A Dyeing Shame (4 page)

“I’m sure you are, dear…”

“The point is,” interrupted Tammy loudly, “that Dina knows I’m a good person. Doing nails and being my roommate are much better than being bullied by your husband. I should know—I put up with Bo for so long. Dina, grab that hairspray for me.” Bootsie looked pained at the suggestion of more hairspray. Her hair might never move again.

Dina gave the bottle to Tammy, who glanced over at the manicure Dina was giving Agnes. Dina’s brow furrowed anxiously as she waited for Tammy’s approval. Tammy shrugged and started spraying another half bottle of hairspray on Bootsie’s head. Dina’s face fell. The poor thing had gone from one bully to another.

“Never mind,” said Tammy, slurring a little. “I don’t care who knows I’m a good person or not. I don’t care about any of you. I’m writing you out of my will.”

Agnes looked over at Myrtle and rolled her eyes. “Tammy, none of us are probably even in your will. We’re not worried.”

“Well, you sure aren’t. But Kat and Dina are…or were.” Tammy had that sly, trouble-making expression on her face again.

“Go ahead, Tammy. I’ve never asked for anything from you. Whatever you’ve done for me has been your idea,” said Kat in a grim voice.

Kat’s cheeks were flushed with anger. Myrtle cleared her throat, the smell of Aqua Net making her woozy. “Kat, how do you like Bradley so far?”

Kat relaxed a little and flashed the surprisingly pretty smile again. “So far, so good. It’s cool to have my own place. I’m renting a house and have a yard for the first time. Yards were tough to come by in the city.”

“You probably used public transportation in New York. Did you have to take Driver’s Ed. when you moved here?”

Kat said briskly, “Sure did. But I had to learn so I could drive over to the beauty school. The closest one was twenty miles away. Once I passed the driver’s test, I got my bike.”

Myrtle puzzled over this for a minute. “Why’d you get a license if you were biking everywhere?”

Kat frowned, then laughed. “It’s not a bicycle: it’s a motorcycle. A Harley. I’ve always wanted one, so I got a used one. Runs like a dream.”

A pink-haired Harley driver with a nose stud. Myrtle offered a belated supplication to the hair gods. But soon she noticed that her hair looked better than it had in years. Kat appraised her work with a critical eye and gently combed Myrtle’s hair for the finishing touch. “Okay?” asked Kat.

“Much better than okay,” said Myrtle. “I do believe you’ve won my business, Kat. Put me down on your calendar for next week.” Satisfaction gleamed in Kat’s eyes. Myrtle saw something else there, too: a little raw ambition. Tammy shot her niece a cold look. It sure didn’t look like Tammy was rooting for Kat to succeed.

Tammy dropped a mirror in Bootsie’s lap so she could look at the back of her head. “Here you go, sweetheart. Another Tammy masterpiece, just for you.”

Bootsie patted her hair gingerly. “Isn’t it poofier than it usually is?”

Tammy flushed blotchy red. “It’s the same way you always want it, Bootsie. What’s the problem?’

“I don’t know. It’s like an old-lady do today.”

Tammy hissed viciously. “Is it? Well, you’ve always been happy to look like an old lady before. Why is today any different? Let me guess. You’re wanting to impress your young man.”

Bootsie choked out a strangled laugh. “I don’t care at all about impressing Justin. He’s away at college and doesn’t care what his old Mama looks like.”

“I don’t
mean
Justin.” Tammy sneered.

Every ear in the Beauty Box strained to hear over the wall unit as Bootsie gritted through clenched teeth, “You’d better watch yourself, or I’ll prosecute you for libel.”

Tammy drawled, “Can’t be libel when it’s true.”

Whatever Bootsie planned to say was cut off as her cell phone, with a rapping ringtone that made Myrtle’s eyebrows rise, started ringing again. Bootsie dug a couple of bills out of her wallet and slammed them on the counter, answering her phone with a barking, “Hel-
lo
!” as she left.

