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Mercy had a shower before hopping into bed, wearing one of Gertie’s nightgowns. She fought with the garment as she twisted and pulled and tried to get comfortable. The stupid thing wasn’t fit for sleeping. It either wrapped her like a tourniquet or worked its way up to her waist. But it wasn’t the gown that caused her nightmares. Her disquieting thoughts rolled around in her brain and played out like a horror movie in graphic detail.
Eek! She woke up and rested on one elbow on the mattress while she drained the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. She put the empty glass back and dropped down with a sigh, having just relived another twisted version of the day. She blinked a few times and found herself back on the bus, driving.
The old guy with a long hair growing off the end of his nose sat right behind her again, and she couldn’t stop from gaping in the mirror, wondering why someone didn’t just yank it out. Then the man turned to give her a profile view, holding the hair to show off its length.
“Doesn’t it get tangled up in your handkerchief when you blow your nose? Or the washcloth every morning?” Dream Mercy asked the questions the real Mercy was afraid to.
“Nope. I don’t have that problem,” the old man bragged. “Because I never blow. Or wash.”
Oh, God! What was that spot between his nose and upper lip? Mercy’s eyes became fixated on the rough patch as she tried to determine what it was. Her eyes bulged. That bluish color she thought was gray hair? It was mold! Her foot hit the brake, and the man flew over the protective rail with his head coming to rest on her right shoulder. In her peripheral vision she saw the hair flutter as he breathed heavily. Then he buried his face into her neck. Mercy stood and screamed before running off the bus, clawing at her neck.
“If that’s how you feel about me, then go!” Spencer called.
Mercy turned to see him hanging out the door of the bus with Marlena standing by the bumper, beckoning him to leave with her.
“Wait!” Mercy returned to the bus to stop him from going. “It’s not what you think.”
Spencer’s brow rose. “Really?”
“No.” Mercy shook her head and paused when she felt something on her arm. Hair? She reached up and grabbed a piece. It came out of her scalp and she kept pulling until it was all on the ground. Then she realized Spencer and Marlena were laughing at her.
“Sorry, Merc, but I can’t be with you,” he said with a shrug as he gazed adoringly at the beautiful blonde who now had his arm. “What can I say? She loves my bus.”
“Please don’t go!” Mercy begged.
He smiled condescendingly and reached behind his back with his free hand and produced a thick hoodie. “Wear this to cover your head.” He held it out, but Marlena took it from him.
“Why did you do that?” Marlena asked. “She still has hair.” Mercy beamed until Marlena said to Spencer, “Get the tweezers.”
Tweezers? Mercy crossed her eyes and saw a long hair had sprouted from the end of her nose.
“Will you hold her down?” Marlena snapped at Spencer. “I can’t grab it with her wiggling like that.”
“Why?” Mercy whispered to Spence as he held her immobile on the ground.
“You ruined the celebration,” he replied. “Now we’ll never have another Ranchero Roundup because Rusty Ramon was murdered on your bus.”
“It’s not my fault. He was broke and couldn’t sponsor another one, anyway,” Mercy said. “Besides, everyone hated him.”
“He wasn’t broke. He made a fortune cheating others, and that’s why they hated him.” Spencer gave her a disappointed look and then nodded to Marlena. “Go ahead.”
A now red-haired Marlena loomed over Mercy, wearing the hoodie, and she had hooters like Dolly Parton. In her hand was no longer a pair of tweezers but a bone. “This won’t take long.” She raised a sparerib like a dagger before plunging it into Mercy’s abdomen. While Mercy oozed sticky sauce, Marlena licked the sparerib and passed it to Spencer. “That BBQ sauce is amazing. It’s a secret recipe.”
“Hey, I’ve been looking for that!” Loyal joined them and took the rib from Spence. “Don’t you know this belongs on the grill?” When he stepped to the side, Mercy saw a huge grill smoking with juicy pink hams.
Rusty Ramon appeared and shouted, “No cheating!” He pointed an accusing finger at Loyal. “You can’t mix pork with your beef.”
“You’re too late, old man! I already did, and you’ll soon be the laughingstock of the beef industry,” Loyal mocked him as he waved a bag of BBQ meat at Rusty.
Rusty’s eyes turned dark with anger. “And you’ll be broke, son. So tell me—who won this round?” His once charming smile turned evil, and he looked around for another target. He spotted Spencer. “I’m not paying for any of the work you did for me!” he barked to Spence who offered him a set of keys.
“You can still drive my bus,” he said to Rusty.
