Wave Good-Bye (18 page)

I have to admit, she exuded perfection with that long blond hair and those huge Gucci sunglasses. But what price
was she paying? Wynn was cheating on her, that was a given. She was expecting, which should be a happy time in her life, but how could it be with an unfaithful husband at her side? And then, there was the business. Snippets had rolled a lot of money into this salon, and now a woman had died in their shop.

Her problems made my problems seem paltry by comparison.

All heads turned as we walked into the salon. The first thing I noticed was how busy they were. Two-thirds of the twelve chairs were full. All three of the manicure stations were busy, as were all three of the pedicure chairs. A happy hum of activity filled the air, except that smack-dab in the middle of the salon, between the waiting area and the services floor, was a huge empty space where the aquarium had been ripped out. That’s when it hit me: I didn’t know exactly how Lisa had died. No one was saying. But that glaring empty spot told me she might have been swimming with the fishes, because why else would you remove such a huge fixture? Especially one that formed the wall between your work area and waiting area? Sidling closer, I ran fingertips along the molding. When I raised them, I saw the unmistakable black grit of fingerprint dust. So I was right: This had to be the spot where Lisa had died! Or at least where something significant to the crime had occurred.

Eve took me from station to station, introducing me to people. Besides having a kind word for all her employees, she knew all their names and a bit about their backgrounds. She also knew every detail about the salon.

The décor was midcentury modern, in shades of pink, black, white, and gray. On the walls were huge posters of models with great hair, including one of Eve. The photographer had caught her at a good angle, and she looked
great. The fixtures were chrome and gleaming. Everything shouted top-of-the-line.

“The water is temperature-regulated, so there’s no chance of scalding. We have a huge water heater. A big sanitizer, new washer and dryer for our towels. Of course, our pedi chairs all have massaging systems built in.” We went for a quick tour of the back room, where she showed me the manager’s office and the back office where Carol Brockman worked.

A spacious, well-lit hall connected the non-public space to the salon floor. Large supply cabinets lined the hallway, each door opening to the widest selection of supplies I’d ever seen except for what we had at Vidal Sassoon. Shelves were packed with boxes in neat lines, and each spot was labeled.

On the opposite side was an employee lounge complete with lockers where stylists could leave their personal belongings. There was also a refrigerator, table, microwave, a small vending machine, and an espresso machine. The midcentury modern leather sofa and chairs looked surprisingly comfortable, and the cute table with its Formica top would make taking a lunch or dinner break enjoyable. A fresh bouquet of pink carnations in a low glass vase sat in the center of the table.

On the other side of the kitchen/employee area was the massage and treatment area. The white stone water feature created a soothing ambience, positioned as it was between massage and treatment rooms. Eve stepped aside to let me go first. I took my time wandering down the hall, enjoying the posters on the walls.

Each treatment room featured a knob that rotated to show “Occupied” or “Vacant.” Only one room was occupied. As I walked closer, with Eve behind me, that
particular door swung open and out stumbled Wynn, with his back to us.

Following him was a massage therapist, a cute redhead with freckles, wearing a white clinical jacket. She staggered along after him, grabbing at his hand and giggling. The two were so engrossed in their private world that neither of them noticed us at first.

Wynn’s hair was tousled, and his shirt buttoned wrong. I spotted a bulge under one arm, immediately recognizing it as a gun holster. That shocked me. I moved to block the way, so Eve didn’t see her husband.

“Oh!” Eve froze behind me.

Wynn and the redhead wrestled playfully, still unconscious of our presence. When she dove for his ribs, he wagged a finger at her. “Don’t you dare!”

“Stop it!” I said in a commanding voice.

Wynn’s posture changed from giddy to shocked as he slowly straightened and turned toward us. The girl with him stood completely still and blinked. She reminded me of a stunned mouse preparing to run away when you turn on the kitchen light.

