Chapter Eleven

Where’s Your Southern Hospitality?

When five o’ clock rolled around and my last client waltzed out the door, I sang a short halleluiah chorus and danced a jig to my station to clean up. After overhearing that disturbing conversation between Ellie and Ryan, my day had gone downhill from there. Barbara had proven to be a difficult client and in the end, to get rid of her and her overbearing sister who could be heard complaining from the reception area, I had given her a substantial discount on the price of her highlights.

The usual salon noises—chatting stylists with their customers, phone ringing, running water in the shampoo basin, background music—had finally stilled for the day, and my sisters and I were relaxing in Deena’s office. Bradford would be picking me up around six, so I only had a few minutes to chat before I headed for home to shower and change.

“Well, that was a day from hell,” Billie Jo said, leaning back in the chair. “I’m thinking about learning a new profession. That North woman made me want to get out of the business. She didn’t shut up the whole time she was in my chair.”

“How’d you keep your cool?” I asked.

She laughed. “Easy. When she finally slowed down, I politely explained that we rednecks here in the South owned cell phones and even had access to the internet. Then I told her we had running water and inside toilets that actually flushed just like her fancy throne in the Big Apple. She clammed up after that but I was finished so it worked out real good.”

“What did she say about the haircut you gave her?” I asked.

“She tipped me twenty dollars so I guess I did all right. I’m not sure how long she’s gonna be in town, but I told Holly not to put her on my book if she calls.”

Deena continued to fidget with a supply catalog on her desk and cast longing glances at her cell phone. She had been preoccupied ever since Billie Jo and I had entered into her office. Something had a hold of her panties for sure.

“Is there a problem you need to discuss with us?” I asked her. “I mean about the salon. Or anything else for that matter, right, Billie Jo?”

“Sure, I’ve got a couple of minutes. Fire away.”

Deena’s eyes held a trace of sadness. “Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve always wanted to be more like the two of you?”

Billie Jo’s face registered the same surprise as mine. If the truth be told, I secretly harbored the desire to be more thoughtful and serene like Deena. My habit of diving into chaos without question landed me in an unenviable state. All one had to do was to see my face to see the results of my actions.

“Sis, the world couldn’t stand another me,” I said with a grin. “Ask Bradford. Remember, my dazzling personality landed me in anger management classes. And I’ll probably have to have surgery to fix my nose. And don’t forget my repeated trips to jail. You don’t want to be anything like me. And Billie Jo’s a hothead. Just ask Roddy.”

“What brought this on?” Billie Jo asked.

“A man brought this on,” I answered for Deena. “William Mahoney, Assistant Pastor of First Baptist Church, namely. I’m right aren’t I?”

“He’s been acting strange ever since the other night,” she replied. “We had a situation come up between us and he hasn’t been the same. I’m losing him, and I don’t have the courage to address the subject with him.”

“What happened?”

“Sex happened, Billie Jo.” Deena slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean almost happened,” she recanted with a sigh. “Bill freaked out and is now avoiding me.”

“I wouldn’t worry over-much about it,” I advised. “These things usually work themselves out between couples. I know y’all have deeply held beliefs concerning these matters, but I wouldn’t spend a lot of time feeling guilty.”

“This explains why you were so touchy about the subject earlier,” Billie Jo mused. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Deena. The problem will resolve itself, you’ll see.”

“I’m not as confident as you, Billie Jo, just hopeful that William and I will work it out in time.”

I redirected the conversation to a more pleasant subject. “Has Daddy said anything to you about him and Mama getting back together?”

“He refuses to discuss it with me. More than one time, he’s told me to mind my own business. However, Theo’s death has him thinking about how short life is.”

“Death tends to do that to you,” I said. “Barbara said pretty much the same earlier. She’s on the board of directors at Theo’s bank and wants to stay and work in Whiskey Creek.”

“Her sister’s not gonna be happy,” Billie Jo inserted. “I almost feel sorry for Barbara having to tell her she’s decided to stay here with us rednecks and mosquitos.”

“Well, I’m thankful we’re not having to go through another murder investigation,” Deena added. “I know it sounds horrible, but I’m glad Theo’s death turned out to be an accident and we’re not involved. Right, Jolene?”

