Shepherd's Crook (25 page)

seventy

Late nights make for
sleepy mornings, and I was already running late before I woke up Friday morning. My shower could wait, I decided, until the decorating was done. I fed Jay and the cats, cleaned up after them, pulled on jeans and a sweater, and called Norm to let him know I was on my way.

“No sweat,” he said. “I figured you'd be late. We have it under control.”

We?
Bill had said he couldn't be there to decorate, and I hoped Norm wasn't allowing Mom to help. Her bossy side, the one I'd been accused of inheriting, tended to kick in whenever she tried to work with other people.

I stopped at the Firefly for coffee and a breakfast sandwich and continued south on Anthony. Traffic was light and my sandwich was still hot when I unwrapped it in the Shadetree parking lot. Norm's VW wasn't in the lot, and I realized he must have parked near the back entrance to simplify unloading. I washed my sandwich down with the last of my coffee and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. One message. I retrieved it, hoping to hear Tom's cheery morning voice, but it was the printer. “Julie passed me your message, Janet. Bummer. Bet that puppy is in the doghouse.” Laughter. “Anyway, I'll start reprinting those orders. Looks like a light weekend, so I should have them for you Monday or Tuesday. Oh, this is Eric at … Never mind, you know. Okay, have a good one.” At least my livelihood was likely to survive the weekend, if not my love life. I started to call Tom, but ended the call before it went through. The three messages I'd already left were plenty.

The festooning was, as Norm had said, under control, and the transformation of the solarium would have been magical had I been in a more romantic mood. Tiny white lights highlighted a garlanded arbor flanked by an eclectic mix of my mother's favorite flowers—African violets, zinnias, orchids,
birds-of
-paradise, daisies, and more—all live and growing in
cobalt-blue
pots.

Norm was arranging folding chairs in a
semi-circle
in front of the arbor, leaving a path down the center. He rushed to hug me. “Janet, I'm so excited, you'd think it was my own wedding! I wouldn't let Mom in here, told her it was bad luck, which it might be in her case, but Tony popped in a while ago and … oh, dear, I am blathering, aren't I?”

“Blather away, Norm.” My shoulders relaxed and a weight dropped off me as Norm's mood caught and lifted me.

“How many more do we need?”

The voice came from behind me, and I turned. “Hi, Tom.” My legs went a little shaky as I watched him unfold four more chairs.

“Morning!” Tom kept his voice pitched toward friendly, but he made no move toward our usual
hug-and
-kiss greeting.

I could feel Norm watching us, and then he said, “Okay then. Janet, could you do the tablecloths? We'll set the cake up there,” he pointed at a table near the wall opposite the arbor, “and the rest of the food there, and although Mom and Tony said no gifts, of course there will be gifts. We'll put them on that last table. Maybe move it farther away from the food.”

“It's okay, Norm,” I said, turning toward him and keeping my voice low. “Don't make such an effort. We'll be fine.”
I hope.

But we weren't fine the rest of the morning. We didn't exactly ignore each other, but we spoke in short,
task-oriented
sentences until I finally looked at my phone and announced, “Oh, my, I have to get going. I'll just barely make my hair appointment.” I didn't add that if I left right then, I would have three hours to drive the two or so miles to the hair salon.

“Thank God.” Norm lifted a lock of my hair as if assessing the mess, then burst out laughing. I hugged him and thanked him for all he had done to make Mom's wedding day special. When I let go, Tom was right behind me.

“I'll walk you out.”

Neither of us said anything else until we reached the front door. He stepped outside with me, pulled an envelope from his jacket, and said, “I'm sorry about Winnie's little adventure. If this doesn't cover it, let me know and I'll make up the balance.”

“This is way too much,” I said, peering at the check in the envelope and offering it back. “Let me get the invoice and—”

“Nah, take it. If it's too much, you can take us out for a fancy dinner.” He smiled, and as I looked into his warm brown eyes I felt tears rise in my own. Tom wrapped his arms around me and said, “You worry too much.” We stood like that for a moment, and then he whispered, “Now go get your hair done before Norm has a breakdown.”

“But we need to talk.”

