Ruby smiled. “If you don’t mind. Marty’s a gentleman. I’m sure he’d love the company.” She lifted a honey-hued dog into the salon, where he scampered, nails skittering, around the hardwood floors and came to rest at Deborah’s feet. “He wants you to pick him up.”
“Hi, little guy,” Deborah said in a baby voice, starting to relax. Puppy in lap, she leaned back in the chair.
With deft fingers, Ruby fluffed her hair and lifted a wavy brown hank to the side. “What would you like done?”
“Just a trim.”
“It’s nice at your shoulders, but you have such delicate features. You’d look terrific in a pixie. It would really bring out your eyes and cheekbones.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Eyes and cheekbones? Did she really have eyes worth looking at? “Louie—that’s my husband—likes it the way it is.”
Ruby dropped her hair and met Deborah’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re Deborah Granzer, right? From the grocery store chain?”
Please, not again. She’d been having such a nice time, too. Once people heard she was married into the Granzer family, they treated her differently. Some lady was even trying to get her to join the Carsonville Women’s League. No way. “Um...that’s a lovely purple tote you have.”
Ruby’s eyes took on a steely look. “It’s Balenciaga. The real thing. I could get you one half-price, if you want. My uncle’s in the trade.”
“Oh, no,” Deborah said. “That’s not what I meant.”
If Deborah wasn’t mistaken, Ruby was relieved. “Come over to the sink, and we’ll wash your hair. Marty, you’ll have to get down.”
In a moment, a thick stream of warm water poured over her scalp. Heaven. Even better, the hairdresser seemed to have let go of the Granzer connection.
“Would you like some music? I don’t know how you’d feel about it—it’s not very high class—but I have some Patsy Cline.”
“I love Patsy Cline. Unless you have Loretta Lynn, of course. She’s my favorite.”
The hairdresser led her back to the chair and fastened a plastic poncho around her neck. At the sound of “Walking After Midnight” crooning from the stereo, Deborah let out a long sigh.
“Anything wrong?” Ruby said.
“No.”
“Honey, I’m a hairdresser. It’s kind of like a bartender. We see everything, and we keep secrets.”
“I’m fine. Really. It’s just so comfortable here, that I—” Deborah avoided meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Can I have Marty in my lap again?”
“Sure.” Ruby picked up the dog, who rooted under Deborah’s plastic poncho, then settled into a soft bundle. Ruby clipped up her hair and combed out the strands at the nape of her neck. “The Granzer family. That’s something. How’d you meet your husband?”
“It’s kind of boring,” she said. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“I know ‘boring.’ I met my husband a million years ago at the pet food store. But I’m a romantic. Love to hear these stories.”
Deborah leaned back, the Chihuahua warm in her lap. “Well, we met at my parents’ dry cleaning shop. I used to work there.” When they’d first met, he’d been so enamored of her. “Louie had come in with a couple of suits to have cleaned. Over the next couple of months, he brought in every textile in his house—his sleeping bag, curtains, rugs, coats, you name it.”
“But he couldn’t get up the nerve to ask you out?”
“Finally he did. It happened when I was handing him a set of dry-cleaned hot pads.” Louie had paused and opened his mouth. They stared at each other, each still grasping an edge of pot holder. Louie’s voice had cracked as he’d stammered out his invitation.
“That’s sweet. I hate smooth guys. Where’d you go on your first date?”
“To see that old movie The Birds down at the Bijou. Louie likes birds.”
And that’s how it started. Her parents weren’t too wild about her dating Louie until they discovered he was heir to Granzer’s Shop ’n Save. She and Louie had been so happy together the first few years of marriage. They moved into Louie’s family home, and Deborah even went with him on a few of his birdwatching trips before grass allergies sidelined her. But they never had much to talk about. The phone was the worst. Louie always seemed too stymied to talk. Her throat tightened.
Ruby set down her scissors. “Honey?”
Maybe it was the music, maybe the sympathetic ear, maybe the dog sleeping in her lap, but her lip began to quiver. Then the tears started. The mirror showed a red-faced, sodden-haired girl. No one would have believed she was already twenty-four.
