All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  “Oh, Mr. Dex.” Dinkie-Do released the doll. “Thank you.”

  “Patches, garage, upper closet shelf.” I turned to Dinkie-Do. “Dress her in leathers. It’ll complete the look.”

  “You two are the best.” Dinkie-Do swished to the kitchen desk for his phone.

  Dex focused between the note and the snake. “Well?”

  I waved the paper like a white flag, and he followed me. “At the salon and café doors—I think we need to add a metal detector.”

  “Right,” Dex said. “The next snake might be carrying.”

  Ass. We sat at the kitchen table away from the chaos. The note, like the ribbon, was different from the others, like its sender. Plain white copy paper and oddly printed text. I read it aloud.

  You snake. Keep your mouth closed for a change.

  Stop nosing into other people’s business before something worse happens.

  This was like a bad dream. I was naked. In the dark. In a pit of rattlesnakes. And everyone was watching.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  After I single-handedly mastered the rattlesnake, the evening passed without incident. Fresh from the night’s sleep, I entered Feather-rap Café. Rosa, on a stepstool, armed with coffee beans, was refilling a coffee machine and mumbling bad rap lines. My charmingly organized café had morphed into a fourth dimension, where rules didn’t exist, and pandemonium squawked.

  Carlye gushed toward me with hugs, as if I’d disappeared and reappeared before her eyes, and she wanted to ensure my physical presence. “Great, isn’t it?”

  I stepped back and frowned. “Are you confused? Café. Not a pet store,” I whispered. “People eat here. I could lose my license. Health Department citations—”

  “Federal law. You can’t discriminate. I did me some research. Talked to an old lawyer-john of mine.”

  I shook my head in long negative sweeps. “About working at the zoo?”

  “My baby needs changes of scenery.” Carlye shot two fingers out and Shazam climbed on. After rubbing nose-to-beak, the parrot perched on Carlye’s shoulder. “See how well behaved my baby is in here? Shazam is calmed by the smell of coffee and the grinding of roasted coffee beans.”

  Ironic that Feathers and I were calmed by the same thing. I wondered how many shots of hairspray Shazam could handle? I had to get back to my staying-out-of-prison clean-souled life.

  Carlye pulled out a tiny orange vest and placed it so close to my nose I saw double. “Service animal. Vest says so.”

  Damn. “You and Rosa manage Shazam, scoop poop, clear feathers, and monitor his squawk.”

  “Shazam won’t make any more mess than Dinkie-Do.”

  No time to argue. I called over to Rosa, “I’ll fill the corner booth in two hours. Fill the table with edibles. I’ll need privacy.” I stepped toward the linking door into the salon. “Bird-mama where are you working today?”

  “My next client ain’t for half an hour. This here is Shazam-and-me time.” Carlye ordered a scone, and I exited the café before anything I’d regret exited my mouth.

  When I sat at the reception desk, I told Trisha how I’d fearlessly protected my menfolk against a malevolent reptile and searched the internet as best I could. I had one lead on a local exotic-animal dealer and discovered no animals were missing within a three-hundred-mile radius.

  I decided to give up on that mystery and finger-scrolled through the appointments, while Trisha looked over my shoulder.

  “Some people from the Courthouse have made appointments,” Trisha said. “I’m being careful not to schedule a blunder. Who’d blather with their boss in the same room? Coworkers together, now that’ll be fiercely productive.” She pointed at my column in the book. “You have clients most of the day, but if you work fast with your next client there’s time for a break when Wade’s with Carlye.”

  Trisha was right up there with Sebastian, hairspray, and coffee. If she kept this up, I might have to adopt her. A good chance to be involved in the chatter was busy hands and open ears, but the chance to wander and chit-chat might even be better.

  Trisha tapped at a name and said, “Wade Mazour is coming in for his beard; he’s becoming quite the professional man.” She cackled.

  I knew she didn’t mean to sound sinister, but her laugh had undertones of maladjusted Joker attacking Batman.

  “Let’s hope Wade talks.” I’d try to talk him into highlights or something else that would cause him to linger and loosen.

