Wave Good-Bye

by Lila Dare

  Hank’s policing manuals emphasized that the key to solving a murder was motive, means, and opportunity. It would be difficult to figure out who had had opportunity since the crime happened after regular business hours.

  Means? I had no idea how Lisa had died. None. Hmmmm. The fish tank was involved, but how?

  Motive? Okay, so she was disliked. Lots of people had enemies, but they were still walking around unharmed.

  Eve was on the computer checking e-mails from the other salons. I glanced over her shoulder. She had fifty new e-mails. I couldn’t imagine dealing with all those! She glanced up, which gave me an opening to ask, “Eve, I heard that Lisa also sold the client list from Peter Wassil over at Chez Pierre. Is that true? If so, Peter might be a suspect.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “But Peter had an attorney call Lisa. She gave back the list and deleted all the names from the computer.”

  Why hadn’t I thought to do that? Hadn’t Vonda suggested that to me? I wanted to pick up all those clipboards and whop myself up the side of the head.

  “So Peter had no reason to want to see Lisa killed, right?”

  She nodded and put a hand to her mouth. “No. I don’t think so. Oh, I forgot to tell you. If you stay long enough, you get profit sharing.”

  “Profit sharing?”

  “Uh-huh. We match what you put into your 401(k). Because Lisa was such a good manager—income- and expense-wise, not personality-wise—everyone in this salon was on pace to add a significant amount of revenue to their retirement plans.”

  “What do you call ‘a significant amount’? I mean are we talking about enough to buy a case of whoopie pies? Or what?”

  “An amount roughly equivalent to one-quarter of their yearly income.”

  I nearly fell off my chair. “So let me get this straight. Your employees are the best paid in the industry, you offer paid ongoing training with big-name stylists, medical benefits—”

  “And dental.”

  “And dental. You offer paid vacations, bonus money for selling product, and profit sharing.”

  “Right. And remember, this salon was ahead of projections for hitting their profit-sharing goals, in part because of Lisa Butterworth.”

  I whistled through my teeth. “I’d kill for a job like this.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “I HAVE ONE OTHER QUESTION. ONE THAT’S REALLY bugging me. As long as you are being candid, I might as well ask.” We were, after all, alone in the salon, and I wanted to get this off my chest.

  Her smile flickered, a tentative okay. Her hand froze on the mouse as she waited.

  “Why are you really staying with Wynn? In this day and age, you could easily raise a child without a father. His behavior yesterday with the massage therapist was outrageous! Not to mention, he could get you sued for sexual harassment.”

  “I told you. I want my child to have a father.”

  “Gimme a break. Your dad is still alive. You are young. You could remarry. Wynn would always be a part of your child’s life, but you shouldn’t have to put up with this ongoing humiliation. No woman should!”

  “Remarry? For my money, right? Look Grace Ann, take a close look. I wasn’t blessed with stunning features. I’m not as pretty as you are. Even when I’m at my best, I’m what? A six? You’re an eight or nine. I’m lucky to have found a guy like Wynn.”

  “That’s a load of crap, and you know it. As for your looks, you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. Besides, there are a few tricks you don’t employ that you should. Which is sort of a shock, seeing as how you’re in this industry.”

  She shook her head at me. “I would feel weird walking into one of my salons and letting someone I hired work on me.”

  I waved the paperwork she’d given me around. “I haven’t handed over my employment contract yet. Or a W-2 form.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t officially work for you…yet. Go clean your face and let me give you a makeover.”

  “What? I don’t have time for that.”

  “Sure you do. It’s your job to be a walking, talking ad for Snippets.” I pointed to the large framed picture of her that hung over the manager’s desk. She’d signed it with a hearty, “Love to all of you at my newest Snippets!”

  I made brushing-away gestures with my hands. “Now go. Wash your face. This won’t take long. It’ll give you a chance to see if I know my stuff or not.”

  To my vast relief, she giggled and walked away, coming back with a clean slate for me to work with.

