“What are we going to do?”
She raised an index finger. “Before I even think of speaking to the police, we’ll discover who it is and talk to them. I’ll explain the consequences of their actions. I think that’s the best plan. Don’t you?”
No, I didn’t.
But Rarity’s eyes sparkled again and her sweet smile returned.
I let out a sigh. “Maybe. I guess serious criminals would take more. You’re right, it’s probably kids.”
She laid a finger on the side of her head. “How do I figure out who it is? Wallace would know what to do, but he’s out of town for a week.”
“He’s a gem, Rarity. You should marry him. You’re right. He would know what to do. I always feel secure with him living right next door to me. Sort of think of him as the neighborhood guard. But he’s not here, so let me consider this. I’ll come up with a plan.”
Hold on. Did I say I’d come up with a plan? Who was I kidding? I’d begun to believe the inflated stories of my crime-fighting skills.
It all stemmed from an incident a year ago. I guess I’d forgotten it was my neighbor, Wallace, who’d been the true hero, tackling Patsy as she ran from my house. He’d slipped away without even getting his name on the police report, leaving me in the limelight.
Rarity’s eyes brightened. “Would you, Lauren? You are so good at these things.” She knew better. I’m sure her gentleman friend, Wallace, told her all about it.
Rarity patted her curls back into place and straightened her blouse. “Right now, it’s business as usual. We give the best service possible to our clients.”
She flashed me a big smile. “I’ll be waiting to hear your plan.”
Chapter Three
T hanks Lauren. I don’t need a bag.” Mrs. Phillips carried her new bottle of shampoo to the door. The bells, attached to the handle, jingled as the door opened, and again as it closed. A few seconds later they rang as one of Stacy’s friends stepped in to say hello.
The Rare Curl was a busy place. People were in and out all day, for hairstyles, hair spray, or most of all, gossip. That’s the way it went for the next hour of my shift. Those bells signaled each movement of the front door, but I tried to keep my mind on my work.
I’d begun to fantasize about how far I could throw the bells, when Murine Baron sauntered into the salon.
I’d known her for a year. The woman never sauntered. A scurry, at best. Today, there was a spring in her step.
The Barons were my neighbors on Stonybridge—opposite side from Wallace. Murine rarely stepped outside. And I exerted a conscious effort to avoid any contact with her husband, Clive. These weren’t the neighbors I’d ask about borrowing a cup of sugar. Murine probably wouldn’t answer the door. She reminded me of a mouse—sort of timid and wary.
Clive, on the other hand, wasn’t a bit timid. If he looked my way, I felt like the mouse and ran for cover whenever possible. Big, burly, and caveman-ish. A permanent scowl graced his face. And when he walked, I imagined him making dents in the concrete sidewalk.
A regular monthly haircut customer of The Rare Curl, Murine spoke only to her hairdresser, Stacy.
“Good morning, Murine. You look nice today. New sweater? Great shade of pink.”
She smiled. “Thank you so much, Lauren. I love it, too.”
My mouth fell open. Who was this woman?
“Stacy is expecting you, Murine. Shall I get you a cup of coffee?”
The woman was still smiling. “No, thank you. I got out early and stopped by Ava’s Java this morning.”
Huh? Murine at one of the busiest gathering spots in town? I was unnerved when she looked me straight in the eyes. Had she ever met my eyes before?
Murine continued to Stacy’s styling chair and left me to wonder about the personality change.
Two hours later, she reached across the desk to hand me cash. Not the usual check signed by Clive. One glance at her and I almost dropped the money. Pretty sure my mouth fell open. Her hair had always been dull, dusty brown—sort of mouse color. Now it glistened with golden strands. “Wow. Your hair is beautiful. That’s a great new color.”
Murine beamed. “Thank you.” She turned to leave, and her hair fanned out in the breeze.
As the door swung closed behind Murine, I swiveled my chair to face Stacy. She swept bits of hair from around her styling station. “What’s happened to Murine? I’ve never seen such a transformation. Hard to believe it’s the same woman.”
