“We’re all real sorry about what’s happened. Jade is fond of Suzanna, and Miss Marlena, too.” Ruth hung the dress on the molding over the door. “I’m sure Jade will do what she can when she isn’t working.” She smoothed the hem of the dress, focusing on the teal material. “I think I’m coming down with something, Miss Lucille. I’m gone go home and rest up. Might be I can help some with Marlena if it turns necessary.”
Ruth walked across the kitchen and out the side door. There was the sound of her too-big shoes clapping on the porch boards, and then she was gone.
Jonah thought about offering to give his wife a ride, but he knew it was best to let Ruth walk, even if she felt bad. Ruth wouldn’t want to be in the car with Miss Lucille, and Jonah surely wouldn’t get the car unless its owner was riding with him. He thought he heard his wife’s footsteps in the dirt, and then there was only the sound of Miss Lucille’s breath. He tried not to hear it, tried not to remember another time when her breath had come all rushed and fast. She’d been different then, and it had almost ruined her.
“I would have thought Ruth would be more concerned about Marlena,” Lucille said, anger in her voice.
Jonah thought about the last forty years. Lucille had not been bad to work for. She was demanding, and sometimes so self-involved as to be comical. But she’d given him something that was more valuable to him than his own life. For that, he would always owe her. “Ruth is worried, Miss Lucille. She’s worried about your daughter and her own.”
There it was, just out in the open. He held steady, forcing his gaze to meet hers. She lifted a hand as if she intended to strike him. There had been some of that, too, in the past. He saw she remembered it and lowered her hand.
“How dare you speak to me in that way,” she managed.
“The day you gave Jade to us, Ruth and I knew there would never be a way we could repay you. We’ve tried, through the years, to show our gratitude. Ruth has never missed a day of work. I’ve missed two, when I hurt my hand in the car motor. But the hard truth is, you never wanted Jade. Never. Neither did her daddy. He was on the road and gone before you could tell him you were in trouble. Ruth and I were more than glad to take that precious baby girl and raise her. What I’m getting to is that Ruth don’t owe you anything. Neither does Jade.”
Jonah saw the shift in her eyes. “I’ve paid you for every day you’ve worked. And Jade, too. Everything she’s ever done for Marlena and Suzanna, she’s been paid for.” Lucille’s voice quivered.
“Because that’s how you wanted it.”
“I can’t believe this conversation. I’ve never known such ingrates. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been more shocked.”
“I’ll tell you what I remember. I remember a time before Jacques Longier.”
The shock of his words caused her to inhale sharply. “I should fire you.”
At last he understood. “Yes, ma’am, you probably should.” But she wouldn’t. He finally had hold of the truth of it. She kept him because he reminded her of the past. He’d thought for so long that she hated the past, but now he saw that she didn’t.
“You gave me your daughter,” he said quietly, “and then I gave her to herself. What Jade does is her choice. And that’s the way it’s going to be.”
He got up from the table and walked out the screen door. When the door slammed behind him, he turned back. “I’ll be getting the car ready for when you want to go to the hospital to see Miss Marlena.”
T
he sun was halfway up the sky by the time Jade got to Hollywood Styles. Dotty Strickland had been nearly two hours late in arriving at the hospital, and Jade hadn’t even had time to go home and take a bath. She parked her secondhand Hudson, bought in Mobile from the only colored car lot in the southeastern part of the state, and walked to the front door of her shop. The sign in the window, a bright pink, was the only neon in Drexel. The first word was block letters, like the ones on the hillside in Los Angeles, while Styles was cursive, fast and sleek. The sign had been crafted by a glass worker in Gulfport and was Jade’s biggest extravagance. It had paid for itself nine times over. Drexel was as far removed from Hollywood as it was New York City, but the women of the small town craved cosmopolitanism. They wanted to look glamorous, or at least elegant, while retaining the privilege of provincialism. The sign allowed them to bask in the idea of Hollywood without keeping company with the actors and actresses they viewed as deviants and moral degenerates.
