by T. Doyle
“Ugh.” Ann’s voice doused our fun.
“Get over it,” Joe said to the phone. He picked up the plate and headed outside to the grill.
“On that note, I’m back at my dorm and hanging up now. Love you guys,” Ann said.
“Love you, too.” I hit the end call button with my pinky and then sliced mushrooms.
Joe returned with the empty plate. “How was your day?” He put the plate down and hugged my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I added the mushrooms to the salad bowl. “Good. We found out Oscar played professional poker, the kind that required stakes.” I rinsed a red bell pepper.
Joe huh’ed and hugged me tighter. “I can’t picture that.”
“Me, neither. And apparently he had a really good fake ID, too. Which reminds me we need to frisk Drew the next time he comes home and find out where he got it.”
“So noted.”
“Ann says Drew wants to start a YouTube channel for that game he plays.” I chopped the bell pepper, a little too fiercely.
“Whoa.” Joe took the knife from my hand. “What’s really wrong, babe?”
I turned and leaned against his chest. “I feel like we don’t really know our kids.”
He made soothing circles on my back. “Babe, first of all, we don’t want to know everything the kids are doing. And we don’t tell them everything we do. They keep us in the loop for the big stuff and if you were into watching YouTube channels, I’m sure Drew would talk your ear off about it.” He kissed my forehead. “Babe, they’re adults. We might not know how they spend every minute of their day, but we know who they are in here.” He tapped my heart and then wrapped his arms around me and swayed us side to side.
“I love you,” I whispered. The man made everything feel good, feel right.
“Love you, too.” He kissed me quick and sauntered to our bedroom. He returned wearing a t-shirt and his disreputable jeans. The ones with a torn back pocket so his underwear peeked through, but were so soft they felt like flannel. He may have had them longer than we’d been married.
“What are you and Ray going to do now?” Joe set the table.
I followed behind him with the salad. “I’m supposed to get my hair done at Curl Up and Dye.”
Joe grimaced. “Hold that thought.” He went outside, flipped the meat and came back. “Why do you need to get your hair done?”
“Well, apparently Sam was Hilda Collins’s hairstylist and she’d know if there was bad blood between Parker, Jackie, and Hilda.”
“I like your hair. You’re not going to…” He winced. “Color it?”
I laughed at his cringing. “No. I earned these grays, baby. They’re like little trophies reminding me that we raised three hellions and escaped to the other side.”
He held up his hands. “Amen.” He left to get the steak and zucchini. He returned and set them on the table. “Although, I’d clarify your statement and say we raised two hellions and one perfect child, and then just let the kids fight about who is who.”
“You’re evil, and I love it.” I sat and loaded my plate with salad.
“Thanks for feeding me,” Joe said around a mouthful of steak.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m going to be late tomorrow. I told Jeff I’d help him with a scoliosis case.” Joe pushed some zucchini on to his plate.
“I work from two to ten tomorrow night,” I reminded him.
He winked at me. “Send me a selfie of the new ‘do.”
“You bet.” The man was good for my ego. “Hey, fun fact, Stephanie Wilson babysat Ray.”
Joe smirked. “Today?”
I chuckled. “No, today she looked like she wanted to do something entirely different with Ray. She really looks great, too.” I gauged Joe’s reaction. “Very. Perky.”
Joe shuddered. “She scares me. I park in the garage because I’m afraid she’s going to come over and talk to me.” He waved his fork at me. “She caught me once at the mailbox, asked me to come over and check out her plantar fasciitis.” He frowned. “Something’s not right about that woman.”
“Ray thinks she’s sweet.”
Joe grunted. “Yeah, well, Ray is welcome to release her fascia.” He shook his head. “I really miss Bev and Ed. I wish they’d never moved.”
My husband didn’t hate change, it was more of an adverse reaction to changes in his daily routine. He missed his evening chats at the mailbox with Ed. Now they played WordsWithFriends, but it wasn’t the same.
“Does Ray have any suspects?” Joe asked.
