Wave Good-Bye (13 page)

Violetta’s was more than a job to me. It was a balm to my wounded soul, a haven for my spirit, and the perfect place of employment.

Now I’d gone and ruined it all by inviting Lisa Butterworth to “help” us with our social marketing.

Chapter Twenty

“SOUNDS LIKE WYNN GOODMAN IS THE SCUM OF THE earth,” said Agent Dillon.

I shrugged. “He certainly used me.”

“You seem to have bad luck with the men in your life. I think you deserve better.”

What did that mean? Was he volunteering for the job?

I couldn’t look him in the face, so I answered the rest of his questions while staring down at my feet. We went back over the timeline of my actions on the evening that Lisa died. That’s when I remembered, “I saw Wynn and Lisa arguing. In the parking lot.”

“Tell me more. Could you hear what they were saying? How close were they standing to each other?” Marsh asked in a soft but urgent voice.

A vise clamped my throat. I choked out the answers, but it was hard. Really hard. No matter what Wynn had done to me, I didn’t think he was capable of murder, and I told Marsh as much. The law man’s expression never changed, although I could read his mind. He was thinking that I wasn’t over Wynn.

But I was. Sort of.

I would always have a soft spot for the man, because he reminded me that I was a desirable woman. Beyond that, I couldn’t stand him.

“If you think of something or you need anything, call me. Any time of the day or night.” Marsh took out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “Do you need a ride back to the salon?”

“No,” I said. Realizing how terse it sounded, I added, “I need the fresh air. Thank you anyway.”

He held the door open for me. “Take care of yourself, Grace Ann. And watch out. There’s a killer out there. It might be a one-time strike, a personal vendetta, but once a person crosses that line they change. Give your mother my best, please.”

Standing ramrod straight, he nodded at me, his tan skin a handsome contrast to the pure white of his dress shirt.

Walking back from the SEPD, I tried not to think about Lisa. Instead, I turned my mind to other pressing matters, like losing my mother. If marrying Walter would make Mom happy, that was fine by me. But I hoped she would reconsider giving up on the shop. Maybe I could talk her into letting me run Violetta’s in her absence—if the historic register problem could be resolved, and I thought it could. I couldn’t imagine the historic register demanding that she undo what she’d done before the house was on the protected list.

If they demanded the house be returned to its original
floor plan, we could move the salon. Then I remembered the business plan I’d drawn up last year when I briefly considered moving away and starting my own salon. The cost of lease-hold improvements had stunned me then, so what might the costs be now? In the aftermath of Horatio, every builder and contractor in town asked for top dollar. Their services were in high demand. My own meager savings had dwindled as the hurricane caused us to shut our doors in the days before and after the emergency.

My pace slowed as I realized I might not have a choice in this matter. If Mom decided to walk away and marry Walter, I might need to find another job. If she stayed, I might have to go without a paycheck or take a reduction in pay until she could fix the family home or build out a new shop. A yellow leaf drifted down from the branch of an old maple and fell onto my shoulder. Others crunched under my feet.

“To everything, there is a season,” I sang. A time to grow, to reap, to rest. A time to scrub baseboards. A time to say thanks. After all, we’d been lucky that the hurricane had passed us by.

But now it felt like another storm was brewing.

Chapter Twenty-one

THE LAVENDER AND GREEN “VIOLETTA’S” SIGN WAS barely visible beyond an old hydrangea bush, but one glimpse of the colors sent a happy buzz through me. Taking the front steps two at a time, I bounded up them, only to be caught short when I reached our front door. The “Open” sign had been flipped to “Closed.”

Maybe Mom’s having a meeting. Maybe she’s talking to someone from the Historic Preservation Society. Or to Walter, and they’re finalizing details for their wedding
.

Using my key, I let myself in and called out, “Hello?”

Moving past the chintz love seat and chairs in the waiting area, the two styling stations and sink separated by a half wall, and past the Nail Nook, where Stella
Michaelson gave customers manicures and pedicures, I continued calling out. “Mom?”

“Back here!” Mom’s voice drifted toward me from the kitchen. I entered and found her watching a man, on his hands and knees, prying loose a section of wainscoting.

“Eddy, this is my oldest daughter, Grace Ann. Grace Ann, this is Eddy McAfee. He’s a contractor for the state. Remember? I told you we were having our mold inspection visit this afternoon.”

Eddy rolled over onto his back and waved at me. “Nice to meet you, miss.” He had a Mr. Magoo type of nose and tiny eyes behind glasses held together at the nosepiece with a wrapping of dingy adhesive tape. An elastic headband wrapped around the last tufts of his grizzled hair and pinned his ears to his skull. To this was attached a light, much like a miner might wear, but dangling by a few wires. The whole contraption—glasses and headband—struck me as unreliable, as though it might fall apart at any time.

“Excuse me, miss, but I’m not going to get up. I’ve got a situation here.” He pronounced every syllable of that long word, offered me a quick salute with one hand, then took a deep breath and scooted back under the sink.

Mom’s features were drawn and tired. I tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s up? You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

I couldn’t imagine that my interlude with Hank was causing her such distress. Mom, Alice Rose, Vonda, and I were in total agreement that my ex was some sort of dopy, overgrown kid who was playing at being a cop.