He took my hands in his and said, “We do. But let's get through tonight and tomorrow first.”

It wasn't until later that I thought those words might be a warning.

seventy-one

Goldie caught me leaving
the house for my hair appointment and sent me back in. “Put on a nice top and some makeup so they take you seriously. For heaven's sake.”

“This from a woman who hasn't cut her hair since nineteen
sixty-seven
?”

When I walked into
Chez Charles
, though, I was glad she had made me dress for the occasion, although I wondered briefly whether I might not need a space suit. The place, all chrome and white plastic, looked like it might take off, and a few of the patrons could have been aliens, judging by their
multi-hued
sticky-out
hair. I half expected Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith to show up as
Men in Black
.

Chas—Charles of
Chez Charles
—sat me down and stood behind me, assessing my reflection in the mirror with his lips pouched into an O that made me think of Pixel. My three requirements were that the cut be pretty much
wash-and
-wear, that it not require a lot of goop to hold it in place, and that it not be too short. Beyond that, I decided to take Norm's advice to heart and just relax and let Chas work his magic. I had him turn me away from the mirror so I couldn't be tempted to stop him.

When he finally spun me back to my reflection forty minutes later, I thought the mirror had been removed and I was staring at one of the aliens. But if I was, Chas had a twin who was also staring back at us, and he and the Chas behind me were gushing, “I
love
it!”

What was left of my hair stuck out in all directions and multiple lengths. I clamped my teeth together and slowly reached up to touch it. The clumps were stiff and sticky to the touch, and barely moved when my fingers pressed against them.

“Oh my God,” I said when I could get my jaws apart far enough.

“I
knew
you'd love it!”

“I don't love it,” I said, my voice coming back and getting louder with every word. “I've seen better looking roadkill!”

“Now, Jan, just—”

“It's Janet, and just nothing.” Patrons and stylists were turning my way, and I looked at the woman on my left and said, “Does this look like something anyone would do intentionally?” She shook her head. I pulled the smock off with a
zzzzzppp
of Velcro letting go, and pushed myself out of the chair.

“But it looks so rad.”

“It looks like revenge!” My voice broke as my anger gave way to horror. “I would have been better off going to a dog groomer.” I grabbed my tote bag and glared at Chas. “If you think I'm paying for this, you're nuttier than I look.” I tried to pat some of the spikes down with my palm, but no luck. “This crap better wash out.”

I stormed out the door and down the sidewalk, blinded by a stew of emotions, and missed the curb. My left ankle turned and I swear I heard something tear just before my hands and knees hit the asphalt with a
joint-jarring
thud. The rough black surface took several layers of skin from my palms, and my right knee seemed to balloon on contact. I rolled onto my behind and just sat there a moment, wondering why falling down hurts so much more than it did twenty years ago.

“Are you okay?” It was a young woman in a suit, heels, and a normal haircut, and she was leaning toward me. “Do you need help? Are you hurt?” She was staring at me, and I could tell that her concern wasn't entirely due to my tumble.

“Just my pride,” I said, knowing it was a stretch. “I'm just furious about this ridiculous haircut.” She nodded. I thanked her for helping me up, picked up my bag, and jumped into my van, afraid someone I knew might see me. I fished around in my tote bag until I came up with a baby wipe and Jay's pin brush. The wipe stung, but showed that the scrapes were superficial. Then I grabbed the brush. If anything could fight its way through the mess that had been my curly hair, those metal pins could.

But they couldn't. The shellac Chas had dumped into my hair trapped the brush and I had to fight to get it back. I swore as I pulled a clump of hair out of my scalp and stared at the mirror. My mascara had run, giving me an electrocuted Goth look.
Perfect.

Goldie was gathering a bouquet of tulips from the border between her front yard and mine when I pulled into the driveway, so slinking into my house unseen was out of the question, and when I stepped out of the van, she froze in place as if she had met Medusa. I took a step and almost fell as a bolt of pain shot through my left ankle and leapt to my right knee as I overcorrected.

“What happened to you?” Goldie had dropped the flowers and run to support me. “Were you assaulted? Should I call the police?”

