Not in the Heart by Chris Fabry Page A

changes, choices. My partner moved here for his work and then we split. Left me for someone taller. I always said he only loved me for the free haircuts. He had such a lovely mane. I hope it all falls out. Well, that’s not true. I don’t wish him ill.”
    â€œI know the feeling.”
    â€œSo how did you get the bandage and bruise? Covering another riot? Shark invasion?”
    His quick wit made me smile. And then wince. “Let’s just say it was a misunderstanding.”
    â€œOh, I’ve had my share of those. All right, I won’t pry.” He leaned close to my face and I could smell the coffee on his breath. “But you really should get that looked at. It could get infected.”
    He finished the back and sides and began blending with scissors. “You covered the execution in South Carolina, too.”
    â€œYou have way too good of a memory.”
    â€œThe bane of my existence. I remember too much. Bits of conversation. Meaningless details. Latin words. Middle names of presidents. Which company makes which candy bar. It’s not photographic, of course—I’m not that talented. God wouldn’t give me anything I could actually use. Just enough to swirl my mind and keep it going when I’m trying to get to sleep. And to win at Trivial Pursuit. Most people won’t play me.”
    An older woman came into the shop and trudged through as if walking in a snowdrift. Someone said, “Hey, Wanda,” and I deduced that this was Wanda. This is why I’m such a good reporter. She gave me a quick glance in the mirror as she slipped past the falling hair and closed the door to the office.
    â€œRound or square in the back?” Dexter said.
    â€œSurprise me,” I said.
    He finished his masterpiece, unfastened the cape, twirled me around, and handed me a mirror. “What’s the verdict?”
    â€œGuilty of the perfect haircut.” I pulled some cash out of my pocket and handed it to him. He was about to lead me to the front when I gave him another five and said, “I need to use the restroom. It’s in the back, right?”
    Dexter nodded. “I’ll have your receipt at the front.”
    I knocked lightly on the office door and Wanda said something from inside I couldn’t decipher. When I opened it, she looked up, cigarette smoke swirling. “Can I help you?”
    I closed the door behind me and sat. I told her my name, that I was in town to write a story about the Conley execution and needed to ask a couple of questions.
    â€œYou need to talk with Curtis and he’s not here.”
    â€œYou testified, didn’t you?”
    â€œThere’s nothing I have to say to you that I haven’t already said a million times. And if you’re trying to make that monster seem human, I don’t want any part of it.”
    â€œYou saw the confrontation on the street, right?”
    â€œI heard the commotion and went out just as he said he was going to kill her. It was a vile, vicious attack. I hope he burns. Forever.”
    â€œDid you speak with Diana about it?”
    She shook her head. “She got on the bus. I called her house later, but her mother said she was in her room. I never talked to her again. If there’s anybody on the face of the planet who deserves to die, it’s Terrelle Conley. Print that in your story.”
    The office had that male touch, meaning Playboy calendars and Hustler magazines. “Is this your office?”
    â€œI do the books for Curtis. We share this space.”
    â€œTell me about Diana.”
    She took a draw from her cigarette. “Tell you what?”
    â€œWhat was she like? A hard worker? Did she have a boyfriend?”
    â€œShe was the sweetest girl I ever knew. Never said a mean thing about nobody. Took care of her mother, so she didn’t have much time for a life. And she never missed work, except for some personal time she asked for.”
    â€œPersonal