Stacy swished hair into the dustpan. “I know, right? Thought she’d be buried with that frumpy hair. I don’t get it. She’s hardly ever talked to me since I started cutting her hair. You know, after Patsy went to jail for killing that jerk husband of hers. Anyway, every month, all Murine said was, ‘A bit shorter.’” Stacy rolled her eyes. “It was agonizing.”
Leaving the dustpan on the floor, Stacy stood, hands planted on her hips.
“Did you see it? Would you believe she let me layer her cut and add color? Boy, was I frantic. Finally got the chance to do something with her hair, and no supplies. We had some bleach, so I talked her into the highlights.” Stacy flipped her hair out of her eyes, looking very pleased with herself.
“I wonder what got into her.”
“And get this, you must have noticed Murine’s clothes. She always wore the same thing. Gray. Always gray. Today, she walked in wearing a new sweater, and wanted a new hairstyle. Miracles still happen.” Stacy shook her head, picked up the dustpan and emptied it into the trash container. “Whatever has happened, it’s great to see her happy.”
“Absolutely. It’s just weird.”
I turned back to my desk and glanced at the clock. “It’s lunch time. I’m taking off. Rarity should be back pretty soon.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m hoping to get a walk-in haircut customer to make up for the appointments I had to cancel.” Stacy popped a stick of gum into her mouth and waited for me to vacate my place at the reception desk so she could sit in it.
I pushed the door partway open, but caught it in time to avoid it colliding with a motorized wheelchair. The woman riding it sped past without a second look. She must have had it at full throttle. Anything traveling at that speed should be on the street instead of the sidewalk. I don’t care if it is technically a wheelchair.
After a second look in both directions, I pushed the door all the way open and shot a wave at Stacy. “See you next week.”
With renewed energy, I walked the two blocks to my car.
I hopped in the Chrysler and drove straight home, anxious to get to work. My real work. Writing. It didn’t pay much, but I had hopes. After pulling into the drive, I threw the gearshift into park, but hesitated to get out. Someone was in the Baron’s backyard.
Branches swung open and Murine pushed through the bushes, a bouquet of bright, deep-purple lilacs dangling from her hand.
I kept my seat, wondering who might be with her. Counted to ten before climbing out of the car.
Yes, I admit it. Clive scared me. My first introduction to the man had been through the blast of his 12 gauge, when he’d interrupted a prowler in his house. Fortunately, he’d missed and left no dead bodies.
This time Clive didn’t appear. The little woman was alone, so I stepped out and waved. “Beautiful flowers, Murine.”
“They are, aren’t they? I can’t wait to put them in a vase in the living room.” She continued up her front steps and into the house.
I gazed up at the maple tree and took a few minutes to listen to sweet bird songs before going inside. Something strange was happening in Evelynton. My confident employer, Rarity, was doubting her sanity. Murine walked with a confident swagger?
Something in the water? Drugs?
Chapter Four
S ometimes I wanted to spend the day at Ava’s Java, inhaling the aroma of freshly-ground coffee, snuggled into an overstuffed chair, reading a good book. That coffee aroma and the soothing wall tones of coffee brown and sweet cream softened a mood better than
Prozac.
I’ve never taken Prozac, but I imagined the popular coffee shop was better.
When I walked in, I felt like kicking off my shoes and curling up in one of the comfy chairs. I guessed that would be going a bit too far, even for a regular like me.
While my inherited house had begun to feel homierin the past year, at Ava’s, I could always find friendly faces. I’d even begun to call many of them by name. No easy feat for an introverted writer like me.
I’d grown up in Evelynton, but never looked back after I left for college twenty-six years ago. When I was forced to return last year, it wasn’t a happy homecoming. Having resisted until there’d been no other choice, my return was a last resort.
So Ava’s Java did a lot to endear this small Indiana town to me. Ava’s and my friends, Clair and Anita, who could often be found at our favorite table in the front window.
