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  HEART BEAT

  By Lynne Waite Chapman

  Copyright 2017 by Lynne Waite Chapman

  Published by Take Me Away Books

  Cover design by Cynthia Hickey

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever – except short passages for reviews – without express permission.

  Chapter One

  I hustled from my car to The Rare Curl, thinking I’d kill for another cup of coffee. My teeth were chattering. Goosebumps up my arms—in May. My sweater wasn’t doing the job. Should’ve grabbed a jacket, maybe gloves. My coworkers, Rarity and Stacy, would have had a good laugh if I’d shown up with gloves. They told me living in Florida had given me thin blood, if there was such a thing. Back in Evelynton a year, and still not accustomed to the northern Indiana climate.

  I reached for the salon door just in time for it to slam against my knuckles. Ouch. I rubbed my hand against my sweater. A bruised hand is small sacrifice to keep from getting smacked in the face by the heavy door.

  Patricia Martin, local dress shop owner, stomped out. Our eyes met for a moment through the glass. Without a word, she went on her way.

  So, I guess no apology.

  And I’d thought she was finally beginning to like me. She’d been one of those who labeled me the poor widowed Lauren Grace James, come home for the sake of the pitiful inheritance of an old house and an old car. The woman who’d failed at life, with no place to go. Perceptions were slow to change in a small town, but people were getting to know me. Most had upgraded my identity to Lauren Halloren, magazine writer and part-time receptionist.

  Patricia stood at her Mercedes and fumbled with her key fob until the lock popped. She climbed in, revved the engine, and backed into the roadway without looking. Oncoming traffic obliged her by making space.

  Some people led charmed lives.

  Shaking my sore hand, I reached once more for the door handle. The reception room and service area appeared empty, but I caught a glimpse of Rarity, my boss, as she disappeared into the supply room.

  Wonder what was with Patricia? It wasn’t like Rarity to anger a customer, or anyone, ever. Maybe Patricia expected a last-minute appointment and Rarity couldn’t accommodate her. Still, irate customers were rare at The Rare Curl. I grinned at my little word play.

  After stashing my handbag in the bottom drawer of my desk, I scanned the appointment book. Patricia did have an appointment, first on the list. She should’ve been sitting in Rarity’s styling chair, coffee in hand, not motoring through town, endangering Evelynton citizens.

  The rusty hinge on the supply room door squawked, followed by the tap of Rarity’s sensible heels closing in behind me. In the year since she hired me, I’ve learned to recognize her gait. The woman had a way of crossing the room, not really at a run, but hard to describe as a walk.

  “I’ve lost my mind. Don’t know what’s happened. It’s all gone.” Rarity sputtered over my shoulder.

  “What?” I swiveled my chair to peer into her eyes. “You’re not joking.”

  The attractive laugh lines that bracketed her green eyes had morphed into stress creases. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Heat radiated from her body.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay? Is Stacy alright?”

  “I’m fine. Um, we’re fine. It’s the supplies. My hair color is gone.” Rarity pulled in a deep breath and blew it out between her lips. “Did you see Patricia leave?”

  “I sure did. Almost lost my hand in the process.” I massaged my throbbing knuckles.

  “She was so upset. Poor thing was supposed to get her hair tinted this morning. She drove all the way in here, and I had to tell her I couldn’t do it.”

  Poor thing? Patricia? I bet she’d never been disappointed before. Wouldn’t hurt to hear no for once. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’ll understand it was an accident.”

  Rarity pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “We’ll have to call her, but wait a while, ‘til she cools off. Oh dear, would you call Rhonda, my next appointment, and tell her I can’t color her hair today? I hope she isn’t already on her way.”

  “Absolutely. Right away. When should I rebook her appointment?”

  “First available, tomorrow. Er… call all my color appointments. Work them in over the next few days, wherever you find a spot. I’ll start early and stay late, whatever works.”

  “Don’t worry. Your ladies aren’t about to get mad at you for one little problem. I’ve never seen you mess up in all the time I’ve worked here.”

  Rarity worried the tissue into shreds. “Oh Lauren, it’s the second time this week. I don’t know what’s going on. There were only a couple of bottles on the shelves this morning. And I just restocked on Saturday. At least I think I did.” She placed a palm on her forehead for a moment before continuing.

  “That morning—Saturday—we were short on supplies, we shouldn’t have been, but I ran to the supply house to restock. Funny thing is, I was sure I brought back plenty to last us. I didn’t think I needed to check the inventory again last night. I should have. I went in to mix Patricia’s formula, and we’re out. It was all gone.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s a good explanation. You must have been busier than you realized yesterday. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” This conversation was stretching my abilities. I’m not usually the one who had to encourage my older and wiser employer.

  “I don’t know. Didn’t think so, but…” She stuffed the scraps of tissue into her pocket.

  “All this extra work is asking a lot. As soon as I’m sure things are under control here, I’ll drive to the supply house.”

  I picked up the handset and dialed. “I’m on it, Rarity. Oh, what about Stacy? Is she okay with her customers?”

