The Calamity Café (21 page)

Sissy handed me a mirror. “See what you think, gorgeous!”

“Wow.” I hadn't seen hair this big since senior prom . . . photos of
Mom's
senior prom, to be exact.

Sissy was looking at me expectantly.

“Looks incredible!” I smiled, paid her for my enormous hair, gave her a tip, and left the salon.

It was a good thing Sissy had put enough pins in my hair to supply beauty pageants along the entire East Coast and had used half a can of spray to hold the updo in place, because it smushed against the top of the Beetle when I slid behind the wheel.

I called Ryan to ask him to give me some time before
heading to my house. I wanted to take my hair down and wash it before he saw me. But my call went to voice mail.

Oh well, when I got home, I could at least take a selfie—front and back—so that Jackie and I could laugh over the hair later. It wasn't that it was ugly. It was just big. Texas big. Sissy had done an excellent job of piling all of my hair up onto my head in a . . . well, an elaborate way.

*   *   *

W
hen I pulled into my driveway, Ryan's red convertible was already there. And Ryan was sitting on my front porch. I groaned as I parked the car.

Dang.

He smirked as I maneuvered my head out of the car. “I knew you'd do it. I
knew
you'd do it!”

I raised my chin. “What did you expect? Like I told you, this is my life on the line.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “You're impossible—you know that?”

I walked up the stairs and sat on the porch beside Ryan. “Have you been here long?”

“Only a few minutes. So did you learn anything valuable on your fishing expedition?”

“You mean, besides the answer to the question of how many bobby pins my head can hold without spraining my neck?” I smiled. “I found out that Lou Lou's mother confessed to her on her deathbed that her dad had been responsible for making Sherman Harding leave Winter Garden.”

“After finding out, what did Lou Lou do with the information?”

“Apparently nothing. Sissy said that Lou Lou was afraid
to tell Pete the truth because she was scared that he'd want to meet his father and that, after meeting his father, Pete would want to go live with him.”

“And then when Stan showed up, did she figure out the truth about his identity?” Ryan prompted.

“I don't know. Apparently, that was the one thing she didn't confide to her hairdresser. Incidentally, Lou Holman stabbed Sherman—he didn't pay him off. I think I should find out from Stan exactly what he knew before he came to Winter Garden and what he learned after he got here.”

“I'll be the one talking with Stan.”

I shook my head, which wasn't an easy feat, given its size and weight at this point. “He'd be more likely to talk with me. He said he'd been in jail before, so I imagine he'd be defensive around police officers.”

“No dice. I'll tell him that we've learned that his father was once married to Lou Lou Holman and ask what his intentions were when he came to Winter Garden.”

“Okay. I hope you find out something useful.”

A
fter Ryan left, I went inside and fed the pets. I was getting ready to take the selfies for Jackie, and then wash my hair, when Stan Wheeler pulled into my driveway. I felt a chill run down my spine. I had no idea what this man was hiding, and I didn't want to be inside my house alone with him. I'd keep him out here on the porch, where all the neighbors could see us. I desperately hoped I could get my questions answered after all. I still thought the man would be more forthcoming with me than he would be with Ryan.

I stepped out onto the porch and pasted on a bright smile. “Hi, Stan!”

“Hey. I knocked off early because I wanted to talk with you. I heard about you calling my dad.”

“I did. I . . . um . . . found out that Mr. Harding had been married to Lou Lou Holman, and I phoned to let him know she died last week.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” he asked.

“Well . . .” I swallowed. “I thought maybe he'd like to know what happened to her.”

“That was a long time ago,” he said. “More than forty years, as a matter of fact. Why would he care? Why would
you
? Dad hadn't been in Lou Lou's life for nearly four decades.”

“Um . . . yeah . . . looking back, it might not have been such a good idea. I learned he was your dad, though, because you two look so much alike. Or, at least, you know . . . you look like he looked when he was younger. I've obviously only seen the two photos . . . and those were grainy newspaper pictures . . . so what do I know?”

He shook his head. “What are you babbling on about?”

Stan was right. I
was
babbling. I needed to suck it up and to find out what I wanted to know. “Did Lou Lou know you were Sherman Harding's son?”

“Maybe. So what?”

“Did you know her history with your dad? And that Pete is your half brother?” I asked.

“Sure. Dad told me all of that before I left Pulaski.”

“So, why did you come to Winter Garden? Did you want to meet your half brother . . . maybe make a connection with him?”

“I didn't give it a lot of thought.” He put his hands on his hips. “I wanted to see them mainly . . . to just find out a little bit about who they were. I mean, they were important to Dad once . . . you know?”

“Of course. I can understand that. But you've been here for over a year. Why did you stay?”

“I don't see how any of this is your business,” Stan said. “In fact, I'll call Roger tonight and tell him I'm
quitting because I don't want to work anywhere near you anymore.” He turned to go.

“Wait, Stan. I'm sorry. I just . . . Why haven't you told Pete you're his half brother?”

He shrugged.

“But now that his mother is dead, don't you think Pete would like to know he still has family? Maybe he'd like to go to Pulaski and meet your dad.”

“He might.” He studied the tops of his work boots.