I walked up to the counter, expecting to greet Ava, but someone new stood behind the counter. Another change? The young girl at the cash register had big brown eyes and a sweet smile.
“Hi. What can I do for you today?”
“I think I’ll just have coffee. Light roast with low fat milk in a mug. I’m staying.
The girl pulled a mug from the rack and pivotedtoward the coffee maker.
I pushed forward in my quest to get to know people. “Um, you’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Sort of. I’m Melody. I’ve been working in the back for a couple of weeks, grinding coffee and organizing things. This morning, Ava said I’m ready for the counter, and here I am.”
“Nice to meet you, Melody. I stop in a few times a week, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”
As expected, Anita sat at our usual table. I carried my coffee over and slid into the chair across from her. “How’s the soup today?”
Anita hummed a positive reply through a mouth full of broth.
I gave her a minute to swallow. “Where’s Clair? Working?”
Anita shook her head and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “She had a lunch date with some new guy, not sure where. I guess she wanted privacy. You know, she’s probably afraid we’d be watching his every move and judging his character. And, well, we would.”
“Absolutely. She really shouldn’t hide from us. We could tell her right away whether he was worth her time. How’s she doing on the dating site?”
“Not great. Different guy every couple of days, but nobody special. A bunch of first dates. Ugh. Can you imagine the conversations? ‘Have you ever been married?’ ‘What do you like to do for fun?’ ‘What’s your favorite food?’ ‘What’s your sign?’ Over and over, and over again. Wears me out just thinking about it.”
“Hadn’t thought of it in that light. Sounds stressful.”
“No kidding. So, how was work this morning?” Anita dipped her spoon back into the soup.
“Crazy. Rarity’s a wreck. Somehow, somebody got in and stole a bunch of hair color and permanent wave lotion. She and Stacy barely had anything to work with. And it’s happened before. The first time, or at least the first time Rarity noticed, was last weekend. She had to drive to the supply house to buy more. Then those products disappeared within a day. We figured it’s been every other day, as though they wait for her to replace what they stole and come back. I’ve spent my time calling women, trying to convince them they’d really be happy waiting another week to get their hair done. What a mess.”
Anita pushed her bowl aside. “Poor Rarity. She’s so kind. Not an enemy in town. I can’t imagine who would steal from her. She surely can’t afford for that to go on. What do the authorities say?”
I shrugged. “We haven’t notified the police.”
“What? Why not?”
“Rarity has decided it was probably young people, so she’s protective. And you know Rarity, she’d rather take care of it herself.”
“Oh yes, I can see her point. She works with the youth group at church. They love her. She’s just like one of the kids. I bet if she found out who was doing this, she could make them understand the gravity of the situation.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” I took a minute to think about the logic. “I guess the first thing we have to do is discover who’s involved. Whoever the culprits are, they seem to have a pattern. I’m thinking of watching the salon for a few nights to see who shows up.”
“Watch the salon?” Anita’s eyes lit up. A smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. “What, like a stakeout?”
I nodded. “What do you think?”
“Yes! You could hide in the salon and catch them in the act.”
“No, I don’t think so. Not quite that brave. Besides, where would I hide? There’s only the supply room, and that’s where the thieves would be going. And there’s the bathroom. Either place, I’d be trapped. What if it isn’t kids, but some thug?”
Anita stared at me. A furrow forming between her brows. “You’re right. We’ll have to watch from outside. We could park across the street in the lot.”
“Excuse me. Did you say we? You’re planning on helping?”
“I am absolutely coming along. I’m not going to miss out on this. You had all the fun last year when you captured Patsy.”
“I didn’t capture… never mind. What will Jake say?”
She flapped a hand at me. “He won’t mind. He never worries about me. It’s Evelynton, for goodness sake. Besides, if you see the thieves, you know you won’t recognize them, but I will. I know most of the kids in town, as well as their parents. I can help you identify the culprit.”
