by June Shaw
I can avoid Gil this time. Yes, I can!
I’d dumped too much fettuccini on my plate. I added a slab of garlic bread.
“Stevie,” I said, “why did you really want me to come? I heard you tell the detectives you feared danger from what you saw in your cards and whatnot. But why contact me for help?” I smirked. “If you remember when we were kids, I’m not very good in a fight.”
Buttery cheese coated her lips. She swiped a napkin across them. Her gaze drifted across the room. It appeared to focus on stones on a side table. She then stared at glittery objects catching sunlight above the sink. Her eyes shifted toward me. “I was told you could help.”
“Who told you that?”
Her throat made a garbled sound. Her gaze swerved back to those strange items. She looked apprehensive. Maybe she only wanted a cigarette.
I’d become apprehensive, too. “Stevie—who?”
She stared at my eyes. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
Oh my gosh, Dr. Marie had warned that people my age might die of natural causes. And now I imagined Stevie’s mind possibly slipping. Could she forget so quickly?
I wouldn’t ask which of those objects had told her, or whether she believed some spirit from the past mentioned my name. The concept was way too spooky. Of course I didn’t believe any of that hooey stuff, but having strange objects around made me shift in my seat.
“Great garlic bread,” I said. “And you make wonderful fettuccini.” I’d planned to eat only part of the pile on my plate but slurped the last noodle.
“Have some more.” She heaped some onto her plate and ate it with more crusty bread.
“I couldn’t,” I said, but dished out more. I took another half slice of bread.
By the time I rose, I felt my waistline swollen. My butt felt like a small blimp bouncing behind me. I loosened the button on my slacks. Assisting with the cleanup, I looked forward even more to moving on. Some people actually enjoyed doing dishes. And cooking. At least that’s what I’d heard. And Stevie, making sounds similar to humming, looked pleased while she zipped through dishwashing. I, however, took much longer to dry all of our used items and put them away.
I passed near Minnie and winked. Even though she was a cactus, she seemed like a friend, and might recall how little I liked these housekeeping chores.
“What’ll we do now?” I asked. “Sit outside to try to see a killer? Go to the police station and rush whoever’s trying to learn how the man died?”
Her gaze trained on mysterious objects around the room. “I’m going to meditate.”
Hmm, she’d go in that room, light candles, and lie before whomever she considered the teller of secrets. What if she also tried to make me utter strange sounds to that person or spirit?
Chills skittered down my back. I could normally fend for myself—say no and mean it—but Stevie was much stronger than I was.
She shifted closer, her weird eyes trained on me. She could grab me in a stronghold and dump me in the center of her candles.
A doorbell rang. “Now what?” Stevie headed for the front of the house, and I mentally thanked whoever stood outside.
Stevie’s voice sounded surprised but not pleased. Another woman spoke with cheer. Light footsteps accompanied Stevie’s toward the kitchen.
A woman holding a striped straw appeared at the door. Fawn, from the quit-smoking group. “Hi,” she told me. Without invitation, she plopped down at the table. “I’m sorry Stevie got upset at the meeting. I want her to come back tomorrow. You come, too.” She aimed her straw at me.
“It’s up to her.” I nodded toward my cousin, who avoided this person.
At the counter Stevie stacked together everything necessary to make and serve coffee.
I sat with company. “Fawn, Stevie never met Pierce Trottier.” I scanned Stevie for her reaction—her head jerked toward us, eyes narrowed—and then I faced the small woman. “Did you know him?”
“Of course. You’d never want to meet a better man than Pierce.”
“Really?”
“He was studying to be a minister.”
“Minister? But he wasn’t a young man. Didn’t he already have a job?”
She quit sucking air through her straw. “He was an accountant, but he felt a higher calling.”
My admiration for the man soared.
“And you really didn’t know him?” Fawn asked Stevie.
“No. I never saw him at a meeting.” She sat, her fierce stare daring either of us to call her a liar.
