I reached across the table for her hand. “I appreciate the support. What changed your mind?”
“I think I just saw a white mist go into the facial room,” she said in a low, composed voice. “Promise me you won’t mention any of this in Bill’s presence. He’ll think I’m a kook like you.”
I jerked my hand away. “Well, that explains the odd look he gave me at the hospital the other day. Who else have you told?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been worried about you,” she said. “I discussed it with Mama and Bill. I thought he could help us understand your strange behavior since this is along his line of work. With the invisible, you know?”
“And what did he offer in the way of explaining my strange behavior?”
“He said that the subconscious does weird things to our vision under extreme periods of stress.”
“So it’s our subconscious conjuring up Scarlett’s ghost?”
She nodded. “Bill said the dead don’t haunt the living.”
“Tell that to Scarlett,” I said with a mouthful of cookie.
“Maybe Bill’s right. Our nerves are shot from the trauma of her death.”
I washed the cookie down with a swig of tea. “Daddy told me that Grandma Tucker had the third eye, Deena. Another family trait.”
“Well, I don’t want any part of it,” she declared. “This could cause major problems with Bill.”
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“No more thoughts of Sam?”
“None. At first, I was jealous, but now with Bill in the picture, I’m okay with you guys dating. Besides, Sam and I don’t mesh, and I could never be a cop’s wife. What about you? I think there could be something between you guys if you’d let go and enjoy yourself.”
“Thanks, sis, but I haven’t thought about remarriage in a long time.” With that, I pushed myself away from the table and went to check on Diamond’s progress with Mrs. Butler’s perm, not ready to share my feelings with my sister.
Searching for plausible answers to the questions about Scarlett’s murder consumed all my brain power for the rest of the day, which ended up costing me a client. I had years of working with bleach, but with murder on the brain, I over-processed my client’s long, golden curls, which to my horror, broke off and floated to the floor in frizzy puffs of cotton. “God, help me,” I said, gaping down at the lost strands on the floor. This haunting business would drive me into bankruptcy if I didn’t get control of myself and put a stop to it.
“Sure thing, Jolene.”
Of all the stylists to come to my rescue, silver-tongued Anthony would’ve been the last on my list. Before I could bat an eye, he whisked my furious client out of my chair and into his, but not before she called me every name in the book. Dead tired and worried with time running out, I fled to the facial room, hoping to contact Scarlett about my conversation with Nancy.
No luck. Apparently, my cosmic tag-a-long was still pissed at me for not buying her a green ribbon for her bonnet and remained elusive. After several more minutes of sending out the universal signal for ghosts, I grew discouraged, and gave up. The clock kept ticking. Three days remained before Scarlett became earthbound, and then I’d be stuck with her until the day I died. Not a pleasant thought at all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Blackmail is Dirty Business
Thursday night passed without incident. Bradford and I were like two ships passing in the night. A light under his door signaled he was awake when I got up for a glass of milk. When I spoke to him the next morning at the breakfast table, he seemed preoccupied and answered my questions about the case in half sentences.
No sign of the flash drive.
Scarlett had visited Magnolia Manor, he mentioned. No new leads there.
“Do you know why she was there?” I wanted to know.
“That information wasn’t provided.”
“You explained that it was a murder investigation?”
He opened the refrigerator door, took out a carton of creamer, and set it on the table. “The administrator was adamant—no information without the proper subpoenas. I have a call in to the judge. What are your plans for the day?”
I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down, and picked up the morning paper. “I’m getting the works at the salon.” I found the sports section and passed it over to Bradford who immediately buried his face behind it. The society page had a write-up on tonight’s fundraiser. Several of the names from the expected guest list promised I’d be rubbing elbows with a number of the names on Scarlett’s list. Kind of like the bullseye coming to target practice. The thought made me a little apprehensive and ready to back out of the deal.
I left Bradford finishing breakfast. A hot shower later, I was dressed in jeans and flats and ready for my day of pampering. As a usual precaution, Bradford followed me to the salon, where Diamond waited to take up guard duty.
A cup of hot green tea waited for me at Anthony’s station when I arrived five minutes later.
“Do you do this for all your clients?” I asked him as I sat down in his stylist chair.
“Only the ones I owe an apology to.”
“I’m listening.”
He draped a stylist cape around my neck and shoulders. “I have a confession to make—it was me you heard in Scarlett’s house the other night.” His voice dropped lower. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I thought the neighbors had called the cops.”
I played it cool. Anthony remained a suspect, however low on the list. I would let him talk and then decide what to do with the information. “Me, too,” I reciprocated. “What were you doing there?”
“So, what are we doing today?”
It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was referring to my hair. “Something simple and elegant.”
He nodded at my refection in the mirror. “I know just the thing. First, let’s shampoo, then I’ll tell you my story—and Scarlett’s.”
Questions lit up my mind as I followed Anthony to the shampoo bowl. I kept silent as he shampooed and conditioned my hair, all the while chatting like a squirrel in mating season. With my hair wrapped in a towel, we returned to his station.
