Mistletoe Murder Page 8

  "Not this time," I said. "Just a trim."

  "But you'd look so good with a bit of color," she said. "It would brighten you up."

  "What kind of color are we talking about?"

  "Just a few highlights to frame your face," she said. "I can do it half off," she said. "Try it; I think you'll love it."

  I thought of those magazines, and Tobias's reluctance to stay over. His ex-girlfriend was beautiful, and always had highlighted hair and a manicure. The manicure wasn't going to work—I was a farmer now, not an office worker—but a little bit of pizzazz couldn't hurt, could it?

  "Sure," I said with a bit of misgiving as I looked at her brilliant red hair. "But nothing too... drastic, okay?"

  "Of course not!" she said. "Subtle. It'll brighten you up for the holidays," she promised, and before I had a chance to back out, she'd disappeared to the back to mix up her concoction.

  While she was gone, the stylist at the chair next to mine finished with her client and drifted back to clean up her station. "I hear you're looking for Rhonda," she said quietly.

  "I am," I said. "I'm concerned about her."

  "I talked with her the other day. She was worried about her husband."

  "What about him?"

  "She was planning on leaving him," she said in a quiet voice. "She didn't know how he was going to take it. He had a bad temper. I offered for her to stay with me, but she told me she had options."

  "Did she say what they were?"

  "She told me she had a friend who was going to look after her for a while. That she needed to stay away from the chemicals here, anyway."

  "Why?"

  "She didn't say. She just said she was going to take a break. I had a bad feeling about it, though; she wouldn't tell me what was going on. It sounded kind of fishy."

  "When did you last talk with her?"

  "Two days ago," she said.

  "Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

  She shook her head. "I've texted and called, but no response."

  I reached into my pocket and grabbed another business card, thankful I'd thought to snag a few before leaving the farm that morning. "If you hear anything, please let me know. I used to be a reporter for the Houston Chronicle. I think something's wrong, too."

  Her eyes got big. "You think something bad's happened to her?"

  "I don't know," I said truthfully. If I hadn't seen her—or thought I'd seen her—at the Stones' ranch, I would have said yet. "I'm trying to find out."

  "I'm glad," she said. "Rhonda was nice, but she was all over the place. No self-control. It was like she was on a mission to destroy her life."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She was doing some crazy stuff. Ever since she started seeing that guy..." Her eyes got big. "Oh. I shouldn't have said that."

  "I know about him," I said.

  "I heard his wife killed him. Stabbed him in the back."

  "To be honest, I'm not quite sure that's what happened."

  Her eyes got even bigger, which I hadn't thought was possible. "You don't think Rhonda did it, do you?"

  "I don't know what happened," I said. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

  "We're all ready!" Sadie sang as she returned from the back room with two bowls and some brushes. Thirty minutes later, my head was covered in little strips of foil, and my "Why not?" insouciance had turned to something like terror.

  "Twenty minutes, and we'll take it all out," she said.

  "What's it going to look like?" I asked.

  "You'll love it!" she said. Her phone beeped, and she looked at it. "I'll come get you when it's time," she said, and she left me stranded with a head that looked something like a modern-art sculpture.

  I walked out of Shear Perfection about an hour later without any additional information that might lead me to Randy Stone's killer, but with a bag filled with expensive hair-care products I really couldn't afford and a head of hair that looked a little out of place combined with my flannel shirt and jeans.

  When Sadie first showed me my new look in the mirror, I hadn't known what to say.

  "Do you like it?" she'd asked as I stared at my hair, which had been transformed into a streaky burnished gold mane.

  "Wow," I'd said. "It's beautiful," I told her truthfully, "but it doesn't feel like me."

  Her shoulders sagged. "You don't like it?"

  "No," I told her. "It's not that." I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. The color complemented my eyes and did make my face seem brighter somehow, and the cut framed my face beautifully. "I love it," I told her honestly. "I just don't know if I can keep it looking like this."

