A Dyeing Shame (11 page)

Connor still frowned. “Loved one..?”

Kat chuckled. “She means Tammy, Connor.”

“And don’t worry about Kat—I’m planning to put her on my casserole list, too,” said Myrtle hurriedly.

“I should be heading out,” said Kat, nodding at the door.

Connor smoothly interrupted, “Why not stick around for a few minutes and cool off, Kat? I’ve even got some Cokes in the fridge that I can pull out.” Kat pulled off her skates and Connor was back in a minute with a couple of Coke cans. Myrtle was impressed enough that he had a stocked refrigerator that she was happy to overlook the lack of a glass to drink from.

“I’m delighted to get a Miss Myrtle casserole,” said Connor in his deep drawl, “although I feel a little guilty accepting it. I thought that I mentioned to you at the funeral that Tammy and I weren’t technically a couple anymore. In fact,” he said with a sigh, “we broke up the very night she died.” He looked at Kat, “Nothing against your aunt. And I do feel bad about the way things ended.”

Kat shrugged. “Relationships break up every day. Besides, Tammy wasn’t acting like Tammy. I’m surprised you put up with her for as long as you did.”

“You did tell me about your breakup. But I’m sure that you’re still hurting and feeling a lot of conflicting feelings about what happened.”

“That’s for sure,” said Connor. “It’s been pretty awful, actually.”

Myrtle tried not to look too interested. “I—um—didn’t realize that you’d broken up the night she died. Had you gone over to the Beauty Box, then?”

“No, we went out for dinner. I thought that Tammy wouldn’t make as much of a scene if I broke up with her in public.” He gave a tight smile. “I was wrong.”

Kat flushed. “I bet. Tammy really turned up the volume the last couple of weeks. She was yelling over everything.”

“Yelling is right…at the top of her lungs at the pizza parlor. I’m surprised you
didn’t
know about the break-up, Miss Myrtle—I thought the whole town would know by now. The police sure knew about it…I’m probably their prime suspect.”

Kat raised her eyebrows. “I thought
I
was their prime suspect.”

“Well, I’d be delighted to be proven wrong,” said Connor smoothly, with a crooked grin at Kat.

Matchmaking was going to have to wait until later—she still had some questions to ask. And this time there was no Agnes to stop her. “So when you dropped Tammy off by the Beauty Box after you broke up—that was the last time you saw her?”

“Oh, there was no dropping off, Miss Myrtle. Tammy pitched a fit and stormed out of the restaurant. I didn’t drive her anywhere. But that
was
the last time I saw her. And I do feel terrible about the whole thing. We weren’t right for each other, but we had some good times, too. I
liked
Tammy.”

“When she was acting like Tammy,” said Kat, nodding.

“Why would the police think you were a prime suspect?” asked Myrtle. “You were the one breaking up with Tammy—not the other way around.”

“I had a huge fight with her that was witnessed by ten or fifteen people. They think I brooded over it, then went back to the Beauty Box and killed her. Instead, I went back home for a few beers before hitting the sack. It had been a long day.”

Myrtle said, “Today’s been pretty long, too. I’ll leave you with the casserole, Connor.” He stood up and Myrtle said, “No, don’t worry about walking me out. I’m just heading back home.” She ducked out quickly.

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Connor said, “It’s almost dinnertime. Why don’t you stay and try out some of Mrs. Clover’s casserole with me. If you’re not afraid to eat supper with a suspected murderer.”

“I will,” replied Kat, “as long as
you’re
not afraid to eat supper with a fellow murder suspect.”

Connor made a good host. He pulled out his good china (the plates his mother had given him), the silver (family heirlooms Agnes had entrusted to him) and a bottle of chardonnay. They reheated the casserole, put it on the plates and toasted the meal.

Kat took the first bite, then chewed thoughtfully before spitting it out unceremoniously onto the china plate. “She’s trying to kill us both! This is rank!”

Connor took a tentative bite. He stood up and deftly dumped the casserole into the garbage. “Feel like scrambled eggs and toast?” he asked.

Kat did.

