Wave Good-Bye (19 page)

Mom nodded. “Tell me about it. I’ve been racking my brain for a way to keep the doors open, and jiminy, I sure can’t. There’s so much to do to get the needed repairs made.” With that she started sneezing.

“Seems to me that the first repair is to your health. We need to get you and Althea out of here, and we need to keep everyone else away until you get the all clear on the mold.”

“That makes sense. Walter has asked me if I want to move in with him. I guess I’m being old-fashioned, because that seems a bit scandalous.”

“Get with the program, girlfriend,” said Althea. “Time’s a-wasting. Why should you care what people think? I’d tell you that you can bunk up with me, but I don’t have a bit of space.”

Mom sipped her drink. “Grace Ann has a little bitty apartment. She doesn’t have any extra room. I called Alice Rose. She said she’d make room for me, but you know how rowdy those boys are. I’m not sure I can put up with much of that.”

“How do you feel about moving into Walter’s? He has a big house. His Victorian’s almost a twin to this one.”

She frowned. “We discussed it last night. He offered me my own bedroom, since we haven’t set a date. That’s the only way it would work for me. I’d need to know I would have privacy…sometimes.”

“Either of you heard from Stella? I am worried about her.” Althea’s voice was soft.

Stella Michaelson’s Nail Nook was a popular feature at Violetta’s. At first, her husband, Darryl, thought of Stella’s income as “pin money,” in a dismissive way, but over the years, he’d come to value how that extra money allowed them
a lot of luxuries. A lot of men in the South are very traditional, with that “my wife’s job is caring for our home and me!” mindset. But a couple of years ago, when Stella was off work for a month after contracting a nasty case of bronchitis, Darryl had what we call a “come to Jesus” moment. After that, he made no secret of his appreciation for his wife’s contribution to the family income.

More recently, Darryl was laid off from the auto dealership where he worked in Brunswick. “You would think with the problems in the economy, folks would be hanging on to their old cars and needing a mechanic,” said Stella, but so far, Darryl had only been able to find odd jobs here and there. With the loss of his wages, and the normal expenses associated with parenting an eight-year-old, Stella’s contribution to the family finances had gone from frivolous to critical.

“I think I have a solution,” I said. “At least I hope so. If I go to work at Snippets, I’ll have hiring and firing privileges. That means I can hire all of you. I’ll also control scheduling.”

Althea’s mouth fell open, as did Mom’s. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “Hmm,” said Mom. “That’s a new wrinkle.”

“Hmm, indeed,” said Althea.

“Would that help?” I asked. “Because if it would, and if you think it would help Stella and Rachel, too, that’s reason enough for me to take the job. At least temporarily.”

Mom picked up the pair of tongs to pluck a mint spear out of the bottom of the pitcher. She chewed on it thoughtfully. “It would be like keeping Violetta’s intact, only with a different address.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“But what about moving to Washington, DC?” Mom asked me.

I shrugged.

Althea was more blunt. “Did Marty bail out on you last night?”

“No. Not if by bailing out you mean did he stand me up. He was here.”

“Wasn’t he planning to stay a couple of days?” Althea pressed the point.

“Yes,” I said, but I studied my shoes.

Althea leaned forward, resting her weight on her forearms. “And did you set him straight? None of this calling you, forgetting about you, showing up late, and then being all kissy-face?”

“Sort of. Not exactly.” My cheeks turned hot.

“What exactly does ‘not exactly’ mean to you?” Mom queried gently.

“It means we broke up.”

“So you aren’t going to DC?”

“No.”

“Then I think you ought to take the job at Snippets,” Mom said.

Chapter Thirty-one

I TOLD THEM ABOUT HANK AND HIS DIRTY TRICK, hijacking my fingerprints and entering them in the SEPD system. “I don’t know what I’ll have to do to have them expunged,” I said.

