Chuckling, I opened the door and stepped inside, where my nose was assaulted by the smell of fresh perm solution. Fanning the air with my hand, I called, “Claire? It’s Bretta Solomon.”
“Just a minute,” was the muffled reply from a curtained doorway at the back of the building.
“I know I’m early,” I said, “but I decided to come by before I did another errand.”
My answer was the sound of a toilet flushing. I peered at my surroundings and forgot my burning nose. Blue, red, green, and yellow stripes raced up and down the walls. The floor was covered with a vinyl pattern that screamed kindergarten finger painting. But it was the ceiling that grabbed my attention. I tilted my head and marveled at the sight.
Painted directly on the tiles was a ten-foot picture of a lovely girl who might have been fifteen years old. My gaze skimmed over her face, noting the closed eyes and gentle smile. She was dressed in a robe and looked angelic surrounded by an aura of light achieved by the shading of brush strokes. Her hair was a crowning glory of flowers, painted in meticulous detail, sprouting from her head.
I squinted at the blossoms. These weren’t flower shop varieties. The pinkish purple daisylike flower was echinacea. An evening primrose curled seductively around the girl’s left ear. The brilliant orange blossom of the butterfly weed was an exact replica of the ones that lived on the farm where I’d grown up. Rose mallow, milkweed, and elderberry were all Missouri wildflowers.
Standing just above the other flowers was another blossom that was a cluster of eight blooms on one stem. Each was yellow-green, tinged with purple. The individual flowers had five tubular hood-shaped structures with a slender horn extending from each.
I didn’t recognize this last flower, but I was impressed with the overall appearance of the painting. “How neat,” I said aloud. My voice echoed in the silence.
The absolute stillness of the building finally penetrated my preoccupation with the ceiling. Impatiently, I called, “Claire, if you’re busy, I can come back later.”
This time I received no answer. As I made my way across the floor to the curtained doorway, the soles of my shoes made tiny tick-tick sounds like I’d stepped in something sticky. I checked but saw nothing except wild swirls of color underfoot.
“Claire?” I called again, pushing the curtain aside. A strong herbal odor rushed out. I moved farther into the supply room. Here there was a total absence of color. The walls were unfinished Sheetrock, the floor bare concrete. Metal shelves held bottles of shampoos and such. The bathroom was on my right. I rapped on the door, then pushed it open. The room was empty.
I turned to my left, and my breath caught in my throat. Claire lay on her back. With a cry of surprise, I hurried to her side and carefully felt for a pulse. There was none. A pale green froth oozed from her mouth and nostrils. Near her body was an aerosol can of herbal mousse. A bit of green foam clung to the nozzle.
At first I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. If Claire was dead, then who’d answered me when I’d first entered the beauty shop? Who’d flushed the toilet? I looked from the can to the watery foam that filled Claire’s mouth and nostrils and nearly fainted as I put my own interpretation on these details. Someone had knocked her unconscious, then squirted the thick foam into her air passages so she’d suffocate.
Slowly I dragged my gaze up to her wide-eyed stare. Since I’d met her in the park, she’d changed her emerald contacts for ones that resembled a cat’s eyes, with lentil-shaped, hyacinth-colored pupils.
Because of the lack of natural moisture on her orbs, the thin pieces of plastic were losing their shape. Even as I watched, one of the lenses curled, popped off, and landed on her cheek.
Chapter Three
Two dead people in one day were more than this old girl could handle. My chest hurt from the thumping of my heart. I clamped my teeth tightly together to keep them from chattering and stumbled out of the storage room into Claire’s beauty shop. I couldn’t leave the salon unattended with Claire’s body in back. A phone was on the desk by the door, but I knew better than to touch it. I stood in the middle of the floor like a dolt, wondering if I should step out into the street and scream for help.
“Bretta?”
I whirled around to find Evelyn peering at me from the doorway. “I was just by your flower shop.” She came farther into the room. “I’ve been tracking everyone down so I can apologize for the way I’ve acted. Nikki’s wedding is important, but when I saw Oliver die—” She shuddered. “I’ve been a real nag, and I’m sorry.”
