Free Tressed to Kill by Lila Dare Page A

usual, wearing a touristy St. Elizabeth tee shirt with a beach scene silk-screened on the front, and cropped pants. Freeing my ponytail from its elastic, I shook my hair so it fell around my face. It was a trick I’d learned in middle school when I didn’t want too much scrutiny from a teacher. I combed it with my fingers. With another deep breath, I told Mom about meeting Richardson and about the threat he’d made good on by calling Special Agent Dillon.
“I’m sorry,” I finished. “It was stupid.”
“Oh, Grace,” Mom said. “If he really killed Constance, he could have hurt you. Made you disappear. Whatever possessed you?”
“If we don’t figure out who killed Constance DuBois, the police are going to keep harassing us. It’s going to hurt the business. I just want it cleared up.”
“It’s not worth putting yourself at risk for. Losing the salon wouldn’t be the end of the world.” The tightness in her voice communicated her unspoken thought: Losing you would be.
I leaned over and held her hand. She squeezed mine hard and released it to reach for her beer. “Besides,” she said with determined cheerfulness, “the women of St. Elizabeth couldn’t survive without Violetta’s. Can you see Miss Willa or Cassie Beaumont sashaying into Chez Pierre? Why, the women around here come to Violetta’s as much for the socializing as for the haircuts and facials.”
“They do indeed,” I said, helping her lighten the mood. And it was true. Sometimes women stopped into the salon even if they weren’t having their hair done, just to catch up on gossip or chat with friends. I finished my beer. It had grown darker as we talked, and I couldn’t see Mom’s face clearly anymore. I didn’t want to upset her again, but I forced myself to say, “What about Althea?”
“What about Althea?” came a voice from the foot of the steps.
I jumped, knocking over my beer can. It rolled to the top of the stairs where Althea picked it up. She straightened, a dark figure in a tunic top and jeans.
“I asked Althea to come over,” Mom said. “It didn’t feel right to tell you her story without her permission.”
Of course not. Mom was totally discreet and sensitive to her friends’ confidences, despite what she did for a living. The gossip swirling around Violetta’s did not originate with her.
“So, you want to go poking around in my past, Grace?”
“I want to keep my mom from getting arrested,” I said, keeping my tone neutral despite the edge of anger in her voice. “I don’t want her to lose Violetta’s because clients stop coming, afraid of guilt by association, sure there’s ‘no smoke without fire.’ ”
“Well, hell, baby girl, I don’t want that to happen, either,” Althea said with a sharp laugh. “You may have noticed that I get my paycheck from Violetta’s. Let’s take a walk. Your mama doesn’t want to hear my story again.”
Mom looked from Althea to me but said nothing. I couldn’t read her expression, but her voice was calm as she said, “I’m going to lock up and read for a while before bed. See you in the morning. Althea, don’t forget Sissie Lingenfelder is coming at seven thirty for her facial. I booked her before we open so she can catch a plane out of Jacksonville. She’s off to California for her daughter’s graduation.”
“I know, Vi. I’ll be there.”
“Good night, Mom.” I bent to kiss her cheek.
Althea and I clomped down the stairs together and turned right. The sidewalks in the older section of town buckled up from the thrusting of tree roots, mostly big live oaks that had probably watched Sherman march across Georgia. Wearing only flip-flops, I kept my eyes on the ground, not wanting to stub a toe.
“You don’t remember my William, Grace, because you were knee high to a grasshopper when he died. But he was a good man. A very good man,” Althea began.
“I’ve seen pictures. He was handsome, too.”
“Yes, he was.”
I heard the smile in her voice and wondered what memories she was reliving.
“But that’s neither here nor there. Fact is, he