Dixieland Dead

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  Diamond made a face and shook her head. “She’s gonna look like my granny.”

  Joye scowled. “Classic designs never age.”

  I fingered the gowns, liking the silkiness of the materials and held one up, frowning at my reflection. “Diamond’s right. No wow factor.”

  “You won’t know until you try them on,” Joye said, smiling politely.

  I closed the dressing room door and shucked down to my skivvies. The first gown fit nicely but wasn’t my style. It went on the rejection hook. The second gown followed suit. One by one they all went on the rejection hook.

  Scarlett’s reflection materialized in the mirror. “Too bad you can’t borrow something from Vivian’s closet.”

  I reached for my clothes. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “At least you’re talking to me and not trying to pass things through my body.”

  “You don’t have a body,” I reminded her. “Now please leave so I can try on more dresses.”

  “Ha. That woman has no style. Let me pick out something for you.”

  “How’s it going in there, Miz Claiborne? I’ve found a couple more dresses I think might work.”

  I jumped at Joye’s voice. When I opened the door, she stood there with an armload of stunning evening attire. The deep, rich colors immediately appealed to me, and I took one off the top and held it up to myself, admiring the neon blue silk in the mirror. “Nice.”

  She hung the rest on a hook. “I thought you’d like these styles better.”

  “It’s a step in the right direction. However, I would be more comfortable in something snug and above the knee.”

  “I know just the dress. I’ll be right back,” she said, disappearing with the armload of rejects.

  Scarlett positioned herself on the dressing room bench. “Don’t trust her. Just look at what she’s brought you so far.”

  To appease her, I said, “If you’ll behave I’ll take you to find ribbons for your bonnet as soon as I’m done here, okay?” I slipped into a pink satin dress with a pleated skirt before stepping out to the three-way mirror.

  “What do you think of this one? I love the way the pleated skirt moves.”

  “The color is great on you,” Diamond said. “But if I had your great legs, I’d go for all out sexy.”

  My smile faded. “Not too sexy. This is a classy affair.”

  Joye returned with a garment draped over her arm. “You’ll be sensational in this cocktail dress.”

  The dress she held up simply took my breath away. “It couldn’t possibly fit,” I whispered reverently, mesmerized by its silky ebony perfection. The neckline, edged in exquisite lace, plunged down to the base of the breast line, meeting a larger insert of sheer lace that cupped the mid-section to emphasize the breasts and slim the waist. Shimmering, midnight silk, gathered at the base of the insert, fell to short form-fitting pleats.

  Here was a dress to die for—perfect for turning every head at the affair—man and woman alike.

  “It’s for a much slimmer, petite woman. Both I’m not,” I said, immediately dismissing the glorious creation.

  An exasperated smile flitted across Joye’s face. “Nonsense. Trust me—you’ll look smashing. All you need is shapewear.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the dressing room with the cocktail dress.

  “Well hello, Jolene,” a voice said over my shoulder. “You look very snazzy and hip. You must be shopping for a new look.”

  I turned around. Cherry and her friend, Thelma Sands, were giving me the once over. Quickly, I introduced Diamond to the two women—of course, leaving out the fact that she was one of Whiskey Creek’s finest and my bodyguard. That was need-to-know information, and they didn’t need to know.

  Thelma whispered into Cherry’s ear. Since she wore a perpetual frown, it didn’t take any brain power to deduce her comment was about me.

  Cherry tapped her playfully on the shoulder, cooing in my direction. “Jolene knows she and Detective Bradford are a red-hot topic.” Her courteous voice turned patronizing. “Be kind now. No embarrassing questions. Jolene is recovering from a car accident.”

  “Do you want me to slime her?” Scarlett asked from her perch on a dress rack.

