A Dyeing Shame: Death at the Beauty Box

A Palmland Publishing title  by Elizabeth Spann Craig

copyright 2006  by Elizabeth Spann Craig

ISBN 1-933678-08-9.   $12.95

                                        Chapter One

            “I phoned you to tell you how proud you should be of me!  Go ahead, congratulate me,” Myrtle Clover ordered. 

            Her son, Red, rolled his eyes at his wife as she kicked open the back door with Little Red on one hip and a couple of bags of groceries on the other.  “What for, Mama?  Finally beat Miz Meyers playing Scrabble?”

            “No, no.  I just came back from the DMV.  They renewed my license for five more years!”      

            Red, taking the grocery bags out of Elaine’s hands, dropped the phone.  He picked it up again and said, “But Mama, you haven’t even driven a car for five years!”

            “Well, that didn’t seem to bother the DMV, sweetie.  I caught a ride with that nice new neighbor of mine this morning.  I got my picture taken and everything.”

            “Where do you need me to drive you, Mama? There’s no reason for you to worry about getting out in the car.  Besides, what car would you drive, anyway? You don’t have a car.”

            “Oh, Edna told me to take hers for a spin anytime I wanted to.  She likes to have the engine warmed up every now and then.”        

            Red battled a rising tide of panic.  As Bradley, North Carolina, Chief of Police, he took his duty ensuring public safety very seriously.  Having his octogenarian mother terrifying the citizenry in a borrowed 1978 Cadillac Fleetwood didn’t fit his vision. 

            Elaine hid a smile as Red’s face grew redder with his rising blood pressure. Elaine, ten years younger than forty-five year-old Red, thought of his mom as more of a surrogate grandmother than a mother-in-law.  This meant that Myrtle didn’t get on Elaine’s nerves as much as she did on Red’s.  Out of concern for his mother’s safety (so he said), Red had attempted to orchestrate his mom’s move to the Greener Pastures Retirement Home last year.  After a clash-of-the-Titans-style fight, Myrtle as usual, won.

            “Tell you what, Mama.  How about I head over there now and take you lunch?  Elaine just came back from the store and she’s got some...” He looked at Elaine urgently as she held up various foodstuffs from the depths of the grocery bags.  “...Some fresh-baked rye bread and Cajun roast beef.  Mmm...and a melon bowl, too. If you’ve got some barbeque chips, and I think you do, then we’ve got a lunch.”  Cementing the deal, Red hung up and scowled at the phone. 

            “Got to see what’s going on with Mama.  She’s got driving on the brain now, like she wants to go off exploring the countryside or something.”  Red glanced at the wall clock.  “Mama must’ve been at the DMV when it opened because it’s barely lunchtime now.”

            “But there’s no reason for her to drive anywhere. I always offer her rides and she can easily walk everywhere she needs to go in Bradley. She must be really bored to hang out at the DMV for the morning.” 

            Red pictured his mother in a jaunty riding hat, tooting her horn and “yoo-hooing” to any pedestrians she knew.  He groaned.  “I think she’s trying to torment me. I’m grabbing some stuff and running over there.” He gave her a quick kiss and headed out the door, straightening his uniform as he stomped out.

            Myrtle lived across the street and several doors down from Red and Elaine. Myrtle watched as Red, clutching a grocery bag, walked briskly out of his house. Skipping the car to demonstrate the importance of exercise, she thought.  Although she’d felt grouchy most of the day, she made an effort to open the door and greet her only child with a smile and a hug.

            Along with Myrtle’s big bones, Red had inherited a six-foot four-inch frame to go with them.  His once-red hair was now sprinkled with gray. Bradley’s slower pace of life suited him perfectly; he could administer the town’s needs and still have time to hunt and fish with his God-and-country-loving buddies. The jagged scar that snaked down the side of his face provided him with great sympathy through his dating years as a badge of courage received during the line of duty.  It had actually occurred during an unfortunate bike incident involving a homemade ramp and a discarded bike helmet when Red was eight.

            Red walked into the kitchen and unloaded the grocery bag.  Myrtle’s stomach growled reproachfully and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten all day.

