by Sue Pethick
It has to be a mistake. Sooner or later, things will get sorted out.
But what if they didn’t get sorted? She’d bet everything she had on the move to this town; starting over somewhere else wasn’t an option.
Then another possibility occurred to her. What if she wasn’t the target at all? What if it was Kieran that someone was trying to hurt? Mrs. Dalton had told her there’d been some bullying on the playground. Could this be a way to pressure the kids at school who were “different” to leave? The thought was chilling.
Renee took a deep breath and tried to calm the frightened voices in her head. Letting her imagination run wild wouldn’t do any good. Whatever was going on, she had to forget about it—for now, at least. She had a job to do. Once she walked into the salon, she’d be busy, and this problem would move into the background. There’d be plenty of time later to fix things, she thought. Right now, there was work to do.
Dottie was at the front desk, looking harried. When she stepped through the door, Renee gave her a quick wave and headed into the back room to hang up her coat. She was just tying on an apron when Dottie stepped in and gave her a bleak look.
“Mary Ruth canceled her appointment.”
Renee felt a frisson of fear. Mary Ruth Mayhew and her family had their pictures taken every year on Christmas Eve, and she’d been touched when Dottie told her that Miz Mayhew had made her appointment six weeks in advance so that Renee could fix her hair when the time came. The woman wasn’t terribly old, but she wasn’t young, either, and she’d had some health problems recently.
“What happened? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. When I came in this morning, there was a message on the answering machine saying she couldn’t make it. I tried to call her back, but there was no answer.”
“I hope she’s all right.”
As disappointing as the cancellation was, Renee was far more concerned about Mary Ruth.
“That’s not all,” Dottie said. “You had two more clients call and cancel within the last half an hour.”
Renee was staggered. Absent an epidemic of some sort, this sort of thing just didn’t happen—especially not at this time of year. Nevertheless, it made no sense to try and figure out what was going on. Unless she wanted to end up in the poor house, she needed to get her schedule filled. Thank goodness, that wouldn’t be a problem.
“Well, it’s not great,” she said, “but things happen. I’ll start calling my wait list and see if I can fill the holes in my schedule.”
“I already did,” Dottie said. “They all said they were too busy to come in.”
“All of them?”
“Every last one. Your only other appointment today is at two, and when I called, she said she couldn’t make it any earlier. I’m sorry. I did the best I could.”
“Of course you did,” Renee said. “I’m not blaming you. I’m just . . . surprised. I’d have thought that someone would want to come in. I don’t know what to do now. I mean, should I stay here or go home?”
“Oh. No, you should definitely stay,” Dottie said. “I wasn’t able to get any of your wait list ladies in here, but one of your semi-regulars called about ten minutes ago, asking if you had any openings, and I put her in.”
Hallelujah.
“Well, that’s something. Who was it?”
“Maggie McRay.”
Renee’s hopes dimmed.
“Oh.”
Maggie McRay was a sweet gal and a hard worker, but as a client, she was as frustrating as a recalcitrant child. In spite of numerous entreaties from Renee, she refused to even consider any suggestions about style and color, preferring to let her fine, greying hair hang down, hiding her lovely Irish complexion and sparkling green eyes. No doubt, she’d want nothing but a trim, too, the price of which would do little to make up for the income Renee had lost due to the cancellations.
Nevertheless, she thought, it was better than nothing.
“When’s she coming in?”
“I saw her truck pull into the lot next door as I was walking back here.”
Renee took a deep breath.
“Then at least I won’t have a lot of time to wait,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get another walk-in later.”
“Sure,” Dottie said, looking doubtful. “You never know.”
Maggie was already sitting in the chair when Renee walked out to her station. Hands gripping the arm rests, her feet planted and her back stiff, she looked about as relaxed as a death row inmate in the electric chair. Renee grabbed a drape from her drawer and shook it out.
“Hey, Miz McRay,” she said. “Time for another trim?”
Maggie shook her head.
“No, ma’am.”
She turned and gave Renee a resolute stare.
“I want you to make me a sexy senior citizen.”
Renee was shocked. Was this the same woman who’d scoffed at the notion of conditioning her hair? Who’d refused to let Renee even blow it dry? The one who ended every appointment by taking out a rubber band and raking her damp hair back into a ponytail? It didn’t seem possible, but seeing was believing and it was certainly good news as far as she was concerned. Nevertheless, as Renee set the drape around Maggie’s shoulders, she couldn’t help wondering what had prompted this change of heart.
“Hold on tight,” she said. “I’ll get some color samples, and you can tell me what you’d like.”
Sissy was sitting in the break room, looking bleak. As Renee walked in to grab an apron and the samples of dyed hair, she turned away.
Maybe I’m not the only one with cancellations.
“You okay, Sissy?”
The girl shook her head.
“Something on your mind?”
Sissy shrugged, a gesture Renee found especially irritating, having seen McKenna do it so often.
