by R A Wallace
“What can you tell me about Cybil?” Erica asked.
“Oh, not much. I didn’t really know her. I mean, from an accounting standpoint, she would have driven me crazy.” Judy let out a laugh.
It sounded forced to Erica. “Really? How so?”
“Well, she always insisted on cash,” Judy said.
Erica asked several more questions, then left her card. She texted Jerry as soon as she got back to her car.
Chapter Ten
Linda Spelling took the last of the books from the shelf and set them on the appropriate pile. She’d spent the day cleaning the house and this was the last of the things she could think to do. Cleaning had kept her busy and she’d needed that to take her mind from the death. Two of the walls in her home office were lined with book shelves. She’d been a librarian for over thirty years and, now fifty-six, she’d accumulated a lot of books in her time.
Of course, she had them ordered properly on the shelves following the Dewey Decimal Classification System and that was why she was being so careful to keep the books in specific piles. It would make it easier to return them to the shelves once she’d cleaned them. Linda absently looked over at the piles of books and then realized that she’d been standing there staring for some time. She’d never get completed with the task by dinner time if she kept doing that.
Of course, it didn’t really matter when she ate. It wasn’t like anyone was planning to have dinner with her. She could eat whenever she wanted to. Sighing, Linda wondered again at the series of events that had led her to living a life of loneliness. She’d been impetuous, that’s what. Looking back at her piles of books, she realized that she hadn’t learned much from any of the books she’d ever read.
Didn’t the characters always make choices in the books? Good or bad, they had to live with them afterwards. Linda had gone through life knowing what would happen if she made certain choices because she’d had her favorite books as guides. And yet, she’d made all of the same stupid mistakes the characters in the books had made.
What an idiot she was. And what a time to figure it out. At fifty-six, she was running out of time to meet the man of her dreams. She thought she’d met him, but he’d only been trouble. And he was still causing her trouble now. What would happen with Cybil’s death? Would the truth come out? What would happen if it did?
Linda frowned, wondering what the noise was that she was hearing. She knew it was familiar, but she couldn’t remember why. Then she heard it again. Oh, the doorbell. It had been a long time since anyone had rung the doorbell. Linda went to the front door and opened it. A young policeman took a step back so that he wasn’t crowding her by the door. He was much taller than she.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Stevens. I’d like to ask you some questions about Cybil Lacey.” Jerry removed his hat.
“Jerry? Jerry Stevens? You were the Agatha Christie fan, weren’t you?” Linda asked.
Jerry smiled. “Yes, ma’am, you have an excellent memory. Can I come in?”
“Of course. Can I offer you some lemonade? It’s a hot one out there today.” Linda led Jerry to the living room.
“Yes ma’am, that would be wonderful.” Jerry waited for a few moments until Linda returned bearing a tray with two glasses and some cookies.
“I made cookies this morning. It would be helpful to my waistline if you would eat a few,” Linda said as she handed Jerry a glass and a small plate of cookies before taking a seat across from him. “Now, what can I tell you?”
“We found your name in the appointment book. What can you tell me about Cybil?” Jerry asked before taking a bite of cookie.
Linda sat back in her chair. “Well, she wasn’t from around here. I didn’t know her when she was young. She wasn’t much of a reader either.”
“Do you know where she was from?” Jerry asked, reaching for a second cookie.
Linda thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, now that you mention it, she never did say. I know that she was a smoker. She often went outside to have a quick cigarette between customers.”
Jerry had already known Cybil was a smoker but made a mental note anyway. They’d found packs of cigarettes at the salon. Still, you never know when a small fact could break a case. “Can you tell me about her services? Did anything strike you as odd?” Jerry watched an emotion cross the woman’s face. It looked like fear.
Linda hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for example, how did you pay her?” Jerry asked. He watched the woman relax and mentally kicked himself for leading her in the wrong direction. Whatever troubled her, it wasn’t this.
“Yes, that was odd,” Linda smiled, grateful at the turn of conversation. “She always wanted cash.”
Jerry asked several more questions but wasn’t able to get Linda Spelling back around to whatever troubled her about Cybil. He left his card and his thanks for the refreshments.
***
Vivian Zimmerman took her snippers and deadheaded the spent roses from the bush. She carefully inspected the rest of the plant for any infestations. She didn’t tolerate bugs of any kind in her garden. If you wanted to win ribbons, you had to be ever vigilant. And Vivian had won many ribbons over her sixty-eight years. She was proud of that. Too proud, she thought, as she ruthlessly snipped a small bud that looked as though it were housing an insect deep inside.
Her pride would be her downfall, she was certain of it. It had caused her to take extreme actions. And it was what had gotten her into this mess with Cybil in the first place. Vivian knew she would pay for it. It wasn’t possible for her to do what she had done without having to pay for it. She was startled from her reverie by the sight of a large man appearing at the gate to her yard. She’d had the gate installed years ago to ensure no animals could ever gain access to her precious plants.
Jerry smiled to put the woman at ease. She wore a work apron. Her snow white hair was barely visible under the wide brim hat. “Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Cybil Lacey.”
