Heart Beat

by Lynne Waite Chapman

  Stacy’s shoulders dropped a little, and she relaxed her hands. “You’re right, Lauren. Thanks for the encouragement.”

  She leaned back, visibly relaxed. Then she took a deep breath and let it out while she performed little waving motions with her hands. They fluttered from the top of her head to her waistline and back up. I thought I’d misjudged my effect on her. Maybe she was having a mental episode.

  Then Stacy chanted. “Negativity, go away. Positive, come in. Negative thoughts, go away.”

  Rarity walked out of the supply room at that moment. She stopped and stared at Stacy. “What are you doing?”

  Stacy maintained her exercise. “I’m breathing out negativity. There was a guy on television teaching how to have a happy life. He said when you get mad at someone, to just shoo bad thoughts away. He was wonderful.”

  Rarity continued to her own styling station and pulled open a drawer. “Really? When I find myself in a bad mood, I give those thoughts to the Lord. He shows me that my feelings don’t have to be dictated by someone else’s actions. Sometimes I’m not viewing the situation clearly, or I’m taking it personally when it isn’t about me at all. Most importantly, I ask him to help me forgive the person.”

  “I should ask God to help me forgive Judy? No way.”

  Rarity raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, maybe I’ll try it.” Stacy began pulling out equipment from her styling station to get ready for her first customer.

  Rarity unfolded a shampoo cape and draped it over the back of her chair. “Let’s go to lunch sometime this week and talk about it.”

  Stacy smiled. “Okay. I’d like that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she quietly did a few more hand waves while she finished setting up.

  The day had begun with typical weirdness, but I was learning to go with the flow in Evelynton, Indiana. “I think I’ll brew a pot of coffee while the phone is quiet.”

  The next few hours progressed without incident.

  ~

  I hung up the desk phone. “Stacy, you’ll never believe this.”

  She looked up from her magazine. “I’ll believe anything. What is it?”

  “That was Judy Winters calling for a haircut appointment. I scheduled her with you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Stacy slapped the magazine shut. “Just a haircut? Not color correction?”

  “Haircut and style. This is your chance to ask her about it. As her hairdresser, you have a right to know what’s going on with her color.”

  Stacy sneered and shook the magazine at me. “I should tell her she needs to shave it off and start over.”

  Pulling out more of Rarity’s encouraging remarks. “I’ve worked here long enough to know you can fix anything. You know you can improve the shade.”

  “Sure I can fix it. But I’d rather scare her first. If she experienced a little panic, she’d never do it again.”

  I was on a roll. “Think about it. This is only one incident in a long career as your customer. You want to keep her business, don’t you? You’ll get further by being nice.”

  Stacy let out a deep sigh. “Okay. I’ll keep calm. I’ll have to banish negative thoughts all morning.”

  She began the hand fluttering again. I wondered where the younger generation got those ideas. And then I wondered how I got to be the older generation? I was only forty-four.

  The clock on my desk read twelve noon. The previous four hours felt like a full day’s work. I pulled the strap of my handbag over my shoulder. “I’m finished today, ladies. Have a good day.”

  At the door, I spun around. “And Stacy. If Judy really did her own color, ask her where she got it.”

  Stacy had moved into my chair at the desk. “She’ll probably say she picked it up at the drugstore.”

  “Maybe so, but I’d like to know for sure. The Rare Curl’s disappearing hair color is still a mystery.”

  Looking forward to lunch, I hurried to Ava’s Java where I would meet Clair and Anita. The heavenly aroma of fresh-ground coffee beans met me at the door. I inhaled deeply. Loved the taste of coffee, but I might be able to live on the aroma.

  I approached the counter. “Hi, Ava. I’ll have a bowl of your tomato bisque and a cup of coffee.”

  “Sure thing. Your friends are in the other corner today. It was the only table available.”

  While Ava stepped away to fill my lunch order, I caught Anita’s eye and waved. Anita waved back and pointed to the remaining chair at the table.

