Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  As luck would have it, both Jim and Larry had just read the article about the break-in at the Center.

  “I agree with you, Carol,” Larry said. “The chances of the two incidents not being connected to each other are pretty slim. It’s lucky for Jim that Mark Anderson was at your house last night, although finding that pill bottle in your medicine cabinet doesn’t look so good.” He put his hand over the receiver for a minute, then came back on the line. “Jim wants to talk to you for a second. Here he is.”

  “Jim, isn’t this great news?” I asked excitedly.

  “I suppose so,” Jim said. “But it would be even better if I could figure out who’s behind all this. I want you to call Sheila this morning, maybe even go over to the Center, to see if she needs some moral support, all right? I wouldn’t be surprised if the break-in will put the timing of the memorial service back a week or two, but that’s up to her. Or rather, it’s up to the police. I have to admit, though, that things seem to be looking up for me. I just don’t want to get over confident. I’ll call you from the office. My train’s coming. I have to go.”

  I hung up and practically danced around the kitchen. Finally, there was just a glimmer of light at the end of a very dark tunnel. I hadn’t felt this upbeat in quite a while.

  Okay. Calm down, Carol. The nightmare isn’t over yet. There are lots of important things on your to-do list for today.

  Let’s see, where should I start? I absolutely had to figure out what had happened to my blasted cell phone. If I could figure out where I left it, or even the last time I’d used it, that could lead me to the person who’d anonymously mailed it to the police.

  Jim had given me a dandy excuse to snoop around the Center today, not that he’d put it that way, of course. In my official role as coordinator of Rhodes’s memorial service, I had to find out whether the email invitations should still go out today. And I could see if Sheila had any idea what, if anything, had been taken.

  But I had to call Claire back first. Knowing her, she was probably sitting right by the phone and willing it to ring. Maybe I could even talk her into coming with me today. As long as Larry didn’t find out, of course. As much as I liked him, he could be a stuffed shirt at times.

  I smiled to myself. If only husbands knew how much we wives keep from them. For their own good. Of course.

  ~*~

  Claire didn’t need a whole lot of convincing to come to the Center with me. Once I’d brought her up to speed on everything she’d missed while she was in the Berkshires, she was raring to go. She also loved the idea of the retirement shower for Mary Alice, even though I hadn’t consulted her about it first. “We’re going to have such fun putting it together,” she said. “And Mary Alice will be so surprised. But how in the world did Linda Burns end up helping us organize it? I didn’t know she was such a good friend of Mary Alice’s. How can we get out of it? Just forget to call her?”

  “I already thought of that, but I don’t think that’ll work,” I replied. “Linda was pretty definite about wanting to help. She gave me some story about how she’s a party planner extraordinaire. She bragged that Bruce’s boss consults her all the time when his office is planning any kind of bash. If we don’t call her, believe me, she’ll call us.” For the moment, I decided to keep quiet about my Linda Burns - Davis Rhodes theory. I’d share them if Mike turned up any solid evidence from his Internet sleuthing.

  “I’m waiting for Maria Lesco to get back to me,” I said. “She’s coming up with some possible themes and menus for the shower. Right now, I’m much more concerned with seeing what I can do to clear Jim’s name once and for all. So, are you game? Do you want to come to the Re-tirement Survival Center with me and talk to Sheila Carney?”

  “I have another suggestion,” Claire said. “How about if we meet for an early lunch at Maria’s Trattoria? Maybe she’s already come up with a few ideas for Mary Alice’s party. And we have to eat, anyway. Then we can also figure out if we should just show up at the Center or call first. You know, it’s possible that the police have the whole area cordoned off because of the break-in. Sheila may not even be there.”

  “I hate it when you make such good sense,” I said. “Of course, you’re absolutely right. I’ll see you at the restaurant at eleven thirty.”

  Perfect. That gave me at least two hours to shower and dress, and then concentrate on solving the riddle of my missing cell phone.

