“How’s that doctor’s appointment coming along, mom?” Grace asked. It was a touchy subject for Ellen, who preferred a holistic approach to medicine and continually criticized doctors for being scammers.
“I’m fine, I’m just a little tired is all,” Ellen turned to set the bowl on the drying rack; it slipped from her hand and crashed on the floor, the turquoise ceramic pieces scattering in front of her knitted booties that were only a shade or two lighter. “Gosh darn it!”
“I’ll take care of it, mom,” Grace said, holding on to Brody’s collar so he wouldn’t cut his paws on the sharp angles covering a good section of the kitchen floor.
“Bless your heart.” Ellen smoothed the front of her ribbed T-shirt covered in pastel flowers. She hadn’t been able to part with it ever since Grace had given it to her when she was 15 and the shirt had just gone out of style. Ellen had claimed the shirt still retained the scent Grace wore back in the day, which was most likely Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth or Baby Soft. She shimmied past the ceramic pieces and pulled Grace’s forehead toward her, before planting a kiss on it. Ellen had been obsessed with using phrases common amongst southerners lately, but she wasn’t always sure where those phrases belonged in conversation. A few days ago, Grace was taken aback when Ellen told her she was “fixin’” to go to the store. The only reason for the sudden influx of southern charm, Grace reasoned, was a new friend Ellen had been spending time with. The friend, Rose, had moved up from Louisiana, and as she did with so many other people, Ellen took her under her wing and introduced her to her slew of friends from the multiple activities that she participated in. Evidently, the phrases came right along with the friendship.
“Do me a favor and please go see the doctor. Please,” Grace pleaded to Ellen’s back, noticing that the ribbed shirt hung off her body more than ever. While Ellen had always been thin and petite, she was looking exceptionally fragile, her shoulder blades protruding from the back of the shirt, making the flowers look as if they were reaching outwards. While Ellen had never been a big eater in the past, she had been even less of one lately, surviving solely on a bowl of cereal here and there.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Grace pushed Brody out of the room and got down on her hands and knees to gather the ceramic pieces. An unsettling feeling nagged at the back of her mind and she was filled with fear that something really might be wrong with Ellen. As her mind tended to do, Grace’s thoughts jumped ahead to a life where her mom wasn’t there, and a deep sadness erupted within her. It had always been the two of them from the day Grace was born. And while they didn’t always have a lot of money to get by, they always had each other. Even through the hormonal teen years, Grace had respected her mother fully and always opted to confide in her rather than one of her friends. They couldn’t be more different, which was why their relationship worked so well. Grace always thought of her relationship with her mother when she saw those rare animal friendship photos circulating the Internet, such as a baby deer curled up against a golden retriever.
By the time Grace finished cleaning the mess, she could hear Ellen’s snores from the guest room. She trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, grabbing an armful of her laundry that had been folded and stacked neatly by Ellen. As she settled into bed, her sleep was rimmed with the weight of Ellen’s health and the uncertain crime Miriam had committed.
Chapter Five
Grace pulled to a stop at the intersection that led into Bridgeton. A man stood perched on a ladder as he freshened up the paint on a sign atop Charming Treasures. The store somehow managed to stay in business even though its inventory never really changed, and it was the go-to place for an overpriced magnet with the town name. The corner lot location may have been the secret to the store’s success, as it was the first business one saw when entering the town. Ellie O’Donnell owned the store, and her personality was quite possibly the other reason it stayed open for so long. The woman’s magnetic personality and welcoming smile made even the tourists feel like they fit in. She was also known for homemade Jolly Rancher lollipops that she handed out freely to anyone under the age of fifteen. As Grace turned right onto the main road in Bridgeton, she stopped fast when a gaggle of women pushing strollers lurched out into the crosswalk, caught up in their conversation and not paying attention to where they were going. They wore almost identical outfits, as if they were part of some official club. Black yoga pants clung to their shapely bottoms, which were all half-covered with brightly colored, loose-fitting tank tops.
Being the small town it was, Bridgeton never really needed additonal parking as long as drivers were okay with a little walk. Grace pulled into the small lot between the hair salon and a strip of restaurants and storefronts. Dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt, she hoped no one would recognize her without her standard detective uniform: typically black pants and some type of black shirt. It was 11:00 AM, so the sun shone fully, deflecting light off the many cars parked along the curb. Not yet used to summer attire, Grace almost tripped when the edge of her frayed jeans caught on the bottom of her flip-flop. She could hear Ellen’s voice scolding her for wearing jeans in the summer months and urging her to try a feminine flowy skirt or a pair of what she called pedal-pushers, but Grace had no desire to air out her ankles or show off any part of her legs. Shorts were uncomfortable, and she thought she looked extra condensed when she wore skirts.
When Grace pulled open the salon door, it was as if she was launched into a new world. Music thumped in the background, and a teenager was in a heated conversation with her mom about a specific cut. The teenager held out a magazine before her, pointing to the celebrity she wanted to look exactly like. The receptionist was on the phone while energetically flipping through a schedule book.
