by Ami Diane
The older woman blinked watery eyes at her from behind her glasses. “What’s a beehive? I wear a bouffant.”
“And the permanent,” the hairdresser chimed in, “is for loose waves to give her volume for when she backcombs it.”
“Right, but isn’t a bouffant more like bumper bangs or business up top and loose hair at the bottom?”
“Typically, yes,” her hairdresser conceded. The woman’s lips formed a thin line telling Ella she’d rather be making that hairstyle.
“But I like all of my hair up,” Flo said.
“Like a beehive.”
“Why do you keep calling it that? I don’t see any bees around.”
Ella faced forward again, noting that while she’d been talking, Penny had been putting her hair in curling rods, and that’s when she realized what the “set” in “wash and set” was. Some linguist she turned out to be. More concerning, though, was the fact that she had no idea what the rods would do to her already-curly hair.
Inwardly shrugging and accepting whatever hairdo fate was in store for her, her thoughts returned to Flo’s hair. When had the beehive been invented? It must’ve been after the town’s first jump if none of them had heard of it. All the while, Ella had misunderstood the woman’s hairstyle, which wasn’t surprising since she knew so little about hair, but a far more concerning thought struck her.
“Oh my God,” she said aloud, drawing Flo’s gaze in the mirror. “You were ahead of a trend. You’re a trendsetter.”
Flo smirked. “You’re just now realizing this, Poodle Head?”
“My world no longer makes sense.” Ella shook her head, drawing an utterance from Penny as her hair was yanked out of the woman’s hands.
While she adjusted to this new paradigm shift, Ella clued into Wink and Jenny’s conversation.
“What a horrible way to die,” Jenny was saying, her sheet of hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall. “Being shot in a dark, dingy basement while, above, people are having a gay time.”
“You were nearby, too, weren’t you?” Ella asked, keeping her tone light, but her eyes never left Jenny’s reflection.
The hairdresser brushed dye onto Wink’s roots, her mouth turning down. “In the dining room, yes.”
Wink caught Ella’s eye and gave a subtle shake of her head. She wanted Ella to back off so she could ask the questions. Jenny would be far more apt to open up to the diner owner than to Ella.
“Imagine that,” Wink said. “You were only a few feet above when… you poor dear.”
Jenny nodded soberly. “I keep thinking I should’ve heard the gun go off, but I didn’t, not over the record player.”
“The record player?” Ella said. “The one in the study?”
“No, the dining room.”
Ella’s breath caught in her chest. How had Patience heard the phonograph over the music in the dining room? Then, she remembered the Puritan saying that she heard the phonograph once she’d stepped out into the hallway. Still… maybe there was something there.
Ella caught Wink’s attention in the mirror and gave the diner owner a nod to keep pursuing that line of questioning.
Wink caught on like a seasoned detective. “The dining room, huh? Rose put out a great spread in there. I helped, mind you. Those cranberry and brown sugar meatballs were mine.”
“I should’ve known. They tasted amazing.”
“Thanks, dear. That must’ve been quite frightening to be all alone in the dining room when we came running through, locking the inn down.”
“Oh, I wasn’t alone.”
“No?”
Ella had been holding her breath during this discourse. Her lungs begged for breath, but she couldn’t afford to miss a single syllable from the beautician’s mouth.
Jenny’s cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip. Her brush strokes with the dye scraped over Wink’s scalp, stiff and hard.
When it became obvious she wasn’t going to elaborate, Ella tried to gently coax the information out of the woman as Wink had.
“Was Patience in there with you?”
Wink glared at her. So, she didn’t have her boss’s tact, but maybe there was something to the whole good cop, bad cop routine.
Jenny’s hand froze. “Patience? Yes, she was there.” She resumed painting.
“And Sal?”
Jenny’s strokes turned sloppy, almost desperate. “I don’t recall. Have you asked him where he was?”
Ella frowned, trying to decipher the hairdresser’s demeanor. “Yes. He never said where he was, only that Patience could alibi for him and that he left early. She insinuated that he could alibi for her, and at the time, I know she was in the dining room.”
“He said that, did he?” Jenny faced Ella, pink dye dripping to the floor.
“Yes. Was he wrong?”
“No, of course not. He might’ve been there too, but, truth be told, I wasn’t paying much attention.” As she whirled back to face Wink, she scratched her nose again like she had when she’d told Wink her gray roots looked fine.
Holy poker player. Either the woman had allergies or she had a tell. But what was she lying about? Had Sal been in the room or not? Maybe she wasn’t lying so much as hiding something.
“You know what I heard,” Wink said, “I heard Charles owned several properties on this street.”
“That’s true enough,” Jenny said distractedly. “He owned this place.”
“How was he for a landlord?” Ella asked.
“Fine, I suppose. Nothing to write home about.”
Penny, or Gum Smacker, finished the last rod in Ella’s hair. “We never had a problem with him, anyway.”
“Oh?” Ella raised her eyebrows.
“Charles had some crazy ambition to own all of Main Street,” Jenny explained.
“And some,” Penny said between smacks, “were reluctant to sell.”
“Like who?”
“Oh, Lucky for one.”