Vivian should have expected as much. They would have seen her name in the appointment book. She continued snipping with her shears. “Of course, officer. What can I help you with?” Vivian didn’t look up from her task. Her shears continued to snip away the dead flower heads.
“What can you tell me about Cybil?” Jerry asked.
Snip, snip. “Nothing really. She cut my hair.”
“What did you talk about?” Jerry asked.
Snip. “Oh, this and that.”
Jerry looked around at all of the flowers and had a thought. “Your gardens are beautiful. Did Cybil like flowers?”
Vivian’s hand froze for what seemed like minutes but could have only been a moment before she accidentally snipped a perfectly formed flower. She took a calming breath before continuing her task. “No. I thought she did at first, but it turned out we didn’t have anything in common.”
Jerry tried several more questions but couldn’t get any more information from the woman. He left her with his card.
Vivian removed her gloves as she watched the policeman leave her yard, then she sat down heavily on an outdoor chair. She looked around her beautiful gardens scattered around her large back yard. Whatever would she do if she lost all of this?
Chapter Eleven
Megan went out to her garden early Monday morning. She wanted to get as much work done as possible before it got too hot out. The zucchini was doing great and she’d be picking it this week. She had a few heads of cabbage that looked close to being ready. She was hoping to have a few more by the weekend for the next farmers market, along with the zucchini, but for now she would pick the few she had. Some fresh cole slaw sounded good. The rest she would blanch and freeze to be used in soups or as stewed cabbage at a later date. She’d discovered that Dan loved stewed cabbage with hot sauce on it. Later in the season, she might even make some stuffed cabbages and freeze them.
Whenever something was spent in the garden mid-season, she always replaced it with som
ething else. In this case, she had planned to put in some more cucumber plants. She kept them growing in small seed starter pots during the first part of the summer. They remained small when she did that but would take off once they were planted. It meant that her cucumber season would be extended. When the first vines she had planted began to brown on the trellises she had in her garden, these new plants would be ready to begin producing. She always preferred to go vertical whenever possible in her garden. Though she could have used bush cucumber plants, training them up a trellis took less space.
Megan cut the heads of cabbage then pulled the roots from the ground. She had thought about leaving one because of the smaller growths that would be sprouted from it, but the cost of the real estate was too high. She wanted the space for the cukes. Looking over at the beets, she saw that they were coming along well. She had new plants in a planter box waiting to replace these when she harvested them. Depending on the weather and how soon the fall frosts came, she could often extend her harvest into late October this way.
She was just finishing her planting of the new cucumbers when she heard a car in the driveway. She took off her gloves and brushed the dirt from her work pants. She wasn’t familiar with the car that she saw as she walked back toward the house, but she would recognize the woman who stepped out of it anywhere.
“Irlene.” Megan smiled a welcome as she neared the older woman. Once she was closer, she could see the lines of worry etched into Irlene’s face. “How about some iced tea on the back porch?”
Irlene nodded her agreement and followed Megan to the porch. Megan returned a few moments later with the tea. She’d taken the chance to wash up quickly in the kitchen.
“How are you holding up?” Megan asked as she passed Irlene a sweating glass of iced tea. The humidity was going to be a challenge today.
“I came to ask a favor of you.” Irlene wiped the condensation from the glass absently. It splattered onto her capris but Irlene ignored the drops.
“I’ll help if I can,” Megan said.
Irlene met Megan’s gaze. “I didn’t do it. You know that, right?”
Megan smiled gently and gave a half shake of her head. “I didn’t think you had.”
Irlene visibly relaxed. “I don’t know what was going on. That woman showed up a few months ago, opened her own shop, and suddenly many of my old customers flocked to her. I know that you don’t know a thing about hair.” Irlene offered a smile to soften her blunt statement. “You don’t sweetie, you know that. But that woman wasn’t even good with hair. Ask Sean. He works out of my shop, but he’d tell you the truth.”
Megan thought about it. “So, you’re saying they didn’t leave you because she was better at styling hair. Okay, why else might they? Cost?”
“And I could understand that, but my prices are reasonable. And I’m ashamed to say it, but I called that woman’s shop several times and disguised my voice to ask her about her prices. They were comparable and sometimes even more than mine.” Irlene looked earnestly at Megan.
“So, not ability, not price.” Megan thought about the few times she’d suffered through sitting in Irlene’s chair. Whenever possible, she’d trimmed the ends of her own hair, to avoid the experience. But there had been the requisite prom visit and then when she’d married Josh. “Do all stylists try to get their customers to talk?”
“Well, sure. Our business is a little different than most. Think about it. How often do you pay for a service that involves someone touching you? You want the person in your chair to feel comfortable and you also want to know about them, so you can help come up with a hairstyle that fits their lifestyle.”
“That makes sense,” Megan agreed.
“Besides, a lot of people actually enjoy talking about themselves. Think of all the social media sites where people post about everything they do during the course of their day. Not everyone does that, of course, but a lot of people like sharing information about themselves.”
