Heart Beat

by Lynne Waite Chapman

  I blinked again and refocused. The shadow definitely moved. A figure edged from the side of the building and approached the door of the salon. The man, I think it was a man, stood in front of the entrance, and opened the door. He proceeded inside, the door shutting behind him.

  I tapped Anita’s knee and whispered, “There’s someone in the salon.”

  “Huh? What’s going on?” She pulled herself up straight and squinted through the windshield.

  A beam of light became visible inside The Rare Curl. We leaned forward, eyes straining to see.

  What should we do now? I really hadn’t thought this through.

  Anita’s whisper came in the dark. “Did you see who it was?”

  I whispered in return. “No. Just a figure moving to the door. And he couldn’t have had time to pick the lock. Must have had a key ‘cause he went right in.”

  Anita raised her voice to a normal level. “You know they can’t hear us out here, right?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  We sat and stared and waited. After about five minutes, a car rolled to a stop in front of the salon. Its headlights were off. The door of the salon opened, and the interior light of the car came on as the first figure loaded something into the back seat. His head appeared over the top of the car, and he looked in our direction.

  Anita slid to the floor of the car and I flopped sideways to lay on the seat.

  My friend reached up and grabbed my arm. “Oh no. He saw us. Do you think he can see us in the car?”

  I lifted my head enough to peek over the dash. “No, he can’t. We’re too far away. There aren’t any street lights close enough to illuminate the inside of the car.”

  Crap. Deep in the recesses of my mind, it occurred to me that I drive a thirty-five-year-old Chrysler Station Wagon. How many of those would there be in Evelynton, Indiana? Or any place?

  The interior light of the thief’s car went out as he shut the rear door and flashed back on briefly as he climbed into the front seat.

  I pulled myself upright behind the wheel and poked Anita. “It’s okay. Get back on the seat.”

  The mysterious car crept down the street, the headlights coming on a block away.

  I turned the Chrysler’s ignition, put it in gear, and pressed the gas pedal, carefully guiding it around the concrete parking barriers. I drove as fast as I could without headlights. I mean, I drove really slow, so I wouldn’t crash into anything until we got to the street.

  Anita planted her elbows on the dashboard and peered through the windshield, while I strained my eyes and white-knuckled the steering wheel.

  We cruised, searching for taillights, car-sized shadows, anything that might become visible while passing under streetlights.

  “Can you see anything?”

  Anita shook her head. “Nothing. Where did they go?”

  “Maybe they’re hiding. We can’t be that far behind them. Look down the side streets as we pass.” We edged along Main Street, finding nothing but empty pavement and alleys.

  Anita pushed herself back in her seat. “Darn. We lost them. That didn’t work out.”

  “At least I can tell Rarity she isn’t crazy. She can stop doubting herself. There is definitely someone stealing from her, and it isn’t her responsibility to save them. I don’t think it’s kids. The guy looked kind of stocky and there was something about the way he moved. It just felt like a grown man, don’t you think?”

  Anita shrugged. “I didn’t see him.”

  I pulled the Chrysler into a vacant lot, made a three-point turn, and drove back to The Rare Curl, pulling up close to the curb. Anita retrieved a flashlight from her near-empty goody bag, and we both jumped out of the car.

  She flashed the light on the door handle. “No sign of tampering. He must have had a key. Don’t touch anything. We don’t want to mess up the evidence.”

  Anita’s been watching cop shows.

  She pulled her sleeve over her hand and tried to open the door. “Locked.”

  “Shine the light through the front window.”

  She placed the flashlight flat against the window, illuminating circular areas inside as she moved it around.

  “I don’t see anything out of place in there, do you?”

  “No, I can’t say I see much of anything. This beam of light doesn’t go far.”

  Standing there with faces pressed to the glass, I began to feel conspicuous.

  “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us, and we have to explain why we’re dressed like cat burglars.”

  We scurried back into the car, and I steered it toward home.

