A Dyeing Shame Part 14

THE NEXT MORNING, Myrtle walked into the Beauty Box for her scheduled wash and set. Kat's non-smoking campaign wasn't going very well-she had a full ashtray next to her and was smoking what looked like the last cigarette in the pack. Kat slouched in a vinyl styling chair but stood up and stubbed out her cigarette when she saw Myrtle. "Sorry," Kat said. "Nerves."

Myrtle glanced around the deserted salon. "Where's everybody hiding, Kat? The Beauty Box is usually crammed with ladies by now."

"We got a couple of calls this morning to reschedule. Dina's at the shelter. And...today was Mrs. Walker's usual morning to come in, of course." Kat looked at Myrtle and raised the cigarette to her mouth again, before realizing that she'd stubbed it out. She gave a short laugh and tossed the b.u.t.t into a wastebasket. "Everybody's freaked out. I'm not immune to it, either." She turned an inquisitive eye on Myrtle. "I didn't expect to see you here, after the day you had yesterday."

Myrtle nodded. "It was pretty awful. How did you hear about it? Were you at the Beauty Box yesterday morning?" There wasn't a good way to ask someone if they had an alibi.

Fortunately, Kat didn't seem to mind. "Actually, I saw Mrs. Walker when I was coming in. She was already out in her yard and I made some kind of comment about how early she was working. She said she was trying to beat the heat. Then I went inside. The next thing I saw was the police cars out front and you and Elaine sitting in her car." She shook her head and washed her hands to get ready to do Myrtle's hair.

"So you didn't see or hear anything else? Didn't notice anyone who shouldn't be there?"

"No. And I wish I had. I was busy getting the shop ready for the customers. I took towels out of the dryer, moved some of the paint cans and all...tried to get organized." She gave a short laugh.

"Was Dina around?" asked Myrtle. "Maybe she saw something. After all, Agnes lives right next door."

Kat made a face. "She should have been around, but she wasn't. I think she was over at the shelter again. I swear, she's driving me nuts with it. I'm glad she's found something that makes her happy, but if she doesn't start doing some work around here, I'm going to have to look for a new manicurist."

She seemed a little too agitated to be doing hair, so Myrtle carefully pointed the direction of the conversation back to the shop and how much better it was looking.

Kat's face lit up as she talked about paint swatches, curtains, new equipment and other things. In the place of the tatty magazines that used to be there, there were stacks of self-help paperbacks with t.i.tles like Twelve Steps to Financial Freedom. Kat seemed to be transforming, too. There were fewer earrings on fewer visible body parts. Myrtle moved over to the chair at the sink and listened as Kat expertly scrubbed her hair and chatted.

"Is your afternoon going to be this quiet, too?" asked Myrtle.

"Let's hope not. I'd go broke if that were the case. No, I've got Bootsie Davenport coming in for her new do."

"I like the way you're doing it now. Is she just coming in to get it styled?"

"She's thinking about adding a little color to it. She's wanted to update her look for a long time but Tammy was in no shape to do it. Plus, Tammy would have been furious if she'd tried to switch over to me."

She sure would have been. It would have been Bootsie's death they'd have been investigating, instead of Tammy's. "So, is there anything else you're planning to do with the Beauty Box?"

"I'm thinking about installing some tanning beds in Tammy's old room. I think that might bring in some people. There really aren't any tanning beds anywhere near to Bradley."

"How about...paintings?" asked Myrtle.

Kat frowned. "Paintings?"

"Mmm-hmm. I've got a lovely painting of Miles and me surrounded by books. I'd be happy to donate it to a worthy cause like the rebirth of the Beauty Box."

"Oh. I really appreciate it, Miss Myrtle, but I don't think a book painting will fit in with the new decor. It's really nice of you, though."

Shoot.

After making her way back home, Myrtle fixed a pimento cheese sandwich for lunch. She'd just finished when the phone rang. It was a solemn Connor Walker calling, wanting to hear about yesterday morning. She recounted the day, avoiding her usual melodramatic retelling, and asked if there was anything she could do to help him out.