Jade unlocked the door of her shop and stepped inside. Large photographs of Veronica Lake, Marilyn Monroe, Joan Crawford, Grace Kelly, Bette Davis, Deborah Kerr, Joan Fontaine, and the most popular, Vivien Leigh, hung around the large room. Jade had written the various movie studios and asked for the poster-sized black-and-white photos of the stars. No one in town could figure how she’d gotten them, and it gave the beauty shop another little boost of exclusivity.
From a picture in a magazine, Jade had gotten the idea for the black sinks and fixtures, the black-and-white tiled floor. In Drexel, the decor was thought of as deliciously avant-garde. Titillation was a large draw in a population that believed pleasure to be a trap of Satan.
Jade had long ago given up thinking about the perversity of her clientele. Women who considered her a social inferior begged for hair appointments, and within the confines of the shop, she was their superior. They deferred to her judgment and taste. Jade had come to believe that she was lucky. There had been no mirror of society to reflect her image, so she’d learned at a young age to see herself. The women whose hair she cut and styled had no clear picture of themselves. They depended on others to tell them who they were and what they should look like. The movies shaped their view of glamour; men defined their sexuality and their roles as wives and mothers. Having lived outside society, in a world where she was neither black nor white, Jade had developed a unique sense of style that took into account only the shape of her own face, her skin, her hair, and her eyes.
She worked alone in the shop because no white woman would work for her, and her clients wouldn’t allow a “real” Negro woman to touch their hair. Jade was an anomaly. Her talent wasn’t necessarily styling hair or choosing cosmetics, though she was good at that, it was being able to see another’s fantasy and then bridge the gap between that and the reality of what she had to work with. Women who snubbed her in public left her shop feeling that she’d touched them with magic. Two of her clients were women who drove the forty miles from Mobile once a week for a cut and style. Jade long ago accepted that vanity was stronger than prejudice. This knowledge was just one of the many reasons that she remained in Drexel against her parents’ wishes. It wasn’t that Ruth and Jonah didn’t love her. Her adopted parents had given her every ounce of love they had, to the point that there was nothing left to give each other. She recognized that in many ways, she was the spoke that kept the wheel of their marriage rolling, just as she was the counterweight that gave balance to Suzanna Bramlett’s life.
She thought of the little girl and felt dread squeeze down so hard that she leaned against the back of a chair for support. To most folks, Suzanna was an ill-behaved and spoiled child. They saw her as the daughter of the wealthiest man in town, with a doting mother who gave into the child’s every whim. They had no real idea of Suzanna’s life. The young girl was a ghost in her own house. She flitted from room to room, maybe breaking something valuable or banging on the piano, or screaming and kicking. She did that because no one saw her. Lucas and Marlena looked right through her. Jade understood, probably better than most, what that felt like.
Jade pulled down the penciled note that Jonah had taped to the glass, proud of her father’s penmanship, his neat letters and proper grammar. “Jade is at the hospital,” was all the note said. She went to the appointment book and made a list of the women she’d have to call and apologize to. Her clients were mighty particular about their hair appointments. There would be tears, perhaps ugliness. Dependency often created anger. She read down the list of appointments. Coming in at ten-thirty was Betsy McBane. Jade sighed, blowing the breath up so that her soft bangs lifted for a moment. She thought about putting the note back up, locking the door, and hiding until Mrs. McBane left. She didn’t, though.
The chemical odor of perms was overpowering. Jade opened the windows and the back door, hoping a cross current would pull the smell into the street. She had a full day, one appointment after the next without even a lunch break, and she was bone tired. It was better to stay busy, though. That might keep the worry about Suzanna at bay, at least enough for her to get through until she heard something from Frank. Once he knew something for positive, he’d come and tell her. Frank might not understand her affection for Suzanna, but he knew it was there. He’d tell her what he knew, even if Marlena’s husband wouldn’t remember to.