Jenny nodded. “Like cats and dogs those two were.”
“Why would Charles want to own the Half Penny?” Ella said. “He was a dry. Do you think he wanted to get rid of it so badly that he was willing to buy it just to change it to something else?”
Jenny shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Was his dislike of booze legit or was some of that for show to try to appeal to the more religious folks in town?”
“Oh, I think he hated alcohol as much as he claimed. But he was sort of… out there. The man was never quite right after he lost his son.”
One hour and a can of hairspray later, Ella and Wink stepped out of the beauty salon. Flo’s permanent would take a while yet, so they left her behind.
Ella’s fingers brushed her June Cleaver hairdo, wondering how it would fair in the fog. She wanted to get pictures before it turned into a frizzy mess. For the first time since her arrival, she fit in.
They stood on the sidewalk while Wink pulled on gloves, a stylistic etiquette Ella had mostly witnessed Rose do.
The sky was dark, and the mist swirled around the amber light of the street lamps like phantoms. Ella shivered as she stepped off the sidewalk.
Shouts sounded to her right. Wink yanked Ella back just in time as a figure barreled down the street on foot.
She recognized the figure as he came abreast. Six. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but the pop of gunfire froze his name on her tongue.
A second figure sped after the outlaw, shooting. Ella caught the whiff of gun powder as the person flew past.
She squinted after the man who was quickly being swallowed by the fog. “Is that a—”
“Pirate? Yes, indeed.” Wink tugged at her gloves and smoothed out her freshly dyed hair.
“Huh.”
More shouting, then Chapman sprinted through the gloom on long, lean legs, chasing after the duo and shouting for them to stop.
“He’s not a bad sort of fellow,” Wink continued as they stepped across the pavement once the sheriff had passed. “Even though he did chase Flo and m
e with a cutlass once. Of course, we were about to finish off the strawberry rhubarb pie, so I figured we had it coming.”
“Of course.” Ella shook her 1950s hairdo. Just another day in Keystone.
Later that night, after a late dinner of cold meatloaf and milk, Ella climbed under her silk comforter with Fluffy curled up beside her. She flipped through the dossiers, pulling out the one she had on Charles. She was missing something. It seemed the more she learned, the less she knew.
Had he pushed someone too far to sell? What was Jenny hiding? Maybe she’d downplayed her business relationship with Charles.
As much as Ella begrudged the woman, she had a hard time picturing the salon owner killing anyone. She lacked the coldness, especially shooting someone in the back.
Frustrated, Ella rifled through her notes until her eyelids drooped. She dropped the stack onto her nightstand, shut off the lamp, then curled up with Fluffy. Maybe her mind would be more clear in the morning, and she could discover what it was she wasn’t seeing.
Chapter 18
ELLA WIPED THE condensation from her phone screen and stared out across a bleak landscape void of plant life, save for a scraggly bush here and there. Since Grandma’s Kitchen had been slow the last few days and she had several errands to run, she’d asked Wink if she could come in later.
The first of Ella’s tasks involved mapping more of the town, a task that would no longer be doable in another week or so due to how rapidly the snow was melting.
Thanks to the thick fog, she had to swipe her phone again down her Friday uniform: jeans and a sweatshirt. For one glorious day a week, her boss let Ella dress casual, though she did assess each outfit with raised brows and pursed lips.
Like she’s one to judge. Ella had seen the older woman in enough velour tracksuits with various words written on her backside to fill the wardrobe of a 90’s music video.
As she hiked through the mud, she painted dots onto the map on her phone. Later, she planned to connect them—literally. The dots were easier than trying to draw a line while moving, at least easier without tripping, anyway, as her muddy knees could attest to.
She plodded along for the next hour, reveling in the solitude, although, a large part of her was sad Will couldn’t join her. When she’d called late the night before, he had been cryptic about a new project he was working on that required all of his time, and she distinctly heard the dull roar of flames followed by the hiss of a fire extinguisher in the background.
With smoother terrain than the first outing and without the distraction of the handsome inventor, she was able to round the orchard on the south side of Six’s place and two fields of farmland.
Another hour later, she was mildly surprised when her feet hit Main Street. All around her, gray clouds swirled, obscuring the town she knew was off to the north. The border must be in an arc, which made sense with the dome-shape that appeared over the town with each flash.
With tired feet, she slapped her mud-covered shoes down the pavement, heading towards Keystone. In the distance on her right, turbines at the wind farm creaked, but she was too distracted staring at her phone to look up.
Her finger swiped over the map, drawing lines from one dot to the next then joining them with the ones she’d made during her hike with Will.
Ella skittered to a halt. She stared at the map, turning it sideways. Half of the border was mapped, and, as she suspected, it formed a shape like a circle. Exactly a circle. And Twin Hills was in the very center.
She blinked at the semi-circle, trying to decipher its meaning like some ancient glyph. Maybe it meant nothing, but her gut told her the clue involving Twin Hills was worth pursuing. Her mind whirred with possibilities and speculation. Surely Will had noticed this before.
Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she decided to keep this information secret for the time being until she could reflect on it more.
