Holiday Hooligans: Cozy Mystery (The Teasen & Pleasen Hair Salon Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Constance Barker

  “Outside his room.”

  “At my place?” Widah Jenkins asked.

  Pete nodded. “We both live in her boarding house. I have a room on the ground floor and Jerry lives right above me. You get to Jerry’s room by an outside stairway. Apparently he was coming down those stairs when he slipped and fell—from near the top.”

  “Those stairs are fine,” Widah Jenkins said. “Not a fool thing wrong with them at all. A body needs to show a little care, is all.”

  I remembered that stairway. It was narrow and steep. I could easily imagine a person falling on it, and I had to wonder how he kept from breaking his neck. “Is he okay? Other than the broken leg, I mean.”

  “I guess so. They said he cracked a rib. After work I’ll call the hospital and see how he is.”

  “Better check and see if your insurance premiums are current, Miz Jenkins,” Digby said.

  “My insurance? Whatever for?”

  “For liability. I’ll go over and check out the scene now.

  “Oh Pete,” Dolores said, “it’s another one of those gold-lined cloud things, at least for you. But for that poor Jerry Walters…”

  “Silver,” Nellie muttered under her breath loud enough for me to hear.

  “I know,” Pete said.

  “So what is this big deal part you’ll be playing?” I asked.

  “I’ll be Fredrick Smith, Santa’s lawyer. Felicity is the lawyer for the Pelican.”

  “The Pelican?”

  “Santa Versus the Pelican is the name of the play.”

  “So it’s a courtroom drama?” Dolores asked.

  “With serious and curious Christmas implications,” Pete said, grinning. “More than that I cannot say or it cuts into ticket sales.”

  “Sounds like a play I want to see,” Nellie said. “Besides, the lead actor is a

  coworker.”

  And so the day went. I don’t think the intensity of gossip index, the rating Nellie and I give to the speed at which a rumor becomes a story, becomes a fact, is discounted, dismissed and then reappears, faltered for a moment.

  After closing, Finn and I went to the school where we found Paula and Ginny coming out with Sarah.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  “We had a great time, Miz Jefferies,” Ginny said. “We put our heads together and came up with some fun ideas for the decorations.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “I hope having two young ladies in your house didn’t keep you up all night,” I said.

  Paula grinned. “They were both very well behaved.”

  “They have a great Christmas tree,” Sarah said. Something in her voice, in the way she said it intrigued me. I could tell she wanted me to ask about it.

  “How nice.”

  “It’s a big spruce.” Just in case I’d missed her clue.

  Paula looked embarrassed. “We weren’t going to have one at all this year—they are so expensive these days. But that nice Billy Jasper told Ginny he’d see if he could find us one. And he did, just like that.”

  “That's wonderful,” I said. I ignored Sarah’s look. “Sometimes things work out.”

  “Yes, sometimes they do.”

  “Listen, Paula, I was thinking that since the girls seem to work so well together maybe we should let them collaborate on another project.”

  She looked a little nervous. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking about the assignment Mrs. Lacey gave the kids to bake some special holiday treat for the class party. Sarah has decided to make Jewish rugelach. She found a pumpkin-based recipe that is supposed to be a holiday special. It looks like it will be fun to make. I think we’ll make them next Thursday night. I wondered about having Ginny join us. She can stay over with Sarah and they can make them together.”

  “Ginny was thinking about making something less elaborate,” Paula said. “Baking isn’t her thing.”

  “Well, Sarah is learning a lot. And I can’t see any point in messing up two kitchens. If there is something special she wants to make instead, the girls could do both. The girls are having such fun working together. Why not let Ginny stay over with Sarah next Thursday night? I’ll supervise them making the rugelach and see that at least some of it gets to school with them in the morning.”

  “Oh I don’t know,” she said. She was apprehensive.

  “It would be a favor to me – I’d love to see the girls working together. You can have one night off. I’ll pick the girls up from school and the three of us will have fun making the pastries. We can make a party of it.”

