Kay Elam

Murder and Mayhem on Music Row

1

Monday night

The 9:15 p.m. landing of Southwest Flight 3801 at Nashville International Airport jarred Nan Macomb from her cross-country stupor. Using her feet, she fished her purse from beneath the seat in front of her and tucked her puzzle book in a side pocket. After wiping the drool from her mouth, she refreshed her makeup, ending with a topcoat of her signature MAC Russian Red lipstick. She hand-combed her jet-black tresses and grimaced. I’m gonna lose my status as one of Nashville’s top hair stylists if I don’t get this mop cut soon. The salon in the airport was already closed, but it didn’t matter. They catered to the poofy styles the tourists wanted, not the sleek, chin-length bob she wore. She found her phone and turned it off airplane mode, then opened her notes app and added a reminder to call her stylist ASAP.

Retrieving her carry-on from the overhead compartment, she hoisted it on her shoulder and trekked toward baggage claim for her duffle. She paused near the end of Concourse C and smiled. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. On a tiny stage tucked in the back corner of the airport location of Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, her best friend since seventh grade, Loralee Anderson, was singing her heart out. The venue mimicked the popular downtown honky-tonk with its purple brick facade and walls adorned with autographed photos of celebrities.

She wore a too-tight, too-short denim skirt, a white-fringed western shirt, and apple-red cowboy boots. It appeared she’d bejeweled her entire ensemble. Her auburn hair hung halfway down her back, and she sat on a tall stool. Her crossed legs, which ended at her armpits, kept the beat as she strummed her acoustic guitar.

As Nan listened to Loralee’s raspy rendition of ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue,’ her heart swelled with happiness. Playing at Tootsie’s was a big deal and would surely boost her friend’s career. Six weeks was a long time to be out of the loop, and she wondered what else she’d missed. She hoped her friend would need to pee soon.

When Loralee started what she said would be her last song before a short intermission, Nan moved into her field of vision and gave her a thumbs-up. The songster took her hand off her guitar and motioned to an empty table in such a smooth gesture she never dropped a note. She must’ve skipped a few verses because Nan had barely sat down when Loralee said, “I’m gonna take a little-bitty break, y’all. If you’ve got a plane to catch, I hope to see you next time you’re in Nashville. If not, I’ll be back in ten.”

Nan stood to hug her friend. At almost 6’0", Loralee made her feel petite at 5’8”.

“Hon, I’m so glad you’re home. I didn’t know you’d be back tonight.”

Nan cocked her head. “No? I left you a voicemail and sent you a text. Something wrong with your telephone?”

“Um…Guess I forgot to charge it.” She shrugged. “You know how I am.”

Of course, Nan knew how Loralee was, and she’d bet her sanity that Miss Priss had listened to her message.

“Well, I hope Em got my message and text.” Emma Morgan, Nan’s former college roommate, was her other best friend; the three were a tight little group. “I asked her to pick me up.”

“Oh, she’s waitin’ for you in the cell phone lot.” Loralee gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

Nan raised her eyebrows.

Loralee stuck her arms in the air like she was being arrested. “Busted. I confess I knew you were comin’ home tonight after all. But I wanted to surprise you by singin’ at Tootsie’s. Did I surprise you, hon??”

“Why would it surprise me?” Nan asked, shaking her head. She couldn’t stay mad at Loralee. “You’re the best not-yet-discovered talent in town. It’s your time.”

“Ah, thanks, hon.” Loralee blushed, a rarity for her.

“So, is Em here?” It wasn’t like Emma to be late.

“Let her know you’re ready, and she’ll drive around to pick you up.”

“Cool beans. I’m exhausted. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet your heinie. Em has our day all planned out.” They hugged again. “I sure am happy you’re back 'cause I missed you something awful, especially since you wouldn’t let us call or text you when you were gone. I still don’t get that.”

Nan didn’t want to plunge into what she knew would be a lengthy conversation while standing in the middle of an airport bar. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Promise you won’t tell Em anything ‘til I’m there, too?”

“I promise.”

After one last squeeze, she made her way to baggage claim to grab her lone bag from the luggage carousel. When she walked through the outside doors, the mugginess almost knocked her off her feet. Six weeks with pretty much no humidity had spoiled her. It would take a few days to acclimate. She sat on a bench between the 14 and 15 location signs and texted Emma her whereabouts.

It wasn’t long before she saw the University of Tennessee-orange Volvo SUV enter the airport’s lowest level. She waved in case Emma didn’t see her. Emma got out of the car and lifted the hatch. The jumpsuit she wore was the exact color of her saucer-sized cobalt blue eyes. At 5’1’’, her former roommate could still pass for a co-ed, damn it—not a thirty-five-year-old mother of two.

