Dead As A Doornail: Until The Fat Ladies Sing, #3

By Linda Kozar

With her wedding to Hudson just months away, all Lovita’s plans seem to be going awry. A crooked politician is running for Mayor, his girlfriend is opening a new beauty shop in town, and the contractor building Sue Jan and Monroe’s dream home is found dead, with Monroe as their prime suspect. To top it all off, the money from the high school band fundraiser has disappeared. Now the kids won’t be able to go to New York City and march in the Macy’s Day parade. All the girls have to do is nail the real killer, find the missing money, save their beauty shop, and rescue the little town of Wachita, before Lovita walks down the aisle. Can two big bodaciously beautiful women do it? Piece of cake!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kozy Kozar Mysteries
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386253747

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

00006.jpg

Unexpected Expectations

Steaming mug of breakfast coffee in hand, I breathed a peephole onto the kitchen window for a better look outside. Frozen droplets studded bare tree branches, silhouetted stark and lean against a wide blue Texas sky. With the sun shining so bright, the ice wouldn’t be around much longer.

Instead of continuing to fog up the glass, I decided to poke my head out the back door. Hmmm, not too cold. Cinching the belt on my cotton candy Chenille robe, I sauntered to the porch rail in fluffy matching pink bunny slippers, and stretched my hand out into the brilliant sunlight. The beautiful, square-cut diamond flashed back at me. I imagined a slew of paparazzi taking pictures. The headline? LOVITA TO WED.

I still couldn’t believe it myself. Lovita Mae Horton, a bodaciously-big-beautiful woman marrying a good-lookin’, good-hearted, good-as-gold man like Hudson.

I’d already practiced writing my new name out—Mrs. Hudson B. Taylor, Lovita Mae Horton Taylor, Lovita H. Taylor, and finally, Lovita Horton Taylor. Which one should I choose? Keep Mae as my middle name or hang onto my maiden name of Horton and use a hyphen like big city women do?

Riiiiing. Riiiing. I shuffled back into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Hello?

Lovita,

My heart melted the second I heard his voice. Hello.

I heard papers shuffling in the background and the squeak of his swivel chair. Honey, glad I caught you before you left.

What’s up? In my mind’s eye, I could see the dark wave of his hair, his rugged jaw line and those dreamy eyes.

I had to tell you—I wanted to tell you—I mean I want you to know I’m trying my best to concentrate on winning the Meacham case, but I just can’t seem to focus with your picture on my desk. Every time I glance at that frame and I see your pretty face . . .

Oh Hudson.

I know May isn’t all that far off, but I wish we could fast forward our wedding day.

Honey, it is gonna go fast. Sue Jan was telling me just the other day, how she and Monroe got engaged and then everything moved like a high speed police chase from that moment to the second they said their I do’s.

"I know. I know. And in her case, there actually was a high-speed police chase. But I still wish you and I were already married."

I paused, voice captured by emotion. You’re gonna ruin my mascara, honey.

Good, he laughed. As long as you’re shedding tears of joy.

I swiped at my eyes with a paper napkin. I am.

Bye Sweetie. He blew a kiss into the phone.

After I hung up, I did a little twirl around the kitchen, as if dancing would calm the thousands of tiny butterflies pinging the inside of my stomach. If Sue Jan were here, she’d be laughing right now and cracking some sort of joke. Even though I was glad my best friend finally got married and moved out, I missed having her around. I even missed her super size cats—Kittymingus, Vickie Lou, Sunshine, and Hotdog. But soon enough I’d be married as well. I pictured Hudson sitting at the table reading the morning paper. Ahhh.

The kitty cat clock on the wall, a legacy from Sue Jan, suddenly me-owed. I raised the cup to my mouth to gulp the last of the coffee. Time to get moving or I’d be late for work. Sue Jan and I were full partners now at the Crown of Glory Beauty Salon & Boutique and held each other accountable, sometimes to a fault. In fact, if I was just one minute late, she’d be on me like a rat on a Cheeto.