  “Come on,” I said, beckoning her to one of the workstations. “Let’s have a little fun.”

  Blinking rapidly, she said, “You won’t do something silly, will you?”

  “Nope. However, I’m going to start by trimming your bangs.” And I whipped a cape over her shoulders. “Let me grab my scissors. You might want to take off your scarf.”

  “Oh, I’d rather not. It took me twenty minutes to arrange it right,” she said, as I came back with the scissors. Her reflection startled me. I’ve never seen a more frightened client. “Relax. I’m only going to slightly angle your bangs,” I said as I combed, measured, and trimmed her hair. “Right now with them straight across your forehead, they invite the eye to calculate the distance between your orbital sockets, which is a bit narrow.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she murmured.

  I smoothed on foundation, but when I got to her neck, she flinched, pulling away from me. Her scarf shifted, revealing two long scratches on her throat. Obviously, she had hoped to hide them with her neck gear. Saying nothing seemed the wisest course.

  “Next I want to pluck a few of the eyebrow hairs closest to your nose. That will also help with the illusion that there’s more space between your eyes.”

  To her credit, she didn’t flinch. When we were done, I led her over to the vast makeup display and encouraged her to sit.

  “Adding a few false eyelashes only to the far outside edges of your eyes will elongate them, and again, draw the viewer’s attention outward.” After going through a drawer, I found a suitable pair of falsies, trimmed them, put on the glue, let it get tacky, and added them to her upper lids.

  “Now we’ll add foundation. Notice that when I finished, I also put a dab of lighter foundation on each side of the bridge of your nose. I ran a bit of highlighter up the bridge of your nose.”

  She sat perfectly still with her eyes closed.

  “The eyeliner should be black for maximum wattage. I’m extending it beyond the outer edges of your eyes. I’ll go over it with brown, to soften the look. The shadow I’m applying is lighter at the bridge of your nose and darker at the outside edges. As for your brows, I’m extending them outward, too.”

  I could have been working on a sphinx, so quiet and still was she.

  “Last of all, I’ll add taupe pencil under the outer two-thirds of your lower lid.”

  I lined her lips and added a soft shade. “Okay, take a look.”

  Her mouth went slack. She stared at herself. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”

  “Is that your parrot imitation?”

  She giggled. “I’ve never looked this good. I’m almost an eight.”

  “Even if you were a one, you wouldn’t deserve a man who isn’t faithful.”

  With a sigh, she nodded. “The real reason I stay married? The one I’d never say out loud? My dad begged me not to marry Wynn. Daddy told me, ‘I see how he is with other women. He will never be true to you.’ But I ignored my father. Usually, I do whatever Daddy says. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. The one time I chose to rebel, and see what happened?”

  “Rebellion. I totally get that. My mother’s nickname for me when I was growing up was Rebel.” I put back the brushes and tossed the cotton tips I’d used. “Did you see where I set the employment papers?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll go fax them to our attorney. Is there a paper I can sign to hire you as a friend?” Her lower lip trembled.

  “Nope. That’s a p
romise written on our hearts, one letter at a time.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  MOST OF THE STAFF WERE AT THEIR STATIONS AND ready to go by eight forty-five, and we opened at nine. Although this salon wasn’t cozy like Violetta’s, I had to admit that the layout was superb, with a great flow. Each stylist had a station designed so that all the tools were within easy reach. The sinks were new, and the seats tilted perfectly at the touch of a button. Whereas we bumped into each other a lot at Violetta’s, there was adequate space for walking around, but not an inch of waste.

  “Everyone!” Eve clapped her hands. “Gather around, please!”

  The stylists did as directed. If they looked a bit wary, who could blame them after hearing that their boss had been murdered. I studied the expressions on their faces. While they seemed respectful of Eve, they didn’t seem cowed or uncomfortable.

  “As you all know, we mourn the passing of Lisa Butterworth. She did an admirable job getting this place up and running and making a profit. However, her loss means the salon needed a new manager. I am honored to introduce Grace Ann Terhune to you. She’s—”

  “The best overall stylist I ever trained,” said a voice from behind us.