            “What’ve you got lined up today?” asked Myrtle as she reached for the bread.

            Red rolled his eyes.  “Miz Peterson wants me to come by again after lunch.”

            Myrtle clicked her tongue sympathetically. “More kids cutting across her lawn?”

            “Either that or a suspicious prowler is lurking behind her hydrangeas again.  Or maybe deaf old Mr. Smith next door has his TV turned up too loud again and won’t close his windows.  Could be anything.”

            Myrtle assumed a superior air.  “She’s probably bored and wants company.”

            Red snorted.  “Don’t be smug, Mama, you’re looking pretty bored yourself.  Although why, I don’t know.  I thought you were still up to your neck in duplicate bridge.”

            “You know perfectly well that I got my Life Master in bridge with Edna at that Gatlinburg competition.  The thrill has gone with nothing left to compete for.”

            “You could try another card game,” suggested Red.   At her questioning look, he hid a grin and asked, “Poker?”

            Myrtle drew up and peered down her nose at Red.  She affected a patrician Southern lady look, which clashed with her big bones and solid frame.  “I’ll pretend you didn’t go there,” she sniffed, regally. 

            Red sighed.  “Or bunko or hearts or anything else.  Just try to stay out of trouble, please.  I don’t like it when you get bored.  The last time boredom struck, you got tangled up with local politics.  And you remember how that turned out.”

            “For your information, Red, sit-ins are historically an excellent way to draw attention to a cause.  Civil disobedience and all that.”

            “But not ideal for arthritic elderly ladies, Mama. Miss Hanover is still molded in that same seated position to this day.”

            “Well, next time we’ll bring chairs.”  Myrtle frowned.  “Old age is a terrible thing.”

            “It beats the alternative,” Red pointed out.

            “I’m not so sure.”

            Growing up with an English teacher for a mom, Red shared his mom’s unusual ability to find the perfect quote for every occasion.  “What about ‘Grow old along with me——the best is yet to be?’” 

            Myrtle said from the vantage point of the very old, “Robert Browning was a mere child.  What did he know?  Anne Bradstreet had it right: 

 “My memory is short, and braine is dry. 

 “My gray haires doth flourish now. 

 “And back, once straight, begins apace to bow.”

            Red studied her sturdy frame.  “Your back looks straight to me.”  He checked his watch.  “Sorry to end this fascinating discussion, but I’ve got to run check on Miz Peterson now.  Enjoy your afternoon.”  He gave his mother a peck on the cheek.  “Why don’t you go over and visit Elaine?  You could play with the baby for a little while.”           

            “I might do that,” said Myrtle.  “Right after Tomorrow’s Promise.  I missed it yesterday and haven’t watched my tape yet.  Oh, and I need to take a trip to the farmer’s market for some okra. Do you think a visit in a couple of hours would suit Elaine?”

            Glad to hear that something still held her interest, even a soap opera and fresh veggies, Red agreed.  “That’s probably a good idea.  Little Red usually has his afternoon nap right about now, anyway.”  He opened her pantry and grabbed a couple of Chips Ahoy cookies.  “Glad you still keep the pantry stocked for me,” he said with a little-boy grin and left.

            Myrtle laughed and got out a cookie for herself.  Sometimes the years melted away and Red was a kid again.  She picked up the remote, plopped down on the sofa and clicked on the television.  Life may change, trials and tribulations would all heap upon her, but her soap opera was forever.

            After watching an hour of Tomorrow’s Promise and following most of its convoluted subplots, she clicked off the TV, grabbed her cane——mostly to avoid the inevitable lecture from some busybody if she left it at home——and took the short walk through Bradley’s picturesque downtown to the market.      

Bradley looked like a town from the 1950s and 60s.  You expected to see Beaver Cleaver’s mom borrowing sugar from the Father Knows Best family. There were tree-lined streets and brick storefronts that hadn’t changed in generations.  A fading metal sign hanging on the side of Bo’s Diner implored people to “Drink Coke!”  Except for the modern cars driving along the streets, it looked like the town that time forgot. Bradley enjoyed moderate prosperity; not enough to attract the wrong sort of attention and not too little as to face economic doldrums.