  ~*~

  I put myself together as quickly as I could. No time for meditating in the shower today. Luckily, I found a pair of khaki pants and a white polo shirt that were freshly ironed. Probably too casual, but adding a blazer brought the outfit up a notch. I wasn’t out to make a professional impression on anyone today.

  I didn’t even bother to blow my hair dry. When you have short hair like I do, you can sometimes get away with letting it dry naturally, and then add a little gel to it for some body and shape. I frowned at myself in the bathroom mirror. Were those new wrinkles on my face? Yuck. And no cover-up cream could mask the bags under my eyes. Double yuck.

  My hair looked a little too spiky for my taste. And I couldn’t get it to behave without taking another shower. My hairdresser, Deanna, would never approve. How could she run her hands through my hair and make it look great, and when I tried to do the exact same thing, it looked like I was suffering the after-effects of an electrical shock?

  I shrugged. It was the best I could do and it would have to be good enough.

  Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and fooling with my hair started me on a chain of thoughts that seemed to come out of nowhere. My hair. Deanna. The hair salon. Mary Alice in the chair. Nancy coming into the hair salon, announcing to everyone that Davis Rhodes was going to be on Wake Up New England the following morning. Linda Burns being rude to me and leaving. And my cell phone ringing. Jim was on the phone.

  I remembered that I didn’t answer that call because, at that moment, I didn’t want to talk to Jim. Instead, I went into the changing room at the salon to listen to the voice mail message in private. I could visualize myself sitting on the hamper of used smocks, listening to Jim talk. Telling me how angry he was at Rhodes for making arrangements about Wake Up New England behind his back, and saying he was going over to the Center to have it out with him.

  Was that the last time I used my cell phone? Had I lost it at the hair salon? Did it fall on the floor, or maybe fall inside the hamper? Had Deanna found it and…what? Sent it to the police anonymously, to get Jim into trouble? Why? That made no sense at all. Linda Burns was at the hair salon that day, I reminded myself. But she left before Jim called. As much as I liked Linda in the role of First Murderer, that part didn’t fit either.

  But what about Deanna? I thought she was my friend, but how well did I really know her? Yes, she’d been doing my hair, and the hair of my three best friends, for at least five years now. Yes, we exchanged gossip and harmless secrets and laughs every time I had an appointment. But, come to think about it, I was doing most of the confiding and Deanna was doing most of the listening. Was it possible she was a blackmailer, or even a murderer? What did I know about her life before she came to Fairport?

  Oh, get a grip, Carol. You’re getting way out of control here.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. I had an hour to kill before I was supposed to meet Claire at the Trattoria. And my hair looked like hell.

  I was going to get myself over to the hair salon and see if Deanna could fit me in for a quick styling. And maybe, if I was very clever, I could get her to answer some of these troubling questions, too.

  ~*~

  “This is hysterical,” I said when I walked into Crimpers. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here first, before you met me at Maria’s?”

  Claire sat in Deanna’s styling chair, her hair covered with noxious smelling glop. “You should have figured it out yourself. You knew I’d been away for more than a week. And you were the one who commented the last time I saw you that my white roots wer
e showing.”

  “True. But I said it with love.” I leaned down and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek, being careful not to disturb her hair. “I’ve missed you. Welcome back.” I studied myself in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent lights. “Boy, I thought I looked bad at home. Under these lights, I look like I’m a hundred years old. I need a quick hair fix. Where’s Deanna?”

  I looked around the hair salon and saw two of the hair dryers were occupied. “Who else is here?” I asked Claire. “Anyone we know?”

  “Deanna’s in the back mixing up a color treatment for a client, the one who’s under the dryer on the right,” answered Claire. “I don’t know who she is, but she’s here for a glazing, whatever that means. And the other woman looks a little familiar, maybe from church, but I don’t know her name. Unfortunately, that happens to me a lot these days. Forgetting people’s names, I mean. I don’t think either of them can hear you right now. Those dryers are loud. And they both look like they’re absorbed in their magazines.”