  "It's easy," she said, and launched into a long description of products and hair-drying techniques that flew right over my head. I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't own a hairdryer, but I did end up buying the "smoothing" shampoo and conditioner. It was more than I wanted to spend, but I figured I'd wrap it up and give it to myself as a Christmas gift.

  Which reminded me, I thought as I left the salon: I still didn't have a tree. Tobias and I had talked about going out to cut one at a Christmas tree farm, but we were running out of time. I'd stop by the Red and White Grocery on the way home, I decided, and pick up one of the small trees I'd seen on the sidewalk.

  And maybe some gossip, too.

  "Wow!" Edna Orzak said when I walked through the door of the little grocery store a short time later. "What did you do to yourself?"

  "I didn't do anything," I said, blushing. "I got a haircut in La Grange."

  "More than a haircut," she said. "I love that color on you."

  "Thanks," I told her.

  "Where'd you get it done?" she asked.

  "Shear Perfection," I told her.

  "Did Rhonda do it for you?"

  "You know Rhonda?"

  "Of course!" Edna said. "She used to come in here all the time when she was a girl. She always got strawberry Twizzlers. Her mama had to call and tell me not to sell her more than one pack a day. Said she wasn't eatin' her supper."

  "Have you talked with her the last few days?"

  She shook her head. "No," she said. "Last time I saw her, she was buying a big ol' bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a half gallon of Blue Bell Peppermint Ice Cream." She glanced over at the freezer. "I don't know what they put in it, but that stuff is like a drug. I put a scoop of it in some hot chocolate the other day, and let me tell you, that's some good stuff. Speakin' of good stuff, Flora tells me you're thinkin' of expanding your line of products."

  "When did you see Flora?" I asked. I'd totally forgotten about her date.

  "Just this mornin',"Edna said. "She was walkin' on air."

  "Was she?"

  "Well, she and Gus closed down the Hitchin' Post last night, from what Frank told me. Sounds like a little holiday romance. Won't be surprised if Flora starts hangin' mistletoe all over town. Although based on what Frank told me, she won't need it; Gus is smitten." She shook her head. "All kinds of romantic stuff goin' on. Rooster's wife filin' for divorce—not that I blame her—Isabella killin' her husband..."

  "I'm not so sure she did," I said.

  "Well, I hear he was steppin' out on her."

  "With whom?" I asked, wondering if the rumor mill had produced another potential suspect.

  She pulled a face. "Margaret Rauch came in the other day to buy molasses for gingerbread, and she told me she saw Randy and Rhonda parked down on Skalitsky Lane, but I don't know that I believe it. She's got a tongue like a snake.

  So somehow, the news of Randy and Rhonda's affair hadn't broken wide open. I was surprised. "I heard he had a bit of mistletoe in his hair," I said. "Where do you think that might have come from?"

  "Your stall at the Market, could be. I don't know," she said. "I haven't been lookin' for it. Now," she said. "I've been runnin' on here, and haven't asked what I can help you with."

  "I'd like a Christmas tree," I told her. "We were going to go out and cut one, but I'm almost out of time."

  "L
ucky you," she said. "We just marked them down fifty percent this mornin'."

  "How much for a small tree?"

  "I can do you a five-footer for twenty-five dollars," she said. "I've got a few tiny trees left, but they're not really proper trees, are they?"

  "Five feet sounds about right," I said, thinking of the corner of the cozy living room at the farm. I opened my wallet and pulled out some cash.

  "Need anythin' else?" she asked. "We've got two half gallons of that peppermint ice cream left, if you're interested."

  "I'll take one," I said.

  "Good thinkin'," she said. "Folks are startin' to get ready for the big holiday; I can't keep things in stock." As she spoke, a young woman with a grocery cart piled high with flour, brown sugar, baking chocolate, and condensed milk pulled up to the register.

  "What are you making?" I asked her as Edna counted out my change.

  "Fudge," she told me. "If you add in a couple drops of peppermint extract and mix in some crushed candy cane, it's amazing. I was going to send out recipes with my Christmas cards; I've got one here if you'd like."

  "I'd love one," I said as she fished in her purse and pulled out a gaily printed index card. "Thanks so much," I told her. "I'm Lucy Resnick, by the way."