Next to the City Hall was a small commons area where farmers put up stalls and sold produce on summertime Saturdays.  The locals went for corn, squash and homemade barbeque sauce and the tourists for the local color against the lake’s backdrop.

Her best friend, Edna, held a wicker basket of vegetables as she peered into one of the stalls.  A large sunhat protected her genteel features as she studied the snap beans with the same careful consideration she applied to everything in life.

            Myrtle sidled up beside her and said hello.  Instead of feeling happy to see Edna, Myrtle felt the familiar restlessness wash over her again.  How many Saturdays had she come to the same place to do the same thing and see the same people?  

            “You’re looking rather sour this morning,” observed Edna.

            Myrtle heaved a sigh.  “I’m bored.”

            Edna raised her eyebrows and dropped the snap beans in a paper bag.  “Surely that’s not allowed.  I thought only children were permitted boredom.”   She pointedly looked Myrtle up and down from her carefully arranged thinning hair to her sensible SAS shoes.  Myrtle, in the eighty to eighty-five year range, hardly qualified as a child.

            “I’ve earned the right to boredom,” retorted Myrtle.  “I’ve sampled all the entertainment for the elderly.  Bingo and bridge.  Mad Hatter teas and early bird supper deals.  Book clubs and the Bradley Historical Society.  I’ve been around a long, long time.  I’ve done it all and I’m bored with it all.”

            Edna, whose carefully regimented life and habits forbade ennui, considered the problem for a minute while the farmer weighed her snap beans.  “There’s always travel,” she offered.

            “Who would go with me?” asked Myrtle in a plaintive voice.  “Red and Elaine are busy with Little Red.  And my ancient friends are dropping like flies.”  She brightened.  “Say Edna, what if you and I——”

            “Let me cut you off right there. My traveling days are over.  Been there, done that.  Sitting still for long distances makes me stiff.”

            “There are airplanes,” explained Myrtle, in case Edna didn’t know.

            “I’m aware of that,” said Edna with dignity.  “Don’t like the cramped powder rooms.  No, Myrtle, I’m finished traveling.  There’s nothing I care to see that much. Any family who wants to visit can come to me.”

            Myrtle sighed.  “Back to the drawing board.”  She half-heartedly picked up some figs and examined them.  “Maybe you and I can go over to Greener Pastures tomorrow and visit.  The Sunday dinner there is decent.”

            Edna suspected Myrtle’s motives in visiting the elderly at the retirement home were less than altruistic.  She was convinced Myrtle’s retirement home excursions served as platforms for her to show off her health and independence.  Myrtle frequently “forgot” her cane during her visits and carried her towering frame proudly as she navigated the halls.  She was so sturdily constructed that her bones looked indestructible.  The fragile women with osteoporosis at Greener Pastures didn’t hold up well in comparison.  Myrtle had narrowly escaped joining the crowd over there recently.  Edna didn’t feel like a visit.

            Edna gave a gusty sigh.  “Not tapping your foot at the curb while waiting for the mailman, are you?  Or pondering the inconsistencies of the garbage collection service again?  You’ve got too much time on your hands.”

“What’s wrong with that, Edna?  There’s no reason a citizen shouldn’t reasonably expect her mail delivered or garbage picked up at the same time each day or week.” 

Edna smiled.  “And the weather forecasters?  Still rating their predictions?”

“And miserably error-prone they are, too!”

            Edna knew things were going to start hopping with Myrtle bored.  She only wondered what direction her interest was going to take. 

            She said, “I don’t see how you can be bored in Bradley, Myrtle.   There’s been plenty of local intrigue lately.”

            Myrtle’s ears pricked up.  “Go on,” she urged.

            Edna’s natural discretion warred with her urge to gossip.  Discretion won out, much to Myrtle’s disappointment.  Edna clamped her lips in a tight line to keep the gossip from bursting out. She said mysteriously, “You’ll find out tomorrow morning at the Beauty Box.”

            “Oh?   Is Tami on the warpath again?”  Tami was the hairdresser and former confidante of the ladies who saw her.  But booze made Tami loose-lipped and cats were flying out of bags with amazing regularity in recent weeks. 

