Dead in the Water (14 page)

I pulled out the card for Justin. I added, ‘Chemist, RazzleD. Friend of restaurant owners.’

.

20

I stared into the
mirror.

I looked like a human radio communication satellite ready to be launched. The small pieces of tinfoil wrapped around sections of my hair stood straight out or straight up.

After last night’s scare, I felt I deserved a little me time. I took the next afternoon off and was in downtown San Rafael. Just around the corner from Fourth Street, the main shopping street was Mandraka’s Salon. I passed it almost daily, going and coming to the west end of San Rafael. The name had always intrigued me. This time, I parked down the street across from the San Rafael Fire Station, walked in, looked at the woman behind the reception desk and said, ‘Is it possible to help this?’ and I held my hair out with both hands.

Mirana, the owner of Mandraka’s, looked up at me, threw back her head and laughed. Her chocolate skin was deeply oiled and it glistened under her short-sleeved white blouse. And when she smiled, her full oval face lit up like a Hollywood spot light.

The beauty parlor was small and narrow, just four stations, two on one side of a long mirror and two on the other side. Shades of rosy red and green dominated the room. I slipped a lightweight robe on over my clothes and she went to work on my lifeless hair. I was now in the holding pattern all women experience when they are having a color boost. It would take 20-30 minutes for the color to set.

With nothing to do, I dug around in my backpack looking for my phone. Instead, I pulled out Waddell’s old address book. I had forgotten all about it. It had to be at least 10 years old. Many of the area codes were from Dallas, Texas. I started calling numbers. Most were disconnected. Some went to businesses. Others went to message machines. Those that did pick up said they never heard of a Dick Waddell.

I was about to put the address book away when I saw a receipt from a fast food restaurant taped to the last page. I carefully pulled it off. That day, Dick had bought two orders of burgers, fries and two chocolate milkshakes. Why would he keep this? The location of the restaurant was Fresno, California.

I turned the receipt over. On the back was written “Jeremy Reid,” and two phone numbers. I punched in the first number. A little boy answered the phone.

“Is your daddy there?” I asked.

“No.”

“Is his name Jeremy?”

“Mom,” called out the small voice.

I hung up. I had no idea what I was going to say if ‘daddy’ was Jeremy and he came to the phone. Then I dialed the second number.

“You have reached University High School, located on the campus of California State University, Fresno.” The recorded message continued. I listened absent-mindedly then clicked off. So, Waddell had friends in Fresno. No crime in that.

Lena’s picture came up on the screen of my phone. I punched the talk button.

“Hey.”

Lena was at full throttle.

“New client. I have a new client and I have you to thank for it. So thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Me? I don’t remember recommending you to anyone…not that I wouldn’t, of course.”

“Doesn’t matter. Maybe it was someone who knew you or knew me. Anyway, they liked my work on the Nor Cal Swim website.”

“What’s the name of this company?”

“Don’t remember, but their products have something to do with health and fitness. I have it written down somewhere.”

I could hear her shuffling through papers. Lena chatted on while I adjusted the tin foil flaps on my head so I could position my cell phone and hear better.

“They want me to come in on Monday to talk to them, get a feel for their products and their company. Then I have a few weeks to develop a formal plan.”

She paused for a split-second and I jumped in, telling her about last night.

For one of the few times in her life, she was speechless.

“You have to get out of there…too dangerous…much too dangerous. Need to change the subject for a minute. Will you be home soon?”

“In a few hours, why?”

“Can you help me pick out what I’m going to wear for this meeting with the new clients? I have to meet all the partners and I want them to like not just my work, but me, too. Maybe they can become my main client. Put me on retainer. With a guaranteed monthly income. Then you can quit your job at the Swim Association. You shouldn’t work there anymore. You can look for something you really like.”

“Right now, that dangerous job is my only source of money. Wait…did you say all the partners? How many are there?”

“Three, I think.”

“Look, Ms. Dress for Success, why don’t you pull out a few things that you are thinking of wearing. I’ll see you at home.”

Mirana looked at me or rather my tinfoil flaps. She undid one, studied the color. It must have been to her liking because she said, “Okay. We’re ready. Time to wash.”

I followed her back to a small rinsing station with two sinks, sat in the chair and rested the back of my neck on the edge of the deep sink. She pulled out the foil and clips and rinsed my hair with warm water. Then she wrapped my head in a towel and we walked back to her station.

While she was taking out her scissors and combs from a small drawer, I pulled out my cards and looked them over.

Mirana glanced at me through the large mirror.

“Flash cards? You are a student?”

“No. Just trying to figure something out.”

Holding up a damp section of newly darkened hair, she asked, “What do we want to do?”

“I have no idea. Whatever you think would look best on me, I’m for.”

Mirana put her hands on her hips and stared at my reflection.

“Okay, I have an idea.” She began to comb and snip.

“Your cards. They are a puzzle?” she asked as she kept her eyes on my hair and her comb.

