A Dyeing Shame (8 page)

The Coke had
put a little zip in Myrtle’s step as she headed to the crime scene. Red’s car was parked in front of the Beauty Box. And she thought she’d been saving Red from getting up too early. His middle of the night walk to Miles’ house couldn’t have messed up his sleep that badly. Myrtle leaned over the stroller. “Want to visit Daddy, Jack?” Jack crowed, “Daddy! “He’ll love a visit,” said Myrtle in a convincing voice as she pushed the stroller to the shop entrance and under the police tape.

Red stared morosely at the back wall while slumping in one of the vinyl drying chairs. He leaped up, an angry flush creeping up his neck as he caught sight of his mother lifting up the police tape and pushing the stroller under it. “Mama! What the—? ”

“Temper, temper. And watch your language in front of my grandson.”

“Didn’t you see the police tape stretched across the door? Are you having trouble with your eyesight?”

“Not as much as you are,” she snapped, nodding pointedly at the drugstore reading specs in Red’s hand. “I know you don’t want anybody trampling in and messing up the crime scene, but it appears Forensics has finished making the rounds,” she noted, surveying the fingerprint dust piled on every flat surface.

The Beauty Box looked the same as it always had. She tried to see the familiar room with new eyes. No clues jumped out at her, no oddly-placed objects. There were the same hair sprays, the same combs and scissors. It looked like it was frozen in time with one workstation set up with applicator bottles and latex gloves for a hair dye that hadn’t yet occurred for a client that was very late.

Red said, “Yeah, the state police from the CCPS got over here yesterday morning and finished taking all their pictures and measurements. I suppose it’s time to remove the tape.” Jack was telling Red about the banana and reaching up with both arms to him. His father picked him up and regarded him absently as if wondering where he came from.

“Did the North Carolina State Police find anything out? Is Detective Perkins helping again?” asked Myrtle.
“He’s the one assigned to the case. They’ll have to get back to me on the forensic stuff.”

“Did Tammy’s face give any clues?” Myrtle asked.

Red stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“I mean, was it frozen in a grotesque mask or anything? Did she look surprised or angry?”

“Why yes, Mama, according to her contorted lips, she was obviously breathing the name of her killer. We’re bringing in a lip-reader to tell us who the murderer was.” Red rolled his eyes. “Of course not! Dead faces are dead faces. All I saw was a sloppy middle-aged woman who dressed oddly because she was drunk when she got ready to go out.”

“Poor Tammy.”

Red snorted. “Poor Tammy, nothing. The ugly truth is she’d riled up half the town. It’s a wonder she wasn’t killed sooner.”

“That may be true but it doesn’t justify murder. I’m surprised at you, Red! And you an officer of the peace.”

Jack grabbed Red’s keys and started playing with them. “I’m just saying she was the one who put herself in that position. Perkins and I have started making the rounds with interviews and I can’t believe some of the stuff I’m hearing about Tammy.”

“Who are y’all interviewing?”

“We’re…” Red paused and peered sideways at his mother. “You know I can’t be discussing police business with you.”

“You know you feel better when you can talk about it. It might even help give you some insights. And who better to talk things over with than your own mama?” Pulling on the old heartstrings never hurt.

Red was opening his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut again. Probably remembering her gnomes. She hid a smile at the thought of the barefoot, inanely grinning, accordion-playing gnome that she liked to position nearest to Red’s house. “We’re really just focusing on what happened in the days leading up to Tammy’s death. Who she upset, what she did. Actually, they’re probably going to want to talk to you, Mama, since you were getting beautified that day.”

Myrtle frowned.

“No, you’re not a suspect. Anyone who was at the Beauty Box Tuesday will have to be questioned. They know Tammy didn’t talk dirt about you, but you witnessed her scene in the shop.”

“So they’re not really interviewing any of her other clients?”

