Chapter Eight
Murder was good for business. The Beauty Box was packed with the curious during Myrtle’s Tuesday morning wash and set. Kat allowed walk-ins for the first time in the salon’s history and had to call in a couple of girls she’d met in cosmetology school to help her out.
Myrtle read a ratty copy of Good Housekeeping while waiting her turn. Dina Peters touched up Agnes’ manicure and wistfully mentioned wanting to start styling and dyeing hair. Bootsie Davenport chatted loudly on her cell phone while Prissy fumbled in her patent-leather pocketbook for what appeared to be a pitiful tip.
Tammy’s murder was definitely the two-thousand-pound gorilla in the room. Ordinarily, these women would be full of gossip about Tammy’s death. Their polite silence must be because no one wanted to upset Kat. Or maybe Dina, since she already appeared on the verge of tears.
It would probably be healthier, thought Myrtle virtuously, if they didn’t tiptoe around the subject. Prissy was conveniently close and was still trying to pull her things together. Myrtle said, “Prissy, could you visit with me for a few minutes?”
Prissy blinked in confusion. Myrtle said, “I guess I’m just being fanciful, but the Beauty Box has a different aura today—sort of spooky. It makes me feel dithery. Some conversation might help distract me a little.”
Agnes’ eyes narrowed suspiciously, not knowing anyone less inclined to dithering than Myrtle. Prissy gazed longingly at the door before obediently sitting next to Myrtle.
“It’s awful, isn’t it? It makes a body wonder what this world is coming to.” Prissy’s shiver seemed more excited than frightened.
Myrtle scanned the Beauty Box to see if any guilty faces peered her way. She hoped to have one anguished soul yearning to unload its ghastly secrets. To her disappointment, the roaring air conditioner and the droning domed dryers drowned out her conversation with Prissy.
Myrtle cupped her ear. “I’ve forgotten to put in my hearing aid this morning. Can’t hear a thing without my ears. Could you speak up for me, sweetie?” she yelled.
Prissy cleared her throat. “I said that I wonder what this world is coming to.” She clicked her false teeth nervously.
Myrtle bellowed, “That poor girl. Killed right in the prime of her life.”
Regulars and walk-ins stared at Myrtle with interest. She looked innocently around the room, gauging reactions to the high-volume conversation. Kat said mildly, “Tammy wasn’t exactly what I’d call a helpless victim, Miss Myrtle.”
Could this conversation even be heard above the din? Myrtle shrugged helplessly. “Could someone translate, loudly? I forgot my ears this morning.”
Bootsie Davenport rolled her eyes. “Tammy was sweet and sour, Myrtle. And we saw nothing but sour lately. Nobody’s crying themselves to sleep over Tammy.”
Dina Peters burst into noisy sobbing. “But she was my only friend and I miss her. Oh, Tammy!” She flung her head down on the manicure table, frizzy curls quivering with histrionics.
Agnes Walker patted Dina gingerly, trying not to smear newly-applied Cocktail Carnival red polish on Dina’s thin shoulder. “Dina, everything will work out—you’ll see. Here, you mentioned wanting to experiment with dyeing. Want me to schedule an appointment with you? The only way to move ahead in this world is to try new things.”
This was very rash of Agnes and just went to show how desperate she was to distract Dina. Hopefully she was planning on Dina coloring her hair gray or slightly blue. She couldn’t imagine the old lady as a blonde or redhead. Dina blinked at her, thinking it over, then started howling again before running out of the room.
Agnes frowned reprovingly at Myrtle. “Look what you’ve done now! You’re meddling, Myrtle. Did you have to bring up the topic of Tammy?”
“I’m not meddling. I’m simply talking about what happened.”
Agnes glowered at Myrtle. “I think you need a vacation, Myrtle Clover.”
Myrtle smiled brightly. “Want to come with me?”
“No, I do not, as you well know. I told you my traveling days are over.” Agnes whipped a book from her pocketbook, reading it with determination.
The customers were silent for a few minutes before the idle chatter resolutely resumed. This was the South, where outbursts were politely ignored first and gossiped over later. Prissy, all genteel confusion, had exited. Bootsie admired her fresher, less-matronly, Kat-inspired hairdo until her cell phone belted out its rap song ringtone. Agnes blew on her nails to dry them. Myrtle regarded the visit as a total bust. The exception came when Kat received a bouquet of flowers and a card that made her blush. At least her matchmaking was working out well. She hummed the old hymn under her breath.
Myrtle picked up Good Housekeeping again, flipping to the recipes. Finding a tasty prospect, she scanned the shop furtively, tore the page out, and stuck it in her bottomless pocketbook. You just never knew when another in-sympathy casserole might be necessary.