Sinister Sprinkles Part 12

After a minute I joined them.

"Don't you have to wait on customers?" Grace asked.

"No, I spoke to Emma, and she's going to take care of the front for me. She hates working with the customers, but this is too important to wait until closing."

George nodded. "Okay, you've got us here. Now what?"

"This is going to be a lot more complex than what we've done in the past," I said. "We need to look into the lives of three people, and there are just three of us. Are you sure you're both willing to help me again? I'm afraid I've found my way into another jam."

Grace said, "Suzanne, you don't even have to ask. We're here for you, you know that."

George nodded his head in agreement. "Just tell us what you have in mind."

I looked carefully at him, and knew that he was overly sensitive to my meddling in active police investigations, since he was a retired cop himself. "Do you have a problem with any of this? Because if you do, we'll all understand if you want to bow out of this one."

George moved his mug around on the table in front of him for a few seconds before speaking. "Suzanne, I'm loyal to you, but I have to admit that sometimes I feel kind of cheap spying on the department for you. Is there any chance Chief Martin is going to call Jake? That could be your pipeline into the investigation instead of me."

Before I could warn her not to say anything, Grace blurted out, "She could, but Jake came by the house last night and broke up with her. Don't worry about it, George, we'll find someone else. You can go, if you're uncomfortable."

"Hang on a second," I said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd ease up on George. He's being pulled in a lot of different directions lately, and if he doesn't feel right about helping us, that's going to be perfectly fine, okay?"

"I'm just saying," Grace said, "you're either with us, or against us."

George scowled at her, then said, "I don't remember asking you one way or the other what you thought about me."

She shrugged. "Suzanne needs my help. I don't care what you think; I'm going to help her."

"So am I," George said as he slammed his hand down on the table. It was loud enough to attract attention all around the shop, but after everyone saw that the fireworks were over, they went back to their own conversations.

I said, "That's it. You two, follow me."

I didn't even look back to see if George and Grace were behind me as I walked into the kitchen. If they hadn't followed, I was going to look like a first-cla.s.s idiot, but to my relief, they did just as I'd asked.

"Okay, let's clear the air here and now."

Grace said, "I'm just watching your back."

I took her hands in mine, mainly so I wouldn't be tempted to strangle her. "Grace, George is my friend, too. Don't question his loyalty to me ever again. Am I making myself clear?"

She looked properly chastened. "Yes, ma'am."

When I didn't say another word, she got the message and dropped her hands from mine. As she faced George, I wasn't sure what kind of scene we were about to get, but to my delight, she said softly, "George, I'm sorry I acted like a brat. Someone broke into my house last night, and I think it's related to what's going on in town. When it sounded like you weren't willing to help, I took it personally, and I shouldn't have. Please forgive me."

That was one of the things I loved about Grace. When she laid it on the line, there was no doubt about her sincerity. It was probably one of the traits that made her such a great salesperson.

George nodded, then said gruffly, "Sorry about the break-in. It must have been tough, knowing that someone was in your place without your permission. It's kind of a violation, isn't it?"

Grace said, "That's exactly what it's like. How did you know?"

"I was a cop once, remember? You can't do the job without some empathy, no matter what some people believe."

"I believe it," Grace said.

"So what am I supposed to confess?" George asked me.

"Nothing that I know of. Why, do you have a guilty conscience?"

"Me? No, I sleep like a baby at night. I just figured you brought me back here for something."

I hesitated saying anything, but then realized that with friends, sometimes the easiest choice isn't always the best one. "I'm worried about you. Slamming your hand down on that table is not something I'd expect you to do. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, but there was a hitch in his voice, and I wasn't about to let it go at that.

"George, tell me," I said.

Grace said, "If you two will excuse me, my coffee's getting cold."

After she was gone, it was just the two of us. I decided to press him one more time. "George, you know you can talk to me about anything. We're friends."

"Yeah, that's the problem sometimes, isn't it?" he said as he started pacing around the small works.p.a.ce.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," I said, thoroughly confused by the odd declaration.

He stopped pacing, then stood and looked at me. "Do you think that fact has escaped the chief's attention? No matter what you might believe, deep down he's a good cop. He sees a lot more than you give him credit for."

I'd never considered that possibility. "What are you saying? Is our friendship hurting your connections with the police?"

"Suzanne, they aren't connections. They are my friends. And lately, I've been hearing some grumbling about where my loyalties really rest. You know what? I wonder sometimes myself. There's a brotherhood among law enforcement officers, and sometimes I play kind of fast and loose with it."

It was the longest speech I'd ever heard him give. I touched his shoulder lightly. "George, I'd never ask you to betray a friendship, you know that, don't you?"

He nodded, then pulled away from my touch. "I know that, but sometimes I think maybe they don't." He took a deep breath, then said, "You know what? If you need me, I'm here for you. I'll find out whatever I can."

"I don't want you to burn any bridges on my account," I said.

"I didn't say I would. But if I can help you without crossing any lines, I will."

I started to protest when he added, "Suzanne, you're not my mother, or my boss, or my shrink. You're my friend, and if I choose to help you, there's not much you can do about it. Now can I go back and eat my breakfast? I feel like a kid having to stay after school for something he didn't do."