  I gripped my tray to keep it level and weaved my way through the crowded coffee shop.

  “Hey, girls. What’s up today?

  Anita put down her spoon. “Clair’s making a life change.”

  I turned my gaze to Clair and waited to hear her newest adventure.

  She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve decided to buy a house. Maybe get a dog. Apartment living doesn’t give me enough space to enjoy my home. And I’m tired of being so needy. No more waiting for the right man to come into my life.”

  I took a swig of my coffee, thinking of Rarity’s words on forgiveness. “What caused this change of heart? Wasn’t it yesterday you’d found your perfect man?”

  “Oh, you mean Jack Spencer. I’ve changed my mind. When I thought about it, he acted sort of strange. Do you remember how he was in such a hurry to leave? He seemed disinterested. Did you notice that, Lauren?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” I try my best to be honest, but wasn’t about to tell her I thought Jack left as if being chased by cannibals.

  Clair continued. “Anyway, I happened to pass him in my car yesterday afternoon. He was on Main Street and I didn’t recognize him at first. Did you know he’s driving an old Chevy? And it’s beige. I saw him in a whole new light.”

  Anita slurped her soup and replaced the spoon. “Clair, you’re not basing love on the kind of car a man drives, are you?”

  Clair paused for a moment before she answered. “Of course not. But I realized I’d fallen in love with the image, not the man. I don’t even know him. I was enamored with a perception. An FBI agent who drove a cool SUV. He’s not with the FBI anymore, and that car…. I want someone who’s dependable.”

  Anita nodded. “That’s very wise of you.”

  “At forty-four, it’s time. Stability, not flash.”

  Clair pointed an index finger at me. I was struck by how bright her red nail polish was. “Like Lauren. She has a house and a yard. And a cat. That’s the life. I’m getting a house and maybe a dog. If a man fits in, so be it. If not, that’s okay.”

  Me? She envied my life? Someone had definitely put drugs in Evelynton’s water supply.

  On the upside, maybe this meant she no longer had her heart set on Jack Spencer.

  Life was good.

  ~

  The following morning, I rose early, got some work done and set off for the salon. I’d waited until I thought Stacy had finished with Judy Winters. Hoping not to be the instigator of another Stacy meltdown in front of too many customers, I peered through the window of The Rare Curl. Rarity had one customer, but Stacy was free. Not many witnesses. I’d keep the conversation simple and uplifting.

  “Stacy, I happened to be in town and wondered how your talk with Judy went. She was in this morning, wasn’t she?”

  Stacy stopped sweeping and rolled her eyes. “Her appointment went alright. Close up, her hair was even worse than I thought. It looked like a Halloween wig. I talked her into a shorter haircut to get rid of the mushy, fried ends. I took your advice and kept what I my thoughts to myself.”

  Rarity looked up from shampooing her customer. “I was proud of Stacy. She handled it like a pro.”

  “That’s great. I knew you would.” Truthfully, I didn’t know she would, so much as hoped she would. She might easily have thrown the woman out of the shop or gone after her with the clippers.

  I pressed on. “I wonder, did you discover where Judy got the color?”

  “She said her cou
sin ordered hair tint off the Internet and sent it to her. Judy was so pleased because it was supposed to be professional grade.”

  Stacy stored the broom and planted her hands on her hips. “She said it was the same brand I use. I let her know—nicely—that it was impossible. Our supply house sells only to professionals and no professional would sell it on the Internet.”

  The hairdresser’s voice steadily rose in pitch as she continued her story. “Then Judy said, ‘Oh no, you can get anything on the Internet.’ Maybe she’s right, I don’t know. Anyways, they found it on some auction site.”

  Stacy might have been on stage, the way she waved her hands while pacing from the reception area to her styling station. “Just goes to show you, it isn’t the brand, it’s the artist. Judy didn’t know any better than to plaster it on all over, so the ends turned that weird color. Believe me, I won’t be giving her any hints as to what she’s doing wrong. This is my livelihood. I’ll wait till she wakes up one day to the mess she’s made.”

