The Final Arrangement

by Annie Adams

  The front door bell sounded a vicious assault to my contentment.

  He let go of me quicker than a teenage boy on prom night when the chaperone cuts in. We were obscured from view in the back room, but it didn’t keep him from beaming red in the face and I felt the heat on my cheeks just the same.

  I put one hand on each side of his face and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered.

  “Hang on a sec, Qui…”

  I had already reached the doorway when he began talking. I turned and held up a finger and mouthed, “Just one minute,” and smiled at him sweetly.

  "I need to tell you…"

  "I'll be right back." I took a deep breath to try and cool off while walking up to the front counter. Cindy stood, dramatically posed in the doorway at the front of the store. She had one hand on her hip and the other hand hovered above her shoulder with keys dangling from her fingers. She wore the same outfit as before and as she approached the front counter, she struggled to walk like a model in her spiked heels, while forcing her lips into a petulant ”I’ve-been-wronged” pout.

  “I’m done. Here’s your keys.” She slammed the keys down on the counter, and tried to flip her hair around in an indignant fling. Perhaps it would have been successful had she not teased, gelled and sprayed her hair until it was a shellacked mass of one single unit rather than individual strands able to fly around independently for effect.

  I didn’t say a word the entire time she was there. I just picked up the keys and looked at her blankly until she turned around and marched out to the parking lot where she plopped into the passenger side of a sports car, which burned rubber tearing out of the parking stall before she had a chance to shut her door.

  I realized that my mouth hung open. I had no idea what I was going to do now, but I could worry later, and there was a nice broad shoulder I could cry on just a few yards away. Maybe leaning on someone wasn’t so bad once in a while

  “You won’t believe what just happened!” I called out to Alex as I retreated to the back workroom. I crossed the threshold and took a breath to recount the story and saw that Alex wasn’t in the room. He was gone.

  ###

  “That’s it,” I exhaled more than spoke.

  I was done. I had to get out. There was no plan, no forethought; the only thing I wanted or knew was to leave the moment and the place I was in. I trod slowly to the back door, but before I opened it I realized the hot glue pan was on, so I locked the back door and turned around, walking toward the design room. On the way to the counter where the glue pan sat, I passed the office and realized I would have to turn off the computer and the same went for the stereo. Just as the “off” button popped up on the monitor screen, the absurdity of the moment hit me.

  I wasn’t going to leave the store, I wasn’t going to shut off my phone, or drive away where nobody would recognize me. My vehicle had the store name, logo and phone number slapped all over it in giant vinyl lettering. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was tethered for so many reasons, not the least of which was the promise I made to my Aunt Rosie. I propped my elbows on the desk and sank my head into my hands. Just breathe, I told myself.

  For a few moments I sat that way, the hum of the cooler helping me to meditate around the stressors. The meditation only lasted a few seconds, and then the negative thoughts came flooding in. How could I even pretend to make this shop a success? And how could I have let myself be fooled not once, but twice, by the same man? He had come in and sweet-talked me, gotten a little sugar and then quite literally run away from me. Damn his handsomeness and his charm, and the perfect way he kissed me too.

  Oh my hell, I’ve turned into a country song.

  I was stressed into submission. As if on autopilot, I found myself gathering things. I went to the cooler and pulled out the prettiest flowers I could see. I didn’t care how much they cost, or what I would do with them after I was finished, I just had to direct my energy somewhere.

  I used a five-inch milk-glass cube and created a texture-filled box with lush Irish green trachelium, chartreuse chrysanthemums, pistachio colored cymbidium orchids, Kermit button poms, English boxwood, and little pieces of equisetum, or snake grass. Everything was green. Green is the ultimate neutral. Green is both calming and nurturing. It’s a spiritual healer. No wonder I was drawn to green flowers then. As I finished tucking in the last tufts of sculpted tree fern, I felt tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. It wasn't long before I let go and let myself cry. I held nothing back.

  “Pull yourself together, Quincy,” I said out loud after a few moments. What had I expected to happen? Fantasy men didn’t just drop out of the sky without some kind of consequences attached to their chutes. Just as I slid a damp chunk of bangs out of my face, I looked up and saw Allie being dropped off in the parking lot. She walked in all sunshine and cheer. Once she reached the design room, she looked at me with a puzzled expression.

  “What in the world…”

  “Don’t ask,” I said wearily.

  “Um, okay.”

  “I’ve just had the worst day ever. I’m still all wet, I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have any business today and I don’t have a delivery driver or Cindy as an employee.”

  “Quincy, I’m not going to ask about any of those things right now, but I will remind you that we work next door to a salon that just might have a hair dryer you could borrow.”

  “Excellent idea. I need a break.”

  “Yes you do,” she said. She looked at me as if I were some sort of bizarre sea mammal.

  “I’m gonna go next door.”

  “Great, I’ll take over here,” Allie said. She stopped short of pushing me out of the front door.

  I tried not to ponder the situation at the shop as I emotionally limped next door to the salon, but trying isn't the same as doing. For the time being, I could do the majority of the designing, especially when Allie inevitably left. But I needed to find a driver fast and I was just going to have to grin and bear the dreaded Freak Show Parade that would happen once I took out a want ad.