So much for subtlety. I had to smile at Deena’s way of telling me that I wasn’t dragging them into another funky set of circumstances like I did when I investigated Scarlett’s death.

“Rest assured, I have no such intentions. Although I overheard a most particular conversation between Ellie and Ryan today. I swear if I didn’t know better I’d believe that they…oh, never mind. It’s not important, and I need to get out of here. Bradford is picking me up for dinner at six.”

“How’s thing’s going between you two?” Deena asked.

I stood up. “Like a roller coaster, so you see, you’re not the only one with relationship problems. See y’all in the morning.”

“I think I’ll be heading out, too,” Billie Jo said. “Roddy’s in the mood for fried chicken tonight, and I’m gonna stop by the Colonel’s for a bucket and all the trimmings. Deena would you like to join us?”

“Yes, Billie Jo, I believe I would. With Bill acting the way he is, we both could use a night off. Thanks for the invite. I’m definitely not in the mood to be alone.”

Together we locked up the salon and headed for our cars in the rear parking lot.

****

My cell phone jangled as I pulled into my driveway.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” Bradford said. “I’m stuck on the east side of town on a homicide case. Can you meet me at Fancy’s on Broad around seven?”

I agreed and hung up. Since I had extra time, I poured myself a glass of wine and took a long bubble bath. When I emerged, I reapplied my make-up and slid into a dark blue pantsuit and heels. Tango protested loudly when I gathered up my purse and keys from the counter and dashed back out the kitchen door.

****

Fancy’s was lit up like a holiday display when I pulled into the back parking lot. White lights, resembling snowflakes, twinkled from towering pines up to the veranda winding around the house. Personally, I believed the restaurant owners would attract more business if they’d left off the distracting lights and restored the old home back to its former glory of the roaring 20s. The modern day additions detracted from the beauty of the century old architecture.

I spotted Bradford seated at one of the tables on the large veranda when I walked up the front stone steps. He rose in one fluid motion to pull out a chair beside him. His blue jeans and black button-up cowboy shirt emphasized his tall male physique and I couldn’t help but notice several women send covert glances his way. Not that I blamed them, he looked positively yummy.

I crossed the veranda and slid into the chair. “Thank you,” I murmured, “It’s a lovely night for dinner under the stars. The night is so warm for November.”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly. I took the liberty of ordering iced tea with lemon. You look great. I can’t even tell you’ve been in two fights,” he said with a smile.

I peered up at his ruggedly handsome face so familiar, his dark brown hair edged with silver and cleanly cut and eyes unchanged by time. And for the first time since we had started dating, I wanted to lose my heart to this man. I smiled at the thought. “Thank you, Bradford,” I replied. “You look nice, also.”

He chuckled at my compliment and picked up the menu in front of him. “Now that that’s settled, let’s see what we like. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve heard some of the guys down at the station raving about the prime rib. What about you?”

“I’ve been here a couple of times with the gang.” I read through the menu. “I’ve ordered the fried catfish, but tonight I think I’ll try the grilled quail with steamed vegetables.”

Bradford slapped down his menu. “I’ll have the same.” He waved his hand at the waiter standing nearby and ordered our meals. After the waiter left, we both relaxed and sat in compatible silence for several minutes. Soon, our salads arrived with a basket of Fancy’s signature freshly baked bread and butter churned daily by hand on the premises.

Bradford buttered a slice liberally and shoved it into his mouth. “My cholesterol is going to shoot through the roof after tonight,” he said between bites.

I nibbled on my salad. “Dr. Gaines warned me last week about mine. I swear the way he went on you’d think I had Crisco running through my veins.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll eat the rest of this so you’re not tempted to,” he said, buttering another slice of bread.

“One can’t come to Fancy’s and not sample the wares, my dear,” I teased, reaching across the table to retrieve a slice of warm, crusty bread.

The waiter brought our entrees, and we fell silent as we consumed the grilled quail. After we had finished eating, coffee and a small slice of chocolate cake for each of us was served for dessert. I waited until the server left and we were alone before broaching the subject upmost on my mind.

