“You’re a hundred percent right, Bessie,” Beulah said. “Bettina, you can get started on Miz Adcock’s shampoo now. I’ll finish up with Miz Bloodworth.” To Miss Jamison, she said, “You just sit there for a few minutes and sip on that whiskey.”

“No,” Miss Jamison said. She put down the glass and pushed herself out of the chair. “I have to get back to Miss Hamer’s right away.” Her pocketbook was on a nearby chair, and she picked it up. “What do I owe you for everything?”

“Well, let’s see,” Beulah said. “We agreed to a dollar fifty on that wig, and your cut and color was two dollars. Call it three fifty.” She went to a shelf and took down a blue hat and gloves and a cardboard hatbox tied with a string.

Miss Jamison took out four dollar bills. She gave it to Beulah and took the box. “Keep the change.”

“Why, thank you,” Beulah said, surprised. The Bower ladies didn’t often tip.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to get back to Miss Hamer’s house all right?” Bessie asked worriedly. “If you’ll hold up until I’m finished, I’ll walk with you.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Miss Jamison said. “But I’m wondering—is there a back alley I could take?”

“Sure is, hon,” Beulah said. “Just go through the fence by the hollyhocks, turn right, and keep on goin’ for a couple blocks. You should end up right smack behind your aunt’s house.” She glanced down at Miss Jamison’s high heels. “Better stay with the street, though. Won’t do those pretty shoes any good to walk on cinders. The alley is where people dump their coal clinkers.”

“I’ll chance it,” Miss Jamison said grimly. “Thank you.” She went to the door and peeked out apprehensively, as though she was afraid that the baldheaded man might be lurking in Beulah’s rose garden. The coast must have been clear, for she turned and waved and then went down the stairs. She was wobbly, Bessie saw, but she’d probably be all right, once she got out in the air.

“A wig?” Leona Ruth asked with a short laugh, as the screen door closed behind Miss Jamison. “Did you sell her that ratty old redhead wig of yours, Beulah? Shame on you!”

Bessie got back in the chair and Beulah picked up a comb. “Bettina,” she said, “get started on that shampoo, will you?”

When Bettina had the water running, Bessie asked, in a low voice, “Did she really buy your old beauty school wig, Beulah? The one you loaned to the Ledbetter girl for the Academy’s senior play?”