"Actually, I did want to ask you a favor. Could you go in her closet and pick out an outfit for Mother to be buried in? I don't have a clue what she'd have wanted. And I know she would have wanted things perfect."

"Your mother certainly would have. Which reminds me, you might like Jo to clean your mother's house a little before your visitation there tomorrow. Your mom kept a perfect house, but she was due for her regular cleaning. Want me to let Jo in to vacuum and dust?"

"That would be great. Mother would have wanted it spruced up with half the town going over there."

"I'll run by your house in a little while for the key."

She was hanging up when the doorbell rang, making her jump. Exercising more caution than usual, Myrtle peered out the dining room curtains. When she saw Red, she opened the door.

"Hi, Red." He looked distracted. Was that a good condition for him to be in for her to get information? She couldn't remember. "Uh...would you like some lunch? I've got a ca.s.serole I defrosted last night. It's pretty good."

Red shuddered. "Uh, no, that's okay. I'll grab some lunch after I meet with Perkins."

He plopped down at her kitchen table and fidgeted with the tablecloth. Myrtle said, "Okay Red. Spit it out. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Red took a deep breath. "The letter you received. The warning? It was clipped from a newspaper we found in Agnes' desk."

"Agnes? Why on earth would she have done that?"

Red shrugged. "I don't know, Mama. Maybe she was just concerned with your well-being?"

"No," scoffed Myrtle. "She'd have warned me in person, like she'd already done." She frowned. "Agnes was trying to scare me off the case."

"Although that sure wasn't possible," mumbled Red.

"That means she must have pegged Connor as the killer," mused Myrtle. "She must've seen something and been trying to cover up for him."

"That could well be," said Red. "But we haven't been able to get anything on him so far. Maybe she thought you were on the verge of finding out something we weren't." He paused for a moment. "I don't suppose Agnes could have done it. She was elderly, but one heck of a strong woman."

"I guess she could have done it, but I don't think she did. Besides, who killed Agnes if she killed Tammy?"

"Someone avenging Tammy's death?"

"Who? And why? No one even liked Tammy anymore."

Red wearily rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Mama. All I know is that letter came from Agnes Walker's house." He peeked out hopefully behind his hands. "Does this murder make you think twice about trying to figure out who's behind this?"

"Not a chance!"

Red glowered at her. "I think you'd be a lot safer off at Greener Pastures Retirement Home, Mama."

"I think I have a darling gnome collection that needs to be aired out in my front yard."

"I think I actually might schedule an admissions interview for you," said Red.

"I think I might commission Elaine to do a portrait of you. It can hang in a place of honor in your house."

Red exhaled with a hiss and quickly took his leave.

There were already at least a dozen ca.s.seroles (half of them Chicken Divan) in freezer-appropriate, labeled, and dated containers by the time Myrtle made it over to Connor's house. There were even some hand-written notes of condolence on the front table.

In the case of a single man like Connor, it would be a.s.sumed by the well-meaning ladies of the church that he wouldn't be aware of anything that needed to be done for the funeral. Mrs. Dawkins, a gray-haired dragon, was dispatched from Agnes' church Circle to drop in on Connor. She arrived bearing a steno pad and pencil and demanding information for the obituary. The annoying thing about Mrs. Dawkins was that she kept asking questions that she clearly knew the answers to. "Your mother held office for the Bradley Garden Club, didn't she?" Connor would look a little confused and Mrs. Dawkins would type in, "President, Bradley Garden Club, 1996."

"I'd advise," said Mrs. Dawkins with a sniff, "that Agnes' obituary also run in the Charlotte Observer. And I'd strongly urge that it run in the Roanoke, Virginia, paper too."

"Why on earth should it run there?" asked Myrtle.

"Roanoke was Agnes' birthplace." Mrs. Dawkins looked displeased by the insurrection.

"Seventy-five years ago," said Myrtle, "and Agnes' parents moved to Bradley when she was a baby. Which I remember." She wasn't above pulling the age card.

