“I’ll remember that.” I put up a knuckle to rub my temple. “What was happening with the police, D’Vora?”
“No idea. They wouldn’t let me past to see. They just made me detour with all the other traffic. Since I was going that way anyway, I stopped at the drive-thru for some coffee. Linda-Ann asked me about those coveralls you found at Himmarshee Park, Mace.”
My antenna went up. “What’d she say?”
“That she remembered Ronnie always wearing coveralls for work at the feed store. She bought a pair just like them from the store for Trevor. She says he thinks they’re ironic, whatever that means.”
My eyes met my sisters’ in the mirror. “ ‘Ironic’ isn’t the word I’d choose. More like suspicious. Can we take a break so I can make a quick phone call, Betty?”
She glared at me in the mirror. “Would you ask your surgeon to put down his scalpel in the middle of an operation? I’m working here!”
Maddie shook her head at me. “Even if you did call Carlos, he won’t tell you anything.”
Marty nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “What’s that line he uses? ‘This is an active investigation.’ ”
“Don’t worry, honey.” Mama patted my hand. “Somebody will come into the shop and tell us all about it before long.”
As Betty worked on my hair, questions flew through my mind: Had the police found Tony, barreling north for the airport in his rented Lexus? Had those coveralls linked Trevor to Ronnie’s murder? Or, had Rabe managed to collect some damning evidence to point the cops to his sleazeball stepfather?
Whatever had happened, I hoped no one else had been hurt. And I hoped none of it spilled over to Mama’s Special Day.
Her voice interrupted my thoughts. Something about those awful dresses.
“Beg your pardon, Mama?”
“I said I stopped by Fran’s and got your beautiful gowns. The back of my car looks like a sherbet-colored rainbow.”
“I’ll bet it does,” Maddie said.
Mama went on, “Betty’s offered to do any touch-ups we might need before we pose for pictures, so we’ll go ahead and dress for the wedding here.”
It was either the hair salon, or the VFW bathrooms, so Mama’s plan made sense to me.
“I’m as busy today as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest,” Betty said. “Rosalee, you won’t believe who’s coming in to get her hair done for your wedding.”
Mama lit an aromatherapy candle, releasing a lemon grass scent to war with all the other fruit and flower smells in the shop. “C’ndee?”
Betty pulled, spritzed, and rolled “No.”
“Dab Holt? I still can’t get over how she threw herself at that stripper.”
“Could we call him an entertainer, Rosalee?” D’Vora asked. “I didn’t mention anything about a half-naked cowboy to my mama.”
Betty said, “Don’t tell me you invited Dab!”
“Absolutely not! But that wouldn’t stop her from showing up. She’s got more nerve than a planeload of New Yorkers. Is it Charlene from Gladys’ Diner getting her hair done?”
Betty shook her head, the purple comb in her mouth indicating no.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Betty,” Maddie finally interrupted. “Just tell us who has the hair appointment.”
“Alice Hodges.”
We all fell quiet. Marty broke the silence. “Poor thing.”
“I thought Alice decided not to come to your wedding,” I said.
“Me, too. But I’m glad she changed her mind.” Mama tapped her chin the way she does when she’s thinking. “Betty, I want to pay for Alice’s hair today. Give her the works.”
“Great idea, Mama. We’ll all chip in, and get her face done, too.” Maddie raised her eyebrows in the mirror at D’Vora. “Do you have time to do her make-up?”
“Sure. I’ll juggle to fit her in.”
“Good! It’s settled, then.” Mama started to clap her hands, but she frowned instead. “I just hope the wedding doesn’t make Alice dwell on all she’s lost. My happiness shouldn’t make her sad.”
_____
“A purse and a parasol, Mama? Really?”
The over-the-top implication was clear, even in Marty’s mild tone. We regarded ourselves in the mirror: Maddie and I were the cotton-candy-pink and lime-green bookends to Marty’s orange-sherbet confection. At the last minute, Mama had asked Fran to stitch up some drawstring purses in fabric to match our dresses. They now dangled from each of our left wrists; the parasols swung from straps on our right. Together, the two accessories upped our ruffle quotient by at least thirty percent.
I was ready to make a smart remark, until I glanced over at Mama, standing off to the side. Her hands were clasped over her heart; her eyes shone with tears. I nudged my sisters to look.
“You girls are like a heavenly vision.” Mama sniffled. “You’re angels, that’s what you are. And I just know the Lord will be smiling down on us today.”
_____
Traffic flowed again on Main Street by the time I gathered up my hoop skirt and climbed into my Jeep. Sitting in the driver’s seat, swathed in fabric, I wondered whether suffocation by ruffles was a common cause of death.
I’d tried Carlos’ number a couple of times, and went straight to voicemail. For a change, not a single one of Betty’s clients was able to report anything on the police goings-on, either. If Tony was involved, Jane Smith had probably scared any officers prone to gossip by threatening to stick her motorcycle helmet where the sun never shines.
I stayed in second gear, cruising slowly past the police department. From the front, nothing looked out of the ordinary. But when I pulled into the lot and circled to the back, I saw a thick knot of uniformed and plainclothes cops. At least a dozen cruisers and unmarked sedans were parked haphazardly, as if their drivers had been in a hurry. Along with Himmarshee’s familiar blue-and-whites, there were a couple of marked cars from the county sheriff’s department, and three dark SUVs. I didn’t recognize the big vehicles, but they bellowed Police.
Something was definitely up.
Jane’s blond mane shone from the middle of the crowd. Carlos stood right beside her. Grins and high-fives were exchanged; laughter echoed out across the parking lot. As I got closer, I saw the silhouette of a suspect in the back seat of one of the sheriff’s cars. Even from a distance and in the shadow, I could tell the handsome profile was Tony Ciancio’s. Unbidden, a surge of sympathy washed over me.
I parked, and tried to extricate myself and my billowing skirt from the Jeep without showing off my ruffled pantaloons. By now, all eyes were on me, except for Tony’s. Head bowed, he stared at the floor in the back of the cruiser. I could only imagine what was running through his mind. Whatever it was, it was far more serious than the picture I must have made, mincing across the parking lot in lime-hued ruffles from bonnet to matching high heels.
Somebody began to hum “Dixie.” Snickers rippled through the crowd. One of the sheriff’s deputies doffed his uniform hat and performed a courtly—if smirking—bow. “How ’do, Miz Scarlett?”
“Very funny.” I pointed my parasol at the sheriff’s car. “I see y’all caught your man.”
Himmarshee Police Officer Donnie Bailey, my former babysitting charge, stepped forward. “You wouldn’t believe it, Mace.” His words tumbled out. “One of the county deputies was pulled off along 441, clocking speeders, when the BOLO came over the radio about the Lexus …”
Jane’s eyes burned holes into Donnie. Maybe he smelled the singe coming off his uniform, because he clamped his mouth shut so fast he surely bit his tongue. I looked around at some of the other familiar faces in the crowd. Most of them stole nervous glances at a glowering Jane. Lips were zipped; chins aimed to the ground.
The fact that testosterone apparently provided no vaccine against fear of Detective Smith made me feel a little better about my earlier reactions to her. She looked me up and down, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “Nice parasol. What would you call that color? Minty green?”