Three doors from the end, the two of them turned in to the Cut ’n’ Curl hair salon. I pretended to check out the shampoo display in the window while Lucille announced their arrival to the girl up front. They had appointments with someone named Becky, and it looked as if Lucille was heading in first. Maybe this would be my chance to get closer to the girl. The sign in front said No Appointment Necessary. I decided to take them at their word.
Lucille was already in the chair, her ample figure clad in a black barber’s drape. Suzannah was sitting in the corner, toes turned inward, perusing the pages of True Romance. I walked up to the front desk, and a girl with yellow fingernails asked me what I’d like.
“A shampoo and blow dry;” I said, trying not to look around.
The girl ran a clawed finger down the list of names in the appointment book and checked her watch.
“Francine can take you in about five minutes.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” I said and took a seat opposite a dreamy-eyed Suzannah.
I picked up a magazine and flipped through it quickly before tossing it back onto the table. Suzannah turned another page. I sighed and dug through the pile.
“Hard to find anything in here that isn’t out of date,” I said.
Suzannah looked up at me and said nothing.
“Have you got anything good?” I asked, hoping for at least a murmured response.
She shook her head.
I pointed at the cover. “Well, you see? That issue’s from last year. Can you believe it?”
The girl glanced idly at the cover and shrugged.
“I hope this Francine what’s-her-name is good. Who are you seeing today?”
The girl hesitated a moment, then opened the magazine and resumed her reading.
“Miss Cartwright? I’m ready for you now.”
A whitehaired girl I assumed was Francine was hovering a few feet away. I sighed. Wouldn’t you know? The one time I’d get fast service. I followed her back to the shampoo bowl and set my purse on the floor.
“I’d recommend a conditioner,” Francine said, digging her fingers through my hair. “Do you want one? It’s fifty cents extra.”
“Sure,” I said. “Conditioner’s fine.”
She pulled out a copy of the same black cape that Lucille was modeling and draped it around my shoulders. I leaned back in the chair and rested my neck on the sink.
“I’m trying to remember if I was that rude when I was a teenager,” I sighed.
Francine looked over at Suzannah and then back at me.
“Why? What happened?”
“I was just trying to make conversation, and she completely ignored me; didn’t say a word.”
Francine leaned over. “I don’t know about the rude part,” she said confidentially, “but the reason she didn’t speak to you is ’cause she can’t.”
“Can’t?” I tried to look appropriately shocked. “Oh dear. I didn’t know she was deaf.”
The stylist shook her head and glanced in Lucille’s direction. The woman was blabbing a mile a minute, oblivious to anything the two of us had to say.
“She’s not. She and her mom were in an accident a couple of months ago. Some rich guy smashed into their car. Ever since then, she hasn’t been able to say a word.”
“Poor thing,” I said. “I hope she’ll be all right.”
“Left her mom with a bad back, too,” Francine continued, turning on the water. “Rich people think they can get away with anything.”
I nodded and closed my eyes as the tepid water hit my scalp. So Lucille and Suzannah knew what Gordon Lively was made of...
Suzannah still hadn’t uttered a word when Francine and I parted ways. My hair looked like it had been styled with a rake. Lucille was sitting up front, absorbed in the same True Romance that I’d last seen in her daughter’s possession, and I’d run out of excuses to hang around. I headed back out to the bench in front of Musicworld.
The mall was dead, and I’d been up since five fifteen; the urge to sleep was overwhelming. I didn’t figure I’d get much action out of the Wilsons for at least another fifteen minutes. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Ah, blessed relief.
“Cath?”
My head jerked involuntarily.
He was smiling, whoever he was, and his soft brown eyes were dancing mischievously. Catching me napping seemed to have given him a real thrill. And I think my life is dull.
As if saying my name once was not enough, he repeated it.
“Cath Westerhouse?” Westerhouse is my maiden name. He grinned and pointed to his chest. “Carl Reubens. Mission Beach High School. Remember?”
I opened my eyes wide and stared at the person in front of me. Carl? It couldn’t be. Carl Reubens was the goofiest kid in my high school class — Most Likely to Slip on a Banana Peel, or something like that — and for a short while, one of my closest friends. But that had been twenty-five years and a thousand miles ago. I stared at his long face; the heavy black eyebrows; the matching mustache...
“You’re Carlos Rubio!” I gasped.
He made a face and shrugged. “It’s just a stage name. My friends still call me Carl.”
Good grief! Here I’d been listening to this guy’s show every day for a month, and I’d had no idea who he was. I patted the bench next to me.
“Have a seat, Carl. My God, how did you recognize me?”
He grinned. “You haven’t changed that much. Besides, I remembered what you look like when you’re sleeping.”
“Oh.”
“So,” he said, looking almost as awkward as I felt. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“What? You want a quick synopsis of the last twenty years?”
He laughed. “Still as funny as ever, I see.”
“How about you? What brought you up here?”
“The job, mostly.”
The way he said it, I got the feeling there was a lot to that “mostly,” but I figured I’d let it slide.
“So you’re a DJ.”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “How about you? What do you do with your time? When you’re not sleeping in shopping malls, that is.”
“I’m a private investigator.”
“No!”
“ ’Fraid so. In fact,” I added, “I’m here on a job.”
Carl crossed his arms and leaned back, obviously pleased. “I can’t believe it. You. A private eye.”
“Believe it.” I glanced back at the Cut ’n’ Curl. No one was coming, but I didn’t want to be stuck here when Lucille and Suzannah made their exit.
As if sensing my restlessness, Carl stood up and pulled out his wallet. “Listen, here’s my number. Give me a call; maybe we can get together for lunch or something.”
I looked at the card. “Sure, Carl. I’d like that.”
As he walked away, I had a sudden memory of his lips touching mine; long before he’d grown that hideous mustache, of course. What if I called and it turned out he was seeing someone? What if I called and he wasn’t? I needed another complication in my personal life like I needed a hole in my head. Maybe I’d just lose his number and never have to make the call. I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the task at hand.
When they’d finished at the hair salon, Lucille and Suzannah headed back to the car and drove to the Food King, three blocks away. I got myself a cart and threw things in at odd intervals while I followed the two women down the aisles. Quickly and quietly they collected cigarettes, milk, doughnuts, luncheon meat, Wonder bread, ice cream, and beer. I frowned. That was odd. Lucille never hesitated to talk to anyone else, but when it was just the two of them, she didn’t say a word. And that made me suspicious.