"Go on. Eat your donuts," I said, laughing as I followed him back out front. George headed back for the table, but I stopped at Emma's position behind the cash register.

"Good, you're relieving me," she said.

"Not quite. We have a few more things to discuss. You can handle things here, can't you?"

She gave me an exaggerated thumbs-up signal, then said, "If customer service is going to be part of my job description, then I want a raise."

"As for me, I'd like a pony," I said, "but I've got a feeling neither one of us is going to get our wish."

The table was quiet as I approached, and they both looked expectantly at me. I took a deep breath, then said, "First things first. Are we all good right now?"

I got two nods of a.s.sent, which is what I'd been hoping for. We were a team.

"Okay, here are my thoughts. We need to look into Max's disappearance, as well as Muriel's sudden absence. While we're doing that, we need to dig into Darlene's life and see who might have reason to want her dead. We also need to look into Muriel's life, because whoever killed Darlene could have just as easily been going after her."

Grace asked, "Can you honestly think anyone could make that mistake? The two women were as different as night and day."

"You didn't see her lying on the ground," I said. "I didn't know until I saw that the wig Darlene had been wearing had slipped and some of her blonde hair poked out from underneath it. Remember, she was trying out for the lead in Max's play, so she was emulating Muriel pretty closely."

"Okay," George said. "Who gets what a.s.signment?"

"Here's what I had in mind. Grace, I need you to ask around as delicately as you can about Darlene's and Muriel's finances. See if either one of them owed anyone any money, if they had large life insurance policies, or big savings accounts waiting to be inherited. Any angle that could involve money as a motive would be helpful."

"I can't imagine Darlene Higgins leaving much of a financial legacy," she said.

"Honestly, I can't either, but we shouldn't guess. We need to know."

"I'll do my best," she said. Grace glanced at her watch, then she added, "Most of the people I need to talk with probably aren't even up yet. I'll have to wait a few hours before I make any calls."

George looked at me steadily for a few seconds, then asked, "So, what did you have in mind for me?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He nodded. "Tell me what you need."

I took a deep breath, then said, "You have the hardest job of all. I need you to find Max and Muriel."

"Martin's got his men working on it pretty hard," George said.

"I know that, but none of them have your experience and expertise."

"You don't have to flatter me, Suzanne, I already said I'd help." Though he was protesting the compliments, it was pretty clear he enjoyed them.

"I'm just telling the truth," I said.

"Sure, whatever," he said as he got up and headed for the door.

He stopped halfway there. "What do I owe you for breakfast?"

"It's on the house," I said.

He nodded, and then he walked out the door. George had no problem taking free donuts, something that always made me laugh, given his past job experience, and the reputation cops had for loving donuts.

That left me. I decided I needed to ask around town to find out any dish I could on Muriel and Darlene from the gossip mill, and there was only one place I could go for that, next door to Gabby Williams.

It was too bad her shop wasn't open yet.

Grace must have had the same thought as I had. "We have to talk to Gabby, don't we?"

"Yes, but that comes later. The first thing we need to do is get our hair done," I said.

"Suzanne, do you really think that's fair, since George is out looking for clues about what really happened?"

I grinned at her. "I didn't say where we were going, did I? I'm going to call and get us the next two appointments at Wilma Jackson's Cutnip."

"That's asking too much," she said as her hands went protectively toward her elegantly styled coif.

"Tell you what. I'll take a hit for the team, and you can just come along for the ride. How's that sound?"

"Better for me than it does for you," she said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Have you seen the women around town who all have the exact same hairstyle? They have one thing in common; they go to Cutnip to get their hair done."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" I asked, as my own hands went to my beloved ponytail.

"Maybe I'm just exaggerating," she said.

After a long pause, she added, "Then again, maybe I'm not."

My fingers trembled a little as I called Cutnip, and a part of me hoped they were booked solid through July.

Unfortunately, they'd just had a cancellation, and could take me in the next fifteen minutes.

When I told Emma I needed her to watch the front a little longer, she asked, "Where are you going? Why can't I run your errand for you?"

"I'm going to Cutnip to get my hair done so I can snoop around," I said as I lowered my voice.

"That's okay, you go on ahead. Take your time, I'll even close up at noon, if you want me to."

I shook my head, and I would have laughed if I wasn't so worried about what was going to happen to my hair, all in the name of the murder investigation. I'd have to keep telling myself it was something I had to do. Maybe that would keep me in the beautician's chair. Otherwise, Wilma was going to need a hefty set of straps to confine me as she tortured my hair.

I hesitated at the door of the salon as another woman came out. Her hair sported Wilma's signature teasing, a big hairdo that looked more at home in the sixties than it did now.

"You want to know something? I'm not so sure about this anymore," I said. "Is it really worth it?"

"Come on, don't be such a baby," Grace said as she started to give me a little nudge toward the door.

"If I'm being a baby, why don't you get your hair done instead of me?"

She laughed low enough so only I could hear it. "Suzanne, do I honestly look that crazy to you?"

Before I could come up with an answer that had just the right bite to it, it was too late; we were inside.

There were five chairs in Wilma's salon, and four of them were full, with one woman waiting. The place was certainly hopping. The one empty chair was covered with a black smock that had DARLENE embroidered in red on it.