“Welcome home, stranger,” Emma said as they hugged.

“Thanks.” Nan stowed her bag in the hatchback. “I’m so excited to sleep in my own bed tonight that I may not wake up for twenty-four hours.”

“You have to.” Emma slammed the hatch. “When I got your messages saying you’d be in tonight, I called the people I canceled when you left and rescheduled their appointments. As you suggested, I had given them the names of other stylists, but they all wanted to wait until you got back. Your clients are devoted to you.”

“I’m lucky to have such loyal clientele, but I bet they’re all looking pretty shaggy by now.”

“Luck happens when preparation meets opportunity. Nevertheless, get ready because you’re double booked for the next month.”

“Ouch. Are you trying to punish me?”

Emma didn’t respond as they got in her car and exited the airport via I-40 West.

“Em, is something wrong?”

“You mean other than you left town for six weeks, leaving me your scheduling book with instructions to cancel your appointments for a week at a time until you came home?” She took a deep breath. “Then you sent me a text with twelve hours’ notice to pick you up tonight, and, oh, by the way, could I reschedule a few clients? No, nothing’s wrong.“

“Em—”

“I’m not your servant.” A tear ran down Emma’s cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Nan touched her shoulder. “You are the only person I would trust to rearrange my clients without running them off. Could you imagine if I’d asked Loralee to do it?”

Emma didn’t laugh.

This is more than her being pissed about the appointments; there’s something else.

“Okay…spill it. Why are you so upset?”

Emma exited I-40 for the 440 bypass. “You didn’t have the guts to tell us face-to-face you were leaving.”

“I called.”

“Of course you did. When you knew we wouldn’t be available, so you could leave a message. You never told us where you were, and you informed us you were turning your phone off and asked us not to call you.” Emma clutched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. “It made me feel so insignificant, Loralee, too. Even your mother.”

“My mother? What’s she got to do with this?”

“When she couldn’t reach you, she called us—every day, several times a day. We couldn’t convince her we had no idea where you were. She even went on a tangent, claiming that you'd been kidnapped.”

“Oh, geez,” Nan said. “I had at least three voicemails from her daily, but I never listened to them.”

“She’s been a basket case,” Emma said. “Your dad took her to the Seaside to calm her down.”

“So, I’m less missing if she’s at the beach?”

“I’ve never been able to follow your mother’s thought process. They’ll be home tomorrow night.”

“I left them a message that I was coming back, so after she blows up at me and fumes for a few days, it’ll all settle down.” Nan rubbed her neck. “I can’t wait to tell y’all about my trip. It was just what I needed.”

Emma flashed a genuine smile. “I’m glad. I can only imagine how hard your breakup with Randy was. He’s persistent. I quit answering my phone because he kept calling to find out where you were. And he’s so smooth. If you were here, he’d finagle himself back into your life.”

“That was my thought process,” Nan said. “But I can’t say anything else. I promised Lor I’d not share details until we’re all together. You didn’t start those double bookings tomorrow, did you?”

“Well, kind of.”

“How kind of?”

“One new client insisted on being your first appointment when you got home. She called me twice a week, every week you were gone, to make sure I hadn’t forgotten. She’s coming at ten for a cut and color. Then the three of us will have the rest of the day for talking and shopping.”

Emma was the shopping queen of Nashville. She could spot a bargain quicker than one could say “markdown.” And her taste was impeccable. Strangers often stopped her to ask where she’d purchased her outfit.

She’d dropped by Nan’s home salon one afternoon two years ago when a VIP client was in the chair. By the time Emma left, the woman had talked her into rebranding her image. That was the push she needed to start a small business as a personal shopper and image consultant. She had a fashion sense most models would envy and had no trouble getting clients after Nan let her set up an ever-changing display in the front room.

Emma left Nan at the curb in front of her canary yellow one-story bungalow and sped off as soon as the car door closed.

That’s odd. She always waits until I’m inside before leaving. What’s up with her?

The cottage had been her grandmother’s home. When she got sick, Nan moved in to take care of her. Before she died, the two of them drew up plans for Nan’s salon, converting the largest bedroom into the workspace, the smallest into a large closet, and adding on a work porch.

Not only had Gran willed her the house, but she’d also left her a hefty nest egg. She’d used a chunk for the renovation, then put the balance into an emergency fund, which had been just enough to finance her six-week soul-searching sabbatical out West.

Collapsing into her favorite chair, Nan could feel Gran’s presence embrace her. Tears came as if someone had turned on her kitchen spigot. After a long chat with Gran, she wiped her tears and felt more clarity and hope. She didn’t care whether it was her grandmother or her inner voice. It was the result that counted. The trip had been worth every penny.

