Clues, Enemies and Grand Central Station
I head straight to the fresh produce section. It’s my favorite part of the store – all those bright colors and rich, juicy smells. I making a beeline for the strawberries when I spot Lovie squeezing the plums. Wouldn’t you know it?
I duck around the bin where Irish potatoes are stacked higher than my head then lean way down and began filling a sack.
“Expecting a famine?” Lovie has me trapped, and she knows it. I would never in a million years make a scene in a public place. For one thing, it’s bad for business. For another, I’m a steady, unflappable person.
Usually.
Until lately.
“Since when is it a crime to buy potatoes?”
“I can see you’re still mad at me, so I guess you don’t want to hear about Leonora and Roy.”
Lovie is wearing this tacky multi-colored shawl that makes her look larger. I told her two years ago, she ought to give it to the Salvation Army. It flaps behind her as she sweeps off, and the fringe gets caught in a nail. Otherwise I might never have caught up with her. She can move fast for her size.
“What about Leonora and Roy?” I ask.
“I thought we weren’t speaking.”
“We’re not, except about the case.”
“It’s all or nothing with me.” She starts trying to untangle her shawl.
“Holy cow, Lovie. I’m suspected of murder.”
“Well, I’m accused of boyfriend snatching.”
Lovie is no match for the stubborn fringe and the tenacious nail. She jerks her shawl off and leaves it hanging there while she stalks off. Maybe somebody without a sense of fashion will discover it and take it home.
“Wait.” I grab Lovie’s arm. “If I go to the electric chair it will be on your conscience.” I can see her weakening. Lovie’s a sucker for threats. “Tell me about Leonora and Roy.”
“You can see for yourself. They’re sitting back there at the deli canoodling over a couple of hot dogs.”
Thank you sounds too stiff to use with Lovie, so I don’t tell her anything as I hurry toward the deli. Before our big blowup, she’d have been racing along right beside me, and I feel her loss. Acutely. Two people always make a thing better.
When I get to the meat counter I think about going back to say, “Let’s forget everything, Lovie, and go back the way we were,” but capitulation is not my style. I press on without her.
Sure enough, Leonora and Roy are leaning across a booth, not quite holding hands, but almost. And from the earnest looks on their faces, I’d guess they are discussing a serious subject. Maybe murder.
I put on my perky personae as I stroll by the booth. “Oh…hi,” I say, and they jump apart as if they’ve been caught having sex beside the salami.
“Do you mind if I join you? I’m just dying for a Coke.” Ordinarily I’m not a pushy person, but what’s a little rudeness compared to being a prime suspect?
“I’ll get it for you, Callie.” Roy jumps up and hurries off, looking too relieved for the situation, if you want to know the truth.
“Thanks, Roy.” After he leaves, I lean toward Leonoa, who is not looking too happy to see me…especially considering that she wrapped herself in one of my towels last night and bared her soul. “Where did you go last night, Leonora? I waited for you.”
She crumples her napkin into a wad, then unfolds it and crumples it up again.
“I had to leave, Callie. I’m sorry.”
I try to read her face to see if she knew I’d been left to die, but I can’t tell.
“Somebody locked me in the sauna.”
“Oh, no!” She covers her face with her hands, then doubles over the table.
“Leonora?” I shake her shoulder to see if she was all right. “Leonora?”
I probably shocked her into a miscarriage. I’m not the kind to panic, but believe you me, I start scrambling for my cell phone, slinging stuff out of my purse and not caring where it lands.
“Leonora!” Roy races back, sloshes the lemonade onto the table and it spills all over me.
About that time I find my cell phone and start punching in 911, but he grabs the phone and turns it off.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Leonora rouses enough to stand, wobbly-legged, then Roy escorts her off. But not before giving me a look that leaves no doubt in my mind I’ve dropped to his list of Mooreville’s Undesirables.
My lipstick and car keys are on the table getting sticky with spilled lemonade, so I grab a napkin and wipe them off. I wish I had Lovie to discuss things with, but since I don’t have anybody except myself, I said, “What was that all about?”
“I wouldn’t know, dearie.” I look up to see a dwarf-like man leering at me. “I believe you dropped this.” He winks, then opens his fist and holds out my rescued possession. Wouldn’t you know it’s a tampon? And wouldn’t you know the first man who has flirted with me, besides my almost-ex and my underage admirer, looks like Dopey from Snow White?
