I left all that behind me to run the library for the next six hours at what were already poverty wages. I certainly could volunteer to work to keep the library open longer hours, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of slashed funding for basic community services-schools, medical care, libraries. I fumed for hours about how that woman had made me feel guilty for doing my job, but at the end of the day, I had bigger fish to fry.
Or backs to spray. I still wasn’t a hundred percent clear on how Kennie had tricked me into tonight’s gig. Really, it was Mrs. Berns’ fault because I wouldn’t be indebted to Kennie if not for her. I was rolling that negative thought around in my head, getting ready to close up the library, when in walked Conrad, marching like he was on full parade. He pounded toward where I stood behind the front counter and held out his hand. Feeling peevish, I didn’t take it.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Berns?”
“It’s what you can do for my mother. Allow me to speak plainly. She’s going to be moved to a nursing home where I can guarantee she’s safe, and I need your help in making a smooth transition for her.”
I swung from one angry tree to another. “Safe? What kind of life is ‘safe’?”
He pounded his fist on the countertop, and I jumped. “For God sakes, you’ve seen her in the hospital! She almost died on Sunday. Do you want that on your shoulders?”
I sucked in an angry breath. “I might not always agree with her decisions. You might not always agree with her decisions. But she’s earned the right to make her own choices and to live with the consequences.”
He leaned in closely, his nose advancing toward me like a paring knife. “I know she cares about you. If you care about her, you’ll encourage her to move to the new nursing home, and you’ll tell my sister that you think it’s for the best. I don’t know why, but Elizabeth has come to respect your input.”
I didn’t back down. “Do you even know your mother? Have you even asked any of her friends what she’s like, or do you just come in and tell everyone how it’s going to be? Because if you asked around, you’d find that your mom is pretty well-respected in this community, and she’s happy. And she’s settling down.” I had a hard time following the script but soldiered on. “She’s engaged to an employed man and she’s meeting with a life coach. She’s turning her life around.”
He ran his hand over his face, and for a moment, I saw the man behind the curtain. “I want her out of harm’s way. That’s all. I just want my mother to be protected, and to live a life that would make my dad proud.”
“What about a life that would make her proud?”
He didn’t answer, instead turning a neat 180 on his back heel and marching out the way he’d come.
He left me agitated by thoughts of Mrs. Berns being forcibly led away despite her best attempts to get her granny on, and this agitation slowed me down. I got out of work later than expected. I had only enough time to run home and check on Tiger Pop and Luna, who were both sunning themselves in the backyard, before I cruised back into town and parked behind Stub’s. I was dismayed to see the lot was already filling up. Kennie was equally disappointed when I walked in, but for different reasons.
“Sugar pie, I thought we agreed you’d come early to help decorate the tables and storm up some conversation starters?”
I had no patience for her whining. “It’s been a crappy day. You’re lucky I’m here at all. But since I am, how’s this for conversational springboards for tonight’s festivities: ‘Why are you orange?’ or ‘Can you believe we paid for this?’”
“Now now, that’s no attitude. This is a fun night! You’re a sparkly hostess! Come with me.” She dragged me over to the spray tan booth she’d set up. It consisted of four cloth room dividers arranged so they formed a portable room in a roughly square shape. A curtain lay draped over the single opening so people could walk in and out without moving the dividers. Inside the makeshift room rested a single chair, which Kennie informed me was for the shirts of the tanners, and a bench which contained the MagiTan® spraying equipment, hair cover-ups, and white paper towels for the clients to tuck into the waist of their pants so no orange smeared on them. My instructions were to only spray faces and upper bodies.
I listened to half of what she said, wondering if I was supposed to have some sort of license. Any job that entailed changing the color of someone’s skin should require formal training and a standardized certification. “I’m only doing this because I told you I would, you know,” I said pettily. “I already found out that Swydecker doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then you certainly won’t want to hear that he was with a woman that night.”
“What?” I thought back to my conversation with him. He’d been the picture of resigned honesty. “He said he wasn’t with anyone the night of the murder. Why would he lie if he had someone to corroborate his whereabouts and get him off the hook?”
She tapped her long red fingernail against her chin and pretended to ponder that idea. “Let’s see. Why would a married man running for political office hide the fact that he’d spent the night with a woman?”
I pictured his empty wedding ring finger. “The woman wasn’t his wife.”
“Bingo! But don’t be too disappointed. I have even more interesting information to share. We’ve found enough evidence at the scene of the crime to name a suspect.”
My ears perked. “Not Swydecker, right?”
“You’ll have to wait until after your shift to find out. When some of those men take off their shirts and you have to push aside back hair to get to their skin, you might lose your resolve without incentive to stay.”
Or my lunch. I looked longingly at the rows of glittering glass bottles behind the bar, slapped myself, and walked, head down, into the booth just as the line began to form outside it.
The only way I could get through the hour of spraying the bodies of strangers was by pretending I was a prison guard delousing them, and that they were all going away for a very long time. The patrons’ reactions ran the gamut from shy to sheepish to excited. Mostly, though, they were nervous and trying to hide it. The only person who acknowledged the strangeness of the evening was a sweet woman in her late twenties with a slight limp. I’d seen her around town and thought she worked at one of the gift shops. She was constantly in the library checking out books on animals, but she was painfully shy and I didn’t know her name.
When her back was turned, she said, “How long have you been doing this?”
“About thirty minutes.”
She laughed politely. “No, not tonight. I meant in your life.”
“Yup,” I said.
“Oh.” She held out her arms when I asked. “This is kinda weird, then.”
“I’m sorry.”
She coughed and reached for the bra she’d set over the back of the chair and then caught herself, squaring her shoulders and holding her arms out again. “I’m not going to meet anyone if I don’t step out of my comfort zone, am I?”
My sympathy for her squelched my sarcastic urges. “It could be a fun night.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Will the spray cover up my tattoo?”
I glanced at the lower back art, the head of a German Shepherd above the name “Toby.” According to the dates, he had died last year.
“I don’t think so, and it’s only temporary in any case. Do you still want the spray?”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ve seen you working at the library. Is this your new part-time job?”
“Not if I can help it. Was Toby your dog?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I live with a part German shepherd. Her name is Luna. I know how easy it is to love your dogs.” I finished spraying her back and instructed her to face me. She was kind enough to cover her breasts with her hands. The spray lines would be odd, but it made us both much more comfortable.
“Yes. It is.”
Her shoulders were quavering a little, so I finished quickly. “Good luck tonight.”
She thanked me, got dressed, and left. I returned to the drudgery of coating people who were too embarrassed to talk, which was fine by me. I was doing great until the very last gentleman entered my booth, his coupon in hand. He was in his early thirties and thin, sporting a long Ichabod Crane neck with a bobbing Adam’s apple. I gave him the spiel.
“We’ll treat this just like a tanning booth. First, take your shirt off.” He complied. “And your glasses.” He slid them off his nose and set them on his neatly folded shirt. “Hold your arms out like you’re a scarecrow.” I sprayed his front. We were doing great until my sprayer clogged.