“Not really. Ray said there were no fingerprints on the TV, which means the killer wiped it down. Also, Oscar had to raise cash to enter professional poker tournaments. He could have owed someone money, or maybe another player didn’t want him to play in a tournament. It could be Parker Collins covering up his mother’s death. Plus, we still don’t know who broke into the cabin and took the picture.”
“Promise me one thing, Charlie.” He reached across the table and held my hand. “Don’t meet with someone you think is responsible for murdering Oscar. Leave that to Ray.”
I crossed my heart. “I promise.” A cold chill skittered up my spine. Someone I knew could have killed Oscar.
Tuesday morning, I headed over to Curl Up and Dye with a box of doughnuts. My gaze swept the area before I opened my car door, taking note of which resident of Forest Forks would rush to tell Carole, my regular hairdresser, about my defection to Curl Up and Dye. I skulked to the shop. My palms were sweating with guilt because I was cheating on the most sacred bond after marriage. And I couldn’t warn Carole beforehand because she’d let it slip that I was going to get information. Ray was right about stylists knowing everything.
Sam greeted me at the reception desk. “Charlie, welcome.”
I handed over the donuts, feeling like Judas going in for a kiss. “Good morning.” I smiled at the ladies gathered, excited to see Mildred, one of Hilda’s friends, seated in a chair.
“I was surprised to see your name on my schedule.” Sam’s gaze assessed me reminding me of my old sponsor at Weight Watchers. I felt naked. And I was cheating.
“I know. I was hoping you could help me tame my curls.” I lied. My curls were freakishly frizzy and only crazy glue would keep them coiffed. Carole and I had been lamenting over them for a decade. And perimenopause had really cranked up the kink in my curls.
Sam got a funny excited gleam in her eyes and I suddenly pictured myself covered in toxic chemicals and blown to Brazil. She clapped her hands. “I have just the thing. I took this course in New York this summer.” She pointed to her chair. “Just have a seat.”
I sat and had that just-called-to-the-principal’s-office wave of nausea.
Sam stood behind me, frowning at my frizz, pushing and pulling curls and clucking her tongue. “Well, let’s start with a wash and see if we can’t sort this out.”
This, being my head.
It didn’t take long to get the clientele talking about Hilda Collins’s death and Parker’s potential money problems. Jackie, Parker’s wife, drove to Lexington to get her hair done, a big mistake in my opinion. Small businesses in small towns needed the residents’ support, and Jackie’s snubbing of the town didn’t go unnoticed.
“Can you imagine the two of them rattling around in Hilda’s big house?” Sam asked as she washed my hair.
“They don’t even have a dog,” Diane, the woman at the sink next to me said. “And I can’t imagine Parker doing yard work. There’s a reason they live in those condos at the country club. The two of them wouldn’t know how to work with their hands.”
Hannah, another stylist, said, “It’s not just that. I mean, lots of people aren’t handy. It’s their distaste of working that gets me. Do you know that Pastor Abe asked Jackie if she could bake some cookies for the bake sale and she gave him a twenty and told him to just buy some?”
“That’s just rude,” Diane said.
“It’s fine if she can’t bak
e, but to tell Pastor Abe to buy them? That’s so wrong. And what does she do, anyway?” Sarah, seated next to Diane asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Does she work outside the home?”
“Outside the home? She has a housekeeper, no pets and no children. She’s not even working inside the home,” Mildred, a Sunnyview resident, said from her chair. She was patiently sitting while Dinah rolled her short hair into tiny curlers. Dinah was probably somewhere between seventy and ninety, but she had a few loyal customers who refused to accept her retirement, so she came every Tuesday morning and saw one or two clients.
Mildred clacked her dentures. “Hilda was a saint, putting up with that woman. Jackie insisted on having Thanksgiving at the Country Club this year. Couldn’t be bothered to cook in her pristine kitchen. Why, Hilda doubted the oven had ever been used.”
