Murderous Heart

by Lynne Waite Chapman

  I peeked through the window and found myself looking into sparkling green eyes. A chubby face smiled back at me. The massive man on my porch wore an olive work shirt, just a bit too small. The buttons strained across a belly that hung over matching work pants. His shaggy gray hair needed cut, and his last shave seemed to have been hit or miss.

  Thinking about my uncombed hair and the sweats I’d worn as pajamas, I guessed I shouldn’t be judgmental. I opened the door.

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Ted the handyman. Mrs. Corbin sent me. She said you had some urgent work, so I came right away.”

  I forgot the spilled coffee and the uncivilized hour. This was a good start to the day. “Thank you for coming so soon. Great service.”

  I stepped onto the porch. “Let’s go around to the backyard and I’ll show you the problem.” While I led the way, I realized I’d seen him before. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

  “Yes ma'am, we have. I installed your phone and Internet hook-up about a year ago.”

  “Sure, I remember. You were one of the first people I met when I got to town.” That man had been more acquainted with the razor and the barber. And that unkind observation reminded me of my own appearance. I raked my fingers through my hair. “Do you still work at the phone company?”

  “No ma’am. I started my own handy man company. I do all kinds of work. Minor repairs, lawn mowing, leaf pick-up, snow removal. Sometimes I even wash windows. The wife calls me Jack-of-all-trades. But my name’s Ted.”

  “Congratulations. I bet it’s rewarding being your own boss. I hope this job is something you’re interested in. About half a tree broke off and is lying in my yard.”

  We’d reached the backyard. Ted put his hands on his hips and scanned the debris. “I see you need a bit of clean-up. She’s had a bad fall.”

  She?

  “Would you be able to cut the limbs and haul them away? Do you think the whole tree needs to taken down?”

  Ted leaned back, lifting his chin to study the tree from top to bottom. “Ah. The silver maple. She’s a grand tree. Beautiful foliage. Her leaves shimmer like diamonds with the slightest breeze.”

  The man’s a poet.

  “Now that you mention it, I guess I have noticed the pretty leaves.”

  “Let’s see if she’s still strong.” He stroked the tree with a gentle hand, then leaned his full weight on it. He stepped back and pounded on the trunk. “She’s good and strong. Just needs trimmed and cleaned. Then we’ll get her healthy again. You’ll need to paint over the injuries right away so she doesn’t bleed. Don’t want her to get infected.”

  “A tree bleeds? It—she might get infected?” I had one more thing to feel guilty about. Caring for the cat had been a stretch for me. Now I was responsible for the health of a tree as well.

  Ted eyed me for a moment, probably recognizing a clueless expression. “I’ll bring a bucket of wound paint and take care of her.”

  We bargained about the price. Not so much bargained, as he told me what he wanted and I agreed. Ted promised to return the next day.

  “I work in the morning, but will be home after lunch. If you’d prefer, you can wait until then to start. That way I can pay you as soon as you finish.” I made a mental note to stop at the bank for cash.

  “That won’t be a problem. We want to get her fixed up as soon as possible. I’ll be here first thing. If you aren’t home by the time I’m finished, I can stop back.”

  “I’ll give you my phone number. Just let me know if anything changes.” I grabbed a sticky note from the house and handed it to Ted.

  ~~

  Before leaving for work, I locked the door to the back porch, blocking Mason’s exit. “Don’t glare at me. You’ll be in Ted’s way and might be injured. I’ll let you out when I get home.” The longer I lived with the cat, the more I felt the need to explain myself. He planted his feet and glared until I resorted to Aunt Ruth’s answer for everything. “I’m the boss and I said so.”

  Mason curled up on the sofa and refused to acknowledge me as I left for work.

  ~~

  I breathed a sigh and watched the Rare Curl clock strike twelve noon. Shift over, I ran for the Chrysler and took a direct route home, confident Ted would have taken care of the tree. One less problem on my plate. My driveway was empty, but I guessed his truck would be parked in the alley.