Believe me, it takes lots of moxie to say thank you, and make a dignified exit. The wet clothes don’t help. Fortunately, I’m equal to every occasion. Grabbing my purse and cramming my stuff inside, I hurry off to the opposite side of the store. I’ll get food later. Right now, I want to be anywhere except the grocery/deli section.
“Yoohoo! Callie!”
Fayrene is barreling my way like this is Grand Central Station and she’s about to miss the last train. The good thing about Wal-Mart is that when you’re depressed, you can come here and socialize with at least fifteen people you know, and a maybe even a few you don’t. But that’s also the bad thing. There’s no way you can ever be anonymous in Wal-Mart.
Out of breath from her sprint, Fayrene puts her hand over her chest. “My goodness, I haven’t run like that since Jarvetis chased me around the fast food rack at the store.”
While I’m struggling with the mental image of hen-pecked, lackadaisical Jarvetis getting up enough energy to chase anything, let alone Fayrene, she races on to her next topic.
“Jarvetis had to go to the vegetarian, and I said, ‘Jarvetis, why don’t you drop me by Wal-Mart first?’“
“Jarvetis’s seeing a vegetarian?”
“Yes, his bird dog’s sick.”
Mrs. Maloprop strikes again. I have to put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Fayrene.”
My clothes are beginning to dry, and I’m eager to get on with my shopping so I can get back home and cogitate on Leonora and Roy. I’m thinking up a gracious way to excuse myself when I happen to glance into Fayrene’s shopping cart. It holds a tube of toothpaste that’s supposed to whiten your teeth while you sleep but not so you can tell it, a can of cheap hairspray that will set up like cement in her hair and take me three washings to get out and a set of rhinestone hair clips.
All of a sudden I’m in no hurry to leave.
“Those rhinestone hair clips are lovely, Fayrene.”
“Jarvetis’s got a fortieth class reunion coming up and I thought I’d pimp a little.”
I have a coughing spell behind my hand.
“I’m sure you’ll look lovely, Fayrene.”
Everybody loves a compliment, and fortunately I enjoy giving them because I’ve discovered it’s one of the quickest ways to put a person off guard.
“Have you worn them before?” I ask her.
“Just every now and then.”
“When you want to primp?”
“Exactly.” She pulls the clips off the card and holds them up to her hair. “How do you think these will look? When it comes to beauty, you’re a common sewer.”
It takes me a while to arrive at the conclusion that Fayrene is not insulting me but is paying me the supreme compliment that I am a connoisseur.
“Fabulous.” I glance at my watch and say, “Oh, dear, I have to run.”
I race off and gain safety behind a huge rack of sale hats before my laughter rips loose. Wouldn’t Lovie get a kick out of my new title? I can’t wait to tell her.
Halfway back to the grocery section, I spot Lovie’s shawl still hanging on the nail by the plums. I hurry out and try to forget my quarrel with my cousin by thinking about the case.
The rhinestone hair clip is significant, though who in his right mind would consider Fayrene a suspect? Her quarrels with Jarvetis are legend in Mooreville, but their disagreements are usually good-natured and sometimes humorous. Everybody in Mooreville loves to laugh over their marital spats, even Fayrene and Jarvetis. She loves to tell about the time Jarvetis woke up in the middle of the night and told her to get his hemorrhoid ointment.
“He’d been waking me up every night for a week,” is the way she tells it, “and so I thought I’d fix him good. I handed him the Ben Gay, instead. Icy hot. “
No, Fayrene is hardly a likely suspect. Still, I want to check out the hair ornaments. After I unload my groceries, I head to the sheriff’s office. But not before I change into cowboy boots and a cute pair of jeans with rhinestones on the pockets. I even change underwear, which is something Mama drilled into my head.
“Always put on nice underwear when you go somewhere in case you have a wreck,” is the way Mama always puts it. I like to think of it in a different light: it never hurts to be prepared.
Driving with the setting sun at my back and Elvis crooning “Here Comes Santa Claus” puts me in a good mood. Sunsets and great music do that to me. The only way it could get better would be to have a fabulous man share the pleasure. Be that as it may, I’m not the kind to let circumstances get me down.
You’ll never guess who’s coming out of the sheriff’s office just as I pull into the parking lot. The last thing I need is for Jack Jones to see me messing around in the murder case. I duck down hoping he won’t notice the truck. But that’s like hoping that pigs will fly.
He opens my door and taps me on the bottom, which sets me off good, I can tell you. Nobody touches my private parts without my permission. Not even somebody who looks as good as Jack.
Besides, scrunched down here reminds me of being locked in a sauna, and I’m about to smother from panic.
