Better safe than sorry was becoming my new life mantra.
Chapter Ten
Dixieland
After an hour of lively debate, Deena chose a naked apple cake with cream cheese frosting with a lemon citrus glaze, decorated with fresh apples and edible fall leaves for her wedding. Delighted with her choice, Al assured her it would be delivered and set up in the church reception hall at least two hours before the reception was scheduled to start. Since Cheryl was in charge of the event and would handle any problems, Deena agreed, and we left the bakery in a relatively good mood.
Billie Jo and I headed for our respective homes while Mama accompanied Deena for her final fitting at Gail’s Formal Wear down the street from the salon. As I turned onto Love Avenue, I again questioned the wisdom of allowing Deena to watch over our sainted mother during this questionable time as visions of wedding day disasters danced in her head.
Chalk up one more reason why I’d never walk the matrimony mile again.
A quiver of movement in the front plate glass window caught my eye as I passed Dixieland Salon, and I hit the brakes and did an illegal U-turn on Love Avenue and zipped into the front parking space. The salon was closed on Mondays, and the cleaning crew usually finished by mid-morning. The place should be empty as employees weren’t allowed on the premises after closing. Besides, it was tough enough to get them here on time when we opened Tuesday morning.
From my vehicle, I watched for any further sign of movement, and after ten minutes of nothing happening, I decided it had been a trick of the light and not an actual intruder. We’d had a break-in a couple years back which had resulted in Scarlett’s demise, and I didn’t want a repeat of that disaster on our heads. One death in my place of business was enough.
“Better safe than sorry,” I murmured to myself, and with death on my mind I slipped from my car and unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Silence and the strong aroma of lemon Pine Sol wrapped itself around me while I made a quick tour of the salon and checked for any signs of disturbance.
The place sparkled like a new spring morning, and I found nothing out of order. Even the facial room held no surprises. Satisfied that it had indeed been a trick of the eye, I retraced my steps to the front door, and with one last glance over my shoulder, went outside and relocked the door.
As I returned to my car, my attention sharpened on the large sign proclaiming Lilith Lacewell’s beauty shop’s grand opening next week. Housed in the newly renovated Shacklefort building, the retro style immediately gave one an impression of 1960s easy, Southern lifestyle. The redbrick storefronts overlooked worn sidewalks with quaint, black antique lampposts and street signs. The city council had approved the black, square planters lined along the street with seasonal flowers and scrubs, and a wave of envy grabbed hold of me as I gauged the competition and her location.
Time for a little snooping on ole sulfur breath. My sleuthing antennae shot up in a snap.
From where I stood, I could see the closed sign on the door. Temptation gave me the go-ahead, so I crossed the street and stood in front of the plate glass window. Pressing my face against the glass, I peered inside. Hmmm, empty but for the gleaming oak floors and a few retail shelves.
Of course, I knew Lilith Lacewell’s true motivation for being in Whiskey Creek, and it, sure enough, wasn’t to open a viable business. She was here to collect a soul—mine or Mama’s—and it didn’t make a hill of beans to her which one.
Either way, she'd win.
Unless I could stop her.
Okay, so I know I’ve failed thus far in my quest to stop Hell’s version of the Terminator, but I’m not the kind of woman who easily gives up on a task. Chalk it up to my background in cosmetology for that practical philosophy. Repetitive actions produce positive results, my teacher, Mrs. Butler, drilled into our heads daily through the 1500 hours to graduation.
“Checking out the competition?” my brother-in-law’s voice asked from behind me, and I whipped around to face him.
“Never hurts to know your enemies’ weaknesses,” I replied, taking a visual tour of his person. Not in his usual work clothes. Dress slacks and shirt. Hmmm. Curious. “What brings you here, if I may ask?”
His gaze darted to the plate glass window, then back at me, then back to the glass. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Jolene.” He licked his lips. “I can’t imagine anyone as sweet as Lilith Lacewell being anyone’s enemy. She’s new to town and in need of friends. Where’s your Christian charity, sis?”
