Sure enough, Catherine Grant, her recent blue rinse glinting under the lights, called a greeting. Leave it to a granny to get the job done.
“Lily, what’s this I hear about you murdering your groom at the altar?”
Too bad Mrs. Grant didn’t get the job done right, but she’d given me an opening.
“Not me, Mrs. Grant. He wasn’t my groom.”
“Well, if you aren’t going to prison for murder, when are you getting married? Your grandmother must be rolling in her grave, you running around without a family. What’s wrong with young women these days?”
Salon noise, which had dropped to a whisper, erupted in chatter. No one wanted a repeat of Mrs. Grant’s notorious what’s-wrong-with-women-these-days litany. I flipped through the stack of magazines, avoiding everyone. Sometimes you just have to bide your time.
Denise got me started with the manicurist, a woman who looked too young to have finished high school. That’s when my day turned around. Sequestered in a cheery corner at the back, Scarlett—her real name, she swore—treated my cooking scarred and burn-blemished hands with care, placing each one in a bowl of fragrant hot water.
“Rod treated my girlfriend’s sister’s cousin-in-law Doreen something awful. They dated a long time and then he just dropped her. She cried her eyes out for a week, bless her heart.”
“Um, how long did they date?”
Scarlett removed one hand and patted my paw dry. She pursed her lips. “Let’s see, must have been two, no three months. That’s right. From graduation to almost Labor Day.”
“A summer romance then?”
“No, Doreen said he glommed all over her from the start. Talked about marriage like the deed waited right around the corner. Rushed her right off her feet, he did.”
I swallowed a thick lump. The scenario sounded way too familiar. “What happened?”
Scarlett bent over my nails, her hands moving with quick, sure flashes of the nail file. Her snort reached my ears. “Took Doreen for a bundle of cash is what he did.” She kept a tight hold on my twitching hand. “Take a deep breath, hon. A manicure is supposed to be fun.”
“Sorry. Uh, when did that happen? This year or last year or . . .?”
“This year.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Sure. You don’t forget your own high school graduation and mine took place in June.”
Rod had dumped me, I thought for Alexa. But he’d been dating some convoluted relationship only a Southerner could understand at the same time as my friend. Alexa would have gotten hurt if Rod had kept up his evil woman-killing ways.
“Scarlett, do you know of any other women Rod dated? In town or maybe Charlotte?
She massaged my hands and lower arms. “Well, I know Doreen seemed pretty sure he’d dumped an older woman in town right before he took up with her.”
I tensed. Twenty-eight hadn’t seemed old until just now.
Scarlett moved on in her ministrations. “Doreen said she’d seen him with a bleached blonde, hard looking, about thirty-five. He sat cozy-like with the blonde at Johnny’s, but they left separately. She said that’s when she first noticed Rod. Said he looked hot. Guess so, for an old guy.”
Pushing the derogatory age comments aside, I focused on the particulars. “Johnny’s? The blonde must be a skank.” I shut my mouth, my face heating, realizing I’d painted Doreen with the same brush.
She laughed. “Yeah, my girlfriend told Doreen she’d lain down with a dog. Did she really expect to get up without a tick or two sucking her dry?”
We sat quietly while the manicurist finished. She examined my nails, lifting each hand closer for observation.
“You know, I might be able to save your cuticles if you come in now and again. You’ve got pretty hands, even with the scars.” She looked down and placed her tools into a plastic box. “I can’t think of anyone else who dated Rod, but if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Must suck, being a suspect in that jerk’s murder.”
My eyes turned sandy. Her unsolicited comments threw me. I managed to croak out “thanks” around a bone-dry throat.
“No problem.” She stood. “Denise said only a fool would think you had anything to do with murder, and our D.A. isn’t a Mensa candidate. We women have to stick together. You let me know if you need any help, you hear?”
Before I had time to think, Denise returned and led me to the shampoo station. My wet hair wrapped in a towel, I settled in the chair and glanced around the salon. Mrs. Grant had left, thank goodness. The remaining customers didn’t hide their interest. I felt like fresh chum at the aquarium.