Fawn inhaled through her straw. She moved the straw aside and blew out. “God, I want to smoke. Especially with coffee.”
“I know what you mean.” Stevie’s nostrils widened. She breathed in a ragged deep breath, then opened her mouth and blew.
These women must miss having their nicotine as much as I would miss my caffeine if I could never have it anymore. “Can’t you have one cigarette?” I asked them. “Or limit yourselves to two or three a day?”
The straw fluttered. “We’ve all tried cutting back. We’re like alcoholics, unable to have just one. But we’ll get through this, right, Stevie?”
Stevie’s expression wasn’t as assured as Fawn’s. They both gulped from their coffee mugs as though the contents could relieve their apparent pain.
Fawn puffed on her straw. “And,” she said to me, “did you know Pierce was engaged?”
“Oh, his poor fiancée. Had he ever been married?”
She shrugged and flicked imaginary ashes off her straw. “You need to come back to our meetings, Stevie. I know you got angry last night, but you have to realize giving up those nasty damn cigarettes alters our moods. Withdrawal can make us act like people we really aren’t.”
Maybe that is what happened to my cousin, why she acts so differently from the Stevie I’ve known.
Fawn aimed the straw at her. “We might have to reconsider our actions and realize weird ones might come from missing that killer from our midst.”
I blinked extra hard. “What killer?”
“Nicotine. And tars and carbon monoxide and other poisons.”
I’d hoped she would name a person, and our quest to locate a murderer would be over.
Stevie narrowed her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she agreed or was getting ready to punch Fawn. Or me? Both? Fawn had said they might do strange things.
Come on, detectives and medical examiner, my mind screamed while I forced a tight-lipped smile at Stevie. Y’all find out why that man died. Then let me move on. I didn’t create these women’s demons. Why am I stuck in the midst of their battle with them?
Fawn drained her mug. “You probably walked out of our meeting because your system is changing. Actually, your body’s healing. You’re getting healthier, Stevie. So am I.” She sucked that damned straw. Loudly exhaled. Smiled at my hostess, whose shoulders flattened and grew broader. I envisioned a bull, ready to charge.
Stevie spread her hands on the table. Pressing them down, she shoved herself up. Stared at Fawn. “I’ll think about what you said.”
So would I. Regarding both uptight women, I thought if cigarettes could cause those emotional problems, besides all the obvious health concerns everyone spoke about, the places that made the horrible things should be shut down immediately.
“I need to go,” Fawn said, Stevie’s demeanor obviously giving her that message. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow night. You, too, Cealie.”
My grin was noncommittal. Didn’t want her to know I was thinking I hoped to be on a jet by then, looking forward to people bartering with me on a moonlit beach in Acapulco.
Stevie saw Fawn out the front door. Stevie’s footsteps came toward the kitchen. She didn’t come into the room.
I washed our dishes. Stevie still hadn’t returned. I dried our things and put everything away. I rolled my eyes at Minnie the cactus. “Strange goings-on, right? But don’t worry. We’ll leave soon.” The main reason I’d thought of traveling to Mexico now was to look for other types of cacti tha
t grew there.
I placed Minnie’s pot farther away from the sink to protect her from accidental dumps of water. Then walked down the hall.
“Stevie?” I glanced through open doors. Didn’t see or hear her. The door to the mystic room was shut. I stood outside it. “Stevie?”
Everything stayed quiet.
I smelled burning candles. Heard murmuring inside the room. I placed my ear against the door.
Breathing? Maybe mine. No other sounds besides quiet.
She was probably in that room. I was tempted to knock or try the knob, but she’d said she was going to meditate. Having a person knocking on your door while you meditated probably wouldn’t help. And with her avoiding cigarettes, she needed all the help she could get.
But what if it was a cigarette I smelled? Suppose she went in that room to light up?
Well, that was her business, not mine. I had my own life to lead and problems to solve. She had hers. She was probably doing that the best way she could.