  Trisha pointed to a name in Dinkie-Do’s column. “Judge Laurel Briggs’ Law Clerk Zena Royale is in for a brow wax.”

  “That boy runs the lot of them over there. Like gang-leader of the law clerks, he is. And Zena is as much of a fashion queen as her Judge,” In Trisha’s world everything was shamrocks and lager.

  I’d never seen the law clerks congregate. In fact, I told Trisha, “The only time I’ve seen them all together was at a Halloween party. Noel was the perfect Frankenstein’s monster and Zena Royale came in burlap and a Mess America sash. None of them seemed capable of dastardly doings.

  “If Wade leads me to some answers, I might join his gang,” I said and pondered open-ended questions. Cross-examination was where I shone, but in the salon, leading the witness would be frowned upon. I vowed to be as subtle as low-lights while Carlye pruned him. I had to wonder why Laurel didn’t tell me Zena would be in.

  “The salon’s brilliantly filled.” Trisha gestured wide. “Everything’s prepped for gossip. Rosa has a grand man delivering pretty pastry trays, carafes of specialty coffees, and bottles of juice.”

  I flipped a thumbs-up and went to get my station ready. Striding toward the work-floor center, I stood toe-to-toe with Carlye, her whacky parrot balanced on her forearm.

  “No pets in the salon,” I said in my best matter-of-fact tone.

  “Shazam fits right in,” Carlye wailed. “I know what I’m talking about. He’ll keep everybody talking and wanting to come back. They’ll bring friends in for services and to see him.”

  Drat. I could imagine that happening. I rubbed my temples. “Okay,” I whispered. “But any calamity, any mess, any Amazon bird flu, it’s on you.” I might never be able to hire new stylists into this nest of renegade hens. I crossed the room to my station.

  Squawk. “Nice rack, Jack.”

  Damn straight.

  Carlye set up a bird swing next to her station, and I made a mental note to check my insurance, my business license, and the city animal ordinances. Dinkie-Do bounced and twirled, rearranged his station with new heels, scarves, flowers, and accessories.

  His station looked like Hawaii-meets-New York on steroids. Shazam did seem to fit in. I focused on Margo’s station. She maintained it right out of a Paul Mitchell School Award-winning How To book.

  My station was classic. I’d rethink my look, but not now. I sat, crossed my legs, and closed my eyes for calming seconds. My everyday-is-wedding-hairspray-day would get me through.

  Distracted by the jingle of the door, I saw Wade Mazour enter. Carlye engaged him in conversation and escorted him to her chair, claiming master-expertise at men’s facial hair. Wade complimented Shazam and offered to babysit him anytime. Carlye danced around Wade who was now seated in her stylist chair, and then handed him a feather from her collection. Wade slid it into his shirt pocket.

  “Oooey. You a man of men, putting Shazam’s feather next to your heart.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” Wade said. He paused, fixed his eyes on Shazam, then met Carlye’s. “I can’t stand the thought of any animal being harmed. Shazam is proof of how intelligent they are. I love hearing him talk.”

  “That’s my baby,” Carlye beamed.

  Had I heard that right? Vegetarian? Lover of all animals? I had to rethink the rumors I’d heard about Wade bar hopping with Donnettelli, midnight runs for Coney dogs, and crossing the entire city in search of t
he best bar-b-que. Not being a vegetarian wasn’t illegal, and Laurel and Palene liked Wade. But, he was at the notorious poker party the night of the murderous deed.

  I was on edge, confused, and still pondering Wade’s inconsistency when the next jingle of the door sent me into grappling mode. My heart, mind, and body prepared for the next shocker. My intuition had vanished. I was more than a little surprised to see my friend at the door.

  Margo offered Shayla Hoffman, the Probate Court Administrator, coffee and a scone, and they headed toward my corner.

  “Welcome. I don’t usually hug, but I’ve missed you.”

  We hugged. Shayla sat in my chair; I caped her and met her eyes in the mirror. “Very happy to see you.”

  “Couldn’t pass up a free haircut.” Shayla grabbed her coffee and scone and took a large bite and a long sip. “You’ve caused a lot of talk.”