2

Tuesday Morning

To stay awake, Nan daydreamed about creating her new line of organic hair and body products as she cut Mitzi Sowell’s thick brown bob. The highlights were gorgeous, and she was confident another client would soon sing her praises. This girl hadn’t stopped chattering since she’d walked through the door. At least, this was the only appointment scheduled for the day. Nan looked forward to lunch and an afternoon of shopping with her two best friends—a weekly ritual and one of the few things she had missed while gone.

She checked the time. If she could finish Mitzi’s cut and get rid of her, she might have time to work on her plans for her product line. She’d developed the concept during her trip and was ready to start working on it. If successful, and she knew it would be, it’d take her business to another level. She shuddered.

Haircut, Nan. Focus.

“Wait. What?” Something in Mitzi’s ramblings jolted Nan back to the present. She stopped trimming, though her razor remained planted in her client’s hair. “Who’re you talking about?”

“Amy. Amy Soleman. You know her, don’t you? She’s the cutest little thing. She’s married to that hotshot record producer, Randy Soleman. I met her at an art class—”

“What about her?” Nan tried not to sound abrupt.

“I saw her at Whole Foods. She’s two months pregnant and—”

Pregnant. Pregnant? Pregnant! The words echoed in Nan’s head and sent her hand into a spasm. The ultra-sharp razor severed a fist-sized hunk of Mitzi’s hair.

“Ow.” Mitzi reached for her head. Nan stopped her hand and pushed it to her lap.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pull. I’m…I’m trying something a bit different…but perfect for you. It just came to me. You said you wanted a major change, right?”

“With your reputation, you can do whatever you want, short of scalping me, that is.”

Nan forced a laugh while her stomach did cartwheels. She watched Mitzi in the oversized mirror and tried to appear competent and composed as she slipped the severed hair into her smock pocket. The only way to fix the damage was to cut her hair super short and pray like hell that she liked it. She put the razor on the console and picked up her shears. No use testing fate. Her hands shook, but she didn’t dare give her another chance to check her progress until she pulled herself together.

A long, steadying breath and years of experience saved her. Fifteen minutes later, her tummy had settled to a mere jog, and she turned Mitzi away from the big mirror and gave her a hand-held one.

“What do you think?” she asked with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

“Oh, I love it!” Mitzi moved her head this way and that to get the full view of her new, super short, feathered cut.

Nan knew it lacked her usual flair, but at least it covered her goof. She’d make it better next time.

“I see why they call you the beauty wizard,” Mitzi said, shedding her black cape. “Can I book my next appointment now?” She pulled her calendar and checkbook from an oversized purse.

Nan took her check and made her next visit for four weeks out—the style would need to be trimmed often, damn it. She’d have to deal with this chick every month. Maybe her hair grew slowly. She gave her a substantial ‘oops discount’ to appease the Karma gods. If Mitzi questioned why future services were more expensive, she’d tell her she’d given her a new client promo for the first cut or something like that. She’d cross that bridge when she got to it. She just needed her gone…right then. She had to think.

Mitzi continued to babble while Nan grabbed her broom and swept the floor. When finished, she removed her smock and hung it on the back of the door, thinking her newest patron would head toward the front door, but she didn’t get the hint.

“I’ll show you out,” Nan announced as she ushered Mitzi to the front porch. Once she was gone, the silence was staggering. She popped her favorite Michael Bublé CD into the overhead sound system, which was part of the remodel.

She couldn’t work on her new product line; not now. Was Amy pregnant, or was this chick messing with her? Emma and Loralee would help her figure it out. Where the heck were they? She paced around the living room and den, waiting for her two BFFs.

Loralee’s car horn sounded three short beeps. Nan rubbed a hand over her face and brushed imaginary lint from her tailored linen pants and French-cut poplin blouse before the girls bounded through the front door. After their customary hugs, she resumed her pacing.

“Hon, you gonna wear out this pretty hardwood floor if you ain’t careful.” Loralee kicked off her lime green boots and fell into step behind her. In skin-tight jeans and a top that would stop traffic, the country music singer always dressed to be discovered. “Where’re we going, anyway?”

Emma sat on the Chippendale sofa and adjusted her red floral mini skirt. She always looked like she’d stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. “I think she’s heard about Amy.” She was the one in their trio who cut right to the chase. Motherhood had only enhanced her skills.

Nan stopped. “Wait. You two knew about this and didn’t tell me? What the—”

Loralee put her hands on her hips. “Hon, you weren’t here to tell.”

“While you were gone,” Emma said, “I overheard some office assistant-types at yoga talking about her being pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean the baby belongs to Randy,” Loralee said.

“Of course it does,” Nan snapped. “That’s exactly what it means. He says he’s getting a divorce, but he’ll never leave her. They are too enmeshed.”

“It’s about time you figured that out.” Emma cut her no slack.