  She was waffling. “I’d have to owe you for our share of the ingredients. I get paid at the end of the month.”

  I had expected that was the issue, so I did what any reasonable person would do under the circumstances – I lied. “No you wouldn’t. I already went shopping, and honestly I went a little nuts. I bought way too many ingredients already.”

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Please Paula? You were so sweet to let Sarah stay over at your place. Let me have a turn with the girls.”

  “Yes, please, mommy?” Ginny asked. I’d been counting on her assistance. “Sarah told me about these pastries and they sound great.”

  “We can make some extra so you get to taste them too,” Sarah told Paula. “You won’t miss out.”

  She grinned. “But what if I don’t like them?” she said, teasing.

  “You will love them,” Ginny said.

  “Probably too much.” She looked from one eager more-or-less seven year old face to the next. “Okay, I can see I’m outnumbered.” She sighed. “Shame on the three of you ganging up on me this way. Okay, next Wednesday we’ll fix an overnight bag for Ginny and you three have a bakeathon without me.”

  “Thanks, mommy!” Ginny said.

  As Sarah and I headed home, Finn ran ahead, happy to be back in his role of lead dog. Sarah took my hand and stared up at me. “You know it’s our tree, right? From the salon?”

  “I did figure it out. You wouldn’t have made such a big deal about it otherwise.”

  “You won’t try and get it back, will you?”

  “Of course not. She didn’t take it and I’ve already called Paudy to order another one. Nellie is getting some decorations.”

  She let out a seven-year old’s dramatic version of a sigh of relief. “What about Billy Jasper?”

  I drew in a breath. “That man and I need to have a serious talk.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Did you really buy the ingredients already?”

  “No. But I didn’t want Ginny’s mom to worry about the money.”

  “They are pretty poor. Ginny doesn’t have many clothes and their house needs repairs. On the other hand, they seem pretty happy. Ginny’s mom really loves her.”

  My stomach knotted up. I couldn’t tell if there was any wistfulness in that comment. I wanted to tell I loved her. This wasn’t the moment. I bit my tongue it might sound as if I was trying to replace Sarah’s own mother. I didn’t have the right to do that.

  I needed to talk with Bea. Sarah needed me to. I couldn’t put it off longer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wednesday, December 14th: Ten days before Christmas

  I expected Wednesday morning to be a lot like Tuesday and I suppose it was, bit only in the sense that it was a crazy day. Tuesday and Wednesday were crazy for totally different reasons.

  First of all, Wednesday the crowd wasn’t as big at the salon. Apparently telling and retelling stories of more Christmas-related thefts had worn thin. After all, nothing deliciously gruesome had happened overnight, nothing we knew of anyway, and the disappearance of a few decorations, trees and presents hardly constituted a civic emergency. The neighborhood watch people were having a field day, but Officer Digby and Chief Tanner seemed to have other things to deal with. Even though no one ever seemed to know just what those things were, we were assured our police force was taking action.

  The morning started quietly enough
. The first customers came into the salon and settled into chairs with Betina and Pete starting in on them. Nellie made the coffee just in time for Art to sweep in and take a seat in the cafe area and start in on his free coffee and donuts. A little later, Billy Jasper came in, looking uncomfortable and standing around waiting for me to say something, it seemed. I might have made him suffer, waiting until he said something before I acknowledged his presence, but I did have business with him.

  “What’s up, Billy?”

  He looked shifted his weight on his feet. “I was wondering if anyone here was willing to donate to help the poor enjoy Christmas. Money or food or toys for children would be great and I’d be glad to pick up any donations.”

  Art Granger snapped his head around to glare at poor Billy. “Get out of here with that foolishness Billy. If people can’t learn to save for the holidays, if it isn’t important enough to them to plan ahead, why should we indulge them? No one is going to give you money to give to shiftless people.”