Perhaps after all this business with Charles’s death was concluded, she could show Will what she’d discovered. First, however, she would finish mapping the border.
This new discovery beckoned research. Hopefully, the Keystone Library would have something about the local history of the hills. What if the jumping was due to some natural phenomenon caused by their shape and close proximity to each other? It was a silly thought, but she wasn’t a physicist. Or maybe the hills were cursed. Who knew?
But she aimed to find out. Whatever the mystery was, she would solve it, but for now, this secret was hers.
Her thoughts were so focused inwardly that she almost passed the General Store. Retracing her steps, she grabbed for the handle on the door. Before she stepped inside, her eyes darted to the Community Services building next door then to the sheriff’s station across the street.
Warmth enveloped her, and she stole a moment to breathe into her hands. She should’ve worn gloves.
She wove down aisles of odds and ends—mostly odds—sidestepping a medieval shield next to a wagon wheel. When she reached the cashier desk, she rang the small bell sitting on the counter.
Light bounced off the glass surface of the display case, pronouncing ever scratch and fingerprint. While she waited, she scanned the jewelry. Most of it was of the costume variety, but she did spot a few genuine-looking diamonds, garnets, and sapphires.
She supposed in a town of finite resources, luxuries such as jewelry weren’t as high demand as perhaps lighter fuel or propane. Still, they were pretty to look at.
A scrawny kid with ruddy, teenage skin slid behind the counter, grinning. “Back again?”
Ella smiled at the clerk. “I’m here to make another payment. How many more installments are left?”
The boy pulled out a ledger, and his finger ran down the page. “Let’s see… after today, looks like the balance will be $100.”
Ella smiled. “I should be able to cover that with my next paycheck.” After pulling out the well-worn bills and laying them on the counter, the store clerk collected the money then made a notation in the book.
“What do you want a piece of junk like that for, anyway?”
“It’s a gift, and it’s not junk.”
“But the screen don’t work.” He picked at a scab on his chin.
“I told you. It’s not a television.” A smile pulled at her mouth to soften her words. “It’s a computer. And in excellent condition, I might add.”
He sighed and shook his head with the gravity only a youth who hadn’t experienced the world could muster. “Lady, you want to keep wasting your money paying me, I got no objections.”
After thanking him, she stalked towards the door, calling out, “See you next month.”
One more month and the computer would be hers. One more month and she would have the perfect present for Will.
Her feet hit the sidewalk, and she hurried into the gray swirl, jumping over a large puddle, thinking, she should probably find out when the inventor’s birthday was.
A few blocks away, some saint had stuck two two-by-fours together and made a ramp from the sidewalk to the pavement, bypassing the swelling river washing down the street. Ella crossed here and found herself in front of Sal’s Barbershop.
Above the door, an antique barber’s pole wound in a never-ending swirl of red, white, and blue ascending to the clouds. She remembered learning once in a history class that the colors represented bloodletting, during a time when people went to barbers for more than just a haircut. She held in a shiver at the thought of going to Jenny’s Salon to also get a tooth pulled or a wound treated.
Stalling long enough, Ella took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and stepped inside. The scent of aftershave and pomade of a bygone era hung thick in the air. A wide-planked wooden floor stretched before her, full of chinks and character. Several barber chairs ran the length of one wall with mirrors nestled before each one. And in each chair sat a man with a blank expression staring at her.
Ella brushed her hand over her face then her hair to be sure nothing was amiss. “Uh, hello. Is S
al here?”
A burley barber with a razor blade in one hand and shaving brush in the other responded, “In the back.”
Ella assumed that was permission to wander to the back and took a hesitant step. When no one spoke or made a move to stop her, she walked confidently to the back of the shop, unimpeded.
The floor sloped in ways that spoke of age more than intention. She stopped in front of a closed door, her hand hesitating to knock.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Of course, that had never stopped her before.
She rapped her knuckles over the marred surface and waited until Sal’s clear voice told her to enter. Inside the cramped room, stacks of papers and boxes and old equipment greeted her, and for a moment, she thought she’d walked into a closet. But the impossibly skinny man perched behind what appeared to be a desk covered with maps and notebook paper suggested it was his office.
“Miss Barton, welcome.” The barber and acting mayor’s smile was warm, albeit, revealing too many pointy teeth akin to a shark. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”
“Call me Ella, please.” She turned to sit in the lone chair across from Sal, but her seat was already taken by a mountain of books, charts, and stale food.
“Sorry, it’s a bit disorganized.”
“If by ‘disorganized’ you mean welcome to the inside of Oscar the Grouch’s trash bin, then I agree.” After relocating the books and charts, she lowered herself. “What’s with all the maps?”
They were like the one in the library, the one she’d taken a picture of, yet different. Lines overlaid the town like striations denoting elevation, yet they were all wrong.
“Just my little hobby.”
“Right, right. Weather.”
“Meteorology.”
“Same thing.”
His lips pressed together, indicating they were not the same thing.
She looked from the charts to the collection of instruments also littering his desk, including a thermometer, barometer, rain gauge, and several other items of which she could only their purpose. From what she saw, his affinity appeared to be more than a hobby.