“You’re right about that. I could use someone who actually knows people.”
Anita’s excitement got the better of her and she shouted. “What fun!” She glanced around and ducked her head, whispering, “We’re going on a stake out! Will you bring your gun?”
I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. I promised myself last year to keep that stored away. I hate guns.”
Anita sighed. “Okay. This is still so exciting.”
I leaned back in my chair while Anita stirred her soup. She made it sound like a trip to the zoo. At least I’d have company.
~
At home, with more time to think through the planned adventure, I paced—first to the kitchen, then to the front door, and back to the kitchen.
Mason fell in step behind me and stayed at my heels for a turn or two, until I picked him up. “What will I do if I see someone breaking in? Even worse, what if I don’t see anyone? That’ll make for a long night.”
Mason purred.
“Should I go back a second night? A third? What if a policeman shows up and asks what we’re doing out in the middle of the night?”
I stopped and held Mason up to look him in the eye. “Who came up with this silly scheme?”
Mason meowed at me.
“Yes, I know it was my idea, so hush.”
I tucked him under my arm and resumed the trek through the house. “I can’t believe I have to sit in a car all night just because Rarity doesn’t want to call the police. What if the perps don’t stick to the pattern? I don’t know if there even is a pattern.”
Mason’s feet thrashed against me, drawing my attention to his uncomfortable state. “Yowl.”
Living alone can make a person a little weird. I put him down. “Sorry, Mason.”
Sinking onto the sofa, I leaned over to look into the cat’s eyes once again. “Maybe they don’t need any more hair products and will stop. I guess that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”
“Meow.”
“Right. What if they escalate? Come back for the computer, or I don’t know, maybe the blow dryers?”
Mason turned his tail to me and left the room.
Chapter Five
A t eight-fifteen on the dot, tires crunched the gravel in my drive. I checked to see Anita’s mini-van parked next to my Chrysler.
I was ready. Black slacks, black sweater, hair in a ponytail. On opening the door, I noticed Anita wore black sweatpants, black swea
tshirt, and a navy-blue scarf covering her blond hair.
“Gosh, we look like burglars. Sure hope nobody’s looking out their window. In this neighborhood, they’d call the police, for sure.”
Anita’s eyes got big. She scanned the houses on each side and across the street. “We’d better move fast.” She went down the steps, trotted to the Chrysler, and opened the passenger door.
I’d climbed in the driver’s side and inserted the key into the ignition when Anita popped out and ran back to her car.
“Be right back.”
A moment later, she’d returned carrying a canvas bag. I peeked inside to find a thermos, two cups, and a box of chocolate chip cookies. Anita grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Almost forgot our provisions. Oh, and I brought a flashlight, too.”
Maybe the stakeout wouldn’t be so bad after all.
The sun had already dipped below the horizon when we drove into the parking lot across from The Rare Curl. I pulled up next to two small trees and killed the engine. We unbuckled our seat belts. I slumped into the seat and made myself comfortable. Anita faced me, leaning against the door with her knees pulled up.
It was cozy for the first two hours. We, mostly Anita, talked nonstop. Then the cookies and the coffee ran out. After my friend rested her head against the seat back, a soft snore was the only sound in the car. Minutes slipped by. I made mental notes for future magazine articles, wrote a grocery list by the light of my cell phone, and wondered if Mason missed me.
After that, I turned to listing reasons a stakeout was a stupid idea. How long should I sit here? All night? If the thief showed up, would I apprehend him? No gun.
I stretched to peer into the backseat. Nothing to use as a weapon. Not even a tire iron, whatever that was.
Who did I think I was, Jessica Fletcher? This was a waste of time.
I twisted toward the steering column and pushed the key all the way into the ignition. Before turning the key, I cast one last glance toward the salon. And I saw a shadow. A dark blob hovered at the side of the building. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. The streetlights gave off minimal light, and my eyes were blurry with fatigue. I blinked twice. Maybe it was nothing. No, it stirred.
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