Dixieland Dead Read online

  “Are you okay?” I paused to check on her. A recent graduate of beauty school, Carla had been having a hard time working in a professional setting. After several minor incidents, I stepped in to guide her with skin care decisions for her growing clientele. With time and experience, I believe she’ll make an excellent skin care specialist.

  She avoided my gaze. “Yes, no need to worry.” Her voice was weepy.

  That struck me as odd, and I made a mental note to speak with her later. Retrieving the box of donuts from my car, I handed them over to Officer Clark.

  He tipped his hat. “The boys in blue thank you.”

  I watched him drive off and walked back inside for the staff meeting, glad I’d given the donuts away. Given the chance, I’d have consumed half the box by the time the meeting wrapped up. I nibble when I’m anxious, and the break-in had ramped up my stress level several notches.

  Ten minutes later, after offering the information I had, the meeting broke up. Deena stopped me in the hallway outside the facial room. “I photographed the back door and the broken register for the insurance claim. Roddy’s sending a crew over to fix the damage right away. He told Billie Jo they’d inspect the front door lock also.”

  Roddy Hazard, Billie Jo’s husband, was a general contractor and the go-to guy for all the salon’s maintenance issues, and we depended heavily on him to keep the salon in tiptop shape. He’d also been great about coming over to the house for repairs since my divorce a couple of years back.

  “Good. That’s one less thing to worry about…” My words trailed off as Cherry Hill Burns, one of my clients, waved at me from the reception area. “There’s my first appointment now.”

  Grabbing my apron from the dispensary, I greeted Cherry, who waited for me in my stylist chair. She immediately zeroed in on my new four-inch red heels. “Very nice. Mind telling me where you got them?”

  I preened under the compliment and gave her the name of the shoe boutique on Second Street. After a quick shampoo, during which she chatted about all the latest gossip, I sectioned and cut her coarse brown hair.

  “I swear I’m telling you the truth,” she said. “Lila saw her husband sneaking into the neighbor’s yard in the middle of the night.”

  “What was he doing?” I asked, our eyes meeting in the mirror as I distributed a generous amount of mousse through her hair.

  “What do you think? Lila told me she waited until he snuck back over there a couple of nights later, and then she nailed the front and back gate shut. When he scaled the fence to get back home, she was waiting for him. He caught his britches on the pointed fence post and split ’em clean down to his birthday suit.”

  “Ouch. That’s one splintered relationship.”

  We both burst into laughter. The pastor’s wife looked disapprovingly our way, and it took a minute to regain my decorum and resume rolling Cherry’s hair. “Any weekend plans?” I asked, hoping a change of subject would help dispel the picture of Lila’s husband explaining to his doctor how he loaded his backside with painful splinters.

  “No, Robert’s in Biloxi on business this weekend.”

  “I’d like to drive down there and try my hand at roulette. Has Robert ever taken you?”

  “No, but he promised to one day.” Cherry stiffened. “Here comes trouble.”

  The front door swung open, jingling the bells above it, and the subject of her remark sauntered to the reception desk and arranged herself over its curving granite surface like a bobcat on a low hanging branch.

  Crap. Scarlett Cantrell, darling of Whiskey Creek society. Scarlett’s Top Spot—a TV show—had made her a local celebrity. She was the former Miss Pecan Festival Queen, Miss Whiskey Creek and Miss Georgia, president of the Cherokee Rose Club, a member of Daughters of the Confederacy, and active in the Journalist Network. She was an adjunct faculty member of Whiskey Creek Community College, and most recently appointed to the Mayor’s Advisory Committee. Scarlett had the four B’s of success—brains, beauty, bucks, and boobs.

  “I don’t know why you put up with her after she broke up Deena’s marriage,” Cherry said. “One day she’s going to get what’s coming to her.”

  I make it a habit to stay out of these kinds of matters as I need Scarlett’s continued patronage at the salon, but I can see why Cherry felt threatened. Her husband, Robert, was CEO of WXYB Channel Ten television station, and Scarlett’s employer. Affairs happened all the time in that intimate setting. My own husband had fallen victim to it.