I got ready fast and arrived ten minutes early, in time to catch Sue Jan gawking at the clock like an Olympic timekeeper. Hudson called, I announced as I hung my purse on a hook in the stockroom and walked back out on the floor.

What’s that? She lifted a bottle of spray gel to her client’s head and began spritzing.

Though barely nine in the morning, both Sue Jan and Jolene, the other stylist, had customers. I noticed Sue Jan’s hair was still up in old school pink rollers. I wondered when she planned to take them out or if she’d plumb forgot they were in.

I said Hudson called me this morning. He said he was finding it hard to concentrate on work with my picture on his desk.

Hmmmph, Sue Jan snorted, a hair clip now hanging from the side of her mouth as she took a scissors to Lula Mae’s hair. She pulled the clip out to speak.

Praise the Lord for Photoshop. Teeheehee. She laughed when I balled up my hand into a fist and shook it at her.

If he has trouble concentrating, we can put his hands to work making your gazilla-million wedding favors. You don’t need to think too much when you’re assembling them things. We could sure use the help. She stuck the clip back in her mouth and resumed snipping.

I sank into a client chair. I know. It’s-it’s overwhelming. I rubbed my temples. And I’m trying to decide what to do with my name. Should I hyphenate? Take Hudson’s last name or what?

She pulled the clip out her mouth again. First off, don’t worry Ita. It’ll be okay. She giggled. "We made it through my wedding, didn’t we? And about the other thing—hold that thought a minute, will ya?"

I sighed. Okay, I guess you’re right. If we made it through yours, mine should be a piece of cake. So to speak.

Don’t mention cake Lovita. I’m trying to lose weight so I kin fit into that ‘matronly’ of honor dress you picked out for me. And now all you got me thinking about is a big slice of yummy almond-flavored, white wedding cake with a few of them special wedding mints on the side.

Jolene’s raspy voice yelled back from across the room. Ain’t you lost any weight yet? You been on a diet for over a month. You shoulda lost something.

Sue Jan pursed her lips before answering. No, not an ounce. And you all know how hard I been trying. I been going to that new ladies gym down the street and eating right most of the time too.

She squinted her eyes and threw me a quick look. You ever meet the woman that owns it, Marge Whip? I ain’t said two words to her yet, and she already rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like her. Besides that, she’s as tubbly-wubbly as you. She pointed.

My mouth came unhinged. But just as I was about to let loose a verbal assault, Sue Jan continued, "and me. If you own a gym you oughta be a little thing. Size zero. If you ask me, she ain’t a good advertisement for her own business. I might have to sell her some of my marketing know-how. She made a sweeping gesture with her arms. Look how I turned this place around, Ita. Sue Jan tapped the right side of her head. That’s using your noggin."

Jolene yelled back. I heard she’s dating that politician.

What? Sue Jan snorted her distaste. Wiley? What’s he see in her?

What’s she see in him? I asked. You can count the hairs on his head with both hands and both feet.

I dunno, Jolene clicked her tongue inside her mouth, but whatever it is, he’s got it bad for her. I seen ‘em locking lips just yesterday. She held up a rattail comb and pointed. I was on my way to the café for a bite after work and they was kissing in that fancy pink sports car of hers.

Hmmph. Sue Jan grimaced and shifted position over her client’s head. My Monroe is gonna run circles around that man. Who does he think he is running for mayor against my hubby? Monroe’s a hometown boy—not some newbie with an embarrassing name. Who’s gonna cast a vote for Wiley Butz? Not me. She held up a rattail comb for emphasis. I’ve got a campaign slogan for him: ‘KICK BUTZ—OUT OF WACHITA.’

I bowled over laughing. Good one.

On a roll, Sue Jan continued. If you ask me, Monroe’s the man for the job. Monroe Madson. Now that’s a good All-American name.

Though I could have followed her comments with a question about the meaning of Mad and Son for a last name, I chose not to. Pick your battles Lovita. Pick your battles.

She held an arm up in the air like the Statue of Liberty. What were we talking about before?