Briskly rubbing my hair with the towel, he leaned over my shoulder. “Scarlett was paying me a lot of money,” he whispered. “That’s why I was at her house—looking for the proof of our arrangement.”
I met his serious expression in the mirror. “I don’t understand. Scarlett was blackmailing you?”
“No. She was paying me a lot of money to obtain some information for her.”
“Are you saying that you were spying for her?”
“Yeah. My half-sister works for the County Elections Board, and Scarlett believed I was the best way for her to obtain evidence she needed for a story she was working on. Scarlett would do anything, and I mean anything, to get what she wanted. Even greasing palms with a lot of greenbacks.”
Would wonders never cease? Another unexpected revelation.
“What kind of information was she after?”
He pulled over the roller cart and began rolling my hair. “Anything regarding the recent, and past, city government elections. She wanted names and contribution amounts from each donating person, and organization.”
“And were you able to obtain the information?”
“Nothing big. Just inconsistencies here and there. Scarlett was terribly interested in those. She pressed me to dig deeper, but my sister got spooked and refused to give me further access to the records.”
“How did Scarlett react to the news?”
“I never told her,” he said. “I kept feeding her false bits and pieces to keep the money coming. For a while, it worked, but then she started demanding viable info. She said she had to find the ‘smoking gun.’ Whatever that means. Man, that story was tearing her to shreds. When she ended up dead, I realized I’d be implicated in her death if the cops connected me to her. That’s why I was in her house—looking for h
er notes.”
“You realize this establishes a motive, don’t you?”
“I’m many despicable things, but not a killer,” he said.
“Did you share this with the police?”
“Most of it. I left out the money changing hands part. They interviewed me several times and warned me rather strongly to forgo the spying business. I assured them that I’d learned my lesson. However, I’ll be leaving this small hamlet.”
“Where are you going?”
“California. I have an aunt out there. The police shared my exploits with my father. Let’s just say that he believes the West Coast has more to offer a male hairdresser with my talents. Hey, you’re not going to tell the police about the money I took from Scarlett, are you?”
For a moment I thought about it. How many laws had I broken in the past two weeks? Quite a few. And I’d been given a second chance by Bradford. Could I do anything less for Anthony? “Do you still have the money Scarlett paid you?”
“I spent some of it,” he admitted. “But my father made me donate the rest to local charities.”
“Well then, your secret is safe with me. But Dixieland Salon will never be the same without you.”
“Honey, you don’t need me to liven up the place,” he declared with a laugh.
The next hour passed pleasantly, and Anthony outdid himself. He was a natural, and I knew he’d be a success wherever he landed. By that time, Mandy was ready for my manicure and pedicure. With my hair elegantly styled, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a big tip.
Mandy had just finished applying the final coat of red polish on my nails when Deena came over to her station.
“Billie Jo and I are getting ready to have lunch in my office. We have an extra tuna fish sandwich for you if you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving.”
Mandy stuck my hands under a nail polish dryer, and in five minutes, my nails had dried smudge-proof. I thanked her, gave her a generous tip for a job well done, and headed into Deena’s office to join my sisters for lunch.
“I have some shocking news about Anthony,” I said, taking a seat across the desk from Deena.
“What now?” Billie Jo asked.
After swearing them to secrecy, I repeated my conversation with Anthony.
Deena gasped. “I don’t believe it.”
“I do,” Billie Jo said. “I knew he was hiding something. So he’s off the suspect list?”
I bit into my sandwich. “Yes. I believe his story. He gave me notice, so we’ll have to start looking for another stylist to take his place.”
“I’ll place a few calls this afternoon,” Deena said. “I heard of a couple of stylists who are looking for a new salon. They’re both good and have a strong client following. If you two approve.”
I nodded and took a sip of Coke. “Now for my next piece of news—it’s about Mandy.”
The crease on Deena’s brow deepened. “Is she leaving, too? We’re not going to have any employees left by the end of the week.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said. “Scarlett was blackmailing her. Mandy’s brother is a math teacher at the high school. Scarlett ran into him one day outside school property with one of his students and jumped to the wrong conclusion. He was tutoring the girl, but Scarlett inserted a sexual twist on it. He came to Mandy for help, and she agreed to help him pay Scarlett off.”
“I thought Scarlett was rich,” Billie Jo said.
“According to her, it was all a façade,” I replied. “She needed money to keep up appearances, but I suspect it was used to buy useful information.”
Billie Jo let out a low whistle. “Damn, no wonder someone killed her. I’m surprised she lived as long as she did.”
“No, I don’t believe it’s as simple as that,” I said. “Scarlett was an investigative journalist and always on the lookout for a story. I suspect she started out right and simply lost her way. It happens sometimes in her line of work. Mandy’s brother was a means to an end.”
“Is Mandy a suspect?” Deena asked.
“I think it’s safe to say our employees are in the clear,” I said. “Mandy promised me she’d go to the police and tell them everything.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Billie Jo said.
I thought about the crime-scene photos Deena had taken. “I’d like to take a look at those photographs you took of the facial room again, if they’re handy.”