“Of all the nerve. Do you always go around embarrassing people?”
“Only when they get in my way.” He blocks the door and leans so close I can smell his soap. Irish Spring. Which doesn’t help matters a bit. I’m a sucker for anything Irish, even potatoes. “You’ve been getting in my way, Callie Jones.”
“I have not. I’ve been taking care of business.”
“The sheriff’s business. I had a long talk with Leonora. Seems the two of you were talking about more than clothes and makeup in the sauna last night.”
“What I say to anybody in the privacy of my sauna is my business.”
“Not when it stirs around in this murder investigation.”
“What did Leonora tell you?” He looks at me as I’ve asked him to hand over his Harley. “Is she a suspect?”
“Callie, let it alone. Whoever locked you in the sauna doesn’t like your meddling any more than I do. You could get into real trouble.”
“Did you find out who locked me in? Was it Leonora or Roy?”
“What do you know about Roy Jessup?”
“Nothing.” Why should I tell him about the cozy scene between those two at Wal-Mart? Maybe it had nothing to do with the murder. Besides, poor Leonora has enough on her mind without Jack following her around asking nosy questions.
His stare would parch peanuts, and I’m beginning to feel the heat.
“But I do have something important to tell you, Jack.”
“This had better be good. What is it?”
“Are you going to move out of my way so I can go inside and flirt with the sheriff, or do you plan to hold me captive in my truck while I melt?”
“Are you melting, Callie?”
I take his remark personally. How could I not, with him turning up the heat and looking like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, only ten times better?
“Yes, we’re having a December heat wave in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Follow me.”
If Jack Jones thinks I’m going to trail along after him like a cat in heat, he’s sorely mistaken. I catch up with his long strides and grab hold of his arm as if I’m the Queen of Mooreville and he’s my paid flunky.
It’s a relief to get inside the sheriff’s office, even if Sheriff Trice is not there. When Jack offers me a cola, I don’t refuse. I take my time drinking it, but if there’s one thing about Jack I understand, it’s that he can out-wait, out-stare, out-do just about anybody I know. Except me.
Obviously he was born under the sign of Scorpio because that stare of his is enough to set even the innocent to squirming. I place the half-empty drink can on a stained cardboard coaster on the edge of Sheriff Trice’s desk, then cross my legs. Only to get comfortable, you understand, but I notice him noticing.
“Since when did you take over Sheriff Trice’s office?”
“That comes under the heading none of your business, Cal.”
“Well, you don’t have to act so personal about it. If you’ll care to remember, we no longer share the same bed.”
“A situation I plan to remedy.”
“In your dreams, Jack Jones.” I uncross my legs in a hurry, let me tell you. “I’d like to see that rhinestone pin again.”
For once he doesn’t argue. I look around the sheriff’s office while Jack goes to the evidence room to get it. This is a man’s room, from the large, battered wooden desk to the swivel desk chair with the butt-sprung seat to metal filing cabinets painted an awful green that reminds me of being seasick once when Mama and I went fishing on the Gulf Coast with Uncle Charlie and Lovie.
Speaking of Lovie, there’s her latest conquest, back again with the plastic sack containing the rhinestone hairpin. Jack hands the bag over then skewers me with his Scorpio look while I examine its contents. The clip has tiny rhinestone hearts intertwined, definitely not like the ones Fayrene had in Wal-Mart. Hers were interlocking circles, though, of course, they were brand new and didn’t preclude her having some with hearts at home.
Still, I don’t see her as the murdering type, and definitely not killing in a jealous rage. Fayrene is more likely to tickle you to death than to kill you with a pair of scissors.
I don’t think the hair clip belongs to Leonora or Alice Ann, either. For one thing, I’ve never seen them wear a hair ornament. For another, they’d go for a more expensive look if they did.
For the time being, I memorize everything about the clip in evidence so I can check it against the ones worn by my clients.
I hand the plastic bag back to Jack and stand up to leave.
“Not so fast, Callie. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
“Not before you tell me what was so all-fired important you had to drag me back in here.”
“I wanted to see the hair ornament again, that’s all.”
“You said you had something important to tell me. What is it?”
No way am I going to tell Jack about Fayrene’s purchase and set him to hounding her. I’d have to have a lot more evidence than that to put her on the hot seat with a Company man.
“I thought I remembered something about the pins, but I was wrong.”
He doesn’t say a word, but you could fling his thoughts against the wall and knock a hole in it. Sweat inches down the side of my face and beads my upper lip. Just like somebody guilty.
“Don’t mess with me, Callie.”