Megan watched Irlene narrow her eyes. “What?”
“Well, it’s just that, some people share more than they should. Sometimes they even tell secrets. Those are the stories good hairdressers should keep to themselves.”
“Irlene, what are you hoping that I could help you with?”
Irlene set her tea glass down on the table. “I’ve heard about you helping with some other situations. Do you think it would be possible for you to look into this one? I’m not guilty and I believe the police will find who did kill Cybil. But I’d like to know why my customers were all flocking to her. You can talk to Sean, too. I’m not going in to work tomorrow, but Sean will be there. You can speak with him about Cybil and about me. Tell him I said it’s okay. Maybe he knows something and is worried about telling anyone.”
Megan sat on her porch after Irlene had left and thought about her own secrets. She didn’t have quite as many as she’d like. Most of the town was aware that Josh had been cheating on her even before they’d been married. He had not been much help with the Teaberry Farm. While Megan put everything she had into making the B&B a success, Josh had kicked up his heels and spent money on other women faster than Megan could make it. She wouldn’t have minded keeping many of those stories less public, but Josh hadn’t really cared who knew. He was just focused on Josh and having a good time.
Megan wondered if she really might be able to help Irlene and if Erica would mind if she tried. Maybe if she talked to some of Irlene’s old customers, they would open up to her and give her some sort of clue about the pieces to this puzzle. If Irlene was a better hairdresser and wasn’t charging more, why would her customers prefer the other hairdresser? It sounded like an interesting puzzle. But she’d still want to clear everything with Erica first.
Chapter Twelve
Erica and Jerry called it quits late Monday after touching base at the end of the day. They’d both spoken with everyone on their lists for the past two days. They’d learned some things that might help, but nothing concrete. They knew that Cybil preferred to be paid only in cash. That seemed odd for a business, but they’d confirmed it with everyone on their lists. They all said the same thing. Cash only.
Erica could only think of a couple of reasons why someone would want to do that. Not having your income documented might make tax time a little more interesting. But it also meant that Cybil may not have been filing taxes under her current name. That had come out of a brainstorming session at the end of the day. Either way, it was the first thing to look into when they got back to work tomorrow. They’d run all of her finances.
That was about the only good lead they had to follow. Speaking with Cybil’s customers hadn’t yielded much more. Both Erica and Jerry were convinced that the customers were all holding something back. But they had no clue what that might be. Erica pulled into her driveway later than usual. She’d texted Brad to tell him that she would be late.
She’d remembered to do it even without Jerry’s prompting. He knew that Erica and Brad wanted to get it right this time. Jerry had just been trying to help them along with that when he’d texted his partner a reminder to contact her husband once they realized they were running late with the interviews. They’d split up again today, as they had yesterday, dividing the list of people they needed to speak to. They’d made a pretty big dent in Cybil’s client list.
Erica had just reached the door when Brad opened it. He must have buzz cut his hair today. Part of Erica’s brain registered that his dark hair was shaved close and looked a little shorter than it had when she’d left for work in the morning. He greeted her with a smile. His brown, caring eyes had tiny creases fanning out from the corners. “Hey, I have cold tuna salad on a croissant with potato salad and Megan’s homemade applesauce. It’ll be ready whenever you get out of a cool shower.”
Erica kissed her husband. A cool shower sounded awesome. “I’ll be right out.”
“You can eat inside. It’s still too hot out on the deck.” Brad followed behind Erica and caught her sweaty uniform as she pee
led each piece off on the way to the shower.
Erica was back in the kitchen twenty minutes later in a mint green tank and loose-fit, navy blue knit shorts eating a tuna salad sandwich. She sat at the oak kitchen table across from her husband, her bare feet on the cool tile floor. “Good call with the cold food.” Brad had also put lettuce and tomato on the croissant with the tuna salad. “I can’t wait until the local tomatoes are ripe. They taste so much better.”
Brad nodded. “I was talking to Dan about that actually. He said he has some nice planter trays that we could try. You know, to grow our own tomatoes next year.”
Erica looked up from her plate. “You want a garden?”
“No, for that we’d need a shed, a rototiller, and a lot of tools. That’s why Dan suggested the planter boxes for us. You just put dirt in the planter boxes and you add water and sun. He said tomatoes would do well. I guess Megan uses some at her place for some of her garden things. He said we could take a look the next time we’re there.”
Erica smiled. They were having a baby, they were talking about growing plants, and planning things in the future together. They really were doing it right this time. “Sounds good.”
“How are things going with the case?” Brad had a cold glass of wine for himself and had given Erica some ice-cold apple cider. She’d been craving apples. He’d called Megan about picking up more cider and she’d also offered to send home some more applesauce with it.
“We’ve been talking with people. So far I think we’re doing more of the talking than they are.” Erica finished the applesauce on her plate and looked around the kitchen.
Brad got up and went the fridge to get the container. “What, they aren’t answering your questions?”
Erica took the lid off the container and started eating from it. “They are, they just aren’t volunteering anything that we find particularly helpful.”