  “I have her checking her appointments against the stock right now. Move all my haircut and shampoo-set appointments together for later today. It’ll take me a couple hours to get to the city and back. This time I’ll be sure to pick up enough to cover us until the regular shipment comes in.”

  The red splotches in her cheeks began to fade to her natural peach blush, although her voice still held a noticeable tremor.

  “Hello Rhonda. It’s Lauren at The Rare Curl.”

  I glanced up to see Rarity standing with her hands covering her face. “Sorry Rhonda, hold on a minute.”

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and tried to speak to Rarity in a soft, reassuring voice. “It’s going to be okay. As soon as I talk to Rhonda, I’ll get everyone else moved.”

  She pulled her hands away. “Yes, I know it will be okay.”

  Rarity raised her eyes to the ceiling and counted on her fingers. “An hour to get there, half hour at the store, an hour back. Book my appointments beginning at one o’clock—no two. I can get them done and still go to Bible study tonight.” She took a deep breath and grinned.

  The supply room door squawked open and slammed against the wall. “Lauren!” Stacy approached at a run. “Give me the phone. I gotta call my first two women. There’s no hair color for them.” She froze, eyes glazed and mouth open. “Wait, do we have any perms? Mrs. Brubaker is coming in for a permanent wave this afternoon.” She spun on her heel and loped back to the supply room.

  Rarity stared after Stacy, and I rushed to explain the situation to Rhonda, still waiting on the line.

  A minute later, the door to the backroom banged against the wall again.

  Out of breath from the trek to and
from the supply room, Stacy puffed. “Nope, no perms. I’ll have to call everybody.”

  She glared at her employer. “Rarity, what happened? We’re completely out of stock. How could you let us get this low? Seriously, I don’t know where your mind’s been this month.”

  Rarity shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Stacy. Can’t imagine what happened. I was sure we had enough to last us. Call your ladies. Tell them it’s my fault and I’ll have everything fixed by tomorrow. I’ll even give them a discount for the inconvenience. I’m driving to the supply house right away.” She pulled her handbag over her shoulder and waved on her way out.

  Still trying to explain the situation to Rhonda, I felt white heat from Stacy’s eyes burrowing into my back—right between the shoulder blades. The incessant tapping of her foot distracted me so much I could barely hear the woman on the phone.

  I spun around to face Stacy, gave a shrug, and held the receiver tighter, lest she grab it away.

  She pivoted and stomped to her styling station, muttering all the way. Something about the discount likely coming out of her pay.

  Reaching her styling station, she plopped into her chair and shouted across the room. “I’ll use my cell phone. Rarity refuses to hire anyone new. I’m already doing double duty with all Patsy’s customers, and now this. What a screw-up.”

  I cupped my hand around the mouthpiece. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what that ruckus is. Something from the street.”

  Two hours later, I’d finished my calls and pried the phone from my ear. No conversation with the women of Evelynton was ever short, but there were no complaints. Even Patricia had gotten over the indignity of it all, and calmed by the time I spoke to her.

  Stacy finished her calls though their reaction was a mystery. Customers tend to mirror the attitude of the stylist, and that wasn’t such a good thing today.

  But tragedy averted, serenity returned to The Rare Curl. The remainder of my four-hour shift proceeded peacefully.

  ~

  Rarity, experienced hairdresser and business owner, had always been rock steady. I guess that’s why the Tuesday morning chaos fled my mind as soon as I returned home to the cozy Cape Cod I’d inherited from my Aunt Ruth.

  Stepping over the threshold, I barely had time to deposit my bag before Mason flew into my arms. What would I do without his welcome—his warm body next to mine? I’d thought myself a loner, but there had been no resisting once this guy had decided to move in with me.

  Mason snuggled close and nuzzled my chin. I giggled as he rubbed his fuzzy face across my cheek.

  Mason’s my cat, the golden-eyed, black and white feline who’d adopted me almost as soon as I arrived in Evelynton.

  “Enough, Mason. Get down and I’ll check your food bowl. You’ll have to leave me alone this afternoon and tomorrow. I have to finish that magazine article on time. We’ll need the income if we’re both going to eat this month.”

  Mason pounced to the floor and tailed me to the kitchen where I filled his bowl. I left him to choose bits of kibble. While I changed clothes, thoughts ran through my mind of the day’s events. Was someone stealing from The Rare Curl? Or was Rarity losing her mind?

  Chapter Two

  T hursday morning, on my way to work, I realized the salon was far from my mind last night, but as I approached the front door, I recalled my bruised knuckles, and peeked through the glass to make sure I wouldn’t collide with an irate customer.

  The waiting room sat vacant. Stacy’s first customer was in her styling chair. The two laughed as snips of hair flew.

  Everything back to normal.

  I’d stored my handbag in my desk when the supply room door screeched with Rarity’s standing in the door.

  “Lauren, come back and look at this, please.” I heard it in her voice. The same twinge of stress I’d witnessed Tuesday.

  I went straight to the supply room. Rarity’s eyes and mouth sagged like I’d never seen before. “I restocked those shelves Tuesday afternoon. You remember, I was going to the supply house? Now look. More than half of the products are missing. We used some yesterday, of course, but there should have been lots left over.”

