six

Frowning, Maddie wrinkled her nose as soon as she walked in the door. “What is that awful smell?’’

I sniffed. Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow smelled just like it always smelled, like a fruit roll-up dipped in ammonia. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister. It smells normal. But why don’t you raise your voice a bit? I don’t think the customers under the hair dryers were able to hear you.’’

Maddie waggled her fingers at Betty Taylor, the salon owner. “Sorry. I woke up with the queasies this morning. My stomach’s not right.’’

“Did you tie one on last night, Maddie?’’ Betty grinned.

Everyone in Himmarshee knew my sister was a teetotaler. Mama never poked fun at Maddie’s abstemious nature, figuring it left more sweet pink wine for her.

“Maybe she was worried about coming here today to see what kind of hair torture you have in mind for her for the big birthday party,’’ I said.

Betty shook her purple comb at me. “We should be thinking about how to do your hair if you ever commit to a wedding date. When is hell going to freeze over, by the way?’’

“Marriage is a sore subject with Mace,’’ Maddie said. “She feels like everybody’s rushing her. We’ve told her Carlos won’t wait forever, like some old man in the mall holding her purse.’’

“Carlos has never held my purse,’’ I said.

“You know what I mean.’’

“I don’t understand you, Mace.’’ Betty handed Maddie a stack of hairstyle books. “Most women would jump like a duck on a June bug on a proposal from that good-looking man. Then again, most women enjoy a trip to the beauty parlor, too.’’ She waved her comb, taking in the shop’s walls, sinks, and chairs, all in a vivid purple. “You’re a little unusual in hating to have your hair done. Course, anyone with eyes could tell that by that snarl-fest you call hair. God gave you a gift, honey. Why treat it like a curse?’’

She advanced on me, holding her comb like a bayonet. I ducked out of reach.

“Mace is a little unusual in a lot of ways,’’ Maddie said. “But I have to be nice. I talked her into coming to give me hairdo advice. I’m sure she’d rather be out communing with the bugs and the trees in the heat at Himmarshee Park.’’

I looked at my watch. “Speaking of the park, I have to be there in an hour to take care of my animals. Could we lay off me and get started on all those fascinating styles for your hair?’’

Betty took another long look at my hair. Thick and black, it was filled with knots because I was pretty sure I’d forgotten to brush it that morning. Shaking her head, she went to ring up a customer, leaving us with the style books at a small table where Mama does her color-by-season charts. A little sign on the tabletop said Color Me Gorgeous.

“She’s right, you know. I’d kill for hair like yours.’’ Maddie lifted a handful of her own locks. With the humidity, her hair hung in tight coils, like a bright-red scouring pad. “You’d only have to make a minimal effort, Mace, and you could have a glossy, sophisticated look.’’

“I’m sure the critters in our wildlife rehab at Himmarshee Park would be wowed.’’

I plopped the first book on the table. “Now,’’ I said, “let’s find you something that’ll knock Kenny’s socks off.’’

Maddie, head bent, stared intently at the book. “That might take some doing,’’ she said softly.

“What do you mean?’’

She raised her gaze to mine. “It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Normally, my husband loves a party. And cake and ice cream? He’s in heaven. But Kenny’s lost weight recently, and he’s distracted all the time. I feel like I barely know him anymore.’’

“Midlife crisis.’’ Betty, returning from the register, leaned in to add her opinion. She had the heard-it-all tone of a woman who’d spent her life in a beauty parlor. “It’s Kenny’s time. He’ll probably be buying a go-fast sports car next.’’

I snorted. “Not Kenny. No way, no how. That man’s had his feet solidly on the ground since he was in short pants. He’s so straight, he sells insurance.’’

D’Vora, once Betty’s trainee, now a licensed stylist, pursed her lips as she clipped the bangs of a teenager next to us. Was that look due to her concentrating on the cut? Or, was she making a nonverbal comment on male midlife crises?

“What’s your take, D’Vora?’’

She stopped snipping and started fidgeting. She brushed back a lock of her own hair; fingered the purple appliqué butterflies on her uniform top. Finally, she spoke. “Maybe Kenny is tired of being a grown-up all the time.’’

“D’Vora, honey, look people in the eye when you’re talking to them. You look shifty if you don’t,’’ Betty said.

The young stylist’s eyes darted toward me, but she carefully avoided looking at Maddie. I wondered for a moment if D’Vora had ever been sent to the principal’s office at Himmarshee Middle School. Maybe Maddie’s scary principal routine had given her post-traumatic stress.

“Maybe that midlife thing hits especially hard for a man who’s always been mature and responsible,’’ D’Vora said.

Betty fogged her customer’s ’do with hairspray. The woman let out a strangled cough. “Well, then, we won’t have to worry about that no-account skunk you live with having a midlife crisis.’’ She looked into the mirror at D’Vora, who ignored the jab.

“I’m just sayin,’ maybe there’s a reason when men go off the rails.’’ She lifted the scissors again, and resumed cutting the teenager’s hair.

I looked at Maddie. My sister was uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps weighing D’Vora words. “What?’’ I asked. “You cannot possibly doubt Kenny after all these years. He’s the perfect husband.’’

The shop’s front door slammed shut, bells jangling cheerily. “Who’s the perfect husband?’’ Mama asked as she walked in.

“Nobody!’’ D’Vora’s customary shyness was replaced with uncommon authority. “There’s absolutely nobody who’s perfect.’’

As if her boldness surprised even her, the young stylist shifted her gaze back to the floor. Mama, meanwhile, launched into a story about the inappropriateness of the mourner’s basket the mayor’s wife delivered to the library.

“We should have offered a complimentary shampoo, Betty. Now, that’s something that would be useful. Nobody needs a bassbug fishing fly from Gotcha Bait & Tackle when they’ve just lost a loved one.’’

As Mama went on, describing the rest of the contents, my eyes were on D’Vora. No one else seemed to notice her scissors had gone still. She still focused her eyes on the floor, the teenager in the chair seemingly forgotten. She sneaked a look at Maddie, who by now was leafing through the picture book.

I was just about to ask D’Vora what was the matter, when Mama’s sharp tone snapped me back to attention. “Did you hear me, Mace?’’

“Yes, you said the basket was extremely tacky and not at all right for the occasion. Who wants a coffee cup that says Himmarshee: Your Journey Ends Here when their sister has just been murdered? And, you added, the mayor’s wife needs to do something about those painted-on eyebrows. Plus, her skirt was far too tight for a woman of her age.’’

“I’m not even talking about the mayor’s wife anymore, Mace. I just said Sal texted me.’’

“Sal texts you all the time. You two are worse than a couple of silly teenagers.’’ I nodded to the young girl in D’Vora’s chair. “No offense.’’

“None taken,’’ she said.

D’Vora stood still, wringing her hands.

“You and Maddie need to take a look at what he sent. It’s really cute.’’

As Mama thrust the phone at us, I noticed D’Vora place her scissors on the counter and head for the front of the shop. Mama poked me in the wrist with the phone, trying to get me to take it. I glanced down, noting some LOLs, a heart symbol, and an OMG.

“Like I said, teenagers.’’

By the time I looked up, D’Vora had yanked open the front door, bells clanging. Then she walked out of the shop, leaving her abandoned customer in the chair, staring after her.