I frowned, unable to imagine a holiday that wouldn’t be spent with the family overflowing someone’s house and the dining room table filled with dishes. The Sanders had switched to holiday potlucks after the thirteenth grandchild was born and sitting down together in one room had proven impossible. A Country Club Thanksgiving seemed so impersonal. It was a depressing thought.
“That’s so sad,” Sarah said. “What about her sister?”
“She’s in a nursing home in Florida. She fell last month and will be laid up, so her kids are having it there. Hilda said they invited her, but she felt her place was with Parker.” Mildred’s mouth turned down at his name.
“Did they ever want children?” I wondered aloud.
“No. Parker’s still a child, anyway. That boy plays on his computer all the time,” Mildred said. “Hilda said he even dresses up in costumes and they go to conventions.”
“No…” Sam breathed. “He’s so… so… boring looking. What games?”
“I don’t know,” Mildred said tersely. “It’s not right. A grown man, dressing up and playing games.”
“He’s not hurting anyone,” I murmured.
Diane cleared her throat. “Well, it’s a thing now, Mildred. Comic-Con is huge. People all over do it. It’s like the Civil War re-enactments.”
“Didn’t Parker’s dad do those?” Sarah asked.
“He did,” Mildred conceded. “Still, I think it’s different.”
“Parker was always different,” Sam said. “I remember him in high school. He never dated, or did sports, or any clubs. We thought he was going to be a CPA or something. He was so good with math and science. I was shocked when he chose pharmacy and moved back home. I thought for sure he’d be doing research at some big pharmaceutical company or something.”
“Did he have friends?” I asked.
“A few. Chess-club types. Not sure where they ended up,” Sam said.
Mildred sighed. “His best friend, Ed Perkins, is now living in San Francisco and runs some kind of computer company thing. Trust me, if you see Ed’s mother, she’ll be happy to tell you all about it.” Mildred’s smile grew. “Speaking of bragging, Jeremy and Lisa are expecting again!”
The women all congratulated Mildred, and the discussion turned to the best presents for a second baby. All thoughts of Hilda were gone, and while I admitted Mildred may not have liked Jackie, she hadn’t mentioned that the woman was responsible for Hilda’s death.
I still didn’t have any answers to Parker’s sudden spending habits, but, I did have glorious curls and a new hair dresser.
Chapter Thirteen
Wowza, you look fabulous. Joe’s reply to the selfie I’d sent him after my stint at the salon made my smile huge.
Carole, my regular stylist, would forgive me, eventually. Maybe.
The new ‘do gave me the confidence of a much younger, much feistier me, and I decided to drop by the pharmacy and chat up Parker Collins. Perhaps my coiffed curls could convince Collins to confess to killing his mother and Oscar or at least tell me where the cash came for his new cars.
I parked on the street in front of the 1940’s pharmacy. Parker had renovated the old building, taking out the charming soda fountain counter and putting in more shelving. I checked my appearance in the pharmacy’s mirrored windows. My hair looked phenomenal with glossy curls framing my face. I considered getting a new driver’s license and passport today, too.
I pushed through the door and made my way to the magazine rack looking for something that might spark a conversation with Parker. The aisles were close together, and stocked with everything from medicine to movies. Snatching a bag of pretzels and a PC Gamer magazine as a possible conversation starter, I headed back to the pharmacy desk. My opener needed to be health related, and part of me wanted to stir some crazy into the gossip of Forest Forks, so I weighed asking for a natural hemorrhoid cure for Joe with his recent purchase of three gallons of peanut oil. My respectable self chose a safer solution and grabbed three different kinds of remedies for dry eyes. I placed the items on the counter and waited to catch Parker’s attention.
“Can I help you?” He wore a white lab coat with a yellow shirt and brown tie. Not the most dapper of dressers, but he did have a pleasant face. I couldn’t picture him responsible for anyone’s death.
“I have dry eyes, and I was wondering which one of these drops would you recommend?” I pushed the three boxes closer and revealed the magazine title. Parker’s eyes widened, and his smile turned sincere.
