Wave Good-Bye

by Lila Dare

  Then it dawned on me: Maybe Suzee bumped off Lisa. If Suzee was in line for Lisa’s job, why not hurry the process?

  With shaking hands, I text messaged Marsh: Could we meet for lunch? Interesting stuff to tell you about Lisa.

  The phone vibrated with a response before I finished drying my hands.

  Sure. Angelini’s at one? said the text.

  See you! I messaged back.

  All salons use a system of “ups,” which means that stylists take turns being assigned new customers who are walk-ins, that is, who don’t have an appointment with a regular hairdresser. As manager, my “up” would be the last on the list, because the goal was to build the business of the staff.

  There are managers who see this rotating system of assignments as a great excuse to sit on their butts in the back room and eat donuts, or smoke cigarettes, or generally waste their time. Smart managers walk from chair to chair, greeting the clients and being available for consults. That’s what I did.

  “She wants her hair short,” said Taffy, as I approached her chair and her client, a middle-aged woman with a very, very long face and hair down to her waist. The hair, while long, did nothing for her. Nothing at all. The weight of the hair pulled down her features, making her look older than she probably was. A lot of people get so caught up in the long-hair-is-sexy mode of thinking that they don’t ask themselves, “Yes, but is long hair sexy on me?”

  Taffy was obviously waiting for me to do something. I lifted the woman’s hair and tried a few rearrangements to get a sense of what might work for her. Taffy glowered at me. “We can’t cut more than two inches off a client’s hair without an approval form. The acting manager has to sign off.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Taffy’s tone had embarrassed me and a scalding heat warmed my face. Although I knew there’d be a learning curve, I had hoped my staff would be gracious as I scaled that mountain.

  In the back room, Eve was hunched over paperwork while Wynn played a game on the computer.

  “Excuse me. We have a client with long hair. I was told we need an approval form.”

  “Let me handle this,” said Wynn, opening the file cabinet, withdrawing a form, and leading the way to the floor.

  “Hey, I’m Wynn Goodman.” He gave the woman a heart-stopping smile. “And you are?”

  “Jeanette Ricker.”

  “Glad to meet you, Jeanette. What lovely hair you have!”

  The woman preened, running her fingers through her mane, flipping it, and giving him a coy expression. “I think it’s too long. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s lovely. You’re so pretty that you could wear it short or long.” Wynn stepped behind the chair and went through the same contortions I had with her hair. “But I think shoulder length would be more flattering. You could still put it in a ponytail, or updo, and it would still be totally hot…”

  The woman in the chair melted. Wynn stroked her hair as if she were a prized mare. The gesture brought back memories.

  I walked away, trying to compose myself. Now I knew about the approval form. I would still have to prove myself to these people. I just wasn’t sure how.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  TAFFY SANDERS AND I STOOD OVER A SIX-YEAR-OLD who had butchered her hair. The small figure in the chair blinked sadly and said, “I was a-trying to be bootiful.”

  Her mother said, “I’m so mad I could spit. How could she have done that? Mandy Sue, I’m going to paddle your fanny good when I get you home.”

  I turned to the woman and smiled. “This happens every day of the year. Trust me. We can fix it. She’ll look fine, and I bet she’ll never do it again, will you, Mandy Sue?”

  The tiny tot shook her head. “Never. Not ever.”

  To Taffy I said, “I think if you part her hair on the other side, the longer hair will cover the nearly bald spot.”

  “Great idea.” Taffy nodded. “Come on, young lady. Let’s take you over to a sink so I can wash your hair. Which do you like best, strawberries or mango?”

  “Berries.”

  “Good. We have a shampoo that smells like fresh berries.”

  I escorted her mother to the waiting area and showed her how to make herself a caramel latte. Once the mom had a copy of Vogue in one hand and the drink in the other, she settled down. “Kids are such a trial. Think twice before you have one!”

  I gritted my teeth. Why did people say that? A child was a blessing. I could understand getting frustrated, but over a haircut? How ridiculous was that? Every hair follicle in my head screamed out, “I’d like to slap you silly,” but instead, I smiled and said, “I’m sure you don’t mean that. You two are having a bad day. That’s all.”