  “That’s enough of that, Art Granger.” The tone of my voice was sharper than I intended, but I wasn’t going to put up with that in my salon. “You come in here and drink my coffee and eat my snacks, never even pay for a haircut, and you think you can be nasty to Billy because he wants to help other people? That isn’t right.”

  “Christmas is a horrid waste of money,” Art grumbled.

  Nellie laughed. “Name me one waste of money you don’t think is horrid, Art.”

  “Those people should work.”

  “Don’t be such a Scrooge,” Pete said, surprising me. Then he looked embarrassed. “These holidays are an important and emotional time for a lot of people, Mr. Granger. Billy is just trying to help out some people who are hurting inside because they don’t have the means to celebrate.” He nodded to Billy. “Come by the rehearsal this afternoon after the salon closes, Billy and I’ll make a donation.”

  “Thanks, Pete,” Billy said.

  It didn’t surprise anyone that Billy was trying to get people to make donations and no one except people like Art Granger and Janet Tikkermann minded at all. Everyone knew he had a big heart and it hurt him to see people unable to enjoy Christmas, especially if they had kids. He was doing his best to fill a social need in our little town that was otherwise ignored. I didn’t mind helping at all, but I needed to know how far Billy was willing to go to spread the wealth.

  I went over to Billy. “Come in the back room, Billy. You and I need to have a little chat in private.”

  He knew something was up—it showed in his eyes and his posture. As we got out of earshot and I faced him, probably scowling like some harridan, he tensed up. “Tell me about the tree you gave to Ginny and her mom,” I said.

  He flinched. “Gosh, Miz Jefferies, you know about that?”

  “Sarah spent the night over there and recognized the tree. Paula told me the kind-hearted Billy Jasper had given it to her. I didn’t tell her where you got it. I didn’t want to ruin their pleasure.”

  “Yeah.” He was trying to think how to put the story. “I didn’t steal it.”

  “Who did?”

  He shook his head. “The honest truth, Ma’am, is that the story I told on Monday morning about finding the door open was almost exactly true… except that I was going to work early and found the tree in the dumpster. I got it out, and some decorations and things…”

  “Like presents?”

  He blushed. “Yes Ma’am. The wrappings were torn, so I sorted them out and rewrapped them.”

  “And played Santa.”

  “I wasn’t playing nothing, just taking stuff that had been trashed but was still good. I thought it should be used. I took it out of the dumpster and hid it so I could find it later. I went back to make sure I didn’t miss anything and I saw your back door was open. I went in to see that everything was okay inside. I figured I could call the police with your phone, but you came in right then.”

  For some strange and inexplicable reason, I believed him. Of course, I wanted to. “Okay Billy, but even if that’s true, you need to understand that you were technical guilty of receiving stolen merchandise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He didn’t seem shattered at the news. “Let’s do this the right way. You find a big old jar somewhere and make up a notice saying you are collecting donations for the poor. Put your name on it and how people can contact you if they have things to donate. We can put up in here and then you come by and check the jar periodically. You can use that to help people instead of dumpster diving.”

  “Really?” He looked like he’d just won the lottery.

  “Really. Now go.”

  Excited at the possibilities, Billy left.

  When Art left shortly after he looked grumpier than normal. He’d seen Billy go out smiling and I thought maybe we’d offended him, but then I remembered that on Wednesday mornings the bakery marked down some of the leftover bread. If you didn’t get there early, they would be gone. Art wouldn’t miss the window of opportunity.

  The next event was a minor panic that involved Lucille Braxton. She came in looking rather disheveled and sounding like she was standing on the far edge of hysterical. Even though it was impossible to understand most of what she said, it was easy to tell why she was upset—her hair was a bright green. It was stunning in a punk kind of way.

  Betina took one look and turned pale. She’d colored Lucille’s hair a lovely ash-brown color just the week before. “Oh no! Lucille Braxton get in this chair and tell me what happened.” She led the shattered Lucille Braxton into her chair, handed her a cup of coffee and a donut, and started talking soothingly to her, calming her down. “Now you relax. We are going to take care of this, Miz. Braxton.”