Denise held her comb and scissors like a conductor ready to signal the first note. I met her gaze in the mirror and bribed her using words hairdressers love. “Do what you want with my hair. I need a change.”
Obtaining information on Rod’s growing list of dumpees remained essential. Besides, my hair grows fast.
Denise snipped, clipped, and gave me the low down on the Break-up King. Under the bright pink cape, my hands alternately shook and clenched.
Rod had been a busy boy since hitting town almost two years prior. He’d specialized in romancing quiet, inexperienced women or those who’d just been through a rough relationship. She didn’t know if he had specific information or used highly developed radar for potential marks.
Her red face told me she’d remembered I’d joined the rank of suckers, but my need to find the real killer blunted my sensitivity. I mean, be embarrassed or get convicted? Not much of a choice.
Denise scolded me about wriggling in her chair, but I couldn’t sit still when she’d given me another two names. Added to Scarlett’s lead, and the probable existence of more former girlfriends, I couldn’t wait to pass along the information to Dirk. Sure, he’d be a little ticked off, but getting leads helped, right?
****
Or not.
I held my cell phone from my ear. Dirk didn’t exactly yell, but he didn’t sound happy.
“I appreciate the information, but I thought you were staying out of the murder investigation, Lily.”
Oops.
“Oops, my ass. Playing detective is stupid.”
“I never promised anything. Think back.”
“No, you just led me to believe you had.” His sigh ratcheted along the phone line. “Give me those names again, all right?”
I read off the list, including the phone numbers Denise supplied.
“We’ll check out the leads.” He paused. “We meaning Matt and me, not you and whoever you hook in to help. Do I have your promise you’ll leave the list to us?”
“Dirk, if these leads don’t pan out, will the D.A. look further than me? I mean, I’ve seen him wearing two different patterned socks as a pair.”
“We’ve got leads, we’ll follow them. Trust me.” I heard him call to Matt. “I hate to say this but, good work, Lily. Now’s the time to quit and leave the killer to us. Let me hear you agree with words this time.”
Figuring I’d never get off without a promise, I acquiesced.
We ended our call. I pumped my fists yelling, “Yes, yes, yes!” Spinning the final circle on my happy dance, I saw Gray leaning against the Hair Shack’s brick wall.
“Imitating Meg Ryan?”
Fudge-ity, fudge, fudge.
“What are you doing here, Gray? Got an appointment for a mani-pedi?
“I’m looking for you.”
Chapter Seven
“Me?”
“Yeah, I’m thirsty. I’ll buy you a drink at Johnny’s.”
The corners of my mouth twisted. My eyes narrowed.
“Look, I’m only suggesting a drink, okay?” His voice gave an odd twist to the last word.
I couldn’t help myself, I snorted. “Sure.”
A short walk past brick storefronts led to an alley shortcut we used to reach Johnny’s. We stood in the tavern’s open doorway, weak sunlight wobbling in on a ray strong enough to spark color in the lone woman’s hair. The door sw
ung shut and I blinked in the sudden gloom.
Johnny’s looked and smelled like the dive reputation the place held. Stale beer and sweat were the prominent olfactory notes. Tobacco smoke wove through the room—the state law prohibiting smoking in public places didn’t mean a thing to Johnny’s customers. We moved toward the bar, my shoes making the noises peculiar to walking on a tacky surface. I hoped my loafers didn’t get pulled off. Yuck.
Holiday decorations consisted of a string of half dead lights strung above the bottles on the back bar. Oh yes, and a limp red bow topped a jar of red pickled eggs. Double yuck.
The lone woman had blonde highlights, not bleached hair. Her image reflected in the mirror behind the bar and showed a pretty face, at least until she spotted me and glared. Then she looked every year of thirty-five. Maybe more.
