Chapter

34

Since Brodie had ruined my chance at reading the decal on his windshield, I drove down Main Street, dreading my next stop even more than I did dinner at Rue’s. I’d tried hard to avoid it, to continue to live in denial as I had for the last few weeks, but Brodie’s words had burst my bubble.

It was true.

I needed a haircut. Badly.

Specifically, before my dreaded dinner date with Rue Gett, who, on top of her perfect manners, always appeared immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, placing judgment on those of us without innate style and grace. Next to Rue, I felt like a clumsy, oversized oaf. An oaf with Little Orphan Annie hair and too many cuts and bruises to count. Though I knew Jack didn’t care, I didn’t want my appearance to embarrass the Lucky name. My water tower adventure had done enough.

I had one option to fix myself up—The Gett Curl & Dye.

Might as well make the best of it.

I entered the hair salon, if one could call it that, and was greeted with eleven eyes flying my way. Yes, I said eleven. Mrs. Branson lost her eye years ago after a hunting “accident” that also ended up killing her abusive husband. Speculation was, her gun had misfired right around the time Boris took the same caliber bullet to the noggin. Not that a single person in Gett had cared—well, other than the sheriff at the time. Boris was an outsider after all, born two towns away. Everyone had warned Mrs. Branson not to marry a man from Kent, but she’d gone and done it anyway.

I raised a tentative hand. “Hi.”

“Well, well, if it ain’t Charlotte Lucky,” Nanette Rogers said, snapping the gum in her mouth. We’d gone to school together until she’d dropped out her sophomore year. The official story was, she left to spend time with her great aunt. The unofficial version added in a pregnancy, and later a closed adoption of said baby. Either way, when she returned to Gett, Nanette was no longer the same girl. She got herself a job sweeping hair at The Gett Curl & Dye and never looked back.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” she said. “Not since you climbed the water tower to paint it. What did you write again?” She snapped her fingers before I could respond. “That’s right. Getting Lucky.” The other ladies glared at me. “A little on the nose for my taste,” she said, popping her gum again.

When would people forget? I wished my drunken amnesia regarding that night could spread to the whole town. But it wasn’t to be. So I affected a warm smile for the speaker with teased hair tall enough to make a Texan jealous. “It’s good to be home. But, as you can see”—I patted my own hair, thankfully not quite as big—“I’m in need of a trim.”

She snapped her gum yet again. An annoying habit, but one I’d put up with as long as she didn’t snap it out of her mouth and into my hair. She gave me a wide smile, as if she knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “I ain’t one of them fancy Hollywood stylists.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to take that so I opted for a change in subject. “Where’s Mrs. Bennet?” I asked after the woman who’d cut my hair every month like clockwork up until my seventeenth birthday.

The same haircut, mind you.

One similar to every other girl in school who also had the pleasure of a cut at the Curl & Dye. After years of repression, I admit to some experimentation when I arrived at my college dorm. Bangs and bleach, as well as a rainbow of colors, all self-administered, sometimes with disastrous results. In fact, I’d spent most of my senior year at college in a hat.

“Smoke break,” Nannette said, motioning to the back. “Damn county won’t let her smoke inside, even though it’s her shop. What’s next?”

I didn’t comment, but I did breathe a little easier. The back of my neck still bore a scar from when I was twelve and Mrs. Bennett’s cigarette ash had fallen just so. “Maybe you could give me a cut then?” I asked.

She looked me over for a long minute, then swung her empty barber chair around. “Sit,” she ordered like one would an animal.

I sat.

Her hands yanked on my locks. “You could use a touch up on your color too.”

“Sure,” I said, my voice shaking only a little.

She nodded in the mirror, then left for coloring supplies. I counted to ten, willing away my panic. It was only hair. I could always get it fixed when I returned to L.A. I thought of the horrified look on Jaz, my Hollywood stylist’s face, and winced. He’d have my head for this. My stomach rolled, but I managed a small smile when Nanette returned.

She lined up bottle after bottle. “So what brings you in? Hot date with Brodie Gett?”

“What?” I choked. “Where did you get that idea? Brodie and I are not an item.” What was it with this town? Just because a man and a woman shared the same space for a few minutes didn’t mean they were involved in a hot affair.

Nannette grunted. “Sure, honey.”

“No, really,” I said, voice rising. “We are not involved. I swear it.”

She tsked. “What’s wrong with you? That Gett boy is fine.” She shook her head. “Of course, he, like all the Getts, knows it. Gett’s gift to women. Even my mom declared she wouldn’t kick him out for eating crackers in her bed.”

“So?”

She laughed. “Mom’s in her fifties, with a bad hip and half blind to boot.”

I’d walked into that one.

“Last I heard he was dating that Winter girl,” a lady with her hair piled high on her head declared in an enhanced southern drawl. The drawl reserved for the juiciest of gossip.

“No, no,” said Mrs. Drift, the one and only Sunday school teacher in the county. “They stopped hooking up, as the kids say, last month. He just up and dumped her.” She shook her head as if unable to understand. “The girl was devastated. Foolish thing expected a ring.”

