Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“I may send
Jr. down for a haircut,” Gigi said with a wink. “Who knows, you two may hit it off.”
“I’ll be glad to see him again,” Claire said, and then held the door for the older woman to leave.
As Mrs. O’Hare was leaving, a man waited on the sidewalk for her to walk to her car, and then held the car door open for her. Mrs. O’Hare kept giving the man appreciative side glances, and Claire could see why. He was amazing looking.
Well over six feet t
all, with a very muscular build, he wore an ill-fitting business suit with a tie that was way too short and a baggy white shirt, the cuffs of which stuck out far below the sleeves of his jacket. His pants were about two inches too short, and he wore muddy work boots with bright white athletic socks. He had long, silky brown hair streaked golden by the sun, and he kept tossing it out of his face with a sideward head movement. He had a glorious smile, and he knew it, no doubt about it. Claire couldn’t help but smile back before she returned to the Bee Hive.
“Now if Eugene
Jr. looked like that,” she said to herself.
To her surprise, the man followed her into the hair salon.
“Hi,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Frank Knap, with a K.”
Claire shook his hand and introduced herself. His hands were calloused and warm, his grip firm but not painful. Claire felt herself flush and had trouble looking him in the eye. He was so glorious looking that it was too overwhelming to look directly at him at such close proximity; better to concentrate on one beautiful feature at a time.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Knap?” she asked, looking in just one of his topaz-colored eyes.
“I’m the
Farmers Market vendor coordinator,” he said. “I’ve got an appointment at the bank here in a little while to get a loan to buy the place. The current owner wants to sell it, and I’d like to keep it going.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Claire said. “I hope you get your loan.”
“That’s why I stopped by,” he said. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but I’m desperate to get this loan, and I’ve been told I need to look like a fine, upstanding, conservative citizen to even be considered. I’m hoping you have time to cut my hair.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Claire said, looking at his beautiful hair.
Frank smiled, one of those falsely humble smiles that complacently beautiful people bestow upon you as they dutifully accept the flattery to which they feel entitled.
“I’m willing to do anything to get this money,” he said, and Claire dete
cted a certain licentiousness to his declaration that might have been unintentional or the first hint of an indecent proposition.
“Look,” Claire said. “I know the loan officer at the bank; her name is Amy and she is a great fan of those bodice-ripper romance novels. You’ll do better with the hair you’ve got, but I gotta tell ya, that suit is a disaster.”
“My brother loaned it to me,” Frank said. “He’s both shorter and fatter than me.”
Claire hesitated. Did she really want to get involved with the monetary problems of
Farmers Market Frank? The man was trouble, she could tell that. Used to getting his way with the ladies, no doubt. There was that smile, again. Oh well, what else did she have to do? This would be her good deed for the day.
“How much time do you have?” she asked him.
“An hour,” he said.
Claire’s mother, Delia, home
from taking Sammy back to preschool, was understandably surprised when Claire called and asked her to bring her father’s red tie, black socks, a needle, and some gray thread to the salon. When she arrived with those items, Delia found Farmers Market Frank sitting in the second hydraulic chair, in just his boxer shorts and a voluminous white dress shirt, while Claire was rolling up Alva Johnston’s hair.
So taken was
Alva with Frank, that Claire had given up turning the woman’s head back to look straight ahead into the mirror. She finally just turned the woman’s chair toward Frank and moved to the side.
Claire made introductions and Frank bestowed one of his big smiles on Claire’s mother.
“Your daughter is saving my life,” he said as he jumped up and shook her hand.
“She has a way of doing that,” Delia murmured, and then sat down in one of the dryer chairs with a pair of Claire’s haircutting scissors and Frank’s suit coat and pants.
“We can let them down almost an inch and a half,” Delia said. “But that’s all.”
Just then a pretty, petite
blond ran in, breathless, holding a large pair of black dress shoes.
“Patrick ain’t worn these in a long tim
e,” she said. “I done polished them for ya.”
Claire introduced her cousin Patrick’s girlfriend, Melissa, to Frank. Once again he smiled and oozed his charm.
“Y’all are going to spoil me,” he said. “Such wonderful, beautiful ladies.”
“Dang,
” Melissa said. “Ain’t you big.”
“Thanks, Melissa,” Claire said. “I know you have to get back to work.”
“I got time,” Melissa said, watching appreciatively as Frank bent over to try on the shoes.
“He’s going to the bank to apply for a loan,” Alva Johnston said.
When Frank finally left for the appointment at the bank, he left behind four women waving to him from out in front of the Bee Hive Hair Salon. He blew a kiss to each of them.
“Lordy day,” Melissa said.
“I know,” Claire said. “He looks like a superhero.”
“I’m going to call Amy’s mother,” Alva said. “Maybe I can put in a good word for him.”
“What do we know about him besides the fact that he’s good looking?” Delia said. “He could be a serial killer, for all we know.”
“I’ll call Dutch Palmer first,” Alva said. “He owns the
farmers market and employs the man; he’ll know what kind of character he has.”
Claire went back inside, where Frank had left his muddy boots and white socks.
“Thanks everybody,” she said. “I’ll let you know how he says it went when he comes back later.”
“I may just drop by the
farmers market later,” Alva said. “The green beans at the IGA have just not been good lately.”
“I’ve been hankering for some sweet corn,” Melissa said. “Y’all think it’s too early for that?”
“What I’m ready for is a real tomato,” Delia said. “The kind you just slice and eat with salt.”
Claire smiled as Alma and Melissa left the salon. If Frank did get the loan, he wasn’t going to have any problem attracting customers.