  “Gossip?” I raised a tell-me-more brow.

  “Same Courthouse since—” She blushed.

  “Since I tossed my robe for hairspray and was arrested for murdering my nemesis?” I grinned.

  She chuckled. “I’ve missed your style. But Donnettelli’s grouchiness is not missed.”

  “How’s Probate Court?” I kept my voice light. Shayla had been a good gal-pal. We’d shared lunch and confidences. When things were bad, and neither Laurel nor Palene were available, I’d hidden in Shayla’s office. I didn’t want to abuse our friendship, but I didn’t want to be anyone’s jailhouse friend.

  “Palene’s threatening to join you.” Shayla announced like it was a done deal.

  “That would be a treat.” Palene had mentioned the idea but never seriously.

  “She’s looking into massage-therapy schools. Says she’s kept up her nursing license, so it won’t take much to get certified.” Shayla lowered her voice and looked at Wade Mazour. “You keep big company,” she said.

  “Friend of yours?” I whispered. “I didn’t realize he was an animal lover.” The pair turned and watched Shazam sitting on Wade’s shoulder.

  “Who knew?” Shayla was trying hard not to laugh.

  “Bird whisperer. Until now, I’ve only seen Shazam that content with Carlye.” I tried not to watch too intently, but the scene melted my heart just a tad.

  “He isn’t in our building very often,” Shayla said.

  I tried to watch him and focus on Shayla, as I combed through her hair. “What were you thinking? Color, cut?”

  “Update my style.” She tossed out the command as if she were invoking wild abandon. “I can’t toss anything black and flowing and walk out of my job, but I can walk in a new woman.”

  “Understood.”

  “I trust you.” She settled. “In fact, I’ve wanted to tell you something. I’m not sure if it’s important.” Her eyes darted to Wade, like maybe she didn’t want to talk in front of him.

  I handed her the hair-color wheel with attached hair samples. “Follow me.”

  Shayla leaped off the chair and shadowed me into the mixing room.

  I closed the door behind us and faced her.

  “People think Donnettelli had a lot of money.” Shayla paused for effect. “Not true.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Several years ago, his parents died within a year of each other,” Shayla said. “The estates barely covered the debts.”

  “He has siblings.” I’d never met them. I figured they were also scary.

  “Younger brother and sister, penniless until after their parents died.” Her voice got somber.

  “Life insurance bypasses Probate.” I ran through a laundry list of ways to inherit money both in and outside of an estate.

  “Nope.” Shayla shook her head. “There was a creditors’ hearing. And there was only enough insurance to cover the funerals. His parents’ home was sold to pay the debts.”

  “Your point?”

  “I’m nosey. Everybody knows that about me,” she said as if she were proud of it. “The estates were filed months apart but were open at the same time, so after a joint hearing to close the estates, I wanted to take a peek, but both were closed and ordered sealed.”

  “Sealed? That’s odd.”

  “Agreed. It’s extraordinary. From what I saw there was no reason for that. Violation of court rules, as you know files are difficult to seal without good reason.”

  Violation, yes.

  “I’m the last person who ever sees the files in the Probate office before the final hearing—just before they go to the Judge. I personally checked each of those files for all closing documents and organized what the Judge needed to review and sign. Nothing special. The estates were short of money.”

  “So?” I inspected her face. Shayla was serious, but a visible uncommon blanch ran through her.

  “Look, all I’m saying is Donnettelli started showing off and acting like he was from old money.” She rubbed her fingertips together. “Almost immediately, well close in time after the closing of the estates, I heard he began supporting his siblings. I didn’t think much about it because he’s a Judge and makes good money. But I was struck by it when you were arrested.”

  I waited.

  “Then I thought back to the money and the file being sealed.”

  “No one complained about a conflict when the files were sealed? Any possibility of a trust?” I asked.

  “No objections, no assets, no trust.” Shayla didn’t blink. “Judge, you know, when there’s no objection, closing the file is acceptable, even if it is against the rules. There’s no one to complain about it.”