  Before I could respond, a commotion at the desk grabbed my attention. “Calm down, Scarlett,” Deena said in an aggravated voice. “Holly made a slight error. Anthony will work you in sometime today.”

  The sound of Scarlett’s high heel shoe stomping the floor was the first sign of trouble. “Deena, dah-lin can’t you ever do anything right?” Scarlett screeched. “Like hire a competent receptionist? Anthony will not squeeze me in. I’m not worked in anywhere in this town.”

  “How would you like me to work your important butt out the door?” Deena’s voice ground out. “I’m sure I’m capable of doing that.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me.”

  Here we go. I excused myself and hurried over to divert a disaster. Holly cowered behind the desk, intimidated by Scarlett’s overpowering presence, and Deena wore the look of a constipated feline.

  “Carla will be with you soon,” I interrupted. “And Anthony is always at your disposal. We’re very sorry for the misunderstanding. Right, Deena?” I gave her a nudge with my heel.

  “Right,” Deena said through clenched teeth.

  Upon hearing his name mentioned, Anthony Vogel' swung his head in our direction. He frowned then scurried over. “I can’t squeeze you in,” he lamented, checking his morning appointments. “I’m booked until three. I can do you then.”

  Perfectly sculptured nails tapped on the counter. “Is that so, dear boy? Perhaps I should reconsider our last conversation.”

  He frowned but made the change in his book. “I’m sure Mrs. Walters won’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

  “Good boy. Don’t let it happen again.” Scarlett brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her white, silk designer suit before taking a seat in the reception area. “I would like my tea now, Jolene.” She picked up a magazine. “Make it hot and sweet.”

  I looked around for Holly, but she’d disappeared. Showing no outward impatience, I made my way to the kitchen, popped a cup of water into the microwave, and found Scarlett’s personal tea canister filled with her own special blend of imported tea. “If I had another set of hands, they’d be around Scarlett’s scrawny neck.”

  The door banged open. I looked over my shoulder at Deena standing in the doorway.

  “If she calls me dah-lin one more time, I’m gonna barf in her Hermes handbag. I hate it when she acts as if she’s some kind of modern day version of Scarlett O’Hara.”

  The microwave dinged, and I removed the steaming cup. “Well, you gotta admit that she looks a lot like her, so it’s only natural that she’d try to act like her. Take my advice and grin and bear it. We can’t afford to offend her. Besides, think of all the free advertising we receive from her show.”

  “And the manner in which she spoke to Anthony. You’d think he was a puppet on a chain, but I could tell she pissed him off. Poor guy.”

  “Her bark is worse than her bite, but that was an odd exchange.”

  “She delights in rubbing me the wrong way,” Deena continued, “and I’m tired of bowing down to her. Sometimes I wish I’d killed her when I caught her in bed with Calvin.”

  “Holy cow, Deena. Don’t let anyone hear you say that! You know how folks around here can distort the truth to suit their needs. God, don’t go digging up old bones.”

  The ringing phone interrupted us, and she ducked out of the kitchen. Muttering to myself about the stupidity of loose tongues, I dropped the tea bag into the cup, added three lumps of sugar, and rushed back to the reception area.
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  I handed Scarlett the cup and saucer. “Hot and sweet, as ordered.”

  “Is it my special blend?” She set down the magazine and sipped the tea. Her face wrinkled up like a prune. “I can’t drink this witch’s brew. Did you add sugar?”

  “Three lumps.”

  “It’s still bitter.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Deena, bring the sugar. Scarlett wants more lumps.”

  “Gladly. I’m just the person to deliver them,” came the reply from behind the front desk.

  “I have better things to do than to watch you cater to this woman’s silly whims,” a voice said from behind me.

  Scarlett flashed a mercurial smile. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Robert Burns. And where is your fine husband this fine day?”

  I turned to see Cherry gazing with undisguised contempt at Scarlett. Her usual unflappable demeanor was notably absent, which surprised me. Cherry was known for her impeccable manners. Rarely did she lose her composure.

