Polished Off (8 page)

“YOU CAN’T HONESTLY TELL ME THE POLICE SUSPECT Stella Michaelson of murder!” Mom said early the next morning as we readied the salon for opening. She looked refreshed by a night’s sleep, wearing orchid seersucker slacks that complemented the grays, silvers, and white in her short hair. A matching tee shirt stretched across her plump bosom and over her stomach, hiding the drawstring waist. I didn’t look so perky. It had been almost midnight by the time I got back to my apartment and I hadn’t slept well with visions of Audrey’s lifeless body sprawling in my dreams. Only caffeine—a cup of tea and a can of root beer so far—kept my eyes open. The only thing keeping me upright was the broom I was using to sweep around the styling stations.

“The police in this town don’t see beyond the end of their noses, Vi,” Althea put in. She stood by the coffeemaker, as if by looming over it she could intimidate it into faster production. The aromatic liquid slowed to a drip-drip and she pulled a mug from the cupboard. “Why, they suspected you of doing away with Connie DuBois.” She snorted. Today’s caftan was sand colored and fringed with knotted strings at the hem. I had to admit it looked good on her, setting off her dark skin and making her tall figure look graceful. An ankle bracelet of bells tinkled when she crossed the room to hand my mom her mug.

“Thanks,” Mom said. “But
Stella
. No one could suspect Stella of violence.”

“No one who knows her,” I agreed. “I told Agent Dillon the idea was ridiculous.”

“So he’s back, is he?” Althea said with a knowing look at me. “Hmmm.”

To my annoyance, I felt myself blushing. “There’s nothing to ‘hmmm’ about,” I said. “He was interviewing me about a murder, not asking me for a date.” I plied the broom more vigorously than I intended, floofing the hair and dust I’d collected so it dispersed again. “Shoot.” I swept more carefully and bent to scoop the pile into a dustpan.

“But he will,” Althea said confidently.

“I’m worried about Stella,” I said, dragging the conversation away from my social prospects. “Agent Dillon asked me for her phone number, but no one answered when he called. And then they sent an officer over to the house, but no one was home.”

“He told you that?” Mom asked, her brows knitting.

“No. I heard his end of a phone conversation.” He’d made me hang around until he finished interviewing Marv . . . I couldn’t help overhearing the crime scene techs’ conversations, the bantering of the other officers, and Dillon’s phone calls. In addition to the tidbit about Stella and Darryl not being home, I’d learned that the coroner suspected Audrey had died within the last two hours (duh), and that whoever killed her would have been splattered with enough blood to impersonate an extra in a
Friday the 13th
movie. Dillon speculated that the murderer stole a costume from the rack to cover his or her bloodied clothes. It took me about two seconds to realize the caped figure I’d seen had probably murdered Audrey. It still gave me the shivers when I thought about it. I didn’t mention it to Mom and Althea, not wanting to worry them.

“Good morning, all.”

Stella’s voice startled us. The three of us looked toward the door like our heads were on wires. Dressed in jeans and a pale pink polo shirt, Stella looked more tired than I felt. She held Beauty in her arms, but the cat jumped down and established herself on the wide windowsill where she could glare at the squirrels chasing each other around the old magnolia tree in the front. One of them scampered down the hammock’s line and Beauty growled.

“Stella, honey, are you okay?” Mom asked, bustling forward to hug the surprised manicurist.

“A little tired, Vi, but nothing serious.” Stella pulled away from Mom and looked at the three of us. “What’s up? You all look so . . . so worried.” A hint of unease crossed her face. “Did something happen?”

“It’s just that when the police said you weren’t home last night—” Mom started.

“The police?” Alarm rang in Stella’s voice. “The police were here?”

“Not here,” I said hastily. “At the Oglethorpe.” When she just stared at me, wide-eyed, I said, “Audrey Faye was murdered some time during the program. I found her.”

Stella’s hand went to her mouth, covering it. She said nothing. As we watched, she swayed and the color leached out of her skin. I’d heard of people turning white, but I’d never seen it happen. No spot of color remained in her cheeks. Her green eyes stood out like pools in the pallor of her face.

“She’s going to faint,” Althea said, springing forward. Ruthlessly, she pressed Stella’s head down between her knees. “Deep breaths,” Althea counseled. “In . . . out.”

After a moment, Stella struggled against Althea’s hand on her head. “I’m okay,” she said. “I just need to sit down.” With Althea’s hand at her elbow, she tottered to the love seat and sank onto it. “What happened?” she asked.

“Someone stabbed Audrey,” I said. I debated whether or not to tell her about the murder weapon but realized she’d find out sooner or later anyway. “With a nail file.”

“Oh my God.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

I was surprised. Sure, Audrey’s death was a shock, but it wasn’t a personal tragedy for Stella who hadn’t even known the woman.

“Here.” Mom thrust a mug of steaming chamomile tea at Stella, who took it automatically. “It’s always a shock when you hear someone you know has died unexpectedly.”

“When you said the police were looking for me, it’s because they think I did it, isn’t it?” Stella said, her gaze swiveling from Mom’s face to mine. “Isn’t it?”

“Of course they don’t,” I said. “But they need to question a lot of people. I’m sure they’re talking to all the contestants and the crew and anyone who might’ve been backstage last night. You’re just one on a long list.”

“What’ll happen to Jess if I’m arrested?” Stella asked, as if she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Her hands trembled so hard that tea slopped over the rim of the mug and splotched her slacks. “Ow.” She set the cup on the end table.

Mom sat beside her and took her hand. “Stella, no one will think you had anything to do with Audrey’s death. The police want to talk to you, but they’re not going to arrest you. Your nail file was right there where anyone could pick it up, right?”

Stella nodded numbly.

“Agent Dillon will figure that out. It’s not like you had a reason to kill Audrey Faye. Why, you didn’t even know the woman.”