M
URDER WAS GOOD
for business. The Beauty Box was packed with the curious during Myrtle’s Tuesday morning wash and set. Kat allowed walk-ins for the first time in the salon’s history and had to call in a couple of girls she’d met in cosmetology school to help her out.

Myrtle read a ratty copy of
Good Housekeeping
while waiting her turn. Dina Peters touched up Agnes’ manicure and wistfully mentioned wanting to start styling and dyeing hair. Bootsie Davenport chatted loudly on her cell phone while Prissy fumbled in her patent-leather pocketbook for what appeared to be a pitiful tip.

Tammy’s murder was definitely the two-thousand-pound gorilla in the room. Ordinarily, these women would be full of gossip about Tammy’s death. Their polite silence must be because no one wanted to upset Kat. Or maybe Dina, since she already appeared on the verge of tears.

It would probably be healthier, thought Myrtle virtuously, if they didn’t tiptoe around the subject. Prissy was conveniently close and was still trying to pull her things together. Myrtle said, “Prissy, could you visit with me for a few minutes?”

Prissy blinked in confusion. Myrtle said, “I guess I’m just being fanciful, but the Beauty Box has a different aura today—sort of spooky. It makes me feel dithery. Some conversation might help distract me a little.”

Agnes’ eyes narrowed suspiciously, not knowing anyone less inclined to dithering than Myrtle. Prissy gazed longingly at the door before obediently sitting next to Myrtle.

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It makes a body wonder what this world is coming to.” Prissy’s shiver seemed more excited than frightened.

Myrtle scanned the Beauty Box to see if any guilty faces peered her way. She hoped to have one anguished soul yearning to unload its ghastly secrets. To her disappointment, the roaring air conditioner and the droning domed dryers drowned out her conversation with Prissy.

Myrtle cupped her ear. “I’ve forgotten to put in my hearing aid this morning. Can’t hear a thing without my ears. Could you speak up for me, sweetie?” she yelled.

Prissy cleared her throat. “I
said
that I wonder what this world is
coming
to.” She clicked her false teeth nervously.

Myrtle bellowed, “That poor girl. Killed right in the prime of her life.”

Regulars and walk-ins stared at Myrtle with interest. She looked innocently around the room, gauging reactions to the high-volume conversation. Kat said mildly, “Tammy wasn’t exactly what I’d call a helpless victim, Miss Myrtle.”

Could this conversation even be heard above the din? Myrtle shrugged helplessly. “Could someone translate, loudly? I forgot my ears this morning.”

Bootsie Davenport rolled her eyes. “Tammy was sweet and sour, Myrtle. And we saw nothing but sour lately. Nobody’s crying themselves to sleep over Tammy.”

Dina Peters burst into noisy sobbing. “But she was my only friend and I miss her. Oh, Tammy!” She flung her head down on the manicure table, frizzy curls quivering with histrionics.

Agnes Walker patted Dina gingerly, trying not to smear newly-applied Cocktail Carnival red polish on Dina’s thin shoulder. “Dina, everything will work out—you’ll see. Here, you mentioned wanting to experiment with dyeing. Want me to schedule an appointment with you? The only way to move ahead in this world is to try new things.”

This was very rash of Agnes and just went to show how desperate she was to distract Dina. Hopefully she was planning on Dina coloring her hair gray or slightly blue. She couldn’t imagine the old lady as a blonde or redhead. Dina blinked at her, thinking it over, then started howling again before running out of the room.

Agnes frowned reprovingly at Myrtle. “Look what you’ve done now! You’re meddling, Myrtle. Did you have to bring up the topic of Tammy?”

“I’m not meddling. I’m simply talking about what happened.”

Agnes glowered at Myrtle. “I think you need a vacation, Myrtle Clover.”

Myrtle smiled brightly. “Want to come with me?”

“No, I do not, as you well know. I told you my traveling days are over.” Agnes whipped a book from her pocketbook, reading it with determination.

The customers were silent for a few minutes before the idle chatter resolutely resumed. This was the South, where outbursts were politely ignored first and gossiped over later. Prissy, all genteel confusion, had exited. Bootsie admired her fresher, less-matronly, Kat-inspired hairdo until her cell phone belted out its rap song ringtone. Agnes blew on her nails to dry them. Myrtle regarded the visit as a total bust. The exception came when Kat received a bouquet of flowers and a card that made her blush. At least her matchmaking was working out well. She hummed the old hymn under her breath.

