These intriguing questions were at the top of Bessie’s mind the next morning when she put on her third-best mauve cambric dress (the one with the purple buttons and the Peter Pan lace collar), set her black felt hat on her salt-and-pepper curls, and started out for Beulah’s Beauty Bower to keep her nine-thirty appointment for her weekly shampoo and set. She was still puzzling over the question of Miss Jamison’s real identity as she walked up the steps to the Bower. And when she opened the screen door and saw who was sitting in Beulah’s haircutting chair in front of the mirror, big as life and twice as natural, she had to blink to make sure she hadn’t conjured up the vision.

But beyond a doubt, the woman sitting in that chair truly was Miss Nona Jean Jamison. Or Miss Lorelei LaMotte. Or both. Caped in pink, she was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other and watching in the mirror as Beulah smoothed her damp platinum locks with a comb and snipped them with a pair of barber scissors. She was getting her hair cut.

Bessie covered her surprise with a pleasant smile. “Good morning, Beulah,” she said cheerfully, taking off her hat. “Good morning, Bettina. I’m afraid I’m a teensy bit early. If you-all aren’t ready for me, I can wait.” She looked into the mirror and met Miss Jamison’s startled eyes. “And good morning to you, too, Miss Jamison. You probably don’t remember me. I’m your neighbor across the street—Bessie Bloodworth. I met you and Miss Lake the day you arrived at Miss Hamer’s.”

Miss Jamison flushed and dropped her glance, and Bessie thought she saw a glimpse of something like apprehension. But she took a drag on her cigarette and managed a slight smile.

“Why, hello, Miss Bloodworth.” Her voice was thin. “Such a surprise.”

“No surprise,” Beulah chirped. “Miz Bloodworth is one of our regulars. Never misses a Monday mornin’—her and Leona Ruth Adcock. Good to see you, Bessie.” She glanced up at the clock. “Leona Ruth will be along here d’rectly. Bettina, you can go ahead and get started on Miz Bloodworth right now.”

Bessie put a hand to her hair. “I was thinking I’d ask Bettina to trim me this morning.” She put a hand to her hair. “Feel like I’m getting a mite shaggy.”

Strictly speaking, she knew she didn’t need a trim for another week or two. But a haircut would put her side-by-side with Nona Jean Jamison in front of their twin mirrors, where she could maybe get an answer to some of her questions. And there was nobody else in the Bower. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.