Wave Good-Bye (28 page)

“Oh. So will you install the new aquarium?” Of course, I wasn’t interested in talking about the fish tank. Not at all. But Mama always says you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar, so I thought I’d better chat him up.

“No, that’s the responsibility of Fur, Fin, and Feather. They have a maintenance contract with Snippets. All the other salons have tanks, too. I build out around the tank, so I was there to take measurements my last visit. Since then I ordered the lumber and materials I’ll need. Should be here in two days.”

His body was stocky, and he crossed his arms over his big chest in a manner that implied he was accustomed to being the boss.

“Will your work interfere with ours?” I asked.

“Depends on what you mean by interfere. I’ll tape up plastic all around the area,” he said, pointing with his finger and drawing an imaginary rectangle above us. “We’ll
try to keep the dust and noise to a minimum, but there will definitely be plenty of both.”

“Too bad you didn’t do this the first go round. Would have saved a lot of hassle.”

Mr. Jasper coughed and glanced around nervously. “It wasn’t my fault. That woman pitched a fit and demanded that there be a clear line of sight between the chairs and the waiting area. Went on and on about how it was her salon.” And he sighed.

A customer got his order and both Mr. Jasper and I moved forward a few paces.

“Now she’s dead. For what? From what the cops told me, it happened because she was hit in the head and then fell in that darn tank. I warned her that could happen if there wasn’t a half wall coming down to meet the hood. I begged her. Told her it wasn’t safe and she wouldn’t listen.”

I nodded. “You know, it’s weird. I’ll always remember where I was the night that Lisa Butterworth died.”

“Yeah, me, too. I was with my family for the whole of the homecoming bonfire and game. My son, Troy, is on the Sabertooths football team. His blocking allowed our quarterback to make the winning touchdown! It should have been a happy memory for my wife and me and my boy, but now it’ll forever be overshadowed by Ms. Butterworth’s death.”

The young man behind the counter motioned Mr. Jasper forward.

“Have a nice day,” I told him after he received his coffee and started toward the door.

He gave me a curt nod. “See you soon.”

I pulled into a spot right as another driver climbed out of her car, a beaten-up green Volkswagen Passat. I figured she was Suzee Gaylord. “Hey there!” I said with a cheery wave. “I’m Grace Ann Terhune.”

“I know who you are.” Suzee frowned, then thought better of it, and quickly assumed a more benign expression. Even then, her eyes and her nose both tilted down slightly, giving her face a natural negativity. Her voice, certainly, did not sound welcoming, either.

I understood where she was coming from. Mom and I once found a dead body in a parking lot. For days afterward, we were both on edge. Added to the trauma of what she’d discovered, Suzee had another reason to be down in the dumps. She’d been working for Snippets for three years and expected a promotion. Every inch of the woman screamed “beauty industry professional.” Her hair had been highlighted perfectly, and the cut emphasized her best features, almond-shaped brown eyes. Her makeup had been carefully and expertly applied, but that downward cast could not be totally disguised.

Before Suzee and I could move away from our rides, another car pulled in. Somehow Carol must not have gotten word that she worked in a salon. Her hair was a disaster, a helmet of too tight curls, and she wore no makeup. Whereas Suzee wore dark pants, a silver blouse with a draping neckline, and a sharp silver and black belt, Carol’s clothes could have been donated to Goodwill and promptly rejected. Her sagging stretch pants bagged at the knees, and her top had a large pink stain in the center. As we say in the South, Carol looked like twenty miles of bad road.

“Good morning,” I said to her. “I brought scones and muffins from Jergens.”

“You’re kidding!” Carol’s smile lit up her face. “That’s my favorite bakery. Since they’re on the other side of town, I don’t get their treats often.”

Even Suzee smiled a little. Not much, but enough to show me she wasn’t completely averse to being friendly. The three of us started toward the back door, but the sound of a big
motor stopped us. Wynn drove into the parking lot, his black Porsche purring as it came to a stop. The passenger door opened and out stepped Eve. The set of her shoulders suggested trouble in paradise. With an “oomph,” she slammed the car door and walked away from Wynn. If she’d bid him farewell, it might have been private or quiet, because I didn’t see any indication she regretted leaving his company.