  As soon as I dropped Anita at her van and locked myself in the house, I called Rarity to report our findings. And to suggest, again, she notify the authorities.

  “Okay, Lauren. You’re sure it wasn’t teenagers?”

  “It didn’t seem like kids to me. In any case, this is getting serious. You’re losing a lot of money. You can’t let it go on.”

  “I know you’re right. I’ve already had to get into my savings. If you really think it was an adult, I’ll call first thing in the morning—after I pray about it. I’ll go in tomorrow to see if they took anything, and then I’ll call.”

  Sweet Rarity, always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.

  I clamped my mouth shut to keep from screaming, “Of course they took something! Why do you think they were in there in the middle of the night? Call now!”

  I took a deep breath and blew out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the salon first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter Six

  A fter a final toss of the covers, I opened my eyes wide enough to peek at the alarm clock. Ugh, fifteen minutes before it was due to go off. I threw off the sheet and stared at the ceiling.

  Knowing Rarity, she’d had sweet dreams and a great night’s sleep. I, on the other hand, spent the night chasing dark-clad figures in and out of various rooms at The Rare Curl. On one occasion, a man with bright orange hair chased me into the bathroom. I was trapped until Officer Farlow opened the door and shouted “Lauren Halloren, you’re under arrest.”

  How did Farlow get into my nightmare? He wasn’t my favorite person in Evelynton, and to be fair, I wasn’t his either. I’d had a couple run-ins with him. Once he’d accused me of insurance fraud, or insinuated it, and later suspected me of murder. I was easily exonerated of both, but the good officer never saw fit to apologize.

  I sat up and swung my feet to the floor, surprised to see Mason glaring up at me from between them. Normally, he would have been sleeping next to me. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

  He answered with a rattling in his chest and stalked from the room, tail held high.

  I primed the coffee maker, showered, and dressed as fast as I could. Within twenty minutes I was in the Chrysler, thermal mug in hand.

  Should have gotten up earlier. Who knew what Rarity would find? Maybe I should have insisted on getting her key and going over to check it out last night. Who was to say the thief would leave the salon in the same condition he had before? What if he’d trashed the place? What if Rarity walked in on something terrible?

  I pressed harder on the accelerator and scooted through more than one intersection without stopping. After parking in front of the salon, I checked my watch before getting out. Six a.m. Earlier than I’d ever been there. Earlier than I’d ever been up.

  All lights were on, and I could see through the window that the reception area and work spaces were in good condition. The shop appeared unoccupied, but I knew Rarity would be in the back room.

  Pushing through the front door, I strode to the back. Rarity stood in the middle of the store room, with her hands on her hips.

  She pointed to the almost bare shelves. “Look. You were right. I should have called the police the first time. It was my own silly pride that caused this.”

  She pulled up a stool and sat on it, propping her elbows on her knees.

  I sipped my coffee, feeling a bit useless. “You call
ed the police, right?”

  “Yes, as soon as I got here, about half an hour ago. Maybe I’m getting too old to run a business. At first, I was afraid I’d been absent minded. You know, thought it was my age—or dementia. And then, I was certain it was kids, and I could take care of that easily enough. Now look. I’m out more money. My own fault.” She stared at the vacant shelves.

  My brain kicked in. “Rarity, it isn’t your fault. Whoever did this, it’s their fault. Why don’t I make you some coffee?”

  “Okay, sure.” I did a double-take. The words didn’t sound like Rarity’s voice—much too breathy and resigned.

  When the coffee pot began to fizz, I returned to the supply room. Rarity hadn’t moved.

  Encouragement had always been Rarity’s forte, not mine. I dug deep into my memory to find some uplifting words. “Don’t worry, Rarity. We’ll discover who’s behind this. Everything will be back to normal in no time at all. Um. This too will pass.” That exhausted my full catalogue of encouragement.

  Rarity managed a weak smile, not her usual ear to ear grin, but a smile nonetheless. “You’re right. I’ll just think about what I can learn from this. God lets things happen for a reason.”