  Rarity turned to the shelves and picked through the bottles. “Two, no three auburn, and two of the dark brown. Thank goodness, I think there’s enough to get by today—barely.”

  “Really? I guess I’ve never paid attention to this room, so I don’t know how many bottles are usually here.”

  Rarity ran her hands through her hair, causing red curls to stand up and away from her face. “There should be lots. I don’t know what’s going on. Must be losing my mind.”

  “You are not losing your mind.” At least I hoped not. Rarity was a good fifteen to twenty years older than me. At what age does dementia usually show up?

  “Think back. If you bought extra, maybe you stored some.”

  “No. I’m sure I didn’t. There’s plenty of room on these shelves.” Her eyes darted round the room. “I don’t know where I would have put them. There isn’t any other space.”

  Even as she spoke, Rarity pulled out bins from under the counter and searched the contents.

  I poked my head under the sink, finding two cans of scouring powder, a large bottle of glass cleaner, and three rolls of paper towels. After that, I wandered into the bathroom. Weird place to look, I know. But there have been times I’ve discovered my cell phone in the refrigerator.

  I returned to the supply room and stood in the doorway. “Nothing there. You?”

  Rarity leaned against the sink. Her voice came in a hoarse whisper. ”No. Nothing.”

  “Do you think someone is pilfering your supplies?”

  “No. I can’t believe it. But that’s the only explanation, isn’t it? Unless it’s Alzheimer’s.” Rarity pressed her fingers to her temple. “I think my Uncle Nathan had that.”

  “Rarity, you don’t have Alzheimer’s. You’ve just been busy lately. Probably too much to keep track of. Did you bring all the bottles in? Maybe you left them in the car.”

  “Oh. I might have.” Rarity brightened, and in typical fleet-footed fashion, grabbed her keys and streaked outside, only to plod back in a few minutes later.

  “I was hoping to find a bag in the trunk. Better to have forgotten to bring them in than to lose them. Nothing.”

  I searched my brain for an explanation. “The only answer is someone got in here and stole from you.”

  Lines spread across Rarity’s forehead. “Oh no. That can’t be it.”

  She stopped and raised her eyes to mine. “But why? What would anyone want with so many bottles of hair color?” We both whirled around to peer into the salon where Stacy fluffed her customer’s hair.

  Rarity turned to me and shook her head. “No, not Stacy. She’s worked for me for years. I have complete faith in her.”

  I agreed with a head shake of my own. “No. It wouldn’t be Stacy. But those supplies went someplace. Who else has had access?”

  “Nobody.” She sucked in a deep breath and continued. “I can’t imagine. This has never happened before.”

  “Let’s think it through.” I held up one finger. “The first time you noticed missing supplies was on Saturday. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Saturday morning, so I went and bought more.”

  I ticked another finger. “Then, when I came in on Tuesday, you didn’t have any hair color.”

  She nodded. “That’s right, so I purchased replacements.”

  Third finger up. “And today is Thursday, more missing. This is crazy.” Remembering Rarity’s doubts of her own sanity, I regretted the word choice.

  “Yes. It seems as though someone steals my supplies, waits for me to replenish the shelves, and then comes in the next day to take more. You’re right, it is crazy. Or I am. You don’t think I’m imagining all this, do you?”

  I didn’t have time to answer. Rarity raised her hands. “I bet I left them at the store. I’ll call the supply house and ask if I left a bag on the counter.�
� She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Maybe I should ask if I was even there.”

  Couldn’t come up with any more reassuring words, so I followed her to the reception desk where she made the call.

  When Rarity hung up the phone, she put her hands on her hips and smiled. “I was there Saturday, and again on Tuesday.”

  “I knew they would confirm it. And did they find your supplies?”

  “No. I didn’t leave any on the counter. But it’s good to know I’m not imagining things.”

  I lowered my voice and leaned closer to Rarity. “Shoot. We’re back to theft. They must sneak in at night. This is a small place. You’d notice someone wandering into the storeroom during the day. They picked the lock, or they have a key. Who has keys?”

  “I do, of course. And Stacy.” She threw her hands in the air. “That’s all. You don’t even have one, do you? And I retrieved Patsy’s key when she was arrested.”

  “Unless she had it copied for some reason. But she’s in prison and who would have access to her stuff? Her husband’s dead, and so’s her boyfriend.”

  I pulled a pad of paper from the desk drawer and listed the days the supposed thefts occurred. “So if they keep to that schedule, they will be back on Friday night. Or they might not. Maybe tonight. I’m confused. But you can’t keep buying supplies, only to have them disappear. Rarity, you’d better call the police.”

  Rarity’s eyes snapped to me. “Oh no. It can’t be that serious. I’ve been thinking. It’s probably kids. You know how all the teenagers, boys as well as girls, are playing with hair color now.”

  I didn’t know that. There were no teenagers in my life.

  Rarity continued. “And look, nothing else is missing. Of everything of value here in the salon, only hair color has disappeared and a couple perms.

  “That’s it.” Rarity laughed. “What a relief. It’s kids, and they’re only having fun with it. If I involved the law, a child’s life would be ruined.” She slowly shook her head. “I couldn’t bear it.”