His uneasiness struck me as odd, and I zeroed my sleuthing periscope on his body language. Fidgety and defensive. Uh, huh. Speaks volumes. I narrowed my eyes and repeated the question, although I didn’t really suspect Roddy of hanky-panky—he’s not that kind of man—but Lilith Lacewell would use any means to bring me down, and right now, Roddy was a perfect stool pigeon. Ripe for the picking you might say.
“What brings you here, Roddy? I mean here at Lilith’s salon?”
“He’s here to see me.”
I froze at the sound of Lilith’s smooth purr behind my back, then did a perfect pirouette to face her. “Hands off, Lilith. Roddy is married to my sister.” Although I managed to maintain a level tone, my fists clenched at my sides.
“That’s enough, Jolene,” Roddy barked. “This is a business meeting.”
My eyes never left the she-devil's face. “The higher a monkey climbs, the more she shows her ass, Roddy.”
“Are you insane?” He blew out a frustrated breath. “My God, I can’t believe you just said that! You owe Miss Lacewell an apology.”
“When pigs fly.”
Lilith relaxed under my heated gaze and touched Roddy’s sleeve with a manicured finger. I bristled with indignation but didn’t act upon the inclination to wipe the pavement with her face when she said in a provocative voice, “Shall we go, Roddy…I mean, Mr. Hazard? I’m quite anxious to discuss my project with you.”
“What project?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.
Lilith’s hand snaked out and wound itself around Roddy’s arm. “Mr. Hazard has kindly agreed to take over my shop renovations.”
I quirked a brow at Roddy. “Billie Jo said you were working on the baby’s nursery.”
Roddy’s expression hinted at impatience. “The nursery can wait. Miss Lacewell has doubled my usual fee. And now if you will excuse us, we’ll take off for our meeting.” He turned to Lilith. “I’ll meet you at my office in ten minutes?”
Lilith waved a hand in front of her face. “I’ll see you there.” She shot me a victorious smile before slinking off to a shiny, blue Cadillac convertible parked along the street and slid behind the wheel.
Roddy gave me a final look of disgust, then walked over to his work truck. The engine roared to life.
With my panties in a wad, I watched them drive away and reached for my cell phone to call Billie Jo when a melodious voice sang in my ear. “I wish I was in the land of cotton, Ole times there are best forgotten; Look away, look away, look away, Dixieland.”
I slipped my cell phone back into the front pocket of my denim dress. “Okay, Scarlett, knock it off.”
“In Dixieland, I’ll take my stand.”
“I’m not in the mood for childish games.”
When several passer-byers gave me strange looks, I turned my back on them and stared into the empty shop and whispered, “I suppose there’s a meaning behind the song?”
“Of course, dar-lin’.” She giggled. “We need to talk. Meet me inside.”
“The door’s locked, dingbat.”
“I’ll open the back door for you, dingbat!”
I waited until the sidewalk was clear of shoppers, then casually strolled around to the back of the building and counted the doors until I arrived at number ten. Tentatively, with one finger I touched the knob, half-expecting to get goosed by a shot of electricity. Nothing happened, yet, still, I paused to question the wisdom of entering the devil’s domain.
The door s
wung inward of its own accord, and I glanced over my shoulder for any observers to my illegal entry. The alleyway was clear of pedestrians, so I eased in and closed the door. As the heavy, ominous silence of the empty shop embraced me, I took a few cautious steps from the back part of the shop toward the front, expecting Scarlett to materialize any second in front of me as was her customary habit.
She didn’t, and for a split second, I froze in my tracks—paralyzed with uncertainty. From my peripheral vision, I detected fierce yellow eyes glowing from the shadows, and a cold tremor slid through my limbs.
“Okay, Scarlett, come out now, or I’m outta here,” I whispered through stiff lips, my body tense and ready for any movement from anybody or anything. “And for all the rest of you guys, you should know that I’m wearing a cross.” I lifted the diamond cross pendant snuggled between the girls and flashed it in front of me like a shield.