“That man! Wait until I see him next. I’ll give him a piece of my mind. I haven’t even turned on the radio or opened the newspaper this morning. If I’d seen the article, I would have been beside myself,” said Mom. “You know, this was the first morning in years that I’ve been able to sleep in, so I enjoyed myself.”

Althea raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I missed the article, too. Kwasi has convinced me to get the
New York Times
online. I read that every morning instead of our
local rag. I got tired of opening the paper and seeing how another one of my customers had died. Now I buy the Sunday edition and take it in all at once.”

I laughed, but only a little.

“That no-good snake,” said Mom. “Hank Parker is a worthless piece of trash. What does Agent Dillon say about all this?”

“I’ve been told by my own off-the-record sources that he doesn’t have much use for Hank. Especially after this stunt. Anyone could have leaked my police station visit to the press, but the most natural person would be Hank. That’s his style.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about, Grace Ann.” Mom patted my hand. “Not with Agent Dillon involved. He’s a good man. Not like some others we know.”

Her sly glance told me she was speaking of Wynn and what he’d done to me. She knew all about it, of course, because she’d helped Vonda unload me from her car. Mom had seen me struggle back to health after his betrayal and my bout with the flu. “You wouldn’t have gotten so sick if you hadn’t been sick at heart,” she’d told me as she pressed a cool washcloth to my forehead.

I wanted to spill everything I knew about the affair Wynn had with Lisa, and how Eve was pregnant, but I knew that would only upset my mother. Wynn was already a man she despised—and there was no reason to get her more angry. Mom took a very dim view of men who played around.

Then I remembered: She’d been through my father’s dying of pancreatic cancer. She knew what it was like to lose a spouse slowly and painfully.

“Well, I guess I’d better call Eve and tell her I think I’ll take the job.”

“When would you start?” Althea asked.

“Right away. The sooner I’m there, the sooner I can hire all of you.”

The proud woman said nothing, but the way her jaw relaxed spoke volumes. Althea, too, needed the income. With that in mind, I was more certain than ever that working for Snippets was a good idea. I told Mom and Althea good-bye, giving both of them hugs.

Once I got to the stop sign two blocks from Violetta’s, I called Eve. “That job? I think I’d like to try it.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m very, very pleased. Would seven be too early for you tomorrow?”

“Not at all.”

With an afternoon to kill, but a new job on the horizon, I decided to use my time sensibly. Almost on its own power, my car headed toward Magnolia House. If I was lucky, I’d get a little quality time with my BFF.

*    *    *

TEA AND SYMPATHY WAS ALL THAT I WANTED. VONDA had easily provided Item #1: a pitcher of sweet tea chilled to perfection and garnished with a lively sprig of mint.

As for Item #2 on my wish list, um, not so much. “You talked to that man from the GBI? Without an attorney? Even after you knew you were considered a person of interest? I better call Dooley right this instant and arrange an insanity hearing!” shrieked Vonda.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” I glared at her.

“Give me one good reason why, Grace Ann. One! That’s all I’m asking!” She jumped to her feet and glared at me. Her brown eyes fairly glowed with anger, as she trembled with fury. The pressure of my hand on her arm was all that kept her from grabbing the landline behind the front desk and calling our old high school friend.

“I’m warning you, Vonda Mary Agatha, do
not
call
Dooley. If I’d wanted him to know about this, I could’ve talked to him myself.”

“Someone needs to protect you from yourself! You’ve given that GBI agent a hundred good reasons to think you are Suspect Numero Uno. Do you have some deep-seated death wish? An overwhelming urge to style hair for inmates on death row?” Shaking off my hand, Vonda wobbled her way back down into her wicker chair. After scalding me with a horrified look, she started scrubbing her face with both hands. When her skin had turned a rosy pink, she sighed. “Bless your heart, Grace Ann. You do beat all.”

In Southern, “bless your heart” is code for “you are too stupid to live, so I hope God will watch after you, because you aren’t up to the job yourself.”

