Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“I appreciate all the help I’m getting,” Scott said. “I couldn’t do this without it.”
“It’s what we do,” Delia said. “We take care of each other.”
“How’s Claire doing?” Scott asked. “I feel like I’ve been neglecting her.”
“She’s still trying to figure out where she belongs,” Delia said. “I tried not to pressure her to stay but it seems like she’s going to.”
“I thought maybe she’d stop by,” Scott said. “I know she’s busy at The Bee Hive …”
“Claire never really got over Liam’s death,” Delia said. “I think it might be too tough for her to see your mom this way.”
“I don’t know how any of you could get over that,” Scott said.
“You don’t,” Delia said. “It’s like a permanent dark cloud you just get used to seeing out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes it’s bigger than the blue sky, and sometimes the blue sky is bigger, but it never completely goes away.”
The Hospice aide arrived and Scott showed him where to go.
“I’m keeping in touch with Sarah over this hit and run investigation,” Scott said when he returned. “I really think Claire’s in the clear.”
“I understand Ava had to vouch for Patrick,” Delia said.
“That news sure traveled fast.”
“Gossip always does.”
“I thought maybe that was why you didn’t work for her anymore,” he said.
“She’s like a siren,” Delia said, “luring sailors to their deaths.”
“You warned me,” Scott said, “but I didn’t listen.”
“You escaped,” Delia said. “Patrick won’t be so lucky.”
“Do you think she and Patrick will marry?”
“Only if he wins the lottery,” Delia said.
“She’s not that mercenary,” Scott said.
Delia smiled as she shook her head.
“See,” she said. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”
Scott smiled sheepishly.
“How’s my buddy?” Scott said, in an attempt to change the subject. “I miss our breakfasts.”
“He’s the same,” Delia said, “Which is a blessing, because he’s not going to get any better.”
“What’s the latest prognosis?”
“They just don’t know,” Delia said. “We’ll keep him at home as long as we can.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know and I can’t worry about that now,” Delia said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Sarah Albright came in the salon and Claire immediately felt sick at her stomach. She had two ladies under dryers, one in a hydraulic chair, and one in the waiting area.
“Hello Detective Albright,” Claire said. “What can I do for you?”
“You can confess to killing your boyfriend,” Sarah said, with an evil gleam in her eye and a smirk on her face.
The two ladies under the dryers leaned forward, the woman in the hydraulic chair turned around to look at Sarah, and the woman in the waiting area put down her magazine.
Claire was so stunned she didn’t know what to say for a moment, and in that interval something happened she didn’t expect.
“Shame on you,” the woman in the hydraulic chair said to Sarah. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time than harass innocent people?”
“What did she say?” one of the dryer ladies said.
“She said Claire killed somebody,” the other one said.
“I don’t think it’s legal for you to come in here and say things like that,” the woman in the waiting area said. “That’s harassment.”
“It’s slander,” the first dryer lady said.
“I’d call Scott,” the second dryer lady said.
“I’d call her boss,” the woman in the hydraulic chair said.
The smirk faded off Sarah’s face and was replaced with a hard, angry look. Claire could tell she wanted to say something more, but must have realized she would only dig herself in deeper. She turned and walked out, but before the door shut she got to hear some last words.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!” the lady in the waiting area said.
“You women are fierce,” Claire said, with tears glistening in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“She picked the wrong town to pull that crap in,” the lady in the hydraulic chair said.
“Just let us know if you decide to file a complaint,” the waiting room lady said. “We were all witnesses.”
“I think her hand was on her gun when she said it,” the first dryer lady said.
“I’d swear to it,” the second one said, and then they all laughed.
Later in the morning Gail Godwin left The Bee Hive with a free haircut and blow dry after telling all the gossip she’d heard about the night Tuppy died. This left Claire wound up and anxious to follow up on what she now knew.
“Hannah,” Claire said as soon as her cousin answered the phone. “We have a new lead on Tuppy’s murder.”
“I’ll be there in a flash,” Hannah said. “I just have to find my cape.”
Maggie came in looking grumpy, with circles under her eyes.
“You need coffee and an icepack,” Claire said, and quickly delivered both.
“We got no sleep,” Maggie said moments later, from under the icepack she held over her eyes as she reclined in the shampoo bowl chair. “His sister Penny sawed logs down the hall while we sat next to his mother’s bed and listened to every breath she took. No kidding, I thought each one would be the last.”
“I bet he was so glad you came.”
“Hmph,” Maggie said. “I worked for my mother this morning and I swear that woman has second sight. She kept giving me these knowing looks. You didn’t tell your mom, did you?”
“No, I swear.”
“It was probably that worthless Penny,” Maggie said. “She probably told the first person who came to sit with her mother and that person put out an all points bulletin.”
“I don’t remember Penny,” Claire said.
“She’s insufferable,” Maggie said. “She’s making it all about her, like, ‘poor me, how could this happen to me?’ Never mind it’s her mother who’s dying.”
“Drama queen,” Claire said.
“She could give that actress of yours a run for her money.”
Claire told Maggie what Sloan had done to her credit cards.
“What can you do?”
“It took me half an hour just to prove I am who I said I was. They’re sending new cards; I just have to wait until they arrive.”
“How can I help?”
“I need to take the rental car to Pendleton and turn it in,” Claire said, “but I don’t have the cash I need to pay for it. I don’t have an account at Knox’s bank; do you think they’ll let me have some money?”