  “My husband is out of town,” she replied. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

  “Hmm.” Victory radiated from Scarlett’s blue-green eyes. “That’s strange. I saw him just this morning having breakfast at Merry Acres Inn. And, he wasn’t alone.”

  “Drop dead.” Cherry turned and stomped back to my chair.

  I heaved another weary sigh. On top of everything else, I now would have an angry client to deal with when I was finally able to return to my station. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Mayor Henry Payne and his wife, Linda, walk through the front door, but before I could greet them, Scarlett sailed past me in a perfumed cloud.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you, Mayor,” she said. “It’s urgent that I speak with you about a most pressing issue. This can’t wait.”

  “Hello, Miss Cantrell,” Linda greeted her.

  Scarlett ignored the mayor’s wife, and I fought the inclination to deliver a good hard kick to her skinny shin for her rudeness. How wonderful it would feel to release some of the stress that’d been building up since this morning’s break-in.

  The mayor tightened his hold on his wife’s arm. “My secretary informed me you’d phoned. I’ve instructed him to clear a place on my schedule later today. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Billie Jo is waiting for me, and Mandy is ready for my wife.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting, dah-lin’,” Scarlett cooed. One hand reached up to touch the diamond brooch pinned to her blouse. “Oh, and my condolences on your miscarriage, Mrs. Payne. Unfortunately, motherhood isn’t for everyone.”

  Linda staggered against her husband as if physically struck by an unseen hand. Dead silence fell over the reception area at Scarlett’s vicious reminder of the couple’s recent loss. Pain and fury splashed across the mayor’s face. I didn’t blame him for his anger. Scarlett was the kind of woman who burrowed under your skin like a parasite, leaving you itching with extreme frustration and half-crazed with the desire to murder her.

  Chapter Two

  A Special Mask for a Special Lady

  The next thirty minutes passed without further incident. Relieved that the worst was over, I began removing rollers from my next client’s silvery hair. Mrs. Eisenberg seemed determined to continue the discussion about Linda’s recent miscarriage.

  “My heart bleeds for the mayor and his wife.” She sighed. “She’s frantic to have a child, you know. And such a gentle creature and loved by the whole town, she is. Did you know that she’s had three miscarriages? I heard the mayor is making her go to grief counseling. Good thing too. Her mother struggled with depression for years, bless her heart, and Linda has spent some time at Magnolia Manor. You know that private mental institution in Macon—very fancy, I’ve heard.”

  “Which is understandable under the circumstances,” I said. “My sisters and I had counseling after Daddy died. Our world collapsed, which sent us into a tailspin.” The emotional repercussions of that day left a trail of bad decisions through my life that I was still working to overcome.

  Mrs. Eisenberg clucked her tongue. “Your mama was a brave soul after losing Harland Tucker. I remember a small, closed-casket ceremony. Not much in the paper about what happened. Of course, back then, the Gazette only came out once a week. And at that same time, there was an explosion over at the fertilizer plant. The town was in an uproar. Your father’s accident took backstage to the disaster.”

  “I have so many questions that Mama won’t answer.” Could Mrs. Eisenberg shed any light on the subject?

  Mrs. Eisenberg patted my hand. “That was a long time ago, Jolene. Best to look forward not back.”

  The strange incident at the cemetery flashed through my mind. The words—Jolene, honey, open your eyes—had come right after I wished I could hear Daddy’s voice. Could it be that my subconscious mind was pointing me to the mystery of Daddy’s death in the guise of Granny Tucker’s voice? Why now after so many years?

  Lost in thought, I had just removed the last roller from Mrs. Eisenberg’s hair when Carla drew close and whispered in my ear.

  “What do you mean the mask is stuck?” I asked, doubting what I’d heard. “Did you use plenty of water? Get back in there before Scarlett starts screaming her bloody head off. She’s caused enough trouble for one day.”

  “You don’t understand, Miz Claiborne. The mask is supposed to easily lift from the skin after it cools.”

  “Then get in there and fan it off,” I said, my eyes glued on Carla’s anxious face. She was frozen to the spot. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Eisenberg? There’s a minor problem I must see about.”