  Tossing my handbag on the dining room table, I picked up Mason on my way through the kitchen. We stopped at the back door. The two of us gazed at a yard littered with tree limbs. Mason wriggled free and jumped to the floor, eager to play on the fallen tree. “I’m glad you’re happy. I’m steamed. Doesn’t look as if Ted was here at all.” I stomped back inside.

  What would Rarity say in this situation? I heard her sweet voice whisper, “Be patient. Practice grace. Something must have happened. Must have had to change his plans.” My, not-so-sweet, voice butted in. “And he lost my number. Or his phone battery died so he couldn’t call me.”

  I could be patient. I would follow Rarity’s advice, as soon as I looked up the word grace in the dictionary. My good intentions prevailed through an entire five minutes spent pacing from the kitchen to the dining room and back. Then I phoned Anita. “Have you heard from Ted? He didn’t show up today. I guess he decided he didn’t want to do my job. Maybe found something better?”

  “He wouldn’t do that. Ted’s very reliable. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Are you sure he agreed to start today?”

  “He said he’d be here ‘first thing’ and I took that to mean this morning. How else should I understand it? He could have at least let me know he wasn’t coming. I counted on him. Even barricaded poor Mason in the house all morning.”

  Anita’s voice was calm—even sweet. “I’m sure he had a good reason. I hope he isn’t sick or injured. Maybe I should call and check on him.”

  Why did Anita always jump to the best conclusion about people, when I took giant leaps in the other direction?

  “You’re right. Something came up, or I misunderstood. Maybe he meant tomorrow. I’ll skip coffee at Ava’s in the morning, so I can be here when he arrives.”

  ~~

  With visions of Ted the handyman at my door bright and early, I showered and dressed before even brewing the coffee. No simple accomplishment for me. When he hadn’t made an appearance by the time I’d finished breakfast, I attempted to work at the computer. That didn’t work, because I couldn’t stop myself from checking the drive every few minutes. Finally deciding it was another no-show for Ted, I managed to finish an article.

  Early in the afternoon, while I prepared lunch, the high-pitched whine of a chain saw disrupted the silent neighborhood. I carried my plate to the window. Ted was visible in the midst of a sawdust cloud. Wood-chips flew as he leaned into the job.

  Mason perched on the sill with his face to the window while I stood behind him munching a tomato sandwich, equally fascinated. At intervals, Ted dropped the saw and loaded logs into his pickup. Then he wiped his face with a handkerchief and went back to sawing. After twenty minutes, I left Mason to maintain the vigil, and returned to my work. I anticipated a pristine backyard by dinnertime.

  Before long the cat wrapped himself around my feet. “Bored already? How’s he doing?” Nudging my toes from under the feline, I slid out my chair and ventured to the porch. Piles of sawdust and cut logs lay scattered across the yard. No handyman in sight.

  I pushed through the screen door and strolled to the alley. Ted and his truck were gone. I returned to the computer. The next time I pulled my attention from the screen, shadows of the setting sun spread across the room. I’d finished the article with no distractions. Mason climbed onto my lap to have his ears scratched. “Guess Ted had something else to do. What do you think? Will he finish tomorrow?”

  ~~

  I’d become used to the idea of the disaster in the yard, and only glanced out the window twice while getting ready for work. I succeeded in locking the door to the porch before M
ason made a dash for freedom. “Only one more morning. I’m sure he’ll be here today to finish.”

  I was trotting to the Chrysler when Wallace stepped out of his house. He waved. “I see you had some branches fall in the back.”

  I clamped my teeth together and fought the urge to ask him if he’d lost his mind. He was a busy man and had the right to forget some things. “Sure did. I think the handyman will finish clearing it today.”

  “That’s good. Have a nice day at work.” Wallace climbed into his truck and was out of his drive before I’d turned the ignition in my wagon.

  Men.

  After grumbling to myself for most of my four hour shift at The Rare Curl, I’d determined be at peace, and think about grace. I’d forget about the timber in my yard and undisciplined lumberjack. I’d enjoy lunch with my friends. Ava’s Java would be a good distraction from such worries.

  Anita pulled her handbag from the extra chair as I placed my salad on the table. “How’s the tree situation?”