"Well, I think it's proper."

"I think it's silly," said Myrtle. "Besides, all the people who remember when Agnes was born are all probably dead."

Mrs. Dawkins ignored Myrtle and continued stiffly making plans for the service. She grunted in disapproval when she learned the service would be several days away-quick burials being the norm in the South. She apparently found Connor's mention of the autopsy the final straw and left quickly afterward.

"What a relief," said Myrtle. "Hope the door hit her on the way out."

Connor seemed to be hiding a smile. "I guess funeral preparations are complicated. Mrs. Dawkins was trying to help."

"They don't seem complicated to me. And believe me, I'm old enough to have gone to a ton of them." Connor did look fairly stressed out, however. "How are you doing?"

His face darkened. "I'm furious. Tammy is one thing, because she pushed people's b.u.t.tons, but who could have killed my mother? For what reason?"

"It's crazy, isn't it? Do you think she knew something, or thought she knew something?" asked Myrtle.

Connor was quiet, then answered, "I did go back to the Beauty Box the night of Tammy's murder. I wanted to tell Tammy I was sorry for everything I'd said and sorry that things hadn't worked out for us. I was hoping to stay on speaking terms with her, even if we weren't ever going to be friends again." He gave a short laugh. "This town is too small for me to be on fighting terms with anybody."

Agnes Walker's dining room window was in plain view of the front of the Beauty Box. "So your mother saw your car pull up to the Beauty Box, I'm guessing. What time was that, Connor?"

He was thoughtful. "I'd gone home after the fight with Tammy, let off some steam. It must have been about ten-forty-five. I pulled up to the shop and parked in front. Then I walked around back to knock on Tammy's bedroom door. I knocked on her door and called her name. The lights were off, so I figured she'd gone somewhere. She usually turns on every light in the house when she's there."

"Was Dina there?" asked Myrtle.

"Not that I noticed."

"How long were you there?"

"I figured Dina and Tammy might have gone out together for a walk or something. They used to do that before Tammy started drinking so much. I felt like I'd been put through the wringer, so I pulled out my cigarettes and had one. I just sat there on the step. I must have been there twenty-five minutes or more. Then I gave up and walked back to the front of the shop and drove off."

Myrtle said, "So your mother saw your car leave. And she thought you'd be considered a suspect."

Connor nodded. "Which I would have been. Tammy and I had argued out in public and I came over to see her afterwards. I told Mother that I had nothing to be worried about-I hadn't done it and there was no proof that I had." His face was somber. "Mother was in a state. I thought she might have a stroke or a heart attack or something. She didn't want even the faintest hint of a scandal. She made me swear that I wouldn't say anything about being over there. I wasn't exactly eager to put myself at the scene of the crime, but my first thought was actually for Mother. I promised her I wouldn't say a word. After all, I knew I hadn't killed Tammy. She convinced me it might distract the police from finding the actual murderer."

Agnes probably worried, deep down, that Connor had killed Tammy. Twenty-five minutes was plenty of time to have stabbed Tammy and pushed her down the stairs, and obviously Agnes hadn't seen anyone else coming or going at the Beauty Box. But Agnes wouldn't have spent the whole evening at her dining room window; there would have been plenty of opportunities for the murderer to slip in or out.

Connor sighed. "I wish I'd told the police. Mother was behaving in a very cloak-and-dagger way. She must've given the murderer the impression she knew more than she did."

The doorbell rang. Kat stood holding a ca.s.serole at Connor's front door. Connor's face lit up when he saw her and Myrtle doubted it was because Kat was carrying yet another dish of Chicken Divan.

"You look great, Kat," noted Myrtle, studying the girl's toned-down hair. It was now a more natural black color with pink highlights. Myrtle guessed that black must be close to Kat's actual hair color.

"Thanks, Miss Myrtle. Since I'm a salon owner now, I wanted a more professional look. But I couldn't give up the pink altogether. I worked on it this afternoon."