Like a bad driver, Sue Jan had the ability to veer off the road, onto the sidewalk and then back again, smooth as you please. Matter of fact, she steered the conversation just like her Aunt Lila behind the wheel of a car. Anyway I’d already forgotten the original question.

Oh yeah, weight. I hate to admit it, but I think I gained. She shrugged her shoulders. I just think about food and the calories draw to my hips like nails to a magnet.

Jolene yelled back. You think you put on some pounds ‘stead of losing?

Brows furrowed, she yelled back, You know I don’t allow scales in my house. She put a hand on her hip. The bible says to cast off the scales from your eyes, so I cast my scale right outta my house till I couldn’t see it no more.

Jolene’s laughter echoed across the room. That’s right, I forgot. But how you gonna know when you gain or lose?

When my clothes fit me, silly. That’s how I know.

Somehow, the mention of nails changed the subject in my mind, and got me on a track to thinking about Monroe and Sue Jan’s dream house. The two women continued to talk, but the back and forth banter faded into the background.

Right on the edge of town, a prime piece of land with a couple of knobby old cedar trees in what would be eventually be the backyard, their dream house had been planned down to the last detail. Since she’d never had a home of her own, Sue Jan knew exactly what she wanted in a home. She’d had her whole life to plan.

Construction was moving a bit slow though, and the main problem? Mack McKenna. Mister Mack had a good reputation for building everything from furniture to houses back in the day, but in his latter years, after the disappearance of his son, he’d taken to liquid consolation.  Most construction crews wouldn’t even work with him anymore, and the few that did were undependable. But Sue Jan had insisted on using the man to build their home. Monroe and I tried to convince her otherwise, but when Sue Jan took to a notion, there was no room for argument.

She grew up in her aunt’s house, one of Mack’s creations, as sturdy and well built a place, as you’d ever find.  Too bad it went up in smoke a few years ago. That two-dollar garage sale toaster oven her aunt bought toasted up the house in no time flat.

Sue Jan grimaced over the top of Lula Mae’s head, a pair of scissors locked in her hand, snipping a quarter inch of silken gray with practiced precision.

She glanced over. You’re arms tired yet a-holdin’ that thought? A giggle vibrated her lower jaw.

Surprised Sue Jan could remember that far back, I squeezed my lips into what I figured to be a wry expression. Thought maybe you forgot all about it. We been on so many rabbit trails I lost count.

Why do you want to keep your last name? You might as well stay single if that’s what you want. Make up your mind. You’ll have longer deposit slips too.

Well—I.

Lovita, she emphasized with the shears. Listen to me. Don’t hyphenate.

Why not? I asked.

Hold your horses. Sue Jan sprayed a cloud of Aqua Net over Lula Mae, then swiveled her ‘round to show off the new do.

Voice elevated to what we in the beauty shop like to call a senior pitch, she asked, Well, what do you think of your new hairdo, Lula?

Miz Lula Mae chomped her jaw a couple times like old folks tend to do, and inched her face closer to the mirror. The cut, short and simple, framed her petite face to a tee. A far cry from the short, starched curls she’d demanded for years. Who’s that?

Sue Jan gulped and turned to look at me. She and I were thinking the same thing, that Lula Mae had lost her senses.

But to our surprise, a smile accordioned across the woman’s face. Who’s that movie star a-staring back at me? She slapped a boney knee. I look pretty fer a change.

Laughter erupted throughout the shop. A look of relief swept over Sue Jan’s face. She giggled. Miz Lula Mae, I must’ve done your hair hundreds of times and that’s the first time you’ve made any kind of comment about your ‘Do’.

Lula Mae smiled, loose dentures clicking as she spoke. That’s the first time I liked what you did.

A fresh wind of laughter filled the room. Sue Jan tittered so hard she had to bury her face in a towel.

The door tinkled open. Lula Mae’s daughter, Rose Tatum arrived, toting a sack of groceries in one hand and a Lively Lady Spa canvas bag in the other. She gasped. Oh Mama, you look soooo nice. She smiled. Sue Jan, you’ve outdone yourself.

