Authors: Maggie Toussaint
No check fluttered out.
The words leapt off the page, sticking in my throat, knifing through my gut. My services were no longer required. She was dissatisfied with the service I’d provided, and since the job was incomplete, no final payment was due.
I sank down on the steps. The sunny warmth faded, and a chill permeated my bones. Fired. I’d never been fired from a job before. My gut twisted. Moisture dotted my palms.
There had to be a mistake. I must have misread the note. Drawing in a shaky breath, I read it aloud, one word at a time. At the sound of my voice, Muffin finished his sniffing patrol of the front yard and hurried my way.
I was right. I had been fired. And not just fired. She would have me arrested if I trespassed on her land.
Air huffed out of my lungs. How was this possible? I had her
Podocarpus
here, and it was a twin to the one installed on the other side of Mallow. She’d want that tall shrub and her weeping cherry.
But not as much as I wanted that last thousand dollars I was due.
What was I going to do?
I rubbed my eyes. My income opportunities had dried up faster than a July mud puddle. I had no pet clients, other than Muffin, who we were watching for free, no contracted landscaping jobs, no chance at being a psychic consultant for the sheriff. On the flip side, I’d agreed to take on the dreamwalking business from my dad, but that didn’t pay an income.
The Army still stonewalled me about my widow’s benefits, and with good reason. They couldn’t admit Roland was alive. The small government stipend we received for Larissa and food stamps wouldn’t get us through. I’d counted on this job from Carolina Byrd paying in full and generating referrals. With this letter, that opportunity faded into a dust mote.
I’d call her. Reason with her. Beg if I had to.
Carolina Byrd didn’t answer my call. The phone rang and rang.
Her voice mail did not pick up.
Dread gathered in my heart.
Something was very wrong here.
The summons to the sheriff’s office wasn’t entirely unexpected. But I was surprised they didn’t send a squad car to haul me to jail. I’d been torn about what I should do with Larissa. Should I take her back over to my parents or should she hang out with Charlotte? A glance in the mirror reminded me I needed to talk with my best friend about hair color, so I headed there with Larissa first.
“Playing hooky from church this morning?” I asked after she’d invited us in. My daughter and I eased around Charlotte’s waist-high stacks of magazines, newspapers, and electronics that had been retired in place. We followed my friend’s magenta-clad body through the dark and dust. I was thankful for Charlotte’s Day-Glo wardrobe. If we made a wrong turn in this maze, we could still find her.
At one time the furniture in her parlor had been visible, but it had succumbed to the encroaching tide of Charlotte’s possessions. Like me, my friend had inherited her grandmother’s furniture, but she’d wanted light-colored wood in sleek contemporary lines instead of dark claw-footed monstrosities that gathered dust in every ornate nook and cranny.
Instead of protecting her inheritance, Charlotte had treated it like shelving.
“The choir can make it without me once in a blue moon. What’s up?”
I didn’t normally drop in on her, but I hadn’t called ahead because I didn’t want Charlotte to over-think my problems. I waited until we were seated on the rattan furniture on her sun porch. “I have a hair emergency.”
Speculation filled her intelligent eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I yanked off my ball cap and tugged the ponytail holder out. The pressure that had been building inside my head eased; my headache tamped down to a moderate pounding. Charlotte and Larissa sucked in their breaths at the patch of white hair on my head. Overnight, the color had faded from even more of that forelock.
“Man, Mom. That’s so radical.” Larissa circled around my chair, a goofy grin on her face. She waggled one of her blond braids at me. “Can we add a white streak to my hair, too? I’d be the coolest kid in town.”
I blinked. “You want to look like a science fiction reject?”
She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “I want to look like you. That’s such a rad look. All the kids in school would be jealous.”
“What happened?” Charlotte asked. “Were you bleaching your hair? Was it lemon juice?”
My lips pressed together. “I didn’t do anything. It changed overnight. Well, in two nights. At first the white part was the size of a quarter and now look. It’s a hank of hair. Right in the center of my head. I could be the only Gray Panther under the age of thirty. We have to fix this.”
“You sure about altering this new look?” Sunlight sparkled off Charlotte’s narrow glasses. “Larissa’s right. This is a serious kick-ass look. No one would mess with a woman who looks like she can perform superhuman feats.”