A middle-aged man sat in one of the chairs, soaking up attention from the twenty-something hair stylist proficiently buzzing his neck hair with clippers while listening to him talk about his own children, who were around her age. She flipped the cape off him in one fluid move, scattering tiny hairs on the floor circling the seat, and sent him on his way with a fresh haircut.
“Hey, I’ll be right with you.” Grace heard the familiar voice and looked up to see Amy, mixing a gooey-looking substance in a black bowl. “You can take a seat in my chair on the end.”
“Sounds good.” Grace made her way to the last chair alongside the window looking out to the town center. From her seat she could see the door to Mark’s gym, and for a moment she longed to be with him. With the new fitness center opening and her hectic work schedule, they were like passing ships in the night. He had left the house before she even got up this morning, set on his ritual of getting his workout in before the members started showing up at the gym door. If she wanted to see him more, she would have to start spending more time at the gym, which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She vaguely remembered feeling him slide into bed last night and hearing him shuffling around the room this morning before it was even light out. Her longing waned; she would see him tonight for their weekly couch date. Only a few weeks into their relationship, they had made a pact to commit to Saturday nights together, unless they had some major event. So far, they’d only missed two Saturday nights in six months, one for a wedding they had to attend and the other when Mark had to visit his sister Rain at school.
“So, what are we doing today?”
“Well, I don’t really know. I kinda just figured I’d let you go to town and do what you think looks good.” Grace looked at her reflection. The scar that hovered over her right eyebrow looked pronounced in the salon’s track lighting. Her green, wide-set eyes were rimmed and framed with crow’s feet that reached toward her hairline when she smiled. Ellen told her never to be ashamed of the wrinkles she had accumulated over the years, as it was just the face’s version of a photo album, marking every smile she’d ever made and every laugh she’d had the pleasure of sharing with someone else.
“How do you feel about color? I think you mentioned hi
ghlights yesterday,” Amy asked as she ran her ring-clad fingers through Grace’s brown mane. A cluster of silver and beaded bracelets slid back and forth on her forearm, revealing a tattoo of a tiny heart on her wrist.
“I’m okay with it, as long as it’s not too much.”
“You got it. I think we should just lift your natural tones a bit and give you a few highlights. It is summer, after all.”
“Sounds good.”
“You sure you don’t want something like this?” Amy pointed to the deep red chunks striped through her own blonde hair with a stoic expression.
“Um, not today,” Grace confessed, trying not to insult the woman. It looked good on her, but it was just not something Grace would ever attempt. She suddenly felt very boring. She looked down at her plain jeans and T-shirt and simple black flip flips. Even her toenails were boring, the leftover pale pink from months ago barely visible now, and suddenly she was very self-conscious of her feet.
“I’m kidding,” Amy said. “Don’t look so serious.” She flipped a hand towel over her shoulder and gave Grace a wink as she pushed through a set of curtains where the stylists mixed their colors like mad scientists.
“Hellooo, Stacie.” A woman wearing red knee-length shorts and a bright yellow polka-dot shirt came dancing into the salon, her voice sing-songy and high pitched as she greeted a stylist with short, black hair.
“Hey, Diane,” Stacie said as she spun herself around in the chair. She shot upright and smoothed out her apron. “Well, you’re certainly in a good mood today.”
“And I have every reason to be.” Diane glided across the room and plopped herself in Stacie’s chair without being prompted. She knew the salon well and probably came in for a weekly wash and style, like so many of the other older women in town.
“And what is this fascinating news?” Stacie spun Diane around in the chair so she was facing the mirror and went to work, spraying water on her hair and combing it back so she looked like an aging Palmer girl. With bright red lips and eyes heavily made up, Diane looked like she was about to erupt.
“I’m…gonna…be…a…grandmother!”
“Oh, Diane, that is so wonderful. And oh my gosh, everyone is pregnant now. When is Sarah due?”
“November 13th, right in time for Thanksgiving!”
Everything that came out of the woman’s voice was an exclamation. Grace couldn’t help but feel a little sadness, wondering if her mother would ever get to experience that undeniable happiness and joy of discovering you were going to be a grandparent for the first time.
“Oh my gosh, it’s crazy, like Jess Evans is pregnant, Christie Caverly, and now Sarah. This town is going to be hopping with babies.”
“Oh my, I had no idea that Christie was pregnant, but then again, I haven’t seen her in a couple of months. She’s such a tiny thing anyway. Wow…so Miriam must be thrilled.”
If Grace was a dog, her ears would’ve noticeably perked up at the mention of Miriam. But she kept her cool, focusing on the many products lined up perfectly on the shelf before her while keeping one ear on the conversation.
“Alright, I’ve got what I think will do wonders for your color. This is just two notches lighter than your original base color, so it will lighten it up without making it a drastic change. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
Amy went to work, pulling one strand of hair at a time and setting it on a foil square before dipping it in the mixture and painting the strand. While this was a subtle change to most women, it was a huge change for Grace.
“Well, I’m sure this will do something to lift her spirits a little, right? Do they know if Christie is having a girl yet?” Grace could hear bits and pieces of the conversation between the thumping of the background music.
“She doesn’t know yet.”