Thinking about Lucas was a waste of good energy. Jade had never shown the discomfort he made her feel. She was afraid if she did, he wouldn’t allow her to baby-sit Suzanna. Lucas had never done a single thing to make Jade uneasy, but she felt his gaze on her when her back was turned, and there was strong emotion in it. What upset Jade the most was that she recognized her likeness to Lucas Bramlett. He lived as he chose, because he was strong enough to do so. Most folks thought it was money that gave Lucas his power, but Jade knew differently. The money was part of it, but mostly it came from his character. Like her, he was outside the bounds of society.
Lucas never hesitated to call Jade when he wanted someone to keep Suzanna for an afternoon, or an evening, or a weekend, or a three-week cruise. Would he bother to tell her if there was a ransom demand? She doubted it, but Huey Jones couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. If there was a ransom demand, it would be all over town.
It occurred to Jade that Lucas wouldn’t pay for something he didn’t value, and she felt a surge of desperation. Public opinion would force him to pay the ransom, though. He was outside society, but not inured to it. That thought brought a bit of comfort, even when she knew that Lucas had never shown the first glimmer of joy at his daughter. Not at her birth and not at her first step. Not when she did well in school or excelled at the piano. Nothing the little girl did could capture his praise or pleasure. Sadness like a weight pressed on Jade’s chest. Folks were always making the comment that she could do better in a big city. Even Ruth had joined in that refrain. Ruth wanted her to marry and have babies. In Drexel, she was too white for the black men and too black for the white. In a place like New Orleans, she could have her pick of either.
The front door of the shop was open for ventilation, and Jade was busy with her call list when Mrs. McBane walked in. She strode to the counter where Jade sat.
“You missed five appointments this morning.” She set her black patent leather handbag with the gold clasp on the counter with force.
“Yes, ma’am, I know.” Jade put the pencil down. She reached for the telephone. “If you’ll have a seat, I need to call one more person.”
“It’s ten-thirty.”
Jade looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s ten-twenty-three. I just need to make this call.”
Mrs. McBane didn’t move. “What’s Marlena Bramlett to you, anyway?”
Jade knew perfectly well that Betsy McBane knew they were half-sisters. She wasn’t asking about a blood relationship; she was asking about something else, something that involved Jade’s right to care what happened to Marlena and her daughter.
“I’m fond of Suzanna,” Jade said. “I may be the only person who is.”
“She’s a brat. I’ll bet if someone did take her, they’ll pay Lucas good money to take her back.”
Jade felt an unfamiliar flash of anger. She was so used to her clients that she seldom took anything they said to heart. She picked up the phone and began to dial.
She completed the call with Betsy McBane standing over her. She put the phone down and stood up. “What would you like today, Mrs. McBane?” she asked, pointedly looking at the clock, which showed ten-thirty.
Betsy took a seat in the beauty chair, Jade standing behind her. “Something special. I want to look good in case there’s a funeral.” Her smile was tight as she looked into the mirror and into Jade’s eyes. “If that little girl is dead, do you think you’ll work on her at the funeral home? I hear you did a fine job on Horace Bradshaw.” Her gaze in the mirror was eager.
The idea of Suzanna, dead, made Jade step back.
“I’m sorry, Jade. That was thoughtless of me.” Betsy held Jade’s gaze.
“What makes you think Suzanna is dead?” Jade asked, not bothering to wonder if it was thoughtlessness or the opposite.
“I happened by the hospital this morning. You know, Marlena is just the darling of the town, and I wanted to see how she was doing. Your father was waiting outside at the car, and he told me Lucille was terrified her granddaughter was dead. He looked right sick himself.”
“Did you see Marlena?” Jade wondered if she’d come around and begun to talk. After the incident where Marlena had called her daughter’s name and tossed on the bed, the nurse had administered more morphine. Marlena hadn’t said anything helpful. At least not while Jade was there.
“No. Those fool doctors won’t allow anyone but family members.” She watched the mirror as Jade picked up lank strands of brown hair and held them out. “Do you have an idea for a new style?”