  I concentrated on adjusting my utensils. “Ted’s been working on it.”

  She grinned. “Aren’t you amazed at how capable he is? I bet you’ve thought of a whole list of chores for him.”

  My jaw tightened. “I think I’ll wait to see if he finishes this job. Haven’t been impressed so far.” Rarity’s sage counsel about offering grace escaped me while I blurted out my frustrations of the last few days.

  “I don’t understand it. He was always right on time for me.” Anita paused. “Last time he arrived just as I was pulling the chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Time before that, the cinnamon rolls hadn’t even cooled.”

  Wait. What? “Cinnamon rolls? Cookies? And you fed Ted?”

  “Of course. They smelled so good, I couldn’t make the man suffer.”

  “You bake for him? That’s why he was always on time?”

  “Not every time. Once there was only left-over cherry pie.”

  Clair giggled. “The man works for snacks.”

  I closed my eyes and thought about banging my head on the table.

  “Oh, no.” Anita hesitated. “That can’t be it.” She stopped and crinkled her brow.

  “I can’t bake in the morning.” Making coffee and pouring cereal into a bowl was an accomplishment. “Maybe I could pick up something at the Quik-mart.”

  Anita looked as if I’d uttered an obscenity. “I’m sure he’d prefer homemade. Probably gets enough store-bought at home. I think his wife works.”

  Clair cut in. “It isn’t fair to ask Lauren to cook.”

  I cut my gaze to Clair and shifted it to Anita. “I can cook.”

  Anita gave me that sweet smile of hers. “I have lots of time. Why don’t I bring something over next time?”

  I let out a sigh and rearranged my salad on the plate. “Maybe I’ll get some frozen cookie dough. I’ll get up early and throw it in the oven.”

  ~~

  I stayed under the speed limit and set my mind on pleasant thoughts all the way home. When I reached Stoneybridge, Ted’s blue pickup truck sat in the drive. Leaving my Chrysler on the street, I followed a trail of sawdust to the backyard. Ted gave me a courteous nod as he passed me with a wheelbarrow full of wood chunks and scraps. I reversed direction to watch him empty it into the bed of the truck.

  “All finished?”

  He dusted his hands on the green work pants. “Yes, ma’am. Soon as I mend the wound she’ll be in fine shape.” The big man hefted a ladder and a bucket from the truck bed, lugging them to the maimed tree. “This’ll keep her healthy.” He glanced at me as he climbed the ladder. “Did you know she symbolizes wisdom and unity? That’s the Sugar Maple, but it’s the same for the Silver.”

  “Didn’t know that.” I fled to the house wondering if I would need to provide the feminine, and wise, Silver Maple aspirin while she healed.

  Twenty minutes later, Ted tapped at the front door. I paid him and he left. No baking required.

  My cat rolled on the floor, playing with a tiny piece of wood. “Finally, things are getting back to normal around here, Mason.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I breezed into The Rare Curl and glanced, out of habit, at the old clock on the wall. It read 4:15. That was to be expected. The hands, in the shape of scissors, hadn’t budged in at least a month. The digital time on my cell phone read 8:00 a.m. Right on time by my standards, not my father’s. His voice still echoed in my head. “If you roll in to work on the dot, you’re fifteen minutes late. Arrive early enough to be alert and prepared to work when your shift begins.” Heard by my fourteen-year-old self, not in any hurry to clerk at the grocery store, it hadn’t seemed important. A number of years later, I began to see the wisdom. I usually invested ten minutes stashing personal items, adjusting my chair, and other actions meant to get me settled. Then, I’d spend another five minutes silently rehearsing professional answers to appointment requests. The years of working at home, alone, had taken a toll on my social skills.

  Only one customer in the salon, so far. The fact that the woman was already parked in Rarity’s chair with wet hair, shampoo cape, and coffee, indicated she’d arrived at least ten minutes earlier.

  I stashed my handbag and called to her. “Good morning Gladys. You’re here bright and early.”

  The long-time customer waved. “Yeah. They called me in to work this afternoon. Bless her heart, Rarity came in early, just for me.”

