Wallace stood with his hands in his pockets. “You feel alright staying in the house alone?”
“Sure. This neighborhood has been peaceful. I always feel safe here.”
My thoughts flew to Clive. “Since you’re here, there is something I want to talk to you about. Just something that doesn’t seem right. You know the Barons’.” I motioned to their house. “Did you know Clive went…”
Wallace whirled to look toward his house and the sound of a car pulling into the drive. “Sounds like that’s at my house. Guess I’ve got company. Better go.”
He angled through my yard, trotting toward his driveway.
“Bye Wallace.”
Silly thought anyway.
With a last glance at the Barons’, I started back to my porch.
The sound of manly voices from Wallace’s drive piqued my curiosity. I detoured to check out the perennials, or weeds, between my house and Wallace’s. A stealthy glance revealed an older model, tan Chevy sedan in his drive. Beside it stood Wallace’s old friend, Jack Spencer.
I bent over as if to pull a weed and studied the two from the corner of my eye. Jack was easily as handsome as the last time I saw him over a year ago. But what happened to his fine ride? The tan Chevy didn’t hold a candle to the slick, black SUV he’d driven as an FBI agent.
My concentrated effort to listen revealed only bits of conversation. Nothing that made sense.
The two men walked to Wallace’s front door. It’s slamming was the last I heard from them.
I stared at the little flower garden—or weed patch—trying to act as if I had a purpose for being there. Before long I began to feel awkward. I couldn’t kill time any longer.
Mason sat at my feet and purred. I whispered, “I know you think I’ve lost my mind.” No better option presented itself, so I pulled the cat into my arms and carried him into the house. He promptly jumped to the floor to inspect his food dish.
When in doubt, clean house. I kept myself occupied for an hour by moving clutter from one table to another, interspersed with frequent glances through the window toward Wallace’s drive.
Bored and tired of waiting, I stretched out on the sofa to read a magazine. Male voices filtering in from outside sent me rolling to the floor. Jack and Wallace had finally emerged. I scrambled to my feet and to the front door.
In my excitement, more force was applied to the handle than necessary. The door flew open throwing me off balance. I regained my composure, and kept my eyes focused on the potted plant on the porch. Me—a concerned gardener, picking off leaves and blossoms.
I may have destroyed the plant.
A car door slammed, and I raised my head just in time to see the Chevy back out of Wallace’s drive. Before I could make my feet move, Jack was traveling down Stonybridge Drive.
I kicked the flower pot.
Geesh. Couldn’t I have walked over to say hello? I might have waved to get his attention. Too late. The opportunity had dissolved as the Chevy drove out of sight.
Chapter Seventeen
T hanks Gladys.” I cashed out Rarity’s customer, my last duty for the day at the salon.
As soon as Gladys left, Rarity sidled up beside me. “I’ll walk out with you. Didn’t bring my lunch today, so I’ll pick up a sandwich at Ava’s Java and bring it back to the salon to eat while Paula’s color is processing.”
The two of us walked to the entrance where I pushed open the door to allow the older woman to go ahead of me.
“Coming through.” The shout came from a passing mobility scooter. I pulled the door back a few inches to allow Deloris D’agostino extra leeway as she motored down the sidewalk.
“Oops. Almost had a collision.” Rarity laughed. “Isn’t it nice those motorized chairs allow people such freedom? Not long ago that woman would have had to depend on someone to push her in a wheelchair.”
Ava’s Java was only two doors down from The Rare Curl, but we had to navigate through a crowded sidewalk. While we chatted, Rarity collided with a pretty teen with long, shiny black hair. Rarity apologized. “Excuse me. I was talking and not paying attention.”
The girl tore her attention away from her cell phone and looked at us with startled green eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It was probably my fault. I know I’m not supposed to text while I walk.”
“Don’t worry, dear. No harm done.” Rarity tipped her head for a closer look at the girl’s face. “It’s Melody, isn’t it? Do you remember me, Rarity Peabody?”