“What about something Olivia de Haviland-ish?” Jade asked.
Disappointment crossed Betsy’s face. “Isn’t she sort of a secondary character?”
Jade kept her face serious. “She was the one who got Ashley Wilkes, after all.”
Betsy brightened. “That’s right.”
Jade set to work. Once she started concentrating, she could shut out the sound of Betsy’s voice. All she had to do was nod and make an occasional sound of agreement. Betsy did the rest. In a few moments, Betsy would be under the dryer.
“Huey’s gone up to Quincy to get some tracking dogs,” Betsy said. “He’s probably in the woods right now with them.”
That caught Jade’s attention. So they were looking for Suzanna. “Uh-hum,” she said, hoping to encourage Betsy more.
“Huey said those dogs can pick up a trail that’s three days old and follow it through water.”
“Uh-hum.” She started cutting.
“They didn’t call the FBI in yet. They said they have to be able to prove that Suzanna was carried across a state line for it to be a federal matter.”
“How will they know whether she’s across a state line or not?” Jade asked.
Betsy shrugged. “I personally think Huey wants all the credit. Frank Kimble was out at the crack of dawn. Heck, it’s a good thing Frank’s on the case. Huey couldn’t find his way out of a paper sack.”
Jade realized that Betsy was staring into the mirror, watching her expression. “Frank’s a good detective,” she said.
“Yes, he is. And a handsome man,” Betsy prompted. When Jade didn’t respond, she continued. “You sat with Marlena all night. What all happened to her? I’ve heard the most terrible things. That she’ll never be able to have a baby again. Is it true?”
Jade cut faster, knowing that her only salvation would be the dryer.
The two hounds lunged on their leather leashes, pulling Nathan Ryan forward a step at a time. He held them, the corded muscles in his arms showing the strain as he waited on Huey to give the word to turn the dogs loose on Marlena’s trail in the hopes that it would lead to Suzanna. Frank knew the trail was empty. He’d backtracked it from the point where he’d recovered Marlena, up the river, and finally to the place where he’d found the Cadillac. Now he waited for Huey to make a decision. The sheriff had shown up with Ryan, the dogs, and five volunteers, among them Junior Clements and Pet Wilkinson. Several of the volunteers stood smoking under one of the oaks.
If they found Suzanna Bramlett, Huey would have money to run his campaign for sheriff for the rest of his life. Frank could almost see the dollar signs in Huey’s eyes as he pointed down the trail and talked to Ryan.
“The dogs’ll be trailin Marlena,” Huey repeated what Frank had told him. He waved Frank over. “The little girl could be anywhere in these woods. What we’re hoping is that Marlena’s trail will bring us to Suzanna. Should we show the blouse to the dogs?”
Lucas had dropped one of Marlena’s blouses by the sheriff’s office, an unnecessary gesture because the dogs would strike a trail where they found it. But it was also a telling gesture, and one that made Frank consider what Lucas Bramlett truly hoped the outcome of the search would be.
The blouse was navy blue with a sailor collar and white tie, expensive. Marlena had worn it at the Fourth of July picnic. Now it was lying on the front seat of the patrol car. The vague scent of a light perfume still clung to the cotton fabric and filled the car with a whisper of Marlena.
“The dogs don’t need the blouse,” Frank said. Twenty yards away, the two bloodhounds were desperate to follow the scent. They lunged and bayed, acting as if the quarry they sought was in immediate danger.
“Frank?” Huey said.
Frank nodded. “Let them go.”
Ryan allowed the dogs to drag him forward at a fast jog, their noses to the ground and tails pointed out behind them. Huey and the volunteers took off in pursuit. The sheriff looked over his shoulder. “Frank, are you coming?”
“There’s something here I want to look at,” Frank said. He nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be along directly.” Frank did not mention the chips, not in front of Junior and Pet and the other volunteers. He would tell the sheriff later, when they were alone. Aside from the chips, Frank had found something else, a different trail, one that led to the south. This was a trail Frank wanted to follow on his own.