Chapter 32
As soon as Jolene and Sarah left, I made my way to the table and clumsily arranged my crutches and myself in front of my laptop.
I’d had such grand plans to get ahead with my paperwork, and now I found myself even further behind.
Judging by the boxes of decorations Jolene had brought back with her from Mississippi, I suspected that she would want to turn the apartment into a Christmas wonderland, so I was determined to focus and get as much work done as I could before she and Sarah returned.
The table still held the two bags of stones from Madame Zoe—in addition to remnants from breakfast, including crumbs and the margarine tub.
The mere fact that Jolene had left the apartment without it being pristine was a chilling sign that things were not all right.
I decided that I couldn’t work with the mess around me, so I collected the stones into their respective bags and stuck them into one of the desk drawers.
Still not satisfied, I used a cupped hand to corral the crumbs into a pile and sweep them into my waiting hand.
I’d made it to the edge of the table when I noticed a long strand of blond hair, wavy at the end, and clearly not belonging to Jolene, Sarah, or me.
My dad had once shown me how a human hair burns slowly and gives off a distinctive odor, whereas synthetic hair would melt and curl up into a frizzy ball.
I considered hopping to the kitchen to retrieve Jolene’s candle lighter for easy determination of whether the hair was natural or synthetic.
It took me ten whole minutes of thinking—clearly I was procrastinating—to realize that the hair was probably from the Barbie head that had sat on the table more than once.
It could have fallen out on its own when the head was there.
Or maybe Sarah had been messing with it in Jolene’s room and a strand had clung to her sweater and traveled to the table.
Hobbling back and forth between the kitchen and the table, I continued to clean up while telling myself it wasn’t procrastination if I was simultaneously working on resolving the puzzles despite all the missing pieces.
Sarah had left her sweater on the back of a chair, and when I picked it up I saw strands of her own long dark hair next to blond Barbie hair.
I was on my way to the coatrack to hang up her sweater, and stopped when I breathed in the strong scent of Youth-Dew perfume, as if someone wearing it had just passed by.
I held the sweater up to my nose, but it carried only the scents of Sarah and wool.
Maybe the perfume had been my imagination.
Or maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention.
Pulling the sweater away from my face, I examined the strands more closely, wondering what I might have missed.
I needed to talk this out with someone like my dad.
Or Cooper or Beau. But I rejected that thought as soon as it crossed my mind.
My dad was busy with JJ. And I would rather shave my head than ask Beau or Cooper for help.
I took another step, then stopped again, my whole body tingling with the image of my shaved head and what I’d look like bald. And then the room seemed to shrink, becoming just big enough for me and the sweater with the strands of hair.
I stumbled back to where I’d left my phone on the table and quickly scrolled through my contacts to where Sarah had dutifully entered the numbers for Joan and Honey. Recalling the unsettled feeling I’d had after speaking with Joan, I called Honey’s number first. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hello, Honey. This is Nola. I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a random question for you that I hope you might be able to answer.”
“Please don’t apologize, Nola. I’m happy to speak with you. Joan has been gone a lot the last few weeks, so it’s nice to have someone to talk to. And, oh, I so love randomness. I use it as a theme in my paintings.”
“Great,” I said. “Do you recall if your brother ever wore a toupee?”
“Oh, my. Yes, yes, I do recall. I’d forgotten about it until just this moment.
He started losing his hair in high school and was very self-conscious about it.
He wore hairpieces ever after, which is probably why I forgot that he lost a lot of his hair in his twenties.
It’s almost like he was born wearing a wig, and we got used to it.
He was also very tall, and it wasn’t all that noticeable to those of us much shorter than he. ”
“So he wore wigs even after he married Jessica?”
“As far as I know, yes. Remember that we were estranged, but every time we did see him he wore one, and Jessica once joked that he wore it as a disguise, since nobody knew the real man beneath the wig. I recall how awful those wigs were, because Mark would never splurge on any hair-restoration products or procedures. He was stingy that way—isn’t that funny?
He’d spend all his money on cars and houses and boats, but not on something like personal care.