“It looks like a crime committed in the heat of the moment. Like Tammy made somebody mad on Tuesday and they came back and killed her with the closest weapon on hand. The only weird thing is that the weapon was a brand-new pair of hair shears with no fingerprints on them and no evidence they were wiped down. The killer must have worn gloves, which doesn’t jive with the spontaneity of the murder. But, yes, to answer your question, chances are it was someone she knew. She trusted the murderer enough to turn her back on him or her to go down the stairs to the laundry room.”

Myrtle said slowly, “So y’all are probably talking to Bootsie Davenport, Prissy Daniels, and maybe Agnes Walker, too.”

Red put Jack back into the stroller. “According to the witnesses, Tammy didn’t really say anything negative about Mrs. Walker, but since Mrs. Walker was known to be upset that Tammy was dating her son, she’s a suspect, too Although I can’t imagine she had anything at all to do with this murder. I’d be shocked. In my mind, I’ve ruled her out.”

“I guess you’re also interviewing the girls she worked with. Tammy was goading Kat while I was there and was being snide to Dina, too. Plus, she said something about cutting Kat and Dina out of her will. Were they really in her will?”

Red shook his head. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Who knows? Dina is still saying how Tammy helped her out when she had nowhere to go. But that still doesn’t mean she couldn’t have gotten mad at Tammy. Everybody else was mad at her and they were only with her for short periods of time. Dina actually
lived
with Tammy.”

Myrtle said, “And maybe Dina was in Tammy’s will and Dina decided she needed some money.”

“It’ll all come out in the interviews, I’m sure.” Red frowned at his mother. “You’re not trying to get involved in my case are you? Sticking your nose in everywhere and bungling up the police work? You’re no Miss Marple.”

“Oh, no, Red. I’m way too young to be Miss Marple. I’d be Nancy Drew.” Red didn’t laugh. Myrtle said, “It’s just that I’m planning on writing an article for the paper about the case. Sloan Jones loves my investigative pieces.”

Red still squinted suspiciously at her. Jack tired of the keys and discovered his father’s nose, yanking it with both fists, and causing tears to well up in Red’s eyes until he pulled free.

“Just a reminder, Mama, someone in Bradley has killed once and could do it again. Checking your bingo cards for B-5 is safer than asking questions and trying to do my job for me.” He let out a deep breath, then said in a seemingly careless way, “Find out if you’re on Jink’s Heating and Air’s schedule, yet?” Myrtle glared at him and Red shrugged. “Just asking,” he said.

When Myrtle and
Jack walked in, a showered, dressed and made-up Elaine was busily cooking enough food to feed everyone on the street. She looked a lot more refreshed. The short break must have done her good. “There you are!” she smiled at Myrtle. She put down the spatula and pulled Jack into her arms for a hug. “Did you have a big adventure, Jack?” Elaine squeezed Myrtle’s hand. “Thanks for getting up with Jack this morning, Myrtle.
A few minutes of extra sleep and a long shower have given me a new lease on life.”

Elaine gave Jack a squeeze before he trotted off to his room. “He even looks a little sleepy. I think he’s even ready for a morning nap! I’ll just grab Dirty Doggy …” she stopped at the stricken look on Myrtle’s face. “I
won’t
grab Dirty Doggy?”

“Thirty minutes on high heat should dry Dirty Doggy out,” Myrtle answered, apologetically. She hurried to the dryer.

T
AMMY WAS BURIED
on a scorching Sunday afternoon. Dogs, hoping for stray breezes, lay very still under oak trees. Heat rose in squiggly waves from the asphalt. Kids who’d played catch the flag and red rover now spent all their time drifting in large black, blazing-hot inner tubes on the warm lake water. Temperatures flirted with 100 degrees by eleven that morning. Tammy’s service was graveside and a fair-sized crowd had turned out. “They probably want proof she’s really dead,” hissed Myrtle to Elaine.

Law enforcement, represented by Red and what appeared to be several officers from the state police were also in attendance, hanging back and scrutinizing the mourners. They were probably hoping the murderer, overcome with remorse, would fling himself prostrate on the coffin, begging the victim for forgiveness. Or, at the very least, that they might spot a guilty face in the crowd.