“I heard just today that Lou stabbed your dad and threatened to kill him if he didn't leave Winter Garden and never come back.”

Stan raised his eyes to mine. “You calling my daddy a coward?”

“No. I'd never say that. But he was young and knew he could have a life with you and your mom. . . . I think he made the right choice.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Like I've done told you, none of this is any of your business. So stay out of it.”

*   *   *

A
fter Stan left, I went into the bedroom and sat down at the vanity. I took photos of myself from the front and from the back and texted them to Jackie. Then I began the difficult task of undoing what Sissy had done to my hair. I took out a few pins, and yet the hair stayed where it was. I took out more pins, and the hair on one side drooped a little. Finally, all of the bobby pins were in a pile on my vanity. I swept them into a drawer, secure in the knowledge that I'd never again have to buy bobby pins.

I looked in the mirror and laughed at the disarray. Nana would've said I looked like I'd stuck my finger in
a light socket. I only hoped a shower, some shampoo, and conditioner would return my hair to normal. Before I went to the bathroom, however, I took another selfie and texted it to Jackie so she could see my mad-scientist hair.

I was chuckling as I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I retrieved a towel and washcloth from the closet.

I heard Rory's toenails click on the floor as he wandered into the hall to see what I was doing.

“What are you in the mood for this evening, Rory Borealis?” I asked him. “Wanna watch a movie when I get out?”

He turned and trotted toward the kitchen.

“Guess not. Maybe you'll change your mind.”

I went into the bathroom and got into the shower. The weight of the water finally lost the battle with gravity and my hair once more fell to below my shoulders. I shampooed it twice and then one more time for good measure. Then I made sure to leave my conditioner on for a full minute while I sang a John Legend song to myself and thought about my nonexistent dating life.

I'd dated over the years, of course. I'd even had a steady relationship in college that had lasted for a few months. But then Nana had gotten sick, and I'd moved back to Winter Garden. The guy and I had planned to stay in touch, but the long-distance thing didn't really work out all that well for us. He finally called me and told me he was seeing someone else. It stung my pride, sure, but when I realized I didn't care as much as I should have, it underscored how little the relationship had meant to either of us.

And now here was Deputy Ryan Hall. I wondered what his story was . . . whether or not we could date once Lou Lou Holman's killer had been caught. Or should I
say
if
Lou Lou's killer was caught? What if he . . . or she . . . wasn't caught? The murder would remain an open case, and there would be a cloud of suspicion over my head from now on.

I got out of the shower, slipped on a terry robe, and wrapped my hair in a towel.

I couldn't let myself think that Lou Lou's killer wouldn't be caught. If her murderer went free, my reputation here in Winter Garden—as well as the reputation of the Down South Café—would be ruined. I sighed. I had to believe that everything would work out fine.

Stan had gotten so defensive. I remembered his asking me, “Are you calling my daddy a coward?” He'd looked furious . . . like he could kill me. If Lou Lou had belittled Sherman to Stan, it might've been just enough reason to push him over the edge. He could very well have struck her out of anger without intending to kill her.

I took down the towel, spritzed a styling spray onto my hair, ran a wide-tooth comb through it, and began blowing it dry. Thank goodness, it was beginning to look normal.

On the other hand, that might've been the reason Stan came to Winter Garden in the first place, to get revenge on Lou Lou for allowing her father to run Sherman out of town. I decided to call Ryan and talk my theory over with him.

I thought I heard something in the hall and switched off the dryer. I listened for a second, didn't hear anything else, and finished drying my hair. I ran my hands through it. It felt smooth and soft and free of gunk.

I heard a crash. This time I was positive it wasn't my imagination. And judging from the chill that ran down my spine, I didn't think it was one of the animals
either.

I
tightened the belt to my robe and stepped out of the bathroom. My bedroom looked as I'd left it. The bed was made, the decorative pillows were as I usually placed them, and there was only a slight indentation on the bedspread where I'd sat to take off my shoes.

I eased into the hallway and looked into the kitchen. I gasped. Stan Wheeler was sitting at my table drinking a bottle of water.

He looked up and smiled humorlessly. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“W-well, you s-sure did. What . . . what're you doing here, Stan?” My eyes darted around the kitchen. I saw that Stan had placed a chair in front of the doggie door so Rory couldn't come inside.

He followed my gaze. “The dog was outside when I came in. I thought it best that he stay out there.”

“I see.” My mind scrambled for some means of escape. “You know, Ryan—the deputy—is on his way over. I have a date with him this evening.”

“We'd better get this over with, then.”

“G-get what over with?”

“You've already made your mind up that I'm the one who killed Lou Lou. I mean, you've been digging around in my past, asking me all these questions . . . even calling my dad up in Pulaski and getting him all bent out of shape.”

“N-no, I don't have any idea who killed Lou Lou . . . b-but I'm leaning toward Pete.”

He nodded toward the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

“I . . . need to get ready . . . for my date.”

“We both know that's a load of bull. Sit down.”

I slumped onto the chair across from Stan. At least, maybe I could figure out a way to get out of the house . . . run screaming to a neighbor's. The man had broken into my house and had all but practically confessed to killing Lou Lou. There was no way he was planning to let me leave.

