Sprayed Stiff

by Laura Bradley

  I hate theme parks, especially roller coasters. “Uh, I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous offer.”

  “Please. I’d love to have a friendly face there. And knowing you’d be handy if I needed you to make sure decorations stay up and everyone gets where they need to be, that’s worth the price of a ticket.” Her big owl eyes implored. They looked like they were getting moist at the corners. Please don’t cry.

  “Okay, I accept.”

  Her mouth spread in a wide smile. “Wonderful.” She pulled a ticket from the pocket of her Howdy Doody pants and put it on the table even though I’d extended my hand.

  I wondered how to repay her. “You know, you have lovely…” I paused. “Body in your hair. We could really jazz it up for the party with a little henna job—”

  “Oh, no,” she gasped as if I’d offered to shave her bald. “I don’t need to be attractive. Do you think I need to be attractive?” She bored me with with a fanatical stare. Oops, touched a nerve there, hadn’t I?

  “Of course not. I was just trying to repay you for your kindness in the only way I know how,” I said, standing up and ushering her to the door. “See you at the party.”

  I’d no sooner shut the door and gotten halfway to the kitchen when the bell rang again. Shoot. What had Mitzi forgotten now? I threw the door open. Annette stood there, wearing a severe black tailored pantsuit and black driving gloves. One day I would learn to look through the peephole. One day too late, probably.

  She reached into her pocket. I reached for the umbrella stand. She shoved a piece of paper at me. The umbrella stand crashed to the floor, and she jumped. “What the hell?”

  I stared at the paper, which seemed to be a list. “What’s this?”

  Annette glared at me from six feet up. Even doing that, she was beautiful. I wished I had her perfect skin. Life was not fair. I got the personality. She got the skin. I thought I’d rather have the skin.

  “Charlotte called and told me you wanted the names of Percy’s old girlfriends.” She looked furtively behind her. “Let me in the damn house, would you?”

  I opened the door wider, and she stalked in. “You’re the most famous, or infamous, person in three counties. The police, the media, and probably the killer have all got you under surveillance by now.”

  “Don’t forget the Texas Rangers.”

  She sucked in a breath and revealed the first feminine hint about her. “Oooh, you hit the big time. Don’t tell me they sent that hunk Clint Calhoun down here?” She saw the answer in my face. “Lucky, aren’t you? I wouldn’t mind having the hottie of the Texas Rangers on my case.”

  “You could be lucky, too. Tell him what you know.”

  She was already shaking that elegant head of hers, any hint of emotion extinguished. “No way. They’re awarding that scholarship next week. Plus, they released Percy on bond. I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

  “Why risk coming here, then?”

  “Because the police suspect me.”

  “Really?” News to me, which was not surprising since Scythe didn’t regularly powwow with me over his investigating, just mine. “Is this because you and Shauna were friends at one time?”

  Annette paled. I got a shot of gratification at throwing a tilt into the Rock of Gibraltar. She clenched her black-leather–clad hands, which took away a bit of the thrill. “How did you know that?”

  “Because there’s a photo of the two of you with your arms around each other in Shauna’s office. Why did you pretend she was a stranger when you told me about her?”

  “Because I didn’t want to make it seem like we were conspiring.”

  “It seems worse now, with Shauna dead. It’s too coincidental that you would work for the man Shauna ended up having an affair with. Maybe the whole thing was a setup and Shauna got too expensive to keep around.”

  “Stop wasting your time on me and Shauna and spend it on someone on that list.” She motioned to the paper in my hand. Sweat had broken out on her upper lip. Hmm.

  I looked at the list; no names I recognized except Shauna’s. “How do I know you didn’t make this up?”

  “Why would I do that, when I want you to find who really did this and get the cops off my tail?”

  “To waste my time and the cops’ while you head off to Bermuda.”