“And y’all think
I
have a temper,” muttered Tammy, shaking her head. “Gotta get some air. Kat, you’ll manage things, right?”

“Better than you can, Tammy.”

Maybe it was the truth in that statement that so infuriated Tammy. Tammy picked up the mirror and hurled it down. The Beauty Box became silent as glass splintered across the floor. Tammy froze, superstitious fear giving her a sober moment. “Seven years of bad luck,” she grated. Shaking it off, she slouched unsteadily out the door. A collective sigh of relief wafted through the beauty parlor. Myrtle peered through the window to ensure that Tammy was walking and not driving. She asked, “When did Tammy turn into the Wicked Witch of the South?”

Agnes said, “Well, Connor says alcohol is something she’s always struggled with. Both her parents were both hard drinkers.”

“In less than an hour, she managed to offend just about everyone here.”

Kat’s voice was studiously casual. “Sorry about the way she was acting today. I guess you know that Tammy isn’t usually this bad.”

“Of course she’s not! She wouldn’t have a customer left, if she did.”

Agnes checked her nails to see if they were dry. “She took some stabs at me too today. You’re the only one who escaped unscathed, Myrtle.”

“I’m too dull to give her any ammo,” said Myrtle. “We all used to treat her like our personal shrink. Tammy heard all the secrets.”

Agnes said morosely, “And now she’s a loose cannon. We’ll have to find our confidantes elsewhere.”

Dina spilled some nail polish on the table and started dabbing it up with a paper towel. She said unhappily, “Tammy will be okay soon. She’s just working through her problems.”

Kat snorted. “I know you’re trying to be a good friend, but we can’t excuse Tammy from acting out. Tammy doesn’t have
real
problems. Tammy is Tammy’s problem. The drinking will kill her, though. One way or another.”

P
RISSY DANIELS PULLED
out her Wedgwood teacup from her china cabinet—what was the use of having good china if you didn’t use it every day? —and carefully measured cream and sugar into her tea. Something a little stronger would have better steadied her nerves, but tea was the strongest beverage to ever pass through her thin lips.

The delicate cup rattled against its saucer in her shaking hands. What a shock! Tammy had styled Prissy’s fluffy hairdo for ten years. Never had Tammy been so indiscreet.

Teaching Sunday school each week and presiding as preschool director at the church gave her real prestige in Bradley, North Carolina. She was a moral compass for the town’s children. It was upsetting to realize that Tammy had the capacity to destroy Prissy’s image as the sweet, innocuous local spinster.

Bootsie Davenport, feeling
like the Peach Festival Queen again, smiled contentedly at her “young man.” When she was with her husband, Beauregard Davenport, she just felt old. In Beauregard’s face she saw her own wrinkles reflected back at her. He was an old man, but he was intent on living a lot longer than she’d reckoned on.

Bootsie’s companion trailed his hand on her shoulder and brought her back to the present. Trying to focus, she pulled away from him. He raised his eyebrows at her. “I wanted to tell you,” she said uncertainly, “that there may be some gossip going around about us.”

“What?” He sat up a little.

“My hairdresser is dishing dirt on everybody. But nobody pays any attention; Tammy’s got a drinking problem.”

“I thought you understood not to tell anyone about us.” There was a hard note in his voice.

Bootsie sighed. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s hard…so hard not to share this with anybody.”

His attractive features softened a bit. “You know how much I care about you. But if Beauregard finds out about us, our love nest is finished. He’ll make sure you don’t have a penny.”

“But we’d still have each other. We’d make it turn out all right.” The young man shook his head slowly, and Bootsie flinched as the hard reality of his motives sank in.

She wouldn’t give this up. Bootsie tried everything in her pursuit of youth: surgery, expensive moisturizers, and
trompe d’oeil
makeup. Her hair and clothes remained conservative, as a sop to her husband’s sensibilities. This relationship made her feel younger than anything else she’d tried.

She still had to be careful. Judging was exactly what Beauregard would do if he realized she was cheating. She knew the sentence, too—divorce from Judge Davenport and all of his many worldly possessions. She had too many years invested to suffer that fate.