“Sure, you’re from the hair salon. It was so nice of you to talk to me the other day. I learned a lot about the beauty business.”
“I hope I was helpful. I remember I was busy with a customer at the time and didn’t have much time to show you around.”
“You supplied what I needed. I can’t wait to go to cosmetology school. As soon as I finish, I’ll be back to see you. Sure hope I can work for you.”
“I’ll do my best to find a job for you. You seem like an enterprising young woman.”
Rarity put her hand on my arm. “This is Lauren Halloren, our receptionist.”
Rarity twisted toward me. “Melody visited the salon, exploring the hairdressing business.”
“Hi Melody. I think I’ve met you before. Maybe at Ava’s?”
“Yes. I work there part time. I pass the salon on my way to work. When I look in the window, it seems like you all have so much fun.”
Melody shot a glance toward the street. “There’s my ride. I have to run. You have a good day, Mrs. Peabody. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Halloren.” She waited for traffic to clear, jogged across the street and climbed into a navy sedan with tinted windows. I hated windows that prevented a view of the inside. Not because I’m nosy. I have a curious nature.
I turned my attention back to Rarity and hurried to catch up. She had stepped into Ava’s Java.
Rarity stood in front of me in line at the counter. “You know, Lauren, Melody is an impressive young woman. She saw my ad for a hairdresser and stopped in to find out all she could about the salon industry. The girl was fascinated with all the ins and outs of the business, even how we make appointments. Melody has the makings of a fine hairdresser. Polite, nice personality, and assertive.”
“It’s good to see a young person planning for the future. When did she visit The Rare Curl? Must have been on my day off.”
We stepped steadily forward toward the counter as each customer ahead received their order. “Oh, I guess it’s been a few weeks. I was kind of busy at the time, but we talked, and I told her to take a look around. I recommended the best cosmetology schools in the area. A successful career begins with a good education.”
At that, Rarity examined the menu on the wall. While she decided, I scanned the tables, looking for Clair or Anita.
Wait. I was there on the wrong day. Shoot.
“Geesh, Rarity, I forgot I was going straight home today. I don’t meet Clair and Anita until tomorrow. Got my days mixed up.”
I stepped out of line and took two steps toward the door before I began to rethink my decision. Ava’s Java had good lunches. “Maybe a sandwich to go.” I stepped back into line behind Rarity.
“No, I’m not that hungry. I can find something at home.” This time I half swiveled toward the door, but didn’t get out of line. Hate these decisions.
I performed that little dance one more time. The woman in line behind me glared. “Sorry, I’m going to stay after all.” She didn’t say a word. I thought she was very patient.
Rarity ordered a grilled ham and cheese to go.
Ava gave the order to the cook and returned. “And what can I get for you, Lauren?”
“I’ll have the same with coffee. For here. I’ll be staying.”
Rarity and I moved aside to wait for our food. “So you have placed an ad for another hairdresser. Stacy will be pleased.”
“It’s time. I know I let it go too long, but I think we all had to get over last year’s trauma. Stacy’s been a trouper. I know she prefers to
work at a slower pace, not the tight schedule we’ve been on for the last year.”
Ava’s voice drew our attention back to the counter. “Here you go, ladies. All set. One to go, and one with coffee to stay.”
I bid good-bye to Rarity again and took my tray to a table near the window. Not my favorite seat—someone else had claimed it—but one that provided a clear view of the busy street outside.
I’d settled in and pulled out my notebook and pen, when the atmosphere took a turn. A shadow materialized over my table.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Halloren.” The words sent tingles up my spine. I lifted my head to see the man whose deep voice I couldn’t forget. A teasing smile played at his eyes.
I dropped the pen. “Agent Spencer, um Jack, this is a surprise.”
I wish I wrote romance, so I could come up with a reply that was lyrical and enticing. I couldn’t be more boring if I was doing the farm report.
After an awkward two seconds of silence, with me staring into his eyes, he asked, “May I sit?”
“Of course. Please do.”