All four of us entered the salon after I unlocked the door and punched in the security code. Carol lingered until I unwrapped the bakery treats. After grabbing one quickly, she headed for her office. Suzee puttered around making herself coffee, but finally came over to examine the treats. I could almost see the indecision before she reached out and grabbed a scone. “Why not take one home for your daughter?” I suggested.

Her eyes narrowed. I stood my ground.

“What about my daughter?” she asked.

“I said you should take something home to her. I remember how I enjoyed it when women would bring my mother baked goods.” I shrugged in a friendly way. “I figured your child might enjoy a treat, too.”

“You don’t mind?” Suzee hesitated.

“Of course not. Please help yourself.”

Using a paper towel, she scooped up a blueberry muffin. She also picked out one candied ginger scone before she left for her workstation.

Our doors opened promptly at nine to a much-reduced crowd from the day before. Corina did a super job of handling the flow, and I took care of three customers before glancing at the clock and realizing it was time for Eve to meet my mother.

“Eve, do you have many women friends?” I wondered as we traveled in my blue Ford Fiesta the few short blocks to Violetta’s.

“No.” She shrugged. “You’d think I would, being in this business. My mom died when I was young. It’s always been Papa and me. We lived in a bad neighborhood when he started his business, so he sent me to a Roman Catholic school. Those nuns were strict. They kept us busy from the first bell to the last. My aunt Maria would meet me at the gate to the school and walk me home. She cracked the whip, making sure I did my homework. By the time I made it to college, Papa was teaching me how to run Snippets, so I took business courses at the community college so I could work around the salon schedules.”

“That’s a shame,” I said, as I parked in front of the house, next to Mom’s car. “Because growing up around women has been the best part of living in a salon. It’s sad to think that you missed out. Come on. I’ll take you to meet my mother.”

When I called earlier to see if we could drop by, Mom confirmed to me that she’d moved in with Walter, at least temporarily. She’d agreed to meet us at Violetta’s a little after lunch. “I feel awkward about living with a man who isn’t my husband, even if I am a squatter in his guest bedroom. So let me meet you there, all right?”

I assured her that Eve simply wanted to apologize, and that the meeting place didn’t matter, but on second thought, I wanted Eve to see the salon, so we set this up. Although Violetta’s wasn’t swanky like Snippets, there was a cozy ambience—and I felt like Eve should see another side of this business. A warmer, more personal and intimate one.

My throat got a lump in it as I walked my new friend to the front door. I missed the snug and friendly atmosphere and wished that the salon was still in full swing so she could get a taste of the camaraderie all of us had enjoyed.

A camaraderie I hoped to reestablish starting today. I’d text messaged Althea, Stella, and Rachel, inviting them
to come by in the afternoon so we could discuss their employment.

“Wynn drove me past this place several times,” said Eve as she stopped to admire the last of the season’s roses, the four-o’clocks, and the spicy-smelling mums in bronze, yellow, and orange that formed a broad band of firelike color surrounding the screened-in front porch. “Such a lovely setting. Almost like a Southern garden.”

I laughed. “That’s because it is.”

Mom met us at the front door. “Welcome, Eve.” And she gave my friend a hug. For a second, Eve stiffened, then she softened into the embrace, her whole body releasing its tension.

“I came to apologize, Mrs. Terhune. My papa taught me to deal honestly and fairly with people. Arturo Sebastiani would be ashamed if he knew what Lisa Butterworth did to you and your business. Not only did she abuse my trust in her, she also abused Grace Ann’s trust. Worst of all, she did this while in the name of our business, and that grieves me terribly. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us.”

Even though I’d known Eve was here to apologize, I was still shocked by her little speech. Mom’s face betrayed that she, too, was surprised by how fervent Eve’s words were.

“Of course I accept your apology. Welcome to Violetta’s…such as it is.”

Eve nodded solemnly. “I hope I can find a way to make it up to you for what happened. I understand that you are closed temporarily because of the mold situation?”

“I spoke to my insurance adjuster yesterday. He’s going to see what he can do,” Mom said, lifting her chin slightly.

She didn’t mention the problem with the historic register. I guess Mom felt it was best to take things one step at a time.