  “Take your time, honey. I’m in no rush. Mr. Eisenberg is on the golf course for the day.”

  I stepped away from the stylist chair, concerned at the thought of a mask stuck to Scarlett’s face. “Is this a late April Fools’ Day joke?”

  “I’m not joking,” Carla whispered. “This is serious. Please tell me what to do.”

  My grin faded. “How long has she had the mask on?”

  “I think about twenty minutes.”

  “And you’re just now coming to me?”

  God, could this day get any worse? Fear for Scarlett’s well-being set in. Not to mention the salon’s reputation that my sisters and I had spent years building. Not wasting a second, I bolted around the corner to the facial room and eased open the door to the soothing melody of spa music and the soft, ocean breeze scent permeating the shadowed room. Scarlett lay face up on a massage table. “It’s me, Jolene. Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Scarlett, but may I speak with you?”

  No response.

  “Scarlett? Are you okay?” I slipped into the room. Carla, on my heels, shut the door, and flipped on the overhead lights. My stomach somersaulted as I focused on the thick, pasty white mask covering most of Scarlett’s face and neck. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were partially open.

  Drawing near, I gave her a gentle shake. No response. My gut clenched. Oh, crap. I pressed my fingernails into the mask and felt its rubbery surface give under the pressure. Then I checked her wrist and found a weak pulse.

  Relief flooded through me. Thank God she was still alive. I inhaled a calming breath to keep the panic at bay.

  “Carla, tell Deena to call 9-1-1.” A strangled cry sounded behind me. “And do it quietly. Try not to alarm the other clients.”

  A jumble of voices resonated from the salon as Carla slipped out of the room. Alone, I directed my attention toward the mask, my fingers probing for the softest spot in order to pry it from Scarlett’s face. No luck. Had Carla thought to try steam or ice-water?

  A mumbled sound issued from the bed, boosting my confidence, and I sprang into action. Grabbing a towel lying by the sink, I turned on the hot water, soaked the towel in its steamy spray, and squeezed the excess water out before wrapping it around her face, all except for the nose and mouth. Scarlett moved beneath my hands.

  “Be still. I’m going to try hot towels to soften the mask.”

  After a few seconds, I remo
ved the towel and shoved it back under the hot water. Patches of reddened skin peeped through the dissolving paste, so I knew I was making headway. My hands were on fire from the hot water, but I ignored the pain as I once again wrapped the towel around her face.

  “Someone…trying to kill…me,” Scarlett said in an agonized whisper.

  “No, it was an accident, I swear.”

  “Find…jade…elephant. Explains everything.”

  Scarlett’s jagged, choking words ended with a long, shuddering breath reminiscent of air seeping through a punctured balloon. Taking a deep breath, I moved away, nervously wringing my hands. Panic threatened to overcome my calm. Black spots danced before my eyes as I continued to hold my breath.

  The door opened, and Deena burst into the room. “What’s going on? Carla said there’s a medical emergency with Scarlett. I brought my camera and notebook to document for the insurance company what’s happened.”

  I gulped down a breath of air. My vision cleared. “Ever see a dead body, Deena? Well, you’re gonna if help doesn’t get here fast. We’re gonna lose our panties on this one, mark my words. Scarlett would like nothing better than to skin us down to our skivvies.”

  Deena paled as she stood over Scarlett. “What’s on her face?”

  “A special mask Carla whipped up. I’m using hot towels to loosen and break it apart.”

  “Did she use the wrong products?”

  “She must have,” I cried, holding my temples. “Haven’t you noticed how strange she’s been acting the past several weeks? Quiet and withdrawn. And this morning her eyes were watery and blood-shot, like she’d been crying. And what about all those phone calls she’s been getting? We should have paid better attention to her. This isn’t the first mistake she’s made. We’re in serious trouble with this one.”

  “Then we’d better gather as much information as we can before the authorities get here.” Deena bent over the bed, snapping pictures, zeroing in on the smallest of details.

  “I don’t believe the insurance company will need pictures of Scarlett’s clothes,” I said as she moved over to the wall where white linen slacks and blouse hung on pegs.