My impressive word skills probably had him stunned.
I sorted through my storehouse of snappy conversation topics. Came up with only “In town again, I see.”
Jack smiled or maybe almost laughed. “I stopped in to see Wallace Binion, but he wasn’t home. Guess I should have called first. I’m hoping he’ll be back before I have to return to Indianapolis. I’m working from there now.”
Should I let him go on or admit Clair already told me?
“Yes. I knew that. Clair Lane said she spoke to you.”
No! Now he knew we talked about him.
My wandering thoughts caused another pause in the conversation. I clasped my cup and took a sip.
“Clair mentioned you have a new business venture. Security consultant? What does that involve?”
No! Now he knew we actually had a discussion about him.
Jack took a few minutes to describe his company. Sadly, I don’t remember a word of it. Light from the window reflected in his dark eyes. One strand of hair strayed onto his forehead. I hadn’t noticed the silver streaks at his temples. They were in the perfect place. Why do men look great with gray hair?
He’d stopped talking.
Shoot. Was it my turn to talk? Should I ask him why he left the FBI? No. That would be prying. Or maybe he already told me.
“Umm. Will you miss the Florida beaches?”
Lame. Really lame.
He raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t had time to think about it, yet. Probably not.”
Lines formed on his forehead. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, to apologize for the misunderstanding about your late husband. I know it’s an emotional subject for you, and I won’t go into it again, except to say how sorry I am to have caused you pain.”
My thoughts flashed back to the scene a year ago, when he’d suggested my late husband had been involved in drug activity. I’d freaked out.
Forcing myself back to the conversation, “It’s fine, really. You already apologized when you called to let me know you’d closed the case. No need for more apologies. Let’s put it behind us.”
Jack blew out a breath. Had he been holding his breath? “Splendid idea. Let’s change the subject. What shall we talk about?”
I didn’t care what we talked about. I just wanted to listen to his voice.
When I didn’t respond, he went on. “I remember you’re a writer. Tell my about your work.”
This wasn’t something I liked to talk about. I could have said I’d authored a book. A bestseller—except I hadn’t. Instead I found myself telling former FBI Agent Jack Spencer all about my fluffy articles, designed for old people. He listened to my boring chatter. His eyes didn’t stray from mine. And, bless him, he didn’t yawn.
Then I told him of my long-time wish to write a true crime novel. I even told him about discovering I had no understanding of crime or criminals. He still refrained from displaying signs of boredom, so I admitted my blunders in last year’s murder case—things I hadn’t shared with anyone.
I couldn’t stop talking, and moved on to Rarity’s missing hair color. Fortunately, I regained my sanity and slammed on the brakes just short of confessing to the stakeout at The Rare Curl. The man would be sure I was a lunatic.
The ice had broken and he related a few stories of his career. We laughed. We got quiet, but it was comfortable. It was that special silence between two people beginning to like one another.
Our eyes met and lingered. I told my heart to stop fluttering.
A noise threatened to pull me away from that warm place. I struggled to concentrate as my mind registered the clickety-clack approach of high-heels. Clair Lane’s high heels. I would have known that sound anywhere.
She shrieked. “Lauren. Hey girl, I didn’t know you would be here to...”
I glanced up to greet her. Too late. She stood at my side with eyes fixed and dilated on Jack Spencer.
Clair recovered quickly. “Oh, my goodness. Jack. I am so happy to see you.”
She leaned forward with one hand on our table, facing him. This left me with a clear view of the back of her head. I shifted to the left, far enough to imagine I was still part of the conversation.
Clair’s voice was melodic and interesting. “Jack, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated our talk. I know we only had a few minutes when I caught up with you in Indianapolis, but those few words worked wonders. You gave me such peace about that horrific experience of finding the dead person.” Clair shuddered, then gave her shoulders a feminine shrug. “I’m so grateful. Can’t believe my luck finding you here. No, I know better. It wasn’t luck at all. It was kismet. Destiny.”
