Dana stood alone in the center aisle, no sign of Payton anywhere. I got a glimpse of Mark Hamm and a vulnerable-looking Valorie as they scooted through the already dispersing crowd and out the doors.
Sara came barreling up the aisle toward me, Tanner and Mickey on her heels. Sara reached me first, pausing long enough to give Chief Conrad a shy wave.
“My mom said I could have the stew and pie.” She rubbed her non-existent tummy, eyes twinkling.
“You let me talk to the chief and we’ll leave for my house right away.” I raised my eyes to Conrad. “Unless I can lure the officer to my house with the promise of blueberry pie.”
Mickey piped up, his eyes solemn as he addressed the police chief. “Me and Tanner get some cake. A whole cake. Just us, ‘cuz Mom’s on a diet.”
Chief Conrad tousled Tanner’s hair. “A whole cake? Not even a slice for me?”
Tanner gave Mickey an uncertain look.
“No, sir,” Mickey said, totally unruffled. “She promised it to us, didn’t you, Mrs. Barnhart?”
“Sure did,” I said, still a little worried about the chief’s intentions for singling me out.
Chief’s expression lost some of its somberness. “I think I’ll take you up on the offer, LaTisha. What I need to ask you would probably be better discussed in private anyhow.”
I agonized on what those questions might be the entire drive home. Not even Hardy’s carrying on with the boys—who begged to ride in Old Lou—distracted me enough to grant me ease.
As soon as we landed in the driveway, the two boys raced to the side door. Hardy laughed. “Ain’t in a hurry, are you, fellas?”
I put the cake in a carrier and handed it to Belinda when she arrived. Right off, Mickey and Tanner began to argue over who would hold it. I bid the boys good-bye and waited for my next customer, feeling very much like a drive-thru worker.
Chief Conrad arrived next. Sara and her parents parked right behind his car. This time Hardy handed the food over, as I cut a generous slice of the blueberry pie for the chief.
“She’s such a frail thing,” Hardy began as he came inside after seeing Sara off. “Her mother told me to thank you. Seems Sara doesn’t eat anything as well as she eats your cooking.”
“I’ll have to fry up a passel of chicken for her. She sure loves my chicken.”
Hardy’s smile took the edge off my fear. “Make enough for me, too.”
I spooned a generous helping of ice cream onto the pie and nodded to the coffee machine. “Run me a cup for the chief.”
“Sure thing.”
Placing a spoon on the plate, I headed to the living room where Chief Conrad scanned the day old paper. He appeared more relaxed, less dutiful than at the church.
“No one makes pie like you do,” he said as he accepted the dish. “It sure wouldn’t hurt for you to open up a restaurant. You’d probably put Mark out of business.”
“Don’t think he’d appreciate that too much.”
“No, but the folks around here would sure love it.”
As Chief Conrad took a generous bite of pie, I settled my bulk into my favorite recliner. “The paper’s full of Marion.” He pointed with his spoon at the folded paper. “Makes my head spin to keep up with what everyone is saying.”
“You’re not convinced she was pushed?”
Conrad’s spoon stilled in mid-air. He seemed to consider my statement a minute, then followed through with another bite of pie. He chewed slowly, little concentration-creases formed between his brows. “Well, I suppose not. We’re still waiting on the test results, you know. But off the record, it sure looks like it was no accident.” He set his dish on the coffee table. “The depth of her wound is what has me thinking it wasn’t a simple fall. The radiator she bashed her head against could have knocked her out, sure, but not killed her.”
“Do you have any theories?”
Conrad leaned forward and cut another bite with the edge of his fork. “I do, but none I can share right now. Which leads me to the questions I needed to ask you.”
I sucked in air and let it out slow and easy. “I’m ready.”
“It’s nothing like you think, LaTisha. You have a concrete alibi. The librarian confirmed that you were there. I checked it out yesterday."
I can tell you that news tickled my ears real good. My breath came easier. "So what you here for?"