By the same token, “you do beat all” means (and I’m translating it loosely here, so as not to be too offensive) “there isn’t a dumber person on the planet. At least not that I know of.”

Maybe a Yankee would have laughed off my best friend’s concerns for my intelligence/safety/welfare, but I found myself paralyzed with anger. “Excuse me, Miss Cotton Bowl Princess Runner-up.”

“Runner-up? Dag nab it, you just had to throw that in my face, didn’t you? Well, let me tell you a thing or two, missy. You trust him? Goody. I feel a whole lot better, I sure do. Because you are such a fine, fine judge of character in men. I mean, just look at who you married.”

“That’s fat bacon coming from a girl whose own marital career is a wee bit checkered. Huh, when it comes to Ricky, you’re like a bad country song. You can’t decide whether to love him, leave him, or sign a long-term lease with him.” I glared at her.

Steam curled out the side of her nostrils. Woo-ee, was she mad. As I watched, she squinched her eyes into tiny black holes and then she sniffed at me. “Maybe I don’t give up as easy as you do. Maybe I’m trying to stick it out—to actually live my vows! After all, I do have a child!”

She might as well have picked up her fork and stuck it in my brain. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mama. It’s not something I share with most people. In fact, I bet Vonda and my mother are the only two people on earth who know that this has been my lifelong ambition. Given that Alice Rose has two adorable children, I don’t want to look like I’m munching a mouthful of sour grapes. So I’ve done a pretty fine job of keeping my baby-lust under wraps, if I do say so myself.

Vonda knew she’d crossed an imaginary line. Her head recoiled on her neck like a cottonmouth draws back before it strikes.

Normally, I would have apologized. I would have nodded and agreed because, after all, she was right. I should have never talked to GBI Agent John Dillon. My problem, if I cared to admit it, was that the man made me so hot and bothered that I couldn’t think straight when I was around him. A smart woman would have grunted her way through his questions and walked out that door smiling with satisfaction because she outwitted and outlasted him. But I’d abandoned all pretense of good sense by talking about Lisa Butterworth’s lying ways and telling him that, yes, I had visited the store the night she’d been killed.

With all this drama about Agent Dillon, I hadn’t had the chance to tell Vonda about Mom and the Historic Preservation Society or about the mold and my new job. Much less relate the big news that my mother was engaged. Nor was I likely to get to share those recent developments, because
Vonda was on a tear. When she was like this, and I’d seen it before, she was not a good listener.

“Pitiful, Grace Ann. Just purely pitiful. That’s what you are.” She kept talking, but I quit listening.

Luckily for both of us, a guest wandered into the parlor and asked Vonda for help. Seems his wife had a headache. Did she have any aspirin?

While Vonda went to their supply closet to dig up a foil pack of painkillers, I took advantage of the situation and slipped out. I knew her well enough to know her tantrum would blow over. There didn’t seem to be much point in sticking around until she calmed down.

Blinking my tired eyes in the hazy sunshine, I drove back to my apartment. Sam greeted me with a series of cheerful tweets. After spending a little quality time with him, I took a hot bath, pulled on my jammies, and spent the rest of the day watching old movies. Around eleven, I opened my laptop, sent a brief message to LaReesa and told her most of what had transpired. If she knew any inside scoop about Snippets, I invited her to share it, because as of tomorrow, I’d be knee-deep in alligators.

After that, I cracked open a beer, picked more pepperoni off the pizza Marty had ordered, deleted his recent voice message to me, which had shown up while I was in the tub, covered the bird, and went to bed.

I’d had enough drama for one day.

Chapter Thirty-two

THE ST. ELIZABETH BUSINESS DISTRICT IS SIXTEEN blocks long and four blocks wide. Eight blocks stretch east of city hall, and the other eight point west. The police department and Vonda’s bed and breakfast are on the east side near the water, while our salon is on the west. Snippets is three blocks farther from the downtown than Violetta’s, and my apartment is in between the two salons.

I’ll say this about living in a small town. You can’t beat the commute!