  I wanted to give her the go-ahead, but thought better of it. Bradford had warned me to expect nasty gossip. Our living arrangement had certainly brought out the town bitches. He’d suggested I take it in stride and have fun with it. “Don’t let them suspect this is a ruse,” he’d said. Well, that wouldn’t be hard to do as Thelma’s thin-lipped smile had condescension written all over it. Nothing would’ve given me more pleasure than to reshape her head, but I had to watch my blood pressure. Instead, I said with an exaggerated wink, “Sam says I’m more woman than he can handle.”

  She glared at me with burning, reproachful eyes. “Well, I never!”

  “I bet you’d like to, though,” I shot back.

  My head spun with satisfaction when she gave me a black look and marched away telling Cherry she’d meet her in the jewelry department.

  “I’m sorry,” Cherry said as her friend disappeared down the escalator. “I shouldn’t have poked fun at you. Please don’t be offended.”

  Joye stepped out of the dressing room with my earlier rejects. “I’ll be right back with that shapewear.”

  My attention shifted back to Cherry. “Will I see you and Robert at the fundraiser?”

  “Oh yes. We’ll be there,” she declared with an enthusiastic hand wave. “Robert talks of little else these days. Richard Payne has high ambitions for his son. Being mayor is only the beginning of his career.”

  “You mean the governorship? Robert mentioned a press conference the other day at the salon.”

  “Yes, and hopefully, one day, the presidency.”

  “Wow, those are high ambitions. But speaking strictly between you and me, Linda Payne doesn’t strike me as a strong candidate for First Lady. Her health is too delicate.”

  Cherry nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. She looked positively terrible coming out of Dr. Graham’s office the other day. She walked right past me without speaking.”

  “Dr. Graham, the psychiatrist?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Mrs. Eisenberg mentioned Linda is in grief counseling.”

  “She is. Henry wanted to send her away to that exclusive medical retreat in Macon.”

  “The mayor is gonna need a lot of money to run for governor,” I speculated out loud. “Is that where Robert comes in?”

  Cherry’s smile faltered. “Thelma’s waiting for me. Ta ta.”

  “See you Friday night.” I waved at her retreating back.

  Diamond chuckled. “You sure know how to kill a conversation. That woman certainly didn’t want you talking about her man parting with any money.”

  “I got the same impression.”

  As I stood there pondering my conversation with Cherry, a creepy sensation crawled down my spine, as if I were being watched. I glanced over my shoulder, but observed only several women leafing through the racks—nothing unusual for the ladies’ dress department. Quickly, before Diamond could notice my preoccupation, I turned back to the mirror.

  I was in the dressing room trying to wiggle out of the pink satin when Joye returned.

  She reached for the zipper. “Here, let me help you. I found this in the wrong drawer.” She held up the black shapewear.

  The zipper opened under her firm hand and dropped to pool at my feet. I stepped out of it, handing it to her. She placed the tiny garment in my hands and backed out of the room.

  “I’ll rehang these gowns.” She paused at the door. “Holler if you need help.”

  “I’ll need help,” I said to the sound of the shutting door. Alone, I removed all my underclothing and picked up the tiny garment. A fine sheen of perspiration covered me when I finally managed to wiggle into the darn thing. The dress slipped over it like silk.

  Joye was right. I looked sinful and utterly sensationa
l. I bought the dress and the black monster underneath along with a new pair of black hose and heels. Scarlett harassed me about green ribbons during the entire transaction. Weary of her nagging, I finally suggested to Diamond we take a quick trip down the mall to the Dollar Store. As we were exiting, I again felt apprehensive—as if hidden eyes tracked me. I followed the curve of the clothes racks with my gaze, which is when I noticed a shadowy figure dart behind a purse display. Oh no… Oh, no. Not Grant again. I searched the crowd of shoppers desperately until Diamond stepped protectively into view.

  “Is something wrong?” Her eyes clouded with suspicion. “You seem scared.”

  I shivered. It had to be a coincidence.

  I blinked, pulling myself together. “No. Everything is fine. My overactive imagination is at work.” My voice sounded guilty even to my own ears, but I smiled to lighten the mood, and we started down the mall.