"What I need is help. You know the budget has everything tight and—" He grimaced. "—Officer Simpson isn’t quite used to the folks around here yet, so they won’t give him the time of day. But you. . .”
He held such a hopeful expression. My mind clattered along with the possibilities of what he was suggesting.
“With all those courses you’re taking and you being a native and all, no one will shrink from you asking them questions. But I can’t pay you, LaTisha. It’s not in the budget and I— ” He winced. “I’d need you to keep low-key. If the state police or the rest of our officers found out I was doing this, well, I might have some real problems.”
I needed no further prodding. “I’ll do what I can. I hear there’s a reward.”
He brightened. “That’s true. A private citizen posted a thousand-dollar reward. If you help nail the criminal, it’s yours.”
“You know who it was who posted it?”
He ran his finger around the edge of his plate. “Can’t tell you because I don’t know.”
Beans! Curiosity was gonna kill me for sure. “What do you want me to begin with?”
Chief Conrad scooped up the last bite of his pie and swished it around in the puddle of melted ice cream before popping it into his mouth. Hardy entered, walking carefully as he carried a full cup of coffee. He set it down in front of the officer.
“You like it black?”
“Black is fine. Thank you, Hardy.”
Hardy plopped onto the opposite end of the sofa from the chief. “So you hauling my wife off to jail?”
I gave him a withering glance.
“No, Hardy.” Chief Conrad laughed. “You’ll have to put up with her for a while longer, I’m afraid. Her alibi—and yours as well, I might add—check out. I was just asking your wife if she would agree to help me out, but this is a private agreement between her and me. Word of it can’t leave this room.”
Hardy grinned. “It’s about time. She’s one mighty smart woman.”
“Yes, I know.” Conrad relaxed back into the cushions and crossed his ankles. “The first person I need your input on is Regina Rogane. I received an anonymous tip that her cessation from the mayoral campaign a few years back was not totally voluntary. You remember the scandal over the missing money?”
“Regina resigned shortly afterward, citing problems with people on the committee. Lots of people wondered if it meant she’d been guilty of taking the campaign funds.”
“Can you talk to her, LaTisha? Find out what happened and if Marion’s place on the committee ties in with Regina quitting so suddenly. I want as many details of that scandal as possible.”
Chapter Eleven
Wig Out, Regina’s hair salon, smelled like a perm. The stench was nearly intolerable. Terrible what women—black or white—did to their hair. Between perms, relaxers, heat pressing and blow dryers, it was a wonder more of us weren’t plucked bald.
I always wanted to be one of those black women brave enough to let her hair go natural. But I doggedly maintained my regimen of relaxing it once every two months. Any more frequently than that and my hair broke off quicker than it grew. Shayna had been the one to encourage me to extend my treatment to once every six weeks. “Your hair will love you for it.”
Last summer, Lela and I surrendered our home relaxing regimen in favor of letting Regina do the honor. Regina studied up on the processes for African-American hair and assured both Lela and I we would be safe in her hands. Both of us had been impressed with Regina’s extensive knowledge and had loved the products she used. So I kept coming back.
As I closed the door on the bright morning sun and faced th
e room, I switched mental gears, and vowed to listen close to the conversations that flowed between Regina and her patrons. I breathed in the rancid odor saturating the air of Regina’s shop and raised my hand in greeting.
“Hey there, lady!” Regina said, between snips of her scissors.
Regina Rogane could put a hurtin’ on most women if she had a mind to. Tall, the woman radiated good health and plenty of exercise. Chatty and upbeat, I could see where her sunshine personality would be a slow burn on the delicate skin of someone like Marion.
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, LaTisha. Just let me finish up,” Regina said as she enthusiastically began to tease the hair of the only other patron in the shop. One of Maple Gap’s finest—at least in her own mind. Mrs. Eugene Taser. The mayor’s wife of Maple Gap and don’t-you-forget-it.
“Hello, LaTisha,” Mrs. Taser began. “It’s terrible to hear of Marion’s death. I suppose you know more than anyone about the details.”
