“Not yet,” I said. “But between you, me, and the gate post, he looked an awful lot like that portrait of Big Bill Walters that’s hanging on the wall. Burt is an only child, isn’t he?”
“Only living child, anyway. His brother Small Bill died in Vietnam.”
I remembered hearing that, now that she mentioned it. William Walters, Jr., known in Byerly as Small Bill, had been Burt’s older brother.
Aunt Maggie went on, “Now it wouldn’t surprise me none if Big Bill had sowed himself some wild oats. He was quite the ladies man a few years back.” She grinned.
“It sounds like you have reason to know,” Richard said.
She grinned even wider. “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t.”
The phone rang. “Now who?” I asked as I reached to answer it.
I should have known it would be Vasti. I gave her as quick a rundown as I could get away with and finally got off the phone. It promptly rang again.
“Let it ring,” Aunt Maggie advised. “Or better yet, leave it off the hook. If you want to get any sleep tonight, that is. It’s after ten, and people don’t have any business calling this late.”
“Do you think it would be all right?” I asked doubtfully. “I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.”
Aunt Maggie reached over, picked up the phone, hung it up, and then laid the receiver down beside the phone. “There,” she said. “If anyone fusses, you can tell them that it was me who done it.”
My conscience was soothed by her taking responsibility, and since Aunt Maggie said that Richard and I looked like we were worn to a frazzle, we headed up to bed.
Chapter 5
Not surprisingly after such a long day, Richard and I slept late the next morning. By the time we got up, Aunt Maggie was gone on her daily trip to the local thrift stores to see what she could find to buy and then sell at the flea market. That was one of the best parts about staying with Aunt Maggie. She went her own way and expected us to do the same. And since the house was the Burnette home place and I had lived there with Paw after my parents died, I felt nearly at much at home there as I did at my apartment in Boston.
Aunt Maggie had left us a bag of sausage biscuits from Hardee’s for breakfast, and Richard heated them up in the toaster oven while I tried to find a news show on the radio.
“Checking the weather?” Richard said innocently.
“You know doggone well what I’m looking for,” I said. I heard the word “shooting” and turned up the sound.
We already knew most of what the radio announcer had to say, but he concluded with the part I was interested in. “Chief Norton says that the victim has been identified, but the police are withholding his identity pending notification of the family.”
“Rats!” I said.
“Come eat your biscuit before it gets cold again,” Richard said.
Enjoying the treat of sausage biscuits kept me quiet for a little bit, but after I finished my second, I said, “I wonder who that fellow was. I swear he looked just like that picture of Big Bill.”
Richard said, “I’m sure Junior will get everything squared away.”
“I suppose so,” I answered. “Anyway, you and I have our own mystery to deal with. What’s going on with Aunt Daphine?”
“Are you sure that something is wrong? Everyone has off days.”
“Not like this. She’s not talking to Aunt Nora and she didn’t have time to bake for the reunion.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” he said with mock seriousness.
“I mean it, Richard,” I said. “Her acting like that is like you not reading Shakespeare. Or like me not programming.”
“I concede the point,” Richard said. “Something is wrong. But do you really think that she’s going to tell you anything when she hasn’t told her sisters or her own daughter?”
“Maybe not, but I feel like I should at least try. And it won’t hurt for us to invite her out to lunch.”
“We just ate,” Richard said.
“Richard, sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your family.” Even if it meant eating that wonderful country–style steak at Woolworth’s lunch counter.
Richard agreed that desperate times call for desperate measures, so we showered, dressed, and drove over to the strip shopping center that included Aunt Daphine’s beauty parlor.
The bell hung over the door to La Dauphin jingled as Richard and I walked inside. A woman with bright red hair was buffing her nails at the front counter.
“Hi,” I said.
She didn’t look up.
“Excuse me,” I said politely, “but is Mrs. Marston in?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked without looking up.
“No, but—”
“Mrs. Marston only works by appointment.”
“I’m not here to get my hair fixed. Mrs. Marston is my aunt.”
She put the nail file down and squinted at me. “You must be the one from Boston.”
It wasn’t really a question, so I didn’t feel like I needed to answer. “Is Aunt Daphine here?”
“Uh–huh. You were there at the mill last night when my daughter found that body, weren’t you? I hear you’re pretty tight with that lady police chief. Did she tell you who it is?”
“No, sorry. Can you tell Aunt Daphine that I’m here?”
She was opening her mouth, probably for another question, when I saw someone I knew behind the curtain of colored beads that separated the waiting room from the rest of the shop. “Hi Gladys,” I called out.
“Hey there Laurie Anne,” the dark–haired girl called back. “Daphine, look who’s here!”
Aunt Daphine looked in our direction, smiled and waved. “I’ll be there in a minute, just as soon as I get Mrs. Hart’s hair combed out.”
Gladys came on out, waving her fingers around to dry a fresh coat of nail polish.
“Have you met Gladys?” I asked Richard. “She’s the manicurist now.”
They exchanged hellos.
“Dorinda,” Gladys asked the woman at the counter, “why didn’t you tell Daphine that Laurie Anne was here?”