  Betina gave me a nervous glance and I smiled reassuringly. As the owner, and given that Betina was still learning the trade, I felt it was up to me to do a little investigating and figure out what had happened. Ever since I’d botched Lucille’s hair six months back, she’d been experimenting, trying daring, usually asymmetric cuts. Much of it looked good. Then she’d wanted to try a new color. “Lucille, as I recall, you were a blonde for quite a while, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes. Right up until last week. I wanted a change for the end of the year and Betina made it that gorgeous brown.”

  “When you were blonde, did you bleach your hair?”

  “Of course.”

  “And then we colored it to make it that light ash,” Betina said. “It really looked nice.”

  “Especially compared to brilliant green,” Lucille said. “I should go to work for the road crews.”

  I looked at her. “You’ve lost some weight lately, haven’t you?”

  She nodded proudly. “Does it show?” She knew it did. “As a matter of fact, I decided to get in shape for Christmas and I got a membership to the indoor pool over in Paudy.”

  “Lot’s of swimming?”

  “Almost every day.”

  I smiled. “That’s what did it.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what turned your hair green.”

  “But no one else I swim with has green hair.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. You see the bleach you were using reduced the ability of your hair to absorb the pigment in the dye. A funny thing about ash brown coloring is that when it’s used in hair that’s damaged by bleach it has a strong tendency to turn a seaweed green.”

  “Seaweed green? But this is bright, glow-in-the-dark green.”

  “Right. And that’s from the chlorine in the pool. Chlorine turns bleached hair green—bright green. The combination of bleach, the particular color you chose and chlorine gave you this rather startling new look.”

  “I can’t look like this for Christmas!”

  Nellie chuckled. “You should be the hit of the Christmas party. You could start a new fashion. I mean green hair definitely says Christmas to me.”

  I glared at Nellie to let her know she wasn’t helping, as if she didn’t know that. “We can fix
it for you, don’t worry.” I looked at Betina. “Give her a warm-toned dye rinse, something with reds in it.”

  “Red? I don’t want to be a redhead. It looks good on Betina, of course, but then so would a paper wig, but me?”

  I laughed. “We won’t turn you into a carrot top. What happens in the process is that the reds turn the green into a lovely warm brown.”

  Her look of relief was almost comical. I took her hand and patted it. “Here is the catch, dear. You are going to need to have Betina color rinse your hair twice a week until your hair grows out or the green will come back. The new hair won’t be bleach damaged.”

  “I knew red coloring is always good for hair,” Betina, our redhead said smugly.

  “The red just counteracts the green.”

  The reality of her situation dawned slowly on Lucille. “I can’t swim until my hair grows out?”

  “It’s okay to swim; you just need to wear a swimming cap to keep the chlorine out of your hair. Then it will be fine.”

  For the first time since she’d wandered in, Lucille Braxton smiled. “Thank goodness. I was afraid I’d be upstaging my Christmas tree.”

  Naturally, since she was in the salon more often than twice a week in any given week anyway, Lucille Braxton didn’t mind the idea of getting rinses that often. An hour later, when she left with her hair a lovely soft brown again, she was smiling.

  “That was cool,” Betina said, giving me the only real smile I’d seen on her face in weeks. “I never would’ve put that information together like that. You think like a detective.”

  I let myself enjoy the flattery. “It’s always nice when you can solve someone’s problem. A lot of what we do is just like that.”

  “Like you figuring out Ellen Hart’s bangs,” Pete said, “and from what I saw, coming up with the exact same strategy I came up with for making them look right.”

  “You might have stopped Lucille Braxton from freaking out,” Nellie said, “but actually, I thought she looked better with green hair. Of all the styles and things she’s tried…”

  “She certainly looked more interesting that way,” The Bald Eagle said.