  The woman snorted. “My husband had to have his little girl. We have three boys, but he wanted to keep trying.”

  It got harder to keep my tongue. “Uh-huh, and she’ll be a treasure to you in your old age. What’s that saying? A boy is a son ’til he takes a wife, but a girl is a daughter for all of her life?”

  With that, the woman’s face changed. “Isn’t that the truth? I’ve been my mama’s caretaker for as long as I can remember. My little Mandy Sue is a good girl.”

  “I’m sure she is.” With that, I left her, intending to speak to Taffy to praise her for her calm manner with the harried mom.

  But I didn’t get that far. I stepped out of the waiting room, deep in thought, and walked right into Hank’s arms.

  “Grace Ann, sugar, I hope you aren’t upset about that article in the paper.” Grabbing the back of my head, he pulled my mouth toward his and tried to French kiss me, but I wrestled myself free.

  Officer Qualls stood behind him, glaring at both of us.

  “Don’t you ever touch me again!” I snapped at Hank.

  “Special Agent Dillon told me I had to.”

  Officer Qualls stepped up. “Respectfully, he told you to apologize, not to have personal contact.”

  “Same-o, same-o. You aren’t going to sue the department, are you? Grace Ann, you know how much this case means to me. I was the first responder! Lisa Butterworth was floating in that tank, looking like one of them mermaids, when I found her. This is my case! He’s trying to take it away from me.”

  “So she drowned, right?” Since Hank was being chatty, I figured I might as well take advantage of him running his mouth.

  “No, sirree, bobtail. I mean, kinda. See she’d been smacked right between the eyes with something. She’d obviously been standing on one of them step stools. The blow knocked her backward into the tank. She was probably unconscious when she dove in, and that’s how she drowned. Or was electrocuted. Hard to know which.”

  Officer Qualls elbowed Hank. “Sir! You shouldn’t be talking—”

  “Don’t make no never mind. She’s my wife.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I’ve been happily divorced from you for over three years.”

  Lisa had drowned? The news hadn’t mentioned how she died, only that she had. How unusual was that? A person drowning in a fish tank? And then electrocuted?

  I rubbed my chin. “So it could have been an accident.”

  “Heck, yes, it could have been an accident. You want to confess? You don’t have a record, Grace Ann. I bet Dooley could get you off. I’d come visit you. We could have conjugal rights.” His fist bracketed his hips as he gave it a bit of Elvis action.

  I groaned.

  There are times when I truly wonder what sort of idiot I must have been to marry Hank. This was one of them. Scenes flashed through my mind: My mother begging me not to do it. My sister telling me I was a dope. Vonda stomping her foot and saying, “Are you nuts?” And Althea shaking her head and muttering, “You are in for a world of sorrow.”

  Why hadn’t I listened to them? Well, there was that baby thing. That desire to have a child. But if I was really, totally honest with myself, Eve Sebastiani and I wore the same stupid badge of dishonor. We both had been determined to prove other people wrong. Eve married Wynn to prov
e to her father that he was wrong. I married Hank because I wanted to prove Mom, Alice Rose, Vonda, and Althea wrong.

  I suddenly felt even closer to my new boss.

  “Hank? Hear me and listen up good: I did not kill Lisa Butterworth. Nor did I have a fight with her here in the salon. Got it? If you show your face in this place one more time, I’ll swear out a restraining order.”

  “But this here’s a crime scene,” he pouted.

  “Was a crime scene. You’ve released it. Now get out. And don’t come back.”

  “But Agent Dillon said I had to apologize. Do you accept my apology? Say you do, Grace Ann, so I can get him off my back!” Hank whined.

  “Hank, if you crawled to me on your knees, if you begged me most sincerely, if you shouted it from the Smoky Mountains, I would still not accept your apology. You know why?” I could feel everyone staring at me. All our customers, Corina at the front desk, and Officer Qualls.

  I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Because you aren’t truly sorry. You’re only sorry you got caught.”

  “That’s from Gone with the Wind, isn’t it?” He frowned.