Connor said, "Uh-oh. Slow again over there?"

"Yes, but things are picking up again. I was going to dye it earlier, but then everything went nuts. Dina was going to dye it for me the night Tammy died, but she chickened out after I was sitting in the chair and had gotten the dye mixed and all the equipment out. Probably just as well, considering what Dina did to your poor mom's hair."

Myrtle asked, "Dina didn't want to dye it?"

"No, I apparently intimidated her a little. Her hands were shaking so much when she was pulling the gloves on and getting the colors set up that I was glad when she backed out right before squirting the dye on me."

Connor snorted. "Yeah, you might have ended up with bright blue hair like my mom. Thank G.o.d you dyed it back for Mother. She was furious with Dina."

Figuring that Kat would cheer him up more than she would, Myrtle said, "I'd better go. Let me know if you need anything else, Connor. And thanks for the key to your mother's."

Myrtle walked briskly to Agnes' bedroom to find her burial outfit. The house seemed like a mere sh.e.l.l without Agnes there providing some soul for the place. She frowned again at the out of place suitcases which was the only sign of untidiness in the house. Really, it just needed some dusting and a vacuum. Myrtle pulled a well-tailored and long-skirted navy suit out of the closet and draped them on the bed for Connor to take to the funeral home later, let Jo and her cleaning supplies in, and left for home. There was really only one remedy for a day such as today. A mind-numbing viewing of a poorly-written soap opera.

Tomorrow's Promise was already in progress by the time she settled down in front of it. And, as usual, the characters were making horrible mistakes. Sally once again took her cheating louse of an ex-husband back. Timothy was bound and determined to join that cult that anyone could see was full of loonies. Denise was having another affair with a man young enough to be her son-possibly even her grandson, considering how well-preserved she was. And Tony was packing his suitcases to leave Trisha and their baby.

It was the suitcases that made Myrtle stop and think. And then stop and think some more.

"MILES, WE NEED to set a trap."

Miles' voice sounded rather sleepy. "Have you collected more feral cats, Myrtle? Isn't one ferocious feline enough for you?"

"No, no, I mean a trap for the murderer. I don't want to plot this over the phone-can't you come by? You're not sleeping are you?"

Now Miles' voice had an edge of irritation to it. "Actually, I was putting my feet up for a little while, yes. I didn't sleep so well last night."

"Miles, I haven't slept for the past five years and I'm doing all right. Plus I'm a good ten or fifteen years older than you. Can't you just come over?"

Challenges were clearly key to get Miles motivated. He was walking through Myrtle's front door mere minutes later. He wasn't in a good humor, but he was there. "You mentioned a trap?" he asked stiffly.

Myrtle was busily pouring Miles a small gla.s.s of red wine. "Here."

Miles frowned at the gla.s.s as he slowly took it from Myrtle. "Wine? At three-thirty in the afternoon?"

"Well, it's five o'clock somewhere, Miles. Since we're conspiring, I figured a little alcohol would fit in well. It should probably be liquor and we should be smoking cigars, but a little red wine will fit."

Miles blinked at her. Sometimes he really did seem sort of slow. How on earth did he survive all those years as a pharmacist or whatever it was he did?

"So," said Myrtle, settling into her sofa with her own gla.s.s of wine, "the problem is that there's no evidence against Dina. So I think the only good solution is to have Dina try to attack me. Then you can catch her in the act, we can get Red over, and everything will unravel for her."

Miles' jaw dropped open, then closed and opened a few more times as if it were on a broken hinge. "Dina? What are you talking about, Myrtle? Dina hasn't killed anybody."

"On the contrary, she's killed two people. And I'm of the opinion that she's especially dangerous. No, we need to make sure that she's taken totally out of commission."

Miles still gaped. "What makes you think that Dina killed Tammy and Agnes?"

Myrtle smiled. It made her feel complacent to know something that no one else knew. "There were a couple of different things, really. But the main thing was those darned suitcases. The ones in the middle of Agnes' hall."