Ruby disappeared into the kitchen and came back a second later with a glass of wine. “Sweetheart,” she said and patted her arm. “Drink this. It’s from a box, but it’s not bad.”
Deborah was gulping back the tears now. The wine shimmied in its glass as she drew shuddering breaths. “Thank you,” she managed to say.
Ruby pulled up a chair. The Chihuahua appeared from under Deborah’s poncho and leapt to Ruby’s lap. “Honey, don’t you have anyone to talk to?” The hairdresser reached into a nearby drawer and withdrew a folding fan, which she flapped at her face. “Don’t mind me. Hot flash.”
“Well,” Deborah said. “It’s Louie. I don’t think he loves me anymore.”
Ruby dropped the fan to her side. “That can’t be. You’re a darling.”
“He spends so much time away, birdwatching. It’s like he can’t stand to be with me. Plus, it’s not safe to leave me alone. Just a couple of weeks ago, someone broke in and stole all my mother-in-law’s jewelry. Plus the sterling.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Full flatware service for twelve,” Deborah said. “The burglar shut off the security system and opened the safe just like he knew all the codes.”
Ruby patted her hand. “No wonder you don’t feel safe. Why don’t you get a dog? Chihuahuas might be tiny, but they bark.”
“I do like dogs, but I’m not sure Louie wants one.”
“What about a job? Do you work?”
“No, no job.”
“Any hobbies? Or kids? It sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands.”
“I like to clean house, but it isn’t very fulfilling.” Deborah bit her lip, then drew a long sip of wine. “I want to have kids. Maybe once Louie is home more, we can try.”
“Just how much is he away?”
“This time is the longest so far. It’s been three weeks, and I’m not sure when he’s coming home.”
Ruby’s reflection in the mirror was sympathetic. She reached out and lifted a few wet strands of hair. “I’d better finish this while we talk.” She shifted the dog back to Deborah’s lap, where he settled, this time on top of the poncho. “No kids for me, either. My husband and I wanted them, but the doctor said it wasn’t going to happen. We’ve got the dogs, though.”
Deborah leaned back and let the older woman spritz her hair, then comb it out and clip the ends. It was so restful, having someone care for her like this. Ruby stopped clipping to refill her wine glass.
When Louie had been home last, she’d reveled in fixing his dinner, keeping the house tidy, and helping him catalogue his bird photos. The box of watches was left, forgotten, in the back of the closet. Louie had set up a projector in his study, and in the evenings he cycled through the photos from his last birding trip to Peru—the Hooded Tinamu, the Horned Screamer, the Peruvian Booby, and other birds that for Deborah blended into a blur of feathers and beaks—for hours.
“Here’s the Andean Cock of the Rock, the national bird of Peru. Isn’t its crest stunning? Of course, the female is much less showy,” he’d said, clicking to the next photograph.
“Yes, I love that orange head.”
“Crest,” he corrected. “You should see them at mating time, all the males bobbing and showing off for the females.”
“Then what happens?”
“Oh, the female lays eggs, usually under a rocky outcropping, and raises her chicks.”
“By herself?”
Louie looked at her incredulously. “Of course.”
“Who’s that woman?” Deborah had asked one evening while Louie was flipping through the photos again. She’d been mending a tear in the lining of his safari jacket and had looked up in time to catch the image of five people—the woman among them—in an open field. The woman was on the stocky side with a long, blonde ponytail.
“Trixie. Ornithologist,” he said.
She set down the jacket. What sort of birdwatcher was named Trixie? “Does she go on a lot of these trips with you?”
“A few. She teaches at Cornell. Does a spot-on imitation of the Eastern Speckled Gnatcatcher. Spectacular.”
It wasn’t long after that evening that Louie had left for Ecuador. Now that winter was coming in the Northern hemisphere, he said, it would be hatching season in South America.
Deborah shook her head at the memory, causing Ruby to lift her scissors a moment.
“Have you talked to your husband about how much you miss him? Maybe he’s hoping you’ll join him,” Ruby said.