“From what I hear, he started seeing the Lewis chit a few days after that.” Mrs. Branson rubbed her good eyelid. “A week later she called my granddaughter, crying about how distant the Gett boy was. He ended things a few days later.”

Another woman, younger than the rest, caught my eye. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. Her eyes were red rimmed, and it looked as if she’d spent most of her days crying. A shame, for without the aura of sadness around her, she practically glowed in that perky blond college kid way. Her blond coloring had started to fade though, leaving her skin tone even more washed out. She gave me a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“He’s a womanizer for sure,” Mrs. Drift said. “Just like his brother, his daddy, and his granddaddy before him.” Her eyes met mine in the reflective glass. “You keep that in mind, girl.”

“We are not—”

“I’m surprised nobody’s shot one of those Gett boys for their womanizing ways yet,” Nanette said, her gaze also on mine in the surface of the mirror. “No, it’s always the good ones who are killed far too young.”

I frowned, pulling from her grip on my hair. “Are you talking about Roger?”

“Say what you will about him, Roger loved his Mary.” She gave a loud sigh. “June Wicket said he bought flowers every week.” She sighed again. “Now that’s love. The Gett boys, especially Danny—who I hear is dating three women, not one of them the right woman—could learn something from that.”

The young woman, the one I couldn’t place, leapt from the hair drying chair, hand over her mouth as she ran for the door. She pushed through it like barreling through a line of linebackers. I watched her run down the street and out of view as the door swung closed.

“What’s with Nancy Jeanne?” Nanette asked, staring after the young woman.

Mrs. Drift looked up from an out-of-date magazine featuring a wedding picture of Brad and Jen. “You don’t know?”

“What?”

“The girl’s pregnant,” she said, as if that explained everything. When the rest of us apparently didn’t share her understanding, she added, “Guess who the father is?”

“Who?” Nanette leaned in.

I sat, trapped, between the gossiping women, wanting nothing more than to shove my hands over my ears and follow poor, pregnant Nancy Jeanne out the door. This was what I’d both hoped to avoid and prayed would happen, just not about an illegitimate pregnancy but rather the first lady of Gett herself, Rue Gett. Careful what you ask for.

“None other than Danny Gett,” she whispered to the shocked gasps of those around her. She beamed, as if relishing her new role as lead gossip. “My boy, Benji, saw her get into his squad car a few days ago.”

Mrs. Branson, seemingly more put off by her losing the gossip limelight than the gossip itself, sucked on her teeth. “So what? That doesn’t prove anything. The Meade boy spends plenty of time in the backseat of Danny’s squad car. Such a delinquent that one is …”

Mrs. Drift smiled as if savoring her next statement. “Danny picked her up at Doc Wilson’s place.”

“Ah,” the group collectively said.

“Who’s Doctor Wilson?” I had been away too long if the town had managed to acquire their own doctor. Why hadn’t anyone told me? And why did it automatically mean Danny was sleeping with the much younger woman? Let alone fathering her child?

“He’s not really a doctor, at least not one with a fancy degree,” Nanette said.

“He’s a vet,” Mrs. Drift said. “Works on the livestock.”

She said the words so matter-of-factly that I frowned. It was as if nothing was wrong with a vet acting as an OB/GYN. Typical Gett. “Oh.” My sadness for poor Nancy Jeanne grew. Danny Gett could certainly afford a real baby doctor. What was wrong with him?

I bet Rue would have a fit, if she knew. Firsthand, I knew how she felt about illegitimate children. She’d never let Jack hear the end of it regarding my parents’ marital status at the time of my birth. Then again, it was hardly a secret from the rest of the town either. In kindergarten I was introduced as that bastard Lucky girl.

If Rue learned the truth, she would have Danny and Nancy Jeanne married within a week.

For one brief moment, I considered blackmailing Danny to get Jack out of jail. I dismissed the notion out of hand. I wasn’t stooping to acting like a Gett. Danny and his younger (much too young, in my opinion) baby momma could live in peace. Though I did feel sorry for Willow Jones. Danny’s soon-to-be-daddy status had to be killing her, which explained her outburst outside the bar. I wondered if she would make good on her threat to leave Gett. And just how would Danny feel? If he ever felt anything.

“Are you going to Roger’s memorial tomorrow?” Nanette asked, pulling me from my thoughts as she yanked me back in the chair by the hair. “We’re booked all day today because of it.” She sneered. “Guess everyone wants to look their best to pay their respects.”

I squirmed at her tone.

“Such a shame.” Again, her gaze met mine in the mirror.

I winced, for all eyes were on me, and looking none too happy. Did they believe the lies about Jack? “My granddad had nothing to do with Roger’s death.” I nodded for emphasis when no one looked convinced by my passionate denial.

After an awkward few seconds, Mrs. Drift spoke up. “We know that, sweetheart. Jack’s a good man.” Even as she said the words, I could see not one of the women agreed with them.

For Jack’s sake, for the sake of future Luckys, I needed to find Roger’s killer and fast before malicious gossip tainted the Lucky name forever.

“Now, what do you think about going a little bigger?” Nanette said, teasing my hair to unprecedented heights.