After what felt like thirty minutes, Parker had given me a graduate-level review of eye anatomy and function, suggestions for dietary changes, and vitamins. Parker Collins may be odd, but he was probably brilliant. I was also very glad I’d refrained from the hemorrhoid questions.
“Thank you so much for your time.” I paid for the eye drops, magazine, and pretzels.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I was sorry to hear about your mother.” I gave him my motherly-concerned look.
“Thank you. It was a shock. I still can’t believe her insulin pump malfunctioned. Tyler Rigby thinks we could sue, but I’m more concerned about the other people using the same pump. I contacted the company and they said they would send out a recall notice. I’m relieved the company took the risk of malfunction seriously.”
“They certainly should take it seriously,” I said. “Did Tyler get involved because of Oscar?”
“No.” Parker frowned and he tilted his head. “He’s… was Mom’s lawyer.”
“I thought because Oscar worked for him and had issues with his pump, too.”
“Really? I thought Oscar…” He waved the thought away.
“Do a lot of people in town use the same insulin pump?” I could check the medical records at work, although that might get me fired.
“No. Most diabetics can control the disease with diet.” Parker’s eyes narrowed and I wondered if he’d heard about Joe’s peanut oil purchase. Sheesh. Suddenly the whole diet and vitamin conversation made more sense.
Heat crept up my face. “Well, thanks for the advice. I should grab some lunch. Salad. Salad for lunch before I go to work.” I would never survive as a spy.
“You’re welcome. Charlie? Who’s the magazine for?” Parker pointed to my bag.
“Drew. He’s really into an online game.”
Curiosity twinkled in Parker’s eyes. “Which one?”
“League of Legends.”
“That’s very popular. It takes logic and teamwork to win the battles.” Parker leaned on his elbows on the counter. I felt another lecture coming on but maybe I could steer it toward recent car purchases.
“Do you play?” I asked.
“Yes. Jackie and I love it. We LARP, live-action-role-play, every weekend we can with a group from Louisville. The Con-community is like our second family.” He seemed to grow an inch, and there was color in his cheeks.
I imagined him dressed up, and if I squinted his shirt could be gold with a bronze tie. “Really? What’s your favorite game?” I asked.
The door chimed behind me and Parker deflated into a meek and polite pharmacist again. Conversa
tion over.
“Charlie, you’re not bothering Parker with questions about Oscar’s death, are you?” Tom’s voice chided me.
Parker’s face turned pink. He looked dismayed and didn’t answer Tom.
“Thanks again.” I held up the bag and turned to face Tom. I tipped my chin at Tom. “Why are you hiding behind the Funyuns?”
“I’m not.” Tom stood taller, and before he could give me the cop-glare, I shot him the look Delilah taught me yesterday.
He seemed to falter.
I stepped around him. “I still think it was murder.” I pushed the door open and walked jauntily toward my car. Because running would look bad.
Tom just ruined my chances of talking to Parker about the murders again. Which meant now I needed to talk to Tyler and see if he’d encouraged Parker to sue the company.
At work, the anagram anarchist struck again. Today’s message read: inVaSive news gully. Maybe the sign anarchist used to write horoscopes because I was reading into the sign, like somehow, he knew I spent the morning investigating. Which was ridiculous.
My new hairdo whipped the residents of Sunnyview into a frenzy. Not actually, but I did have a lot more walker-traffic in front of the nurses’ station and many compliments. It went a long way easing my guilt about cheating on my old stylist, Carole.
A grimacing Marabel joined me at the station.
I patted my hair and ran my tongue over my teeth checking for errant pieces of pretzel.
“The police are coming by later to investigate the…” Marabel crowded closer. “Misplaced medical marijuana,” she whispered.
“It was stolen?” I’d really hoped Nora had misinterpreted the situation.
Marabel’s head vibrated a no, and her eyes and lips flat-lined. “Shh. I’m not sure and the General Manager said I had to call the…” She mouthed police. She glanced down the hall and back to me. “They should be here in a few minutes. I’m putting you in charge of the floor while I show them around, okay?”