  “Get. Out. Now.” I pointed to the door.

  Officer Qualls took him by the arm and dragged him away.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  AS THE OFFICERS WALKED OUT, IN CLOMPED A MAN wearing a khaki shirt and a utility belt. He moved past me with purpose, paused in the middle of the salon, and did a tight circle. Corina must have hit a button on the phone at the reception desk, because Eve walked out quickly, her face closed and solemn. She spoke to the man in low tones and shook his hand.

  I figured she’d call me over if she wanted to include me.

  Meanwhile, one look at the clock caused me to realize that Vinny needed help adding perm rods to an older woman’s hair. The woman had been a walk-in, with only a scant hour to spare, but she had demanded a perm. By dividing the labor, we could get to the processing portion of her visit faster. A thin young man with acne scars and long fingers, Vinny moved like a frightened rabbit, in jerky start-and-stop motion. Growing up in a salon, I learned to wrap perm rods before I was ten. Once I started helping him, he shot me a grateful expression, particularly when he saw how fast my hands moved.

  Eve and the man in khaki moved over to the gaping empty spot where the fish tank once stood. The construction was ingenious. The stylists’ area was one step up, on a platform with great lights that made everyone appear healthy, unlike most salons, where they use cheap bulbs. The shampoo sinks, dryers, and waiting area were a step down on the lower level. The tank had formerly divided the two levels up to waist high.

  “I told her I needed to frame it in, to bring the wall down to meet the tank. But Miss Butterworth insisted on having it lower like this, and open.”

  Eve’s face hardened. “That’s not the spec I approved.”

  The man in khaki shook his head. “I know! I told her that. I showed her your initials, but she didn’t want to spend the extra for a half wall coming down over the tank. She wanted it open and airy, and those are her words. I explained to her there was a safety problem. How the hood and light on the aquarium weren’t really enough to keep anything out. Anyone out, either. Told her the light fixture in the hood would get wet. Reminded her that electricity and water do not mix.” He stopped, rubbed his face hard, and I could see his hand trembling. “She said, ‘You are working for me. I can fire you anytime I want.’”

  He wiped his face on his sleeve. “I can’t believe she died there! I feel like it’s all my fault, but, ma’am, I begged her. I even have this in writing ’cause I told her I didn’t want to be responsible.” Digging in his back pocket, he unfolded a tired sheet of paper and handed it to Eve. “I told her it would never pass code, but she only laughed and said, ‘My uncle is on the building inspections committee. Trust me, it’ll pass.’ You know it did, or I would have come back and done it my way.”

  “If this had been done according to our specs, she would still be alive.” Eve sounded both angry and resigned. “When Suzee found her, she was facedown in the water! You were right about one thing: That flimsy hood didn’t stop her when she took a nosedive.”

  Eve’s voice rose to such a pitch that stylists turned to stare. She shook her head and huffed. “Mr. Jasper, we need to talk about this in private. Please come with me back to my office.”

  Suzee Gaylord found Lisa? Suzee who wanted a promotion? Wasn’t that convenient?

  Vinny Torelli walked by, and I recognized the customer with him as Mrs. Vernon Althorp. I knew the woman because Mom banned her from Violetta’s after a quick confab with Peter Wassil at Chez Pierre. Seemed that Mrs. Althorp was a scam artist. She sat through two haircuts at our salon—and at his—before demanding her money back. Before I did anything, however, I wanted proof the woman was up to her old tricks.

  “Corina? Could you pull up the records for Mrs. Althorp, please?”

  “Certainly.”

  “What does this code mean?” I pointed to a 666 digit on the screen.

  Corina leaned close and whispered, “Means she’s a demon. We couldn’t please her. See? We gave her a refund all three times she’s visited.”

  “Thanks. That’s what I needed to know.”

  I walked over to where Vinny Torelli was running a comb through Mrs. Althorp’s auburn hair.

  “Excuse me.”

  Vinny’s eyes went wide as he stuttered, “Y-Y-Yes?” His skittish expression told me he expected to be chastised. Fingering his tie, he smoothed it into his vest, and then ran his palms down the seams of his black jeans.