  Upon opening the salon door I entered an alternate universe. It was as if I had walked into a beehive, the noise of women talking and hairdryers blowing created a symphonic buzz amongst the hair clippings and perm rods.

  "Hey, Quincy, what's up?" asked Jenny, the salon owner.

  "I wondered if you might have a spare hair dryer?"

  "What happened to you?" Jenny asked while trying to stifle a laugh.

  “Just another day on the job. A work hazard.” No way would I tell her how my hair really got wet.

  “I have a dryer you can use, in fact I’ve got a few minutes, would you like me to style your hair for you? On the house?”

  “No that’s okay. I…actually, that would be fantastic Jenny.”

  She led me to her station and fastened the cape around my neck then she washed my hair at the sink. She took extra care in massaging my scalp, which felt wonderful—just what I needed. After the blow dry she set about using the flat iron and after a short time she spun my chair around to face the mirror. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, Jenny. I really needed this today.”

  I stood up and we both made our way to the front of the store.

  “I need to pay you; you can’t do this for free,” I said.

  “It was nothing. I’ll never make up for all the beautiful arrangements you put on our front counter every week. You should let me pay you.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t hear of it. I may come in for more pampering someday though.”

  “You’re welcome any time,” she said. “Hey, Quincy, I heard that you fired your delivery driver the other day.”

  "Yeah, I’m gonna need to find a new one quick, but I just can't bring myself to put up a want ad."

  Jenny blurted out, "I would never do that! The last girl I hired from an ad like that turned Elsie Turner's hair orange, and didn't know how to fix it. She had all k
inds of references, a nice looking resume, and everything else, but she didn't know how to color hair.

  "Elsie went to her DUP meeting and her Relief Society homemaking night, and told every one of the ladies there how badly my salon had treated her. Quincy, I personally fixed her hair, and of course I didn't charge her. I offered her free wash and sets for the next six visits—which she took! But she still told everyone she knew not to come here. I can't tell you the damage that lying little hairdresser caused me."

  I nodded my head in agreement. As I unwrapped a peppermint candy from the bowl on the counter, a woman who had been sitting on the couch in the waiting area approached Jenny and me.

  "Excuse me," she said in a shockingly deep alto voice. "I couldn't help overhearing." I felt my face heat up from chin to forehead. She looked like she could be one of Elsie's cohorts. I knew we hadn't said anything bad about Elsie, but she hadn't been cast in the most complementary light and we had probably talked very loud in order to hear over the noise in the salon.

  The woman looked to be between fifty and sixty. She stood about five foot five with chestnut colored hair except for her crown, which was completely gray. I imagined that's what she had come in for. She was a good-sized woman for her height. Her center of gravity seemed to be located in the upper half of her body due to the huge bosoms that rounded out near her waist. She had the chesterly endowments of many a great aunt from my youth—the kind who hugged you, smothering you with their “assets,” leaving you with an oogie feeling for the remainder of the family reunion. She wore glasses on a gold chain that swayed from side to side as she made her way forward.

  "I'm so sorry, I..."

  "Hold it right there." The woman pointed at me.

  I gulped and stood at attention.

  "Don't you apologize for anything. A woman should never apologize for speaking her mind. My goodness, all you did was come in here for a style. Nothing wrong with that.”

  "Quincy, this is K.C., she has an appointment with Shannon," Jenny said.

  "Karma Clackerton," the woman barked out. She grabbed my right hand and shook it with vigor. “Call me K.C. I come in every so often and replenish my youthful color. I had mousy brown hair as a young lass and I hated it. Now it ranges from chestnut brown to sexy red depending on my mood." She cupped her hands around her mouth. "I think my mood is auburn today Shannon," she yelled toward Shannon's station at the back of the salon. A seventyish year old woman sitting in the chair closest to us looked at K.C. with disdain.

  "Well what’s the matter Nedra?" She asked the old woman. "You should consider yourself lucky to have heard me at all."

  Jenny covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. I couldn't hide my surprise at hearing her talk to the other woman that way.

  "Oh don't worry; she didn't hear most of what I just said. She never wears her hearing aid, and she always has that look on her face. Like she just smelled a sour dishrag."

  I bit my bottom lip to cut off my laugh after the visual K.C. had created.

  "Well I need to get back to the shop, Jenny, and it was nice to meet you, K.C." I backed up a step to leave.

  "Don't leave yet." K.C. gently, but firmly put her hand on my forearm. "I meant to say earlier, that I overheard you talking about needing a delivery driver."

  "Do you know someone?" My interest was piqued but I prepared myself to hear about her darling granddaughter, who had just passed her driver's test two weeks ago, and would love a fun after school job. No thank you.

  "Yer lookin' at 'er." She saluted and curtsied, all at the same time.

  "Oh." I paused, not knowing how to respond.

  "Well don't look so surprised. I may be old but I'm not useless!"

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

  "There you go apologizing again. A woman never needs to apologize for speaking her mind."

  Shannon walked to the front of the salon and said, "K.C., I'm ready for you now."