  “What’s your pleasure?” I asked.

  She handed me the color wheel with three hair samples plucked: blonde, sable, and copper. “Surprise me.”

  “Got it.” Thoughtfully I pulled a mixing bowl and hair color from the cupboard.

  We returned to my station, and I began her new look by separating sections, painting her hair with color, and enveloping it in foil. Adding her info to what I already knew—nothing wrapped neatly together.

  While they were in the salon, Wade and Zena didn’t say anything about anything, but they suddenly disappeared together. Were they dating? Were they up to more than beautifying? Were they reconnoitering? Nothing matched, which was beginning to be too usual.

  Shayla’s updated look left her delighted and talkative. Before we were done, she’d told me about the trouble with her car, the problems with her neighbor, the new shoes Laurel had worn last week, and a date—with the potential for a second date—during which she’d seen Judge Donnettelli and Renee Reed at the Crowne Plaza in Detroit.

  I reminded her it was a convention center, and there was probably a court-related reason they were there, but she poo-pooed that and explained that Peter Dune hadn’t thought it was court-related—when she’d helpfully told him about it. Evidently—according to Shayla—when he’d heard the news, Peter turned an interesting shade of purple. Did I smell motive?

  Chapter Forty

  By Saturday afternoon, the vastness of Donnettelli’s arrogance had set my brain to reeling, and I sat at my station making notes to organize what I’d learned. Just how many court rules could he have violated? Had a broken court rule gotten him killed and me framed? Or had he violated one too many social rules? Nah. If it were old-fashioned jealousy, I wouldn’t be headed for the slammer on a frame-up.

  Laurel appeared at my station, placed a note in my hand, hugged me, and beelined to Dinkie-Do’s station. I flipped the note inside my notebook. “You look beautiful as always,” I called over to Laurel and secured my notes in my station cupboard.

  “You look distracted,” Laurel said.

  I wanted to tell her she looked distracted, too, and ask her why, but there were too many people within earshot. Laurel always occupied a room. At her last weekly appointment, she and I had agreed that Dinkie-Do would highlight her hai
r, and I would cut.

  She waved me over to his station. “Heel-toe it this way. Let’s chat.”

  Laurel’s energy always reignited my own. “Yes, ma’am.” I stood and saluted her.

  When I landed by her side, Laurel asked, “Sleep much? Sorry, but before you take the scissors to my scalp, you need to pull yourself together.”

  “I can cut hair in my sleep.” I shot her a stern look. “You look like you’re not sleeping, either. Everything okay?”

  Laurel smoothed her dress over her knees. “I’m not facing murder charges. I’m just working in a not-nice place.”

  Dinkie-Do began his hair-dance while he draped, snapped, and played with Laurel’s hair, lifting one length at a time. “We’ll get your glam on. A third color will make a much bolder statement. Your high-cheek-bone structure can handle it, and I have the perfect makeup, too.”

  “It’s like you read my mind.” Laurel shouldered in and accepted a cup of coffee. She drank a long sip and marveled over the new Dinkie-Do shoe display. “What fun.”

  I crossed to the serving area, grabbed a cinnamon roll and placed it on a china plate that matched the coffee cup Laurel was holding.

  “You all make me wish I could quit and join you,” Laurel said. She eyed the pastry I placed in front of her with longing.

  Dinkie-Do grinned, with a quick showroom gesture toward the new shoes he’d purchased courtesy of my cash flow. The missing $1400 popped back into my memory. I still had to deal with that mystery.

  I scooted over to Carlye’s chair and sat there while Margo swept the floor. “I have an odd question.” My voice was low, my eyes focused on Laurel.

  “Shoot.” Laurel’s voice had a teasing edge. “Not literally.”

  “Funny.” I swirled Carlye’s chair toward Laurel and motioned to Dinkie-Do. He pumped up her chair to exactly my seated height, swiveled it to face me, and excused himself to mix color.

  “How did Donnettelli get all his money?”

  Laurel shrugged. “His parents’ estate, a few big cases from when he was in practice, and good investments.” She studied me. “Why?”