Bootsie said, “I’ll make sure Tammy shuts up, then. She’ll have to.”

“That’s my girl,” he said and pulled her back close to him.

Kat Roberts revved
her Harley Sportster and sped away from the Beauty Box. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Aunt Tammy as possible. She grinned at the locals’ stares as she roared down the street.

She’d been transplanted from one family mess to another. This one wouldn’t keep her down, though. Things were finally starting to go her way; she was free from her mother, on her own, and making a living in a nice place. Tammy wasn’t going to drive her out of town. Kat tightened her grip on the motorcycle. No one and nothing would stand in the way of her happiness this time. She’d make sure of it.

Dina peered through
the steam at the marinara sauce she was cooking. This was Tammy’s favorite sauce. She sampled a spoonful. Delicious. She hoped Tammy would like it. Maybe things would start looking up again. Tammy behaved badly at the Beauty Box today, but everyone was entitled to a bad day. She’d done a lot for Dina and she wouldn’t give up on her friend.

She turned and smiled as Tammy walked in.

“Hi, Tammy,” said Dina shyly, pushing back the frizzy lock of hair that fell in her eyes. Her glasses were foggy with the steam. She pushed the large frames up to the top of her small nose.

Tammy glanced at the sauce. “Count me out for supper, Dina.”

Dina said unhappily, “Oh. I thought you were going to be around tonight. You’ve got plans?”

“Connor is picking me up. We’re grabbing supper.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a time when Tammy would have asked Dina to join them. But Tammy hadn’t been herself for a while.

“Aren’t you dyeing Kat’s hair tonight?” asked Tammy. She didn’t wait for Dina to answer, but opened the pantry door and glared at the contents. “I asked you to pick up some tonic water and limes at the store.” She slammed the pantry closed.

Dina’s long face fell even further. “I-I’m sorry, Tammy. I had the pasta ingredients on the brain and just forgot to go to the store.” Tammy glared at her before stomping into the back. “I really am writing you out of my will, you know. You and Kat both. I don’t need either one of you.”

Dina took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. Tammy was getting worse. Everything was changing again, right when life was finally starting to look up.

Clover and wild
onions flew through the air as Agnes Walker weeded her backyard flowerbed with a vengeance. She scowled at the impudent dandelions. Anxiety and anger made her forgo her hoe and lent her strength to yank up a small patch of crab grass with her bare hands. The afternoon heat finally took its toll. Agnes pulled off her wide-brimmed hat, fanning herself with it before giving up on gardening and going in for a tall glass of sweet tea.

She frowned at her phone. She’d call Connor, but wasn’t sure she wanted to risk hearing him in a bad mood. He’d always been the perfect son, a great asset for an elderly widow. Dating Tammy was the one thing she’d fault him on.

Most girls weren’t good enough for Connor. That girl he brought home from college, for instance. Agnes shuddered.

She’d risk it. Agnes picked up the phone and briskly dialed Connor’s number. His harried voice finally answered. “Mother, what is it?”

“Nothing important, Connor. Just calling to see how things were going.”

“I’m about to run out the door. Can I call you later?”

“It wasn’t anything important.” Agnes hesitated before asking, “Are you going out with Tammy tonight?”

Connor’s voice now had an edge to it. “Yes, Mother. Look, I’ve got to go—”

“Of course, of course.Just. . .be careful.”

Agnes softly placed the phone on the hook and sat for a long time staring at it.

Red’s cell phone
rang early the next morning as he was sitting at the kitchen table with his face half-submerged in a bowl of Cheerios. Red groaned.

“Hello?” he demanded in an early-morning scratchy voice. He listened intently for a moment. “I’ll be right there.” He strode to the bedroom, emerging a minute later wearing his uniform and a grim expression. Elaine gazed curiously at him as he grabbed his car keys off the counter. “Tammy Smith is dead. Her niece discovered her body at the Beauty Box this morning. It sounds like murder.”