Wynn stared at Eve. I turned to see that she was slumping against a wall. Pain came off her in waves. I could feel every muscle in her body shouting with misery.

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Finally, he said, “Eve, honey, we were just…”

But Eve slashed the air with her hands. “Stop. Spare me.”

Her husband turned ashen, then red. Then his eyes traveled to me. “Hey, Grace Ann. It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” I said.

And he looked ashamed.

It was abundantly clear to all of us what had been happening in the massage room.

“What’s your name?” I spoke to the masseuse.

“Paula. Paula Benson.”

“Paula, take the rest of the day off, please. Tell the front desk to call your clients and explain that you’ve suddenly become ill.”

“Who are you?” She pouted and shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Never mind who I am. Please do as I say. It’s best you leave. Right now.” My voice brooked no discussion, and the rigidity of my posture must have assured Paula that I was not a person to be trifled with, because she turned around and walked toward the receptionist.

“Thank you,” whispered Eve to me. “I couldn’t have handled it.”

“No problem.”

“I couldn’t get the words out.” Her mouth trembled. It must have taken tremendous self-control for her not to burst into tears.

“Like I said, no problem. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”

“No,” she said in a whisper. “I needed the help.”

“Aw, Eve. It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Wynn ambled over to where his wife was leaning against the wall. “Come here, hon.” With studied casualness, he pulled her close to him. Her eyes were cold as she stared up into his, but after a heartbeat, she collapsed into his arms.

“We were joking around, Eve. That’s all,” he whispered to her, and he raised his head to wink at me.

It turned my stomach.

“I hope you’ll consider my offer,” said Eve, straightening. “And let me know quickly, please?”

“I will. Thank you for lunch and the tour.” I started for the door.

“Hey, Grace Ann!” Wynn called to me. “Aren’t you even going to say hi?”

I stared at him. “No, actually I’m not. I’m going to do my best to forget I even saw you, Wynn.”

Eve’s laugh was short and harsh. “I knew you were a smart woman from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Smart, but not as patient as you. Call you tomorrow.”

Turning on my heel, I left them there. A part of me admired her keeping her cool. Another part thought she was being stupid. I’d forgotten how much Wynn Goodman had hurt me, but seeing the damage he did to Eve brought it all back. To my surprise, I could suddenly recall every slight, every humiliation.

As I started my Fiesta, I thought about Eve Sebastiani Goodman. I liked her. Liked her a lot.

As for her husband, he could go straight to hell.

Chapter Thirty

“MOM?” I LET MYSELF INTO HER HOUSE THROUGH the back door and onto her screened-in back porch.

“In here, honey.” She and Althea sat face-to-face at a small table with a gallon of sweet tea between them. Both of them sported red, runny noses. I figured they’d been crying on each other’s shoulder. “We’re reminiscing. Going over old times. Like the first time you ever did foils, remember?”

I blushed. “How could I forget? I was trying to wrap foil around Mrs. Culver’s bangs but my hand slipped. I stuck my finger right up her nose.”

We all laughed at that memory.

“Remember the time you were rinsing Renni Stephens’s hair? She was eight months pregnant, and you were trying to avoid her belly?” Althea asked me.

“I lost my grip on the hose. It whipped out of my hand like a snake gone wild, twisting and turning, and soaking her from head to toe.” I shook my head. “It’s a wonder she forgave me.”

“Your mama and I have been having a whale of a time, cussing and discussing,” said Althea with a broad grin.

I poured myself a big glass of the tea, took a big swig, and choked.

“Th-that’s not sweet tea! What is it?” I coughed.

“No, it’s called a Pimm’s Cup. They drink it in England. I’ve been watching
Downton Abbey
, reading English literary novels, and I came across a reference. Kwasi told me how to make it. When your mother called, I figured she had bad news, so I brought along the ingredients. Like it?”

“Wow. It’s good, but it’s strong.”

Mom snickered softly, before blowing her nose. “Especially if you were planning on sweet tea.”

