“I’m sure of it, Mace,’’ Betty said reassuringly.

D’Vora didn’t look as convinced, but she kept her mouth shut this time.

“Honey, why don’t you sit right there and relax?’’ Betty asked me. “You look like a pair of pantyhose been put through the spin cycle.’’

And the day wasn’t but half over. I leaned back, shut my eyes and took some deep breaths. Usually, I don’t buy the aroma mumbo-jumbo, but the crisp scent was beginning to work its magic. Mama claims the scent of carnation oil reduces stress. I could use a little of that.

“Thanks, Betty. But just for a little while. I need to find someone else who could have committed the murder. I’m going to show this jerk of a detective from Miami that his case against Mama is a bunch of manure.’’

I try to watch my mouth around Betty, who worships with Mama at the Abundant Hope and Charity Chapel. She doesn’t cotton to cussing.

“We’ve heard all about that detective, Mace.’’ Betty spoke from around a purple comb she’d stuck between her lips. “My friend Nadine’s boy Robby manages the Dairy Queen. He told her that detective is as rude as can be. Nadine’s boy made the mistake of asking him how long they’d have the parking lot roped off while they looked at the body in Rosalee’s trunk. He didn’t mean nothing by it. It’s just wasn’t good for business. Who wants to come in for a banana split if a body’s drawing flies in the parking lot?’’

D’Vora interrupted, “I heard that detective’s easy on the eyes, but he’s downright mean. Nadine told Betty he just about snapped poor Robby’s head off at the Queen.’’

I knew the feeling. I think Martinez was still picking pieces of my own head out of his incisors.

“Absolutely snapped it off,’’ Betty agreed. “Just plain rude is what that is. But what do you expect? After all, he is from Miamuh.’’ She gave the word its old-Florida pronunciation. “You know how people are down there, girls. That place is worse than New York City.’’

I didn’t believe Betty had ever been north of Tallahassee, but that was neither here nor there.

“Speaking of New York, Betty, what do you know about the man in Mama’s trunk?’’

She quit rolling her customer’s hair and pulled the comb from her mouth, giving me her complete attention. D’Vora closed the supply closet and eased into a chair.

“We haven’t heard word one yet,’’ Betty said. “There’s only been a few clients in this morning, and so far nobody who’s known nothing. No offense, Wanda,’’ Betty nodded at the woman in her chair.

“None taken,’’ Wanda said agreeably.

Now all three women looked at me expectantly.

“It was Jim Albert,’’ I said. “Though I’ve since found out that wasn’t his real name.’’

Betty staggered theatrically, reaching out to steady herself on Wanda’s shoulder. “You don’t mean it, Mace,’’ she said. “I was just talking last week to Emma Jean Valentine about their wedding. She planned a burgundy and silver theme, and a three-tier cake with butter-cream icing. She wanted me to do her hair.’’

I sprang the rest of the story on them, about how he was really Jimmy “the Weasel,’’ and connected to New York mobsters.

As I spoke, Betty got animated, nodding and interjecting “You don’t say!’’ But D’Vora got real quiet. She returned to the supply closet, where she began shifting shampoo bottles.

“Don’t that beat all, D’Vora?’’ Betty called out, shaking her head.

“Sure does.’’ D’Vora’s tone was subdued, her head still stuck in the shampoos.

Now it was my turn to exchange a look with Betty in the mirror.

“Girl, what is up with you? C’mon out of there,’’ Betty said.

D’Vora closed the door slowly. She held a pair of scissors. A folded purple drape hung from her arm. “I’ve just been thinking about your poor mama, stuck in prison,’’ she said. “I think it’ll perk her spirits if we do something about your hair, Mace. She always says how you’re so pretty, but you won’t do a thing to improve what God gave you.’’

I was curious about D’Vora’s attitude shift when I mentioned Jim Albert. I could use a haircut; and maybe she’d talk. What the hell? I’d skip lunch.

Stepping behind my chair, she eyed my bed-flattened ’do. “What’d you cut it with, Mace? Gardening shears?’’ She lifted a thick hank of hair, letting it fall around my face. “See this jet black? It’s gorgeous, like something from the silent movies. With that and your baby blues, you could be a knockout. It’s a shame you go around looking like one of the critters you’ve dragged out from under somebody’s porch.’’

“D’Vora, I’ve told you about insulting the customers!’’ Betty warned.

“Mace isn’t a customer, Betty. She’s Rosalee’s kin. And I’m starting to believe she’s right about her Mama being innocent.’’

I jumped on that. “Do you know something to help me prove that, D’Vora?’’

Her frown came back. “I can’t say just yet, Mace. I want to get it right.’’

Betty caught my eye and made a slow-down motion.

“I’ll think on it while I work on your hair. No more questions ’til then,’’ D’Vora said.

I sat, and she leaned me back until my head rested on the basin. The shampoo smelled like green apples.

“What I meant about your mama …’’ She finally spoke again as she dried, rubbing so hard I feared scars on my scalp. “I’m just not sure what to say, Mace. I was taught not to speak ill of the dead. And part of it was told me in strict confidence by a customer. That’s like a patient and a doctor, isn’t it, Betty?’’

The two of them looked over at Wanda, who’d been moved to a dryer. She sat under a whir of hot air, devouring a National Enquirer.

“These are special circumstances.’’ I lowered my voice. “Mama needs your help.’’

She gave a little nod. “Well, first of all, you knew Jim Albert owned the Booze ‘n’ Breeze, right?’’

“Um-hmm,’’ I urged her along, even though I hadn’t known. I wanted her to get to the part about how someone else might have killed him.

“He had a secret business, too. Loaning money. He didn’t ask questions, and there was no paperwork, like at a bank. I’m embarrassed to say my husband, Leland, went to him once. He needed to borrow three hundred dollars. Leland was a week late paying it back.’’

D’Vora looked down, blotting at a shampoo splotch on her smock. “Jim Albert sent a man out to the house to break all the windows in our truck. He told us the next time it wouldn’t just be the truck. Leland came up with the cash, and we never saw him again.’’

She raised her eyes to me. “That Jim Albert was a man to be feared, Mace. What if someone else couldn’t pay what they owed? That would be a reason for murder, wouldn’t it?’’