“What are you looking for?” Billie Jo asked.
“I’m not sure, but I’d like to take a closer look. I have time, we’re not leaving for the Payne mansion until seven. Bradford has to be there a little early since he’s working security. “Billie Jo, I would like to borrow your derringer.”
“What for?”
“I need something light and compact. Mini Pearl won’t fit in my black handbag. Your derringer will—or I could strap it to my thigh.”
She nodded. “Sure. I guess that’s okay.”
We swapped guns and holsters. Deena rolled her eyes but withheld comment. She opened her desk drawer, pulled out the pictures, and slid them across her desk. I picked them up, shoved them in my purse, and stood. “I’m going to look at these at home. See you in the morning.”
“Break a leg,” Billie Jo said.
“That’s not an appropriate statement for the occasion,” Deena said. “The proper terminology would be to tell her to have fun.”
“That’s why Bradford dumped you, Deena. You’re so perfect. Wait, that’s not what I meant to say. You’re not perfect.”
I shut the door on Deena’s reply, and Diamond and I drove over to my house. The answers to this mystery must be hidden in plain sight. I hoped I had them in my hands.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Mole and Mr. Blackstone
The white colonial mansion sat on a small rise, circled by ancient pines, in the center of the city historic district. When Bradford and I drove up to the Payne residence, I tried to remain calm and composed in the face of such grandeur. Bradford pulled around the circular driveway. He climbed out of the car and handed the valet the keys. Coming around, he opened the passenger side door and offered me his hand.
When we reached the house, the heavy wooden double doors stood open, spilling music and laughter out into the night. An immaculately dressed man I recognized as Richard Payne stepped forward to welcome us.
Here was one of the major players on Scarlett’s list. I could see that he had aged well. His silver-lined, dark hair enhanced strong, vibrant features not yet distorted by age. He looked years younger than seventy and exuded enough sexual magnetism to make any woman glance twice.
“Detective Bradford, I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, and then those fathomless, black orbs fastened on me. “And who is this beautiful creature?” he drawled, lifting my hand to brush his lips across my knuckles. I resisted the urge to shiver, and offered a plastic smile to hide my repulsion of the man.
Bradford disentangled my hand from our host. “This beautiful creature is my date, Jolene Claiborne,” he said, his voice slightly amused. “I would remind you, sir, to keep that in mind throughout the evening. I would hate to haul the mayor’s father to jail for grand larceny.”
He laughed at Bradford’s implication that I was a treasure worth stealing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Please come in and meet my bride of fifty-plus years.” He winked at me. “She’ll want to know where you purchased that dress.”
I thought my face would crack from smiling as I stepped through the front door into a large, ornate foyer with black and white marble flooring. An old Pre-Civil War chandelier threw tiny prisms of flickering candlelight upon the rich walnut paneling on the walls. Warm, yellow light danced into every corner, highlighting magnolia blossoms floating upon blue pools of water in sparkling vases resting graciously on antique tables. Immediately the arms of southern hospitality closed around me.
We followed our host to a magnificently-proportioned room with high ceilings and the sam
e rich walnut paneled walls. An attractive older woman excused herself from a small circle of guests. I recognized Alice Payne from her many photographs that graced the society pages in the local newspaper, and I briefly wondered if she knew about her husband’s activities. Richard reached out and drew his wife to his side.
“My dear, I would like to introduce you to Jolene Claiborne, Detective Bradford’s lovely date.”
Alice Payne dripped diamonds, and I couldn’t help but stare. She smiled. “Stunning dress, my dear.” She turned to the men. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to introduce Jolene to several of my friends.”
I found my arm entwined in hers. With a quick turn, she steered me away from Bradford and in the direction of a group of ladies gathered in the far corner of the room. I snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, doing a swift assessment of the whereabouts of additional trays of bubbly. From the looks of the female elite, an inquisition lay straight ahead. My joy took a nosedive at the prospect of fencing with the dragons. How little they knew of the true nature of my relationship with the dreamy homicide detective.
Thankfully, my thoughts were cut short when the mayor’s wife appeared at my side. A light, ocean scent wafted over me.
“Everyone’s talking about Sam’s ravishing blonde. I can see why now that I’ve seen you.” Her gaze devoured my evening attire. “You look smashing.”
“As do you, Mrs. Payne.” I sincerely meant the compliment. The deep blue silk of her dress heightened her red-gold hair, green eyes, and fair skin. Her throat was encircled with diamonds and earrings glittered at her ears, matching the diamond brooch pinned to her dress.
“Henry will be so pleased to learn you’re Detective Bradford’s date. He’s counting on the local businesses to endorse his run for the governorship. I know he can count on Dixieland Salon for support.”
Proper words failed me. In present company I couldn’t express my dislike for her husband, but I wouldn’t support him for dog catcher, let alone the governorship. The state of Georgia deserved better. I couldn’t say that either, so I did the only thing I knew to distract her from the subject of politics.
Dixieland Dead Page 25