“So, how are you both?”

“Unemployed, flat busted, and drunk,” said Althea. “What time is it? Five?”

“Not nearly.”

“Well, shoot. Then I think I’ll sit a spell longer and have another drink. Before you lecture me about drinking and driving, young lady, Kwasi promised to swing by and pick me up.”

“What did you decide to do about the salon?” I asked my mother. As usual, she wore a knit top in a soft pastel pattern, with matching solid pants. Totally out-of-date, but it had been her work uniform all my life.

“There’s nothing for me to decide. It’s out of my hands. I called the insurance adjuster, and he’s got bigger fish to fry. I’m definitely small fry, get it?” And she started giggling and Althea chimed in until they were wiping the tears from their eyes.

“How long have you two been drinking like this?” I wondered.

“About an hour. Or two. It’s our second pitcher.” Althea raised the big glass vessel and pointed to the slices of orange, apple, and lime mingling with a sprig of mint on the bottom. “Wh-when we finished the last pitcher, we ate all our fruit like good girls.”

That fruit must have been saturated with strong spirits.

“Have you two had any lunch?”

“Just this,” said Mom, slurring her words. It sounded suspiciously like “justice.” That stopped me in my tracks. Was it justice for Mom and Althea and Stella and Rachel and me to be out of jobs? I didn’t think so. Mom had paid insurance all these years. As far as I knew, this was her first claim. As for the mailing list, one could argue as Eve did that Lisa Butterworth “got hers.” But unless I took the job at Snippets, I wasn’t sure I could get our customers back or hold out against Snippets’ big advertising and promotion budget. Whatever else Eve Sebastiani Goodman was, she struck me as a sharp cookie. I fully believed she was a terrific businesswoman, although I had no proof. There was a certain brisk, self-confidence and determination about her that suggested she knew exactly how to run a going concern.

And Violetta’s was no longer a going concern.

“I’m going to fix you two some lunch.”

I found a wedge of cheese, carrots, a cucumber, and a hard-boiled egg in the back of Mom’s refrigerator. After slicing the cheese, cleaning and cutting up the carrots and cuke, I mixed up tuna salad for Mom and Althea. Between nibbling on carrot and cucumber sticks, they ate tuna sandwiches.

Once they were a bit more cogent, I sat down with them and started to lay out a plan. “Eve Sebastiani Goodman
contacted me today. She’s down here with her husband. Wynn Goodman.”

“I know who he is,” Mom said, stiffening. Forgive and forget did not apply when you hurt one of her girls.

“She offered me a job.”

Althea frowned slightly. “A job?”

“As manager.”

“Good for you,” said Mom, although since she had tuna in her mouth, it sounded more like “ood or oo.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. “Of Snippets.”

“Where?” asked Althea.

“The one down the street.”

The two old friends stared at each other. Althea’s strong jaw twitched. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or call you a dirty traitor.”

“I know, I know. I have mixed feelings, too.”

Mom threw up a hand, waved it wearily, and said, “My gut says, ‘No, not my baby working for my competition,’ but my head says, ‘Yes, my girl is big enough to run her own business.’ I’ve known that for years.”

“I’m not sure that I can. I mean, I’ve always relied on you, Mom. But if I can come to you for help, I could give it a try. They’re promising me a lot of money. Seems that since Lisa died there, none of their managers is keen to move to that salon. Who can blame them? But that doesn’t bother me. It would mean a steady income. Besides, a lot of their customers are our former customers.” And I told the two women about Eve’s deal with me, the one where she agreed to give me back our client list.

“Huh. She should surrender that right now.” Althea wrapped angry arms around her chest. Today she was dressed in a bright green tee shirt with a handmade vest. The ensemble matched her spunky personality.

“Yes, you’re right, and if I pushed the point, she just
might, but what good would that do us? We don’t have any place to service our customers, remember? So moving them here doesn’t do any of us any good.”