A little boy stepped out from behind Rusty and took the keys from Spencer. Mercy tried to tell him the boy was too young to drive, but the only thing that came out was a faint whisper. Meanwhile, the boy’s mother appeared and glared at Mercy, holding out her hands as though asking what she intended doing about it.
“Give me those!” Marlena snatched the keys from Spencer and hurled them at Mercy who was briefly distracted by her discolored hands. Then Mercy dodged the projectile. The keys hit a huge mirror behind her and it shattered, pelting her with shards of glass. She tried batting them away, but it didn’t help.
“Stop it!” Mercy yelled.
“Then wake up, and I’ll quit swatting you!”
Mercy’s eyes flew open at the sound of Ida Belle’s voice, and she grabbed her shirt. “Please be real!”
Ida Belle pushed her hands away. “Get a grip on yourself.”
Mercy clutched her head. “I have hair,” she announced joyously.
“Congratulations. Now are you getting up?” Ida Belle didn’t understand Mercy’s happy smile as she rolled out of bed. “Gertie’s fixing breakfast. It will be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be down soon,” Mercy promised. She got ready in the bathroom and tried not to think about the old man and his hair as she washed her face. Instead, she focused on the upcoming day. She had to figure out who else wanted Rusty dead. So she needed not only motives but also names because Montgomery Spencer wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, and she’d stake her own life on that.
The smell of bacon and coffee prompted her to finish quickly and join the women in the kitchen where Gertie was fixing plates and setting them on the table. Mercy decided to keep her conclusions to herself until she had proof to present to them.
“Well, Gertie, it looks like you finally unloaded that ugly nightgown,” Ida Belle remarked when Mercy sat down still wearing it.
“My shorts and shirt are dirty from my roll down the hill,” Mercy explained. “So after breakfast, Gertie’s taking me to pick up a few things at the motel, and then we’re coming back here to dress for the festival.” She sent Ida Belle a teasing look. “Are you going to wear a disguise too?”
Ida Belle pressed her lips together into a straight line. “Gertie, I can’t say I’m surprised that Mercy is willing to join you in a wild fantasy, but do you really expect me to take part in your hairbrained scheme? Who are you hiding from? All the strangers in town? Because everyone else will know it’s you.”
Gertie’s blue eyes twinkled, and she winked at Mercy. “Ida Belle has no sense of adventure.”
“Adventure?” Ida Belle scoffed. “Running around and playing dress-up is not an adventure.”
“It is when you’re tracking a murderer,” Mercy stated.
Ida Belle paused with a coffee cup in her hand. “Tracking a murderer? Or the murderer?”
Mercy flapped her hand excitedly. “One of my mixed up dreams last night provided an alternative to your theory about Spence running me off the road. People kept changing, and it made me wonder if someone else was driving his truck.”
Ida Belle looked thoughtful and with a shrug, she admitted, “You could be right, and it should be easy enough to find out. Text him and ask.”
“Right now?” Mercy looked at the kitchen clock. “Won’t he find it odd I’m asking about his truck at this hour?”
“Why should he? If he gives you an excuse, we’ll know he’s covering it up. If not, then he can tell us who was behind the wheel,” Gertie replied.
“But if he makes an excuse, he’ll know that we suspect him,” Mercy said.
“That’s the point. Now quit wasting time,” Ida Belle told her.
“Fine.” Mercy sent him a message. Did you have your truck out late last night?
A short time later she got a reply. Why?
She showed Ida Belle and Gertie his text before she responded. Just wondering.
His next message wasn’t helpful. My truck is a boring subject, but if you really want to talk about it then meet me later.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” Mercy asked.
“Don’t do anything,” Ida Belle suggested. “See if he follows through.”
He did. Mercy, how about a redo of last night? It didn’t turn out like I planned.
“He wants a chance to make up for leaving you in the mirror maze,” Gertie said.
“Maybe that’s what he wants her to think,” Ida Belle countered. “He could still be planning to knock her off and make it look like an accident.”
Mercy rolled her eyes. “See. My text didn’t accomplish anything.”
“Then agree to meet him. Gertie and I will follow you and can step in if he tries anything,” Ida Belle said.
Mercy sat in a brown study and shook her head when Gertie touched her arm. “Sorry. I was thinking about my dream. It feels like my mind processed something important yesterday and played it back in my dream. But I can’t quite get a grasp on it because it’s so mixed up.”
“Well, just give it time and it will work its way out,” Gertie advised.
Spence’s next text interrupted Mercy’s train of thought, and she read it aloud. Are you mad about my leaving you in the maze while I went for help? We can talk about it. Meet me later!
