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“Yank those suckers out, Vesta, before they make you go completely cuckoo! It’s a proven fact that ingrown hair is making people lose their minds. Dementia? Alzheimer’s? It’s all because of those nasty little hairs. So if you just let me,” she said, and leaned forward with a pair of tweezers in her hand.

“Where did those come from?” asked Vesta, recoiling.

“Let me just yank one of those suckers out and tell me how it feels.”

“Don’t come near me with that thing!”

“Just one, and if you don’t feel an immediate relief on the brain my name isn’t Scarlett Marie Gracie Canyon.”

“If you touch me I’m going to smack you in the face, Scarlett—I mean it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I would.”

Scarlett retracted the tweezers and tucked them into her purse.“Suit yourself. But if your brain suddenly starts going soft don’t come crying to me.”

“I won’t. Now are you with me on this or what?”

“With you on what?”

“That’s what I just said.” Vesta stared at her chocolate and then took a sniff. “Did you add that filthy liquor of yours to my hot cocoa?”

“Sure,” said Scarlett, slurring her words a little. “I figured you needed it, and so do I.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk!”

“I’m not!”

“You’re the worst friend in the world, Scarlett, you know that?”

“I am not. Would the worst friend in the world try to save you from dementia, Alzheimer’s and that nasty mustache?”

“Good God,” said Vesta, shaking her head.

“Close, but no cigar,” said Scarlett, and drained the rest of her coffee, then smacked her lips. “You know what? I think I’ll have another.”

Just then a camera crew suddenly materialized in front of them, and both women stared at the cameraman and the reporter who was holding his microphone aloft. The guy was wearing the most ridiculous glasses, and the most ridiculous goatee.“Do you ladies know by any chance where we can find Wilbur Vickery?” he asked chipperly.

“Over there,” said Vesta automatically, pointing in the direction of the General Store located right across the street.

“Thanks,” said the guy, flashed her a toothpaste smile, and started in the direction indicated.

“Hey, aren’t you going to tell us what’s going on?” asked Scarlett, liquor always making her a little belligerent.

“Tune into WLBC-9, darling,” said the reporter.

“Or check our website,” said the camera guy with a bored expression on his face as he trudged along behind the reporter.

So Scarlett and Vesta both got out their phones and checked the local TV station’s website, and sure enough Wilbur Vickery was the lead article.

They both stared at their phones for a moment, then Vesta read, in a thick voice,“Hot-blooded local shopkeeper to marry blue-blooded English rose—Madame Solange strikes it out of the park again.” She glanced up at her friend. “What the hell?”

“I think it’s time we go and see this Madame Solange,” said Scarlett. “I want to marry a hot-blooded blue blood, too, dammit!”

“And you will, Scarlett, honey,” said Vesta, patting her friend gingerly on the arm, then accidentally missing her approach shot and almost falling out of her chair. “But first we need to save my son,” she added, wagging a finger in Scarlett’s face and almost poking her eye out. “It’simportant to me. I’m all that poor boy’s got, you know.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” said Scarlett, “but only if you let me yank out that big sucker right under your nose!” And she got out those damn tweezers again!

When the waiter in charge of the Star’s outside dining area came to see if his customers were satisfied, he found Scarlett chasing her friend around, armed with some kind of weapon, and screaming, “It’s for your own good, Vesta! Let me save your life!”

Chapter 27

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Odelia as she watched a couple of kids come skipping out of a trailer, giggling all the while.

“Yes, honey. Trust me,” said her mom. “Now let’s do this.”

It had been Odelia’s idea to visit this Madame Solange and enlist her in the quest to find her uncle and Mom’s brother. She hadn’t told Chase, as the cop would probably think that enlisting psychics or whatever Madame Solange was, probably was taking things too far. But at this point Odelia felt that any help would be appreciated, as neither her cats nor Chase had been able to locate the missing police chief so far.

“Okay, let’s just get it over with,” she said and set foot for the trailer.

A burly male suddenly materialized in the doorway and gave them a look that wasn’t exactly inducive to repeat customership.

“We would like to see Madame Solange,” said Odelia primly. “We can pay her,” she added, indicating her purse.

“Step inside,” said the man. “Madame Solange will see you now.”

“Thanks,” said Odelia, and negotiated the three steps that led into the trailer. It was one of those brightly colored contraptions, made out of wood, painted a cheerful green, yellow and blue, and once inside she discovered it was a lot roomier than she’d expected. “This looks nice,” she said. “I wonder who Madame Solange’s interior decorator is.”