“That was the plan,” I said cautiously. “Look how big your eyes look now that you aren’t hiding behind all that hair.”
Marissa’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She tried again. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
At least she didn’t pretend she loved it, like the first woman I’d practiced on at cosmetology school. She’d smiled and thanked me and then I’d heard her in the hall, frantically calling her usual stylist for an emergency appointment. The only reason I’d scraped up the courage to go back the next day was because my parents had already paid the tuition. Things had gotten better after that. Until now!
“No charge.” Taking money would only add to my guilt.
“Why not?”
“You don’t like it.”
“I just said it would take some getting used to,” Marissa corrected. She fingered the much shorter ends of her hair. “You did a great job, Heather, I’m just not sure I was ready to come out of hiding yet.”
What did that mean? I saw her glance at her reflection again, but this time she smiled slightly. “Help me out here. I don’t venture out into the real world very often. I’m supposed to give you a tip, right?”
“Make it a practical one instead. Please.”
“That’s easy. Don’t let anyone talk you into joining a committee.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a temperamental art student named Jared Ward in my studio at this very moment who’s insisting that Denise—one of the PAC committee members—promised him housing for the summer. That’s why I stopped in, to see if you had a number I could call to get in touch with Bernice.”
I had a swift flashback featuring the motorcycle maniac I’d met the night before. The one looking for Junebug. As soon as Bree had given him directions to Lester Lee’s farm, he’d given her a polite salute and hopped back on his bike. It hadn’t occurred to us that he was the one who’d been commissioned to create a statue for the park. A statue of Lester Lee’s Holstein, Junebug.
I’d heard all about her from Bernice and over Easter break I’d seen the billboard with Junebug and Elise Penny’s picture on it. A month ago, some mysterious benefactor had paid to recover it with a cute advertisement for the local 4-H. I can’t prove anything but I think Alex was the culprit.
“I have no idea where to put him,” Marissa said with a shake of her head. Which sent her curls into motion. She touched them and smiled again. “He showed up about an hour ago. Apparently Denise told him there was a vacant apartment on Main Street this summer that he could rent. Now Denise is gone to a weeklong crafting retreat and I have no idea whose apartment she was talking about.”
As if on cue, something crashed above our heads and plaster dust sprinkled down from the ceiling like bits of confetti. I winced, half-expecting my bathtub to crash through the ceiling and take up residence next to the shampoo sink.
“Is someone in Bernice’s apartment?” Marissa asked.
“It’s my apartment now,” I told her. “But I’m pretty sure Jared Ward thinks it’s his.”
Chapter Six
Heather (find out last name) (Addition to Jared Ward’s little black book)
“You’re living in Bernice’s apartment now?” Marissa ignored the sound of the vacuum cleaner that roared to life over our heads while I sent up a silent plea that Snap wasn’t somehow involved in Dex’s latest disaster. No wonder the poor thing hid under the couch when Dex showed up.
“She and Alex offered me the house, but I thought it would be better if I was closer to the salon.” When I was nervous, my words tended to pick up speed and now they were practically rolling over the top of each other. “And it’s so cute, don’t you think? You’d pay a lot of money for an apartment like that in the Cities.”
“Uh-huh.” Marissa looked at me so thoughtfully I wondered if she’d somehow read my journal and discovered Reason Number Three. “That’s the downside to being out of the small-town loop, I suppose. If Denise assumed Bernice’s apartment would be empty, I can see her offering it to Jared. She already offered him the use of my studio.”
I was dying of curiosity here. “Jared is…he’s a student?” Ponytail? Leather jacket? Motorcycle?
Marissa must not have heard the question. “I’ve lived in Prichett for years and successfully avoided holiday open houses, sidewalk sales and the Prichett Advancement Council. I offer to help the committee with one tiny detail—choosing someone qualified to re-create Junebug the Cow in bronze—and what do I get? A homeless art student who was wolfing down the last of my granola when I left.”
But does he drive a motorcycle? That’s what I wanted to know.
“I have Jim Briggs to thank for this,” Marissa grumbled as she gave her curls one last shake and headed for the door. When she pulled it open, she paused and looked up.
“What happened to the bells?”
I sensed that Marissa was the kind of person who valued honesty. So I confessed. “Mrs. Kirkwood.”
Marissa nodded in complete understanding. “Thanks, Heather, for bringing me out of hiding. Now I have to call a certain excavator and find out if he has a guest bedroom.”
Even if I hadn’t heard the ominous sound of the vacuum cleaner upstairs, the sight of Dex’s car parked in the alley behind the salon clued me into the fact that he was still lurking around my apartment.
My feet needed a soothing cucumber rub and a long soak in the bathtub that, by now, should have a faucet. I pushed open the door and my nose immediately twitched in response to the strange smell of Chinese food mixed with…burning rubber?
“Dex?”
I heard Snap’s low, welcoming yowl from her hideout under the couch.
“You’re early.” Dex emerged from the bathroom. His hair was plastered against his head and his clothes were soaking wet. I suddenly remembered there were certain types of vacuum cleaners that sucked up both dirt and water.
“Actually, I’m late. Marissa came in just when I was about to close. It’s almost seven.”
“Seven?”
“What happened to—”
“I have to go.” Dex grabbed his bucket of tools and charged past me, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the floor.
“What do you think, Snap? Should we make a onetime contribution to his mission trip and save the apartment while there’s still time?”
At the sound of my voice, Snap crept out of hiding. I was touched by her loyalty until she rubbed her whiskers lovingly against the corner of the breakfast counter. Did I mention my nose had tricked me into believing that somewhere in the apartment was a container of sweet and sour chicken? Only it wasn’t a trick. There was a note from Dex, signing over custody of the white cardboard carton to me.
“I forgive you, Dex,” I said out loud. I grabbed a fork and shook the chopsticks to the side. They may be the authentic way to eat Chinese, but they weren’t quick enough to suit my stomach—which hadn’t had a deposit since a quick chocolate break mid-afternoon. I tap-danced my way back to the couch to find Snap already waiting there.
No way was I sharing. “I have one word for you. Indigestion. Go eat your kibbles.”
Someone knocked on the door and I figured Dex had decided to come back to confess to whatever handyman crime he’d committed. Or he’d changed his mind and wanted to share my supper. Too late for joint custody, buddy!
“All I know is there better be a faucet…” I have a bad habit of starting to talk to a person before I can actually see their face. Suddenly I was cured.