Entering the room I slept in, I phoned a couple of friends and family members. I spoke to my son, Tommy, in Alaska, hung up, then considered what I should do. Stevie still hadn’t come out of her room.
My scan through my bedroom let me glance in the dresser’s mirror. Then I knew. My large eyes looked brown and clear, my slim nose with no shine. But my hair. Still burnt sienna—except for the two inches of gray at the roots. Maybe my hair could use a touch-up. Besides, hairdressers talked a lot and knew things about many people. Maybe I’d be lucky and find someone who might help my hair and also my cause to find out why a man died.
Getting the phone book, I called a few hairdressers. Most took clients by appointment only. For others, I told Stevie’s address and asked if they were far away. The hairdresser who said her shop was closest and could take me soon was the person whose address and directions I wrote.
“Stevie, I’m going to the Beauty First shop,” I said through the still-closed hall door. A rumbling sound seemed to emanate from some abstract source.
I hustled away from the house. Easily following the directions, I drove only a few streets over.
Beauty First was painted bright pink on a red sign. Gingerbread trim on the building. I was surprised to see only one car in the parking lot. Surely other women wanted to put beauty first, especially early on a Saturday afternoon.
“I need a little touch-up on my roots,” I told Audrey Ray, the shop’s owner. Her hair was jet black, teased in a sort of beehive. She wore electric blue eye shadow. Gooey blue-black mascara glittered along her lashes. Her lipstick was magenta. Her cheeks were pink circles of blush, adding to my feeling that maybe I should have chosen another salon.
She had me sit in front of a huge mirror. The nostril-stinging odor of solution for perms made me happy. Some customers must come here. Audrey Ray had an instrumental CD playing softly.
“Um,” she said, pulling my waves until they stood out from my head like wings. In the mirror surrounded by too-bright lights, I watched her grimace.
“My color’s natural,” I told her. “Natural burnt sienna. There’s a pinch of gray at the roots because my previous hairdresser put that in.” I grinned at her reflection. Wished she’d take the joke and smile back. “Why are you getting those scissors?”
“Your ends need a nip. And you need a lot more than a touch-up.”
“No, I don’t.” I reached my hand up to block her scissors. Too late. She’d already nipped the hair near my face. Possibly she was right. I drew my hand away. “Maybe a little.”
Her reflection grinned. Her hands swept over my waves, nipping tips. “I don’t have that color. You’ll need to pick another one.”
I hadn’t planned to change color yet, but maybe this was a good time. “Let me see what you have.”
“Here’s a few shades. Oh, and I sell lipstick that changes color. That’s what I’m wearing.”
She handed me samples of miniature ponytails in different colors. I mused, grinning while I recalled the last idea I’d had for a new color. I pointed to it.
“Perfect.” She parted my hair and spread in her mixture. “Now you can stay there while we wait, unless I get a walk-in who needs that chair.” She washed her items in a sink. I peered in the mirror circled by globe lights.
When did those sags develop under my eyes? And the crowfeet near them had lengthened since I last looked. Ugh, that lumpiness under my chin? Surely from Stevie’s sugared coffee and fatty meals.
I eyed my neck. Tight skin had always clung there.
I jumped from the chair as though it were a hot seat. No benefit to studying a maturing woman in a well-lit mirror.
Audrey Ray moved behind a beaded curtain in a small room. A microwave dinged. “Would you like hot mint tea?”
“Sure, thanks,” I said, and she fixed me some. I told her how much I loved the scenic landscape here, and she expressed how much she appreciated nature’s gift. She’d divorced twice. I mentioned my husband Freddie dying a couple of years ago and then hinted at why I was especially glad she was freshening up my hair color. “My cousin and I might eat at a restaurant tonight. They serve Cajun dishes.”
“I love that new place. Wonderful food and such funny jokes.”
“Right. And when you went, was the owner there? A distinguished-looking man, about my age? His name is Gil Thurman.”