  A quick scan of the appointment book showed no other appointments for thirty minutes, giving me time to settle in. The squeak of the supply room door caused me to spin my chair to greet my employer. As I’d expected the petite salon owner stepped out, but she wasn’t alone. A skyscraper of a woman dwarfed Rarity by at least eight inches. When they reached me, I tilted back, staring up at the newcomer. It would have been polite to stand, but I remained rooted to the chair.

  Rarity placed her hand on her companion’s arm and smiled at me. “Lauren, you’ll be excited to hear we have a new stylist. This is Ellen Felicity. She joined us yesterday and got acquainted with the salon. Would you believe she’s been passing out business cards, and already has some appointments? Isn’t that great? Ellen’s going to fit right in. And I know the two of you will get along wonderfully.”

  My brain was still busy calculating the height of the new employee. While my mind ticked away, I noticed Ellen Felicity had extended her hand. I jumped up to return the handshake. Unfortunately the action sent my chair rolling across the room. My “Nice to meet you.” suffered under the crash of the chair spinning into the retail cabinet.

  I winced at the racket. Rarity’s eyes darted in the direction of the display case and back. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted while I get started on Gladys’s hair.” She pulled a pair of shears from her pocket and joined her customer.

  I tucked a loose hair into my ponytail and scanned Ellen Felicity’s attire. Would she fit in? At The Rare Curl we tended to be lax in dress code, priding ourselves in dressing comfortably. Most days Rarity wore black slacks and a colorful top. Her natural curls ruled her hairstyle, never landing in the same spot two days in a row. Stacy loved leggings and wore them with a long shirt almost every day. In the last year she’d resorted to wearing sneakers because of a full work schedule. Her hairstyle changed daily, arranged in whatever style and color she’d found in the current magazines.

  The new arrival wore high-heels and a short black skirt with matching fitted jacket. Her makeup was magazine perfect. The woman’s shimmering blond, chin-length bob laid so perfectly I had a feeling not one strand of hair ever strayed from its position.

  I ignored the over-turned chair, and followed Ellen Felicity’s pointing finger. She hung over the appointment book, issuing orders. “I’ll list precise timing for each service. And I ask that you always arrange a fifteen minute consultation for each new client. After the first appointment, you may schedule them for the normal time allotment afforded each service, unless I inform you differently.”

  My eyebrows began
to scrunch together, and I thought it prudent to change the subject. “May I ask where you’re from? You have an interesting accent that I can’t place. Is it European?”

  Ellen Felicity laughed. “I’m from right here in Evelynton, but don’t tell anyone. I did some traveling after school. When I left home I practiced speaking with different accents. I eventually developed this one to set myself apart. It’s British inflection with slight Italian overtones. I feel it’s sophisticated without pointing to a specific nationality. Don’t you agree?”

  “Uh-huh. It does set you apart.”

  “I was determined to be a professional—not to clerk in a store or work as receptionist somewhere. Then it came to me. I returned to Indiana to attend cosmetology school. My fortune would be made by offering something special. I strive to be a step above other hairstylists in the area.”

  She picked up my notepad and found a pen in my drawer. “My first guest will be in soon. We should get back to the business at hand. Let me list a few reminders for you.” With precise script she recorded each service along with the time allotted. “If you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask. Of course I prefer you don’t interrupt me while I’m working.”

  A vein throbbed above my left ear.

  Ellen continued. “I understand you’re rather casual about communication here, and it’ll take time to get used to my way of doing things. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you. And I’ll check every evening to make sure you’ve scheduled the next day appropriately.”

  My eyes blurred as I stood next to the desk watching her fill the notepad.

  “Let me think. What else?” Ellen tapped herself on the head and strolled around the waiting area, carrying my notepad. I made and attempt to silence the groans each time she jotted an additional note. “Offer the guest coffee. Help the guest with her coat in cold weather.” She finally produced what I considered a satisfied smile and strutted back to my side. I reached for the list and almost had it my possession, but she kept it locked in her grip. I tugged. She held firm. I looked her in the eye and pulled harder until she released the note pad into my care.