Murder on a Bad Hair Day by Anne George

Author:Anne George
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1996-04-12T22:00:00+00:00

Frances swept into the Blue Moon looking like a million bucks in a black skirt and a black-and-white herringbone jacket. With it she wore an emerald-green turtleneck sweater, a combination I would never have thought of but which was a knockout. I had on my red suit, which was seasonal. Its days were numbered, though. You can only shave wool gabardine around the pockets and down the sleeves just so much before it begins to get shiny. I have a gadget I bought at K mart that whisks along fabric, depilling. A wonderful invention. Mary Alice says I shave my clothes more than I do my legs. Which is almost true.

Frances never looks like her clothes have been depilled. Or need to be.

“Morning,” she said, pulling her chair back and sliding into it gracefully.

“I’ll bet you don’t sweat, either,” I grumbled.

“Of course not.” She grinned. “I know why you wanted to have lunch here. I just walked through the mall and saw Mrs. Claus.”

“I hope she saw you.”

“I waved and yelled ‘Hey, Mary Alice!’ I love the T-shirt that lights up, but that’s the worst wig I’ve ever seen. It looks like a road kill.”

“It looks like a poodle the taxidermist hasn’t finished.” We both laughed. “Did she wave back?”

“She raised a finger slightly. Does that constitute a wave?”

“Oh, God!” I laughed so hard I had to wipe my eyes with my napkin.

“Hey, Mrs. Hollowell, Mrs. Zata.” We both looked up to see a tall skinny girl holding the menus. “I’m Susie Connors. I graduated six years ago.”

“Susie, of course, how are you?” Frances said. “And David?”

“He’s just started work with TVA as an engineer and I’m in graduate school. I’m working here for the holidays.”

“That’s great,” I said. Susie Connors? I was trying to place her and Frances was already inquiring about her family! At least Susie had given her name. Most former students greet us with “You don’t know who I am, do you?” expecting us to say, “Sure we do” and being crushed when we don’t.

“You ladies look mighty pretty today. You want the chicken salad and orange rolls?”

“Absolutely,” Frances agreed. “And decaf coffee.”

“Iced tea for me.”

“You got it.” Susie started away and turned back. “It’s good seeing both of you.”

“You, too,” we chorused.

“Who’s David?” I asked as Susie walked off.

“Her twin brother. You remember him, Patricia Anne. He’s the one fell off the stage during South Pacific.”

I remembered the incident vaguely. “Was he hurt?”

“Broke his ankle.” Frances looked at me disapprovingly.

“There are too many of them, Frances,” I said. “I can’t keep them straight.”

“It isn’t easy,” Frances admitted.

“Speaking of twins, I saw Lynn and Glynn Needham yesterday. They are drop-dead gorgeous. Followed me into the ladies’ room at the Green and White to tell me, I think, that Claire’s all right.”

“They won’t let you visit her? She’s responding to treatment okay, isn’t she?”

I don’t know why I had assumed Frances knew all about Claire’s disappearance. I told her the whole story, including Liliane Bedsole’s trip to my house to ask for help in finding her.

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