  Annette drilled me with a hard look. “You know how much I want to make something of myself. To go to law school. I couldn’t do that as a fugitive. I’m not going anywhere.” Then she held up her gloved hands. “I’m also not going to admit I gave you that list. There won’t be any fingerprints, and don’t try to identify me because I can lie better than anybody you’ve ever seen. They’ll think you’re the one shaking their tree, not me. Plus, I’ll poison your dogs.”

  I nodded. I still believed her.

  She let herself out the back door to a chorus of barking. One of the dogs yelped. Char, I think. She’s the biggest wuss. The other two went quiet. I walked to the door and let them in. All shuffled in with tails between their legs and scuttled up to bed.

  I was getting a pit bull tomorrow.

  No telling why, but I slept like the dead. Probably because someone wanted me that way. I just wished I knew who. James Brown woke me with “Aw! I feel good!” and I went through my morning ablutions with a spring in my step. The only thing missing was that guy bringing me coffee in bed, but I could imagine what he looked like doing it and, since I have a superlative imagination, that was pretty close to the real thing.

  After selecting a pair of custom-made ocher caiman boots, I slipped on my favorite Levi’s 501s and found a little give, which improved my day. This crime-fighting gig was good for weight control. So, with minimal bottom, I filled my coffee cup with Zambian brew and unlocked the door to the salon.

  And spit the Zambian across the room.

  The hall was full of roses. Orange roses, with petals going pink at the tips, at least six dozen in various vases lining the hall. My heart caught somewhere near my throat. I’d gotten flowers before, but not multiple dozens of flowers at one time.

  “You’re popular.” Bettina, in full womanhood today with water bra and tight-fitting gold sheath, grinned from the other end of the hall. Alejandra stuck her head out of her room and winked. Daisy Dawn put her three-inch nails out of her room and gave a thumbs-up sign.

  Enrique jumped out of his room and cocked a hip. “You must be damned good, Reyn.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that.”

  Everyone at once, including the customers already in their chairs, chanted, “Sure it’s not.”

  I snorted and waved them off, marching down the hall officiously to see the appointment book, since I could hardly remember my own name in the face of this surprise, much less who wanted their hair done today.

  I glanced at Bettina, who was grinning ear to ear. It was a rare sight, since she tried not to smile for fear of gouging wrinkles into her seamless Asian complexion.

  “I’m shocked to see you here. I thought you were going to Hollywood to be discovered.”

  “Are you kidding? This little salon is more exciting than la-la land ever hoped to be. I’d hate to miss anything.”

  I grinned. “Thanks for staying.”

  “Just keep me interested.” Bettina swept an arm toward the roses. “Aren’t you going to see who they’re from?”

  “Maybe later.” I hated to spoil my fantasy. I wanted them to be from my charming Texas Ranger. They were probably from my grandmother, who watched my antics long-distance with great glee. Or, with my poor luck, the roses were from the killer.

  Bettina raised her eyebrows. “I find that very strange for someone as curious and as impatient as you are.”

  “What did I do with my birthday presents?”

  She sulked. “You let them pile up until your exact birthday before you opened them.”

  I nodded righteously. “Willpower and patience are two different things. I have willpower. I don’t have patience.”

  She sat down at the
reception desk and reviewed the phone messages. “You’re popular. Mostly among journalists. I’m assuming that you’ve talked to the one you wanted to talk to, that Roy Gene character. By the way, did you hear he had to be hospitalized last night for a concussion? Speculation is that it was a jealous colleague, angry at him for getting to you first.”

  “Hmm, I guess everything comes with a price.”

  Bettina raised her eyebrows again. She glanced at the flowers. “Was this your price?”

  “No!” I looked at her sneaky face. “And you are not going to get me mad enough to show you the card. Good try, though.” I glanced down at her notepad. No call from Trudy. She hadn’t called my cell phone either. She’d acted weird last night, not letting me come over. It was one of two things: Either she knew where Lexa was, or she was mad at me for putting her precious Mario in harm’s way at Bangers. Forget her. I scanned the message pad again and forced a casual tone. “Scythe didn’t call?”