“Look, if you have something to tell me, just spit it out,” she said. “I’ve got Maggie McRay in the chair, and I don’t want her to run off before I get back out there.”
“I warned you,” Sissy said.
Renee frowned. What was she talking about?
“Warned me about what?”
“About what would happen if you didn’t leave Travis alone.”
It took a moment for Renee to put two and two together.
“Are you talking about the cancellations?”
Sissy nodded.
Renee felt her face flush, remembering the cryptic message the young woman had given her on Saturday. At the time, she’d brushed it off as harmless gossip. Sissy could be credulous to the point of delusion, given the proper motivation, and she’d had no interest in feeding her fantasy. Now, however, her comment about Savannah’s being jealously protective of her former flame was making a strange sort of sense.
“You mean to tell me,” she said, feeling her anger grow, “that Savannah Hays had my clients cancel because I wouldn’t stop seeing her old boyfriend? That’s nuts.”
The young woman turned, and Renee saw angry tears in her eyes.
“It serves you right,” she said. “You never should have made me steal that hair.”
CHAPTER 26
“Max! Here boy!”
Travis shivered as another car drove by, creating eddies of bitter wind in its wake. He’d been walking the area around his house for over an hour, talking to neighbors and putting up Missing Dog signs, but he still had no idea what had happened to his brother’s dog. He’d called the emergency animal clinic and left messages at every vet’s office in town—most of which were closed for the holidays—but no one had seen or heard of a lost dog matching Max’s description. It wasn’t possible for a dog that size to simply vanish, he thought. Max had either been stolen or was dead.
He’d just started back up his driveway, trying to rekindle the faint hope that Max had returned on his own, when his phone buzzed. Travis’s heart leaped—finally, some news!—but then he reached into his pocket and saw the caller ID.
“Hey, Hank,” he said, trying not to
sound disappointed.
“Hey. Got a minute?”
Travis walked to the end of the driveway and peered over the fence. Max wasn’t in the backyard.
“Sure,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
Hank hesitated.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” Travis slipped off his boots and went inside. “I mean, yes, but it’s got nothing to do with you. Hugh’s dog is missing.”
“Have you called the pound?”
“I’ve called everybody,” he said. “At this point, he’ll either show up or he won’t.”
He took off his coat and tossed it on a chair.
“So, what’s up?”
“It’s about the program,” Hank said. “Under the circumstances, I wish it was better news.”
“Is this about the problem you mentioned at the Jaycees?”
“It is. Those two families I mentioned have dropped out and another is threatening to.”
“Why? The program hasn’t even started yet.”
“Someone told them that the point of the program is to get their kids on meds.”
“But that’s not true.”
“You know it and I know it, but that doesn’t mean they don’t believe it.”
Travis ran a hand through his hair. Of all the problems he’d accounted for, having someone spread false information about the program hadn’t even been on his radar. It made him wonder about the source of the rumor. Was this just wild speculation on someone’s part, or was there a personal motive involved?
“What if I called and explained that medicating their kids was never the point?”
“I’ve already told them that.”
“But if I—”
“Listen to me. The names of the kids and their families are confidential—something you yourself insisted on when we started the program. The only person besides me who knows their names is my secretary, Debbie, and the only reason she knows is because I asked her to type up the list of families last week.”
“Okay, I get that, but—”
“If you breech that confidentiality by contacting those parents, it’ll put the whole program in jeopardy.”
Travis began pacing the floor. After all the work he’d done—setting up the Diehl Foundation, jumping through hoops for the IRS, consulting with experts to develop the program—it was infuriating to think that the whole thing might be upended by the loose talk of one ignorant person.
“I understand,” he said. “I get it; I do. I just want to know who told them.”
“I already know who told them. That is, I know who they said it was.”
“Then tell ’em to stop!”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She said she didn’t.”
Travis took a deep breath.
“Who is it?”
Hank’s laugh was rueful.
“You really think I’m going to tell you?”
“Why not? Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
There was a long pause before Hank finally said:
“You and I have known each other a long time—I know you, Travis. You’re a hell of a nice guy, but I know how much this program means to you. How do I know you won’t try and contact the person yourself?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair or not, I can’t take the chance. This program may be your baby, but I’ve got a lot at stake here, too. Now, I’ve already contacted the person, and they claim they had nothing to do with it. If they’re telling the truth, then getting in their face about it could bring the whole thing down around our ears.”
“And if they’re lying?”
“If they’re lying—if they really did start this rumor—then I promise you, I will find out. And when I do, I will do something about it.”
Travis chewed his lip. Hank was right: This program was his baby. More than that, it was a living memorial to the parents who’d raised both him and his brother in difficult circumstances—of course he wanted to set the record straight. The fact was, unless and until the source of the rumor recanted, there would always be a lingering doubt in the other parents’ minds.
“You still there?” Hank said.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Travis rubbed a hand down his face. He was tempted to keep arguing, hoping to persuade Hank to change his mind, but it was getting late, and he was still worried about Max. If he was going to get any more searching done before the sun set, he’d have to do it now.