“The police might be slower than three-legged tortoises,” Althea put in, “but even they aren’t going to figure you for a random killer, running around murdering people you don’t even know.”

Stella cried harder. She said something, but I couldn’t understand her through the sobs.

I looked at Mom and Althea but they shrugged. “What?” I asked.

Stella raised her head. Tears ran down her face. Mascara streaked her cheeks and the tip of her nose glowed red. “They’re going to arrest me,” she said fatalistically. “Darryl and her . . . Audrey and Darryl . . . They were having an affair.”

 

 

WE GOT SO QUIET YOU COULD HAVE HEARD A FEATHER land on a down comforter. Then, the three of us tried to talk at once.

“Stella, honey, I’m so sorry,” Mom said.

“That bastard,” Althea said, pounding her fist against her thigh.

“How do you know?” I asked. Maybe she’d misinterpreted something, jumped to the wrong conclusion. I didn’t know Darryl all that well, but he’d always struck me as a solid guy. And he seemed to love Stella. They’d celebrated their nineteenth wedding anniversary in April and had spent a romantic weekend on Jekyll Island, leaving Jess with Stella’s mother. Stella glowed for the whole next week.

Stella gave Mom a wan smile and looked at me. “He told me.”

Oh. Not much chance she was mistaken then. “What did he say?”

Mom gave me her “mind your own business” glare. I pretended not to see it.

“They grew up on the same block over in Kingsland, so he’s known her forever. He said they ran into each other about three months back and, well . . . you know. One thing led to another. They’ve been seeing each other a couple of times a week. Darryl’s had a lot of time on his hands since they laid him off at the auto dealership up in Brunswick. He’s been really frustrated that he can’t find anything better than part-time work. You’d think with the economy being like it is, that people would need good mechanics to keep their old cars on the road so they don’t have to buy new ones. That’s what Darryl says. But it hasn’t worked out that way.”

“So what you’re trying to say is he had an affair because he’s feeling sorry for himself?” Althea asked bluntly. “Because he needs to get his mojo back? Don’t tell me you’re buying that hog swill.”

Stella teared up again and Mom patted her hand.

“Why was he at the pageant last night?” I asked.

“He wanted to break it off,” she said. She groped for the tissue box on the end table and blew her nose. “That’s what he said. But when he got there, he realized it was bad timing, with all the people around and her so busy and me being there. He didn’t know I would be there. We haven’t talked much the last couple of weeks.” She sniffed.

“Was she married?” Althea asked.

Stella nodded. “Her husband’s name is Kevin. Darryl told me.”

Wow. For some reason, I hadn’t thought of Audrey as having a husband. “Does—did—she have children?”

Stella shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t know them, you know. But Darryl told me her name, so when I found out that it was her that hired us for the pageant, I was torn. Part of me wanted to have it out with her, to ask her how she could do this to my family.” Stella’s voice rose and she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. “But the other part . . . Well, I just wanted to crawl in a hole and die when I met her and saw how young and pretty she is. Was.”

“You’re welcome to stay here for a couple of days, if you need to get away, get some perspective,” Mom offered when Stella fell silent.

“That’s kind of you, Violetta,” Stella said, “but Jess and I have been at my mom’s.”

That explained why the police hadn’t found her at home. It didn’t explain Darryl’s absence, though. “What about Darryl?” I asked.

She gave me a puzzled look.

“Is he still at your house?”

“As far as I know,” she said. “Why?”

“The police may want to know where he was at going on eleven last night.”

After a hesitation so brief I wondered if I’d imagined it, she said, “He was with me.” Reaching for the mug, she took a sip of tea and kept her gaze on the liquid. “We were talking. You saw him at the pageant, right? Well, we drove around and talked.”

“For four hours?” I wrinkled my brow.

“We had a lot to talk about.” Her gaze fixed on Beauty, who was stalking the shadow of a leaf skipping across the wood floor as the breeze swayed the tree limbs outside the salon.

I didn’t doubt that, but I did doubt her story. I didn’t want to—I’d known Stella for almost fifteen years, ever since she came to work for my mom—but something about her airy tone and the way she wasn’t meeting our eyes made me wonder if she was telling the whole truth. I let it go, but part of me couldn’t help wondering who she was protecting—herself or Darryl?

MOM TOOK STELLA INTO THE KITCHEN AT THE BACK of the house for another cup of tea and a tête à tête, as my favorite author, Georgette Heyer, would have said. As best as I could gather, that meant a quiet one-on-one conversation. Left alone with Althea, I finished sweeping and got to work dusting the wooden blinds. Althea rearranged the display of skin-care products, Althea’s Organic Skin Solutions, moisturizers, masks, and cleansers from her family’s recipes that she’d used for years as an aesthetician but had only gotten around to packaging and marketing last month. Setting the last violet-capped bottle in place, she turned to me with her hands on her hips.

“I assume you’re going to nose around, find out who really killed this Faye woman?”

“It’s a police—”

“Fah. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, baby-girl. You know and I know that you could no more leave Stella swinging in the wind than you could design a rocket ship. What are we going to do first?”

“We?”

She looked down her nose at me and I caved. She was right: I
had
been thinking about doing a bit of investigating, not so much because I didn’t trust the GBI to find the killer but because of the rumors that would spread while they plodded through their procedures. If word got around that Stella was a murder suspect, people would remember that a long time past when the real killer was convicted and stowed in a jail cell.

“All right, all right. Since I’m working at the beauty pageant anyway, I thought I’d talk to some of the girls, find out if they saw anything. And I also want to follow up on some of the incidents Audrey talked about. Maybe her assistant, Jodi, knows more about that. If you get a chance, maybe after work, you could hook up with the protestors and find out what they’re all about.”