“How was I supposed to know who she was?” Dorinda asked sulkily. “She didn’t tell me her name.”
True enough, I thought, but she had known exactly who I was.
“While you’re here, Gladys, watch the desk so I can take my coffee break.” Dorinda grabbed her purse and scooted toward the back of the shop before Gladys could say a word.
“So that’s Dorinda,” I said as soon as she was gone.
Gladys grimaced. “Sweet, isn’t she? I keep thinking that Daphine will fire her, or at least tell her off, but so far …” She shrugged.
If the way Dorinda had greeted me and Richard was any indication of her performance, I couldn’t imagine why either. Though Aunt Daphine wasn’t a difficult woman to work for, she didn’t usually stand for any nonsense.
“So what are you two doing up here?” Gladys asked. “Are you going to get your hair cut, Laurie Anne? Or how about a new hair color? We got a new batch of French hair colors, and there’s a real pretty blond.”
“Not today,” I said. “We just stopped by to see if we can talk Aunt Daphine into coming out to lunch with us.”
Gladys shrugged her shoulders again. “Well, maybe you can. I haven’t been able to get her to go out for lunch in I don’t know how long. She brings herself a little old sandwich some days, but most of the time she says she’s not hungry and works right through lunch. She schedules appointments all day long and into the evening. I just couldn’t believe it when she said she wanted to open the shop on Mondays.”
“That’s right,” I said. “She always used to take Monday off.”
“For years, nothing could make her change that. Don’t you remember that time Dorcas Walters had a party on a Monday night? She wanted Daphine to open up on Monday so her guests could get their hair done that day, but Daphine wouldn’t do it. They all had to get their hair done on Saturday aftern
oon and hope for the best. I don’t know what happened to change her mind.” Gladys shook her head. “The way Daphine’s been acting lately, I think she’d open on Sundays if the town council would let her.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” I said, but I wasn’t so sure.
The phone on the counter rang just then. Gladys said, “I better get that. Why don’t you go on back and talk to Daphine?” She reached for the phone.
“You stay out here,” I told Richard. “Aunt Daphine’s customers hate to be seen by a man while in the process of beautification.”
“Surely they don’t think that anyone believes hair comes that way naturally?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to be the one to destroy their illusions.”
Richard sat down in one of the pink vinyl–covered chairs, reached for the latest copy of People magazine, and muttered, “ ‘Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words that ever blotted paper.’ The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2.”
I pushed my way through the bead curtains and wrinkled my nose at the pungent smell that meant someone was getting her hair dyed. No doubt it was one of the French colors Gladys had recommended.
Aunt Daphine was just finishing up with her customer. I waited until the woman left, then gave my aunt a hug. “Hey there.”
“Hey sweetie,” Aunt Daphine said. “What can I do for you today?”
“Richard and I were out wandering,” I answered, more or less truthfully, “and we thought we’d take you out to lunch.”
“That would be real nice, Laurie Anne, but not today. I’m booked up all day.”
“You have to eat sometime,” I protested.
“After yesterday, I don’t think I’ll need to eat for a week.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, but I had seen her plate at the reunion. She hadn’t eaten half of what she usually would have. “What about supper?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a couple of late appointments.”
“Richard and I can wait until you’re done.”
“That’s all right. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”
If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was trying to avoid us. “Lunch tomorrow?” I asked.
“This whole week is pretty busy,” she said vaguely.
Aunt Daphine’s next customer arrived before I could suggest another time, and Aunt Daphine said, “I’ll call you before you leave town, don’t you worry.”
“All right,” I said. There wasn’t a whole lot else I could say. Gladys was still at the front desk when I went out.
“Any luck?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I guess we better leave before Dorinda shows up and starts interrogating us about what happened yesterday.”
“I don’t suppose it would be polite for me to ask about it, then,” Gladys said with a grin.
“To tell you the truth,” I said, “the way gossip travels around here, you probably know more than I do. We heard the shot and found the body, but that’s all.”
“Is it true that the dead man looks like Big Bill Walters?”
I nodded. I guessed that that detail had already become common knowledge despite Junior’s efforts. “Maybe he was a cousin.”
“There aren’t any close cousins,” Gladys said. “Big Bill was an only child.”
“I didn’t know that. See, I told you that you know more than I do.”
Gladys lowered her voice. “Some people are saying that Big Bill must have had himself a woman on the side, and got caught. Maybe this fellow found out how much money the Walters have, and wanted his share. Maybe Big Bill told him ‘No!’ in the worst way he could.”
It was a nicely convoluted story, but I had to shake my head. “I don’t think so. The rug in Burt Walters’s office is ruined. If it had been Big Bill, he’d have put papers down first to keep from staining it.”
We were giggling over the idea of Big Bill trying to place an intended victim somewhere where it wouldn’t make a mess when Dorinda reappeared, carrying a red leather change purse.
“Look what I found in the back. Gladys, do you know who this belongs to?”
“That’s Clara’s ring bag,” Gladys said. “She puts her ring in there when she’s working with hair color so it won’t get stained.”
“Are you sure?” Dorinda asked, not very convincingly. “Let me just make sure that it’s in here.” She opened it and pulled out a very nice diamond solitaire ring. “Now where on earth did Clara get a ring like this?” she asked.