“I’m not happy about it, but I guess I’ll just have to trust you.”
“Thank you,” Hank said. “I’ll give you a call if anything changes.”
* * *
Renee was in a state as she drove home that afternoon. She’d spent six hours at the salon and served exactly two clients—one of whom hadn’t even tipped her!—and except for the time when she’d been working, she was thinking about Travis Diehl. The exact thing she’d been hoping that work would distract her from!
At least she and Sissy had finally straightened things out. After blurting out the comment about “stealing” hair from the salon, the poor girl had broken down and confessed that telling Renee to leave Travis Diehl alone had been Savannah Hays’s idea. Apparently, Savannah had hoodwinked her into delivering the message by convincing the girl that taking hair from the salon was against the law. Poor Sissy was terrified, sure she’d be punished for “stealing,” and it had taken several minutes of reassurance and an intervention from Winona to convince her that she wasn’t about to lose her job over the “theft.” Winona might have been disgusted, but she was helpless to do anything about it. Like Renee, she owed too much of her success to Savannah’s referrals to confront the woman. Unless the situation escalated, she said, the three of them would just have to move on.
Which was fine with Renee. As far as she was concerned, if Savannah wanted Travis that badly, she could have him. There was no way she was going to ruin her reputation and her family’s financial welfare for a man she barely knew.
Nevertheless, by the time she got home, Renee was feeling unexpectedly teary. Savannah had been a good customer and the referrals she’d sent Renee had been both flattering and appreciated. She’d even thought of her as a friend. But the woman had thought nothing of setting Renee’s clients—some of whom were almost like family—against her. It made her feel vulnerable and scared. Why would Savannah try and hurt her like that? As she hung her coat on the hook by the front door, she felt hot tears sting her eyes.
She couldn’t think about it. Not with Jack and his family on the way. There was still too much to do to get the house ready for company, Renee thought. If she let herself get sad and mopey, it would put a damper on everyone’s Christmas. She’d almost gotten herself calmed down when Wendell walked upstairs and stuck his head around the corner.
“Hey there. How was work?”
Renee opened her mouth to speak and choked on the words, then shook her head. Tears filled her eyes as her father approached, his arms open.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Oh, Dad,” she sobbed.
Renee leaned her head against his chest and felt a flood of tears course down her cheeks as he patted her back. The relief she felt was overwhelming—it felt good to be patted and told that everything was all right—but it was relief tinged with guilt. Not only were things not all right, but once again Wendell was having to support and comfort her. Even worse, there was a small, selfish part of her that wished it was Travis Diehl whose shoulder she was crying on, not her father’s.
The wish made Renee feel ashamed. After all her father had done for her, she had no right to be anything but grateful. Who was Travis Diehl to her, anyway? Just some guy who’d asked her out a couple of times. For all she knew, he’d only done it because he knew that Kieran was in the program at school, and he was trying to win her over. Besides, the man belonged to someone else; Savannah Hays had made that perfectly clear. There was no sense torturing herself over somethin
g that could never be.
She straightened up and wiped her eyes.
“Sorry, Dad. Just a tough day,” she said, forcing a smile. “How were things here?”
“Fine,” he said. “Nothing to report, really. McKenna moved her things into your bedroom, and Dyl promised to keep his door closed.”
Renee was pleasantly surprised.
“Mac moved all her things into my room?”
“Well, she didn’t move the bed.”
“You know what I mean. How’d you do it?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “The dog did.”
Renee glanced toward the stairs where the family’s old baby gate was still firmly affixed.
“You’re kidding.”
Wendell shook his head.
“Strange but true. I told her the dog was off limits until she moved her things.” He gave her a knowing look. “Took her about ten minutes.”
Renee knew that look. It meant that her father was making a point without actually saying anything—generally because he knew she’d disagree with him if he did. She gave him a look of her own.
“And . . . ?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” he said breezily. “I just thought it was interesting.”
She felt herself relent. After the day she’d had, she was in no mood to try and extract a confession from anyone. Whatever was on her father’s mind, he’d tell her soon enough. The truth was, she was just relieved not to have to fight with McKenna to get her to move her things. If the dog had had a hand—a paw?—in that, then she was glad.
The dog.
Renee bit her lip. In spite of herself, she was curious to see how it was doing. The poor thing had looked so pitiful the day before that she’d let Kieran cover it with one of her old afghans and sleep downstairs next to it. As anxious as she was over breaking the news to Jack and Megan, she’d never considered turning it away.
“So,” she said. “How is it?”
“Doing better.” Wendell nodded toward the stairs. “You want to come down and see for yourself?”
“Oh, sure. Why not?”
The dog was lying on the floor, stretched out on the afghan, apparently asleep. Kieran was sitting by its head, staring at it adoringly. When Renee came downstairs, he put a finger to his lips. She nodded.