“I know what I saw, Betsy.” I waddled my way over to the chairs and eyeballed one with arms. It looked like a torture device for anyone over a size twelve. Double that for me, honey, and you can see my concern.
The mayor’s wife frowned at my casual use of her first name. I settled into another chair, one without arms, and smiled widely at Betsy’s chagrin. She much preferred to be addressed as “Mrs. Taser,” which was the exact reason I called her Betsy.
I decided to restart the conversation with pleasantries. “How’s Eugene?”
“The mayor is doing fine.”
Behind Betsy’s head, Regina rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“How’s your mother doing, Regina?”
Regina’s eyes shifted over to me for a split second before she set aside the comb and began wrapping Mrs. Taser’s teased puffs into loose rolls. “She’s getting worse.”
I remembered Regina’s mother with great fondness. Though a good twenty-five years my senior, Eloise Rogane had been an active member of Maple Gap and a wonderful neighbor. Alzheimer’s had too quickly taken its terrible toll.
“It must be very hard. I know how you struggled with the decision to put her in assisted living.”
“She requires full-time care now,” Regina said, her expression stoic. I recognized her attempt to maintain her composure. Her hands flew from one tuft of hair to another as she rolled and pinned, rolled and pinned.
Mrs. Taser, obviously more attuned to our conversation than the magazine, piped up. “She probably won’t last much longer, dear, then you’ll be free.”
Regina broke pace, eyes flashing at the back of the woman’s head, then up at me in silent misery. In the next instant, Regina swooped up the can of hairspray and doused Mrs. Taser’s hair from all angles—maybe a little too much in the front? Mrs. Taser gasped and choked.
“You trying to asphyxiate me?”
Regina ripped off the protective cape and declared with more energy than necessary. “You’re all done!”
Betsy Taser rose, still coughing, and rounded on Regina. “You didn’t even let me look at myself first to see if I approved. I must always look my best.”
“There’s no hope, honey,” I ground out. “You’d better take what Regina gives you and be happy.”
The woman stiffened and glared. “Well!”
Regina put her hand across her mouth.
Betsy’s eyes narrowed at the hairdresser. “Put it on my tab as usual.”
Regina’s face immediately lost its animation, sinking into what I thought to be a look of resignation. “Have a nice day.”
I smiled up at Betsy as she hovered by the door, green eyes flashing down at me. “Laughter is good for the spirit, sister. Don’t take everything so seriously. Lighten up and be free!”
Betsy sputtered, then pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder and slammed out of the salon, or she would have if not for one of those elbow-thingy hinges that made the door close soft.
Regina and I exchanged bemused looks and burst into laughter.
She squirted some liquid soap and began working her hands together. “She is so egotistical.”
“Goes with being a politician. Or the wife of one. Not that I’d know personally.”
Regina tugged a towel down from the rack above the sink and dried her hands. “Believe me, even during the campaign she was like that. Her dad was a politician, too. Maybe that explains it.”
Something about the conversation between Regina and Betsy stirred around in my head. As far as I knew, Regina had everyone pay before they left. With Regina’s obvious dislike of the woman, why would she grant her preferential treatment and allow Betsy Taser to have a running tab? “Do you send her a bill or something?”
Regina wound the towel around her right hand. “Something like that. So what will it be for you today?”
I squinted at the girl. Funny she should ask now, she always asked when appointments were made, so she could be prepared. Maybe she’d forgotten. I touched my hair. “Full treatment this time. Though I’m tempted to do dreads and forget the whole thing.”
Regina broke into a wide grin. “You’d be the talk of the town, but somehow it would be fitting for you to have dreads. Wonder what Hardy would say?”
I howled at that. “He’d say, ‘Tisha, ain’t no sense in you looking like you got carpet burn in your hair.’ You know what I’ve always wanted to try? Those micro-breads. Shayna got them done at Christmastime and looked real good. A little head heavy—all them breads swingin’ and dancin’ about—but good.”