  I headed to the back of the shop to find Deanna and throw myself on her mercy. I didn’t need to explain my problem to her. She took one look at me and said, “What on earth have you done to your hair?” She surveyed me critically. “It’s all spiked up like someone in a punk rock band.”

  “Deanna, I hate to ask you this,” I pleaded, “but I have an important dinner tonight and I just can’t get my hair to look right. No one else can make it look as good as you do. Do you have time to just give me a little tweaking? The dinner’s with Jim’s boss. I really need to look good.” I wasn’t proud of myself, but I was getting better and better at lying. My mother used to say that practice made perfect, though I doubt this is what she was encouraging me to practice.

  “That’s one of the things I’m best at, dealing with emergencies for favorite clients like you,” said Deanna. “You sure know how to make me feel needed. I’ll just spritz you down with some water and re-do you. Won’t take a sec. But you may have to wait a little while. I’m sort of backed up.” She gestured around to the other clients. “I hired a new shampoo girl last week, and she called in sick today. On top of everything else. I guess I have to think about hiring another stylist, too. I’m getting too popular.”

  “It’s a good problem to have,” I said, making myself comfortable in the chair next to Claire’s. “I was meeting Claire for lunch today at Maria’s Trattoria. Since we’re both here now, we’ll leave together. Works out perfectly.”

  I picked up the latest issue of People magazine. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and get caught up on all the gossip until you can fix me.” I pretended to glance through the magazine while I tried to figure out how to introduce the subject of my cell phone.

  “So, have things calmed down at all at your house?” Deanna asked me. “The last time you were here, you seemed pretty upset about your husband and Davis Rhodes, remember? And then, that night, Rhodes was found dead. I couldn’t believe it when I read about it in the paper the next day. It must have been awful for you.”

  A timer rang, and Deanna motioned Claire to follow her to the sink, where the gunk would be rinsed off her hair. I followed them both, so we could continue the conversation.

  “It was very scary,” I admitted. “Poor Jim. He was so upset. That whole day and night are like a blur to me. As a matter of fact,” I continued, “ever since that day, I haven’t been able to find my cell phone anywhere. Could I have left it here? I’m lost without it, and I don’t want to have to buy a new one.”

  “Why, Carol, didn’t you get it back?” Deanna asked me. “I found a cell phone in the used smocks hamper in the changing room the morning after you were here. I figured it must be yours, because I remembered you’d gone in there to hear a private message from Jim. You must have accidentally dropped it inside the hamper and didn’t realize it.” She furrowed her brow. “But I’m sure I gave it to someone to return to you the next day. That’s why I didn’t call you. I thought it was all taken care of.”

  It took every ounce of self-control I could muster not to scream at Deanna, “Who did you give it to? Don’t you realize how important this is?” Instead, I waited for Deanna to continue. My new interrogation style.

  “You need to sit under the dryer for ten minutes, Claire,” Deanna said. She checked her other two customers and, satisfied that they were doing fine, beckoned me to her styling chair. She started to mist my hair down so she could restyle it.

  “It’s hard for me to remember that far back,” Deanna said. “So many people come in and out of here. And sometimes, the days just seem to run together. Of course, that day was different, because everyone who came in was talking about Rhodes’s death.”

  Deanna stopped misting my hair for a minute and was deep in thought. “There were a few people in that morning who knew you. I think one of them was Maria Lesco, from the Trattoria.”

  This was news. “Did you give her my cell phone?”

  Deanna shook her head. “No. I was going to, because she said it was no problem for her to drop it off at your house. But then…” She snapped her fingers. “I remember now. Linda Burns came in to buy some hair conditioner and overheard our conversation. She said that your daughter was teaching at the college now, and she was going to see her that afternoon. I gave Linda the phone to return to you.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Q: What’s another definition of retirement?