After the other two women left, Claire’s mother Delia lingered.
“Has your father mentioned anything to you about Doctor Machalvie and me?” Delia asked her.
“Like what?” Claire said.
“Your father has this crazy idea that Doc and I are having an affair,” Delia said.
“You’re kidding,” Claire said.
“No,” Delia said. “He really seems to believe it. I just wondered if he’d mentioned it to you.”
“Not at all,” Claire said. “Where in the world did he get that idea?”
“Doc says it’s part of the dementia,” Delia said. “He may get these paranoid delusions, and they’re real to him, whether or not they are to us.”
“How awful for you!” Claire said. “And for Doc, too. How will he treat him if Dad thinks this is going on?”
“We may have to get someone else,” Delia said. “I just thought I better warn you in case he starts talking to you about it.”
“You poor thing,” Claire said, and hugged her mother. “I hate that this is happening.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” Delia said.
Claire’s friend Kay came in just before noon. She was dressed as colorfully as she always was, today in a bright pink linen tunic and white Capri pants, her toenails and fingernails painted to match her shirt. Her wispy gray hair was held back by large white-rimmed sunglasses, and her pink-and-white polka dot reading glasses hung from her neck on a long string of colorful beads.
While on the plump side, Kay never let self-consciousness stop her from wearing whatever cheerful outfit caught her fancy. Her confident enthusiasm ignored petty critics while it invited everyone else to share in her generous joi de vivre.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said to Claire. “Don’t you look pretty in blue; it brings out those beautiful eyes. I like those heels, sweetie, but how in the world do you stand up in them all day?”
“I take lots of breaks,” Claire said, and hugged Kay. She smelled like something delicious and fattening, which turned out to be a container of freshly baked cookies she took out of her voluminous handbag and put on the counter.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all morning,” Kay said as she collapsed into the shampoo chair. “Those federal investigators are driving me crazy. They’re looking at all the files and emails going back twelve years, and keep asking me what the mayor was doing on this date or that date … I just want to sit back and get my head scrubbed. Don’t hold back, Claire. Be brutal.”
The former mayor of Rose Hill,
Doc Machalvie’s brother Stuart, had recently been forced by the city council to resign, due to a federal investigation into allegations that he used his position to broker deals for personal gain. Kay, who was campaigning to be the next mayor, had been secretary to every mayor for the past twenty-five years, and not only knew where all the bodies were buried, but who buried them and why.
Once in the hydraulic chair, Kay relaxed and let her hair down, metaphorically and literally.
“Just between you and me, now,” she said. “Trick probably won’t do jail time, but the mayor and Knox most assuredly will.”
Trick and Knox Rodefeffer were brothers, descendants of the socially prominent family who once owned Rode
feffer Glassworks. Trick was a Realtor and Knox was, up until he was named as the mayor’s alleged co-conspirator, president of the local bank and an aspiring politician.
“Why isn’t Trick in any trouble?”
“He’s singing like a canary, that’s why,” Kay said. “He’s not willing to go down with the ship, and really, of the three of them, he’s the least guilty. Knox and Stuart used him, for sure, but he didn’t mastermind anything.”
“No one who knows Trick could accuse him of masterminding anything.”
“Consorting with women who are not his wife, possibly,” Kay said.
“So the bank really fired Knox?”
“Oh, yes,” Kay said. “It was a unanimous vote by the board of directors.”
“How humiliating,” Claire said. “I couldn’t wish it on a more deserving weasel.”
Knox had ensnared Claire’s parents in a ruinous home mortgage, and they only managed to keep their house because Claire was able to pay it off, but not before she lost her temper in Knox’s office and punched him in the jaw.
“Knox is threatening to sue everyone, of course. Stuart’s playing it a little more close to the vest. He’s just as lawyered up, but he’s actually following his attorneys’ advice by keeping his mouth shut.”
“Do you think they’ll turn on each other?”
“The two of them are both in it up to their necks, so their best bet is to negotiate lesser charges by delivering a much bigger fish.”
“Like Congressman Green.”
“Yes indeedy,” Kay said. “You know, I admired Congressman Green, and I always voted for him. I think I’m the most disappointed in him for being involved in all this. I thought he was better than that.”
“My mother says he’s done a lot of good things for Pine County,” Claire said. “She said we wouldn’t have any wildlife protection or land conservation if it weren’t for his legislation.”
“Although that protected land just happens to butt up against multiple acres of property owned by the congressman, along with a few members of his family and friends,” Kay said. “Thereby making their property much more valuable.”
“Evil weasels,” Claire said. “Why can’t anyone hold a political office and not try to run a scam out of it?”
“I aim to try,” Kay said. “Guess who’s running against me now.”
“Stuart’s wife has backed out?”
“Peg’s not stupid,” Kay said. “She doesn’t have a fart’s chance in a hurricane and she knows it.”
“You better quit talking like that,” Claire said, “or neither will you.”
“Do you know Marigold Larson?”
“Jumbo’s mother?” Claire said. “The woman who wanted to take the Harry Potter books out of the school library and burn them?”
“The very one,” Kay said. “She’s saying the Lord told her to run.”
“How convenient,” Claire said. “I heard her son got kicked out of Pine County Consolidated.”
“For bullying,” Kay said, “Jumbo goes to the private Christian school in Pendleton now, where I’m sure they’re delighted to have such a religious young man in amongst their student body.”
“My mother is what I would call a very devout Christian,” Claire said. “I wonder why the Lord doesn’t ask her to get involved in local politics? I can’t imagine her doing anything dishonest, but Marigold Larson? Not so much.”