  The wise person in me whispered, Change the subject, Lauren. But that other, curious person said aloud, “I wonder what Internet site the cousin got it from? Do you think she would still have the return address?”

  Stacy stopped and stared at me for a moment. I thought she might explode, but she shrugged. “I don’t know. I think the cousin lives in Ohio. The product was probably fake, from China, or something.”

  Across the room, Rarity’s customer raised her head, splattering water down the sides of the shampoo bowl. “Did you say somebody tinted her own hair? With hair color from China? I wouldn’t dare.”

  Rarity murmured, “Oops. Let’s put your head back into the bowl, dear.” She grabbed a towel to mop up water that had sprayed down the back of the chair and onto the floor.

  The wise person in me persisted. Time to change the subject. That other ornery person inside me refused.

  I lowered my voice, hoping Rarity and her customer wouldn’t hear. “Stacy, would you mind calling Judy and asking?”

  Stacy glared at me, and I took a step back. Thankfully, she kept her voice at a reduced volume. “Why would I do that? I don’t even want to talk about it.”

  “Just to help solve the mystery here at The Rare Curl. You could keep the conversation light. Simply ask about the website or the return address on the package.” I had little hope Stacy would keep that conversation light, when she took it personally.

  Was Rarity listening? What would she say if the salon lost the woman’s business?

  Stacy grunted and turned to her styling station without another word. I almost repeated the query in hopes of an affirmative response, but the wise person in me won out. Instead, I wished everyone a good day and went home.

  ~

  Later that evening, the phone interrupted my TV time.

  Stacy began without introduction. “I hope you appreciate this. I phoned Judy Winters and she called her cousin. Then I had to call Judy again because she didn’t get back to me. The cousin found the package in the garbage. It was shipped from, get this, Harold, Indiana. That’s only in the next county, isn’t it? Who would have thought? The name was DMC Enterprises, with only a post office box as the address.”

  “Great information. Would you call her back? I want the package and the empty bottle for proof.”

  “Oh, that’s not going to happen. She pulled it out of the garbage for the address and told me she put it back in the can just before the truck got there.”

  That was disappointing.

  I wrote down the information Stacy had given me, and later searched the Internet until my seat hurt. I discovered nothing. There was no company named DMC Enterprises listed. But I had faith the Internet held answers to all questions, so I searched for the P.O Box. I was wrong, of course. Sometimes you have to talk to real people.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A nita sprawled on my sofa, arm draped over the side, while she trailed a string for Mason to play with. She’d been listening to my recap of the previous day’s events.

  I finished my review and looked to Anita for comment. Her eyes sparkled and a grin took over her face. Something was up. She swung her feet to the floor. “Road trip!”

  “What? Where?”

  “Let’s drive to Harold. I bet you one of Ava’s Tall Mochas I can find out who owns that post office box.”

  “Really? How would you do that? Just ask? Somehow I doubt post office employees are allowed to give out information like that.” I thought about it for a moment. “They’re not, are they?”

  Anita fixed innocent eyes on me. “I suppose not, but you know how small-town folks are. We love to talk. Harold’s tiny, and I doubt if anything exciting happens there. They’ll talk to anyone who happens by, just for the conversation.”

  Anita saw the question still reflected in my expression. “I guess you’ve forgotten how to be a small-town woman. Don’t worry. I have faith the Evelynton consciousness will come back to you.”

  She was right. In the twenty-five years I’d been away, I’d lost my small-town identity. I was stuck in the world where friends communicated by text, and strangers never talked to one another. Except for an occasional ‘excuse me,’ or something not so courteous, when you cut them off in traffic.

  I didn’t have confidence the drive would produce anything worthwhile. Then again, it would be a drive in the country. What else did I have to do? “Okay. We might as well go. I doubt we’ll discover anything helpful, but it’s a nice day for a road trip.”