“Now that you’re here, may I show you around?” In any
crisis, good Southern manners will save the day. Although the slightly puzzled look on Mom’s face told me she was still a bit shocked by Eve’s fervent regrets, my mother had tapped her own personal default key and reverted back to her upbringing. A guest is always welcome in our home, and Violetta’s had always been a home first and a salon second.

Since Snippets is so austere by comparison, I wasn’t entirely sure how Eve would react, but she seemed to have a sincere appreciation for how comfy the space was. She stopped immediately to admire the wicker furniture in the customer waiting area.

“I love the hanging ferns. Oh! And look at all the potted violets! Just like your name!” Eve cooed, as she examined the purple, pink, and white floral display clustered on the windowsill.

Mom nodded. “Most of these were given to me by customers. That’s one reason I cherish them.”

Of course, the visit was old hat to me. As usual, the dust motes danced in the morning light as the sunbeams angled through the wooden blinds. The wide, heart-of-pine floorboards were kind under our feet, which makes a huge difference when you are standing up for hours. The magazines were newish, with corners comfortably worn by many thumbs.

“Stella is coming for Beauty later today,” said Mom as the snub-nosed Persian deigned to climb off her blue velvet cushion and walk over to us. Beauty tilted her head, making a judgment, and went straight for Eve’s arms. To my surprise, my boss caught her and nestled her face in Beauty’s fur.

“Listen! She’s purring,” said Eve with all the excitement of a child.

As Mom led the way, Eve walked around as if in a
trance, while stroking Beauty. But she froze when she saw the figurehead from the
Santa Elisabeta
, a Spanish galleon that sank off the Georgia coast in the 1500s. Her gaze fixed without blinking on the statue occupying a spot on the wall behind the counter, where she provided benevolent supervision to all our labors.

“Saint Elizabeth, who was cured of her barrenness to give birth to John the Baptist, may her name be ever blessed,” she said in a whisper. “I prayed to her, all during Advent. I said, ‘Give children to those who ask and faith to those who are barren of heart,’ and she answered me.” A strange expression of ecstasy came over Eve’s face as she stared up at the likeness of the saint.

“She has led me here for a reason. I know it. See? I’m getting goose bumps.” Eve extended her arm for me to examine. After I nodded, Eve continued to stand and stare at the wooden likeness. Mom and I exchanged glances of surprise. Most people admire
Santa Elisabeta,
but this was beyond simple appreciation. It was as if Eve was mesmerized.

“Eve?” I touched her elbow gently, not wishing to scare her, but hoping I could bring my new boss back to earth.

With a shake of her head, Eve returned her attention to our shop. “Uh, right, I guess we better get going. It’s just that Elizabeth is my patron saint. I never expected to see a statue of her, especially in such an unexpected place. I mean, if we were in a church or a museum, that would make sense, but in a salon? It’s…it’s like a miracle.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” Mom said, taking Beauty from Eve’s arms.

This was all too woo-woo for me. I glanced at my watch. “I think we’d better get back.”

Mom hugged Eve again. “I would have served
you refreshments, but with the mold and all, we really shouldn’t stay here for long.”

“Mrs. Terhune, I’d like to formally invite you to come work with us at Snippets. At least until you’re back up and running. The offer is open to any of your staff as well. When you reopen the doors on Violetta’s, you can take all your old and new customers with you. I promise.”

Mom pulled on her earlobe nervously. “I don’t know what to say! That’s incredibly generous of you. I will talk to my staff. If they are agreeable, we’ll drop by later today. By the way, please give your father my regards. We’ve never met, but I hope we will someday. He’s an icon in this business.”

Eve’s face crumpled. “I’d do that Mrs. Terhune, but it won’t really matter. Dad has frontotemporal dementia, a sort of Alzheimer’s. The disease has radically changed his personality and his behavior. He’s not at all the man he once was. He barely recognizes me these days.”

“How long has he had this diagnosis?” Mom asked, the horror written large on her face.

“It’s a rapid-onset disease. He was fine until about six months ago.” Her voice grew soft. “Fortunately, it takes people rapidly, so he won’t suffer long.”

“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” Mom said.

Eve gave her a watery smile. “So am I, Mrs. Terhune. So am I.”