I rubbed my eyes. “God. I am a mutant. Roland’s parents get a whiff of this, and they’ll say I’m an unfit parent. They’ll petition the courts again to take Larissa.”
“I’m not going anywhere. The Colonel and Elizabeth can petition all they want. We belong together.”
“If only it were so black and white. They’ve got power and money. I’ve got neither.”
“You’ve got me,” Larissa said.
“Me, too,” Charlotte chimed in. “And if you want to dye your hair, we’ll do it today. I’ll just need to slip over to the drugstore to find the right color for you.”
I gathered my shoulder-length hair in a ponytail and donned the cap. The pounding in my head intensified. “This is the strangest thing. Every time I put this hat on, I get a screaming headache.”
“Hmm.” My friend reached over to a straw hat covering the bucket of brand-new gardening tools I’d bought her for her last birthday. “Try this one.”
I switched hats, though big and floppy wasn’t my style. The hat fit loosely, but the headache intensified to the point of nausea. I took it off and felt better. Charlotte and Larissa gazed at me expectantly.
“This is weird. My headache is a killer when I wear a hat.”
My daughter flashed a radiant smile. “The universe wants you to show off your new look. It’s like fate or something.”
Fate.
Or karma.
Either way, I didn’t want it. “I have to wear a hat in my line of work. The bugs won’t leave me alone otherwise. And my eyes. I need to protect them.”
“You wear sunglasses,” my friend pointed out helpfully.
“This is nuts. I want my old life back.”
“Not me,” Charlotte said. “I’m happy with my new life. Two of my articles have been picked up by the Associated Press, and I’ve been interviewed on television. That’s pretty darned good for a reporter in Podunk, USA, pardon my French, Larissa. I shouldn’t be cussin’ in front of you.”
“That’s okay. I know you’re a good person.”
I cleared my throat. “Touching as this tender moment is, I’ve got another favor to ask. Would you take Larissa with you to get the hair dye? I’ll pay for it, but I have to run another errand.”
Charlotte’s narrow glasses rose on her freckled nose. She cocked her head to one side. “Oh?”
I took a deep breath. “The sheriff wants to see me.”
“Is this about the bodies you found?” She leaned forward, the rattan underneath her squeaking. “Is there a story for the paper here?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I’ll make the required appearance, then I’ll come back here. Deal?”
“Only if you promise to tell all.”
My eyes watered at the strong ammonia smell. “How long does this stuff have to cook on my head?”
“Not long.” Charlotte capped the bottle and took the gloves off her hands. “I held up my end of the bargain. Spill, sister.”
Larissa munched on animal crackers. “Yeah, Mom. Spill.”
“It was fairly amazing, actually. The state archaeologist was there. She confirmed that there were three bodies in the first exhumation.”
“Wait.” Charlotte dashed over to her tote for a notepad. She huffed back to the kitchen table. “Okay. Continue.”
“That’s just it. There wasn’t much more. That’s how I was able to beat you back here. They told me the news, and then I walked out.”
“They must have said something else,” Charlotte prodded.
“They are issuing a press release midweek on their findings.”
Charlotte beamed. “A press release. That’s more like it. I wonder if I can catch them before they leave today.”
“Not a chance. They left when I did. But there was something I noticed.”
“What?”
“Gail Bergeron looked at me differently.”
“How?” my friend asked.
“Like I was a bug under a microscope. Good thing she didn’t know about my mutant hair. I don’t think I can take much more of this hair dye. It’s burning my scalp.”
“Yikes. Let’s wash it out,” Charlotte said.
Dutifully I hung my head over the kitchen sink and let her rinse me with the sprayer nozzle. Using an old towel, she dried my hair. At the set expression of her jaw, I knew something was wrong. My stomach rolled. “What?”
“Not only are you resistant to hair dye, that entire length of hair is now snowy white.”
I hurried over to the microwave to get a glimpse of my hair. Sure enough, even though it was dripping wet, that entire forelock was completely devoid of color.
I was a bona fide freak of nature.