“Barbara Herrington and her sister from New York paid us a visit this afternoon,” I said lightly. “Anita is determined that her sister return to civilization as soon as the funeral is over, but Barbara wants to stay here. She’s on the board of directors at Herrington’s bank.”

Bradford laid down his fork. “I know what you’re doing, Jolene, so stop the chit chat. You’re fishing for information on Herrington’s autopsy.”

“Okay, guilty as charged. I do want to know what the M.E. found, so tell me.”

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be discussing this with you. But since the M.E. has ruled this as an accidental death, and the report will be made public, I can tell you he found peanuts in Herrington’s system. He died of cardiac arrest brought on by anaphylactic shock.”

“Peanuts killed him? Wow, how strange, but it’s what you expected.”

“I’ve seen stranger. His wife told me he failed to carry his EpiPen on his person. I checked her story and there were several incidents of him being treated at the emergency room for accidental ingestion of peanut products. The M.E. said his heart disease had progressed to the point that it couldn’t deal with the stress of a severe allergic reaction and gave out. I’m waiting for the analysis report on the ingredients of each pie before officially closing the case.”

“So there’s no question here of murder?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Where’d that come from? Murder was never mentioned. Do you have something you’d like to share with me?”

In my mind, I ran over the conversation I’d overheard earlier between Ellie and Ryan. According to them, with Ryan’s father dead, they were free to pursue a life together. Keep your mouth shut, Claiborne, until Bradford has his report back or more damning evidence comes to light.

Now was a good time to redirect the conversation, a helpful habit I’d learned being a hairdresser. “Bradford, can you tell me why you and the other judges rejected Dixieland’s entry in the contest, and don’t lie, I saw your face when you tasted it.”

“You’re evading my question, Jolene,” he said. “Why did you say murder and Theodore Herrington in the same breath? What are you up to?”

“Are you interrogating me, Detective Bradford?”

He reached out and caught my hand in his. “You started it, Miz Claiborne. Now answer my question.”

The caress of his lips on my hand seared a fiery path to my brain. “This feels a little like coercion, I must warn you.”

“There isn’t a man on the planet with balls big enough to coerce you.”

“Not true, Bradford. Let’s go home and play bad cop,” I said in a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. “I promise to spill my guts after you supply sufficient coercion.”

A deep chuckle greeted my words. “Evasion is in your blood, my dear.”

I started to protest, but his cell phone shrilled. He answered it, and by the conversation I knew we wouldn’t be indulging in any bedroom games tonight. He signaled for the check.

“Sorry to cut out on you, but duty calls.” He pushed back from the table. “Raincheck on the rest of our date?”

Hand in hand we strolled around to the back parking lot. At my car, Bradford brushed a gentle kiss across my lips. “There’s a costume ball at Pineridge Plantation on Saturday night.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. You?”

“Only if you’re my date.”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you anything,” I responded in my Marilyn Monroe voice. Call me later? We can pick up where we left off. And bring your handcuffs,” I suggested.

“Don’t tempt me. I’m libel to chain you to the bed until the Herrington case is closed.” He dropped another kiss on my forehead and waited until I had unlocked my car and slid in. “This could be an all-nighter so I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.”

He followed my car out of the parking lot and waved as I turned toward home. I had just turned onto Dalton Road when a ghostly form materialized on the passenger seat, startling me. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Scarlett,” I screamed. “Can’t you give me some warning before popping in? I almost ran off the road.”

She made an impatient motion with her hand. “Jolene, you’re such a drama-queen.”

“What do you want?” I asked as the oxygen returned to my lungs.

“Nothing. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in and say hello.”

“Hello. Okay, so we said hello. Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’ve got places to go and ghosts to see.”

“Where’s your southern hospitality?”

“Gone with the wind, Scarlett.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry. Payback is hell.”

“No, hell is payback,” she snickered with abundant meaning.

“I guess this means you’re coming to my house?”

“No, I’ve got places to go and ghosts to see.”

And with those parting words she vanished.

My hands gripped the steering wheel. “Geez, I’ve got to get one of those ghost-buster meters Billie Jo had this morning.”