“I wouldn’t dream of messing with you.” I know a thing or two about haughty silence, and believe me, he feels the sting. I see how his ears turn red. “I’m more selective than that.”
I march out the door while I still have a chance. With Jack Jones, you don’t stick around for consequences.
When I get back to home I hole up with Romeo and Juliet and don’t even answer the phone. Murder will wear you out… and probably create wrinkles, too.
Before I go to bed I slather on some extra night repair cream.
o0o
It’s a relief when Friday comes. I’m ready for an ordinary day with nothing more stressful than Mama’s beauty shop appointment. Thank goodness, she won’t be coming until two o’clock, so I have most of the day to enjoy
I dress in yellow to fit my good mood, then get into my kitchen expecting to enjoy a bowl of Wheaties, but no sooner do I get comfortable than my phone rings.
It’s Lovie.
“I have to talk to you, Callie. Come over and have breakfast.”
“I don’t eat with the enemy.”
“Good grief!”
Lovie hangs up, which isn’t exactly the best way in the world to start the morning, but I’m determined not to let it ruin my day. I turn on the radio and sing “Blue Christmas” with Elvis. I’ll have to say we make a good team, him singing the melody and me singing harmony.
I can harmonize with anybody on any song. I got my ear for music from Daddy, who used to sit on the front porch at night playing a guitar.
When I find a permanent man, not a Jack Jones will ‘o the wisp type, I’m going to make sure he plays an instrument. Besides mine, that is. I guess that’s what drew me to the Elvis impersonator I once dated – his guitar. Goodness knows, he didn’t have any other assets to speak of.
After breakfast, I load my basset into my truck, flip on the radio and sing Christmas songs all the way to Hair.Net. I’m still singing when I go into my office to stow my purse and check my messages.
Elvis gives a warning growl and I turn around from my desk to see Jewel standing in my doorway. I jump like a nervous cat.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Callie.”
“It’s Jim Boy’s murder. It’s got me skittish.” I put my hand on Elvis’ collar. “Hush up, boy. It’s just Jewel.”
“The murder’s got all of us spooked. Even your dog.”
She’s not so spooked that she’s given up the tanning bed, I notice. Naturally she just came on through the front door the way she always has. In spite of Mama’s dire predictions, I’m still leaving it unlocked.
“Your tan looks nice, Jewel.”
“Thanks. I don’t know why I bother. Certainly not for men. They’re not worth the effort.”
This strikes me as an odd statement coming from the woman who has been giving me dating advice for years. But then, everything strikes me the wrong way since Jim Boy’s murder. I wonder if I’ll ever be myself again.
“I’m glad I caught you before I left,” Jewel adds. “I wanted to talk to you about Leonora. Has she said anything else to you?”
“As a matter of fact, she has.”
Jewel gets this funny look on her face, then comes into my office and shuts the door. Since we are the only ones in the shop, it’s not as if somebody will hear.
“Tell me what she said.”
“She asked me to talk to you. Present her case, I guess you might say. I understand how you must feel to see your daughter bear an illegitimate baby, especially under the circumstances, but that little baby is innocent. It deserves all the love we can give it. And I’m willing to help in any way I can.”
“I know you are, Callie. Thanks.” Jewel looks at her watch. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Let me get out of here before anybody else comes.” She winks at me. “This is our little secret, Callie.”
“Absolutely.”
I don’t know whether she’s talking about the tanning bed or our conversation, but you can rest assured that I’ve never betrayed a customer’s confidence. Jewel knows this. I don’t know why she feels compelled to remind me.
Trailing a cloud of her new fragrance, Jewel leaves through the back door just as my first customer arrives through the front. It’s Patti Lacey, wife of TV personality Cody Lacey, who has driven all the way from Tupelo just to do get me to do her hair.
If I were the bragging type, I’d get the big head over this, but I view it as my just due. When you cut hair as well I do, word is bound to get around. Shoot, before you know it, I’ll be making enough money to open a satellite shop in Tupelo.
Pattie is the talkative kind, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. With everybody in Lee County and beyond tuned in to hear her husband on the morning news, it’s only natural that she’d find outlets elsewhere. She probably talks to anybody who’ll listen, because I’ll bet she can’t get a word in edgewise at home.
She’s telling about her cruise to the Bahamas when Mama swoops in wearing a hot pink caftan featuring Frosty the Snowman and carrying her book of cross word puzzles and a base ball bat.