  The feeling of being watched persisted as we entered the Dollar Store. Once again, I turned around to see if we were being followed and again glimpsed a man duck into a small outlet store close by. I was able to get a good enough look at him to know that Grant wasn’t tailing me. My fears of his leering face momentarily vanished, to be replaced by a new and equally frightening thought. Was this the same man in the dark blue sedan?

  Spooked, I finally told Diamond my suspicions that we were being followed. With the quickness and skill of an experienced police officer, she ushered me out of the store and back to my car without frightening the other shoppers. Scarlett had a hissy fit, of course, but I was the only one to hear her screeching complaints.

  Diamond drove back to the salon. Once I was safely ensconced under Deena’s watchful care, she disappeared out of the office with a cell phone glued to her ear. I knew she was calling Bradford to alert him of my scare. It was a good thing too, because it appeared that I was still in a shitload of trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Dead Don’t Haunt the Living

  Bradford was waiting on me when I arrived home. The atmosphere between us became strained somewhat as night fell. He grilled me on the details of the suspected stalking until I was as angry as a snapping turtle on speed. Finally, he backed off. We ate a quick supper and then cleaned the kitchen. I went back to my room, leaving him to watch TV, or pace the floor, or whatever cops do when they guard important witnesses.

  After a fitful night of troubled dreams, I woke up the next morning tired and cranky and feeling out of sorts with the world. On top of everything else, my menstrual cycle was screwed up. That accounted for my bitchiness. I swear to God, sometimes I wished for menopause to go ahead and catch up with me and rid me of bloating, painful cramps, and mood swings.

  Bigfoot had nothing on me, I decided, as I gazed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The poison oak had started to heal, so I should be grateful that I no longer had a face that scared children. I showered and dressed hurriedly in slacks and heels, and found Bradford seated at the kitchen table munching on a cinnamon bun and drinking coffee.

  He looked up from the morning paper. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I made coffee and cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Hey, are you all right? You look a mite droopy. I noticed your light on until well after midnight. Perhaps you should think about getting to bed earlier.”

  “I’m old enough to decide my bedtime, Detective Bradford.” Tango sprang off the refrigerator, curling around my ankles. I went into the pantry for cat food and a box of cereal. I fed him then joined Bradford at the table with a bowl of cold cereal.

  He shrugged. “Point well taken. Listen, I’m in a hurry. I have a meeting at the police station in less than twenty minutes.”

  “I’m capable of driving myself to work without being escorted,” I responded without looking up from my cereal bowl.

  “Look, I don’t know why you’re all tangled up like a barbed wire fence, and I’m not going to ask. Be ready to leave in ten.”

  His chair scraped across the floor, and I looked up to see his face drawn in a tight frown. Shame washed over me at my irrational behavior toward him.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice sounded flat, tired.

  Some of the hardness seeped out of his face. “I know this arrangement is hard on you. On both of us, but we’ve got to keep a united front to pull this off. Please try to be patient, and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  Yesterday’s conversation with Nancy resurfaced. “You’re right. We’ve got to work together. I came into some information you’ll be interested in. I’ve been unable to follow the lead—you might have better luck,” I said as a peace offering.

  Bradford was brisk. “I’m listening.”

  “Nancy Chance ran into Scarlett about a week before she died. Scarlett appeared scared, paranoid. When questioned, she waved off Nancy’s concern. She said she was running late for a meeting with a source at Magnolia Manor—that expensive private sanatorium/mental institution. I’m wondering if the writer of the vote-rigging software works there or is possibly a patient. If so, his name is on that flash drive.”

  “I’ll follow up on it,” he said in a professional tone. “How much longer until you’re ready to leave?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  I brushed my teeth in record time and grabbed my brown bag lunch I’d made the night before from the refrigerator. Bradford waited for me at the kitchen door, and we left together. So close, in fact, that he tailgated my rental all the way to the shop. Diamond took his place from there, practically breathing down my neck as we entered through the back entrance.