  A: Twice as much husband on half as much money.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions again,” Claire said. “Just because Deanna gave Linda your cell phone to return doesn’t prove that Linda’s the person who mailed it to the police.”

  It had turned out to be a beautiful day with low humidity—rare in Connecticut during the summer—and Claire and I had decided to leave our cars in the salon parking lot and walk the five blocks to Maria’s Trattoria. Though lots of other people were out enjoying the beautiful day, nobody paid us the slightest attention. One of the perks of being card-carrying members of the AARP generation.

  “You’ve been living with Larry too long,” I said. “That business about being innocent until proven guilty doesn’t apply here. I’m sure Linda’s the one who sent the phone to the police. And she also has to be the person who planted those Enalapril pills in our medicine cabinet. The big question is, why? What does she have against Jim and me? What did she have against Davis Rhodes? Do you think I should call Mark Anderson and let him know what I’ve figured out?”

  Claire stopped dead in her tracks and I nearly tripped over her. “So far, this is just a series of coincidences,” she said.

  I started to protest that these were more than coincidences but Claire continued unfazed. “As far as we both know for certain,” she emphasized the last three words, then repeated them to be sure I understood her point, “know for certain, this is just a series of unfounded, unproven coincidences.”

  “But don’t you think I’m right, Claire? You do, don’t you?” I was practically jumping up and down on the sidewalk in front of her.

  “Whether I think you’re right or not isn’t the issue. It’s much too soon to call Mark. We have to find the link between Linda and Davis Rhodes. And then we have to figure out what Linda’s motive for harming Rhodes could possibly be. That’s the only way we’re going to convince Mark.”

  I was encouraged, at least, that she’d used the words “we have to find the link.” That meant she was willing to help.

  “Here we are at Maria’s,” I said. “And I’m starving. I don’t think we should talk about this inside. You never know who’ll overhear conversations in a place like this.” Like Maria, overhearing Davis Rhodes, for instance. “If either of us gets a bright idea, let’s write it down so we don’t forget it. My short term memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I have a better idea,” responded Claire, as she opened the door to the noisy restaurant. “It looks like we’ll have to wait for a table. Why don’t we get takeout and eat it on the way to the Center. H
ere.” She handed me her phone. “Call Sheila now and see if she’s there. Tell her you’re on your way over. I’ll take care of ordering our lunch.”

  The older we all got, the bossier Claire seemed to get. But this time, I did as I was told without comment. I hope I get points for that.

  Sheila was apparently screening calls and didn’t recognize Claire’s cell phone number. I started to leave a message on the voice mail, but as soon as I identified myself, she came on the line. Gone was her pseudo Jackie Kennedy persona. This time she sounded more like a real human being.

  “Carol, thank God you called. Please tell me you haven’t emailed the memorial service invitations yet.”

  She paused and I heard a hiccup. Had she been drinking? Or was she crying? Either way, she sounded desperate. I briefly wondered if she’d parlay this latest incident into another television appearance, then chided myself. For the time being, Sheila and I were allies. She had information that I needed. So I willed myself to be well behaved. Again.

  “Don’t worry,” I replied, trying to be soothing as well as professional. “When I heard about the break-in, I had the office put a hold on the invitations.” Only a technical fib, because I knew Jim would have done that first thing when he got to the office, and we were a team, right? “Are the police still at the Center?”

  I didn’t give her a single second to answer. “Do you need any help cleaning up? My friend Claire and I can both be there in a half hour.”

  Sheila welcomed my offer of help. Just to be on the safe side, though, in case she changed her mind once we got there, we added extra desserts to our lunch order. No chocolate chip cookies, though.

  ~*~

  “Dollar for your thoughts, Carol.” Claire’s voice broke into my food- induced reverie.

  “A dollar?” I asked. “What happened to a penny?”

  “Inflation,” Claire responded. “Everything’s going up. So, what’s the drill when we get to the Re-tirement Survival Center? We’re almost there.”