Maddie shook off Mama’s hand. “I’m outta here.”

“Sorry, honey.” She mimed zipping her lip. “You are perfect exactly as you are. Beautiful, in fact, just like your sisters.”

Linking elbows with us, Mama pleaded into the mirror. “Please, girls? It’s only for today. You can brush them out the minute Sal and I drive away with our Just Married sign.”

Sometimes, it’s easier to go along than to argue with Mama. Besides, with five pounds of ruffles, parasols, and a Pomeranian in a satin top hat leading the bridal procession, how much tackier could the ringlets really make things?

“Whatever.” Sighing, I took my place in the chair Marty vacated.

She leaned over and whispered, “Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts, Mace. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The bells jangled on the salon door, and D’Vora rushed in, late as usual. She quickly got Maddie into a chair, tossed a purple drape over her shoulders, and started brushing out her hair. D’Vora had come a long way since the unfortunate peroxide incident she inflicted upon Mama, back when she was a beautician-trainee. She’d since built a following among younger women and some of Himmarshee’s affluent newcomers. She may even be in line to buy the shop from Betty some day.

But for now, D’Vora’s boss aimed a pointed look at the salon’s wall clock, shaped like a lady wearing a bouffant hairdo.

“You know, the little hand is supposed to be on the ten, not near the eleven, when you report to work.”

“Sorry, Betty.”

D’Vora divided Maddie’s red hair with a clip, and then coated a one-inch section with setting lotion.

My sister wrinkled her nose. “That smells like bananas left in the fruit bowl too long.” Ignoring her, D’Vora wound her hair onto a Marcel curling iron, held it, released, and then sprayed again from a can that said Maximum Hold.

D’Vora said, “Something big was happening at the police department. There were a bunch of cop cars, and they had Main Street completely blocked.”

I swiveled toward her, causing Betty to nearly yank out the hank of hair she was preparing to twirl.

“Ouch!”

“Mace, anyone with a passing familiarity with beauty parlor etiquette knows to keep still in the stylist’s chair,” Betty said.

“I’ll remember that.” I put up a knuckle to rub my temple. “What was happening with the police, D’Vora?”

“No idea. They wouldn’t let me past to see. They just made me detour with all the other traffic. Since I was going that way anyway, I stopped at the drive-thru for some coffee. Linda-Ann asked me about those coveralls you found at Himmarshee Park, Mace.”

My antenna went up. “What’d she say?”

“That she remembered Ronnie always wearing coveralls for work at the feed store. She bought a pair just like them from the store for Trevor. She says he thinks they’re ironic, whatever that means.”

My eyes met my sisters’ in the mirror. “ ‘Ironic’ isn’t the word I’d choose. More like suspicious. Can we take a break so I can make a quick phone call, Betty?”

She glared at me in the mirror. “Would you ask your surgeon to put down his scalpel in the middle of an operation? I’m working here!”

Maddie shook her head at me. “Even if you did call Carlos, he won’t tell you anything.”

Marty nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “What’s that line he uses? ‘This is an active investigation.’ ”

“Don’t worry, honey.” Mama patted my hand. “Somebody will come into the shop and tell us all about it before long.”

As Betty worked on my hair, questions flew through my mind: Had the police found Tony, barreling north for the airport in his rented Lexus? Had those coveralls linked Trevor to Ronnie’s murder? Or, had Rabe managed to collect some damning evidence to point the cops to his sleazeball stepfather?

Whatever had happened, I hoped no one else had been hurt. And I hoped none of it spilled over to Mama’s Special Day.

Her voice interrupted my thoughts. Something about those awful dresses.

“Beg your pardon, Mama?”

“I said I stopped by Fran’s and got your beautiful gowns. The back of my car looks like a sherbet-colored rainbow.”

“I’ll bet it does,” Maddie said.

Mama went on, “Betty’s offered to do any touch-ups we might need before we pose for pictures, so we’ll go ahead and dress for the wedding here.”

It was either the hair salon, or the VFW bathrooms, so Mama’s plan made sense to me.

“I’m as busy today as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest,” Betty said. “Rosalee, you won’t believe who’s coming in to get her hair done for your wedding.”

Mama lit an aromatherapy candle, releasing a lemon grass scent to war with all the other fruit and flower smells in the shop. “C’ndee?”

Betty pulled, spritzed, and rolled “No.”

“Dab Holt? I still can’t get over how she threw herself at that stripper.”

“Could we call him an entertainer, Rosalee?” D’Vora asked. “I didn’t mention anything about a half-naked cowboy to my mama.”

Betty said, “Don’t tell me you invited Dab!”

“Absolutely not! But that wouldn’t stop her from showing up. She’s got more nerve than a planeload of New Yorkers. Is it Charlene from Gladys’ Diner getting her hair done?”

Betty shook her head, the purple comb in her mouth indicating no.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Betty,” Maddie finally interrupted. “Just tell us who has the hair appointment.”

“Alice Hodges.”

We all fell quiet. Marty broke the silence. “Poor thing.”

“I thought Alice decided not to come to your wedding,” I said.

“Me, too. But I’m glad she changed her mind.” Mama tapped her chin the way she does when she’s thinking. “Betty, I want to pay for Alice’s hair today. Give her the works.”

“Great idea, Mama. We’ll all chip in, and get her face done, too.” Maddie raised her eyebrows in the mirror at D’Vora. “Do you have time to do her make-up?”

“Sure. I’ll juggle to fit her in.”

“Good! It’s settled, then.” Mama started to clap her hands, but she frowned instead. “I just hope the wedding doesn’t make Alice dwell on all she’s lost. My happiness shouldn’t make her sad.”

_____

“A purse and a parasol, Mama? Really?”

The over-the-top implication was clear, even in Marty’s mild tone. We regarded ourselves in the mirror: Maddie and I were the cotton-candy-pink and lime-green bookends to Marty’s orange-sherbet confection. At the last minute, Mama had asked Fran to stitch up some drawstring purses in fabric to match our dresses. They now dangled from each of our left wrists; the parasols swung from straps on our right. Together, the two accessories upped our ruffle quotient by at least thirty percent.

I was ready to make a smart remark, until I glanced over at Mama, standing off to the side. Her hands were clasped over her heart; her eyes shone with tears. I nudged my sisters to look.

“You girls are like a heavenly vision.” Mama sniffled. “You’re angels, that’s what you are. And I just know the Lord will be smiling down on us today.”

_____

Traffic flowed again on Main Street by the time I gathered up my hoop skirt and climbed into my Jeep. Sitting in the driver’s seat, swathed in fabric, I wondered whether suffocation by ruffles was a common cause of death.

I’d tried Carlos’ number a couple of times, and went straight to voicemail. For a change, not a single one of Betty’s clients was able to report anything on the police goings-on, either. If Tony was involved, Jane Smith had probably scared any officers prone to gossip by threatening to stick her motorcycle helmet where the sun never shines.

I stayed in second gear, cruising slowly past the police department. From the front, nothing looked out of the ordinary. But when I pulled into the lot and circled to the back, I saw a thick knot of uniformed and plainclothes cops. At least a dozen cruisers and unmarked sedans were parked haphazardly, as if their drivers had been in a hurry. Along with Himmarshee’s familiar blue-and-whites, there were a couple of marked cars from the county sheriff’s department, and three dark SUVs. I didn’t recognize the big vehicles, but they bellowed Police.