“I think Knox will give you anything you ask for right now,” Maggie said. “He wouldn’t dare decline you; but I have cash at the store if they say no.”
Hannah came running in, saying, “Knox is on TV right now, having a press conference.”
Claire turned on Denise’s TV and channel surfed until she found it.
“He’s doing it from his hospital bed,” Hannah said.
“Oh, my gosh,” Maggie said. “He looks awful.”
“The better to elicit sympathy,” Claire said.
They’d missed most of it but the news channel replayed it with commentary. Knox was wearing makeup to cover his bruises, and although one eye was swollen shut he was still lit in a flattering way. With every carefully crafted sentence he spoke, every subtle wince of pain, it seemed obvious to Claire that his performance had been as skillfully orchestrated as an award winning scene in any classic film.
He claimed that his wife had taken a new allergy medicine and had mistaken him for a bank robber.
“He’s good,” Claire said when it was over and they went to commercial.
“He even made me feel sorry for him,” Hannah said, “and I know what a rotten egg he is.”
“Poor old Knox,” Maggie said. “He has the worst luck with wives.”
“It sometimes doesn’t pay to be an ambitious sociopath,” Claire said. “I’m relieved to know it.”
Claire reported Gail Godwin’s gossip to her cousins, about the students who were drag racing after Phyllis’s party.
“It’s just like Phyllis to be in the middle of this,” Maggie said. “You know her son killed Theo Eldridge.”
“Now I remember,” Claire asked. “I just didn’t relate the name to our Phyllis from high school.”
“Billy thought Theo was his father and he’d inherit a fortune,” Hannah said. “That turned out to be wishful thinking on Phyllis’s part. He died in a car wreck up near the state park with the cops right on his tail.”
“Do you think Phyllis will tell us anything?” Claire asked.
“She hates me,” Maggie said, “and the feeling is mutual.”
“She’s not crazy about me, either,” Hannah said.
“I guess it’s up to me, then,” Claire said. “I think the students in the depot this morning might have been the culprits; they were acting really weird with Phyllis.”
Claire had a short break and ran down to the Mountain Laurel. The parking lot was empty and Phyllis was sitting on the side porch smoking a cigarette.
“You wanna order something?” Phyllis asked her. “There might be some gravy left.”
“No, thanks,” Claire said, and sat down upwind of Phyllis’s cigarette. “I wanted to ask you about what happened last Friday night.”
Phyllis pointed her cigarette at Claire and narrowed her eyes.
“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that,” she said. “I was home in bed when that happened. I got seven witnesses that’ll tell anyone that’s true.”
Claire wondered why so many people were on hand to witness Phyllis at home in her bed, but decided not to follow up on that line of questioning.
“The man that was killed was a friend of mine,” Claire said. “I’m just trying to find out what happened.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Phyllis said, “but like I said, it don’t involve me.”
“Were there some college kids at your house that night?”
“No, I was alone,” Phyllis said.
Claire was no lawyer, but even she could see it would be hard to uphold Phyllis’s claim of simultaneously being home alone in bed while also having seven witnesses on hand to swear to it.
“It doesn’t have to involve you,” Claire said. “Maybe you just heard something that would be helpful.”
“I gotta get back to work.”
She stood up and flicked her cigarette toward the river.
“I don’t want to get you in any trouble,” Claire said. “I just want to know who the boys were that were drag racing that night.”
“Sorry,” Phyllis said. “I got no idea.”
She went inside the depot, leaving Claire frustrated and depressed. She had nothing with which to blackmail Phyllis and no junkyard dog like
Stanley to do her dirty work. She went back up the hill and met Ed coming out of the newspaper office.
“Hey,” he said. “You look like you could use a hug.”
“Thanks,” she said as she accepted one.
Claire was surprised to feel a little spark when they hugged. It temporarily flustered her, and she felt herself blush.
“What’s going on?” Ed asked, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. “What did you do to your hand?”
“Off the record, I took a swing at Knox,” Claire said. “I think it hurt me more than him.”
“Congratulations,” Ed said. “I’ve wanted to do that many times.”
“If you’ve got time now I can get you caught up on Tuppy’s murder investigation,” Claire said. “Scott says I’m not a suspect anymore.”
They went back inside the newspaper office and sat down at the elevated work table in the middle of the room. A mock up of the latest issue of the sentinel was on the table and she could see he had saved space for a piece about Tuppy’s death. Ed took notes while she talked.
After she finished recounting everything she was comfortable sharing Ed looked thoughtful.
“I may be able to help,” he said. “I can probably find out who the college kids were in the depot this morning.”
“That would be great,” Claire said. “It’s a long shot but I’m running out of suspects.”
Claire went back to The Bee Hive, where her next two customers were waiting. To her delight, she managed to talk one of Denise’s life-long shampoo set customers into a short, flattering haircut. The second appointment wasn’t so brave, but she did let Claire schedule her for some highlights to perk up the dark brown helmet she’d been sporting for several decades.
She had two permanent waves, a color and cut, and then two walk-in customers who had seen her on the news the night before with Sloan. They were young stay-at-home moms who had been best friends since grade school. They picked their haircuts out of celebrity magazines, and fortunately neither one asked for Sloan’s Tweetheart ‘do. Considering that had been a wig, Claire couldn’t really claim ownership of that design.
Ed came in as she finished up the second one, and he waited patiently until he was alone with Claire.