Sue Jan folded the towel and batted her eyes like a toad in a hailstorm. Oh it was nothing. I just like to keep up with the latest in big city styles so my clients can benefit like they should. That there’s a special cut. It’s called . . .

C’mon daughter. I’m ready. Lula Mae got up, swaying precariously. Rose put down the sack and the bag and rushed to hold onto her mother’s arm.

Uh, thank you Sue Jan. Reaching into her pocket, Rose thrust a twenty her way before my friend could utter another word. With that, Rose bent down to pick up her bags.

Oh, I almost forgot. Rose moved to the checkout counter and reached for a recycled mayonnaise jar we’d recruited for the high school band fundraising cause. I’d better pick up the band money while I’m here. 

As she did, I noticed the jar had a few new checks inside, some cash and a decent amount of change. Good. Everybody in town was rooting for the kids to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade in New York City, the first time the band from our little town of Wachita would have the honor.

She emptied the contents labeled Band Fundraiser, Wachita High School, Home of the Wachita Wildcats, into a zippered bag, threw it into the Lively Lady tote, and swooped up her Spiffy Mart sack from the floor.

Most likely surprised by the fact that Sue Jan hadn’t moved, she glanced at the $20 bill frozen in her hand. I don’t need no change, she smiled. You, you done real good with Mama’s hair.

To everyone’s relief, Sue Jan whispered a meek thanks that smacked of disappointment.

As I held open the door for them, a refreshing breeze blew in, canceling out the toxic cloud of spray. Sue Jan only used Aqua Net on clients who requested, or in Lula Mae’s case, demanded it. Hair helmet spray is powerful stuff.

I could tell my friend was a little disappointed about not getting to tell her clients all about the new Do she’d done on Lula. Suey was forever thumbing through style magazines, keeping up with the latest trends and such.

Reaching for one of our fancy zebra-striped brooms, I began sweeping around her station while she touched up her makeup. So, what is it you were trying to tell me about not using a hyphen with my married name?

Sue Jan’s eyes lit up and she reached into her station drawer and pulled out a short stack of newspaper clippings. "This is all the reason you need to not do it."

A red-clawed fingernail stabbed at the page. Look at this one. Lorraine Hardy and Steven Harr. Hardy-Harr? Do you want the whole town laughing at you? And what about this one? She slammed her finger on the picture of a very nice normal-looking couple whose names, like matter ‘n antimatter, should never come together. Poore—Sapp? Rhine—Stone? Looney—Warde? Supposin’ Hudson’s last name was Who? You’d start out as Lovita Mae Horton and end up in the newspaper as Horton—Who, like ‘Horton Hears A Who’ and that would be terrible. Undignifying.

Undignified, I corrected. And his last name isn’t ‘Who’ so I’ve got nothing to worry about.

Whatever. She went on. I hope you didn’t forget about me and Monroe. We’re a match made in Heaven, but what if our names were Sue Jan Dann and Madson Druff instead of Sue Jan Pritchard and Monroe Madson? We’d be a train wreck together, a laughing stock the minute our announcement hit the newspapers. Who would forget the Dann-Druff wedding?

But that’s just supposin’.

She pointed a finger at me. Don’t hyphenate, Lovita. No good can come of it. Mark my words.

Riiiiiiiiiiing, Riiiiiiiiing. Since I was near the checkout counter, I reached for the phone. Crown of Glory Salon and Boutique. Tresses and dresses for the stylish Wachita woman.

Sue Jan came up with that line. Lately she fancied herself some kind of marketing guru. Marge Whip didn’t know what she was in for.

It’s me, Monroe. How are you doing, Lovita?

Oh hi, I’m doing fine. And yourself?

Sue Jan perked up from a style journal. Is that Monroe?

I nodded ‘yes’ to her.

I’m okay—just frustrated with the progress on the house if you know what I mean.

I sighed. "I don’t blame you.