  Wynn sauntered over until he stood at his wife’s side. “I trained stylists for Vidal Sassoon for nearly five years. I must have seen three hundred or more come through. Not one of them held a candle to Grace Ann. She should be teaching master classes in cutting in New York. Or coloring in LA. But she’s here and we’re lucky to have her.” With that, he led applause.

  I stepped forward, keenly aware of his eyes on me. With a slight nod of my head, I said, “Look, y’all, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, having lost Lisa in such a violent way. I am truly, deeply sorry about that. If I can do anything at all to make you feel better, don’t hesitate to ask. And if you’d like, I was thinking that this coming Sunday we could have a moment of silence and light candles in her memory before the salon opens. I’ll bring a smudge stick, too. That’s supposed to dispel any bad energy. What do you think?”

  Shocked expressions all around changed to tentative, “Hmm. Maybe she’s okay.”

  I smiled. “I’ll be by to say ‘hey’ to each of you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you. Now have a good day.”

  “Moment of silence on Sunday?” Eve whispered in my ear after the group dispersed. “That was inspired.”

  “Hey, this is the South.” I cupped my hand over my mouth and whispered, “We like our comforting traditions.”

  With that, I straightened and caught Wynn’s eye. He held out his arms to me for a hug.

  What could I do? I stepped into his embrace, all the time thinking what a lying sack of horse crap he was.

  “You’re looking fantastic,” he said. I narrowly avoided a mouth-to-mouth kiss.

  “I heard your good news. Congratulations,” I said, eager to put things on the right track. I was onto his tricks. His easy familiarity was the first step along the path to falling for Wynn.

  He grinned. When that man smiled, tectonic plates shifted. I mean, he had this half grin that warmed the hardest hearts, unfortunately, because it often got him out of the trouble he had caused.

  “You aren’t still mad at me, are you?” His smile was easy, uncomplicated.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I think you are a low-down, no-account, sleezy SOB, but I think your wife is an angel. She deserves better, and I mean that.”

  Eve’s eyes teared up. “Thanks, Grace Ann. That’s awfully kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Hey,” said Wynn, “I know I need help. Didn’t I tell you I’d get it? Huh, Eve? Come on, Grace Ann. That was a long time ago. Can’t we be friends?”

  As he tried to hug me, I moved away, but not before my elbow collided with the lump under his arm. “Whoa! When did you start carrying a gun?”

  “Since we were in New York and some creep tried to rob us. He was after Eve’s ring,” Wynn said, with a nod to the five-carat sparkler on Eve’s finger. “I have to protect my wife.”

  “Start by protecting her from your bad behavior, buster.”

  “She’s right, Wynn. You’re the one who’s hurting me now.” she said, through clenched teeth.

  “Ah, hon,” he whined.

  Eve shook her head. “Let’s all go in the back. I get tired of providing free entertainment for my staff.”

  Once we’d moved from salon floor to private area, Eve turned on Wynn, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “Where were you?”

  “Not my fault,” he muttered. “That guy from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation came by the hotel and hauled me in again, right after I dropped you off here. I was on the treadmill in the workout room when he flashed his badge. The guy next to me missed a step and went flying into the wall.”

  Sinking down into a chair, Wynn groaned. “I thought I’d go nuts inside that police station. The walls closed in on me. I can’t stand being cooped up. I couldn’t stand being in the darn car! That Crown Vic he drives doesn’t have any handles in the back on the passenger doors.”

  Eve said to me, “I told you he has claustrophobia. Can’t stand elevators.”

  A memory surfaced of a visit we had made to a department store in Atlanta. Wynn insisted on taking the escalator even though our hands were full with packages.

  “What did he ask you? Are you a suspect? You should have called me. I could still get Steven to fly down.” Eve rocked a bit unsteadily on her feet. I pulled up a chair behind her knees and guided her to a seated position. She turned her face to me and explained, “Steven Clifford is our corporate attorney.”