Pain, anger, and
bad-hair
blues had brought me to the brink of tears, but the idea of calling the police on Chas started me giggling. I leaned back against the car, wrapped Goldie up in a
one-armed
hug, and laughed until I was crying.

“Janet, calm down.”

“I'm fine,” I said, swiping my sleeve over one eye, then the other. “Not fine, actually, but not hysterical.”

“If you say so.”

I tried to walk, but my ankle wasn't having it, and Goldie pulled my slacks up for a look. The joint was twice its normal size and turning an ominous shade of ruddy mauve. “Aw, crap,” I said.

“I'll help you to my car and take you to the emergency room.”

“No, I'll just ice it. The wedding … the dinner tonight.” I unconsciously started to run my fingers through my hair, but they went in as far as the first knuckles and hit concrete. I yanked my hand out and said, “And anyway, I can't be seen in public like this!” I wanted to bawl.

“Phooey.” She moved in under my arm to support me again and said, “It might be broken, and who cares about your hair.”

When Goldie got back to her car with her purse, keys, and two plastic bags full of ice chips for my ankle and knee, I said, “I called my doctor. The nurse told me to go to the emergency room, not the office.” I pulled the visor down and stared at the mirror, trying to pull some of the ridiculousness from my hair. If anything, I made it worse. That was confirmed by the emergency room volunteer's expression when he brought a wheelchair to the car. I wondered what he thought had happened to me.

Goldie parked the car and found me just as the
check-in
clerk called me to her counter. I'd met her before, but she didn't seem to remember. She was focused on her computer screen. “Are you in our system?”

When my name and social security number brought up my record, the corners of her shiny red lips twitched and then blossomed into a big smile. “I remember you,” she said.

“Hello, LaFawn.”

“How's your butt?” She giggled. She had checked me in after an unfortunate incident the previous fall. Now she looked at me and said, “Girl, that does look like an emergency, but we don't do hair here.”

“I'd forgotten how funny you are, LaFawn.” But she had me laughing by then, and I wondered whether they could just shave my head after they checked my ankle.

seventy-two

My ankle wasn't broken,
and Goldie's ice had brought the swelling down to a manageable puffiness by the time we left for dinner. She had also managed to wash the “product” out of my hair and the cut itself turned out to be a little shorter than I'd wanted, but shapely. I assured Goldie that I was fine to drive and we took my car.

Norm hugged me and then studied my hair and said, “Now see! I told you Chas would shape your hair up!” Goldie made a zipping motion across her lips and I bit my tongue. I couldn't completely hide my limp, though, and Norm sat me down in Bill's recliner with pillows on the footrest to raise my feet. Tom arranged ice packs on my ankle and knee and asked, “How in the world did this happen?”

I glanced at Norm and back to Tom. “Tell you later.”

“You boys have done so much to the house.” Mom had lived in that house since we were kids, but she hadn't been back since we moved her to Shadetree and Bill and Norm moved in. I couldn't tell whether she was impressed or appalled by the changes they had made—a wall gone between the dining and living rooms, flooring changed, kitchen cabinets reconfigured. “I can't wait to see what you do with the gardens.”

Bill didn't seem to get it, but Norm did. Her garden was my mother's masterpiece, nurtured over the years with love and
back-break
and sweat. Norm took her hand and squeezed. “Why would we change the gardens, Mom? They're perfect! We'll be bringing you over for frequent consults once the weather warms up.”

Mom was radiant and her beau, Tony Marconi, looked proud as a peacock despite his cane. Tony's daughter, Louise, reflected her father's happiness, and I was glad to see that she seemed fully recovered from the sudden death of her husband a few months earlier. Jade Templeton, the manager at Shadetree, had become a good friend and had championed this romance between Tony and my mother, and she was beaming. It was a lovely group, and I was glad the dinner was not in an impersonal restaurant. It was also a relief to have a few hours of conversation with no mention of murder or larceny, stalkers or fraud.

We were almost home when Goldie finally asked, “What's up with you and Tom?” I didn't answer and she dropped it, but I knew she would circle back eventually. She changed subjects when we turned onto our street. “Well, someone's having a party here, too.”