“Why do you say I've made up my mind that you killed Lou Lou?” I said. “Did you?”

He nodded. “Didn't mean to. I was out in the rain trying to patch that stupid roof, and I flew mad and left to go see her. When I drove by the Joint, I saw her van still there. I went in to have it out with her. And I took my hammer with me because I felt like she had something that belonged to me.”

A hammer. “And I guess you did have it out with her.”

“I sure did.” He lifted his bottle and took a drink, keeping his eyes on me while he did so. “I told that
woman what I thought . . . about everything. She and her family had treated my daddy like dirt. Dad told me there was a secret compartment in the wall behind the desk. He'd heard that bank robbery story, and he'd seen Lou putting something in there once.” He brought the hand that had been on his lap onto the table. In it, he clutched a claw hammer. “I took this hammer so I could get it.”

I gulped. “Why didn't you get into the secret compartment, then?”

“We were arguing, and I told Lou Lou she wasn't going to treat me the way she'd done my daddy and that I intended to have what was coming to me. I raised up the hammer and started toward the wall behind the desk. Lou Lou said that was Pete's money. She was saving it for him. Well, I thought it should go to Daddy's other son.”

“Why would she save the money for Pete?”

“Because the guy's lousy with money, and she knew it. When I shoved her out of the way so I could bust through the wall, she went to screaming and grabbed the phone. I knew she was going to call the police. So I hit her.”

“Was the one blow all it took?” I asked.

“Yeah. I'm stronger than I look.”

I clasped my hands together, desperately needing something to hold on to. “You could say it was self-defense, Stan. I'll back you up.”

“How're you going to back me up?” he asked. “You weren't there.”

“I know, but anyone could see how you . . . well, y-you had to defend yourself. Everybody in Winter Garden knows Lou Lou was a bully. They wouldn't be surprised if you told them she pulled a gun or a knife on you or something.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I believe I'd be better off going with my own idea.”

I gulped and dreaded for him to continue.

“After I left here a while ago, I knew it was only a matter of time before the police would come knocking,” Stan said. “You'd found out too much about my past and my family's history with the Holmans. I thought a better story would be if you confessed to killing Lou Lou and then killed yourself.”

“I had no reason to murder Lou Lou,” I pointed out.

“Sure you did. You wanted the Joint, and she wouldn't sell it to you. You picked up the nearest thing you could find—this hammer—and struck out in a fit of rage. But, lately, your conscience has gotten the best of you, and you can't live with the guilt.”

I shook my head. “Nobody'll buy that, Stan, and you . . . you'll go to prison for two murders. At least, you can try to pass off Lou Lou's death as something that happened in self-defense . . . or in the heat of the moment.”

“You only want to
think
no one will buy that story, sweetie pie. Everyone knows you wanted Lou Lou to sell you the Joint and that she didn't want to. Pete was trying to talk her into it, but it's not likely he'd have been able to. Plus, you're the one who found her.”

“Stan, I . . . I've told people about your connection to the Holmans and that you're Pete's half brother.”

“It doesn't matter. You're getting ready to write a confession.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.” He placed the hammer on the table, stood, and took a pistol from the waistband of his jeans.

“I'm not. I . . . I guess you'll have to shoot me without
the confession.” The sound of my heartbeat was filling my ears.

Stan leveled the gun at me.

I made a whimpering sound, but I refused to break down or scream or beg. I was still thinking there might be a way I could get out of this.

Hedging my bets, I stood, pushing the table up and against Stan as hard as I could. He cursed as I spun around and ran back to my bedroom. I slammed the door, locked it, and climbed out the window. I heard him smashing through the door. I ran toward the street. I wondered how close Stan was to me, but I didn't dare look. I'd seen enough horror movies to know that when the girl looks back to see where her attacker is, she trips and falls and then gets cut to bits. Or, in my case, shot.

I'd just got to the road when headlights blinded me. I waved my arms to flag down the truck.

It was Roger and Jackie!

“Get me out of here!” I cried. “Stan's trying to kill me!”

As I leapt into the truck beside Jackie, Stan ran up beside the porch and began shooting at us.

Roger said a few choice words as we sped toward the police station.

*   *   *

T
he police apprehended Stan between my house and the trailer Stan had been renting from Lou Lou. I guessed he was going to grab whatever he could from his home and leave town.

Luckily for me, I'd sent that embarrassing selfie to Jackie. She saw a shadow at my bedroom window in the photo. She tried to call me right after that, but I was
in the shower. She convinced Roger that they should leave their dinner in Bristol and come to check on me. Good thing she did.

Pete was devastated to learn the story behind Stan and his father. He refused to go talk with Stan, but he did drive up to Pulaski to meet Sherman Harding. Pete also bought his truck, and Chris Anne's brother became his partner.

Sheriff Billings traced the money that had been hidden in the wall and discovered that it was the money that had been stolen from the bank in North Carolina all those years ago. Grady might've wanted to paint himself as a hero to his family—or maybe that had all been Ms. Carter's doing—but he hadn't given the money back. Still, he and Bo had fallen out over the money and had never reconciled. That was a shame.