  I knew he must be furious that my interview had summoned the Texas Rangers. Cops hated nothing more than having their control taken away. The feds were bad enough. At least they were semi-nerdy in their dark Brooks Brothers suits and wraparound shades. The state cops, dressed up like the law of the Old West, with their requisite Stetsons and all-encompassing power, had to be a worse blow to the Texas law enforcers’ machismo.

  Bettina shook her head as my nine o’clock pulled up out front. “No call from the lieutenant.”

  Well, nothing like a little suspense. I tapped my ocher caimans on the hardwood floor and resisted calling him. Like I’d told Bettina, I wasn’t patient, but I had willpower. Let him make the next move. Problem was, Scythe was patient. No telling how long I’d have to wait for the other boot to drop.

  The salon hit its usual midafternoon lull about three or four o’clock. Since I was a night person, my brain usually lulled about then, too, but why the rhythm of the whole world lags, I wasn’t really sure. At any rate, I was yawning my way through a perm when a head popped around the edge of my door.

  A unibrow troll.

  The garlic wafted in as an afterthought.

  I yanked a little too hard on Aimee Vokel’s roots in surprise. She sucked in air for a scream and I shoved the roller into her mouth, which left her gagging instead.

  Apologizing profusely, I led her around Percy Barrister, who looked goofier than normal in a silver and black windsuit I was sure he’d worn to be incognito. It just made him look like an extra in Star Wars. I settled Aimee in our customer lounge with a Sprite, pretending not to notice the flask she produced from under her smock. It was a good thing she’d nipped into that a couple of times during her appointment or she might have recognized Percy and been on the phone to every news station in town.

  Thank goodness for small favors.

  I hurried back into my room. Percy popped out from behind the barber chair. I jumped and almost screamed myself. “Mr. Barrister. What are you doing here?”

  “I want my daughter.” He leaned into my personal space.

  I had to step away as my eyes watered from being garlicked. “I don’t have your daughter.”

  “You know where she is, however.”

  “No I don’t.” Although I have a guess or two. “Why do you want her, anyway?”

  “I want…” He paused, his unibrow caterpillared across his forehead, and his face crumpled. “To apologize. To tell her I’m sorry. For everything.”

  He was sobbing now. I shut the door. “For what everything?”

  Sniff, sniff. Wet garlic scent. “For her finding out I cheated on her mother. For using her little scumbag boyfriend to find a conduit for the drugs my associates needed to market in the U.S. so I could pay for the women I was seeing behind Wilma’s back. You see, Wilma noticed the odd charges at Tiffany’s and the like, and it just got unworkable without the extra cash—”

  “You want a tip or two?” I interrupted before I got sick all over the floor. He nodded eagerly, and I continued, “If you want to apologize, I’d recommend not referring to Asphalt as ‘little scumbag boyfriend.’ ”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “And I notice you didn’t say you were sorry for cheating, just for Lexa finding out about it.”

  He nodded. Lots of nodding going around.

  “Well, I might fudge that a little if I were you and act a little sorry you cheated to begin with, not just sorry you were caught. You could probably imply regret. Hmm?”

  “That’s satisfactory.” He sniffed once more. The tears dried.

  “Good. Now, is that the only reason you want to find Lexa?”

  “Well, no. She has to help me talk her grandmother out of burning Wilma on a funeral pyre in the middle of the Rockies.”

  I didn’t think that sounded like such a bad idea. It could be a perfect send-off for Wilma the Hun. “So, you didn’t kill your wife, Mr. Barrister?”

  The unibrow humped grumpily. “You certainly are nosy about all this.”

  “Since your daughter made me culpable by dragging me into this, I don’t think I’m being anything but responsible.”

  “I suppose you have a point. No, I didn’t kill my wife. I loved her.”

  There were all kinds of love, I was finding out. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her. You probably loved your girlfriend, Shauna, too.”

  “Maybe. But I didn’t kill her either. In fact, I have an alibi. I was with my associates from south of the border, making distribution plans. I’ve agreed to testify against them once the police find them, which will probably keep me out of prison. Or at least I’d go into a federal prison, which is more desirable. So there.”