Mom gave me a little half smile and sighed. “I figured Hank was here to yank your chain. That nice Agent Dillon came by and told me not to worry about you.”

I tilted my head toward our man in khaki on the floor.
Raising an eyebrow, I conveyed my question to Mom. “What gives?” She shook her head and turned away.

Eddy wiggled out from under the cabinet. First the khakis, then a smudged white Polo shirt with “EDDY” embroidered over the chest pocket, and finally his head appeared. Snapping off his light, he rolled slowly to his feet, causing his official badge—Department of Public Health / State of Georgia—to bounce on his scrawny chest. He wore the grin of a small boy back from a successful treasure hunt. “Yes, ma’am! Yes, indeedie-do! Mrs. Terhune, you’ve got it, and you’ve got it bad.
Stachybotrys chartarum
. Your place is covered in black mold.”

“Wait a minute! I personally cleaned it all off the baseboards. What are you talking about?” I tried to sound reasonable, but even to me, my voice sounded an octave too high.

“You might have mopped up the mold on your baseboards, but I’ve been looking behind your fixtures and under your wainscoting. See, mold grows. And I bet you didn’t think to look up.” He pointed at the ceiling.

Mom and I followed the direction of his finger. She couldn’t contain her gasp and mine was equally plaintive. The ceiling tiles showed gray, wet stains as they bowed toward us.

“Full of water. I’m certain of it,” continued Eddy. “This old house wasn’t built as airtight as homes today. Under your siding, they used cellulose products as insulation. That’s a perfect breeding ground for black mold. Plus the fact your ground is soggy out back, because it’s still saturated with water. You should have run a dehumidifier in every room after the storm. That might have helped, but your windows aren’t properly sealed. Your AC system isn’t properly vented. The stagnant air is helping the mold grow.”

My head was spinning with all this. Suddenly I felt dizzy. Mom saw the expression on my face and pulled a kitchen chair up so I could sink back and sit down.

“Bet you’ve all had symptoms, haven’t you? Well, that’s over because I’m officially shutting you down!”

As Mom escorted the jubilant Eddy out the back door, I went to the Internet and pulled up
Stachybotrys chartarum
, or
Stachybotrys atra
, a greenish black mold, commonly known as black mold. Mold, mushrooms, lichen are all an accepted part of life on the sea coast. However, at least according to the many websites I consulted, this stuff was both toxic and deadly. It could cause difficulty breathing, headaches, coughing, nausea, memory loss, dizziness, asthma, bronchitis, and, more surprisingly, urinary tract infections.

“How long will we be closed?” were the first words out of my mouth when Mom came back after what seemed like an interminable wait.

“Eddy thinks it’ll take two weeks to get the insurance adjuster here. Another week for them to make a determination. A week for haggling, he says, because they never allow enough money for the needed repairs. Then if I can come up with the deductible, and if I can find a contractor who isn’t too busy to take on a small job and who’ll do it reasonably, it could take as long as two months. Or so he reckons.”

“That means we’re shut down for, what? Three months? At least?”

She pulled up a seat next to me and took my hands in hers. “Did I ever tell you that one of your daddy’s favorite songs was that Kenny Rogers’s tune called ‘The Gambler’? It says you’ve got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them. Well, this is a sign, Grace Ann. I’m not a quitter, but I know when I’m beat. I’m folding. I’m putting down my cards and walking away from the table.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“TALK WITH MARTY ABOUT WASHINGTON,” MOM SUGGESTED again as she walked me to my car and stood there at the driver’s side. Her hug left me with a lingering scent of Youth-Dew on my skin.

“What about Althea? Stella? Rachel? Does Alice Rose know about your engagement?”

“No one knows anything. Not yet. I need a night to get my wits about me. Then I’ll talk to them. One at a time,” she said as she watched me key the ignition. “Try to have a good time tomorrow night with your young man. You’ve got a whole day to get ready. That worked out pretty well, didn’t it? Time off to enjoy with Marty?”

I nodded.

“Don’t look so worried, Grace Ann. You always planned to work in a big city. Maybe this is God’s way of nudging you out the door.”

Actually, I could feel a big boot in my backside, but I wasn’t happy about it.

I rolled down my window so we could continue our conversation. “You just want to see me settled and having grandbabies.”

She nodded. “Yes, I do. What’s wrong with that?”

“Maybe that’s not right for me.” Although in my heart, I knew it was.

She crossed her arms and stared off into space, considering this. “You might be right. You see, that’s the only life I know. Even though your dad died young, I couldn’t have imagined any other life than being married and a mother.”

“But you own a business!”

“Out of necessity. Althea and I helped each other through our grief by keeping busy. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, there was a steady stream of customers. At first, we did everyone’s hair for free. It was therapy for us, don’t you know? At some point, we had to decide whether to continue to wash hair in my kitchen sink or make a go of it. By then, we both realized we needed an income. Neither of us had been left with much money. We hired out-of-work handymen who took cash for making the changes we needed. I’m not really surprised to hear the materials they used were subpar.”