My pulse rate increased. This must be the woman Scarlett told me about, the one Doreen had spotted with Rod. Had Gray brought me here to meet her, and if so, how’d he know her identity and that she’d be here?
She spun to face me. “You’re the bitch Rod panted over.”
Gray moved between us. “Not this woman, someone else.”
I began to correct him until he shot me a glare worthy of my grade school teacher, Mrs. Crankshaw. Her flinty-eyed stare could freeze a kid at one hundred feet.
Gray leaned toward the woman with a sympathetic smile. “I’ve heard Rod didn’t stay faithful for long, so maybe you lucked out. Can I buy you a drink?”
She leveled him an x-ray level stare. You didn’t know the real man.” She paused. “Sure. Get rid of her.” She motioned to the bartender. “Johnny, give me another one on my new friend here.”
I moved down the bar, close enough to eavesdrop, far enough to satisfy her territorial demand. Do you know how hard it is to look like you’re not listening to someone else’s conversation and still hear more than a handful of words? I thought I caught the essence of their low-voiced exchange, mostly through a combination of scattered words and body language.
The blond looked at me. “Hey, quit trying to listen in. If I’d wanted you in the conversation, you’d be sitting here.” She patted the empty barstool next to her. The seat to the other side of her held Gray.
My face felt hot and I motioned for the bartender. “An iced tea, please.”
“We ain’t got that crap.” He grinned, his mouth a collection of missing teeth. “You want beer or booze I’ll serve you. Otherwise you can leave. Whadda ya want?”
“Sure, beer. A Sam Adams sounds good.”
The bartender moved in the direction of Gray and the blonde. The woman said something. The bartender nodded and flipped a switch. An avalanche of Southern rock filled the room.
Fudge. Now I’d never catch what they discussed. And Gray might not tell me.
The bartender slammed a tap beer in front of me.
“Four bucks.”
“What? For a small tap?” I glanced up. His clenched jaw had me reaching for my wallet without pause. Sliding a five across the bar, I told him to keep the change. Something told me, maybe his narrowed eyes, he hadn’t planned on giving me change anyway.
Moisture drops oozed down the glass in front of me. Thirsty, I reached for the glass then remembered my surroundings. I tapped my manicured nails on the bar.
Johnny slapped his palms on the scarred wood in front of me, leaning forward. “Whatsa matter? My place ain’t classy enough?” He straightened and crossed his arms. “Drink up. Then go.”
I took a big gulp. And almost spit the liquid out as soon as it hit my tongue. Great. Smelly beer on an empty stomach.
Gray stood and nodded toward the door. Leaving couldn’t come too soon. Bursting outside, I stood, a bit dizzy and blinded by sunlight. Gray grabbed my arm above the elbow and hustled me to his car, almost pushing me into the passenger seat.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yeah, I learned to leave you behind when I go to Johnny’s. Don’t you have any sense? Ordering tea in a beer joint?” He shook his head.
“Come on, Gray. How did you know about that woman?”
“Missy told me. The woman rambled a lot. She kept repeating that Rod would still be alive if he hadn’t gone after the rich bitch.”
“You mean she thinks Alexa killed Rod? That’s crazy. Alexa couldn’t murder anyone, much less string up a man bigger than her.” Could she? Nah.
He glanced at me. “She thinks you’re the rich bitch.”
“Me? But, but—”
“Don’t worry, I told her you’re a vegetarian.”
I puzzled the non sequitur for a moment. The blonde’s assertion that a rich bitch murdered Rod demanded my full attention. After eliminating Alexa, no rich bitch came to mind, but who knew what we’d uncover as a team? A team? Did I still want to work with Gray? Not really, but he knew how to find answers.
We jerked to a stop in front of the Hair Shack. Gray’s hand settled on the headrest behind me.
“Lily, you need to leave the investigation to the cops. You can’t even handle Johnny’s much less murderers.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
Before I could answer, Gray’s mouth came down on mine, sweet at first. His lips turned demanding and the caress escalated to off the charts. Holy All-Time Kisses.