  “You’re fine. Actually, I wanted to speak to Mrs. Althorp. You remember me, don’t you, ma’am? My mother is Violetta Terhune, the owner of Violetta’s.”

  Mrs. Althorp’s double chins waggled as she squirmed in her chair. “Uh, yes. Vaguely.”

  “Ma’am, let’s see if I can refresh your memory. You visited Violetta’s twice, and each time, after saying you were delighted with your service, the next day you returned and asked for your check back. Which is the same scam you pulled on Chez Pierre, isn’t it?”

  Her mouth turned dour and she glared at me. “What of it? It’s not my fault those stylists weren’t very good.”

  “Hmm. I printed out the records for your visits here. I see you’ve had three washes, three colorings, three cuts, and three styles. Each time, you left saying you were delighted but you returned the next day and complained.”

  Mrs. Althorp whined to Vinny. “Who’s she? I want to talk to your manager!”

  Vinny stepped back from the chair, his fingers moving nervously to his tie. “Ma’am, she’s the boss.”

  “That’s right. I’m the person in charge. Mrs. Althorp, I suggest you take your business elsewhere. I doubt anyone here can make you happy.”

  “Well, I never!” She grabbed her purse, stuck it under her arm, and stood up. “Then I’ll just have to find another stylist right here in this salon.”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I believe you misunderstood. I’m asking you to leave. If none of our stylists have been able to satisfy you in your last three visits, I doubt we can make you happy now.”

  With a rumble like approaching thunder, Mrs. Althorp tore off her cape and stomped her way out of Snippets. Vinny and I watched her go. We didn’t talk to each other until after the heavy woman slammed our front door shut.

  “Thanks, Grace Ann. I mean, I think I should say thanks. I get another ‘up,’ right?”

  I laughed. “Absolutely. Since she won’t be wasting your time, you can probably squeeze in two clients in the space she would have taken.”

  “I hate customers like that. After I work with one of them, I’m down in the dumps the whole next week.”

  Putting a hand on his shoulder, I said, “Vinny, you can’t let one customer do that to you. Ever. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. Whether you’ve done a great job or not will always be subjective. I know you know that, but if the creeping doubts get to you, come find me an
d we’ll talk.”

  Tilting his head slightly, he nodded. “Thanks, Grace Ann. I guess working with Lisa sort of tore down my confidence. She specialized in finding fault and assigning blame. After a while, that grates on you, you know? I would go home at night feeling like a whipped pup.”

  That troubled me. “You can’t do your best work if you are scared. I’m sorry that Lisa treated you that way.”

  Putting the cape Mrs. Althorp had thrown on the floor into the dirty linens basket, he went suddenly silent. I waited. Was he okay? I hoped so.

  He studied me thoughtfully. “I guess I’m ready for that next up.”

  “You bet. One’s coming through the door right now.” With a nod at the young man who needed a haircut, I gave Vinnie’s shoulder a light punch. “Go, get ’em, tiger.”

  Chapter Forty

  BY QUARTER ’TIL ONE, I’D CONVINCED THE TWO stylists on the floor and the receptionist that I had some redeeming value. Vinny smiled eagerly at me as I walked past. So did Taffy, who must have shared her view with Corina Coffinas, because the other young woman seemed to relax a bit in my presence. Corina had to have been the person talking with Taffy in the john. Taffy was a good stylist, but she didn’t have the wealth of experience that I had, and that was slowly becoming evident.

  With each passing hour, I grew more and more confident. I could handle this job. So I was in a particularly good mood when I left for lunch, walked down the street, and saw Marsh waiting for me on the sidewalk outside of Angelini’s. His tan slacks fit perfectly, and his Oxford cloth shirt was a sky blue that brought out the color of his navy eyes. As usual, he wore a silk tie in a conservative pattern. For the most part, he could double as a successful businessman, except for that bulge under one arm, and a certain don’t-mess-with-me way he had of holding himself.

  “You look nice. How’s your job hunt coming?” he said.

  “I am now gainfully employed.”