Miss Jamison started to reply, but Bessie beat her to it.

“It wasn’t anything like an hour,” she said, coming to Miss Jamison’s rescue. “Wasn’t more than ten minutes. The ladies and I were sitting out on the front porch and heard the whole thing, start to finish.” But she knew Leona Ruth. By the time she got through telling the story, Miss Hamer would be yelling bloody murder from noon to way past midnight.

Beulah took off Miss Jamison’s pink cape and brushed the back of her neck. “Well, Miz Jamison, what d’you think of your new look?” She handed her a mirror so she could see the back of her hair. “Turned you into a completely different person, don’t you think? Your friends up there in Chicago will never in the world recognize you.”

Bessie suddenly put two and two together. Why, the reason Miss Jamison had changed her hair color was staring her right in the face. The woman didn’t want to be recognized by somebody who knew her as a blonde! Maybe she was running away from her career as a dancer. Maybe she was trying to escape from a jealous lover, or—

“Doesn’t look like me at all, that’s for sure,” Miss Jamison said in a resigned tone, inspecting her image from all angles. She glanced up at Beulah. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Trivette. You did a swell job on short notice, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that . . .” She put the mirror down and got out of the chair. “It’s such a change, that’s all.”

Bettina looked up from her combing. “It’s the cat’s meow,” she said in an admiring tone. “Why, if somebody hadn’t seen you before you walked in that door this mornin’, they’d never in the world guess that you were platinum.”

Leona Ruth looked startled. “You were platinum?”

“She sure was,” Beulah said, sounding proud. “As silver and sassy as a new-minted dime. Never know it to look at her now, would you? A totally new woman.”

“Well, my word,” Leona Ruth said, in a wondering tone. “Platinum. Why, you must be the person that man was lookin’ for.”

“Man? What man?” Miss Jamison asked sharply.