  At her lowest point, Rarity’s more encouraging than I am. I pulled up a stool to wait for the police.

  Chapter Seven

  T he string of bells on the front door jingled, and I hurried to the waiting room to welcome the police. Of course, it was Officer Farlow, looking just like he did in my dream—standing straight as a board, starched uniform, with an equally stiff expression on his face. I expected to hear the words, “Halloren, you’re under arrest.”

  Rarity poked her head out of the back room. “Oh, hi Jimmy. Come on back. I’ll show you our little problem.”

  He strode away without acknowledging me. I took my place at the desk, picturing the man with his ever-present notebook, recording every word Rarity uttered.

  About five minutes later, the sharp clip clop of footsteps signaled his approach. I put my pencil behind my ear and smiled up at Officer Farlow, when he stopped beside me.

  “Ms. Halloren, Ms. Peabody tells me you saw someone enter the salon last night.”

  Crap, I knew this was coming.

  “Yes I did. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot across the street.” I pointed. I don’t know why. There was only one parking lot.

  “And, what time was that?”

  “Umm, probably about midnight.”

  “About midnight.” He wrote it in his notebook before lifting his eyes to meet mine.

  “Why were you out there at that hour?”

  I didn’t want to explain my brilliant idea of the stakeout and how it had proved ineffective, but forged ahead as simply as possible.

  Thankfully, he didn’t laugh, only stared at me for a moment. “Hmm. Quite a plan. Why didn’t you call the station when you saw the break-in?”

  I put my hand to my forehead to show I’d had only a momentary lapse in judgement. “I should have called, I know. I wish I had. But I wanted to talk to Rarity. She thought, and I did at one time, it was kids stealing hair color to use on themselves. She wanted to find out who it was, and talk to them herself. But then, last night I was pretty sure it wasn’t kids. Looked like a man. Anyway, I left it up to Rarity.”

  Yikes, should have phrased that differently. Now I knew what it meant to throw someone under the bus. In my defense, I had to be truthful and confess everything. Besides, he’d be more forgiving of Rarity than of me. In my previous experience with Farlow, hedging the truth got me into deep trouble.

  Rarity stepped up beside Farlow, full of her former vitality. “That’s right, Jimmy. It was all my fault. Lauren wanted to inform the authorities even before last night, but I thought I could take care of it. So silly of me. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

  Farlow nodded at Rarity. “No problem at all, Ms. Peabody. I completely understand.”

  He leveled his gaze at me. “What exactly did you see, Ms. Halloren?”

  I gave as detailed a report as I could, although it didn’t sound like much. Dark clad figure, stocky. A second person in the car. The car was dark colored and looked like a four-door sedan. It had to be four doors because the first man put something in the back seat.

  “So, there were two of them. One in the car and one who went inside? You thought they were adult? How did you come up with that assumption?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure. I guess it was the way he moved. We just had the feeling it was an adult.”

  “You only saw one outside of the car. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how do you know the person driving the car was not a teenager?”

  “You’re right. I don’t know anything about that one. I only saw the one person, clearly. Or, not really clearly.”

  “And you said, “we.” You gave me the impression you were alone. Who was with you?”

  Crap, again.

  “Oh. My friend, Anita, was with me. She wanted to keep me company in the sta—while I watched.”

  “Why didn’t you mention your friend in the beginning?”

  Because I wanted to protect her from Farlow’s relentless scrutiny. Boy, I hated talking to law enforcement. On further thought, Anita wouldn’t mind being questioned. She told me once she used to babysit Jimmy Farlow.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t mention her, except she saw the same thing I saw, actually less than I did. She can’t help you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of whether she can help or not, Ms. Halloren.” His voice oozed impatience. “What’s her name?”

  “Anita Corwin.”

  He recorded that in his notebook.

  “What else do you remember about last night? Something you might have deemed unimportant.”