  Anita looked into my eyes. “I know you don’t believe me, but listen to this. I knew when Patricia Martin at the dress shop was going to have a sale on those gingham shirts my girls wear, ‘cause Francis at the post office told me a big shipment came in.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Now, follow me here. The shipment didn’t even go through the post office, but Georgeanne, the mail carrier, happened to be in the store when the truck unloaded at the dress shop. Then Julie, the sales clerk, told Georgeanne they would be putting the old stock on sale. And Georgeanne told Francis at the post office. See how it works?”

  “I lost you somewhere in there, but I see your point. Word travels in a small town. Still, a sale on gingham shirts isn’t confidential information.”

  “No, but once Francis gets talking, she spills everything. You know how boring a job like that can be on a slow day. She’s usually dying for someone to talk to. I’m sure the people in Harold are no different.”

  Anita bounced up off the sofa, startling the cat in the middle of his bath. He took off to hide under the side chair. “I love this sleuthing stuff. Never even thought of investigating a crime before you came home. Let’s go.”

  Was I a bad influence on Anita? First, the midnight stakeout. Now this. How would Jake feel about his wife becoming an amateur detective?

  “Okay, let me get my handbag. I need to find out who took Rarity’s supplies. I just hope I’m as lucky at obtaining information as you are.”

  Anita put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a serious stare. “Oh, no. I’ll do the talking. I have that small-town look. Everybody trusts me.” She smiled sweetly. “You are beautiful and look innocent too, but you’re a big-city kind of girl. We have to stick to our strengths.”

  Somehow I didn’t connect no makeup and hair in a ponytail with the city, but Anita was fairly perceptive in judging personalities.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I keep worrying about legality.”

  “You know I won’t lie, and I won’t pry—too much. I’ll simply be myself. We’ll see what the clerk tells me. Can’t be arrested for listening. Can I?”

  Mason had ventured out of hiding, ears flattened and tail thrashing. Anita stepped over him and stood by the door. “We’re wasting time.”

  No time to worry about the kind of influence I’d had on my friend. I wanted the information, and Anita was jingling her keys.

  ~

  I’d described Evelynton as a small town, but it was a metropolis compared t
o Harold. The tiny town sported little more than one main street, a few mom-and-pop businesses, and the post office.

  All parking spaces were vacant, so we pulled into a prime location at the front entrance. We climbed the concrete steps, and I pulled open the heavy door allowing Anita to enter first. On our right was a small bank of safety deposit boxes. On the left, a woman stood behind a wide counter. She brightened as we walked in.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help you? Do you need directions?” I guess she knew every Harold resident.

  Anita moseyed up to the counter and gushed to the clerk, saying something about the lovely architecture of the building and the beautiful day. I didn’t trust myself to keep a straight face, so I feigned interest in a display of collector stamps.

  Within a few minutes, giggles bubbled from the area of the counter. Anita and the woman had their heads together as if they were long-lost buddies. I was pretty sure the clerk was spilling everything she knew. Just hoped she knew who owned P.O.Box 101.

  Anita glanced at the clock. “Would you look at that? Beth, it’s so much fun talking to you, I lost track of time. Thanks for the chat.”

  “Have a nice day, Anita. It was great talking to you.” Anita had walked three steps to the door when Beth said, “Wait!”

  Anita froze peering over her shoulder, eyes round as quarters.

  “Didn’t you need something when you came in?”

  Anita roared with laughter. “I’m sure I came here for something, but got so involved I’ve forgotten what it was. Oh well, couldn’t have been very important.”

  Beth joined her in laughter. “When you think of it, come on back.”

  I turned away from the stamp display and hurried after Anita, but got stopped short when the door shut in my face. I made the mistake of glancing at Beth. She stared at me. “May I help you?”

  “No. Um. I was checking to see what size mailers you carried. Thanks so much.” I grasped the door, pulled it open and scurried out.