A sudden draft of hot wind whistled through the room, reminiscent of Lilith’s foul breath, so close and oppressive, I bolted for the front room where late afternoon sunshine streamed through the plate glass window. Here the air felt lighter and less menacing.
And there was Scarlett, now dressed in traditional Scottish attire, complete with kilted skirt, ah, shortened to mini length, a black turtleneck pullover and boots, and a tartan shawl. She floated over to a lone ladder in the middle of the room and waved a gloved finger at me. “I wanted to tell you that I’m being dispatched to Scotland for the Christmas season, Jolene.”
“And you couldn’t tell me this outside?” I rubbed away the chill on my arms. “Why’d you make me come into the devil’s lair for something as trivial as your holiday travel plans? It’s creepy as hell in here. And what’s up with the folk song? Definitely not your style.”
She floated down like a gently flowing breeze to face me. “Oh, I don’t know, Claiborne. It’s just a song that’s stuck in my mind. Nothing important. However, I wanted to say good luck and goodbye. I won’t be back on this side of the Atlantic until New Year’s.”
“But what about Mama?”
“I just told you. I’m off to Scotland.” She readjusted the tartan shawl.
“What about Lilith?”
“The Boss dispatched a team to take care of her.”
“Where are they?”
“Hell if I know, Claiborne. I’m not on the team.”
I clasped the cross in my fist and squeezed for some unknown reason. Good luck? Perhaps. Nothing else was working in my favor. “The seventeenth is six days away, Scarlett, and I’m no closer to stopping this injustice. Oh, and no way, Sonya Jones is the Grim Reaper. Mrs. Santa Claus, I’d believe, but not Heaven’s assassin.”
“Your belief isn’t necessary, Jolene.” She consulted a glitzy gold watch on her tiny wrist. “I really need to shove off now for Scotland. The Boss has me under supervision. I only stopped by to say goodbye and wish you a happy holiday. I’ll check in with you after New Year.”
“What if I have a problem?”
“Call the hunky detective in Wyoming,” she drawled with distinct mockery and offered me a snide smile.
I didn’t argue. No point. “Okay, go if you must, but remember the promise you made the other day.”
“I made no promises, Claiborne, nor will I.”
“Would you consider a short trip home for Deena’s wedding? Please, Scarlett. You’re family. Deena would say the same if she were here.”
She blinked several times, then pulled a tissue from her glove and dabbed her eyes. “I’m family? Geez, Claiborne. You really know how to make a girl cry. Oh, pooh, what the heck. A few minutes away from the castle won’t hurt. I’ll be there.”
With those last words, she walked through the front plate glass window and out of sight. Feeling the glowing eyes settle on me once more, I backtracked out the back door and around to the front, then sprinted across the street to Dixieland Salon—anxious to put some distance between me and Lilith’s little shop of demons.
****
An unusual calm settled over Whiskey Creek for the remainder of the week. Roddy and his crew began work on my competitor’s beauty shop across the street, and Billie Jo seemed cool with it, although I detected an undercurrent of tension in her voice when we spoke over the phone. For the sake of peace in the family, I let it drop but kept my psychic radar trained on Roddy for any sign of marital discontent.
Lilith Lacewell dropped out of sight. Not a peep.
Which did nothing to calm my nerves.
On Friday, I finished my appointments early so I could swing by the church and help Cheryl with the last of the decorations in the auditorium and reception hall. The hours passed quickly and without incident, and I was doubly relieved when Cheryl finally pronounced the wedding preparations were complete. So it seems like Deena would get her fairy-tale wedding and reception.
On Friday, as the rehearsal dinner wound down, I tried to be happy for her, but tomorrow was the seventeenth and Mama’s last day among the living.
Chapter Eleven
Going to the Chapel
Deena’s wedding day dawned bright and warm, and I rolled out of bed with nervous energy and a desperation that had my blood humming in my veins. My cell phone shrilled almost immediately, and I could see that Deena shared my prewedding jitters.
“Mornin’ sis,” I said when I hit the talk button. “Kind of early for the bride to be up and about.”