“My goodness, I don’t know if another grandbaby will help her or bring up memories from the past. That poor woman, faced with such a tragedy, and yet she’s on just about every committee in town, keeping busy and helping everyone she can.”
“Are you guys talking about Miriam?” Amy stepped into the conversation, giving Grace the go-ahead to freely eavesdrop now that she was part of the conversation by way of her stylist. “That woman is always doing something. I saw her lugging around some giant piece of artwork that looked like a sail or something.”
“Yeah, she’s on the parade committee,” Stacie said, effortlessly snipping away at little bits of Diane’s wet hair. “I think she tries to stay busy to keep from having to think about things. At least that’s what Christie seems to think. She adores Kloe, but I know Christie thinks seeing her makes her think about stuff. I mean, how can she help it? Kloe looks identical to Scott, so surely there’s some resemblance to his sister. Naturally it must stir up all kinds of memories.”
“Well, I’ll tell you…I heard from Shirley Jones that she happened to see a photo in Miriam’s wallet one day when she was checking out at the market, and she said the girl in the photo definitely resembled Kloe. She can’t let go of that little girl, but how could you, how could anyone?”
Grace held back from asking about Miriam’s mystery daughter. Instead, she absorbed every piece of information she could and hoped to God they’d say the little girl’s name so she could look her up on the trusty Internet later.
“So, when was the last time you had a haircut?” Amy turned the conversation to Grace.
“Oh boy, um, maybe like two years ago.” Grace knew it was more like three years ago but didn’t want to admit it. It was like when she went to a dentist and told them she flossed every day when the truth was, she flossed maybe once a week, if she happened to remember.
“Well, I recommend we do a little healthy trim today, but if you want to take it up a notch, you could totally pull off a shorter cut.”
The thought of short hair frightened Grace. She was afraid of not being able to pull it back into a ponytail when the moment called for it. She’d certainly have trouble adjusting to not being able to twirl strands around her finger if she felt nervous or uncertain, like she at this very moment.
“Just a little? Like how much do you think?” Grace asked, like a child trying to avoid vegetables.
“We can start out slow today. How about two inches? That will take you up to about here.” Amy used a flattened hand to mark just above Grace’s right shoulder.
“As long as I can still pull it up into a ponytail,” she negotiated.
“Of course.”
“Okay, so I’m being nosey,” Diane peered over at Grace out of the blue. “You are that female detective, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Grace smiled politely, surprised someone hadn’t asked her sooner. It was for this reason that she seldom did her personal things in town and tended to keep her doctor appointments, dry cleaning, and grocery shopping closer to where she lived.
“I’m a dedicated reader of the Bridgeton Press and I see you in there almost every week. It must be hard working with all those men.”
“Well, actually, we have a couple other females at the station. There’s Barb for one, and then there are two younger ones who just started.”
“You must know Joe Sullivan.”
“Oh yeah, how could I not?”
“Ohhhh good old Joe, he’s like family to us. Gotten my dad out of a lot of shit,” Amy interjected, sharing the words like she was just discussing the weather. “Surely you know my dad…Georgie, better known as the drunk on the corner.”
Grace could feel the anger on the outlines of her nonchalant words. Amy was bitter but wasn’t about to hide the fact that her dad was the town drunk. Her words were drenched in a somber honesty. She knew who her dad was but wasn’t ashamed of him, and she certainly wouldn’t allow his downward spiral to get in the way. Grace did what she found herself doing all too often lately: she played dumb.
“What’s your dad’s last name?”
“Kennedy, and by no way related to the Kennedys.”
“Sounds familiar
, but I’m not sure,” Grace lied.
“The guy was always my hero growing up. I remember us going to the barbershop right over there back when it was Sullies and had the old-fashioned red, white, and blue pole outside. He used to get his trim every single Saturday. We’d walk over or ride bikes, and he’d always take me to the café that used to be there.” Amy let out a little giggle traced with sadness. “I remember they even named a breakfast dish after me at the café, we went in there so often. I think it was a double side of bacon or something like that. Gosh, those were the best days. Now I hardly know him.”
Grace imagined Amy’s relationship with her dad had vanished like the businesses they used to frequent. She didn’t know why she was openly offering such personal information, but it could have to do with the fact that she was a female cop—people tended to trust women in uniform.
“So, what happened? I mean why don’t you know him anymore?”
“My mom died, and my dad was never the same. It’s like he snapped. I don’t blame him, I mean they were the perfect couple, had the fairytale marriage. I don’t think I ever saw them raise their voices at one another, which is a miracle in today’s world. During their happiest of times, they even worked together. My mom would help him out on the boat.”
“What did your dad do for work?”
“Well, he was a partner at one of the big firms in the city for his day job, but his true passion was being out on the boat. He was a lobster fisherman. He started out just doing it for fun and giving away anything he caught. And then the lobster business just kinda took on a world of its own. Somehow, he and my mom became known for having the best lobster supply in town. Stores started going through them, and every free moment, the two of them would be out on the boat. They’d even get me and my brother involved too. I’ve eaten so much lobster in my life, you’d think I’d be sick of it by now. Do you like lobster?”
Buried Secrets Page 5