“You’d probably get a headache.” Regina snapped the pink plastic cape around my neck after I settled my bulk into the chair. “I just ordered a magazine of African-American Hairstyles. Why don’t you give it a look see?”
I followed the hairdresser’s path with my eyes toward the backroom. Regina returned in a wink with a glossy, pristine magazine in hand and dropped it into my lap. A close-up of a black woman sporting a natural look on the front, tempted me.
“I looked through it briefly," Regina said. "Lots of Bantu Knots and Micro-breads. They must be all the rage. See what you can find and we’ll schedule another appointment to get you your new look.”
“You sure it won’t be more than you can handle?”
“Nope. I can figure out most anything. And when I go to visit my mother, they have a Hair Salon especially for African-American women right near mom's home. I can pop in and ask someone to give me some pointers if I need to.”
I spread the magazine on my lap and thought about the offer. I loved my hats and never gave too much thought to my hair. Flattening it with a hot iron after a wash always seemed sufficient care. Maybe I should try something new. With no kids to fuss after, I could afford to have a more high-maintenance type hairdo.
“My mom always said a woman should have a hairstyle that makes her feel like wow,” Regina said.
Yes. I’d heard Eloise make that comment before. “My hats usually make me feel that way.”
“Maybe because you’ve been trying to hide your hair.”
“Never thought of it that way,” I conceded.
Regina busied herself dabbing olive oil on my hair.
“I’m sorry to hear about your momma being worse, Regina.”
She flicked a smile and tilted the chair backward to begin washing. The warm water flowed over my head, relaxing me. “Maybe I’ll shake Hardy’s bones long enough to get him to haul me over to see her.” I closed my eyes and imagined myself standing under the soft spray of a warm waterfall, surrounded by woods and cute forest animals.
“I don’t know, LaTisha. Mom’s pretty bad.”
I heard the catch in the girl’s voice and my illusion dissolved. Poor girl. “Shayna’s coming to town. I’ll have her pop in.”
Regina cleared her throat. “I’d love to see her. She dating anyone?”
“Some guy she met her senior year of college. Apparently he works downstairs in her building and they ran into each other so frequently, they decided they might as wel
l get to know each other better. It’s been three months.”
“She bringing him home?”
Regina massaged in another dose of shampoo.
I always forgot how much I enjoyed having someone else do my hair until Regina’s fingers started circular motions on my scalp. “She said she was. We’ll see.” I wasn’t sure, but it sounded a little like my words were slurring together.
“Any other children coming home this spring?”
“For Easter supper. Shakespeare, Bryton and FredLynn, Mason, Shayna, and Caleb are the only ones able to come this time.”
“I imagine Lela is bogged down with her new classes. I sure miss that girl. How’s Shakespeare’s teaching?”
“Fine. Know what I worry about most? Him not dating anyone. Ever since he got out of college and broke off his engagement, he doesn’t seem interested. But his teaching is going fine. Hardy’s mighty proud of him. They’ll probably go over to Payton’s and bang around on those pianos the entire time he’s home.”
“He sure has talent. Think he’ll go professional?”
“Naw. His heart is more in teaching than playing on that level. I’d be happy with him settling down and giving me some grandbabies.”
“Cora doing okay?”
“That’s why they’re not coming. Tyrone’s afraid for her to travel so close to her due date. Says Cora’s exhausted all the time. I told that boy he’d better remember who got her where she is and take good care of her.”
“If all your kids get married and have as many babies as you did, you’ll have to hire someone to help you with grandparenting duties.”
“Nope. I’ll love them all myself. When I get tired, I’ll have their grandpappy play them to sleep.”
Regina dabbed my hair dry and pushed my chair upright with a grunt. I blinked my eyes open. Reopening the magazine, I leafed through as Regina spun my chair to face the mirror and began the comb out.
“Whoo-wee, would you look at that. I lifted the magazine so Regina could see the picture of a stylish woman with an up-do. “That’s pretty.”
Regina leaned closer to get a good look at the picture. “I can do that, LaTisha.”
Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 8