Delaney stopped in front of the fallen tree she’d climbed over earlier. When Duke and Dolores began to crawl beneath, she pulled on their leashes and took the long way around. Her wedgies teetered on rocks, and her toes were covered with dirt. As she trudged through a crop of buckbrush, she thought of bug bites and blood-sucking ticks. A shiver ran up her spine, and she pushed aside the thought of contracting Rocky Mountain spotted fever and replaced it with designing the perfect upscale salon in her head. She’d start out with five chairs, and stylists would lease space from her for a change. Since she didn’t like to give manicures and hated pedicures, she’d hire someone else to do it. She’d stick to what she loved: cutting hair, schmoozing, and serving her customers lattes. She’d start out charging her customers seventy-five dollars for a cut and blow-dry. A bargain for her services, and once she had a steady client base, she’d raise her prices on them gradually.
God bless America and a free market system where everyone had the right to charge whatever she wanted. That thought brought her full circle to Henry and his will. As much as she liked to dream about her own salon, she seriously doubted he’d left her money. Probably her gift was something he would know she didn’t want.
As Delaney carefully picked her way across Huckleberry Creek, the two dogs jumped in and splashed her with icy water. Henry had probably left her a gag gift. Something to torture her for a long time. Something like two unruly Weimaraners.
Downtown Truly boasted two grocery stores, three restaurants, four bars, and one recently installed traffic light. The Valley View Drive-In had been closed for five years due to lack of business, and one of only two beauty salons, Gloria’s: A Cut Above, had closed the month before due to Gloria’s unexpected demise. The three-hundred-pound woman had suffered a massive heart attack while giving Mrs. Hillard a shampoo and set. Poor Mrs. Hillard still had nightmares.
The old courthouse was located next to the police station and forestry service building. Three churches competed for souls, Mormon, Catholic, and born-again Christian. The new hospital had been built next to the combination elementary and middle school, but the most celebrated establishment in town, Mort’s Bar, was in the older section of Truly, on Main between Value Hardware and the Panda Restaurant.
Mort’s was more than a place to get tanked. It was an institution, famous for its cold Coors and array of antlers. Deer, elk, antelope, and moose decorated the wall above the bar, their magnificent racks adorned with bright panties. Bikinis. Briefs. Thongs. All colors, all signed and dated by the donor drunk. A few years back, the owner had nailed a jack-o-lope head next to the moose, but no respectable woman, drunk or sober, wanted her panties hanging from something as goofy-looking as a jack-o-lope. The head had been quickly moved to the back room to hang above the pinball machine.
Delaney had never been in Mort’s. She’d been too young ten years ago. Now as she sipped margaritas in a booth toward the back, she wondered at the attraction. Except for the wall above the bar, Mort’s was like a hundred other bars in a hundred other small towns. The lights were dim, the jukebox was constant, and the smell of tobacco and beer permeated everything. The dress was casual, and Delaney felt perfectly at home in a pair of jeans and a Mossimo T-shirt.
“Did you ever donate your undies?” she asked Lisa, who sat across the blue vinyl booth. Within minutes of meeting her old friend, the two had fallen into easy conversation, as if they’d never been apart.
“Not that I recall,” she answered, her green eyes alight with humor. Lisa’s easy smile and laughter had been what had drawn the two together in the fourth grade. Lisa had been carefree, her brunette hair always in a scraggly ponytail. Delaney had been uptight, her blond hair perfectly curled. Lisa had been a free spirit. Delaney had been a spirit longing to be free. They’d loved the same music and movies, and they’d loved to argue like sisters for hours. The two had balanced each other out.
After Lisa had graduated from high school, she’d received her degree in interior design. She’d lived in Boise for eight years, employed at a design firm where she’d done all the work and received none of the credit. Two years ago she’d quit and moved back to Truly. Now, thanks to computers and modems, she operated a busy design business from her home.
Delaney’s gaze took in her friend’s pretty face and disheveled ponytail. Lisa was smart and attractive, but Delaney still had the better hair. If she were staying in town longer, she’d grab her friend and cut her hair to accent her eyes, then maybe brush a few light streaks around her face.
“Your mother tells me you’re a makeup artist down in Scottsdale. She said you have celebrity clients.”
Delaney wasn’t surprised by her mother’s embellishment and took a sip of her margarita. Gwen hated Delaney’s career, perhaps because it reminded her mother of their life before Henry-the life Delaney had never been allowed to talk about, when Gwen had styled hair for dancers on the Vegas strip. But Delaney was nothing like her mother. She loved working in a salon. It had taken years to finally discover her niche. She loved the tactile sensations, the smell of Paul Mitchell, and the gratification of a pleased client. And it didn’t hurt that she was extremely good. “I’m a hairstylist in a salon in Scottsdale, but I live in Phoenix,” she said and licked the salt from her top lip. “I love it, but my mother is embarrassed by what I do for a living. You’d think I was a hooker or something.” She shrugged. “I don’t do makeup because of the hours, but I did trim Ed McMahon’s hair once.”
“You’re a beautician?” Lisa laughed. “This is too good. Helen Markham has a salon over on Fireweed Lane.”
“You’re kidding? I saw Helen yesterday. Her hair looked like shit.”
“I didn’t say she was any good at it.”
“Well, I am,” Delaney said, having found something at last that she was a lot better at than her old rival.
A waitress approached and set two more margaritas on the table. “That gentleman over there,” the woman said, pointing toward the bar, “bought you two another round.”
Delaney glanced at the man she recognized as one of Henry’s friends. “Tell him thank you,” she said and watched as the waitress left. She hadn’t bought a drink since she’d stepped foot in Mort’s. Men she vaguely remembered from her youth kept a steady supply of booze coming to her table. She was on her third, and if she weren’t careful, she’d be drunk in no time.
“Remember when you caught Helen and Tommy doing it in the back of his mother’s Vista Cruiser?” Lisa asked, beginning to look a little glassy-eyed.
“Of course I remember. He’d told me he was going to the drive-in with some friends.” She drained one glass and reached for the third. “I decided to surprise him. And I did.”
Lisa laughed and downed her drink. “That was so funny.”
Delaney’s laughter joined her friend’s. “Not at the time though. Having Helen Schnupp, of all girls, steal my first boyfriend sucked.”
“Yeah, but she did you a favor. Tommy has turned into a real bum. He only works long enough to collect unemployment. He has two kids, and Helen supports them most of the time.”
“How does he look?” Delaney asked, cutting to the important stuff.
“Still good-lookin‘.”
“Damn.” She’d hoped for a report of a receding hairline at the very least. “Who was that friend of Tommy’s? Do you remember? He always wore that John Deere baseball cap, and you had a mad crush on him.”
A frown appeared between Lisa’s brows. “Jim Bushyhead.”