“You can’t come in here.”
Evelyn’s shoulders stiffened. “Good heavens, I said I was sorry. Surely you aren’t going to get on some righteous high horse and back out of—”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Pass it over. I need to make an emergency call.”
“What’s going on?” She peered around the empty beauty shop. “Where’s Claire? I have to talk to her, too.”
I held out my hand. “Please. I need to use your phone.”
Evelyn frowned but reached into her purse. “Here,” she said, thrusting the gadget at me. “But there’s a phone right over there.”
She nodded to the desk, but I ignored her, punching in 911. Evelyn drew a sharp breath when she saw what I was doing. Her head swiveled as she looked about the room. Seeing the curtained doorway, she took a step in that direction, but I grabbed her arm and shook my head.
“This is Bretta Solomon,” I said into the receiver. “I’m at 3201 Marietta Avenue, Claire’s Hair Lair. I’ve just found the owner, Ms. Alexander, dead in the storage room.”
Evelyn gasped and looked ready to keel over. I tightened my grip on her arm, but she shrugged off my helping hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “But what am I going to do now? The girls are expecting a beautician in residence at the park.”
The helping hand I’d offered clenched into a knot at my side. I wanted to slap her. Did this woman think only in terms of the wedding?
“Yes,” I said into the phone. “Yes. I know. Yes. Yes. Okay. Yes. I’ll be right here.” I disconnected and handed the phone back to Evelyn.
Absently, she tucked it into her handbag. “I’m leaving,” she said. “I wasn’t here when you found—uh—Claire. No need in me staying until help arrives.”
“You have to stay. Your fingerprints will be on the doorknob. I used your phone to make the call. We have to stand right here and not touch anything.”
Evelyn didn’t like this, but whether it was my commanding tone or the command itself, I couldn’t be sure. Her chin came up, and she glared at me. “My fingerprints will be here anyway. I’ve been in this shop before. I sat in that chair while Claire and I discussed the wedding. Besides, fingerprints are only important in a murder—”
I said nothing.
Her jaw dropped. Slowly, she closed it and turned to look at the curtained doorway again. “Oh, God. Murder? Is there blood? I can’t stand the sight of blood. I think I’m going to be sick.”
The wail of sirens overrode her need to upchuck. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “What in the world will Nikki say? Her hairdresser murdered. Oh dear. Oh dear.”
“Yeah, Claire’s untimely death is a real inconvenience. If she were here, I’m sure she would express her regret.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I took a steady bead on her. “I know exactly what you meant.”
A River City patrol car arrived first. The officer took one look behind the curtain, then radioed for reinforcements. Paramedics soon arrived, followed by a Spencer County deputy and, finally, a Missouri Highway Patrol officer. It was a fashion show of uniforms. Khaki for the county. Blue for the MHP. Green and gold for our town’s protectors. Jurisdiction fell to the city officials, but in the case of a suspicious death, it was all hands on deck.
I knew and was known to most of the men because of Carl’s involvement with law enforcement. I was treate
d with respect, but nonetheless, Evelyn and I were hustled out of the beauty shop and were told to wait so our statements could be taken. I can only guess at what went on in that storage room, but I surmised plenty. The coroner was followed by Jean Kelley, River City’s chief of police.
Jean is a willowy blonde who looks as if she ought to be on a runway, modeling chic clothes. She maintains a good relationship with her deputies, has earned every ounce of their admiration. Her mind is sharp, her need for thoroughness a mantra cited by her staff.
Jean nodded to me, then hurried into the shop. “Who was that?” asked Evelyn. The officer standing near us shook his head. “No talking, ladies.”
Evelyn pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. “How much longer am I to wait? I have an appointment in half an hour.”
“It’ll keep,” he murmured, watching a new arrival stride toward us.