  “Nothing. There isn’t anything else. That’s all I can tell you, officer. The vehicle drove off without even turning on its lights, and when I attempted to follow, it disappeared.”

  Farlow looked up at the ceiling, and then he actually rolled his eyes. “Disappeared, huh? Like what, it was a ghost? It just up and disappeared. Or maybe like a figment of your vast imagination?”

  I took a deep breath before allowing myself to answer. “No. I didn’t imagine it. It disappeared. It must have turned down a street or an alley that I didn’t see.”

  Farlow slapped his notebook shut, pivoted on his heel, and walked toward the door. With his back to us, he said, “Good day, ladies. Call me if you think of anything else you forgot to tell me—or didn’t think important.”

  Rarity followed him to the door. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly. Bye, Jimmy.”

  After watching him get into his squad car, she turned to me with her hands on her hips. “Isn’t Jimmy Farlow a nice young man? He sure has made something of himself. So conscientious and polite.”

  And I thought I was good at creative writing. Rarity lived in a different world.

  “Thank you for coming in, Lauren. You go on home now. So kind of you to be here. It isn’t even your day to work.”

  She pushed her hair from her face and headed toward the supply room. “I’ll call a locksmith right away and get the locks changed. What a bother.”

  Rarity seemed to have recovered nicely. I was happy to go home and forget about crime for a while. I grabbed my handbag. There was a time I dreamed of writing true crime novels, but the calling had lost its appeal. Experience kept telling me that particular genre was not my strong suit. Better to stay with my proven talent, writing mild travel articles, guaranteed to bore anyone under forty-five to death.

  Chapter Eight

  C at breath warmed my cheek. Round, golden eyes hovered two inches from my fluttering eyelids. “Good morning, Mason. What are you doing in my face? You’ve put on weight. Can’t breathe with you on my chest.”

  My friendly feline leapt to the floor and loped out of the room as if on a mission. Rapping sounded on the front door before my feet hit the floor. That c
at’s got amazing hearing.

  “Shoot, I forgot. And I’m late.” I’d made a pact with my friend Clair. We’d get out and walk three mornings a week. It seemed like a really good idea at the time.

  I peeked through the window to see Clair jogging in place on the front porch. She wore black-and-red flowered leggings, a red tank top, and matching sweatband.

  As soon as I opened the door, she trotted in.

  “Sorry, I missed my alarm.” I hadn’t set an alarm. I’m of the opinion anyone can set a mental alarm and be up on time. Obviously, it isn’t a foolproof plan.

  “Not a problem, girlfriend. I’m early. Couldn’t wait to get our exercise program underway.” She assessed my attire, over-sized t-shirt, sweat pants, and bed head. “You get dressed. I’ll make coffee and feed Mason.”

  “Thanks.” Friends since high school, Clair’s age was the same as mine. Where did she get her energy?

  I slouched off to the bedroom to dig out better quality sweats and drag a comb through my hair.

  Clair maintained a conversation from the kitchen. “How’s Rarity doing now? Have the police come up with anything?”

  “Nope. I’m pretty sure the police department doesn’t consider stolen hair products a priority. We haven’t heard from them in a few days. But Rarity is fine. Back to her old cheerful self.”

  I tied my shoes in rhythm to Clair’s pep talk from the kitchen. “Now that we’re in our forties, we have to be intentional about staying in shape. And as a writer, you spend far too much time in a chair. Your job at Rarity’s beauty shop isn’t any better. You’re at that reception desk all day.”

  The lovely aroma of fresh coffee pulled me to the kitchen. Clair placed a steaming mug into my hands.

  “I don’t sit all day at the salon, only four hours in the morning. And I walk to and from work, when the weather’s good.” Sometimes.

  “That’s not enough activity to keep anybody fit. Swallow that coffee and let’s get on the road.” Clair bounced around my kitchen like a prizefighter, while I made an attempt to enjoy the one cup of caffeine I’d be allowed before we set out.