Chapter Fourteen

Kate normally went several weeks between visits to Betty’s Beauty Parlor, especially when Betty gave her as generous a haircut as she had the last time. Yet only two weeks after her previous visit, she made her way back to the shop. More than a week had passed since the second harassing phone call, and Kate and Paul had gotten back on their normal easy terms, mostly because Kate had given up trying to help him with his chili, and he’d stopped asking about the true nature of that disturbing phone conversation.

He’d left the day before on a minister’s retreat, so Kate was on her own for the weekend. As before, the town square bustled with Saturday morning traffic, but at least today some weak sunshine muscled past the high clouds, providing hope for the usual spring warmth later in the day.

Kate didn’t intend to linger in front of the Mercantile with the men, but when she stepped out of her car and shut the door, she saw an unusual sight across the street. On one of the benches along the town square in the shadow of the clock tower, Renee Lambert sat with a man Kate had never seen before. He was about Paul’s age and probably about his height as well, although Kate couldn’t tell exactly, since the man was seated. He and Renee both looked very intent on whatever they were discussing. Kisses, in a purple fluffy sweater that matched Renee’s puffy coat, sat between them in his customary designer bag.

Renee saw Kate looking at them, but she didn’t acknowledge Kate with so much as a wave. Usually, if Renee found herself in the company of a handsome man of any age, she made certain that people were aware of it. Kate wondered who the man might be that Renee didn’t want to show him off. With a shrug, Kate turned away and headed for the beauty shop. She didn’t get far, though, before Clifton Beasley hailed her from his rocking chair in front of the Mercantile.

“Morning, Mrs.Hanlon. I’m still waiting for that pie.”

Kate took his good-natured ribbing in the spirit in which it was intended. “It still won’t cure your bursitis, I’m afraid.”

A smile split his face. “Well, now, we don’t know that for sure, do we? ’Cause we ain’t tried the cure yet. You should just let me be the judge of that.”

Kate’s mood lifted at his teasing. “Okay, okay, Clifton. You win. But I don’t expect to be making any more pies for a while.”

The wizened man shook his head. “That’s a shame, ma’am.”

“I’m afraid the preacher has commandeered the kitchen.” Kate spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “There’s nothing I can do until after the chili cook-off.”

“Then you need another kitchen.” He took a swig from the blue enamel coffee cup in his hand. “But I expect all the women in Copper Mill have that same problem this time of year.”

“Yes. Too bad we don’t have a test kitchen where we can send all these menfolk,” Kate teased.

“Now that’s not a bad idea.” He scratched his ear. “But it still doesn’t get me any closer to that pie.”

Kate edged toward the door of Betty’s Beauty Parlor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Renee now standing beside the bench across the street and shaking hands with the stranger.

“Clifton, as soon as I’m allowed back in my own kitchen, I’ll bake you that pie.”

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer.” He rubbed his shoulder in mock pain. “I’m hurting pretty powerful.”

“Well, I’m sure Sam Gorman would sell you some ibuprofen if you step inside the Mercantile there.”

“All right, all right. You’re not easily swayed, are you, ma’am?” He sank back into his chair and winked at her. “I like that in a woman.”

“Thanks, Clifton.” Kate waved good-bye as she reached the door of the beauty shop and disappeared inside. With a chuckle, she wondered how many pies Clifton managed to finagle out of Betty’s clientele in the course of a week.

“JUST A STYLE TODAY,” Kate told Betty, who nodded and led her toward the shampoo room. She settled into a vinyl chair the color of canned salmon.

The usual suspects, so to speak, were scattered around the shop, on the padded benches at the front or under the hair dryer. The sunshine coming through the smudged plate-glass windows of the shop did nothing to hide the flaws of the place or its customers. Martha Sinclair was in Ronda’s chair, getting one last coat of hair spray on her set and style. Kate wondered if she’d been right to hope that spending some time at the shop would give her any more information about Mavis Bixby.

When Kate returned from the shampoo room in the back with Betty, Renee had replaced Martha in Ronda’s chair.

“Hello, Kate.” Renee stroked Kisses as he snored like a buzz saw in her lap. “What a surprise to see you here. Are you getting your highlights touched up? It’s probably time. I noticed that when you were outside in the sunlight earlier.”

Kate gritted her teeth for a moment. There was no purpose in pointing out to Renee that her hair color was her own, exactly what nature had given her.

“It’s good to see you too, Renee. I hope you were enjoying the sunshine. It’s pretty cool to be sitting outside, though. Did you take a chill?” Kate could slop sugar with the best of them.

Renee sniffed. “I never catch colds,” she said with all the authority of a woman who refused to admit whatever she preferred to deny. “But you’re sweet to worry about an old woman like me.”

When it came to Renee Lambert, Kate knew better than to fall for her old-woman-like-me routine.