She stared at my face. I feared she was picking out each sag and cavernous line, and deciding I was much older than Gil. “Not that I noticed.”
“Oh.” I was done with anticipating Gil’s presence.
“You won’t be too long. Come on, I’ll sweep up and then rinse you.”
She swept hair around the chair I’d sat in. Surely not all mine. Too much gray.
I looked out of her window and took momentary pleasure in the rolling landscape. I wanted to ask about the dead man but wasn’t sure what to say, especially since nothing was in the newspaper yet. A teenager pumped his bike up the road. A small car slowed. The woman driving it glanced at the shop and sped on. She’d probably read the sign We take walk-ins. Did anyone besides me walk in? I’d been inside a while and no one else had called or come. I feared the worst when my hair was done.
And I couldn’t think of any way to ask a tactful question so sank right in. “Do y’all have many accountants around here?”
“I guess as many as in other places. You need one?”
“Possibly. Do you know any good ones?”
“Not right off.” She waved her hand to indicate I should follow to the sink. I did, and she rinsed my hair. “One of my customers is marrying a guy who does accounting. She says he’s real good. Of course, I wouldn’t know if she means with taxes and stuff, if you know what I mean.”
“I know. Would you know the man’s name?”
“Sure, Kelly’s going to marry Pierce Trottier. She talks about it all the time. You can sit up now.”
“Trottier,” I said like I’d never heard the name, but my neck muscles tightened. “Would his firm be in the phone book?”
“I guess. But if you want, I can call Kelly. She’s not teaching today so she might be home.”
“That’s okay. I can look it up when I’m ready.” Anxiety spiked up my scalp. What if Audrey Ray called his fiancée now? The woman would probably be bawling and telling the whole story of what had happened. And that I’d tripped over him? Would his fiancée know my name?
I imagined she would. The police might even tell her more than they’d tell us. I groaned. I surely didn’t want Audrey Ray telling her I was sitting here, asking questions about him. I couldn’t imagine how that might hurt the woman who loved him.
My hairdresser snapped the black cape off me. I resumed my place on the chair in front of the lights. She draped a towel on my shoulders. With her blow dryer, she blasted hot air across my head. “They’re getting married next month.”
“They were?”
She flicked off her blow dryer. “What do you mean were? Did you hear that they broke up?
”
“I mean…are, were—they’re both just verbs, about the same, right?”
She stared at my reflection. Couldn’t possibly know I owned a copyediting agency, and we proofread for grammar errors.
“You had me worried. Kelly’s been a customer for years. She’s the sweetest person and adores Pierce. I’d sure hate to see them break up right before the wedding.”
Heat blasted my head as she blew my hair up, out, and over. I wondered about the man who died. Why had he? And what about the poor woman he was ready to marry?
I gazed at the gold-flecked counter, imagining Kelly’s horror yesterday when she’d learned her fiancé had perished. I imagined his parents, if they were still alive, hearing that their son wasn’t. My heart couldn’t take in such pain.
“There.” Audrey Ray’s dryer went silent. “How’s that?”
I wiped my blurred, damp eyes and looked in the mirror.
Big hair. Much bigger than usual. But not too bad.
“You gave it a nice shape,” I said, the second thing I noticed. Kind of puffy, yet somewhat inspired. Little flips here and there, drawing the eye away from my wrinkles. And even those wrinkles showed less. Or maybe my eye had grown accustomed to my bright image. And strawberry? Yep, it sure was. Nature’s Strawberry Highlights turned my hair into the color of a ripe strawberry. It resembled a large one.
“You want to try some lipstick?” she asked.
I didn’t. I paid Audrey Ray, adding a nice tip, and left her shop.
I didn’t look forward to finding Stevie locked inside that strange bedroom. If she was still in there, how would I get her out? She hadn’t even answered when I knocked on the door twice and called her name before I left.
Was she meditating?
Tension tightened my spine as I drove nearer her place. With her shifting moods, who knew what kind of disposition I’d find her in?