            “You’ll see.”

            Myrtle said spitefully, “Too bad Tami’s going downhill like this.  What does Sammy think about it all?”  Sammy was Edna’s only child and her pride and joy.  He and Tami were currently dating.  Edna decided not to hear Myrtle. “See you over there tomorrow,” she called as she walked away.

            When Myrtle got home and put the veggies away, she called Elaine to get the OK to drop by.   She walked over holding a brand-new teething ring she’d bought at the store.  Little Red’s pearly whites were erupting through his gums and his sleep-deprived mother was paying the price for them. 

            Little Red’s delighted gurgle and the relieved look on Elaine’s face were reward enough for Myrtle.  Elaine sat down on the floor next to Little Red, who sat on a quilt.  Copious amounts of drool cascaded out of the baby’s mouth as he twisted the teething ring to hit the offending spot.  Myrtle opted for the loftier perch provided by the sofa; she’d learned her lesson a week ago when she got stuck on the floor.  Getting down there wasn’t bad, but getting back up again thirty minutes later was a different story.  Myrtle couldn’t resist leaning over and rubbing Little Red’s fuzzy red hair, which stood up in punk-like spikes all over his head.

            Elaine regarded Myrtle with all the eagerness of a stay-at-home mom stranded with baby too often.  “Anything exciting going on?”

            Myrtle laughed.  “You’re asking the wrong person.  That teething ring was my only offering. But I may have more tomorrow, courtesy of the Beauty Box.   Edna tells me that’s where all the action is.”

             Elaine put her hand up to her hair protectively. “I haven’t gone back since Tami butchered my hair last time.  Little Red could have done a better job.” Her long, black hair had been massacred and she’d had to get a short bob to correct the problem.  Red hadn’t forgiven Tami yet.

            Myrtle studied Elaine and thought the bob suited her and framed her heart-shaped face.  Her face was striking with high cheekbones and warm brown eyes that showed her sense of humor.  Red was lucky, Myrtle reflected for the millionth time.  Red was wrapped around Elaine’s competent little finger, but in a very subtle way. 

            “Your hair looks great,” said Myrtle truthfully.  “And I don’t think you’d want Tami to get her talons back into it anyway.”

            Elaine perked up at the prospect of scandalous chitchat.  “What kind of trouble is brewing at the Beauty Box?” she demanded.

            Myrtle leaned forward.  “Edna wasn’t too forthcoming, unfortunately.  But from what I gather, Tami is hitting the sauce with a vengeance now.”

            Elaine watched Little Red try to stick his entire fist into his mouth.  “Hmm.  That could have dangerous consequences, couldn’t it?  Like having your local bartender spilling secrets.”

            Myrtle nodded.  “Or your priest.  Tami knows all the dirt on everyone.  Sometimes they tell her things and sometimes she just knows. Of course, she used to be professional enough to keep secrets.  But with alcohol in the mix...”  Myrtle looked doubtful.  “I’ve got my regular appointment over there tomorrow, so I’ll give you the scoop.”

            “There’s the new girl at the shop, though, isn’t there?  Brandy...Tami’s niece, right?  I wonder if she’d do a better job with hair.”

            Myrtle thought about Brandy.  Her hair was dyed fuchsia and she sported rings through her nose, bellybutton, and probably other places Myrtle didn’t want to know about.  So far the ladies of Bradley proved reticent to entrust their precious locks to someone who looked like a refugee from the early ‘80s.  But with Tami as incapacitated as she was, Brandy’s number of clients might be on the rise. 

            “Well, I’m sure she follows the current fashion trends, at least.  Maybe she’s worth a try.”  Myrtle stood up.  “Hate to run, but I think I’m going to head home and put my feet up for a while.  It’s been a busy day.”

            Myrtle gave Little Red a squeeze and he gave her a wet nuzzle on the cheek in return.  Elaine thanked her for coming and watched through the window as she walked home.  Elaine recognized the symptoms and they filled her with apprehension.  Myrtle Clover was bored again, God help them.