  I remembered her telling me that earlier.

  “I can’t tell what the dude was thinking.” Wynn flipped his palms up to his wife in a gesture of defeat. “The security cameras caught me cruising around the lot the night Lisa died. He wants to know if there was anyone else on the premises.”

  Of course there had been. I’d seen a light on through the back window, and a person hunched over a desk. The desk belonging to Carol Brockman, actually. Thinking back to that evening and quickly glancing around, I realized this desk was not in line of sight of the window.

  “Was there anyone else here? Maybe that’s our killer,” Eve asked, in a breathless, hurried voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  He shuffled his feet. “I don’t want—”

  “Tell me! I’m tired of playing games with you. Were you meeting someone? Another woman? Here? Was it Paula Benson, the massage therapist Grace Ann sent home yesterday?”

  Wynn pulled his chair closer to Eve’s, but he kept his gaze on the floor, purposely not meeting her eyes. “No, Paula wasn’t here, but she was supposed to meet me here. I was going to give her money.”

  “What!” Eve’s hazel eyes flashed bright with anger.

  “Calm down. I knew she and I had to break it off, and I was afraid she’d come back on us for, you know, harassment. Or something. So I asked her to meet me here. I was going to say good-bye and give her some money to make her life easier. That’s what we were doing yesterday in the massage room. Honest! I gave her two thousand dollars.”

  Eve’s face turned alternately scarlet with rage and white with shock. Boy, was she mad. “Did it occur to you that giving an employee cash on the side might look incriminating? Did you talk to Steven Clifford first? We keep him on retainer. All you had to do was dial him up!”

  “I didn’t want it to get back to you.”

  “Everything gets back to me! That’s the nature of my job!”

  “Well, this time I wanted to take care of it myself!” He sounded like an eleven-year-old boy who tried to make his own breakfast and left a trail of broken eggs in the kitchen.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “But did you meet her here? Paula Benson? I happen to know there was a person here inside the building shortly after you and Lisa fought. Was Paula here waiting for you?”

  A puzzl
ed expression preceded his slow reply. “No. I mean, I don’t know. I drove away because I was so mad at Lisa. But I was almost to the hotel when I remembered about Paula, and how she expected me, so I drove back here.”

  “You told me you headed back because you wanted to make it clear to Lisa that it was over!” Eve put her fists on her hips.

  “Well, that, too, but mainly, I had the money to give Paula. But she wasn’t here. The only car in the lot belonged to that other woman. What’s her name? The accountant.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I ITCHED TO TELL ALL THIS TO MARSH AND LET HIM follow up. Last night I’d entered his personal cell phone number in my phone’s directory. When I had a break, I’d text message him and ask if we could talk.

  Who are you fooling, Grace Ann? You’re hot on the guy!

  So hot that I took a trip to the ladies’ room to splash cold water on my face.

  While I was in the stall, two sets of shoes came into the stalls adjacent to mine.”What do you think of her?” said the female voice to my immediate left. Her English was slightly accented. Corina was the speaker; I was sure of it.

  “Country hick. What can she know?” said the stall two over.

  “Oh, Taffy, you slay me. What do you think Suzee’s going to do when she hears about this? It should have been her job, you know. She was hoping for a promotion.”

  A toilet flushed. I lost part of the next sentence, but Taffy responded with, “…she thought she was home free now that Lisa is gone.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not going to be happy when she sees that Miss Georgia Peach is now her boss. Is it true she had a fling with Wynn way back when? I mean, he sure made a big deal of how good she was. Too much, if you ask me,” said Corina.

  Taffy laughed. “Bet she can’t do hair for love nor money.”

  Another toilet flushed. “We’ll see,” said the other girl. “Let’s give her a chance.”

  I gave them a few minutes to make an exit before I came out of my stall. Their conversation hadn’t surprised me. Of course they’d want to see whether I was any good. I would, too, if I worked here.