“Kate,” Martha Sinclair interrupted from her new perch on one of the benches. She ignored Renee’s withering stare. “I forgot to thank you for filling in at the bridge club. We always hate to have a partial table.”

“I was glad to do it.” She winced as Betty’s comb hit a snag in her hair. “Call me anytime.”

“We rarely have openings,” Renee said darkly. “Mostly in the event of illness. Or death.”

Kate wondered what had gotten into Renee today, because she was being even more, well, Renee-like than usual. “I understand. My mah-jongg group in San Antonio was like that.”

But she didn’t understand, really. Renee seemed to bounce back and forth between befriending Kate and alienating her, with little rhyme or reason.

“So, who was the cutie you were with outside?” Ronda, the young stylist, teased Renee. “He was a hottie.”

Because of Ronda’s extraordinary ability to back-comb, her mostly older clientele overlooked her tendency to use a lot of words ending in a long e. Plus, she never minded when her clients canceled or switched their appointments.

Renee sniffed. “I don’t know who you mean.”

“I didn’t recognize the gentleman.” Kate decided to jump in with both feet before Betty turned on the blow-dryer to style her hair. After that, she wouldn’t be able to hear any conversation over the noise of the dryer.

“Oh, he’s just a friend.” Renee waved a hand in the air.

Kisses looked up, growled, then put his head back down.

“A special friend?” Ronda could tease equally well with words or a comb.

“Special friend? Special friend!”

Kate thought she might see steam coming out of Renee’s ears at any moment, especially considering how red her face had turned.

“Why, I never—”

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Mrs.Lambert.” Ronda laid a hand on Renee’s shoulder, whether to calm her down or to keep her from bolting from the chair, Kate couldn’t tell.

“Impertinence!” Renee huffed, but she settled back down into the chair.

Kate watched her, a little concerned but also a little intrigued. She’d never seen quite that response from Renee before. Kisses, still in his fuzzy purple sweater, looked perturbed at the commotion.

Betty set down her comb and moved to Renee’s side. “Would you like some tea, Renee? I’m sure Ronda didn’t mean anything.” She shot a forced smile at the young stylist. “I have a nice chamomile that’s very soothing.”

Renee sniffed. “If you don’t have any Earl Grey, I suppose that might do.”

“I’ll take some tea as well, Betty, as long as you’re making it,” Martha said. She smiled at Kate. “So, did you find out anything more about Mavis Bixby?”

Kate swallowed the groan that rose in her throat. Martha was a kind woman but about as subtle as a hand grenade.

“Really, I was just interested in her house,” Kate said, hoping to ward off Renee’s wrath at the mention of Mavis Bixby. She hoped her words didn’t sound as tight as her lips felt.

Martha leaned forward as if drawing Kate into a conspiracy, even though the whole shop could hear their conversation. “I still have to wonder about Agnes Kelly’s husband.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you?”

Kate paused, in a quandary. She couldn’t announce what she knew about either Agnes Kelly’s husband or Mavis’ situation without violating the privacy of the former or the possible safety of the latter. She could feel all eyes in the shop on her, and she frantically cast about for the right thing to say.

“I always find it easier to assume the best about people,” Kate said, trying not to sound prim or preachy. “Don’t you?”

Martha looked bewildered for a moment, and then she harrumphed and picked up an old copy of Redbook magazine from the small table beside her.

“And what do you assume about Mavis Bixby?” Renee asked.

Kate looked at her in surprise.

“Everyone says that she moved to be with family,” Kate answered. “They’re probably right.”

“But you’re not convinced?”

Kate tried to look innocent. “I’m not sure it’s my place to be convinced of anything. I don’t even know Mrs.Bixby.”

Renee’s eyes narrowed, regarding Kate much as Kisses regarded the squirrels in the town square. “You don’t think she ran off with Edwin Kelly?”

Kate’s still-wet scalp prickled at the intensity of Renee’s gaze. What was going on here?

“I try not to listen to gossip.” Again, Kate hoped she didn’t sound holier-than-thou. “Although I have to admit that I’m not always successful.”

At that moment Betty returned from the back room, tea tray in hand. She paused beside Kate, looking for somewhere to set down the tray, but there weren’t many available surfaces in the crowded little shop.

“Here, Betty.” Kate reached for the tray. “I’ll hold it on my lap so you can pour.”

By the time Renee had her cup of chamomile, and the rest of the shop had also received their tea, Kate’s hair was practically dry of its own accord.

“Sorry,” Betty whispered in her ear as she spritzed Kate’s hair with water. “But I need to keep Renee and the other regulars happy.”

“No problem. I understand,” Kate said, and she did, really. But she was also frustrated. She was finding out firsthand the truth of Paul’s point—just exactly how much damage idle beauty shop tales could do to someone’s reputation.

If poor Mavis Bixby ever did come back to Copper Mill, she’d be labeled a hussy the moment she set foot inside the city limits.