Could my life get any more fouled up? I had a missing husband, rising debt, striped hair, and no immediate employment prospects. Plus I was a murder suspect. In the history of crappy Mondays, this one took the prize.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood in the pantry sneaking a spoonful of peanut butter. Technically, the jar and the pantry were mine, so I wasn’t sneaking anything, but I relished the illicit sensation anyway. Roland used to sneak peanut butter, too. I smiled at the memory of what his tongue could do to a spoon.
Opening the jar, I scooped out a mound of the gooey stuff, savoring the rich scent. I half-nibbled, half-licked the thick spread until my spoon was clean. My eyes closed in heavenly bliss. I waited for inspiration to strike.
Nothing.
Not even a half-baked idea
Chocolate. I needed chocolate—brain food. I munched on a handful of semisweet chips, followed by a crisp apple. No brilliant ideas on how to better my situation emerged. And if I kept eating at this rate, I wouldn’t fit into my clothes.
I yawned, thinking how easy it would be to climb back in bed and sleep for a few years. Not a good thought at ten in the morning.
I should be out in the world, working, only I had no work. Muffin padded into the kitchen, quivering with excitement from fluffy head to fluffy tail. He must have smelled the peanut butter. I loaded up a doggie chew toy with the stuff for him. The Shih-poo darted out of the kitchen with his treasure clamped between his teeth.
My victory with the state archaeologist over the number of dead in that first gravesite hadn’t landed me a job with the sheriff’s department. Now they were checking historical records to see if my “hunch” about the Robert Munro family was correct. Being a potential suspect in the Mallow woman’s killing had dashed those consulting hopes. But the puzzle of the woman’s murder called to me. If I solved the case, chances were good I’d be reconsidered for that consultant job. Only I had no leads, and no access to the property.
An idea flickered to life. I could sneak into the morgue. If I touched the victim again, really touched her with my senses wide open, I might learn who she was.
Or I could try to find her in a dreamwalk. But I had no context. No way to draw her to me through the mist of the spirit world. That was not wise, to blindly stumble around out there without a focus.
But if I went to the morgue, I would literally be walking among the dead, picking up the energy of all who’d passed through the funeral home, the grief and despair of their family members. Not fun. But it was the best idea I had.
So it was off to the morgue then.
Resolved, I gathered myself for the trip into town. No way was I heading out without a weapon. Buster and Duke were out there somewhere. Glock or Beretta? I went with the smaller gun, slipping it under the waistband of my jeans and covering the grip with my T-shirt. I tucked the amethyst in my front pocket and made sure the moldavite pendant was secure around my neck. I carefully wove the hank of white hair into the middle of my ponytail, then clapped a ball cap on top of the glowing forelock. God willing, no one would find out about my hair anomaly for a long time to come.
My phone rang when I was halfway into town.
“You thought about my offer?” Buster Glassman’s polished voice ruffled my nerve endings in a bad way. My fingers spasmed on the phone. I gripped it tighter.
Dotted lines on the highway sped by. “I’m going to pass on that opportunity.”
“You know you need the money. This is win-win for both of us. Real estate is slow right now, and I’ll bet your business is slow, too.”
I caught up with a log truck. Bits of bark swirled past my windshield. “So?”
“Joining together in a new venture would save both of us. I’ll even cut you in on some of my winnings.”
I worked my back teeth apart. “No. I don’t gamble. I don’t have money or time to waste.”
“Sweet thing, you gamble every time you get into a car, every time you get behind a log truck on the highway. You gamble that someone won’t hit you or your kid.”
The fine hairs on my neck snapped to attention. I glanced in my rearview mirror and surveyed the deserted road, sure that Buster’s monster truck was bearing down on my bumper. No one was behind me, but that didn’t stop my heart from racing. “You threatening me?”
“Why would I do a thing like that?” he oiled into my ear. “You’re my ticket to the big show. I want us to work together.”
He mumbled something else. Something dark. His sinister tone took my breath away. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
“I said, if you don’t help me, you’ll regret it.”
The sun still shone, but the color drained from my sight. I shivered. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Why would I threaten you when I can ruin you with a few carefully placed words here and there? I don’t need threats, not when I’ve got the ear of homeowners across the county. You want new landscaping business? You better play ball with me.”