“Kind of. Each card represents someone or something that is related to two accidents. In one, someone died.”

Mirana looked at me through the mirror with raised eyebrows, “Died?”

The chatter in the rest of the beauty salon came to an abrupt halt. Everyone was listening.

“Yes, died. I think the accidents are related and someone in this pack of cards did it.”

I put down the cards of Jackie and Dick Waddell on the counter.

I explained to Mirana what had happened to both of them. Then I pushed back the cans of hair spray, containers of gels and mousse and laid out the remaining cards in a circle around the two middle cards on the counter. Aina, the other stylist in the shop, walked over and looked at each card for a moment and picked one up.

“This person, Pamela. I think it is her. She did it.”

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“Look. She kills her brother. Now, brother is dead. He has no other family but her. She gets everything he owns. But to make sure it all comes to her, she gets rid of girlfriend. Simple. Now she is rich.”

“Possibly. I met her. She doesn’t seem like a killer to me.”

“This is about love, isn’t it? These two people were lovers, yes?” asked Marina.

I nodded.

“There are all kinds of love. Love between a man and a woman. Love in a family, mother child, father child. Love of money. Love of self.”

The customer whom Aina was combing out, left her chair to come over and look at the cards. “Love of self. That’s my husband. He doesn’t need anyone else in our marriage. Not sure what I’m doing there.” Everyone chuckled. “That’s right” and “Amen” were heard in the little shop.

Mirana continued, “Hate is not very far from love. You agree? I look at these names and think, these are probably good people. Maybe some better than others. Why would a good person do something bad to someone else? Maybe jealousy or revenge.

“In Madagascar, my country, we say ‘To be two things like a bat: flying it’s a bird, resting it’s a mouse.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“Think about this…the person who did these bad things is not what he or she appears to be. Because they have two sides. You are only seeing the mouse side of them. That is the side they want you to see.”

Aina’s client looked at me. “The whole picture, sweetie. You have to see the whole picture.”

“Easier said than done,” I said. “Everyone wants to look good.”

Mirana smiled. “I think the answer is right here in front of you,” and she reached over, picked up my cards and handed them back to me.

“You mean, if I find the ‘other’ side, I’ll find the killer?”

“Could be. You will figure it out, I’m sure.”

Mirana hummed as she snipped away. I actually felt lighter. She picked up a black blow dryer and a round large bristle brush and spent the next 10 minutes rearranging my hair. The shape of my face began to change right in front of me. Was this the other side Mirana was talking about? Could you change your insides, by changing your outside?

Then she looked at me through the mirror. “So, what do you think?” My hair was a rich reddish-brown with golden streaks running through it. It looked like I’d spent afternoons at the beach. Mirana had created a simple but elegant style, easy to care for and nice to look at.

“Much better,” she said.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I looked like a different person. I felt like a different person.

“I’m speechless. It looks great.”

I thanked her, wrote a check and was walking to the door when she called out to me.

“One more thing—in Madagascar we say, ‘the rolling stone…’”

“Gathers no moss,” I added.

“No, in Madagascar, ‘the rolling stone never stops till it reaches the bottom.’”

“I get it. The person responsible for these accidents—he or she—will not stop until they’re caught.”

As I headed down Fourth Street, I kept thinking about that rolling stone. Was the person behind all this done? My gut said, ‘no.’

Tall sycamore and maple trees lined both sides of the street, shading shoppers as they visited the many restaurants, jewelers, dress shops, coffee shops and florists. I walked past the restored Art Deco Film Center and the tables and chairs outside the Rafael Coffee café next to it. As I passed a glass storefront I couldn’t help but look in at my reflection.

“Not bad,” I said quietly. “Not bad at all.”

“I agree,” said a young woman who had stopped to look at the display in the window. “I would love to surprise my boyfriend wearing one of those.”

I hadn’t realized it, but I was standing in front of a lingerie shop. On display were lacy bras and panties. The faceless manikin was wearing a black garter belt. I hadn’t seen a garter belt since I was in high school. And they sure didn’t look like what I was currently staring at.

“Do people still wear those?” I asked the girl next to me.

“Oh yes. They do. They most certainly do.”

“Maybe I need to check this out.” I opened the door to Sweet Nothings and walked in.

“Well, look at you,” Lena said as I entered the house. “Your hair, I love it.”

She walked in a circle around me, nodding her head.

“Very nice.” She glanced down at the pink and black shopping bag in my hand with the stylized initial SN in gold on either side.

“What’s in the bag? You went to Sweet Nothings, didn’t you?”

She reached for the bag. I tried to pull it away from her, but she was too quick. She grabbed the shopping bag from me and dug through the pink tissue paper.

“Let me see. What did you….well, well, what do we have here? New undies and just not your usual cotton undies. Do you have something planned with someone I don’t know about?”

“Give those back to me.”

She laughed and moved away, holding up a white lace bra and matching white bikini panties.

“New hair, lacy underthings. Sister, congratulations. You are back in the world of the living.”