  "Tracy Keene," she said.

  "She lives over by the Stone ranch," Edna informed me.

  "Oh? I was just out there yesterday with Dr. Brandt, checking on a wounded cow. They've had a rough go of it lately."

  "They have," Tracy said. "Jenna is there all the time now, trying to keep everything together." She shook her head. "She always had the business sense, but her daddy always had it in his head that Randy was the one to take over the place." She grimaced. "I guess he won't, now."

  "How long have you known the Stones?" I asked.

  "I grew up with them," she said. "We all went to high school together. When we were just kids we used to play down by the creek in the spring and fall. When it wasn't all dried up, that is."

  "I noticed a Christmas decoration on their lawn yesterday. There was kind of a Santa's list on it... only there were three names on it, not two. Randy, Jenna, and someone named Chad."

  She grimaced. "Chad was Randy and Jenna’s big brother. He was about ten years older than us. When we were in middle school, he got into some huge fight with his dad and just took off."

  "Where did he go?"

  She shrugged. "Nobody knows. He just up and disappeared. Let me see... Randy was a senior in high school then. Jenna and I must have been just about to start middle school."

  "And he never came back?"

  Tracy shook her head. "They never saw him again—leastwise, if they did, they never talked about it. Me," she said, "I would never let one of mine disappear without searchin' the rest of my life, but everyone's different, I suppose."

  "A lot of tragedy in that family."

  "Too much," she said, glancing at her watch. I realized the line had grown a bit while Tracy and I were talking.

  "I'd better go get that tree," I said. "Thanks for the chat—and for the recipe."

  "My pleasure," she said. "Hope you have yourself a good holiday."

  "Likewise," I said. "If you're at the Market, stop by and see me!"

  "Will do!" she said as Edna started to scan her groceries.

  I stepped outside into the brisk December air, my heart hurting for the Stone family. I couldn't imagine what that must be like. I didn't have children of my own, but I knew it would be absolutely heartbreaking.

  The tree selection wasn't huge, but there were some good options, and none of them were losing their needles. I picked a pretty fir tree, and had grasped the trunk and was carrying it to the truck when I heard what I'd swear was Jenna Stone's voice, coming from around the corner. I put down the tree and walked over to the corner of the Red and White Grocery, pretending to be inspecting the balsam wreaths Edna had hung up for sale, and stole a glance around the side of the store.

  It was Jenna; her back was to me, and she was hunched up with a cell phone to her ear.

  "It'll work," she was saying. "I promise you. It's just another six months, and it'll all be over."

  10

  I could hear a man's voice on the other end of the phone.

  "Do you have any other suggestions?" she asked tartly. "Because I'm all ears."

  Another volley of words I couldn't hear. Whoever was on the other end of the line seemed very upset.

  "Unless you've got an alternative, this is the plan. Now, I've got errands to do. I'll call you later."

  She jabbed at the phone with an index finger. As I slid back out of sight, I heard someone call my name.

  "Lucy!"

  I turned to see Flora hurrying across the Square toward me. She was wearing a bright green velour turtleneck dress with a wide belt and knee-high boots, and giant, flashing Christmas light bulbs dangled from her ears. And it looked like I hadn't been the only one to go to the hair salon, either; her formerly rather dull brown hair was now the color of carrot cake. It actually kind of suited her.

  I glanced toward where I'd been standing a moment ago, just as Jenna emerged from the side of the building. Our eyes met for an instant. Unless it was my imagination, she looked spooked. I smiled and gave her a half wave; she gave me a tight nod and turned back to disappear the way she'd come. Was she looking to see if I'd been in range to hear her conversation?

  I didn't have much more time to think about it, though, because Flora was upon me, smelling like a perfume counter.

  "You look good as a redhead," I told her as I sniffed a balsam wreath, hoping to clear the air a bit.

  "Thanks," she said. "I like your hair, too. I never thought you were the type to get highlights!"

