The Yellow Rose Beauty Shop (Cadillac, Texas #3)(29)

“Agnes Flynn, you are full of shit!” Stella said.

“It’s what comes with having red hair and being old. You’ll get the same privilege someday. Now tell me and Charlotte who it is that you are sneaking off with. We’re under that privacy act thing so we’re bound by God and the FBI not to tell nobody about it,” Agnes said.

Charlotte rinsed the shampoo from Stella’s hair and squirted on a healthy dose of conditioner that had extra product in it to keep hair from frizzing. “It’s really not Rhett Monroe that you’re keeping company with, is it?”

“It’s really not, but let everyone think that if they want to,” Stella said. “I’m not being mean or secretive with my friends. It’s a matter of national security. If anyone knew, he could get fired, and believe me, I am protecting Mama. She’d have a stroke if she knew his name. Now let’s talk about something else. How’s the bake sale going, Agnes?”

“Are you thinking about that past crap?” Charlotte asked.

“That was years ago,” Agnes said.

“Yes, but you don’t have to be told about small-town gossip. Once it’s said, it’s gospel for at least a hundred years. It doesn’t matter what happens afterward, so I’ll be a slut for a long time. Now about that bake sale, Agnes?” Stella said.

Agnes finished off the cake, put her paper plate and napkin in the trash, and moved to the sofa. “My contact says they’re sneakin’ up on two hundred dollars. That means they’ll buy twenty money orders. Y’all got the sign made for the front window?”

“I do,” Stella said. “Made it this morning, but we don’t put it up until tomorrow at closing time, right?”

Agnes wiped a paper napkin across her lips. “Change of plans. That’s really what I came down here for but then I got a whiff of chocolate and remembered that thing about Rhett. You know, he’s a handsome young man. It’s just that he got the reputation for being . . . what do you call it these days?”

“A player,” Charlotte said.

“That’s it. Sounds like a dumb thing to call him, but that’s the word I was lookin’ for. Anyway, they’re sending Floy to the post office this afternoon. The bake sale is just about sold plumb out. Folks buy more if they think it’s for the church.” She looked up at the ceiling. “God, you got to take your hearing aids out and listen to me. You could zap that Heather girl, not enough to kill her, just to make her fall down in the dirt on a fire ant pile, for letting folks think that the bake sale money was going to the church when it’s going for haircuts.”

Charlotte giggled. “Why, Agnes, are you praying?”

Agnes rubbed her hands together. “Hell, no, I’m talking to God. I don’t pray in public,” she declared. “Hurry up and get her hair done. We’ll go to Clawdy’s for dinner. If you’ll get a move on it, then they’ll see us three together and get all antsy about what we got planned.”

“So when do we put the sign up?” Charlotte asked.

“First thing tomorrow mornin’. They’ll already have all those money orders bought up and they’ll either have to divvy them up between themselves or find some way to use them. I bet they make them door prizes at that ball.” Agnes drew her eyes down in a frown and then she chuckled. “We’ve got to stay on our toes to stay ahead of them, girls. I’ll buy our dinner today since y’all saved me from certain death by givin’ me chocolate cake,” Agnes said.

“But I was going to do Charlotte’s hair and you just ate half a cake,” Stella told her.

Agnes stood up. “I only ate a fourth of that cake, not half. It was my appetizer. Now I want fried okra and red beans and a couple of pork chops.”

“Give me a minute to work some mousse in her hair and we’ll go eat at Clawdy’s,” Charlotte said. “We can do my hair on a slow day next week. But only if we don’t talk weddings. My mama is driving me crazy with every detail about my wedding. If you ever do think about marriage, just elope, Stella. Nancy would be twice as bad as my mama because you are her only daughter.”



Nancy could almost see Heather’s blood pressure rising from the color in her cheeks when Beulah pointed at Agnes coming up the street between Stella and Charlotte. The two hairdressers were dressed in cutoff denim shorts and T-shirts and Agnes wore her newest fashion statement: faded bibbed overalls, a red T-shirt—which everyone in the whole universe knew should not be worn by red-haired women—and rubber flip-flops that cost about a dollar a pair.

“She looks like a bag lady,” Heather hissed. “No wonder she’s a thorn in my sweet aunt’s flesh.”

Nancy might be mad at her daughter. Hell, she might be ready to throw in the towel and arrange a marriage for her, but no one was going to call her daughter a bag lady. She took a step right into Heather’s personal space, narrowed her eyes, and said, “Don’t you ever call my daughter names. I can be mad at her but I’ll wipe up the streets with your ass if you say anything mean about her. I don’t care how close to God you are. And for your information, she doesn’t wear a cocktail dress to clean her beauty shop.”

“I was talking about Agnes.” Heather blanched.

“You’d best be,” Nancy said. “I’m going to buy this poor old lonesome carrot cake so we can go home and get out of this blistering heat. How much did we make today, Beulah?”