  "Don't go anywhere," K.C. said. "I'll come over after I'm done. I'll be the one who looks like Elizabeth Taylor." She laughed with an astonishingly high-pitched giggle and tossed her head dramatically, flipping non-existent tresses into the non-existent wind as she walked back with Shannon.

  I returned to my shop where Allie was busy arranging electric blue belladonna delphinium with red carnations and white Queen Anne’s lace.

  “Quincy, I’m alright here for the rest of the afternoon if you want to take off. That is after you tell me about your day.”

  I recounted the exercises, the drenching, the hit-and-run witnesses and Cindy leaving. I left out the part about Alex leaving. It was too embarrassing to share how gullible I’d been. “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll take you up on your offer after I finish entering that stack of invoices into the computer.”

  I sat at the desk then noticed the little pocket notebook I had used to scribble some notes about Derrick, and a to-do list I had compiled of people I could talk to about Derrick’s business with the mortuary. I had written the name of Irwin Shaw and next to it was a question mark with the word pamphlet written to next to it. Just what was the connection between Derrick and Irwin Shaw and the switch grass pamphlet? It wouldn’t hurt for me to pay the Shaws a visit, since Allie would be covering the shop, and I had promised to help them finish setting up their computer system.

  The door chimes sounded and I looked out from behind the desk to see K.C. She sported a warm auburn color, and lots of volume in her curly do. She fluffed her hair as she walked toward the front counter in a Marilyn Monroe fashion.

  “What do you think?” she said in a deep voice, reminiscent of a 1940’s movie star.

  “It looks great! I love the color on you.”

  “Why thank you. Of course the way she styled it is way too big for me. But it’s nice to have it done up fancy once in a while. Now, about that driving job…”

  “I was thinking about that, and I decided we should have an interview.” I said with my best attempt at authority.

  "An interview! Pshaw. We don't need to waste time with an interview! Besides, we’re doing an interview right now. I'll just tell you all about myself and you can see what you think. I've got thirty years of driving experience, commercially. I drove a school bus. And let me tell you, if I can drive a fourteen-ton bus full of forty screaming kids, without getting in any accidents in those entire 30 years, I think you can find me safe enough to deliver your flower arrangements. I never lost a child either.”

  "I don’t know. Do you have any retail experience?"

  "No, but I'm responsible, and I'm a good driver, and I'll work for fairly cheap. I expect to be paid, but I don't need a lot. I've got some money saved up for retirement. And I don't have a family at home to worry about. I can come in early and work late. Whatever you need. My kids are all grown, and my husband passed away last year. Basically I need a little bit of money coming in to cover the fun stuff, and I need something to do. C'mon kid. I need a job and you need a driver. Whaddya say?"

  I paused for a moment to think about the problems that might arise from hiring an older woman. I’d experienced plenty of problems recently with my younger employees.

  “She’s hired!” Allie’s voice sounded from the middle of the design room.

  “K.C., let me introduce you to my sister, Allie.”

  “Hello, Allie,” K.C. leaned over the counter and waved at Allie through the false window, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Well, Quincy?”

  "Okay,” I said, “lets give it a try."

  "Yippee!" said K.C.

  "Have you ever driven a mini-van before?"

  "No, but if you can drive a bus you can drive anything."

  "Do you think it will be a problem lifting things? Sometimes these buckets are kind of heavy."

  "If I can't do it as is, I'll find a way to make it work. I think you'll be surprised, Miss McKay. This old mule has got a lotta kick left in her."

  "I'm sure you do." I said with a laugh. I liked this lady. She appeared to be honest
and trustworthy, but mostly, she said whatever was on her mind, and I guessed that she did whatever she pleased. I didn’t know if I felt bullied by her or lucky to have met her. Maybe it was a little of both, but it was a perfectly timed change and it was exactly what I needed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After finishing with K.C., I drove to the Shaw’s flower shop. It was in a quaint, pretty, town, but a business in such a small, out-of-the-way place was unlikely to be providing a full income for the Shaw’s. I hoped they had some money saved to live on.

  I walked in the front door to find no one in sight, just as before. I knocked on the front counter. “Hello, LaDonna, are you here?” I called out.

  “Hello?” A man answered, with a sharpness to his tone.

  “Irwin, is that you? It’s Quincy McKay.”

  Irwin came out of the office and peered up to the front of the store. “Oh, Quincy. LaDonna’s not here I’m afraid. She’s gone to the chiropractor.”

  “Oh, well I was just going to help finish putting the office together. I suppose I could do it without her.”

  “Uh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You know Mother will be the one using the computer, and I, well this just isn’t a good time. You’ll have to come back later.”

  Irwin glanced at his watch then turned his body to look back into the office. He returned his attention to me and sighed, his mouth wrenched into a crooked line.

  “Okay, no problem, I can come back,” I said. I moved toward the front door. No, no, no, I didn’t want to come back. I wanted information now. Since I had been connected to the unsolved murder of Derrick Gibbons I needed to gather the information that would clear me of any involvement. I wasn’t sure Irwin would be of any help to me, but that switch grass pamphlet was too much of a coincidence. It could also be a clue. I wasn’t sure about what, but it was something.