Myrtle picked up
Good Housekeeping
again, flipping to the recipes. Finding a tasty prospect, she scanned the shop furtively, tore the page out, and stuck it in her bottomless pocketbook. You just never knew when another in-sympathy casserole might be necessary.

Myrtle offered to
listen out for Jack, who was napping, while Elaine ran errands. It was also time for
Tomorrow’s Promise
, which was Myrtle’s favorite soap opera. Red came through the back door, looking grouchy and hungry. He opened his mouth to say something to Myrtle, but she lifted her hand to hush him. Soleil was just about to tell Rohan that she’d always loved him…and she wasn’t about to miss it.

When the commercial break started, Myrtle joined Red in the kitchen. “This is a late lunch, isn’t it?”

Red grunted. “And I didn’t get breakfast. I can’t wait until this case wraps up.”

“Early start this morning?”

Red glowered at her. “No earlier than you, Mama. Did you ever go back to bed after your two-thirty jaunt in the kitchen?”

“No, I was wide awake. Who knows—I might join Jack for a nap later.” She paused for a moment. “Gotten any closer to identifying the killer?”

Red answered cautiously, “We’ve got a few ideas.”

“The M.O. makes it look like the perp is a novice, doesn’t it?”

“Why, yes, Mama. The murderer’s a real greenhorn. Did you think there’s a Mafia hit man terrorizing Bradley?” His eyes were hard slits. “Perp? M.O.? You watching
Murder, She Wrote
reruns on cable again?”

“What if I am?” Myrtle gave him a disdainful look. Red had never given Jessica Fletcher her proper due.

Red held up his hand. “I don’t have time to argue, Mama. Got to grab a quick lunch before heading back to work.”

Myrtle gave a look that she hoped was just polite interest.

Red looked at Myrtle sideways like he was trying to figure out whether he should tell her something. “Detective Lieutenant Perkins wants to go back and question some folks again and wants me to join him. Says I should know how to approach the suspects and what they might be trying to hide.” Red sighed. “I don’t have a clue what was going on in these people’s private lives, Mama. I think this town is chock-full of secrets, too.”

It would be better if this ended up being
Red’s
idea. Red pulled mayo, mustard, lettuce and roast beef out of the fridge. Slathering bread with Hellmann’s, he said, “Hey, Mama, hear any juicy gossip while you were hanging out at the Beauty Box? Did you know who Tammy was picking on or what dirt she was holding over their heads?”

“Well, I
did
hear some gossip,” said Myrtle, in a tantalizing way. “Was there anybody in
particular
you were looking for information about?”

“Okay, let me tell you who we’re looking at…but don’t spread private police business all over town. We’ve talked to Prissy Daniels a couple of times, which you probably already know since every busybody in town was dangling out their windows when our car pulled in front of Miss Prissy’s house. We’ll drop in on Bootsie Davenport next. Both ladies have been evasive.”

Red took a bite from his sandwich and mumbled through it, “We got nowhere with Prissy. She kept spilling her tea all over the table, which made me wonder why she was so nervous. What do you know about her? I just know she taught me Sunday school when I was a teenager.”
“Prissy was probably just nervous because you were at her house. No man has probably ever passed through her door. Tammy
was
being snide about her, though.”

Red leaned forward on the kitchen stool. “Do you remember exactly what Tammy said?”

“Tammy was just taunting everybody—sort of a cat and mouse thing. She was making fun of Prissy as soon as she walked out the door. Prissy, as usual, forgot something and came back in the shop to overhear Tammy snickering over ‘our Prissy. She’s not as sweet as she looks.’”

“What dirt could anybody possibly find on Prissy Daniels?”

“Maybe she’s a closet alcoholic with a DUI in her past? Maybe it’s something scandalous that would really mess up her gig at Little Lambs Preschool. That preschool is her favorite place in the world. She’s always asking people at the Beauty Box if they want to come by and tell stories to the kids there.”