“Her husband gave it to her, of course,” Gladys said. “You better put it back.”
Dorinda continued to hold it up. “It sure is a big stone. Must be nearly half a caret. I wonder how it would look on me.”
“Dorinda …” Gladys said warningly, but Dorinda slipped it onto her finger anyway.
“Doesn’t it look nice?” she asked, admiring it. “Maybe Clara will let me borrow it.”
“I don’t think so,” Gladys said. “You better put it back.”
“I’m not hurting it,” Dorinda said, continuing to preen.
That’s when Clara McDonald walked up behind her, and for the first time since I had known Clara, I saw strong emotion on the little woman’s face. Even so, all she said was, “Dorinda, I’ll thank you to take my ring off.”
Dorinda looked startled, but quickly said, “I was just looking at it. It looks right pretty on me, don’t you think.”
“I want my ring back.”
“Oh come on, Clara. I’ve got a hot date tonight, if you know what I mean. Can’t I borrow it for just the one night? I’ll bring it back tomorrow?”
“No. Give it back now.”
“Oh pooh.” Dorinda pulled half–heartedly at the ring. “I think it’s stuck.”
“Dorinda, stop fooling around,” Gladys said nervously.
“I’m not fooling,” she insisted, pulling harder. “It’s stuck.”
“Take it off,” Clara said.
Dorinda said, “My fingers always swell right before lunch. If you let me wear it tonight, I’m sure it will come off in the morning.”
“No!” Clara said, not quite yelling.
“Why don’t you try using some soap,” I said.
“That’s a good idea,” Gladys said. “Soap suds will get it off.” She pulled Dorinda over to a sink, and reached for some shampoo.
“Not that stuff,” Dorinda protested. “That’ll dry out my skin.”
Gladys ignored her, poured a dollop on the be–ringed finger, and started rubbing vigorously.”
“Stop up the sink in case it falls off,” I said.
Gladys put a stopper in the sink before continuing to make suds.
“You’re hurting me,” Dorinda said. “You don’t have to rub so hard.”
“I’ve almost got it,” Gladys said.
“It hasn’t moved a bit,” Dorinda contradicted her. “I think we’re going to have to cut it off.”
I could have sworn there was a low growl from Clara. I had a hunch that as far as she was concerned, if anything got cut, it wasn’t going to be her ring.
“There!” Gladys said triumphantly, finally pulling the ring off. She rinsed it off, and then handed it to Clara, whose eyes had never left the ring.
Clara slipped it back into place, then held it close to her face to examine it.
“I didn’t hurt it none,” Dorinda said indignantly, and stomped back to her stool. She wasn’t quite out of earshot when she muttered, “I bet it’s not even real.”
Clara was still staring at her ring. Her hair was dark brown today, which suited her as much as any other shade she had ever tried. I had never been sure whether she changed her color so often because she was the shop’s unofficial colorist and felt honor–bound to test each product, or if she really expected to find a color that would make her prettier. I kind of hoped it was the first reason, because with her ears and nose, nothing was going to make her pretty.
“Is your ring all right?” I asked her.
She nodded slowly, and the angry color started to fade from her cheeks. “I guess so. I shouldn’t let Dorinda get to me like that, but sometimes she makes me so mad.”
“I don’t blame you, Clara,” Gladys said, “Not one bit. I think you should tell Daphine about it.”
“No,” Clara said, shaking her head. “There’s no need for that. I’ll just be sure to keep it with me from now on. I better get back to work.” She went back toward her station, and I noticed that she stayed as far away from Dorinda as possible.
“Can you imagine trying to borrow somebody else’s engagement ring?” Gladys asked me indignantly.
I shook my head, and looked at my own diamond protectively, thinking that I’d like to see Dorinda try to make off with it.
Gladys went on, “And to pull that now, when Clara just lost her husband a few months ago.”
Now that Gladys mentioned it, I remembered Aunt Nora telling me that Ed McDonald had died. “How’s Clara been taking it?”
“As well as could be expected, I guess, but you think that Dorinda would have a little respect.” She snorted. “I should know better by now. Dorinda gets on everybody’s nerves. I don’t want to say anything against Daphine, but I just don’t know why she puts up with it.”
Aunt Nora was right, I thought to myself. Something was bothering Aunt Daphine, something bad. “Well, we better get going. Take care, Gladys.” I got halfway to the door before I realized that Richard was still reading a magazine. “Richard?” There was no response. “Richard!”
He jerked up. “What? Where’s Aunt Daphine?”
“She can’t come. What were you reading so intently?”
“Nothing,” he said, closing the issue of People quickly.
Not quickly enough. I saw the page he had been looking at. “The Brady Bunch: Then and Now?” I asked.
“I didn’t notice,” he said haughtily.
“Stop back by before you go back up North,” Gladys said. “I could show you some samples of that new hair color. Richard, don’t you think Laurie Anne would look pretty with blond hair?”
“Her hair shall be of what colour it please God,” Richard replied. “Muck Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene 3.” Then he took my arm and grandly escorted me out.
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 02 - Dead Ringer Page 5