One press of his lips against mine and I wanted him hot and naked. I mean to say, that man can kiss. But I really wish he’d picked a better time and place. Smack dab in front of the Share Shack? May as well post a photo to Facebook. Knowing the women inside, we’d already been tagged.
“What was that?”
His fingertips drifted across my cheek. “If you can’t recognize a kiss, you don’t get out much.”
I unleashed a death glare.
He laughed. “You’re cute when you go all squinty-eyed.”
I inhaled as much air as I could pull into shocked spit-less lungs. As I did, I noticed he checked out my girls. Let him look. There’d be no touching this time around.
“I meant, why did you kiss me? Now? After years of not speaking to me? What gives?”
He shifted to face me. “I made a mistake. Back then. I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know? Didn’t know what?” My fingers clenched.
“About you.” He swirled his hand in the air above my chest and head.
“I’m pretty sure I had breasts back then.”
“Your virginity.” His face looked pink. “You didn’t tell me I’d been your first.”
I tilted my head to the side. “And that’s important why?” Noticing my white knuckles, I tucked my hands under my thighs. Maybe he hadn’t seen.
His gaze followed my hands then moved to my face. “I didn’t expect, I thought, you know.”
He rubbed his hand over his head. “Okay, fine. I heard you planned to trap me into a commitment.” He swallowed. “I didn’t want forever until the divorce.” Looking out the windshield he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
My death glare must have had more juice this time. “Why’d you think I’d trap you? And why’d you assume nothing would work out with me? Commitment to me meant a sure end in divorce? I was that big a loser?”
“No, Lily, you’re wrong.”
Anger owned my tongue and took over my brain. Not really wanting an answer to questions about our past, I jumped to a current dilemma. “So you show you’re sorry by kissing my face off in front of the Hair Shack?” My vocal range had improved—I didn’t know I could hit a high D.
He looked confused.
“The Share Shack is home to the biggest Granville Falls gossips and, on special occasions, those from surrounding towns. You just set me up, Mr. Sorry.”
I jumped from his car and slammed the door. Aware of the faces plastered to the pane behind every painted holiday scene, I held in my tears until I’d driven out of the parking lot. Then I pulled over and let the sobs free.
“Come on, Life, pile on some more crap. I don’t have enough problems with a murder rap and job cancel
lations.”
And Life answered, “Coming right up.”
Chapter Eight
A police contingent waited for me at my house. Actually, I arrived at the same time they did. Dirk and Matt exited the first car. Matt approached me holding a folded piece of paper.
My reliable gut sensor told me to run. I should have listened.
“Lily Carlson, we have a search warrant.”
I searched the faces of both men and didn’t see the friends I knew had previously existed. I unlocked the door. “Have at it.” I walked to the phone and called Tom Jenkins. A bad feeling told me I’d need him.
Standing by the door, I watched cops go through my stuff. They tried to be neat, but I knew I’d be washing all my clothes and cleaning the house later.
What the heck were they looking for anyway? I could have asked, but my thoughts whirled. Besides, legal stuff didn’t make my top ten skills list.
My attention drifted. I straightened. An elaborate gift-wrapped box sat partially hidden under a wooden bench on my porch. I loved beautiful gift-wrap almost as much as opening presents. My fingers itched to untie the elaborate bow and open the foil paper.
Dirk watched as I lifted the over-sized package. “What’s in the box?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know who left the box on my porch.”
“Put it down. Put it down, now!”
Matt was on his phone calling for back up while Dirk pulled me away from the house. A short time later, a Charlotte P.D. team arrived. They carefully lifted the box into the back of a heavy-duty truck.
My heart beat double or maybe triple time.
“You’re sure you’ve never seen that box before?” Dirk asked.
I couldn’t catch my breath, so I shook my head.
It seemed like hours passed, but little time elapsed before the tech stuck his head out the truck door and motioned for Dirk. A short confab later, Dirk walked to me carrying two evidence bags.
Death Under the Mistletoe Page 5