“I have allergies. Louie says birdwatching is no place for someone who can’t crouch in a field. He doesn’t want me to come.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. It must be awful to stay in that big house all alone. You need to find some interests. Besides cleaning, that is. You can’t leave those feelings all bottled up, or they’ll sour.”
“Or worse,” Deb nearly whispered.
Ruby stopped brushing the clipped bits of hair from Deborah’s shoulders and looked at her in the mirror. “Darling. You’re—you’re not having any dark thoughts, are you?”
Deborah clutched the Chihuahua so tightly that he whined and slipped from her lap. “No. Not that. I don’t think about hurting myself, but….”
“But what, honey?”
Should she say it? Ruby was so kind and understanding. Maybe she’d have some kind of insight. Maybe she could help. Deborah gulped her wine.
“Honey,” the hairdresser said. Patsy Cline launched into “Three Cigarettes and an Ashtray.”
Deborah bent her head. “Sometimes I feel compelled.…”
The hairdresser seemed to be holding her breath.
“Sometimes I do things to men.”
“You don’t—”
“No,” Deborah said quickly. “I just—I just take their watches.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to tell Ruby quite that much.
Ruby’s fingers froze in Deborah’s hair. “You’re mad because your husband doesn’t spend enough time with you, so you boost men’s watches.”
Deborah nodded. Blood hummed in her ears. Why had she said that? Would she call the police?
Ruby set down the comb. “Right off the man?”
“You don’t think it’s awful?”
“I think it shows unusual skill.” She shook her head. “Right off the man. Amazing.”
“I’ve always been rather nimble. From mending, probably. In the dry cleaning shop. I can fix a tear in a chiffon skirt so that you’d never know it was there.”
“You sell the watches, of course.”
“Oh, no,” Deborah said. “I couldn’t profit from it.”
“But presumably you have a number of—”
“Eight.”
“Amazing,” she repeated. Ruby tipped Deborah’s face toward the mirror. Her hair was dry now and fell in cocoa-brown waves to her shoulders. “Look at you. Lovely. Your husband must be nuts. Although I’d still like to see you in a pixie.”
Deborah caught Ruby’s gaze in the mirror. “You’ve been so kind. Thank you for listening to me and being so sympathetic.” She paused and took a deep breath. “You won’t—you won’t say anything, will you? I mean, you understand, right?”
“Oh, I understand, all right. More than you’d know.” Ruby spun her chair and unsnapped the plastic poncho. “I might have something more interesting for you to do than clean house. You said you like kids?”
3
Claudine checked the address. This couldn’t be right. Larry the Fence would never have set up a meeting in such a public place. She looked once again up the street. No gray sedan. It had been three days since she’d seen it. Her shoulders relaxed. Must have been a fluke.
She heaved open the tea house door, its handle molded into an Art Nouveau swirl in brass, to velvet banquettes and the scent of jasmine and Darjeeling. The clink of coffee spoons on porcelain underscored the quiet string quartet music playing in the background.
“May I help you?” asked a man who could have buttled for the Queen Mother.
“Uh, yes,” Claudine replied. “I’m here to meet friends. I think.”
“Do you have a reservation?”
For a tea house? For real? “I’m not sure,” she said. She definitely wasn’t going to give any names. A middle-aged redhead with an elaborately curled coiffure waved from across the room. Larry had said to look for someone who resembled Shirley MacLaine, but with bigger hair. “Never mind. I think I found her.”
“Hi, I’m Ruby,” the redhead said. “We’re the first to arrive. Have a seat.” She moved a bulky lilac tote from the chair next to her.
“Claudine.” She held out a hand. “I didn’t expect Larry would choose somewhere so—so like this.”
“Oh, Larry can’t make it, so he put me in charge. I arranged to meet here.”
“Usually it’s the back room at the Tic-Toc. More private.”
Ruby wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see why we have to meet in some smelly bar. The Carsonville Women’s League comes here, you know.”
“I just wonder if we fit in, we—”
“We fit in perfectly fine.”
