Sitting down at the small dinette table, tucked in the corner, I pondered yesterday afternoon. For that was when it’d started again—a minute past noon.

  Scarlett had saved her best antics for last.

  Just thinking about it gave me a chuckle. I’d just finished cutting long layers on a new client’s hair when I happened to glance over at Anthony applying color to his client’s hair.

  My jaw had dropped open with astonishment at the scene. Scarlett, clad in what appeared to be a tight, white corset with sheer stockings, pressed every inch of her ghostly body against him. With featherlike caresses, her fingers sought out his torso. Phantom kisses rained on his sweating brow. Unconsciously, he began to moan, and his strong fingers caressed his client’s scalp in the same circular motion the invisible vixen applied to his body. All of the air in his lungs expelled in one wild gasp—his erection was shameless, instant, and total as it pressed against his tight jeans.

  By this time, however, I wasn’t the only one to notice Anthony’s strange behavior. His client, who’d been gaily chatting away with him, fell silent, and her face flushed a deep red. The other stylists and their clients stopped to stare also. The only one who apparently hadn’t noticed was Billie Jo. I had to stop Scarlett before my sister became aware of Anthony’s dilemma.

  Tossing my comb onto my workstation counter, I’d excused myself and started toward Anthony when Billie Jo’s clippers buzzed to a halt. Erotic moans filled the void. Unfortunately, my baby sister turned curious eyes at the intrusive noise. As expected, she turned beet red with anger and exploded.

  Better her than Anthony!

  Billie Jo excused herself from her client, stomped over to Anthony’s station, and requested he accompany her to Deena’s office. Her angry words could be heard behind closed doors, and when they emerged several minutes later, both went in separate directions to everyone’s relief.

  The rich aroma of freshly-brewed coffee interrupted my musings, and I poured myself a cup. I sat down at the table and mentally prepared myself for the confrontation to come with Scarlett. When the mug was empty, I set it in the sink and went to find my trouble-making denizen of hell.

  I found her polishing her nails at the manicure table. She flashed me an infectious smile as I sat down in the chair across from her. “You look tired this morning,” she said. “Not sleeping well?”

  “Thanks to you, I’m not. Look, we’ve got to talk. My employees are ready to walk out, and I’ve had to call 9-1-1 twice because of your destructive pranks. You were particularly cruel to Anthony, and Onella doesn’t deserve cotton ball hair. Stop messing with the volume on the radio. You can’t increase the temperature in the pedicure bath. And please, for God’s sake, stay out of the restroom. What’s up with that?”

  The brush in her hand paused over a bright red nail. “I’m a ghost. Ghosts haunt the living. Rules are rules you know.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Why am I just hearing about the rules? You could’ve warned me on the first day.”

  “Sorry. I’m a newbie and haven’t had a lot of practice at being dead. I was given a manual, but I haven’t gotten around to reading it yet. And another thing, I don’t like Deena. She needs her claws clipped.”

  “You’d better learn to like her. She’s agreed to help and has the lead detective’s ear”

  “Deena’s agreed to help me? Really? She hated me so much when I was alive.”

  “You remember that tidbit of information but can’t recall the jade elephant? Really, Scarlett, I can’t help you unless you try harder. And FYI, you gave Deena reason. Look, we don’t have time to rehash the past now. Go easy on the haunting. My sisters don’t know that you’re still here, and I haven’t figured out a way to explain it without sounding crazy.”

  Her face brightened. “The Department of Family Relations might have a brochure that might help explain my existence. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through the wall into the facial room.

  I jumped up, following her into the empty room. “Wait, I’m not finished. Geez, I wanted to ask you about an incident Annabel relayed to me yesterday.”

  “Jolene?”

  The sound of my name being called brought me rushing into the hall. Deena came out of the kitchen as I closed and locked the facial room door.

  “I thought you might come in early.” She pointed to the closed door. “How Whynell managed to get into the facial room yesterday is a mystery. I’ve kept the door locked since Roddy installed a new lock.”

  I glanced over my shoulder for our resident specter. There was no mystery to how a client had entered the locked room. Scarlett had unlocked the door and waited for someone to wander into her invisible black widow spider web.

  Jiggling the knob for Deena’s benefit, I said, “It’s locked up good and tight now. We don’t want another client wandering in by accident.”

  “I don’t believe I could survive it.” Deena motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen. “I see you made coffee.” She retrieved a mug from the cabinet.

  I fetched mine out of the sink, holding it out for her to refill. “So how did your date with Bradford go last night?” I grabbed a pastry from the bakery box.

  Deena joined me at the table. “Fantastic. We met some of our old high school chums out at Logan’s Steak House. I really need to keep in touch with them. I’d forgotten how much fun we used to have together. Sam entertained us with stories of his time in the Navy. He was military police. After his stint, he became a civilian cop.”

  “Interesting, but not what I hoped you’d be telling me this morning. Were you able to find out anything about the investigation?”

  She set down her coffee mug. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need more time to work up the courage, that’s why. I’m not pushy like you.”

  “Are you seeing him again tonight?”

  “No, not tonight. I’m going to prayer meeting at church. Aren’t you? The pastor is preaching a series on facing the giants in your life.”

  “Sundays are enough for me,” I said. “So, when are you seeing Bradford again?”

  “He’s taking me to dinner and a movie Friday night.”

  “Try to find out what you can, okay?”

  Deena’s golden brown eyes twinkled. “I’ll do my best for you. However, small it may be I might add.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Holly waltzed into the kitchen,
followed by the rest of the staff, cutting off any further discussion between us. They headed for the coffee and the box of pastries on the counter.

  “Has Billie Jo arrived, Holly?” I asked.

  The receptionist nodded, her mouth stuffed with half-eaten pastry.

  “I believe Robert Burns came in with her,” Mandy volunteered.

  “He did,” Anthony said, without turning from the coffee pot. “I heard him say he was in a hurry so he came early. They were headed for her station.”

  Since there were still a few minutes before the salon officially opened, an impromptu meeting got underway. Seated around the table, the staff, minus Billie Jo, hashed out a couple of trouble spots needing attention. Anthony apologized for yesterday’s outrageous behavior. Although, he added, his reaction was a natural consequence of being massaged by hot, pressing, invisible hands. Laughter erupted as he came to a stuttering stop.

  “Well,” I said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go to work.”

  Chairs scraped across the hardwood floor as the meeting broke up. Mugs were placed in the sink for washing at the end of the day. Holly had just pushed open the kitchen door when a man’s bellow of rage pierced the early morning silence.

  Deena turned startled eyes to me. “Oh Lord. What now?”

  Afraid to voice my suspicions, for I had a pretty good idea that Scarlett was up to no good, I bolted for the door and ran in the direction of Billie Jo’s workstation. How many lives did a ghost have? Nine, like a cat? If that’s the case then she’d have eight because I was gonna send her back to the Chief of the Supreme Mystery with a return to sender note penned to her celestial backside.

  Chapter Ten

  You Can’t Shampoo a Skunk

  The clipper still buzzed in Billie Jo’s stiff hand when I rounded the corner, Deena close behind. Where the staff had disappeared to, I had no idea, but I was relieved they had the good sense to make themselves scarce. This latest catastrophe would be better handled between us.