  My first client arrived on time, and I went to work. The morning sped by, and the last time I noticed the time was around eleven when my client came in for her perm. She began talking the instant her butt hit my black leatherette stylist chair. I lost her somewhere between the high price of groceries and something about Medicare refusing to pay for her facelift. Silently, and with careful debate, I replayed my conversation with Nancy, seeking clues to the identity of Scarlett’s source. From there I pictured my notes and list of suspects. What would Bradford find in Macon? A viable lead? I hoped so. We needed a break in the case.

  “Hey, Jolene. What’s wrong with you? You’re a million miles away.”

  Slowly, Billie Jo’s face came into view. I was no longer reliving my breakfast conversation with Bradford, but under the glaring lights at the salon wrapping a permanent wave.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Mrs. Butler laid her thin hand on my arm. “You’ve been lost in space since I’ve been here. I was telling you about Mr. Butler’s bout with athlete’s foot.”

  “I’m fine,” I said with a smile. “Just daydreaming. It’s been a busy week, and I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’m sorry I missed hearing about your husband’s foot problems. My assistant, Diamond, will take over.” I turned to Billie Jo. “What’s up?”

  She tapped her watch. “Are you ready for lunch?”

  Diamond appeared with the waving solution and cotton strip. Expertly, she replaced me behind my stylist chair and began winding cotton to Mrs. Butler’s hairline. I could hear their laughter as Billie Jo, and I headed toward the kitchen.

  “Nancy called to thank us.” Billie Jo swung open the kitchen door. “You should’ve checked with me before you volunteered my services. She wasn’t happy to hear that I’m not volunteering to conduct tours at Pineridge Plantation or wearing one of those antebellum costumes.”

  I went straight for the refrigerator, fishing for my lunch, my stomach growling. I needed something a little more substantial than that quick bowl of cereal to get me through the rest of my day, which included two full head foils and another permanent wave.

  “Hey, where’s my chicken salad sandwich?” I said with my head inside the refrigerator.

  “I saw Deena in there earlier.”

  “She ate my sandwich!”

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to drop a few pounds?”

  Deena’s voice dripped sugar. I raised narrowed eyes over the refrigerator door to see h
er standing in the doorway. “Can’t abide a food thief,” I muttered.

  “I’m just trying to help my big sister get into her snazzy black dress for the Friday night fundraiser my ex-boyfriend is taking her to.” Deena walked over to the table, pulling out a chair into which she sank. “Make me a glass of tea, will you?”

  Billie Jo’s cell phone rang. “It’s Roddy. I’ll leave y’all to duke it out in private,” she said, ducking out the door.

  “Is there anything left for a starving woman?” I pulled out a pitcher of tea, set it on the counter, and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet.

  “Funny you should ask. Anthony stashed a bag of Oreos in the bottom cabinet behind the paper plates and cups.”

  With goodies in hand, I joined Deena at the table, took out a couple of cookies, and handed the package to her. “I’m sure Billie Jo told you about helping out at Pineridge Plantation? She’s not happy with me.”

  Deena nibbled on her Oreo. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “She’s pretty mulish, as you well know.”

  “We all are. I believe it’s a family trait.”

  She was telling the truth about that. When we were young, Mama used to accuse Daddy of siring a bunch of jackasses. He’d just laugh and remind her from whose loins we’d sprung. After all the yelling and hollering, it’d get real quiet, and we’d hear Mama giggling behind closed doors. We never did figure out what they were doing until Billie Jo found a Playboy magazine shoved under their bed and showed it to Mama. That night when Daddy got home, they shared the story of the birds and the bees with us right after dinner. I never did look at them the same way again from that moment on.

  Deena, too, looked lost in thought.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” I asked her.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Try me.”

  “Scarlett.”

  “What about Scarlett?”

  Her face crinkled in thought. “I believed you’d lost your mind when you claimed to have seen her ghost in the facial room,” she admitted. “But I’ve witnessed several strange happenings around here since her death. At first I thought someone was sabotaging the salon. But now, I’m not so sure.”