  "Me neither," I confessed, reaching up to touch my hair a bit self-consciously. Would Tobias like it? Would it seem like I was trying too hard? Nonsense, I told myself. There was nothing wrong with changing things up a bit from time to time. "So... how did your date go?"

  "Oh, it was wonderful," she gushed. "He's just so wonderful. I think I'm in love."

  "After one drink?" I asked. "That's a good sign, but you might want to slow down a bit."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, looking confused. "First you say to give it a shot, and now you want me not to?"

  "No," I said. "That's not it at all. Just… take it slow," I advised. "You haven't known each other that long. It takes time."

  She bit her pink-frosted lip. "We're supposed to go back to the Hitching Post tonight after the Market. Do you think I should cancel?'

  "No," I said. "Just maybe take a day or two off after tonight."

  "You think?"

  "Maybe," I said. "Talk to Opal, too. Maybe I'm just being overly cautious."

  "Maybe," she repeated, looking droopy. Then she brightened. "Oh! Did you hear about the paintings?"

  "No," I said. "What about them?"

  "They came from a museum robbery about fifteen years ago. It was an exhibition in Dallas. The appraiser figured out who they belonged to."

  "Really? How did they end up here?"

  "That's the big question," Flora said. "Some folks say it's mixed up with that body they found under the courthouse. I don't know, though."

  "I can't see how they would be connected," I admitted. "Is the town going to give the paintings back, then?"

  "I don't see as they have a choice," Flora said. "It'd be nice if the museum pitched in a few bucks to help us finish the renovation, though. I gave a bit myself, but not near enough for all the work they're plannin' on."

  "That was really good of you, Flora," I said.

  She tucked her chin a little and blushed. "Thanks," she said. "It was the least I could do, after my mother and all that hullabaloo about the statue of her so-called great-great-grandfather."

  "Where did that end up, anyway?"

  "I think it's in a storage shed, to be honest. Once Mama was gone, there wasn't anyone to champion it, and, well, with that nose..."

  The nose h
ad rather resembled an oversize pickle. "Maybe it's better in the storage shed, after all," I said. It certainly was better than in the middle of the town green, which was where Flora's mother, Nettie, had wanted it. "How are you doing, running everything by yourself these days?"

  "It's getting easier," she said. "Still, it would be nice to have company." Her face suddenly tensed up. "You don't think Gus is after me for my money, do you?"

  "I don't know him," I confessed, "but Opal seems to think he's a good man. And from what I saw the other night, he lights up when he sees you."

  "Does he?"

  "He does," I said.

  "There's mistletoe hanging by the door of the Hitching Post," she said. "I keep hoping he'll stop me."

  "There was mistletoe in Randy Stone's hair, too," I remembered. "Do you think it might have come from there?"

  "I'd think it was from Rosita's."

  "But there wasn't any mistletoe at Rosita's, at least not that I saw," I pointed out.

  "Well, then, where'd it come from?"

  "I don't know," I said. "It might be worth trying to find out. At any rate, I'd probably better get this tree home and get ready for the Market." I walked back to the tree I'd abandoned and gripped the trunk. I hadn't talked with Mandy in a day or two, I realized. It might be a good idea to check in to see if she or her sister had any more ideas about what might have happened to Randy.

  "I'll be there if you want me," Flora said. "And here... let me help you with that."

  "Of course I want you," I said as we laid the tree in the truck bed. "See you in a few!"

  "I'll be there with bells on!" she replied.

  If the Christmas light earrings were any indication, there was a good chance she wasn't joking.

  The tree looked beautiful in the corner of the living room, and its fresh, piney scent suffused the small farmhouse. I'd whipped up a batch of apple muffins when I got home, and the mixed aroma of Christmas tree, cinnamon, apple, and woodsmoke in the air was intoxicating. I took a sip of my tea and surveyed my home with satisfaction. Everything in the rest of Buttercup might be going to heck in a handbasket, but at Dewberry Farm, it was cozy and warm and beautiful. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a window, and for the tenth time that afternoon, my hand jumped to my hair, touching the unfamiliar silky locks. I liked how it looked, although I wasn't sure what it would look like after a normal wash and wear. Would Tobias?