I leaned a bit further to the left in hopes of rejoining the team. Jack stared at Clair, wide-eyed and mute.
Clair didn’t seem to register his “deer in headlights” expression. “Jack, I’ve wanted to repay your kindness. No, I need to repay you.” The woman spoke as though they were the only two in the room. She straightened and checked the time. She groaned, in a very feminine way. “Darn, I have a client meeting in ten minutes. Just came in for a cup.”
Yes! She had to leave.
Clair, focused as she was on Jack, seemed to have forgotten I was there. “Where will you be later this afternoon? I must buy you dinner. There’s a charming little diner at the edge of town. Very quiet, where we can talk. I know you’ll love it. Let’s see, I can meet you at….”
As Clair paused for a breath, Jack blurted out an answer. “That’s nice of you, but not at all necessary.” He lifted his left hand to indicate his watch. “In fact, I have an appointment right now. And after that, unfortunately I’m due at the office. Back in the city. Important clients.”
Clair shook her head. Amazingly, she was still able to display her newly whitened teeth. “I won’t take no for an answer, handsome. I’m so indebted to you.”
Jack scooted his chair out and stood. “I appreciate the gesture. I really do. Maybe some other time. Just realized I’m already late for that appointment.”
He caught my gaze while he pushed his chair in. “Nice seeing you, Lauren.”
He nodded at Clair. “Good to see you, too. Um, we’ll be in touch.”
The man exited as if being chased. Strange to see a former FBI agent in full-panic mode.
Clair gazed after him. “He’s so attractive. That must have been an important appointment. Maybe I should have walked out with him. What do you think?”
I shook my head. “Nooo. It sounded like he was in a big hurry.”
She let out a sigh and gazed through the window. “Darn, I wish I’d known he was in town. I’d have worn my red dress.”
Clair put her hands on her hips and glanced at me. “Oh well, there will be another time. Better get to my own meeting. Anita and I will see you here tomorrow for lunch. Right?”
With my assurance that I’d be there, she grabbed her to-go cup and trotted to the door.
I sa
t there wondering at the last half hour.
Did I almost have a romantic moment with Jack Spencer? Was it my imagination?
Silly me. What was I thinking? Dating Jack Spencer? Not likely. He said he’d be in touch with Clair.
Even if I’d had a chance with him, I wouldn’t want to cut in. Clair was clearly smitten with him. Friends were too important.
I’d lost my appetite. After I packed up my notebook and pen, I dropped my dish at the counter and headed home, where I should have gone in the first place.
Chapter Eighteen
T he front door of The Rare Curl slammed open, sending the string of bells flying. Stacy stalked in with clenched fists and a scowl that could sour milk.
“Good morning, Stacy. Having a rough morning?”
She stopped for an instant beside the desk. “I don’t believe it. Judy’s hair is black.” She continued to her styling chair.
There were many times I struggled to understand Stacy’s thoughts, but this really had me wondering. “How is that a problem? And who is Judy?”
Stacy raised her voice. “I just saw my customer, Judy Winters, at the drug store. She’d tinted her hair herself. At least I think she did it herself. I sure hope she didn’t pay for that. It looked awful.”
“Did you ask her about it? What did she say?”
Stacy whipped her face in my direction and looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns. “Of course not. I pretended I didn’t notice.” She returned to pulling combs and brushes from the drawer and throwing them on her station. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been doing her hair for years. She was always happy. Never once told me she wanted something different. Then she goes and does that—whatever she’s done.”
Stacy straightened and shook her finger at her own reflection in the mirror. “I should’ve known. A few weeks ago, she asked what I used on her.” Plopping into her chair, she shook her head. “Didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
Part of my job description was calming hysterical stylists. I scrolled through my mental file of Rarity’s reassuring remarks. “You don’t know what’s been in Judy’s mind, or what’s been going on in her life. Don’t let it get you down. Just think about all the women who love your work.” Proud of my insightful response, I lifted the appointment book. “Have you seen your schedule today? It’s full.”
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