The host returned carrying two leather-bound menus dangling tassels. “How many more will be joining you?”
“I’m not sure. Could be quite a few.”
“Quite,” the host said with raised eyebrows.
“Jerk,” Ruby said when he left. “I don’t know where he gets off with that attitude.”
Claudine glanced at her watch. It was three o’clock, the time Larry had set. The table could probably seat at least ten people—more if they pulled up a few chairs—but so far it was just the two of them. She glanced over the room. Nothing suspicious. Still, there was always the possibility that the police had found out about their meeting. That would explain Larry’s absence.
“How many do you expect?” Claudine asked.
“Don’t worry,” Ruby said. “Everything is completely fine. I know for sure at least one other person is on her way.”
“Great.” Not. She should never have let her father wheedle her into this.
“Oh,” Ruby said. “Here she is.”
A fine-boned woman with wavy shoulder-length hair looked around the room. She had a lost way about her, as if she needed protecting. It was hard to believe she’d be competent at her work—a con, maybe? Hustler? Ruby waved her hand to attract the woman’s attention, and the woman’s face lit up, transforming her from lost girl to siren.
“Deborah, meet Claudine.”
They shook hands. Deborah’s hands were cool and her bones thin as a sparrow’s.
The host appeared behind her. “Will there be others?”
Ruby challenged his smirk with her own locked-eye gaze. “I believe they couldn’t make it.”
“Shame about such a large table. Oh, well.” He started to walk away.
“We’ll order now,” Ruby commanded. The host turned at the steel in her voice. “We’ll each take a pot of Oolong, and we’ll have a tray of macarons to share.” She pronounced the word as if it rhymed with “Cameroons.”
“The mah-cah-rohns, you mean?” the man said.
“That’s what I said.” She handed the menus to the host and dismissed him by turning her full attention to Claudine and Deborah.
Well. Claudine had been thinking she might want a cappuccino, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Not as long as Ruby had something to prove. Interesting that she’d chosen
the most expensive tea on the menu.
“Deborah,” Ruby said and took the young woman’s hand. “I’m so glad you made it.”
The younger woman smiled shyly.
“Deb is married to Louis Granzer of Granzer’s Shop ’n Save.”
Claudine felt the blood drain from her face. Shoot. She knew about the Granzers all right and especially about their safe’s former contents. An emerald brooch with matching earrings and matinee-length pearl necklace, if she remembered correctly. Plus that blasted sterling. What would the Granzer wife be doing here? This was a trap. She tensed in her chair.
Deborah’s expression remained placid. At her husband’s name, she slid her phone from her purse and set it on the table. “In case Louie calls. He’s out of town, and, you know.…”
“I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon.” Ruby patted her hand.
Deborah leaned forward. “I have some watches I’d like to get rid of, and—”
“Honey,” Ruby said to Deborah, “we don’t talk about business. I’ll introduce you to Larry later.” She turned to Claudine. “Deb’s new at this. I met her when she came into my salon, and we got to talking.” Ruby gave Claudine a meaningful look. “She has skills.”
Claudine stifled a groan. This was getting worse and worse. She was stuck in some fancy tea house with a couple of amateurs, one of whom might yet turn her in to the police. If Claudine hadn’t promised her father, she’d be out the door.
A waitress arrived with a silver tray laden with teapots and a gilt-edged platter of macarons in Easter egg colors. Claudine lifted the lid of the teapot set in front of her. Fragrant steam escaped. With delicate fingers, Deborah transferred a daffodil-yellow pastry to her plate. Claudine squinted at her in appraisal. The diamond solitaires in her ears were real, and at least a carat each. Apparently they’d made good with the insurance money. If this naif was planning to see Larry the Fence, she’d better bring along someone with experience. She’d be lucky if she made it out of there with cab fare.
“I’m so glad to be here with you,” Deborah said. Her smile almost dissolved Claudine’s caution. “Why don’t we get to know each other? I know we can’t talk about that” —she lowered her voice— “but maybe we can share a little bit.”
The Booster Club Page 3