Myrtle wondered where all the overcast Hollywood movie funerals were set. North Carolina services were fiendishly uncomfortable affairs featuring small graveside tents where the grieving family sat in shaded discomfort. Friends and lesser mourning relatives hovered in sweaty misery on the fringe of the oasis, hoping for a pastor with a succinct style.

Tammy’s shortage of close family changed the protocol. Kat sat in the front row with an uneasy Dina next to her. With no other family or close friends to offend, the other mourners claimed seats on a first-come-first-served basis as they arrived.

. Dina started crying before the service had even really started. Tammy’s ex-husband Bo, sitting behind Dina, leaned forward to pat her awkwardly on the back. Dina made a flustered attempt to ignore him, probably loyally remembering his alleged mistreatment of Tammy.

The preacher, whose pews Tammy hadn’t darkened for several years, performed a standard service. Those in attendance appeared remarkably unaffected with the exception of Dina and Bo, who were both crying: Dina with gulping sobs and Bo with loud sniffs accompanied by louder nose blowing. Bo reached forward and gave Dina a fresh tissue. She gratefully took it after a moment of hesitation.

Myrtle was just glad they’d finally made it to the funeral. Elaine and she’d arrived later than planned because Jack had picked their departure as an opportunity to knock over Red’s cologne, which spilled all over his front and then onto Elaine. She hurried to change them both, flinging clothes off and throwing them on the den floor as she ran. Then she’d packed a bag for Jack to have at the babysitter’s house. With a couple of M13s and some MRE, Jack could have fit in with, or possibly led, a survivalist group. For the most part, Myrtle had been able to stifle her sighs. Although Elaine drove to the funeral home at speeds that Myrtle found NASCAResque, they were the last to arrive at the funeral home and took up the rear of the procession. They stood in intense sunshine at the graveside.

Myrtle lost her balance while fanning herself with her program and stumbled. A hand grabbed her elbow and she looked up into Connor Walker’s concerned face. The perfect moment for a private chat. She acted especially feeble and Connor gently pulled Myrtle away to a stone bench located closer to the parked cars. Agnes glared helplessly at her from the crowd around the graveside. Probably contemplating faking a fit, too. Agnes clearly wasn’t pleased by the tête-à-tête.

Myrtle plopped on the bench and Connor whipped out a pristine monogrammed handkerchief. Myrtle attributed the cotton anachronism to the Agnes Effect. She dabbed her face politely, although she—like most very elderly people—didn’t really perspire. “Heat getting to you, Miss Myrtle?” asked Connor. “I can’t imagine you’re overwhelmed by grief.”

“No, Tammy and I only had a professional relationship. Not like yours,” she said, peering up at him from the corners of her eyes.

Connor’s attractive features clouded up. He was one of the lucky ones who’d won the genetic jackpot in the looks lottery. Jet-black hair with contrasting blue eyes, movie-star jaw and perfect teeth. He dressed neatly and fashionably and never had a hair out of place. He was completely conscious of his attractive appearance, which should have detracted from it, but didn’t.

“Actually, Miss Myrtle, our relationship was over—on my end, anyway. I ended our relationship while we were at a restaurant, thinking she wouldn’t make a scene. But being out in public sure didn’t stop her from pitching a fit.”

“Excuse an old lady’s nosiness, Connor, but what made you decide to break up with Tammy?”

“The fact she drank bourbon for breakfast didn’t help. Tammy used to be a lot of fun. Pretty, smart, wicked sense of humor. But she was a mean drunk. And she drank all the time the last couple of months of her life.”

“Too bad you had to go through all that.”

“You mean that I’m
going
through all that,” he said. “Now it looks like I’m a prime suspect. Tammy and I argued in public, we’d had a relationship, and I don’t have an alibi.”

“What
were
you doing that night?” asked Myrtle.

He stared at her oddly and opened his mouth to answer when Agnes materialized and shut him up. The service was over and the assembled mourners sped to their cars where air conditioners were immediately turned to “Arctic” setting. The minister, wilting in his heavy black robes, watched wistfully as his short-term flock galloped away.