“Uh, oh.” Gertie lifted her coffee cup and glanced sideways at Ida Belle, who interpreted.
“Now he’s getting pushy, which means he’s nervous. And after seeing your appearance at the bus last night, I think it’s safe to assume he’s not worried about impressing you.” Ida Belle shrugged at Mercy’s scowl.
“I can’t help it if the bus was dirty. That’s why I was going to the laundromat last night,” she said defensively.
“Yeah, that too,” Ida Belle responded. “I meant that mop on your head. Does it always look like an out-of-control weed field? It’s like a wild botanical adventure and those poor bands looked stressed to the breaking point.”
“Are you suggesting I try curlers?” Mercy asked sarcastically.
Ida Belle’s eyes got big. “I don’t think they make industrial strength rollers.”
Gertie cleared her throat. “And that’s why Mercy’s wearing a wig today. Ida Belle, if you don’t have anything better to do than make trouble, then you clear the table while I drive Mercy to her room for clothes.”
“Pardon me?” Ida Belle huffed. “Why do I have to clear the table?”
“Because I cooked breakfast,” Gertie answered. Mercy scampered to the door and smirked at Ida Belle.
“I’m getting that look from a woman whose hair needs a hay rake and who slept in a nightgown my great granny wouldn’t have worn?” Ida Belle raised her brows. “Gertie, don’t let her give you any fashion advice because I guarantee even George will gouge out his eyes if you show up looking like her.”
“Don’t pay any attention to Ida Belle,” Gertie said as she joined Mercy at the door. “She lost all her good taste the day she sold her Corvette.”
“It would explain why I hang out with you,” Ida Belle responded tartly.
“Hey, Ida Belle? Make sure you rinse those plates before you put them in the dishwasher.” Gertie ignored the towel that hit the door she closed and followed Mercy to the car.
When they got to the motel, Gertie went in with Mercy and advised her not to pick clothes that Spencer would recognize. She had minimal storage space and therefore a limited choice of apparel but most of it was generic and Gertie approved of the red shirt, denim shorts, and plain leather sandals Mercy chose.
“Now let’s go back to my house. I have a bunch of wigs to choose from.” On the way they discussed other things that might alter Mercy’s appearance and decided on makeup and a pair of non-prescription eyeglasses.
The wig cap Mercy donned to keep her hair under wraps felt like it was squeezing her head, but Gertie insisted it was necessary. She handed Mercy a long auburn wig and Mercy immediately rejected it away with a look of distaste. “No red hair. I don’t like it.”
“Okay.” Gertie looked surprised at Mercy’s reaction, but handed her another hairpiece. “Moses wore this one when she was pretending to be Fortune,” she said.
Mercy choked on her laughter. “Moses Reese pretended to be Fortune? How did that work out?” She giggled trying to picture the short curvy Mo attempting the maneuvers she’d seen the lithe slender Fortune carry out.
Gertie chuckled, understanding Mercy’s amusement. “She was sitting in a boat and only had to pull it off for long distance viewing, so it worked out okay.”
Mercy put on the wig and turned to Gertie for inspection.
“No, it’s too long and will get tangled after a while. Also, if you aren’t used to wearing one it might get heavy by the end of the day. Here.” The next wig was a light brown chin-length bob with straight bangs. “I like that one. What do you think?”
Mercy checked her reflection in the mirror and flipped her head from side to side. “Okay, I can do this one,” she agreed. She wasn’t as keen on the heavy makeup Gertie insisted was necessary as the black eyeliner and thick brows seemed a little over the top, but Gertie was excited with the results so Mercy went along with it. The bright lipstick Gertie picked for her was set aside when Mercy pointed out it would be hard to maintain. But she had to admit she didn’t look like herself, especially when she put on the clear lens eyeglasses Gertie passed her. “I look like Daryl Hannah in Steel Magnolias,” she said.
“Good. You don’t want to waste time chasing men away,” Gertie stated.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Mercy said with a wry grin.
“Don’t forget you’re still in Sinful,” Gertie reminded her. “The barrel runs extra deep here because the majority of men your age qualify for ‘bottom of the barrel’ status. And believe me, there’s some who are overqualified!”
“How about men your age?” Mercy teased.
“Pfft! When you get to be my age, the barrel is like an old man. They’re both bottomless.” Gertie shook her head and plopped the blonde wig over her gray hair. “What do you think?”
Mercy nodded. “Why not? I can’t wait to see Ida Belle’s face!”