  I guess Percy was so pleased with himself that he didn’t wonder how the cops were going to find the bad guys from Mexico. My guess was that they’d set him loose as bait. Stupid minnow didn’t even know it.

  “I’d lie low for a couple of days if I were you, Mr. Barrister.”

  “I think I’ve taken just about enough advice from you, young lady.” He turned his shiny, rotund body toward the door.

  I shrugged. Maybe the Indians and Grandma ought to build a double pyre.

  “One more thing, Mr. Barrister. Do you think any of your old girlfriends might have gone after Wilma as revenge for you dumping them?”

  He narrowed his porcine eyes at me. “What do you know about old girlfriends?”

  “No man has ever cheated just once on his wife. Besides you mentioned seeing ‘women,’ plural.”

  “Well, I might have had women clients enamored of me over the years. Some of them got a little overzealous and I had to call the IRS to distract them. So you might want to check IRS records. Anyone who was audited might have been fighting mad.”

  I shook my head. “Not everything is about money.”

  He opened the door and threw back as he walked out, “Silly girl. Money is everything. Which is why I’d never kill Wilma. Wilma was money.”

  On that happy note, he waddled his silver butt out of Transformations. I leaned against the doorjamb and gazed at my array of roses. I supposed it was time to look at the card. Gran would want a thank-you and an update on the goings-on anyway. If it was the murderer, I was going to have to call the cops. After my fantasies had taken me and the Randy Ranger to a deserted island for eternity, snowed us into a cabin in the mountains for months, and gotten us married with three perfect kids living happily ever after, I was back to reality.

  Leaning down, I stroked one of the petals. Orange roses were so unusual. I plucked the envelope off its plastic holder, eased it open, and opened the simple orange card.

  Time to pay up.

  A deal’s a deal.

  Tonight’s the night.

  It was worse than being a note from the killer. It was from Scythe.

  Twenty-One

  I WAS WASHING OUT Mrs. Reinmeyer’s foil highlights when I heard the bells at the door tinkle. Bettina had already left for her dance gig at Illusions. So I called down the hall, “Be right with you.”
>
  No reporters had shown up all day, thank goodness, now that they had the famous Clint Calhoun to dog. It was probably a walk-in customer whom I’d agree to do just to keep busy. Scythe’s note had left me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The setting sun slanting through the blinds was only making it worse.

  Cameron waved as she locked her door. “What’s the deal, Reyn?”

  Innocent enough slang, but her coincidental choice of words gave me a start. Before I could answer, Enrique walked an armful of towels past to the washing machine. “Yeah, is tonight the night?”

  Daisy Dawn waltzed down the hall. “Time to pay up.”

  “Y’all read my card!” I stormed. Mrs. Reinmeyer started gurgling.

  Daisy Dawn grabbed my right arm and redirected the stream away from the octogenarian’s face. Enrique handed her a towel. They all started laughing, except Mrs. Reinmeyer, who was sputtering.

  “I consider this a violation of my privacy,” I continued, affronted.

  “Girl, get real. A violation of your privacy is if we go to Rick and Tessa’s with binoculars tonight.” Daisy Dawn winked at her coworkers.

  “Oh, can I come?” Mrs. Reinmeyer asked.

  “Enough, all of you!” I turned to Cameron and said, “Go see who’s come in.”

  I led Mrs. Reinmeyer to my chair and finished her style. Cameron never came back to tell me who’d come in, so I guessed it wasn’t too serious. In fact, the whole place had gone quiet. I must’ve scared them all off, to leave without good-byes. I finished Mrs. Reinmeyer’s flip-out style. I’d accidentally given her a Mohawk a while back, and it had changed everything. Once a blue-rinse-only customer, the old gal had gone hip on me. Remember the thing I said about timing? Now Mrs. Reinmeyer got the latest look off the World Wide Web the morning before her appointment. We both smiled in satisfaction at the latest result. She tipped me, advised me to “take the proper precautions,” and left with a wink.