“I could say the same for the Maid of Honor,” she replied in a hushed tone. “Damn, Jolene, I’m happy and sad at the same time. I wish Ryder and I had eloped. I’m not sure I can make it down the aisle now. I’m bushed.”
“No, you don’t wish you’d eloped, trust me.” I stumbled into the kitchen and hit the brew button on the coffee maker. “You’ve had fun planning this wedding, and you’ve spent a lot of quality time with Mama. Listen, Deena, there’s something I need to tell you, but, first you have to promise not to freak out, okay?”
There was a pause on the other end. “I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re going to tell me, Jolene. Not today of all days. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No, I’m afraid not, Deena. I should’ve told you before now, but I didn’t want you to cancel your wedding.”
“Oh dear God, what now?”
I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Don’t freak out but Mama is scheduled to catch the long black train sometime today.”
There was a silence and then a groan. “I wished I hadn’t asked. And I hate to ask this, but are you saying Mama is…God, I can’t even say it. On my wedding day?”
“Well I can, and yes, on your wedding day.”
“How? Another accident?”
“Don’t know, but Scarlett says that Sonya Jones is the angel assigned to bring her home.”
“The wedding singer is the Angel of Death? I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I. If anyone is an Angel of Death it’s Lilith Lacewell.”
“I’m going to cancel the ceremony. Ryder will understand when I explain the situation to him.”
“No, you’re not. I’ll think of something. Mama’s not going to die today, I promise.”
“You’re not God, Jolene.”
“I know, but I’ve got to stop this injustice. Oh, I need to tell you something before I hang up.”
She groaned loudly over the line, and I heard a long sigh of resignation. “Okay, give it to me straight.”
“I invited Scarlett to the wedding.”
“Well, for once I’m glad she’s going to be there. She’s helped us before; hopefully, she will again. Anything else before I have my first cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, one more thing. Hang in there, sis. Today, you’re marrying your best friend and lover, and no matter what happens, you’ll have him forever by your side.” Sniffles sounded over the line.
“Thanks, Jolene; I needed to hear that this morning. See you later at the salon.”
I clicked off and poured a cup of steaming black coffee, added
cream and sugar, and took my first sip. Tango jumped down from his perch on top of the refrigerator and wound around my ankles, yowling for his breakfast.
I fed the cat, lingered over toast and coffee, and watched the local TV station for an update for this afternoon’s weather. Sunny and warm. A perfect November day for my sister’s wedding.
A perfect day to die.
The unbidden words echoed through my mind, bringing a shudder down my chilled spine, and I fought back the impulse to call Bradford just to hear his calming voice. I fingered the phone lying inches away.
“Sam Bradford is your past,” I reasoned aloud, pushing the phone across the table. “Today you will need all of your wits and abilities in keeping Mama alive and getting Deena happily married to her charming prince.”
With those thoughts firmly planted in my mind, I cleaned the kitchen and dressed in comfortable slacks and a blouse for my hair appointment with Lizzie at the salon. At eleven, I scooted out the door and drove over to the shop and spied Deena and Mama’s vehicles parked side by side in the rear parking lot.
Inside I found them seated in black leatherette stylist chairs surrounded by patrons and well-wishers vying for position to congratulate Deena and hug Mama’s neck—one of the perks of living in a small, Southern community. Daddy waved from one of the reception chairs, and I blew him a kiss as I pushed through the women, all the while receiving my share of happy greetings. Mama appeared blissful and glowing with health, and for the hundredth time this morning, my spirits plummeted. Plastering on a wide smile, I pecked her on the cheek and moved on to Lizzie’s stylist chair.
“Fine day for a weddin’, Jolene,” Mama beamed at me from her chair. “Maybe next year you and Preston will be tying the knot.”
A chorus of high-pitched feminine agreements followed her not-so-subtle announcement, and I ignored the comments that followed and watched Lizzie in the mirror as she brushed out my long, frizzy hair.
“What are we thinking this morning?” Lizzie set down her brush and pulled out a box of bobby pins from her drawer. “A nice drape of sausage curls over one shoulder? Or would you like it falling down your back in a waterfall of curls?”
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