“I thought I’d come early,” she says, then plops into a pink chair and proceeds to make herself right at home. She pulls up an empty chair to prop her feet up, then leans the baseball bat against it and digs around in her purse for her bifocals.
“You’re about six hours early, Mama.” That’s all I need: Mama losing touch with reality. Early Alzheimer’s.
“I can tell time.” She jerks open a New York Times crossword puzzle book and flips to the middle.
“What’s that baseball bat for?”
“Somebody’s got to come up here and make sure you’re safe. There’s a murderer on the loose.”
I roll my eyes. Fortunely my new customer doesn’t bolt out of her chair and run screaming out my door. If she had, she’d have collided with Alice Ann who is rushing like she’s being chased by a herd of mad cows.
“Callie, I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Not now, Alice Ann. I’m right in the middle of a cut.” I put enough emphasis on the word so she’ll notice that this isn’t just anybody sitting in my chair, but a brand new customer. And one with clout, at that.
“Oh, do go ahead and talk,” Patti Lacey says. “That’s one of the things I love about small town beauty shops. Nobody’s in a hurry. Everybody has time for his neighbor.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Please…go on. Really. I find it charming.”
I usher Alice Ann into my office and shut the door. “You know who that is, Alice Ann?”
“Yeah, the TV guy’s wife, but this is really important, Callie. I know something I haven’t been telling, and I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get it off my chest.”
The words that had once been music to my ears now sound like the hounds of hell baying at my heels. If I ever get through this murder investigation, I’m going to turn over a new leaf. I’m not going to talk to my customers about anything more significant than the weather.
Still, old habits die hard.
“What’s up, Alice Ann?”
“I was here when Jim Boy was murdered.”
“Good grief! Why haven’t you told Jack?”
“Because I was afraid Leonora did it.”
Sitting in my swivel desk chair, I say, “You’d better tell me everything, Alice.”
“I’d been meeting Jim Boy at Booger Bill’s begging him to marry Leonora and give his baby a name. When that didn’t work, we decided to enlist Jewel’s help. The night before Jim Boy died, Leonora and I went up there and told her everything. She was furious.”
“I already know that from what Leonora has told me.”
“Jewel told us to leave and not come back.” Alice draws a shaky breath. “I thought Leonora was going to fall to pieces on me, but she’d calmed down by the time we got to her house. She said, I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to confront Jim Boy in the morning and tell him that if he doesn’t marry me, I’m fixing to spill the beans to Trixie. I told her I’d go with her.”
“So, the two of you killed Jim Boy?”
“No, no! Leonora didn’t even come. I swear it.”
“What happened?”
“She called Jim Boy the night before he was killed, and he said to meet him here. We were going to come together, two against one, so to speak, but she called me at four o’clock that morning and said she just couldn’t do it. So I decided to talk to him by myself.” Alice put her hands over her mouth as if she’s going to throw up.
This is a full-fledged disaster. I rush to the refrigerator and pour a big glass of Prohibition punch, then race back to the office.
“Drink this.”
She drinks half of it before she puts the glass down.
“The front door was open,” she says.
“I know. It always is.”
“When I walked in I thought I heard a noise, so I called out Jim Boy’s name. There was no answer, but then I definitely heard something. It was footsteps, running. I froze for a minute, then I tiptoed to the back room and saw Jim Boy with the scissors in his neck. I went to the bathroom and threw up.”
“Did you see anybody or hear anything else? A car cranking up? Anything?”
“No, nothing. I was too scared. I went home and waited for Leonora to pick me up for our hair appointment.”
“Did you call and tell her about it?”
“Lord, no. She didn’t know it until we got here with the twins.”
“You’re certain she didn’t know?”
“Absolutely positive. She swore up and down she didn’t have a thing to do with it. She would never do a thing like that.” Alice Ann takes another big swig of wine. “Would she?”
“No, of course not.” I’m not so sure I believe this anymore. Still, there’s Leonora’s baby to think about. “Look, there’s no need for anybody else to know this, Alice Ann. Leonora’s had about all she can take without more questioning from Jack and Sheriff Trice.”
Alice Ann bolts out her chair to hug me. “Thank you, Callie. I knew I could count on you.”
Am I wrong to tell her to keep quiet? Tomorrow will tell. I’m driving up to Memphis to find a killer.
After Alice Ann leaves I sit in my chair a minute to catch my breath. Spying the little tad of wine in the glass, I tip it up. If anybody deserves some of the family cure, it’s me.
“Look at it this way,” I say to Elvis, who is sprawled on his pink silk pillow. “Things can’t get any worse.”
Boy, am I wrong!