That didn’t bother Jessica, since that sort of thing wasn’t important to her.
That might have been what attracted them to each other, because I honestly couldn’t see anything else they had in common. ”
I thought back to the family photos arranged neatly on the sill of the picture window in Honey’s house, and I recalled that only one of them was a picture of Mark. “Was Mark’s wig dark brown?”
“Yes, it was. It matched his natural color, which was just like our father’s.” There was a lengthy pause. “Oh, dear. Are you thinking the wig hair found in the bloodstain might have belonged to Mark?”
“I don’t know. Not yet. I’m still figuring it out. I’ll call you once I know something.”
I ended the call without saying good-bye, my hand shaking so much that I dropped my phone. It was the comment she’d made about Mark losing his hair and wearing a toupee at a young age. Synthetic hair.
If Mark was dead, possibly murdered, that put a whole new spin on what had happened in the house on Esplanade. What if only Jessica and Lynda were missing? What if they’d gone into hiding to cover up another murder?
I shouted out Sarah’s name, belatedly recalling that she’d left, along with Jolene, my only form of transportation.
I thought about calling Jolene and asking her to come back, but I hesitated, not wanting to interrupt her fun, especially if she was having an emotionally hard time at the moment.
If anyone deserved a little fun, it was her.
I considered calling Cooper, then immediately dismissed the idea.
I wasn’t ready to talk to him. As much as I’d appreciate his problem-solving skills, I was happy to postpone the inevitable conversation about his fiancée.
He’d texted me earlier in the day, saying that he’d missed me and he would call as soon as he could.
I’d deleted the text without responding.
That left the last person on earth I wanted to ask for help.
Beau’s psychic abilities might be useful, but that didn’t override my reluctance to call him.
Because we officially worked together, I’d stopped short of deleting him from my contacts—because, like most people my age, I didn’t have anyone’s phone number memorized.
I figured texting him might let me remain in neutral territory, whereas a phone call would be an olive branch.
Which was why I needed to make sure that he was the one to initiate the call.
Smiling to myself, I began to type. I think Mark was murdered. Call me. And I need a ride. I sat back, pleased with the casualness of my text, and waited for the three dots to appear to let me know Beau was replying.
I was still waiting ten minutes later when I started thinking about a plan B. I considered calling an Uber, but I wasn’t up to going on this trip alone, especially since I was handicapped by my broken ankle and needed assistance to get into and out of a car, as well as up and down steps.
I was staring at my phone when another possibility popped into my head.
I opened my contacts and clicked on Felicity’s number.
She couldn’t drive, but she could ride in the Uber with me and help get me in and out.
I did the thing that no one under thirty did anymore—waited until voice mail answered.
“Hi, Felicity. This is Nola. If you get this in the next half hour, could you please call me? I need to check something out at the house on Esplanade and would welcome your company. Please—”
The call was picked up by a man saying hello.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m trying to reach Felicity. I must have dialed the wrong number….”
“No, no, this is her phone. It’s sitting here on the table, and the ringing was distracting me from my game.”
I groaned inwardly as I recognized Henry’s voice. “Sorry,” I said, knowing the sarcasm would be lost on him. “Is Felicity around?”
Electronic shooting noises came through the phone, and I pictured him with his feet up on Mimi’s coffee table while he played a video game. “Probably not, because she didn’t answer her phone.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I didn’t care if I was being rude.
So was he, and besides, he wasn’t paying any attention.
I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t at work, but that would involve prolonging our conversation.
“Would you mind going to look and giving her the phone? She can’t be far if her phone is there. ”
His heavy sigh reminded me of Sarah, but she was only twelve, so it was allowed. “Whatever. Hang on.” I heard a rustling sound as he hoisted himself off of the couch and presumably stood before shouting, “Felicity! Come get your phone! Nola wants to talk with you.”
We both waited for a moment before he spoke again, this time to me. “Nope. She’s not here. And by the way, I want you to tell your friend Trevor that I better have my things that he stole from me returned no later than tomorrow night or I’m going to have him arrested.”