I followed his line of vision and gulped. Sid Hancock, the sheriff of Spencer County, was on the scene. Sid and I had a tentative relationship, or perhaps it would be better called tenacious. Tentative in that our relationship tends to come and go depending on if I’m meddling in one of his cases. Tenacious because even though he disapproves of my amateur detecting, he’s been Johnny-on-the-spot when I needed his help.
He was not very tall, about five foot eight or so, and slight of build. His hair was red, his complexion pale but freckled. A fiery temper and crotchety disposition summed up his personality. Seeing the glint in his eye, I knew I was in for a sampling of both.
“Holy crap,” he said in greeting. “Why the hell am I not surprised? I heard that a body had been reported, and here you are.”
He rolled his eyes and turned to Evelyn. His surly stare swept her in one fluid motion. Apparently, he liked what he saw. He squared his shoulders, and his mouth curved upward. “At least you’re keeping better company, Solomon,” he said to me, but held out his hand to Evelyn. “I’m Sheriff Hancock. And you are?”
Evelyn lowered her eyes, gazing up at Sid through thick, dark lashes. “What a pleasure, Sheriff. I’m Evelyn Montgomery. I moved to River City a few months ago, and I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about your work in this county.”
An enamored Sid was pretty tough to take. That the attraction was reciprocated was nauseating. Thank God Sid didn’t shuffle his feet and stammer, “Aw, shucks, ma’am, ’tweren’t nothing.” But he might as well have. He thrust out his chest like a preening rooster. “I do my job,” he said.
I cleared my throat. “Beauty shop. Body. Statements.” I waved a hand at Evelyn. “She’s in a hurry, and I—”
“Bretta, please,” said Evelyn. “This man has important things to oversee. We’ll have to wait our turn.”
“But you said—”
“The dressmaker will understand when I explain that I’ve been unavoidably detained.”
Sid’s smile grew to a cheesy grin. “Damned fine attitude, Mrs. Montgomery. It’s appreciated.” He turned to me. “What the hell’s been going on?”
“Are you taking my statement?”
“Not formally, but I want the facts.”
“Fine. Claire called because she wanted to talk to me about some information.”
“What information?”
“She was dead when I arrived, so I don’t know.”
“Didn’t she tell you the nature of said information?”
“No. I’m not sure of her exact words, but she said something along the lines of ‘Bretta, I’ve got to see you. You have a reputation for getting to the bottom of suspicious doings.’” I raised my voice to override Sid’s nasty comment. “‘I can’t make heads or tails of this information, but I’m not sitting on it.’ About that time someone came into her beauty shop. I heard Claire greet this person, say something about it being ‘a pleasant surprise’ and that she had ‘plenty of time.’ I figured it was a customer. When Claire came back on the line to me she ended our conversation by saying, ‘My pigeon just walked through the door.’”
“Pigeon?” said Sid.
“Yeah. I thought that was an odd way to refer to a patron.”
Sid snorted. “Sounds to me like this Alexander woman was thinking along the slang version—someone easily deceived and gullible. Wrong assumption. Her meek little pigeon turned into a nasty bird of prey.”
I shuddered. “When I arrived, I didn’t sense a problem. I hollered that I was here. A muffled voice answered me.”
Sid’s attention sharpened. “You say someone answered you?”
“Yeah. The toilet was flushed, too. I think I was in the shop alone with Claire’s killer.”
“Have you told anyone this tale?”
“No one has asked—yet. We were hustled out here, and we’ve been waiting—”
Sid spun on his heel and stomped into the beauty shop. Evelyn eyed me. “That was really good. I’d have babbled like a fool. How did you know what to say and in what order?”
“My husband was one of Sid’s deputies, and I’ve been involved in a few cases of my own. However, Sid doesn’t like—”
The officer stepped closer. “Ladies, please. The sheriff doesn’t like gabbing.”
I sniffed. “That’s exactly what I was going to say, Officer.”
“Don’t say it. Do it.”
Evelyn smiled. “May Bretta and I have a conversation if the subject isn’t the—uh—present situation?”
The officer lowered his eyebrows. “What?”