There must have been forty vehicles parked along both sides of the street, and some of the drivers hadn't been too fussy about who else they inconvenienced, especially whoever owned the Lincoln that was blocking half of my driveway. I did a mental scan of my refrigerator contents and asked, “You have any eggs?”

Goldie laughed and said, “Don't even think about it.”

“I like thinking about it.”

“Let me move my car over and you can park in my driveway.”

“It's okay, there's a place there.” I drove to the end of the block, made a
U-turn
, and pulled into the one available space smack in front of Councilman Phil Martin's living room window. His house was dark, but it was only eight o'clock on a Friday night. As if she were reading my thoughts, Goldie said, “Maybe he has a date,” and we both started to laugh.

“Yeah, maybe. I wonder how things are going between Chelsea and ‘Daddy' since her
run-in
with the law. And the press.”

Goldie offered to help me in, but my ankle was feeling pretty good, and my knee was tender only to the touch, so I declined. “Why don't you bring Bonnie over? The dogs can have a romp and we can have a nightcap.”

I changed into sweats and Crocs and took Jay out back. Goldie and Bonnie joined us, and the two dogs played chase around the yard for a few minutes. It was a clear, crisp evening with barely a trace of wind. A scatter of stars danced across a moonless sky and the first hint of honeysuckle hovered over the backyard. Finally, though, the cool air turned cold and we called the dogs and went inside.

“Bonnie seems to have settled in nicely.”

“She's such a dear,” Goldie said, the love in her voice palpable.

We talked a bit about the police investigation, but neither of us knew anything new. Around
nine-thirty
, Jay raised his head to listen and Bonnie jumped to her feet, raced to the front window, and started to bark. We heard voices and car doors and engines starting, and I knew the party must be over.

“Bonnie, quiet! Be quiet!”

Bark bark bark.

My first reaction was
good luck with that—she's a Sheltie
, but then I remembered watching Ray handle her. I said in a normal voice, “Bonnie, that'll do.” She let out one more woof, then trotted back to the kitchen, stopped at Goldie's knee for an
ear-scratch
, and lay down beside Jay.

“That was magical.”

“I saw Ray work with her.”

Quiet returned outside, and our conversation turned to the trouble between Tom and me. Goldie listened silently as I spilled my fear and desires, doubts and dreams, all over the table. We sat in more silence for a few minutes, and finally she said, “A solution will appear.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I just feel that a solution, a compromise, will present itself.” She smiled at me. “I know that's a bit too
airy-fairy
hippie-dippie
for you, Janet, but you'll see. All will be we—”

Bonnie cut her off with an explosion of barking, and this time Jay joined her. They raced to the living room, jumped onto the couch and barked out the window, both heads cranked toward Phil Martin's house.

“Bonnie, that'll do!” Goldie said. Bonnie turned to look at her, but jumped off the couch and ran to the back door, barking like there was no tomorrow.

Jay was very agitated, his paws on the back of the couch, his voice varying from low and booming to
high-pitched
and frantic. I moved to the window and looked out. Martin's car had materialized in his driveway, but the street seemed to be deserted. Bonnie scurried back to the couch and the two of them barked and looked at us and barked and looked out the window and barked some more.

“Maybe there's a dog out there, or something?” Goldie asked, leaning against me to see out.

“Maybe,” I said, but I didn't think so. “I'm going to look from the backyard.”

I could barely get the door open for the dogs trying to shove past me. They shot off the patio and straight to the fence, the very defini
tion of raising hell. I started to run after them, but the step off the patio set my ankle on fire and I had to slow down. The dogs were running back and forth along a
twenty-foot
section of fence, barking and stopping to jump against the
chain-link
as if frantic to get past it. Martin's yard and the rooms at the back of his house were dark, and at first I couldn't see anything. Goldie's voice made me jump, it was so close, but she didn't seem to notice. “The sliding door isn't closed.”

“How can you tell?”

She pointed and said “Look.”

A dark curtain floated out the door, fluttered in the rising wind, and disappeared. And then we heard, just barely over the frantic barking, a crash, and a scream.