“My daughter is getting married a week from today, and Bretta is designing the fresh flowers, but I’m not sure if she has the manpower to plant and spray the shrubs.”
Evelyn took a hurried breath and turned to me. “Spraying the leaves gold will take more time, but the effect in the candlelight will be just the look I’m after. I wanted to let you know that if you need help, I’m sure Sonya will have an extra person or two lined up.”
The officer folded his arms across his chest. “I believe you’ve said all that’s necessary. I don’t want to hear another word out of you.” He looked at me. “Either of you. Have I made myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” said Evelyn, with a swift glance at me. “I think we’ve covered the territory.”
This woman had more nerve than a cliff diver and possessed an annoying one-track mind. Claire lay dead—murdered—just inside the building, and Evelyn was worried about gold-sprayed foliage. Jeez!
I turned my back to her, looked up and down the street, and then wished I hadn’t. The sidewalk across the way was lined with rubberneckers. The sirens were a calling card to a free show. Boldly, I met the gaping stares. I had nothing to hide, and yet their attention made me feel like a bug stuck on a pin under a microscope.
As I swept the crowd, I saw a tall figure in the shadow of an old drugstore. The front was covered with scaffolding. The bricks, weathered and worn by time’s ruthless fingers, were scheduled for a fresh coat of paint. I scrunched up my eyes, trying to make out the man. Something about the way he held his head seemed familiar.
Before I could decide if I knew him, he turned on his heel and disappeared up the alley. It was the ambling walk that cinched it.
“Bailey!” I shouted. “Bailey! Wait!”
The man didn’t pause. He didn’t even turn his head. Was I mistaken? My heart had fluttered with hope, but now it fluttered with disappointment.
Back in April I’d made the acquaintance of Bailey Monroe, a DEA agent. Bailey had jump-started my engine, making my heart race. A floral convention was the last place I thought I’d find romance. And while the only kiss Bailey and I’d shared had been fleeting, his smile, his eyes, and his irritating manner had left a lasting impression.
When we parted ways, I was sure I’d hear from him, but it had been eight long weeks without a word. So I’d written him off as hopeless, and I was helpless to contact him since I didn’t have a phone number or an address.
“Old fool,” I muttered.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Sid, coming up behind me
. “Who the hell were you yelling at? Let’s get your statement so you can scram. We have enough of a mob without you inciting a riot. Judas Priest. I should’ve known better than to leave you in plain sight on the sidewalk. You could stir up trouble in a funeral parlor.”
Since that was exactly what had happened last fall, Sid’s face turned carnation red at the memory. He jerked his head at me. “Get going.”
Evelyn and I were taken to separate patrol cars. It didn’t escape my notice that I drew Police Chief Kelley as my inquisitor, while Sid escorted Evelyn into his car for a private tête-à-tête.
Chief Kelley settled herself in the backseat and pulled a notepad from her purse. “You know how to push all of Sid’s buttons, don’t you?”
“It’s usually not intentional,” I admitted, “but he can be the most infuriating man on earth.”
Kelley studied me thoughtfully. “With so much emotion involved, some people would say there’s an attraction between you.”
I stared at her in openmouthed wonder, then gave over to a good belly laugh. “You’re right. Hate is supposed to be close kin to love, but in this case the answer is no. I don’t hate Sid, and I might like him if he wasn’t so … so … Sid. I admire him. Sometimes, I even respect him. Carl classed him as a friend, but the idea of there being something more between us is as ludicrous as—uh—Claire getting up off the floor and walking out that door.”
My words put a deep frown between the chief’s eyes. “There isn’t much chance of that happening.”
“I know,” I said soberly. “She was hit over the head, dragged to the back room, and her mouth and nose were filled with that green mousse.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
“I checked to see if she was still alive. She wasn’t. I saw the can. The foam was losing its substance, becoming all watery and yucky, but there was enough of it left that I could draw a conclusion.” I shivered. “Did Sid tell you I must have walked into the shop not long after she was killed? I think the murderer actually spoke to me.”
A Deadly Bouquet Page 3
